#like imagine dumping someone and you’re the one devastated over it

[izvmimi]

the last time i was in a shojo anime watching binge i was 17 and my ex had just quiet quit our relationship and all i did was lay in my dorm room and cry LMAO

[earthmoongirl]

SuperHeroism isn’t exactly the given that everyone assumes it is. I mean, think about it. Not every star athlete becomes a soldier or a police officer. Not every genius becomes a doctor. People have talents and they do what they like with them. But you have one little parlor trick, and suddenly everyone expects you to go off saving the world.

Saving the world isn’t what people think it is either. Imagine you can fly, and, what the heck, we’ll throw in some fire breath too just for the sake of things. You turn on the news to discover that a 100-foot-tall robot is decimating New York. First, you’d have to get there, but you live in Singapore. So you buy a plane ticket and fly into Boston (because obviously all the New York airports are closed.) By this point you’re probably hungry, so you need to have some money with you, not to mention your passport. And you’ll probably need a change of clothes, all of which means you have a bag with you. More on that later. Now you finally get someone to drive you to New York and you rush down the city streets towards wherever the screams are the loudest. Depending on the current political situation, you’ll either find the Hero League giving orders to the army, or the army desperately attempting to give orders to the Hero League. You try to get some idea of what is going on (by now it’s been at least 16 hours since the robot first appeared) but your English doesn’t go very far beyond “Where is the bathroom?” and Beyonce lyrics.

You finally find the robot, who is now focused on toppling over the Statue of Liberty, and you’re ready to go. Where do you put your bag? I mean, it has your passport in it. You can’t just dump it in the street! But you can’t exactly carry it around in a fight, so that’s exactly what you do. You fly off towards the robot and suddenly realize you have no idea what you’re doing. You’ve never fought a giant robot before. You’ve never fought anyone before, except for the occasional catfight with your older sister back in pre-school days. Also, you’re not exactly bulletproof. Or in shape.

So let’s say that despite your mediocre understanding of battle strategy, your appalling venerability to robot-launched missiles, and your cramping muscles, you take down the robot. Now what? You leave? People are trapped under rubble. Skyscrapers need to be rebuilt. The New York economy is completely devastated, and public transportation will be halted for months. You realize it’s been eight hours since you’ve last eaten and 20? 15? too many hours since you last slept. You had an energy drink in the bag! Where is it? Ah. Underneath a tank that is underneath what used to be an apartment building.

Yeah. Not so simple, is it? Thing is, once people learn that you’re “super” and also not a card-carrying member of the Hero League, they assume you’re a villain.

Being a villain is not so easy either. I mean, any Jack or Jill can murder their neighbor or commit credit card fraud. But to be a real villain you have to do something BIG. Something like, say, building a giant robot to decimate New York City. Well, surprise, dummy! Fire breath and flight don’t do anything to increase your understanding of mechanical engineering.

All that to say, I live my life like any other normal person. I complained about algebra in high school. I worked night shifts at Ben and Jerry’s to pay way through grad school. I go for walks along the beach in the morning and get drinks with my friends in the evenings. I fall in love, I go grocery shopping, I call my mom, I pay my taxes, I fall out of love, I hit snooze on my alarm clock. Beyond the occasional suspicious glare I get for being an unaligned super, nobody really cares. The truth is, if you haven’t either saved the world or tried to end it, the Hero League and the Apocalypse Core will never so much as notice you. Normally.

The first time they tried to contact me, the Hero League sent Sr. Viper to meet me in my home. That was certainly a man’s idea. Girl walks into her city apartment to find a strange guy in her kitchen? I dropped him in the middle of the San Fransisco Sheriff's office and made a note to change the locks. The Apocalypse Core was far more respectful. They sent a beautifully calligraphed letter which politely threatened me to join their ranks. I appreciated that they hadn’t broken into my home, but I still wasn’t thrilled at the idea that the two most powerful (and frankly, unhinged) organizations in the world knew my address.

The Dark Thief sat next to me in a crowded cafe and gave his best sales pitch. I smiled and took the brochure and then threw it in the nearest trash bin. GoblinGirl left an envelope in my mailbox in an impressive attempt at bribery. I bought myself a new security system with the money. This went on for a couple of months. It was annoying, and a little awkward at times, but at the time I had bigger things to worry about - my Anthro 740 class being the main one. At first, I couldn’t really see why they cared so much. I mean my power was unique, yeah, but it’s not like I’d invented the hydrogen bomb or anything. I just assumed this was some kind of new recruiting program. But then The Goo said to me during a Tuesday afternoon bus ride, and it finally clicked. “Ms. Hassan, You could send the president to Mars!” He’d gurgled excitedly. I had never really thought about my power being useful for anything more than finding lost pens or getting cats down from trees. A whole world of possibilities opened up to me. At one point I legitimately considered joining. One C- on a midterm later and I had sobered up.

It was right around then that things started to escalate. The Hero League managed to kidnap me. Something with sleeping gas in the central air, I think. Somewhere in the middle of the Nevada desert, there is now a large metal door and a portion of brick wall. I moved in with some friends pretty quickly after that. But it was the Apocalypse Core that piled on the last straw. They kidnapped my grandma. My Grandma! I was not happy. When I returned home the next day, Grandma was safely returned to the nursing home, and the Core’s headquarters was spread along the bottom of the Pacific Ocean. Oh, and I still aced my final exams.

After that, both groups gave me some space. The Hero League sent me a half-hearted email about getting revenge, but I think we both knew I was past that. The media, on the other hand…. destroying the CoreCave was a bigger deal than I had considered. The previously secret location of the volcanic island-turned-evil liar had been the center of a worldwide search for years. And then some 23-year-old single-handedly destroys the whole thing? Whoops. I guess some satellite camera picked me up and before long my picture was everywhere. “The Summoner!” headlines shouted. Reporters swarmed the apartment. Children gawked at me as their parents pulled them hurriedly to the other side of the street. Thank goodness my friends were so supportive because the media made their lives hell too. When I was home, people knew to stay on the sidewalk or they would be put behind the sidewalk. But when I was out, my roommates told me, it was like navigating a mosh pit just to get to the door. After some very expensive cameras mysteriously disappeared and one particularly obnoxious columnist returned from an unexpected trip to Alaska, the hubbub died down. That’s when I discovered: the only people on the planet more stubborn than Supers? Reporters.

A new “student” joined my summer research group. She seemed to know a lot more about me than about avian fossils. A kind barista chatted away with me while they made me free coffee, only for me to catch them jotting down notes from our conversation. Too late I realized that one of the regulars on my morning route was actually just following me. That was a pretty creepy article to read. Besides the barrage of reporters, I found other aspects of life had changed weirdly. My follow requests, for one. But mostly, people were scared. I was this powerful person who did a good thing but still wouldn’t become one of the “good guys,” and no one knew what to make of that. I think the general consensus was that I was a “villain gone rogue.” By then I’d stopped following the news. Once, I entered a coffee shop and eight people walked out without getting their drinks. I know because I watched as eight coffees were put out, one by one, on the counter. Each one grew cold. I was in a pretty dark place that summer. I stopped using my powers altogether. For the first time in my life, I lost my keys. I experienced the torture of getting up off the couch to grab the remote on the opposite side of the room. Mr. Huang, who owned the corner store under my old apartment, was dumbfounded when I walked in one morning and purchased milk.

“I’m still happy with our deal!” He insisted. “Anytime you want. You’re my best customer.”

“I know Mr. Huang,” I told him as I checked out. “I just felt like getting it myself today.”

By July, things had only gotten worse. The Evil had launched an attack on the Russian Embassy in the US, hoping to manipulate political tensions and extort some money in the process. The Hero League sent the Junior Wonder and Fizz. I’m not sure what went wrong, but Junior Wonder was killed in the fight. The Evil was expelled from the Apocalypse Core and sent to a high-security prison, but that wasn’t enough for the League. Sr. Viper gave a speech at the funeral, and although he didn’t say it directly, he gave a strong impression that had The Summoner stepped up and done the right thing, Junior’s death could have been avoided. A low blow, but the media ran with it.

I now know that while I was having the summer from my nightmares, my roommates were having the time of their lives. At the time, I was only aware of how kind and patient they were being with me. I was grateful, but I didn’t fully understand all that they were doing for me. As they later explained, it all started on the 27th of May. Caroline, normally the responsible roommate who pays the bills and cleans out the fridge, threw caution to the wind when the third reporter of the day asked her for a statement. She told the reporter, among other things, that I was the clone of the last member of an ancient alien species, which could be verified by talking to the seventh direct descendant of George Washington. Ridiculous, I know, but when the article came out the three of them thought it was the funniest thing they had ever heard. So they took that idea and ran with it. Their stories became more elaborate but also more believable, each designed to send the reporter on a wild goose chase. Jez managed to convince an entire team from the BBC to spend three weeks searching for gold dust in the Australian Outback. I don’t think even Jez knows how he managed that. With every story they sold, they used the money to do little things for me. They stocked the pantry with my favorite snacks and secretly added money to my bus card.

Priya was the one who noticed when I stopped using my power. She’d known me the longest and was the first to invite me to move in. She considered asking me about it, but Jez had a better idea.

“Let’s see if we can get her to change her own mind.” Mostly I think they just found it funny. They bought double-stuffed Oreos and put them on the highest shelf. They would ask me to buy eggs or coffee and then pause mid-sentence with a sad sigh and a shake of their head.

“Don’t worry about helping me,” Caroline said once. That one stung.

And every morning they had a competition as to who could move my keys to the most ridiculous place, without me noticing they’d been moved. Basically, they just annoyed me into embracing my powers.

So when July rolled around, my roommates were concerned about me, but they were also excited to enact more shenanigans. One Saturday morning, while pouring myself a third bowl of cereal, Priya drew my attention to the TV.

“Liz, Isn’t that the guy who tried to barricade our front door?” On the screen, a middle-aged reporter with a familiar greasy over-comb was chittering away about an ex-senator. I agreed that it was. “He’s a little off-center, don’t you think? He needs to be moved about six inches to the left.” She looked up at me expectantly. “What do you say?” I whipped milk off my chin and returned her mischievous smile. In the blink of an eye, the newsagent disappeared and reappeared again every so slightly to the left. In an outstanding effort in professionalism, he barely even stuttered, but the look on his face was enough to turn us into giggling fools.

“No, no. To his left. Move him six inches to his left.” Once again he blinked out of view for a millisecond, before returning to view not quite where he had been standing a second ago. This time he stopped talking just long enough to rub his eyes in disbelief. A fit of laughter ensued once more.

“Yes, but now— now—,” Caroline could barely get the words out. “Now you’ve just moved him back to where he originally was.” Blink, blink. He was perfectly centered and utterly speechless. He seemed to be looking at someone off-camera for a while before he finally recovered himself.

“It appears we are having some technical difficulties. We will return to Whitehouse News after the break.”

We both fell off the couch.

By the time Jez had returned from Temple and Priya got back from brunch, Caroline and I were almost peeing ourselves with laughter. From then on, any reporter we could find saying anything about me found that their tie kept tightening, or their shoes kept disappearing, or their hair kept mysteriously getting wet. I didn’t do anything too big, of course, just enough to get my point across.

Eventually, the message got through their thick skulls, and ever since then, people have more or less left me alone. Oh, there was the time the League and the Core brought me up at a press conference, but a friend saw it airing in a hair salon and gave me a call. Before long, each member of the panel found a warm, freshly peeled hardboiled egg in their lap. The taste of revenge is much more satisfying than the taste of deviled eggs.

It’s been nearly three decades since that summer, and years since I last thought about it. But I saw my name in the newspaper last week. Marta McClain had announced her own league, “The Alliance of Independents.” Some reporter had included various clips of her speech in an article that was barely about the Alliance at all. I found the transcript online, though. I’m not the Hero she makes me out to be. Still, I think, just this once, I’ll leave it alone.

Today, I am happy to announce the beginning of the Alliance of Independents. For too long, supers have been pressured into fighting other people’s battles. ‘The Hero League is nearly as good as the Apocalypse Core and the Apocalypse Core is nearly as bad as the Hero League.’ You’ve heard me say it before, and no matter how many times Srta. Viper or President Hornet object, it’s as true today as it was ten years ago.

Ten years ago, I joined the Hero League in the hopes of making the world a better place. Instead, all I found was corruption, manipulation, and greed. Yet, when I tried to leave, I was branded a villain and a traitor. Now you know me as Marta McClain. “The First Independent.” Since I left the League, I have done my best to pave the way for others like me. People who want to do good in the world. Real good. People who deserve the freedom to make a difference. And today, I can proudly say there are many of us. Wild Flower, King Lizard, GoblinGirl, and so many more. People you know and love. And together, we have created this alliance, not to rule over one another, but to support each other, to encourage teamwork and accountability while maintaining our right to personhood.

You know me as “The First Independent,” But today I would like to honor the real first. Seventeen years ago, Franz Mayfield was arrested for stealing 7.2 billion dollars in fake taxes from the people of Kenya. Only fifty percent was ever recovered by the police. One month later, Franz Mayfield’s cash assets were stolen, and a sum of money suspiciously close to the amount stolen appeared spread throughout homes around the country. Five years ago, a mistakenly fired missile was projected to kill over a thousand people in Eastern China, when it unexpectedly exploded on the ocean floor. And 23 years ago, on this very day, the Hermivia Astroid was hurtling toward Earth, only to suddenly disappear. Who could have done this? Do you think the Hero League or the Apocalypse Core wouldn’t leap at the opportunity to take credit? No. It was an Independent. A woman whom many of you have now forgotten. A hero with extraordinary power, who could transport anything, anywhere, with seemingly no limit to her range or energy. The only apparently unlimited super to exist. She did not claim fame or recognition, but she inspired me. So today we open our doors in dedication to Liz Hassan.

You’re secretly the most powerful super powered individual, but refuse to become a hero or villain no matter how many offers you get from the Hero League or the Apocalypse Core

[m1ckeyb3rry]

SHAHAHAHAHA STOP I JUST GOT JUMPSCARED BY THAT DOG THATS SO ACCURATE THOUGH??? Now that I’ve gotten over the original shock factor it’s kinda cute but in a “oh my you look like you need some love” kinda way (why’s it so crusty HAHSHSHSHS)

LMFOAOA Rin learning from the two older bros of PxG….but fr I need some goofy lines

No because Nagi sleeps and sits around doing nothing all day what kind of sleeping are you doing to get abs??? Tell me???

ABAHAGSH omg Karasu side chick….Otoya would be devastated

Oh wait I wasn’t aware that Shidou didn’t play in a club before?????? How’d he get scouted then actually…??? Shidou truly is THE enigma of blue lock LMAOAO

REAL like you play what now…? I mean like I played dragonvale and like tiny zoo which involved I guess some level of management but I played for the animals not the management part?? I feel like it would be really funny if he’s just like absolute ass at games like smash bros or Mario kart like I can imagine Otoya, hiori, and nagi kicking his ass LMAO honestly Yuki even beating him would be really hilarious

KARASU PANEL >>>>> ugh I nearly passed out when I first saw him come out in epinagi like prayers have been answered thank you epinagi!!!!!

No because what the hell are those shoes DHDGSHS maybe there’s something about soccer and neon colors I feel like neon yellow is a commonly used color for soccer teams and uniforms too (not just pro teams like little league equivalents and etc LOL) like…I thought the Wanima green shoes were already awful…

Also I saw a theory that their shoe color corresponds to what team they were on first selection!! I thought it was interesting and for the most part checks out but then you load up the official site and it seems team Z is supposed to be blue but Hiori (who was also revealed to be Z) has the team V white and black shoes so er..wondering if the anime team just kinda slapped on whatever color shoes but either way if it were true that would’ve helped a lot with clarifying the other stratums’ player distribution

According to that theory everyone new in second selection would’ve been from team V (black and white shoes) except Nanase who would be team Z (blue shoes)

-Karasu anon

PLEASEE omg i’m sorry for the jump scare 😭 it just is exactly how i view him…like oh you are so crusty i need to love you because no one else will…LMAO i feel like all hairless dogs kinda look like that 😩

rin is following in karasu and shidou’s footsteps but instead of being vaguely menacing/sassy/sexual he’s just going straight for the most insane stuff imaginable (we talked abt the “you’re my property” but also “this is your vip seat” @ isagi was equally as unhinged HELLO????)

NAGI NEEDS TO DROP THE ROUTINE imagine he’s just shredded because he rolls around sm in his sleep that he burns a bunch of calories 😭

yeah according the egoist bible it says “none” for soccer teams played for before bllk 😟 where did my man come from?? is he like an experiment made by ego and anri or smth i’m truly so intrigued by him PLS

i feel like if someone cheated on otoya he genuinely would repent for all of his sins HAHAAH he gives me the vibes that he’s always the heartbreaker but i think getting dumped first by someone he kinda liked might actually cure him 😭

i think we are actually the same person because i was a HUGE dragonvale player as a kid 😰 i actually also redownloaded it on my ipad in my senior year of high school so i could play it in class while pretending to take notes LMAOAOA #nagimoment 💔 i was like known for playing dragonvale in school and still getting good grades which looking back is crazy but yk i was on my grind �� i was soooo happy whenever i got the gemstone dragons (my ruby dragon was my pride and joy) but agreed i didn’t go for aesthetics or anything i literally just tried to breed the prettiest dragons possible and sold the rest 😔

i feel like karasu would play as waluigi in both mario kart and smash and me personally i HATE waluigi so this enrages me but i fear it’s the only correct option for him 😢 in mario kart i think hiori would play as toad, otoya would play as yoshi (original green color) and nagi would play as king boo 🤔 and my goats WOULD beat karasu’s waluigi-picking ass 😴 yukimiya def accidentally joins, picks mario because he doesn’t know any other characters, and somehow manages to win just because karasu is so bad that he goes backwards for half of the map

no neon is sooo soccer like honestly it’s not in character but somehow so is?? those shoes are egregious though i’m actually interested to see how they’re animated…ig it’s to like set sae apart?? idk. but i’ve never heard that theory before it’s cool though!! and it makes sense that most of the players are from team v as that was supposed to be the “best” team in the five-team stratums so those players were probably more skilled and therefore more likely to make it through second selection.

also…a little birdie told me that the next hollyhock chapter will be up in the next hour or so 😯🤭😏🫣🤫 hehehe

[elysianslove]

shameful lust; suna rintarō

synopsis; he’s off limits in every way, but that only makes you want him more. based off of this, this, and this. the smut is inspired by my bunny anon’s birthday idea :) bunny, you know the one :)

pairings; brother’s bsf!suna rintarō x fem!reader

genre; porn with kind of plot lmfao

word count; 5.5k what the fuck??

trigger warning; age gap (not specified, & everyone’s 18+), masturbation, unprotected sex, creampie, squirting, humiliation, praise, mini panic attack, link for the lingerie (slight nsfw warning)

it started off innocent, as most things do. you were sixteen when you first felt the butterflies nestled deep in your stomach, the drop of your heart, the heat of your cheeks, only around him. you’d thought it was a natural reaction; after all, you’d known suna rintarō since, quite literally, forever, and you were a growing girl, hormones imbalanced and thoughts as confusing as ever. it was normal, completely ordinary to feel as nervous as you did whenever his hand so much brushed against yours, or whenever he’d barely glance your way to offer a small, teasing smile.

it meant nothing, of course. you were just a young girl, sixteen, desperate to lose yourself in some sort of fantasy. a silly crush on your brother’s best friend was nothing strange, and definitely inevitable.

it would go away.

you’re eighteen when the feelings don’t go away, and when they begin reshaping into more— impure thoughts. the more you see of him, the more hyperaware you grow of everything that he is. suddenly your eyes easily find the small strip of skin revealed when he stretches his arms up, and suddenly you can’t help but constantly think about the way he sits, legs spread so wide as if to... accommodate something. suddenly your thoughts always find their way back to the way he’d hugged you goodbye, arms squeezing you so tight to him, allowing you to feel every ridge and ripple of his muscles, and the way he had ruffled your hair and his hand, so large, so easily sinking into the strands— and you’re left wondering what else his fingers could do in your hair, to the rest of your body—

it’s bad. it’s really bad. every day you try and convince yourself it’s innocent, and every night you prove yourself wrong when you find yourself on your stomach, face buried in your pillow and teeth biting down on it, mouth dampening the cloth as your fingers rub harshly at your clit and sink into your dripping cunt— all with his name falling off your tongue as you heave and cry. every night you think about how much thicker his fingers are in comparison to yours, how much longer, how they’d feel inside of you, curling within you. you know he’s dexterous, insanely good with his hands. you’ve seen the way his fingers fly across a keyboard or tap urgently at a gaming console. you know it, and it in no way helps in calming your frustration.

it’s bad, of course, but you live with it. after all, he is in every way off limits. a lot older than you, and much more experienced, suna would have to lose his mind before he ever thinks of you the way you think of him. what would a girl like you have to offer a guy like him anyways? your shaky hands and clumsy mouth? your tight cunt that can barely fit two of your fingers? you’d only leave him unsatisfied, and leave yourself utterly humiliated.

worst of all, however, you can’t imagine how devastated, how betrayed, your brother would be if he’d caught you fooling around with his best friend.

so although you’re yearning to say fuck all and fuck him, you don’t, because it doesn’t make sense in the slightest for you to do so. you continue to make due with what shirtless image of him or that time he slept over and went commando, waking up at the same time you had and his — his dick was hard— you could see—

fuck.

you need to grow up.

as you sit with your back to your headboard, your knees bent up and swinging slightly, two simple knock erupt on your bedroom door. it’s late afternoon, the sun’s brightness dimming slightly, casting your room in an orange glow. in all honesty, it’s soothing.

looking up from your phone momentarily, you call out for the person knocking to come in, your eyes returning to your screen once more.

“hey.”

at the sound of the awfully familiar voice, your head snaps back up and you lock your phone, looking up with newfound excitement at the man standing at your doorway. “hi,” you return with a smile, sitting up and crossing your legs.

suna smiles back, walking into your room with one hand tucked behind his back. “your brother said i’d find you here,” he explains, walking towards you.

you quirk a brow, curiously and amusingly smiling as you ask, “whatcha got there?”

he’s quiet for a moment as he walks over to your side of the bed, maneuvering in a way that doesn’t reveal what he has hidden behind him. you twist around on your bed, leaning on your knees to face him properly, and it’s just when you lift up slightly to settle comfortably that he leans down, bends over to get close enough to whisper, “happy birthday, pretty girl.” he gives you not another moment to process how close his face is — how close his lips are to yours — before the hand behind his back comes around between you.

tucked in his hand is a medium sized bag, not related to any sort of brand, so you assume it’s a simple bag he’d gotten from a convenience store. that would really only mean one thing— that he’s gotten you more than just one gift. you can’t see what’s in it since there are colorful papers stacked within it, obstructing your view, but you’re still flustered at the mere thought he’d even considered to buy you a gift. it’s not unusual; suna, every year on your birthday, has gotten you a gift, yet it’s usually more so a gag gift than anything. some inside joke of yours, maybe he’d pay for your dinner, things like that. never a full on, thought out gift.

“you didn’t have to,” you say, settling back down on your knees and hesitantly taking the bag from him.

he waves you off, disagreeing. “course i did; you’re nineteen now.”

you roll your eyes. “wouldn’t eighteen be more special?”

“fine,” he decides, playfully taking the bag from your grasp and pulling it to him. “guess i’ll just give this to someone else then— maybe your mom—“

“suna!”

at your reaction, he laughs boisterously, and against all odds, you find yourself smiling too. quickly, you reach out for the bag again, pulling it back to you.

“open it when you’re alone,” he disclaims, almost as if in warning.

warily, you eye the bag.

“sure.”

you try to be quieter when unboxing suna’s gift, but the paper’s scrunching is just so damn loud. after cursing it out, you finally rid the bag of its first layer of paper, and are met with a scented candle and some lotion. basic, expected. there‘s a card there too, and when you open it, there’s a note in his messy handwriting, reading out a simple happy birthday— and a good couple of yens too. money, a candle, lotion.

so basic.

there’s still more paper beneath, but you don’t expect it to be for anything except decoration, not for—

what the fuck.

what the fuck.

What The Fuck?

your two hands dip into the bag, reaching out for the final gift, grabbing it by its straps and—

holy shit, he got you lingerie.

it’s so— sheer? you don’t think an inch of you will be properly covered, even with the lingerie on. it’s properly transparent, with only the intricate lace designs to modestly cover you. when you dig into the bag, you find the panties to match the bra and— well, it’s pretty, you can’t lie. there are dark, almost flowerlike designs all over, and it’s a deep black, nearly blue or green. there’s also a garter belt, but there aren’t any stockings in the bag to attach to the clips. maybe he’d expected you to take care of that?— ah no, you stand corrected. there are stockings.

fuck, he thought of everything didn’t he?

but more importantly, what the fuck does all of this mean?

burying the lingerie deep inside the bag again, and making sure to cover it up with the paper, thoroughly, you place the other gifts and the card back in and on top, before putting it aside on your bed.

and now, to gather your fucking thoughts.

you had to text him to thank him for the gift, obviously. but there was no way he’d accidentally misplaced the lingerie there. it was deliberately placed, with the way it was folded and tucked neatly, underneath an extra layer of paper above and beneath it? yeah, definitely on purpose. but— why? had he taken notice of your feelings towards him? was this his way of making fun or... reassuring you they were mutual?

god, what the hell are you thinking.

snatching your phone from your bedside table, you check the time.

2:01 a.m.

okay, everyone‘s bound to be asleep by now. hopefully. you eye the bag, so cautiously one would assume there’s some sort of killing machine within it. you contemplate. shake your head. no. the gears twist. yes.

no.

yes. no. yes. no—

fuck it, it’s yours anyways, isn’t it?

you snatch it loudly, rushing off to lock your bedroom door, then rushing to close the blinds, tightly, surely, then rushing to turn the lights off and turning the small lamp by your bedside on instead. what else are you meant to do with lingerie other than, well, put it on? it’s rational, you think, obvious.

it’s fine.

stealing one last, deep breathe, you dump the contents of the bag again, and pick out the lingerie.

it fits.

it fits perfectly.

the bra is snug against your chest, pushing at your breasts but not digging in uncomfortably. your nipples peak through what‘s revealed of the mesh, and when they stand perky and hard, you blame it on the fact that you‘re half naked. the garter belt wraps tightly around your waist, not squeezing to the point of discomfort and pain, but not loose that it’s a nuisance, and the clips that hang from it are attached to a pair of stockings that stop mid thigh, squeezing at the flesh. finally, a pair of panties rest on your cups, cupping your ass perfectly. it too is sheer, and god— you can see so much of you.

is this— what he would‘ve wanted?

you can’t deny that you do look good. it shows your figure off appealingly, and coupled with some dark lipstick, your messy hair, and the slightest smudge to your day’s eyeliner— would— would he have wanted you like this? all dolled up for him?

is this what suna likes?

doubting the fact that you’ll ever have the courage to put this set on again, you grab at your phone, clearing the area before your mirror, then sitting down at the edge of your bed. might as well enjoy it while it lasts, shouldn’t you? posing in the mirror, you appreciate the way you look, the way the dim lighting complements the atmosphere, the way the piece hugs your body and shows you off. you look so good.

so good— for him.

reveling in this surge of confidence, you snap a good amount of pictures, posing differently in each of them, taking them at different angles. your camera roll overflows with them, and as you fall back on the bed, hair splayed out on the mattress, you smile proudly at the pictures.

do you look good enough for him to see?

the thought strikes you suddenly; it tickles at the pit of your stomach, makes your knees bend and your toes curl.

should you?

the messenger app is open at the text messages between you and him before you can think, a picture of you uploaded and ready to send.

should you?

you tuck your lower lip between your teeth, mulling it over anxiously.

no, you most definitely shouldn’t.

quickly, you swipe out of the messenger app, and onto safari. porn it is.

you should‘ve turned the ac on. fuck, it’s hot.

3:10 a.m. 45 minutes since you’d put the lingerie set on and had your mini photoshoot, ten minutes since you’d started masturbating. everything’s still in place except for the garter clips, which have snapped off of your stockings at some point in the past few minutes, but you pay it barely any mind as your legs spread wider, one hand dipped beneath your panties, the other pressing hard against your mouth, trying to keep yourself quiet.

it’s not that you generally had a problem keeping down your noises. your home was constantly filled with people, and you’re almost always sexually frustrated at the most inconvenient times. this time, however, it’s different. it’s different because you’re wearing a lingerie set that suna picked out, that suna bought for you, that suna gave you himself. would he have wanted to watch you touch yourself like this, dressed up so pretty? or— would he have wanted to fuck you while—

shit, you’re gonna cum.

you let out a broken moan, bleeding into a desperate son, muffled barely your hand. your fingers fuck into your cunt faster, squelching lowly as you arch your back, pressing your palm harshly against your clit.

“ugh, hngh,” you whine, squeal, wrist aching. “fuck, rin— please—“

you’re so loud, shit, shit, shit.

beside you, your phone dings! loudly, alerting you of a message received, but you can’t stop, not when you’re so close. it dings again, and again, but you continue to ignore, chasing your own high so desperately, faster, faster, faster. the coil tightens, your body tenses, mind hazing over and eyes rolling back— so close, so fucking close.

“well aren’t you a doll.”

your eyes snap open, and you only manage one second to process who the fuck and what the fuck before your hips are trembling and twisting, and your legs are shaking so awfully as your back arches deep. the moment you hear his voice, so deep and clear, looming just by the edge of your bed where you lay spread, fucking yourself, you cum— and you’re convinced you have a humiliation kink. you didn’t cum because you’d simply been close— you came because you heard him catch you.

in your post orgasmic daze, you pant deeply, chest heaving, rising and falling rapidly as you try to catch your breath. your fingers pull back from your panties, falling to the bed, sticky and wet, while your other hand falls from from your mouth, drool and spit dripping from the corner of your lips.

“aw, you ruined the set.”

you sigh. “rin.” the way you say his name isn’t in a way that’s calling out for him, but neither are you scolding him nor brushing him off for teasing you. you’re just simply trying to process the fact that he’s here.

“i like it when you call me that,” he admits, and in a second he’s falling over you, hands bracing and steadying him beside your head, keeping himself hovering at a small distance. “why do you always insist on calling me suna?” he wonders, head tilting curiously.

blinking slowly, you breathe in, and out, and ask, “what are you doing here?”

above you, he shrugs. “you were the one that sent me those—”

immediately, you’re pushing him off you, sitting up all too quickly as you reach out for your phone. you shakily unlock it, typing in your password and opening the messenger app. he’s right— shit. you could’ve sworn you’d deleted the photo, because you’d explicitly decided just how stupid sending it would’ve been. 

well, look at you now. 

“that wasn’t— oh my god, i’m so sorry, i didn’t mean to,” you stutter, turning your body towards him once more, but avoiding his gaze, your body, only barely having just cooled down, heating up once more. 

“oh?” he tests. “was it not meant for me?” 

“no, i—“ 

he’s smiling all too wide for him to not be getting off on your embarrassment. at the thought of that, your eyes unintentionally snap up to him, to his crotch, where beneath his sweats is a bulge, and god, it’s like all those nights ago where you’d seen his dick through his sweats and he’s big, he’s so big—

“just where do you think you’re looking?” he sneers, hand all of a sudden gripping your chin, tilting your head back up and forcing you to finally, for the first time, meet his eyes. they’re dark, almost sinister, as they narrowly glare at you, begging you for explanation. 

your mind’s no longer clouded over, all pleasure dissipating from your veins, pathetic humiliation replacing it. “i’m sorry,” you mewl, eyes tearing up at the look on his face. of course he was disgusted. just as your stupid crush on him was natural, so was his reaction. “i’m sorry, please don’t tell anyone,” you beg, lower lip wobbling. 

his grip on your chin tightens as he furrows his brows. “tell anyone?” he questions. “about what?” 

had he not— heard you? 

he says your name, firmly, deeply, in a way that has you stifling your sobs and biting your bottom lip to stop its quivering. patiently, you wait for him to speak, to say anything, until finally, he asks, “do you want me to fuck you?” and your heart stops. “yeah?” he continues, his other hand reaching for your wrist, your hand, the same one that’s still sticky with the evidence of you. slowly, as he brings his lips closer to yours, fingers slipping so that he’s squishing your cheeks tightly, he leads your hand to his crotch, to where his dick is painfully hard beneath his sweats. your initial touch is featherlight, and he doesn’t fully press your hand to his clothed cock, but still, just the smallest, tiniest feel of him has the lust in your veins thrumming alive. “you think you’d look pretty—” he pauses, lips hovering by yours, eyes searching for any sign of hesitance or resistance, “sitting on my cock?” 

“i’m sorry,” you apologize again, but he swallows it by finally, finally, pressing his lips to yours. his lips are so soft, softer than you’d imagined and fantasized a thousand times over, as they press against yours, managing to pull the softest moan of surprise and pleasure from you. you’d forgotten, in your moment of shame, just how much you’d craved suna rintarō. just how often you thought about him, those same fingers gripping your chin to be buried inside of you, those pretty lips sucking on your tits and clit. “want you so bad,” you hiccup, kissing him back. “so bad.” 

he hums, amused, pulling back. licking his lips with a grin, as if tasting you, his hands leave you entirely, reaching for the hem of his shirt as he lifts it up, freeing himself of the piece of clothing. “don’t you think i know, sweetheart?” he teases, daringly. at the sight of your eyes widening, he nods with a dramatized serious expression, tutting as he adds, “so dirty, thinkin’ ‘bout me like that.” 

you whine again, hands lifting up to obstruct your face from his view as you fall back on the bed, body bouncing slightly. “stop,” you plead, not for him to pull back but for him to stop reminding you of just how wrong it is to feel the way you do. still, you spread your sticky thighs for him when he presses his hands to your knees, and you shiver at the feel of his fingers tickling at your skin. “i’m sorry.” 

“that’s okay, pretty girl,” he reassures you, faux sweetness dripping like honey off his tongue. he leans in, carefully slow, hands following the curve of his body and yours. “i want you too.” he smiles mischievously, leaning close once more. “so bad,” he mimics you, lips hovering right above yours before he kisses you once more. you want to pinch his arm for outright mocking you, because really, how infuriating can he be? but it’s impossible to want to do anything but desire him in every possible way at the moment, especially when he presses himself harder against you, hips slotting between your legs and clothed cock brushing against your dripping panties. 

“rin,” you plead, hands clawing at his back, grasping at his shoulders. god, his skin is so warm. 

“yes?” he drawls, wet lips kissing the corner of your mouth, trailing easily to your jaw, and down to your neck. patiently, he waits for you to speak. 

with a trembling voice, you ask, “be quick. please.” 

a little stunned, suna pauses his ministrations at your neck, but it’s barely for a second. because moments later, he’s grinning sinisterly into the crook of your neck, sucking hotly as he replies, “sure thing.” 

you do want to take your time. you want him to stuff his face between your legs and sink his fingers so deep inside of you. you want him to force your mouth down on him, want to bury your face in your lap till you’re choking and gagging on his cock. you want him to take his time stretching you for his cock before he sinks inside of you, letting you feel every single inch and ridge of his dick until he bottoms out. you wish. you wish. 

but you’re desperate, and needy, and frustrated, and most of all, you’re not even sure if this is real. you’re scared to blink and have him disappear all of a sudden. you’re scared to wake up with soaked panties and no gift from suna, no suna above you, hard cock pressing against your cunt, only the same suna from all these past years, the same suna you pine over at a distance, wanting but never having. 

so you whimper so quietly, “be quick,” again, because he’s still too slow for your liking.

his fingers grasp the sides of your panties, pulling as quick as he can, sliding them down your thighs, watching as the cloth rolls at the urgency as it slides past your knees, your shins, your ankles, legs lifted high up. at the final loop around your right ankle, as suna flings it off, he kisses at your ankle, gripping it tightly and using it to spread your legs. 

as your legs spread, your pussy, soaking from both your past orgasm and this unbelievable build up, spreads too, glistening and dripping for him. his eyes easily fall to it, and, with that same glint in his eyes, he grins, and licks his lips again. “wish i could have a taste,” he admits to you, shuffling closer and bending your legs closer to your chest with one hand. the other hand frantically pushes at the hem of his sweatpants, tugging it low, beneath his balls. “god, i’d have you sit on my face for hours.” 

he’s going to kill you. 

he’s going to fucking kill you. 

at his words, your cunt pulsates and clenches tightly, hole glistening as you moan. you hope he doesn’t notice, but he does, somehow, and he laughs, too fucking loud. “you liked that, hm? bet you’d look so cute,” he spurs you on, and your entire body trembles. 

you wish to say something, to find the courage to belittle him, degrade him, remind him that if you’re in the wrong for wanting this then so is he, but it’s so hard to find your voice. it’s like he’s stupefied you completely, reduced you to this dumb, wordless, horny mess. god, fuck, it��s embarrassing. you can only watch with wide, tearful eyes and quivering lips and trembling legs as he spits on his hand and fists his cock, quickly, getting himself all nice and slick for you. his cock is— he’s so big, fuck. if you’d been shocked feeling him beneath his sweats, well, your entire body’s rigid with anticipation now. 

just as promised, suna’s quick. with one hand pressing and steadying firmly at your lower stomach, right by your hip, he guides his cock to your cunt with the other, wasting no time by pushing in. no way, no way, no fucking way. 

how is he fitting? 

“ease up,” he orders sharply, forcing more of himself inside of you.

in response, you bring both hands up to your mouth, clasping them tightly above your lips. you remaining quiet is as impossible as ever, with the way he’s stretching you so wide for him, so you press down harder with your hands and throw your head back as he sinks in deeper, and deeper. 

“aren’t a good girl?” he praises sweetly, his other hand mirroring the one on your hip. he watches as you lower your head again, lifting it up slightly to look between the two of you at where he’s fully bottomed out, buried deep inside of you. “feel good?” he wonders, even if he knows the answer. your head falls back again and you nod with your eyes squeezing shut. “feel so full, yeah?”  you’re glad he’s speaking for you, because you doubt you could find your voice at the moment, even if you tried. 

you nod again instead, urgently, just as he pulls out until only his tip remains inside of you, before pressing back in quickly, thrusting into you suddenly. the sight of him above you is better than anything your mind has ever made up, hands squeezing at your hips tightly, both ensuring you keep your legs spread for him and keeping himself up, steadying himself as he fucks into you. his arms bulge and the muscles in his abdomen tighten and tense with every thrust. his chest, so flushed red; his hair, a little sweaty, a little messy; his brows, furrowed deep in concentration; his lips, wet and red, so fucking red, his tongue jutting out slightly as he picks up the pace, as he thrusts faster, harder. 

and best of all: the noises he makes. he’s shameless, fucking into you with abandon, moaning and grunting and whining for you, like he’d been the one yearning, pining, and not you. and, you suppose, with the way he’s fucking into you right now, that there might’ve been some truth in his words, that he’s wanted you just as bad, that this wasn’t some pity fuck— poor little girl, his best friend’s sister, sending him lewd and inappropriate photos because she’s so desperate, she can’t help but lust after him, every single day. 

his hands squeeze even tighter and he grunts, gritting his teeth sharply. “fuck, m’already close,” he grunts, and somehow, that makes your heart swell, pride deepening. “cunt’s so fucking tight, shit.” you’re making him say those words, you’re going to make him cum so quick, it’s you. you. 

when his hands crawl up to your breasts, squeezing and kneading through the bra, your hands fall to his forearms, gripping so tightly and digging your nails into his skin. “please, please, please, cum inside,” you beg, trying to be as quiet as you can. “please rin, please.” 

the bed creaks with the effort and speed of his thrusts, your body bouncing as his cock fucks deep into your cunt. his head bows in, smooth hair swinging forward as he curses. “are you— hm..hngh—sure?” he asks, and you nod so rapidly you feel dizzy, arching your back as much as you can to get him deeper inside of you. he’s a mess of curses and pants as he fucks you even faster, one hand remaining at your breast, grasping tightly, the other lowering to your wet clit, rubbing furiously, messily, clumsily. 

no words are exchanged as he desperately circles your clit with the rough pads of his fingers, squeezing and kneading your breast as he angles his hips, trying to get you to cum before he does. and just as as before, just as he’d caught you earlier, your body starts to tense up, shaking in anticipation as your orgasm draws closer and closer.

but there’s something— different. 

“rin!” you yell out, still half-whispering in an attempt to keep quiet. your eyes well up as you call out for him again, your orgasm unbearably close. “rin, feels weird— oh m—”

he only just barely manages to shove his hand against your face before you’re screaming, throat aching and scratching as you thrash beneath him. around his cock, your cunt spams and clenches down tightly, cum splashing and spraying all over his lower stomach and past his cock to his balls. you’re still thrashing, still squealing and screaming, and he’s spilling inside of you, filling you up impossibly, his cum splashing and dripping as it mixes with yours. 

“holy shit,” he breathlessly marvels, hips still rocking and grinding against yours as he helps the both of you ride out your highs. “you ever—“ he steals in a breath, steadying himself slightly, “—cum this hard?”

you’re sobbing, hiccuping and mewling and whining and crying, your body impossibly sensitive. tears stream freely down your cheeks as you sink into the mattress, feeling quite literally like jelly. slowly, suna pulls his cock out, trying not to get distracted by the way your cunt squeezes out some of his cum, and instead focuses on you, his hands cupping your cheeks softly. 

“hey, hey, eyes on me,” he encourages, kneeling above you as his thumbs brush at your tears. 

“m’sorry, ri— suna,” you heave, hands grasping his as your eyes water again, fresh tears joining ones that are yet to dry. 

“what for, sweet thing?” he asks gently. when you start to lift yourself up, he leans back, sitting on your bed, giving you space to get comfortable. he watches with worried eyes as you furiously rub at your eyes with your palms and the back of your hands, as the tears never stop flowing. shit, did he fuck up somehow? he calls your name again, cautiously reaching out for you. when you don’t reject his touch, his heart settles, just a little. “tell me what’s wrong?” he offers again, and you sniffle. 

“are you not disgusted?” you ask, voice wobbly and cracking. 

his brows furrow, and he cocks his head. “because you... squirted?”

you slap at his arm with a roll of your eyes. “no, suna.” 

“when did i lose my first name privileges?” he asks, dramatically shocked. again, you roll your eyes. well, at least the tears have ceased. softening slightly, suna sighs. he’s shit at this. he’s worse than shit at this. talking in general? awful. talking about his or someone else’s feelings? he’s sure the devil would be better comfort. still, he can’t just— leave you. he’s sure that would make things a thousand times worse.

and honestly, neither does he want to leave you. 

“i can’t read your mind, pretty girl,” he reminds you, and momentarily, you look away. 

until you inhale sharply, and meet his eyes again. “it’s okay...” you begin, trailing off as you attempt to gather your words, before continuing, “that i feel this way for you?” 

at your words, at the much needed clarity, suna sighs in relief. so that was it. “more than okay,” he promises you. 

you nod in understanding, before prodding further, “not weird?” 

he thinks it over, before answering. if he’s honest with himself, the most he’d felt with you was sexual attraction. he liked the way your tits bounced when you ran to greet him or the press of your ass against his crotch when you passed by him to get somewhere. he liked— he liked thinking about your body, your lips, your hands. it’s why he sent you that lingerie set, the one that sits so pretty on your body right now. not that he’d been expecting you to send him anything, and he’d even anticipated that you might feel disgusted, might throw it in his face and slap him too. but he knew you better. suna was observant. he knew more than he let on, more than anyone could imagine. if he hadn’t realized your eyes on him in the past years, he must be blind.

still, he’s not sure if it was ever more, or if it is more. but, he supposes, it’s not an unimaginable feat. he thinks that maybe, there is a chance. he likes you, sure; you make his belly twist and his heart jump. but is he going to risk leading you on? 

he doesn’t know. 

he settles for, “good weird.” 

your face is the definition of a question mark. “what the hell is good weird?” 

“your face is good weird,” he retorts. it’s a bad comeback, terrible actually, but his face is flushing a dark red, and he needs to get away. you’re flustering him and it’s pissing him off. 

“that’s so mean!” 

yeah, the devil would’ve been better comfort. he wasn’t around though, so he made sure suna had been sleeping over that night instead. 

worked in your favor didn’t it? 

end note; my godddddfhksfhbskjbsb ,,, sorry if you found mistakes this took me all day and im not assed to proofread <//3 but i hope you liked regardless!! 

[strangesmallbard]

okay here are my thoughts on most of the kassandra romances in ac odyssey:

odessa: incredible friends with benefits energy. she’s also shady and overly confident, traits i love in a woman. nothing much here, but a solid first romance. 6/10

roxana: their scene on the mountain is SO sweet and fun, also peak friends with benefits vibes with a hint of something more. 7/10

lykaon: if you’re into soft dudes, he’s pretty soft. not my cuppa, but not offensive. 5/10

daphnae: the sheer concept of a daughter of artemis falling for the warrior woman destined to take her place is fucking incredible, but i was craving more relationship development onscreen. 6/10

anais: childhood best friends to lovers to friends with history because our differences are irreconcilable my BELOVED! i loved how regular and grounded this romance felt. it was nice to see someone love kassandra for who she is, and accept that she can’t be everything too. and kassandra is SUCH a dad. 10/10

those two brothers added later on: in my lesbian onion, these quests are much funnier if you don’t like either of them. kassandra is just like “oh sweet, free brothers!” followed by “oh brother” when they declare their love.

alkibiades: he’s the only dude i had kassandra sleep with because there is nothing heterosexual about this relationship. bisexual 4 bisexual energy is off the CHARTS. men get pegged, etc. 8/10

diona: she could not have been less subtle about being a cultist, but she was very hot. this is the exact mental process i gave kassandra. 7/10

kyra: holy shit, i am devastated by this romance and the entire mykonos arc. when kyra throws a KNIFE at her head, and kassandra immediately falls in love. i think she’s one of the few options where kassandra clearly has romantic feelings, so the ending hits like a sack of bricks. 10/10

thaletas: i killed this man. 0/10

brasidas: not an actual romance, but an honorable mention because of the popularity. idk guys i don’t see it at all! they give me major siblings or uncle & niece vibes. i think kassandra trauma dumps because every older spartan guy is dadcoded to her. 0/10

natakas: look, i don’t hate natakas. he’s fine out of context. perfectly inoffensive. he has a nice face. however, i cannot get over the forced heterosexuality and birth situation! it leaves the worst taste in my mouth! i literally haven’t played ac odyssey since i found out! -5/10, i’m sorry natakas you’re very nice but get out of my house right now

aspasia: the biggest missed opportunity of this entire game. i am so disappointed by the last scene in the cult arc because like, aspasia disappears! we have no emotional connection to her! imagine if they had several run-ins during the main quest. imagine if aspasia actively helped you hunt the other cultists. imagine if ubisoft committed to her gaslight gatekeep girlbossing. i wanted unhealthy emotional attachment! i wanted manipulation! that kiss at the end should have HIT. anyway 10/10 the concept in my head, 2/10 the actual romance

[yakumtsaki]

Welcome to the second part of the BackupKingdom2 saga finale, appropriately entitled Doomed, since a) we’re going for the suicidal achievement of the ~Legendary Doomsword~ which is ridic and I’ve never managed to complete it, and b) Liz’s reign is for real doomed.

Kingdom-wise, after a blissful period of security the bandits are back with a vengeance, emerging from the forest every morning in single file like the fucking 7 dwarves.

-Heigh-ho, heigh-ho, a-pillaging we gooo!🎵

UGH LIZ. THIS IS WHAT YOUR BATSHIT TYRANNY HAS GOTTEN US. But worry not, because it’s not just the kingdom that’s going to shit, it’s Liz’s 3rd marriage as well:

I’ve no idea what went down on free will while I was questing around, but Liz now has this permanent negative buff caused by Linotta’s existence. We really didn’t have enough problems around here so this was much needed.

Perhaps Linotta objected to the fact Liz practically lives by the mail box, bombarding Piratefu with messenger pigeons 24/7.

-One of these days she’ll forgive me and agree to come over!!!

Sure she will Liz, I mean if anything pirates are famed for their forgiving nature.

At this point I really can’t deal with Liz’s shitty mood anymore, she’s flopping so hard in her tasks and it’s this vicious cycle of her doing badly>being in an even worse mood because of it>>whining endlessly etc etc, so I’m sorry Linotta but tonight is elimination night in BackupKingdom2′s Next Royal Wife.

-IT’S OVER LINOTTA DUE TO WHATEVER IT WAS YOU OR I DID!!! I STILL LOVE KAYLEY AND I’M SO CLOSE TO GETTING HER BACK ONCE SHE REPLIES TO MY LETTERS. PLUS YOU STILL HAVEN’T GIVEN ME A ROYAL HEIR AND THAT’S THE OFFICIAL REASONING I’M GOING WITH

-How could I give you a royal heir, we didn’t have the same-sex pregnancy mod until today!!!

-I don’t have time for your nonsense excuses, now get the hell off my property!

-The whole kingdom is your property!!

-That’s right, YOU’RE EXILED. AND GIVE ME THIS DRESS BEFORE YOU LEAVE BECAUSE I WANT TO SEE IF I CAN PULL IT OFF

-Of course you can’t pull it off, you don’t have the curves for it!

-Alright I guess that’s true, you can keep it. BUT YOU’RE STILL EXILED AS FUCK

-Oh Heavens above, wherever will I go now? Oh that’s right, to one of the dozen other kingdoms that aren’t being run into the ground by some dumbass lunatic with stupid hair and a cucky non-crown!!!

-YOU TAKE THAT BACK RIGHT NOW OR I’LL THROW YOU IN THE PIT

-YOU CAN’T AFFORD TO KILL ME, THE PEOPLE LOVE ME AND YOU’RE ONE EXECUTION AWAY FROM ANOTHER REVOLT!!!

-THAT’S RIDICULOUS, THE PLEBS WORSHIP ME, THEY WOULD NEVER REVOLT FOR THE 5TH TIME!!!

-Troubadour Bellinda has an entire series of plays mocking you, you idiot! Whatever, I’m out, I hate this orange decor anyway!! There are other colors, you know!!!

-NOT TO ME THERE AREN’T

Man that was rough, how you holding up Liz?

-ROTTEN. HORRIBLE. I NEED TO EXECUTE SOMEONE ASAP. IS THAT TRAMP BELLINDA REALLY MOCKING ME IN HER PLAYS???

Of course not!

-GET OUT OF HERE LINOTTA OR I’LL EXECUTE YOU SINCE THAT’S ALL IM CAPABLE OF DOING 

Bellinda better pack it in before we’re mourning more victims around here.

Song of the woooooods, sad sooooooong of the woods, calling Piratefuuuu, mon amour fouuuu🎵

Incredible song Liz, clearly you’ve never been better so I’ll just leave you unattended for a bit and go play some actual quests-

-WHAT THE FUCK. PIRATEFU!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

-I heard Liz’s enchanting song of the woods and came out! 

You’ve been living in the woods this entire time????

-Well where else would I live?

I don’t know, I assume you had a house somewhere!!!

-Nop, just went back to my bandit tent. 

Good Lord, we could have at least given you a divorce settlement or something, we’re the WORST.

-KAYLEY MY DARLING YOU’RE HERE!!!! I knew my amazing song would work, it took me one year to compose it! 

-You’re looking well Liz, word of your execution spree has reached me, clearly bathing in blood agrees with you!

-Oh my love, I should have never left you for that elf twat, her stupid kingdom has the most useless exports of all time!!! But don’t worry, she was among the first people I executed! Here’s a white rose dipped in her blood!

-Aw Liz, you always know just what to say!

-Can you forgive me, my darling, and be my bandit queen again?

-I’ve waited so long to hear you say that, Liz!

-Well let me say it again on one knee-

-Please marry me again, Kayley, I’ve been going a bit cray cray without you, I love you with every beat of my stone-cold heart!

-God, I’ve dreamt of this so many times..

-NO. HAHAHAHAHA

-WHAT

-Oh, do you not know what ‘no’ means?? FUCK NO I WON’T MARRY YOU AGAIN. YOU THINK YOU CAN JUST DUMP ME, MARRY AGAIN *TWICE* AND THEN I’LL COME RUNNING BACK??? 

-BUT.. BUT YOU KISSED ME, YOU SAID YOU DREAMT OF THIS!!

-I DID DREAM OF IT! Dreamt of turning you down HAHAHAHA. Oh God, this felt SO good. Thank you, Liz. Be well!

-NO WAIT WAIT

-Listen.. You.. me.. together again.. ruling.. executing.. everyone scared of us.. it will be just the way it used to! And we have the same-sex pregnancy mod now, imagine the kind of kids we’ll produce! 

-Damn you, you’re so persuasive.. And I *am* tired of living in a tent.

-Well then..

-HAHA, PSYCH. NO AGAIN, BITCH. SEE YOU NEVER

Piratefu girl istg. Like I can’t even be mad, this was masterful, well played.

Of course Liz is devastated and we all know what that means..

-SENTENCED TO DEATH

-SENTENCED TO DEATH

-SENTENCED TO DEATH

-You are released!

-Thank you, your Majesty!

-And sentenced to death!

Great, all in a day’s work. Now if we can get on with some actual work around here, we have the Legendary Doomsword to make or die trying (and we will). See you in part 2!!

[lightsovermonaco]

His Good Sweater: Chapter 9

Masterlist

As always thank you to my beautiful bestie @acollectionofficsandshit you can also thank her for all the Max content in this chapter. Its a long one, enjoy!

Word Count: 9.6k

Recommended song: “Hate the way” by G-Easy and blackbear

The one thing that never failed to lift your spirits was your dad's homemade blueberry chocolate chip pancakes. Whenever you were upset as a kid, whether it be your team losing a sporting event, your high-school boyfriend dumping you for the head cheerleader, or getting rejected from an ivy league college you never expected to get into in the first place, his pancakes had been there to cushion the fall. Clever as he was, he always messed them up in some insignificant way like leaving off the whipped cream and hiding the container so you were forced to talk to him in order to remedy it. Then he would crack some stupid joke or cheesy pun that would just barely have the ghost of a smile curling your lips.

Blueberry chocolate chip pancakes were no match for the heartbreak of losing your best friend.

The morning after, you only trudge to the kitchen when your stomach's demands to be fed become too loud to ignore. A steaming pile of fluffy pancakes sits at your usual spot, no syrup in sight. You don't have the energy to find your dad and ask where he's hidden it, instead picking at them. You knew the flavor should be fruity and sweet but every bite tastes like ash. One pancake is all you can manage before nausea roils, threatening to make your meager brunch resurface. 

"Some is better than none," Ben murmurs behind you and you drop your chin in the barest of nods. "We can save the rest and you can warm them up later."

"Thanks," you mumble when he takes your plate. You pull your blanket tight around your shoulders as your gaze turns to the window while your brother washes your dishes, wishing for all the world that you could make your uncooperative limbs move and help him but the mental effort it requires is too taxing. Instead you stay curled up on the chair, the noises of the house waking up around you a dull buzz in your ears. At some point your mother kisses your head and hustles out the door to work, her husband close behind. Ben is the last to leave and is reluctant to do so.

"Promise you'll text me if you need me," he says. "Mom already gave me permission to cut class after trigonometry."

"Sure." You both know it's a lie and a bad one at that. Your voice is dull and flat, completely void of emotion. 

"Mom said she's coming home early anyway,” he tries. “Something about overstaffing at the greenhouse."

"Okay."

The mechanical spooling of the garage door tells you he's finally gone. Your elbows slide forward until your head rests on the table, unable to hold it up any longer.

Every fiber of your being yearns for him, to hear the distinct r's and flowery lilt of his accent as he comforts you through the heartbreak, always knowing exactly what to say. It was second nature to call one another when either of you had had a bad day or a good day or just a normal day - you'd talked so often that last year you had convinced your parents to add international minutes to your phone plan. 

Your fingers itch to dial the number you had long since memorized, knowing it would ring no more than twice before he picked up. He never let it go to voicemail unless he absolutely couldn't avoid it and you had a hunch he was waiting for your call.

Despite knowing better, you scroll through the messages on your phone. Love was evident in each witty remark and wish goodnight, pulling at your heartstrings. Your finger hovers over the delete conversation button, and after a minute of debate, you can't bring yourself to do it. You would allow yourself one reprieve to look back on and remember the good.

It would be so much easier if he had given you a reason to hate him. If he'd cheated or intentionally led the media to your house, hating him would be easy. You wouldn't have to admit that you still loved him because his betrayal would have yanked out the newly blooming bud of love you nurtured and crushed the fragile petals. Instead, you were left knowing that it had been your choice to inflict damage in him. You had no right to seek comfort in his arms or even ask how he was doing. You deserved to be miserable for causing him to feel the same way. 

Yuki is the first to check in on you. You don’t know what he expects; you lie through your teeth when you tell him you were fine.

The press is asking me for my thoughts. No idea why. I told them not to stick their noses where they don't belong.

At least someone had the guts to stand up to those bloodsuckers. Yuki was the last person you'd suspect to do so, but the scrappy twenty-something continued to surprise you.

Thanks, you type back. How is he?

You hesitate. You didn't really want to know the answer. Pierre was devastated and just as broken as you are. You delete the last part and opt to refrain from subjecting yourself to biting off more than you could chew.

I'm here if you need me, is Yuki's reply.

Charles, Daniel, and his newly promoted girlfriend were the next ones to text you, all offering varying degrees of support. Daniel's friend was the one that offered to sucker punch anyone that came near you without your permission, and actually dragged a single huff of laughter from your aching lungs.

I'm good thanks. But if I need a bodyguard you'll be first on the list.

Just because Daniel can lift me with one arm doesn't mean I'm not punchy!

I believe you.

Spent, you set your phone down and retreat under the down comforter. The bright pink clashed with your earthy decor, but at least the old blanket didn't smell like Pierre. Your mother had taken it upon herself to erase all trace of him from your room when she had managed to coax you into a shower, and the half hour you had spent letting the scalding water run over your skin had given her plenty of time to do so. The absence of him hurts almost as much as the trace of cedar you know you're imagining when you breathe deep.

It has to be impossible for so much agony to be contained in your body. No matter how much you try, the tears won't stop flowing because Pierre's crushed expression had taken up residence at the forefront of your consciousness. 

It didn't help that so many of your recent memories were touched by his presence. Getting into university served to remind you of the ecstatic call you'd gotten after his race that Sunday, voice strained with a mix of excitement for you and the disappointment of his race ending crash on the opening lap. Even something as simple as staring at the saggy bean bag chair in the corner brought back the memory of the countless times he had lounged there, sprawled out like he owned it.

Max's text brings you briefly back to reality.

You doing okay? Dan told me what happened.

No, was all you say back. Within a minute, Max's face occupies your screen. You sigh but accept the call, laying the phone on the pillow.

"I don't feel like talking, Max."

"That bad huh?" He asks, concern lacing his usually chipper voice.

"Yeah. That bad." As if that summed up getting your heart torn to shreds.

He's uncharacteristically quiet for a beat. "Wanna hear about Vic's day? She had some crazy clients at her salon- it'll take your mind off it."

"I guess," you say, utterly nonplussed. You could care less if he kept talking or not, you wouldn't be paying attention. He prattles on for a few minutes, seemingly unaffected by your silence as his words pass through one ear and out the other.

"Told you it was crazy," he says finally, your cue to respond. You hum noncommittally and Max just sighs.

"Look, I don't know how I can help you unless you come here. I know you have a flight booked- do you still wanna come to the gala? My date's been stolen so I'm in need of one."

"Who stole your-"

The realization hits you before you can finish. Pierre. Pierre stole Max's sister and left him without a date. Something about his willingness to replace you so quickly rubs you the wrong way. It shouldn't have been so easy for him to find someone new; he should be hurting just as much as you. Fundamentally, you knew nothing would happen between Pierre and Victoria. She wouldn't go for him out of respect for both of you and you were thankful in the knowledge that it was completely platonic. Still, it was like rubbing salt in a wound. 

"You know what? I'll go." It was the most you'd said all day, your throat scratchy with disuse. Max whoops on the other line and you could almost see him punching the air in victory.

"Great! When's your flight get in? I'll bring the Acura and pick you up." 

You put him on speaker and login to the airlines website to punch in the flight number. Last night you'd debated canceling the flight that Pierre had paid for, determined to stay home and be miserable. Looking back you were glad you'd trusted your gut and left the reservation untouched. If he could find someone else to attend the gala with, so could you. "I land in Nice at noon on Friday. It'll be a short flight, I can text you when we take off."

"Sounds good. I'll set up the spare room for you. Victoria is staying here too, I'm sure she would love to help you get ready and do whatever it is girls do before fancy events."

"Hey, Max?"

"Whats up?"

You trace patterns through the condensation left by the glass on your nightstand. "Thank you. For understanding."

"That's what friends are for," he assures you. "Is there anything you wanna talk about now? Or are you planning to wait until you're here?"

"Ben's been keeping an eye on me. I'm okay for now." Better now that you had something to look forward to.

"All you have to do is call," he promises. "I'll listen, I don't have anything going on this week besides streaming."

You latch on to the small redirection and run with it. "You and the twitch quartet?"

"They've been kind enough to allow me to join them on the sim this week, yeah."

"I'll try to catch a race. No promises though." 

"See you Friday. Try to contain your excitement."

Your lips twitch upward. "Bye Max."

**********

The rest of the week was more of the same. You stayed home and your family dealt with the swarms of people that still gathered on the lawn each morning not so patiently waiting for you to tell your side of the story. You had decided that the best course of action was to keep your mouth shut and let them figure out for themselves that there was no longer a story to report thanks to the wedge they had driven in your relationship.

By the time Ben drives you to the airport Friday the buzz has died down. You hug your brother tight before checking in for the flight and texting Max. His response is immediate, letting you know he's excited to see you.

You wish you could return the sentiment. You wanted to see your friend, sure, but you were beginning to dread the upcoming gala. Max would be your crutch and you knew he was okay with that, but it still felt wrong. 

Unlike your brother, Max was waiting at the curb when you arrived in Nice. A nondescript cap was perched on his head, the oversized sunglasses he wore hiding his eyes from passersby. His gleaming orange peel of a car attracted more attention than he did for once, people stopping to ogle the Acura as they came and went.

"Hey you," Max greets, a broad grin causing his trademark dimple to appear as he wraps you in a rare hug. You cling to him, throat going tight at the intimacy of it. Max wasn't a physical person by any stretch; if he was hugging you this tightly it meant he knew how broken you were.

He waited for you to break contact first, giving you all the time you need. You sniff and wipe the single tear that had somehow escaped and laugh lightly.

"Hey," you say, voice scratchy. "Thanks for picking me up." 

He waves a hand, brushing it off. "Vic wanted to come but she changed her mind when I told her I was driving."

"Probably a smart choice," you observe, letting him pop the trunk- which was in the front of the car, since the Acura NSX was a mid-engined beast of a Japanese supercar- "and considering your choice of car, she wouldn't have fit anyway."

"This is true." He starts the engine, the roar of which makes a poor old woman a few yards away drop her purse.

The drive back is near silent, broken only by Max's occasional quips about a landmark or an observation about someone's driving. It was impossible for any driver to turn off the analytical part of their brain, their Formula 1 habits crossing into their daily lives. 

When Max parks at the curb outside his apartment, you move to open the door but he hits the lock button. You glance over your shoulder at him and quirk a brow.

"Am I your prisoner?"

"Are you gonna talk about what happened?"

Sighing, you sink back into the seat. The way the bolstering hugs your sides almost makes you believe you could fade into it if you try hard enough. "I wasn't really planning on it."

It had only been a handful of days since you had broken it off, the wound still leaking fresh blood when you poked at it. It refused to scab over or give you any kind of reprieve from the torture.

"You know you'll have to face him tomorrow at some point. He'll want to talk to you."

"That's why I'm going with you. You won't have a problem telling him to leave me alone."

Max sighs. "Yeah, I suppose. If that's what you think is best."

The trudge up the stairs and subsequent silent elevator ride allows your thoughts to wander to Victoria. It wasn't her fault that Pierre had asked her to come with him after you'd canceled, after all she was already planning on going and the late notice meant it was likely no one else could make it, but it didn't stop the pang of jealousy that rocketed through you each time you ruminate on it.

It didn't help when she wrapped you in a hug the moment she saw you and whispered an apology in your ear, like she knew she'd done something wrong. Tears spring to your eyes again and Victoria shoots Max a leave us alone look.

"Uh, I'm gonna hop on the sim. Help yourself to whatever is in the fridge if you're hungry."

"Thanks Max." Your eyes are pinned to a smudge of dirt on the wood floor, safely out of range of anything triggering. Keeping it together was more of a struggle than you'd expected.

"I hope you don't hate me," Victoria starts genuine concern lacing the words. "It was just easiest-"

"I know," you cut in. "And I don't." Your smile is tight, not quite hitting home as she returns it.

"Well then. Let's figure out how we're gonna do your hair tomorrow, shall we?"

**********

The dress was a single, simple piece of fabric, spun of sunset orange and free of any bells or whistles. The feather light chiffon hugged every supple curve through your hips until flaring out slightly at the bottom just enough to allow you range of motion. The deep vee of the neckline prominently displayed your cleavage, toeing the line between attention grabbing and scandal starting and leaving little to the imagination. The back dropped low, leaving the elegant curve of your spine free to be kissed by the salty Mediterranean breeze.

The dress is nothing special compared to the thousand dollar pieces that the other boy's dates would be wearing, but you didn't have the money- or the will- to find something new. It by no means broke the bank when you picked it up from the second hand store last year, but it looked the part. It had been a showstopper at the spring formal you'd originally worn it to and judging by Max's reaction, it still was.

He let out a low whistle when you stepped into the living room. "I'm sorry, did you pick that out with me in mind?" He laughs and despite yourself, heat rises to your cheeks. You hated being the center of attention, even among friends. "It's the perfect shade of orange to match my tie. I swear I didn't plan it that way!"

"I know you didn't." You give him a forced smile, praying he doesn't call you out on it. The dress you wore hadn't been your first choice. The one you originally planned to wear still sat in your closet at home collecting dust. It had been the perfect shade of blue to compliment Pierre's sky eyes, but it didn't match Max's deeper ocean blue. So at home it had stayed, and you had chosen the orange one because it made the necklace at your throat pop.

Your fingers engulf the stone before you can stop yourself, as they always do when your thoughts wander to him. Him, because you could scarcely think his name before your heart wretches at the reminder of what you'd lost. Flashes of bright smiles and soft kisses filter through your mind, making you lock up. You swear you can feel the ghost of plush lips to your throat and the scrape of callouses over the curve of your spine. Your eyes fall shut, desperate to get lost in the idea of him like you used to.

"You good?"

Max's quiet words startle you back into the present. No, you were in no way shape or form good, but you had no choice to fall back on the familiar mask of humor to cover up your inner turmoil.

"The real question is are you?" You smirk and look him over. The Red Bull navy suit strains over his broad shoulders, suggesting he had put on muscle since the last time he'd been forced into it. "You look stiff as a board in that tux."

"I feel so awkward." He straightens the suit coat and absentmindedly lifts a hand to tousle his hair. You grab his wrist just in time to keep him from ruining his sister's hard work and shoot him a chiding look. He grins sheepishly and lowers his hand.

"Vic would kill me if you got to the gala looking like you got run over." 

"That's a good point." He offers you his arm and you accept the lifeline he unwittingly offers you. "But I refuse to leave the windows up on this beautiful night, so we'll test how well it'll hold."

You quirk an eyebrow at him. "You're driving us there?"

"Well duh. I always drive when I'm at home."

You glance sidelong at the glaringly orange Acura parked at the curb a few floors below. Your dress would blend right in with the paint, but perhaps that was a good thing. It would provide that much more of a shock factor when you arrived and stepped out.

"Just don't crash out on the hairpin," you tease half heartedly. 

He rolls his eyes. "At least it's just the two of us so I don't have to call an uber. Vic's getting picked up by-'' Max cuts himself off and gives you an apologetic smile.

"You can say his name," you whisper, eyes trained on the tile of the hallway as you walk. "It's not like he's gone."

"Getting picked up by... Pierre," Max tries, carefully monitoring his neutral tone. God, you thought you could handle it but you can't, stumbling over your own feet with only Max's grip on your arm to catch you.

He'd dance with Vic tonight, and probably countless other women, his hands drifting over their bodies like they'd done on yours only days ago. You'd be forced to watch from the sidelines and make small talk that no one would remember come morning, utterly unable to do anything about it. At least Daniel’s girlfriend would be there to be the voice of reason, if you could peel her away from Daniel long enough to speak with her for any length of time.

Max was uncharacteristically quiet on the ride to the venue, leaving you to study the city as he drove. Few yachts were left in the harbor as the sun was swallowed by the sea, the owners undoubtedly set sail for a weekend getaway. Your gaze involuntarily searched for the slip that held Charles' Ferrari red speedboat that you'd visited countless times with Pierre. The eyesore was hard to miss when surrounded by its monotone brethren, memories flooding back in droves at the sight of it.

Sighing, you turn away to glimpse what you can of the city through the ridiculously tiny sliver of windshield. How anyone could confidently drive the Acura while having so little field of vision was beyond you. It was probably second nature to Max, who weaves through the narrow streets with practiced ease and barely lets off the gas through the corners. 

The city of Monaco rarely slept, and tonight was no different. Soft yellow fluorescent glow seeps from high rise balconies, the occupants soaking up the last dregs of sunlight before heading out to the casinos and clubs. People spilled out of cafes onto the sidewalks, their laughter lingering on the breeze as you speed past.

The list of people you trust enough to get in the car with and let them drive with such intensity is short: Max and Pierre. Not even Daniel made the final cut, not when his then not-girlfriend had recounted the tale of him losing the rear of his McLaren 570s at a track day and nearly sending them into the wall. According to her, he'd been too busy ogling her to keep his full attention on the road, but it was enough for you to question his judgement at times.

If you close your eyes, you could pretend it was someone else next to you, cutting through the gears like a hot knife through butter and coaxing every inch of performance out of the car that he could with the light traffic. You draw a surf-scented breath deep, lungs aching with the effort. 

Max joins the queue of cars waiting to park outside the venue, your attention trained on the guests stepping out of cars and climbing the wide set of marble steps leading to the sleek glass building. The modern structure is slightly out of place among the Roman-esque buildings surrounding it but the air of importance it exudes overrules any who dare say it doesn't belong.

"I can't tell you how glad I am that there's an open bar," Max remarks, hanging his head out the window to wave at someone. "It makes these events so much easier."

"You're telling me," you mumble, searching involuntarily for a familiar head of dusty blond hair in the droves of people arriving. Instead of sight, it's the unforgettable rumble of his Civic Type R's exhaust that alerts you to his arrival. Your head whips around, eyes eating up the pearl white paint of Pierre's favored car as it slides in behind you. You silently thank whatever deity is listening that his windshield is tinted, protecting you from seeing the smirk you are certain is playing on his lips.

Once upon a time, the cockpit of that car had been your favorite place in the world. You'd spent countless hours inside it eating shitty gas station cuisine and singing along to the radio at the top of your lungs as Pierre drove you to whatever adventure he had planned for the day. 

Max waves at your- his friend, you remind yourself sharply- and revs his Acura in response. He leaves the keys with the valet, picking up on the tension in your shoulders as the white car parks behind you. Max tugs your arm in attempt to turn you away, but your feet are rooted to the spot. 

“I see you found another date-” The flash of a grin on Pierre's face as he steps out is immediately dashed when he notices you on Max's arm.

If looks could kill, Max would keel over then and there. A muscle in Pierre's jaw flutters as he takes in the sight of the two of you together, your hand on the Dutchman's forearm and your matching attire looking for all the world as if it was purposefully coordinated. 

Max lifts his chin, spine going straight under Pierre's threatening glare. “Her airfare was already paid for and she already had the dress. Someone had to take her.”

Your stomach sinks; the last thing you wanted to do was become a point of contention between the two boys, but you refused to apologize for at least attempting to enjoy yourself. 

Pierre doesn't speak again, only nods to Max and pointedly avoids your stare. He tosses the keys to the smart-dressed kid serving as his valet, coming around to open Victoria's door. With his back turned to you, you take a moment to study the crisp white suit he's chosen for tonight. You had always told him black wasn't his color and he seemed to have taken it to heart. White was what you loved seeing him in, and the tight cut brought back memories of a different type of suit in an entirely different city only a few weeks ago. You'd peeled him out of that Alpha Tauri race suit the moment he made it to the trailer, eager to worship him after his podium. You'd be lying if you said it hasn't been the best sex of your life.

"Come on," Max urges, placing a chaste hand on your upper back and turning you around. He leads you up the stairs, his comforting touch never leaving your skin for a moment. The callouses were all wrong, the fingers too broad to be who you wanted it to be, and yet you couldn't help but imagine it was Pierre leading you up, stopping to smile for the few cameras scattered around.

Flashes spot your vision as you pull your face into an expression of excitement. Max murmurs something in your ear that you think is encouragement but the din of reporters is too deafening to be sure.

"How come you aren't with Pierre?"

The shouted question comes from an unknown assailant but it strikes you like a physical blow. You freeze, mouth going dry as you search for a suitable excuse. Max grants you the space of a single heartbeat to respond before he does so on your behalf.

"How about you mind your own damn business and worry about your cheating wife?"

The man who had bombarded you goes slack jawed, Max's wild guess clearly somehow hitting him just as hard as he had hit you.

"Keep walking," he urges you, leading you through the blinding sea of flashing lights. When you hear the same question directed at Pierre, his flippant laugh grates on your nerves.  

You don't have it in you to appreciate the grand architecture of the entrance hall, too busy trying to keep your breathing in check. Max steers you off to the side and places his hands on your shoulders.

"Look at me," he demands, and you drag your eyes up to his face. "Breathe. He's hurting just as bad as you, only difference is he's better at hiding it. Just enjoy the night okay? I'll grab you a drink and we can find Daniel and his friend and you two can catch up."

You nod, placing a hand on your throat. The delicate chain of the necklace is a vice around your neck, the reminder of him pulling it tight. Your pulse hammers beneath your fingers and you focus on it until it slows. "Get me whatever you're having."

Max disappears in the crowd, and you take a seat at the bench tucked in the corner. No one pays you any heed as they walk past, entranced by the elegant decor and fragrant florals. Your head falls forward to rest in your hands and you struggle to take deep, calming breaths.

Pierre was here. Inhale.

He looked happy. Exhale.

He was getting by. Inhale.

You could get by, too. Exhale.

Renewed, you glance up in time to find Max standing before you with a drink of dark liquid adorned with maraschino cherries in each hand. He extends one glass to you and you don't bother to question what it is before swallowing half in one go. "Better?"

"Much." You stand and brush out the wrinkles in your dress. "Where are we sitting?"

"Er, about that," Max starts, rubbing his neck sheepishly. "They put two teams at each table. We're at the Red Bull Alpha Tauri table."

"I see." You take another deep, steadying breath, letting the anxiety ebbing in your veins fade out with the exhale. It was times like this that you channeled Daniel a bit. It sounded silly and you would never admit it, but the slogans on his helmets worked if you focused on them hard enough. All good, all ways.

If Pierre could get through tonight, so could you.

“I can try to see if I can switch tables-”

"It's fine," you say and down the rest of the drink. “I can handle it.”

Max shifts on his feet, his discomfort something you rarely see from him. He usually excelled at keeping a straight face in uncomfortable situations but it seems that your unease rubbed off on him. “We should get going then, dinner will be served any minute.”

You once again take the arm he offers you, the liquor in your veins already granting you false courage. “We would have time to mingle if you hadn’t taken the scenic route.”

“It was nice out,” he protests, and pulls you to a halt when he spots Daniel across the hall. His girlfriend waves at you with a sad smile. She gestures between the two of you to indicate that you’ll talk later before Daniel pulls her towards the McLaren table. That boy was punctual to a fault and would be caught dead before he was late to anything.

Thankfully, the two of you arrive before Victoria and her date and are able to secure seats that ensure there’s a buffer between you. By some small miracle Christian Horner and his wife were absent and instead a few engineers and their significant others sat at the packed table. Max greets Gianpiero while you take your seat, happy to observe.

“Hey!”

You twist in time to see Yuki’s short frame emerge from the crowd and point to the empty seat to your right. “This one taken?”

You shake your head, standing to give him a quick hug. “How are you doing? Where’s your date?”

“Ah, she couldn’t make it. Had some family stuff to take care of. You look great, by the way.”

You dip your chin in thanks, unsure how else to respond. He was in a white suit that you were sure would wind up stained five minutes into dinner. “Did they mandate that you wear white?”

He shakes his head with a rueful smile. “Honestly, it’s the only one I own. I haven't been to enough events to build up my closet yet."

"Well I think it's…"

You spot Pierre before he sees you. His brow is slightly creased as he hunts for the correct table using the same focused determination as when driving his Alpha. For a split second, he meets your gaze. The cacophony of the event fades to background noise and suddenly it's just the two of you and you damn near lift your hand in a wave. You're positive he can see your heart beating out of your chest like in an old cartoon as you curl your fingers into a fist in your lap. Your restraint proves fatal, the floor falling out from beneath your feet when he drops your stare. This was your new normal, you remind yourself. Stolen glances were all you would get.

"I can move," Yuki says, starting to rise. You grip his wrist, holding him in place.

"Please don't." The only other open seats were across the table, and at least then you didn't have to worry about brushing elbows with him all night long.

Yuki nods, slowly settling back in. Max finally takes his seat after giving your shoulder a supportive squeeze.

"You don't have to say anything to him," he reminds you, barely audible over the scrape of chairs and various chatter.

You find anywhere else to look as Pierre pulls out Vic's chair for her and makes his rounds to greet everyone. Daniel and his girlfriend are seated a few tables away and you distract yourself by attempting to read their lips. You manage a few minutes of tenuous peace, catching snippets of Daniel's cheesy jokes and her disapproving, yet flirty, responses.

"Damn, we clean up well, huh?"

You squeeze your eyes shut at the sound of home. His words are honey and you lap them up like you'd never tasted anything sweeter. They weren't even directed at you and yet somehow you twist them to fit your narrative.

Pierre stands at the bottom of the stairs like a chaste high school prom date patiently waiting for your grand entrance. He checks his watch and rakes a hand through his messy hair. You stifle your laugh with a hand, amused by his unnecessary nervous energy.

Taking mercy on him, you clear your throat. His gaze snaps up to you, mouth falling open. You take your time gathering the orange fabric of your dress and descending the stairs, savoring the way he eats you up. He was resplendent in his crisp white tuxedo and you had half a mind to make him late for the gala and strip him out of it then and there and devour him.

Your heels clack on the marble floor of his entirely too fancy apartment and you pause to do a little spin for him, earning you an appreciative whistle for your trouble. A laugh bubbles out of you and you place your hands on his shoulders. His own settle on your waist to pull you flush against him, his body heat soaking through the thin fabric of your dress to warm your core.

"Damn, we clean up well, huh?"

You start when knuckles graze the back of your bare neck. The touch is there and gone but you know immediately that it's Pierre. It's slight enough to be brushed off as accidental to anyone else, but nothing was accidental with Pierre. The barely there contact conveys more than any words ever could. 

He still loved you. You looked stunning. He wishes you were still his so he could prove it to you. All this and so much more contained in a half second brush of his skin to yours.

It all comes back to you in a rush, the emotion you'd so carefully tucked away in a locked box in the back of your mind finally set free. His touch ignites any other thought in your mind that isn't him, burning it away until it's ashes on the wind. 

Despite your better judgement, you lean into him, giving him permission to unravel you. This time you sigh when his fingers ghost over your skin, electricity sparking in their wake. You didn't care who might be watching; the tiny touches were slowly repairing your shattered heart. Your traitorous mind replaces his fingers with the brush of his lips to your nape, imagining the heat as he slides the strap of your dress off your shoulder, lips moving to follow.

You bite your lip to stifle a groan when his heat is withdrawn, leaving you feeling inexplicably naked. You open your eyes to find Victoria's pitying stare paired with an apologetic smile. Max nudges you with his elbow, and you realize someone has addressed you.

"Um, what?"

"I said I like how you guys coordinated outfits," Pierre repeats and openly prods your shoulder. "Obviously Max chose the color."

His tone is playful, but his words are clipped in a way only you understand. Craning your neck, you twist to look up at him. His eyes are cloudy and his smile doesn't reach them, more for show than anything else. "It was an accident."

"Doesn't look that way."

Your retort is ready on your tongue but he doesn't give you a chance to reply before retreating to his seat. His ability to act as if nothing has changed astounds you, as your head is still reeling from the pinpricks of his skin on yours. Instead of being rendered speechless, he strikes up a conversation with Yuki about the Alpha's performance, leaving out the confidential details but giving enough away that it surprises you.

The sheer fact that he can so easily switch off whatever feelings he harbors is unfair. The sensation of his fingers on your neck still lingers and it's all you can do to keep from stepping around the table and slotting yourself between his legs like you had in that bar in London. Your nails bite into your palms, listening in if only for his voice to wash over you and calm your racing heart.

When he mentions the rake angle, you know it's just to mislead anyone who might be eavesdropping. He'd told you the exact angle in the past, and it certainly was not one degree, and it did not cause the level of understeer he was describing.

"The understeer comes from improper tire selection," you blurt. "And driver error."

All eyes turn to you and you straighten. You knew enough about the construction of a Formula 1 car to be positive your assessment was correct. You were almost as certain that he'd said it to force you into speaking to him whether you liked it or not.

"What was that?"

If Pierre could torment you with his subtle touches, you could do the same and call him out when he was wrong.

"Driver error caused the rear end to slide out around that turn in Japan, not the rake angle. That's got nothing to do with it. Your tires were blistered because of you taking an imperfect racing line and they were old. You miscalculated the level of traction they'd give you."

Why no one else had pointed it out was beyond you.

"So you're an engineer now?" Pierre challenges, crossing his arms. Something about the arrogance radiating from him rubbed you the wrong way. You let all the emotion of the past few days surface and add fuel to the fire.

"No, but I've learned enough to see through the bullshit drivers spin to mislead other teams."

Max murmurs your name in warning but your frustration is boiling over. He replaced you tonight, didn't even pause to consider going alone and instead choosing to take Victoria. Sure, it had been your fault that he was dateless, but that didn't give him the right to hurt you too. He knew it would destroy you to see him with anyone else even if it was completely platonic, but he did it anyway.

"Why don't you tell me where I should brake on turn ten since you're an expert all of a sudden?" Victoria lays a hand on his arm but he yanks it out of her grip. "What crack in the pavement? Or is it a mark on the barrier? Drive one lap in my car and then you can tell me how to drive."

It wasn't your analysis that had upset him. You'd done so plenty of times and he had always taken your criticism with an open mind, using it to tweak his driving style to improve his lap time or turn it into a teaching experience so you could learn. No, judging by the way his eyes are lined with silver that he fights to blink away, it's your betrayal that upsets him and rightfully so. You glance around the table but no one is willing to meet your eyes save for Max, who angles his head as if to say fight for it.

But you can't. It's monumentally easier to let Pierre win and sweep it under the rug than to address the deeper issue. "I was trying to help," you say lamely, picking at the salad in front of you.

"You don't get to do that anymore."

The venomous words hit like knives, knocking the breath out of you. Your mouth hangs open like a fish gasping for air but any reply you think up dies on your tongue.

As the music fades out and a man climbs up onto the stage, Pierre gets up and leaves. You track his progress as he weaves through tables, noting Daniel reaching for him as he passes. You flinch when the balcony door slams behind him, an astonished murmur rocking through the crowd.

"You should probably talk to him," Max whispers.

You shake your head, not trusting yourself to speak. You had no idea what you would say. 'Sorry' was insignificant and 'I love you' would be cruel when the barest of thought regarding how the media treated you made your stomach churn. 

Max pulls his phone out under the table and you think you see Charles' name on the screen. Good; someone had to make sure Pierre didn't do anything he would regret in the morning and if it wasn't you, Charles was the next best chaperone. A minute later, the Ferrari driver leaves his seat too, exiting the same way as Pierre. 

Focusing on what's said on stage proves fruitless. Try as you might, your attention is trained on the side door Pierre had disappeared through, praying he returns despite knowing it would mean more barbed words hurled at you. Neither he nor Charles return at any point during the presentation. His absence was quickly becoming a gaping black hole, swallowing up any semblance of sanity you had managed to gather in preparation for tonight.

"Try to have some fun," Max says, nudging you with an elbow. "As soon as this guy shuts up I’ll get us some more drinks and then we can eat and get out on the dance floor and forget about everything, yeah?"

You nod. You already feel the buzz of the first drink, and one or two more would push you thoroughly over the edge into blissful forgetfulness. "I don't wanna be sad anymore."

**********

He didn't know where he was going. All he knew was that he had to get away from you before he said something that would tear whatever hope he held of repairing what was between you to ribbons. He registers Daniel's low, "Gas, you good?" as he breezes past, but doesn't pause to answer. His sights are locked on the wide, carved oak doors that lead to fresh air.

The breath whooshes out of him when he flings open the balcony doors. They slam behind him and he winces. Chalk that up as something else for Helmut to pick him apart for on Monday.

Pierre rakes a trembling hand through his hair and rests his elbows on the railing, sucking in lungfuls of air like he'd just surfaced from a dive in the harbor. 

When you'd agreed to come to the gala with him, he had been overjoyed. You hadn't made it to the winter gala earlier this year due to a last minute exam and he had sulked the entire night. He still had the place card embossed with your name in the fishbowl by his door, the sizable container nearly overflowing with memories of you. Everything from forgotten earrings to plastic hotel key cards filled the bowl and it was a bright reminder of your adventures together. His plan had been to add another place card to the mix after tonight but after what he'd just said to you, he'd rather forget today ever happened. 

He fucking hurt. Everything just hurt, from the shirt collar scratching at his neck to the bone deep ache that had started when he laid eyes on you on those steps, arm locked with Max's. You'd stolen the words from his mouth, the jab he'd planned to toss at Max dying at the sight of you. 

He hadn't expected you to come tonight. Despite anyone's objections, he'd been fully prepared to get completely shit faced to the point that the ghost of your skin no longer haunted his fingertips and your voice no longer sang in his head. But seeing your damned face had shattered the false reality he had constructed, the one where you never broke him and left him scrambling to piece himself back together.

The universe had dealt him another low blow when he discovered Red Bull and Alpha Tauri would be at the same table and he'd be forced to endure your presence at arms length, close enough to touch but absolutely not allowed to do so. It was his own personal hell, constructed solely to punish him for whatever transgressions he'd made in his life.

And that fucking dress. 

The orange painted the aquamarine charm at the hollow of your throat in sharp relief, showing it off like he somehow still owned you. If you had arrived with him, he would have already led you back to the Civic and bunched that damned dress up past your hips to drag his favorite sounds from you with his tongue. If he could just get you alone, he's sure it wouldn't take more than a single touch to have you crashing into him and begging for more.

Seeing you with Max tonight paints an entirely different picture.

It's Max he sees tearing off the dress at the end of the night when you get back to his apartment. Max's hands slide over your hips and you laugh, walking back so you can keep your lips on his as he slams the door shut behind you. You dip your head back when he presses you to the wall, Max unfaltering as his lips and teeth trace the curve of your exposed throat and he slips the straps of the matching dress of your shoulders to let it pool at your feet. Max's name breezes past your lips on a shaky exhale as you become putty beneath his fingers.

No matter how loud Pierre calls your name, you don't hear him, instead cupping the back of the Dutchman's head and pulling him in for a heated kiss. When you do finally notice him observing from afar, agony wracking his body, all you do is grin. It feels real, even though Pierre is certain it's a crazed fever dream, his mind spinning his worst fear to life: you seeking comfort in the company of someone that wasn't him.

Pierre starts when the door squeaks open, the nightmare thankfully dissolving. Charles steps out clad head to toe in blazing Ferrari red and instantly he knows who sent him. The thought alone stokes rage in his chest, the image of your lips on Max's still fresh.

"Not as easy as you expected it to be, is it?" He asks, stuffing his hands in his pockets.

"Fuck off," Pierre growls and immediately regrets it. Beyond you, Charles was his closest friend. They had known each other for ages. It wasn’t a friendship he was willing to sacrifice just because he felt like shit. Pierre sighs and throws him an apologetic glance. "No it's not."

"Why don't you talk to her?"

"She doesn't want to fucking talk, Charles. Take one look at her, she's hanging on Max like she can't get enough of him." Pierre hangs his head in his hands, emotions shifting faster than he did on race day. "I can't go back in there and watch her choose him over me."

"You don't really believe that bullshit, do you?" Charles asks, joining him at the railing.

Not entirely, but he still struggled to understand your thought process. He thought he knew you, but you being here tonight when he had been certain you wouldn't be proved he didn't. 

"I don't know what to believe anymore. I thought it would be forever, that I'd finally found someone who didn't mind my lifestyle and accepted it for what it was, who loved me unconditionally. I thought she was my forever."

"You think she's done with you just because some assholes invaded her privacy?" Charles shakes his head. "She's loved you for a long time, years even. You haven't seen the looks she gives you, but the rest of us have. You hung the moon in her sky, Pierre. That kind of thing doesn't just get swept away by the breeze."

His shoulders curl inward in an attempt to hide the frustrated tear that escapes him. "What am I supposed to do?"

Charles shrugs. "I don't think there's a right answer to that. Try giving her some space. She didn't grow up in the spotlight like we did. It's not an easy adjustment for some people, mate. And blowing up on her when she tries to make conversation doesn't help anything," he says gently. "Let her figure it out and come to you when she's ready."

The concept of letting you go even temporarily was terrifying to him. Waiting on you to make the first move was even worse because he was setting his fate in your hands. 

"I miss her," he murmurs, turning his face to his friend.

"I know." Charles throws an arm around the taller man's shoulders and follows his gaze out over the tiered streets of Monaco's city center. "My suggestion is to throw yourself into the season. Show her you know how to fight, y'know?"

Pierre nods. He could do that. It was how he normally handled his problems anyway; let the track wick away whatever was on his mind and force him to hone in on the details surrounding him in each moment. 

"You ready to head inside?" Charles asks.

"I don't think I can go back just yet."

"Want me to hang out here with you?"

"No. I'll be back eventually."

Charles' hand falls from his shoulder after a short squeeze, the sound of a tinny voice over the speakers temporarily flooding the balcony as Charles returns to the banquet. Pierre allows himself a few more moments of reprieve before slipping back inside just as the applause starts. Rather than returning to the delicately portioned meal that sat cooling before his empty chair, he orders a drink. Whiskey on the rocks, his go to in times of crisis. He takes one sip before the reminder of you ordering it for him in London makes holding the glass of caramel liquid unbearable and he downs it in a single swallow, going back to order a beer instead.

He nurses the green bottle of Heineken as he leans against the wall until the meal is finished and the chit chat starts. You stand with Max, practically pressed against him as you snatch a flute of champagne from a passing server. You search the crowd, brows drawing together when you don't locate your quarry. Pierre had made sure that he was tucked out of the low lighting, unsure if he could survive you stealing worried glances at him all night. 

Charles winds his way over to pass off a roll he snagged from dinner, practically forcing the Frenchman to eat it before returning to his date. He nibbles at it absentmindedly, entirely too focused on you to divert an ounce of focus elsewhere.

Your dress is a glowing sun in a sea of earth tone garments, drawing his eye as you pull Max out onto the wood platform serving as the dance floor before the tables are fully cleared. The flush in your cheeks tells him you're deeper in your cups than you should be; Max didn't know your limit as well as he did. Three drinks was all you could manage before you got tipsy, five if you wanted to be completely blitzed. 

The lights dim and his hiding spot is no longer quite as good as the party lights sweep over him from time to time. Max places one hand on your hip and you place one on his shoulder and grin up at him. Judging by the fit of giggles that requires you to lean into Max for support, you were teetering dangerously on the edge of being wholly drunk. You throw your head back and laugh at whatever Max says in response to your fit, Pierre straining to hear the musical sound over the band. 

"Hey," Victoria says, breaking his concentration. "You wanna get out there?"

Pierre grimaces. He had managed to completely forget about her, too stuck in his own head. "Sorry, Vic. I don't think I'd be a very good partner tonight."

"No worries," she says, a soft, understanding smile on her lips. "I can keep myself busy."

Pierre nods his thanks, his attention immediately returning to the dance floor. Daniel and his girlfriend steal the show, both laughing as he dips and twirls her across the floor. 

Being together was so fucking easy for them, effortless in a way it wasn't for you and Pierre. They never once paid any heed to the photographers that swarmed them or the headlines printed about them, they just laughed the rumors off and carried on. No one could question their love for each other because they were vocal about it- sometimes annoyingly so- and Daniel was rarely seen in public without her at his side. They were always touching, holding hands or stealing kisses or even the near scandal of his hand blatantly on her ass at the podium a few races back, and neither of them cared.

Their love was all that mattered. They didn't care who knew it.

But you and Pierre were far too private to be like that, at least not when you were still trying to figure things out yourself. The first sign of outside pressure had you cracking, and he wouldn't stand for knowing he was the source of your pain.

He tries and fails to convince himself he isn't jealous of the way Dan's hand so easily glides under the navy blue silk of her dress to caress her back without a second thought, wishing he could do the same to you. If he's being honest, he's living vicariously through Daniel for the next few songs, pretending he was someone else observing you and himself on the dance floor instead. It almost works; the way she shudders when his lips graze her ear is strikingly similar to how you'd react. The smile she flashes up at him is agonizingly close to your own wicked grin.

When her mouth finds his, Pierre gathers his wits and turns away. Their blatant public affection flipped a switch inside him, disgust rocking through him for a split second before he pushed it away.

He was happy for them. He knew what a long, rocky road it had been for them to become lovers instead of friends, had firsthand knowledge of the stress they'd gone through before they'd finally admitted their feelings to each other, put their pride aside and got together. Pierre had been the one to offer her advice on a night not much different than this one months ago, helping repair the damage Daniel's idiotic, thoughtless words had caused. 

But Pierre had since become the person who was sickened at the sight of others in love. It reminded him that part of himself was missing and he hated it.

No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't keep his eyes from wandering back to you. You still occasionally scan the room as Max struggles to lead you through a dance. By some stroke of bad luck your gaze snags on him just as a spotlight illuminates his face and he grimaces. A slow blink is the only surprise you let show before laying your head on Max's shoulder. Jealousy spikes through him like wildfire, igniting his blood and tinging his vision with red.

He wants to march over and rip you off Max. He wants you tucked safely against him as his thumb rubs circles on the bare skin of the small of your back. He wants, more than anything, to take you to his apartment and half carry you up the stairs, having to shush you because you're giggling loud enough to wake the dead, and lay you down in his bed. He wants to help you out of that stunning dress and into a pair of his sweats and curl up against you, letting you sleep off your hangover until noon.

He'd fucked up that chance though, hadn't he? He had slipped up and driven you straight into your friend's arms, who he trusted not to make a move on you but not enough to negate the jealousy coursing through him.

In that moment, he hates you. He hates the hold you have on him, the way a simple gesture between half-drunk friends could send him into a spiral so steep he didn't recognize himself. He hates that he can't keep his eyes off you, your gravity too strong for him to resist.

Most of all, he hates that he doesn’t know how to quit you.

@seasidetom @flashcal @limp-wrist-max​ @sunshinesewis​ @lifeofzoemichael @ninuffi @perfectfantasies22 @lamboleglerg @ladyperceval 

[peralta-guaranteed]

Wishing I could read something about Peraltiago talking about how they feel on all Teddy's proposals to Amy. They are really akward, uncomfortable moments and Teddy really crosses the limits every single time, and wish we knew more on their takes about it. Once I read a fic about Jake sending Rosa to stop Teddy and take care of Amy but it just not the same.

lol I have a fic on that topic exactly - I have a proposal for you - where I had the cathartic experience of writing about Rosa breaking Teddy’s hand for being so awful, but I agree with you, Teddy reappearing in the show is so uncomfortable each time ugggh. I thought the wedding one was the worst but then he shows up literally fathering a child with someone else and still does it, disgusting.

So maybe take this as taking place before that fic of mine, where Jake does mention how bad Teddy's proposals make them feel!

Jake can tell, just from the simple drop of her purse in the hallway, that it wasn't a good day.

Weird, how it's these tiny things that he's learned to read instantly - or maybe not, given that he's a detective trained to focus on details others would overlook, and being unable to stop the habit when it comes to the most important people in his life.

She tries to be all smiles when she comes into the living room, though, where Mac is happily rolling around in his playpen while Jake is folding laundry on the couch, the very picture of domesticity as she leans over the pen to kiss their squealing, giggling little baby. The view of her in one of her old pantsuits instead of her Sergeant's uniform is already making his hearts do little leaps even before she makes her way over to Jake for their customary Welcome Home kiss.

"How was that inter-department meeting today?" He asks as she shrugs off the suit jacket and continues her pace into the kitchen, setting aside a set of Mac's bibs that can't be folded anyway.

"Okay." She replies, and that's enough to make him abandon the laundry alltogether and follow her (one eye on Mac, of course, but he's not even crawling yet, and couldn't roll himself into any danger on his foam-based playmat - probably). It's rare that she doesn't have at least one inspiring, 'interesting' or just generally informative story to share from her meetings, the only person in probably all departments looking forward to them.

She's staring into the fridge when he reaches the room and leans against the counter, trying to gauge her level of upset. From the raised shoulders and the fact that she doesn't need to check the fridge to know they were going to order Chinese tonight, he guesses it's at a solid 8, at least.

"Teddy was there." She mumbles into the cold, bright space in front of her, and Jake's shoulders tense up just as much as hers even as he tries to sound as chill as possible.

"How is he?"

"Still extremely boring." Then, after a pause. "Still hung up on me."

So much for chill.

"Did he propose again?"

She nods and sighs, her shoulders dropping as she closes the fridge, but doesn't turn toward him.

"I don't know what's wrong with him." She says through gritted teeth, suddenly. "He has a child with someone. He has a wife. How can he look at them and turn around and-"

Mac's little happy cooing from the living room interrupts her, as do Jake's arms as they wind around her middle, his chin dipping into the space between her shoulder and her neck.

"That's probably a question only a therapist could answer, babe."

Amy sighs as she leans back, falls into the warmth and support of her own husband, the father of her child that she can hear happily babbling to himself from a room over, and wonders some more how Teddy could ever think he would be a better option for her.

"He wasn't like this when we were dating." She muses, and feels Jake's kiss against her jaw - a reflex action she's noticed whenever she mentions a past partner or anything, frankly, that reminds him that there was a point where he wasn't Jake Peralta-Santiago yet. But she kind of needs to finish this thought, and she knows he can handle it. "He was nice and kind and he wouldn't- he wasn't manipulative, pulling something like that in public, or deluded enough to think he was in the right for it. I mean, he thought he was pretty great, but he wouldn't have -"

"You musta broken something pretty major in his brain when you left him." Jake's voice is joking, luckily, but she can sense a hint of something more. "The absolute devastation of a Santiago break-up speech, rehearsed or not."

"Harsh, Jake."

"Remember manbun musician? He went downright insane after your split - not that he was probably the sanest person around before that, but-"

"You promised we'd never mention him again."

"I'm just saying. I don't think any man left by you is going to be completely right in the head after that."

"You're making me sound like some black widow monster." She smiles, though, hearing the awe and affection in his voice bleed through.

"I'm not judging those guys, anyway." He continues, and that tinge of something else in his words is back. "I mean, I can't imagine what I'd be like if you ever decided to take Teddy up on one of his proposals."

She straightens up from her lean on his chest, twists in his arms without breaking the hug, and stares right into him as she studies his face - his actually slightly scared face.

"Jake, you know that's not ever-"

"I was joking babe."

"No. Jake. That's not even an option. Not even an idea. Never. Not in a million years. Not if-"

She grabs his shirt where it's unbuttoned, right next to his heart, and his hand reaches up to squeeze hers like it always does, thumb swiping along her rings.

"I know, Ames." The soft kiss that follows calms her just as much. "I cashed out that jackpot and I'm not giving it back."

She hums as she kisses him again, leans her forehead against his for a deep breath.

"It's just... sad." She returns to her original train of thought. "That he can't move on despite his life doing so. I mean, it's been years. He's got a new job and a new partner and a new baby, and he's willing to, what, dump all that? For me? For that idolised image he probably has in his mind of me now, because nothing between us has been real since ages ago?"

"Wow, this is really bugging you."

"Yes! He's barging into my life and thinking he knows what's best for me and that it's him, like I'm some love-struck silly dreamgirl who's going to drop her entire world because he's romantic enough to go down on one knee in front of our colleagues and superiors who have no idea what's going on-!"

Mac's noises from the next room turn from content to disagreeing, growing into what is sure to be a cry any minute now, and it's the only thing that can make them break apart from their hug. He calms down immediately when Amy lifts him out of his pen, and holds him close while she settles on the sofa next to the half-done laundry basket, snuffling against her chest in a very obvious I’m hungry mom couldn’t you tell?! move before she can even unbutton her dress shirt.

He latches on immediately when her shirt is open and her bra pulled down - not a nursing bra today, considering she got ready for an important work meeting - while she feels Jake rearrange the pillows behind her and to her side to get her comfortable, without a second of hesitation or having to think about it. He moves on to pick up the jacket she's dropped onto a dining room chair, drapes it on a hanger in the hallway, and she feels the soft prick of tears in her eyes before he settles down again next to the two of them with a glass of water for her set on the coffee table.

Jake only hums as he notices the shine in her eyes too, and wipes across her cheek. He knows that nursing can get her into a pretty emotional state sometimes, but this is probably a bit more than that.

"I love you." She says, and barely waits for his return of I love you too to continue. "I can't believe Teddy expects me to look at Mac, and look at you, and still think he could ever be a better offer for anything I want."

"Aw, babe." He grins softly in return while playing with Mac's foot that is kicking in his direction, covered in the fuzziest green socks with red apples on them. "You scored a pretty dope 2-for-1 deal with us, I admit."

“Before that, too.” She insists, leaning to unlatch Mac and hand him over to Jake to burp as they always do while she buttons back up, thinking about Teddy’s many proposals before Mac was even planned on. “Jake, you know that, right? You alone were the best deal first and foremost.”

He smiles at her, Mac’s soft little curls right next to his cheek as he sways and pats his back, but it doesn’t fully reach his eyes.

“Jake-”

“You were happy with him.” He says, quietly, while Mac lets out his usual milky burp and smiles at him much wider when he wipes him clean with the linen cloth pulled from his shoulder. “I know it’s in the past and I - I’m not jealous or anything that stupid, but. Like you said... He wasn’t like this back then, and you were happy.”

His eyes seem forlorn, even as he smiles at the now sleepy baby in his lap that looks so much like him it always makes her heart twinge, that little bundle of joy with Amy’s dark hair and skin that seems to know the Cuban sun without ever having been there.

“And I know it’s not - and it doesn’t make sense to think about, but - sometimes his stupid proposals made me wonder what would’ve happened if he’d done that while he still made you happy.” His voice turns low, and it’s probably not just to avoid waking Mac back up as he falls asleep. “And that just makes me think about how I had to watch you be happy with him, and that’s not - that’s never a good memory to revisit, honestly-”

“I wouldn’t have said yes.” She leans over into his field of vision, the most serious look on her face. “Even back then, I wouldn’t have said yes to his proposal.”

Jake’s eyebrows scrunch up in question, his eyes turning into those puppy dog eyes that she knows as a direct hit to her heart when he’s actually sad or worried, and she can’t not hold his face in her hands again.

“Yes, I was happy with Teddy for a while, but looking back at it I realise I was- there was always this feeling of waiting for something. Hoping for something to be different.” She kisses him, careful and short and barely there, but enough to make him close his eyes and lean towards her a bit more. “And maybe back then I thought I was waiting for him to change somehow, but really I was only waiting for him to change into you.”

“Teddy couldn’t change into me if he had major brain surgery.” Jake scoffs, and Amy huffs a laugh with him.

“Yeah. And that’s why he’d never been right for me. That’s only ever been you.”

He finally, properly smiles now, eyes open again and set on her with a soft shine to them before he leans over more, as much as he can without waking the deeply asleep baby in his lap.

“I’m glad you figured that out when you did, in the end.” He quips and earns himself a shy nod. “And said yes when it came to the only good proposal you got.”

She snickers at that, thinking about the gaudy but wonderful boxing belt in her mementos box, and leans in the last few inches she needs to kiss him again, neither careful nor short this time, but equally as soft. 

“And the next time I catch Teddy trying to propose to you again I’m going to punch him out before he can even get down on one knee.”

“You are not assaulting a fellow officer.”

“Kick in the balls?”

“How very mature, Mister-I-have-an-actual-child-now.”

“Can I at least tell him where he can stick his ridiculous ideas of marrying you at any point in the future, no matter the circumstances?”

She hums for a second.

“You can. If you add in how ridiculous the idea was in the past as well.”

“Oh now, that’s a good deal.”

[r0tten-brainz]

hey do you want my carrie fix it au? no?

too bad!!!

Everything seemed to stop when the blood was dumped on Carrie. All the cheers and applause was cut off by shocked gasps and silence. Wide eyes stared upon the stage at their prom queen, now drenched in red sludge, her beautiful dress ruined.

Tommy Ross, the prom king, was staring at his date, some of the liquid (blood, literal blood, he realizes in horror) splashing all over his rental tuxedo. After the initial shock, anger bubbled in his chest so quickly his ears turned red and he turned to the crowd, searching for who could’ve done something so awful, his shouts of “What the hell?!” cutting through the quiet.

In the front row, George Dawson seemed to have the same reaction, he always was quick to anger but now he had a fair reason to. He was disgusted someone would do this, and almost everyone around him agreed. Almost.

It only took a minute for Norma to snort, and double over to quiet her laughter. A few others chuckled but otherwise they were alone in finding this funny.

The only one who hadn’t moved was Carrie. She was frozen, mouth agape and eyes wide. She only moved when the bucket itself came crashing down, right onto Tommy. She tried to catch him but he just collapsed onto the stage, groaning in pain.

People knew immediately something was off when she stood up straight, shoulders back and arms extending out at her sides. The ones who were laughing decided they wanted to leave, the pungent smell of the stale blood getting gross and killing their good time.

There were a few shouts of confusion and fear when the doors suddenly slammed shut and the room was flooded in red light. When one of the jocks tried to open it, he yelled in pain, like the door handle burned him.

That’s what made Tommy stir on the ground, his head aching and warmth trailing down his face. When he looked up the gym was in chaos, people screaming and trampling each other to find a way out. One guy, someone Tommy knew, had climbed up to try the window, but he was flung off like a bug. A squeaking noise made him look up and the fire sprinklers flipped on.

Murky water fell over everyone, only adding to the rotten smell permeating what with the blood also having its own stench. Tommy’s breath caught as he looked around, his eyes finally landing on Carrie.

She seemed unresponsive, barely even blinking as the chaos unfolded around her, like she was in the middle, stirring up the misfortune herself.

“Carrie- huff,” Tommy started, pulling himself up off the ground. His head spun and he nearly got sick with everything mixing around him, his stomach was never the strongest. “Carrie, we have to get you out of here.”

She didn’t move, didn’t even look at him, just tilted her chin up indignantly. The lights above them suddenly sparked, clearly not mixing well with the water. That frightened Tommy a lot, they could all die, and it seemed that’s probably what Carrie was aiming for.

“Carrie!” Tommy tried again, grabbing onto her shoulders. His breath was getting more frantic as he looked around behind him. “Carrie, listen to me. Look at me, Carrie.”

She blinked then, eyes focusing on the boy in front of her. She looked like she was on the brink of tears. When she noticed the blood flowing down his face it only made her feel worse.

“Is this why?” Her voice was quiet, if Tommy had been any further away he wouldn’t have been able to hear. “Is this why you asked me to go with you?”

A devastated look crossed over Carrie’s face. “So you could laugh at me?” Tommy gulped, really starting to feel sick now, realizing that in some sick way this was partially his fault. “She was right, I shouldn’t have come, I shouldn’t have-”

“No! Carrie, if I knew it wouldn’t have happened! I didn’t know- I swear whoever did this is dead.” He shouted, his grip on her shoulders tightening. “Please, you need to calm down. Just breathe, we can get you out of here.”

Flames caught his eye, the curtain behind them was on fire. They needed to go, now. Carrie sniffled, the tears finally falling. “They all laughed at me, they laughed…”

Tommy looked back at the crowd then back to Carrie. “No one laughed, no one did Carrie.” She let out a breath like she’d been holding it. The heat from the fire was getting unbearable.

“Do you swear?” Carrie whispered, looking up at him. She was in agony, he could see it clear on her face.

“Carrie, I swear.” Tommy holds out his arms for her, finally stepping back to lead her away from the gym. He could hear sirens approaching.

Carrie looked out a final time before the doors swung open and the students flooded out. The air was cool which was relieving to everyone. She took his hands then, and he led her off the stage out to the cool evening air.

Sue Snell pushed her way through everyone, Frank Green (notoriously known as the Beak) and George at her side, searching through the scared faces for Tommy and Carrie. “There they are!” She shouts, grabbing her friends and making their way over to the pair.

Tommy perked up at the sound of Sue’s voice, carefully leading Carrie to the grass so they could sit. Further away from everyone. Sue ran over and pulled Tommy down into a hug. Beak and George made their way over a second after, clearly left behind in the madness behind them.

Whispers were exchanged between the group, everyone sparing sympathetic glances to Carrie every once in a while. Carrie just sunk in on herself, Trying to calm herself down enough so she could walk home, figuring she messed up their night enough.

It surprised her all when they all sat around her, Tommy to her left and Sue on the other side. Beak and George settled across from them.

They didn’t talk, no one really knew what to say. It was Carrie who broke the silence. “I ruined your plans with your friends, didn’t I?”

Tommy just shook his head as he shrugged off his jacket, wrapping it around her shoulders. “No,” he assured her. “You didn’t do anything wrong at all, actually.”

Carrie blinked up at him, tears threatening to fall again but she willed them away and sank into the coat. If it was salvageable before, it’s definitely ruined now. Tommy wondered if the rental place had it in their hearts to cut them some slack.

“Carrie I- we- are so sorry,” Sue spoke up, reaching to hold her hand. “I tried to stop it, if I knew they were planning something I wouldn’t have asked, that was so cruel.” She whispered the end of her apology, like she couldn’t believe it had happened.

Carrie ducks her head. “I shouldn’t have come,” she says back. “Mama was right I shouldn’t have.” The group share worried glances, but they’ll unpack that later.

George sneers. “Don’t you think like that, it was fun at the beginning right?” Carrie glances up to him and nods. “Right! Don’t you worry, whoever did this will pay.” Frank nods along beside him, patting him on the shoulder encouragingly. “So inspiring.” Beak always did like to make a joke, to lighten the mood when things were heavy.

Tommy’s arm tucks around her, pulling Carrie closer to comfort her. “Even if it all ended bad, we’re all together, right?” He looked down to her, waiting for the response. Even now he’s pushing her gently, to get her out there. Maybe this is Tommy’s super power. She had telekinesis and he was good at making anyone comfortable, even Carrie White.

“Right,” she finished for him, which made Tommy smile. In return it made Carrie smile. Sue reached and brushed some bloody hair out of Carrie’s face.

“Wow, Sue,” Beak starts. “Before too long Carrie might steal Tommy from you curled up to him like that. Sue laughed and Carrie smiled, cheeks flushing red under the caked up blood.

Tommy grinned and shot him a look. “Oh yeah? Why don’t you beat her to it and steal me yourself, smart guy?”

Beak opened his mouth but was quickly cut off by George. “Oi! Don’t be comin’ onto my man y’ hear?” He shot back, elbowing Frank with a grin.

Tommy felt Carrie’s shoulders bouncing, but when he looked to her to see if she was crying, a small grin graced her face and quiet giggles bubbled up. Despite it all she was laughing. It made something twist in Tommy’s chest, he had to make himself look away.

“It isn’t much,” Sue starts. “But if you all wanted to stop by my house to get cleaned up, maybe we could still go to the Hive.” Carrie perks up, of course Sue was invited, why wouldn’t she be?

George whooped excitedly. “You’re a lifesaver, Susan, I really need a shake after all this.” Everyone cheered in agreement.

“Carrie?” Tommy said quietly. She looked up to him, still smiling a little. “Would that be okay?” He was so patient with her.

Commotion caught her attention though and she looked past Tommy towards the gym. The flames had been dealt with it’d seem, but that’s not what she’s looking at.

Two police officers were taking Chris Hargensen and Billy Nolan out of the school, Chris kicking and shouting the whole way to the car. Miss Collins watched them go, nothing but anger in her eyes. It only made Carrie’s smile widen. She hoped she’d never have to see Chris ever again after this.

“Yes,” she finally replied. “That seems fun.” Tommy grinned and stood, offering his hands to Carrie first to help her stand, then to Sue. “No help for me?” Frank joked. “Shut up, Beak,” Tommy joked back.

The rest of the night was filled with similar jokes, everything being kept lighthearted (lucky for Carrie, she may fall apart if anything else bad happened). The Hive was so much better than she imagined. They had delicious waffle fries, and soda flavors she didn’t know existed, she and Sue even shared an ice cream. Everything was perfect. She prayed to God that come Monday morning she wouldn’t be forgotten by Tommy Ross, or any of them.

[alisonsfics]

A Better Man💗

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader

Summary: Y/N gets dumped on Valentines Day and Spencer comforts her.

Word Count: 1.4k

Warnings: cheating

You quickly glanced down at your watch. You huffed and leaned back into your chair. You were currently at a restaurant waiting for your boyfriend to show up. It was Valentines Day and you had plans to meet up for dinner after work.

Mark, your boyfriend, was supposed to be here half an hour ago. The waiter kept coming by and asking if you were ready to order yet. They were feeling just as impatient as you were.

You checked your phone, wondering if he texted you to say he was going to be late. Then, you looked up and saw him rushing over to your table.

He got to your table and kissed you on the cheek before sitting down. “I am so sorry, there was a horrible accident and traffic was a nightmare. I tried to text you, but I wasn’t getting any service” he apologized.

All of a sudden, it made sense to you. You felt guilty for being mad at him. “That’s okay, you’re here now” you said, smiling. You were determined to make this evening a night to remember.

“So is there any chance you’re ready to order? I think the waiter is getting a little impatient, I’ve been here for thirty minutes. I kept telling him I was waiting for someone, but I don’t know how much longer we can hold him off” you said, giggling. Mark’s mood completely shifted. He looked solemn and serious.

“Actually...we need to talk” he said, sternly. You were shocked by his quick change in attitude. “Ummm okay? It can’t wait til after we order?” You asked, confused. You didn’t know what he wanted to talk about or why it was so urgent.

He just sighed and took a deep breath. “I think we should break up” he said, looking you in the eyes.

You felt your blood begin to boil.

“Excuse me?” You said, refusing to let the tears well up in your eyes. He self-consciously glanced around the restaurant like he didn’t want to make a scene. “I don’t think we’ve been in love with each other for a while. It’s no ones fault, we just fizzled out. I think it would be better if we saw other people” He whispered.

It felt like your skin was on fire. You were resisting the urge to scream at him.

“Who is she?” You replied, simply. He looked confused.

A few weeks ago, Mark came home smelling like someone else’s perfume. You had been a little skeptical, but you didn’t say anything. Then, he had started to grow distant. You had hoped this dinner could fix things, but clearly he just wanted to leave you for her.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about” he said, lying through his teeth. “Who is she?” You repeated, more stern this time.

“Piper” he admitted, quietly. You didn’t think you could any more shocked.

Piper was one of your best friends from high school. You cursed under your breath. “You cheated on me with one of my friends. And now you’re dumping me on Valentines Day? You are disgusting” you said, rolling your eyes. “It’s not like that. Come on, you know we aren’t made for each other” He said, trying to come up with an excuse.

“I can not believe you, you know what? I hope you’re happy” you said, standing up. You grabbed your jacket and your phone. “Come on, Y/N. Let’s talk about this” he said, trying to stop you. You rolled your eyes. You couldn’t believe that he expected you to not be mad at him.

“You lost the right to talk to me, as soon as you touched her” you said, throwing your drink in his face. You stormed out of the restaurant and got into your car.

You burst into tears. You were devastated. You weren’t upset because you had gotten dumped. You were glad you never had to talk to that asshole again.

You were upset because you had fallen for him. You fell for him and gave him everything. You trusted him and he couldn’t even be faithful.

You knew that you couldn’t go to your shared apartment. He’d eventually come home and you would have to see him. That was the last thing you wanted.

So, you drove to one of your best friends’ houses. You parked your car and wiped the tears away from your eyes. You got out of the car and walked up to the front door. You knocked on the door with your shaky hand. You waited for a few seconds and then the door opened.

“Hey are you busy?” You asked, trying not to burst into tears again. Spencer just looked at you, confused. “No, not at all. What’s wrong?” He asked, noticing your tear-stained face. The tears erupted and began to stream down your face. You couldn’t stop them, they just kept flowing.

Spencer pulled you right into his arms. “Shh shhh, it’s okay. I got you, I promise” he whispered, holding you tight. You felt him rub your back, comfortingly.

Eventually, the tears began to slow down and you took a few deep breaths. Spencer guided you over to the couch and then wrapped a blanket around your shoulders. “I thought you and Mark had plans tonight. Is everything okay?” He asked you, concerned. You just nodded your head and tried to put the words together. Spencer took your hands into his and rubbed his thumbs into the back of your hands. He gave you a small smile, encouraging you to keep going.

“We had dinner plans. He broke up with me and told me he had been seeing someone else” you admitted quietly. Spencer was shocked by what you said. He expected that obviously something that had happened, but he didn’t think it was that bad.

Spencer had to resist every urge to drive to your apartment and teach Mark a lesson. He wanted to kill him, he was furious.

“I am so sorry, you know that you don’t deserve that, right?” He asked you. You just weakly nodded your head. “Valentines Day is supposed to be happy, not sad. I think we’ll just have to turn today around. We can eat icecream and watch your favorite movies. We can do whatever you want, how does that sound?” He asked you.

Spencer was a goal-driven person. And right now his goal was trying to cheer you up. He wasn’t going to let anything or anyone stop him from doing just that.

You grabbed the collar of his shirt and pulled him towards you. You held on to his shirt and buried your head in his chest. He instinctively wrapped his arms around you and held you tight. “That sounds amazing, Spence. Thank you for being here for me” you said, sincerely.

Spencer started to smile, knowing that you appreciated his efforts. You pulled away and you were transfixed by Spencer’s eyes. There was nowhere else you could look, you were mesmerized by the little golden specks you saw in his eyes.

Then, Spencer leaned in and connected your lips. You were shocked by the sudden movement, but kissed him back instantly. Spencer’s hands moved to cup your face. Then, you felt his lips leave yours. He pulled away with a mortified expression.

You wondered what you did wrong. “I am so sorry” he said, standing up from the couch and backing away. You furrowed your eyebrows, trying to decipher what he meant.

“You are emotionally distraught and I took advantage of that, I’m sorry” he said, running his hands through his hair. Your eyes softened. You stood up and walked over to him.

“Tell that big brain of yours to stop thinking for five minutes” you whispered, cupping his face and kissing him again. He felt tense, but eventually let himself actually enjoy the kiss. He kissed you back and it felt magical.

You pulled away and smiled up at him. “At least you’re smiling now. That’s all that matters” he said, putting his arm around your shoulders as he guided you to the kitchen to pick out some snacks for your movie night.

You had a magical night and you knew that you could always rely on Spencer, especially when you were feeling down. It was truly a night to remember. Things felt natural with him. He was caring and kind. You knew that you would be happier with him than you ever were with Mark.

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[prurientpuddlejumper]

Spit-Roast Psychiatrist [Part 2, Female Reader][18+]

<- Part 1 | Part 3 ->

Frederick Chilton x Reader x Bryan Kneef

No plot, just making Chilton watch while Bryan fucks his girlfriend better than he ever could. For @thatesqcrush’s summer bingo: cuckolding square.

Warnings: NSFW, threesome, p in v sex, rough bj, degrading language, humiliation, cuckolding, cum licking. Bryan calls himself daddy. No talk about protection or consent, just assume it happened beforehand. 

2,151 words

Bryan’s hands were broad and firm around your waist as he guided you down onto him, but nothing could prepare you for the size of his cock. Not the fingers he’d stuffed inside of you, long digits working you open and slicking you with lube. Not the relaxing afterglow of the climax you’d already reached in Dr. Chilton’s mouth.

Bryan was massive to the point of it being more uncomfortable than fun.

The throbbing dome of his head pressed against your entrance like a blunted battering ram.

“Easy now,” Bryan soothed. “Deep breath. There.”

You bit your lower lip as your slicked walls began to yield and stretch around it.

“That’s a good girl.”

He was at least experienced in taking it slow. Making it feel good. Chilton certainly had fun, though he was excited by things you weren’t. Pain, for example. Bryan tore into his ass with much less prep because he liked being thrown around and used. That was why Bryan was here, after all—to be rougher than you ever could. Despite the dramatic yelping and whining, Chilton loved when it hurt. It did something to him. Justified his scars, sexualized his trauma, or something like that. He was the psychiatrist, he could tell you. Maybe he just had a high pain tolerance.

The head of Bryan’s cock slipped a few inches into the first part of your core, and you gasped, almost pulling yourself out.

Leaning forward intently, Chilton watched with eyes captivated by your every facial tick and stuttered breath. He sat across from the couch, exiled to the ottoman from which he was instructed not to get up. “This is where fucktoys stay,” were Bryan’s exact words.

His cock was lengthening in his hand, but his brow furrowed at your sharp hiss of breath.

“You can do it, darling,” he encouraged. “You are doing so well.”

You nodded. You were facing out to him, your back toward Bryan, who reclined on the couch, his feet planted on the floor. Giving Chilton a show. He could see every expression of ecstasy crossing your face, every line of pain, the way your pussy stretched so tightly around Bryan’s girth. So much thicker than Chilton’s. It made him feel so small and pathetic, and his dick burned in his fist.

He swallowed, practically drooling with his eyes glued to where you were spread taut around the invasion, your pussylips swollen with wanting, glistening with your wetness. You were so wet for him, dripping wet, and Chilton could see it all. “You look so… so beautiful.”

“It’s so big,” you whimpered, but it was almost a moan now. “He’s stretching me so much.”

“This is what a real man’s cock feels like,” Bryan taunted. His hands reached around to knead your breasts, letting Chilton watch as it made you writhe and let out noises of pleasure.

You lifted off his massive cock, sighing in relief, and used it to rub against your throbbing clit, making you wetter, more aroused, and ready. Chilton’s eyes darkened at the sight of Bryan’s commanding length pressed against your slit, ending at your belly. It seemed impossible that all of it could fit inside you. Yet when you gripped his cock to position it and sank down it again, it disappeared deeper.

“Oh fuck, Frederick. It’s so big. His cock feels so good!” Your voice was strained as the feeling of being stuffed overwhelmed you—pleasure finally usurping the pain, the burning stretch settling into a warm fullness, with only a dull ache woven through it that heightened the sensation.

“Good girl, take it. Take daddy’s cock,” Bryan growled. “Show that loser boyfriend how good I make you feel.”

Bryan’s hands returned to your waist, helping you bounce slowly until you were taking his entire thick length, your ass touching his thighs and his wrinkled balls hanging right below your pussy in the middle of your spread legs.

When you started to rock up and down on his cock without assistance, that was when Bryan’s hands greedily wrapped around your waist. His hips began to pump up into you, slowly at first, but building rapidly when you didn’t protest, pushing the limit of your discomfort until he was bottoming out inside you with each stroke.

“H-how does it feel,” Chilton asked, his hot eyes lavishing over your breasts, which bounced obscenely to Bryan’s forceful rhythm. He licked his lips, hand pumping in his lap.

You glanced down at Chilton. The way he was watching you brought out your cruelty again. “He’s so much bigger than you,” you moaned, punctuated irregularly by involuntary gasps of pleasure. “The way he fills me is so good. Fu-uck—he’s going to split me in half!”

Chilton’s hand worked faster, frantically, but Bryan sat up against the back of the couch to fire a steely glare at him.

“Did I say you could touch yourself? You don’t deserve to cum, do you?”

“No, sir,” Chilton said.

His hand stopped moving, and Bryan gave a particularly vengeful thrust that made you cry out.

“That’s fucking right you don’t.”

A bead of pre-cum glistened on the tip of Chilton’s cock, now alone between his legs. It strained and bucked, aching for contact, to be buried inside you instead of Bryan. He was burning at the injustice of it, furious that someone else was fucking his girlfriend, and he couldn’t even touch himself—miserable that you liked it so much, knowing how empty your cunt would feel if he took Bryan’s place. He was pathetic. Worthless.

Tears pricked the back of his eyes. Yet, watching you bounce on that monster cock, the breathless flush blossoming over your face as you grew closer to your release, watching you lose yourself in it—he had never been so turned on.

“So pathetic,” Bryan mocked. “A sniveling little author. You think publishing makes you a big man? Everyone is laughing at you, you know. I could see right through you the moment we met. A little weakling with a small dick. This is what a man does to your girl.”

Chilton’s eyes began to visibly shimmer with unshed tears, and you winced at Bryan’s harsh words, but somehow your discomfort only made your walls clench down harder on his cock. He became the villain, his large, controlling hands almost predatory, taking you by force to humiliate your lover. Fuck, it sent sparks racing up your spine. Guilt swirled with arousal and heightened the throbbing of your clit, pooling molten heat in your lower back.

“You’re nothing but a filthy toy for us to use and throw away,” Bryan continued the verbal onslaught as he drove you helplessly toward the climax.

“Yes, sir.” Chilton’s knuckles were white on the edge of the ottoman, eyes piercing you.

You wailed out as Bryan fucked you harder, his hips moving at such a wanton speed the motion blurred. Your body shook, reaching back to grasp at the couch cushions, at Bryan’s chest for balance. The base of his pink cock was coated with your cream, dripping down his balls. Your jaw went slack, and your throat was too tight for words, but Bryan kept up the degrading bombardment, his voice strained and breathy as he pumped, but just as cruel.

“See how she loves this cock?” he sneered. “You could never satisfy her like I do. Good girl,” his tone changed to patronizing encouragement as he addressed you, though the show was still all for Chilton. “Yes… good girl, cum on your daddy’s cock. Show this worm how hard you cum for a real man. Show him what you’ve been missing.”

Suddenly, your guilt flared up. You opened your sex-hazy eyes and met Chilton’s, biting your lower lip and tried to fight your orgasm. The humiliation had gone too far now. You couldn’t imagine how devastated he would be seeing you cum on command for Bryan’s cock.

And yet, when you met his gaze, all you saw was fiery, raw lust staring back. His cock was thick and twitching between his thighs, pre-cum dripping down the throbbing purple head. “May I help?” he stammered, not addressing you, but asking Bryan’s permission. “Let me get her off.”

“You’re just the cum-dump. She’s all mine. She doesn’t want you,” he snapped. Bryan’s fingers pinched your nipples, circling his thumb over them, and a squeal broke from your constricted throat.

But after five or six more lightspeed thrusts, you were still resisting being pushed over your peak, and Chilton stood from the ottoman, knelt between Bryan’s legs, licked his thumb and swirled it over your clit. Bryan might have had the size advantage, but Dr. Chilton knew exactly what you liked, how you needed to get off. The right balance of gentle and force. You cried out—a raw, body-shaking moan—as you broke, the overstimulation of Chilton’s familiar touch making your pussy clench around Bryan, and you came instantly.

Chilton stroked his dick furiously as he scanned your disheveled face, your bouncing tits—one of them puffing through Bryan’s squeezing fingers—then down to the juncture where Bryan’s cock vanished into your swollen pussylips, inches from his mouth. His other hand circled your sensitive heat just above it, brushing against the base of Bryan’s fat cock. He was so close, he couldn’t resist dipping to lick at your clit, which smacked his nose as you were bucked and bounced by Bryan’s violent thrusting. But you tasted so fucking good, the mix of you and Bryan.

Sobbing out miserably, his lonely release shot from the tip of his cock into his hand, spattering onto the couch and yours and Bryan’s thighs.

“Oh, wow,” you gasped, walls still fluttering up and down Bryan’s shaft. You shifted your weight forward, taking the stubble of Chilton’s cheeks between each palm, and kissed him sloppily, lips hot and wet, his thumb still making lazy circles between your thighs.

Before his tongue could wrap itself in yours, Bryan was snarling, lifting you off his cock and dumping you onto the couch in the same movement that he grabbed Chilton by the throat.

“Ballsy, disobedient little whore,” he growled as Chilton gasped and choked in his squeezing fingers. “On your knees.”

He didn’t wait for the doctor to comply, shoving him down hard enough to bruise even with the plush carpet. Releasing his grip on his throat, Bryan shoved his cock into his open mouth as Chilton gasped for air. The taste of you flooded his tongue, and he began to suck hungrily, lapping at the familiar flavor. Chilton bobbed between Bryan’s legs like the dutiful plaything he was, but Bryan slapped him anyway. Left his cheek stinging for the cum he had gotten on Bryan’s ass. It didn’t slow Chilton’s pace.

In fact, the cheek you had smacked earlier stung worse, despite Bryan’s more powerful hand. And Bryan stroked the base of his own shaft instead of shoving the rest of it into the doctor’s mouth.

“He can take more than that.”

Bryan glanced back at you, observing from the couch, and raised his eyebrows.

“Go on and fuck his face,” you suggested. “See how much his throat can handle.”

Despite his aggressive attitude, Bryan wasn’t as willing to suffocate Chilton between his thighs as you were, but he was getting close and desperate now. He canted his hips forward and was surprised at the doctor’s lack of gag reflex—how easily he swallowed such a large cock.

“Well, well. You really are a slut.” Bryan fucked his mouth harder now that he knew he could take it until Chilton was moaning and drooling, and Bryan was on the verge of breaking. Then he yanked Chilton off his spit-slicked length by his hair, pumping it with his fist instead. Chilton opened his mouth, sticking his tongue out, anticipating what was coming, but Bryan had no intention of getting it in his mouth. Hot ropes of cum plastered every part of Chilton’s face and chest, some of it sticking in his hair.

Bryan slapped his cheek with his heavy dick, then dipped it back in Chilton’s mouth to clean it off before stepping back and admiring his work.

“Like a work of art. You have never looked so beautiful—has he?” Bryan turned to you.

“Never,” you grinned.

Now that it was over, Chilton began to groan with discomfort, groping around for something to wipe up with. His eyes were squeezed closed like when he shampooed in the shower. Semen in the eye is not nearly as fun as it looks.

“I’ll help you clean up, sweetie,” you purred, kneeling beside him on the carpet.

Your tongue was wet and slippery but somehow slightly raspy, too, as it dragged up his sullied cheek. Chilton’s back stiffened and he shuddered, though he held in a whine. Complaining about you being gross would be laughably hypocritical right now.

• ● • ━━━━━─ ••●•• ─━━━━━ • ● •

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[hamiltonimagines]

It’s Been a While

Pairing: Daveed x Reader

Request: “Hey girl! Can you do a Daveed imagine where you and Daveed used to be best friends in high school and y’all kept in touch a little after but once he joined Hamilton he stopped talking to you. You posted something about being excited to go see the show and Daveed sees it and he like brings you backstage to talk, but y’all get into a fight about who stopped talking to who and eventually you give up and leave and he shows up to your apartment and does something really cute! Thanks 🥰🥰🥰” - @roxanne2020

Word Count: 1.8k

I had never been more excited, I was going to see Hamilton tonight. I had gotten a text the other day from the one and only Lin-Manuel Miranda. He had told me that he was friends with Daveed and that Daveed had mentioned me and our past. Lin said that Daveed had brought up how he regretted that we lost contact. Lin gave me a ticket for the show tonight so that I could finally see Daveed after all these years.

Daveed had been my best friend in high school. We were the friends who told each other everything and we valued our friendship more than anything. We both went to different colleges and we started talking a lot less. Then he got cast in Hamilton and moved off to New York. We hadn’t spoken since besides a few texts on birthdays or holidays.

I wondered if Daveed would even want to talk to me. It had been so long and I was unsure if we could be friends again or if too much time had passed.

I had gotten ready for the show and took a picture in my outfit. I posted it to Instagram with the caption: Seeing Hamilton tonight, let’s see if it’s as amazing as everyone says it is.

I checked my hair in the mirror one last time and then left my apartment. Ironically, I had moved to New York after college. I always wondered if I would randomly run into Daveed in the street, it never happened though.

I got on the subway and checked my phone. I saw a new comment on my Instagram post. I couldn’t believe my eyes. It was from Daveed. It said “Looking forward to seeing a familiar face in the audience”.

I felt my cheeks heat up a little and I felt a familiar warm feeling in my chest. With all this time apart, I may have developed the slightest crush on Daveed. I knew it was weird, especially since at one point he was my ride or die.

I eventually got to the theatre and I went in and found my seat. I got chills when the show started. Then Daveed walked on stage and it was like the world froze. It was then in that moment that I realized how much I had missed him.

The show ended and I was beyond blown away. My expectations had been high, but this surpassed any expectation I had. I didn’t think this show could truly be as good as everyone said it was, but they were all right. This show was phenomenal.

I was standing, along with the rest of the theatre, and applauding as the cast took their final bows. Daveed made eye contact with me as he walked off the stage and he froze for a second, as if it was too good to be true. His eyes lit up and he gave me a soft smile, before leaving the stage.

Then, a few minutes later, my phone started to ring. I saw Daveed’s name on my screen. I answered the phone with a smile on my face. “Hello there stranger” I said, giggling. “So you’re really here?” He asked. “Yeah, I am” I said. “Can you come backstage? I need to see you” he told me. “Anything for you” I told him, smiling.

He told me who to talk to and then he hung up. I found the person who worked for the theatre and told them what Daveed told me to say. The employee let me backstage.

I was in a hallway with a bunch of the cast and ensemble running up and down the halls. I was overwhelmed to say the least. How would I find Daveed? Then I saw a familiar face. I recognized Lin.

“Hey Y/N, you made it” he said, running over and giving me a hug. “Yeah, I wouldn’t miss it. The show was fantastic. If you don’t mind, can you tell me where I can find Daveed?” I asked him.

“Come on, I’ll bring you to his dressing room” he said, as he started walking down the hallway. I followed him, “I don’t know how you don’t get lost down here” I told him, honestly. “You have no idea how many times I got lost during the first few weeks of rehearsals” Lin said, laughing. Then we walked up to a door that said Daveed’s name on it.

Lin knocked on the door and I heard Daveeed say “come in”. Lin opened the door and stuck his head in. “Someone's here to see you Diggs” Lin told him. “Send her in please” Daveed said, knowing it was me.

“Have fun” Lin said to me, before he walked away. I carefully walked into his room and his eyes lit up when he saw me. He ran over and picked me up into his arms and spun me around.

He carefully placed me back on the ground. We both had the biggest smiles on our faces. It felt like no time had passed at all.

“It’s been a while, you look good Y/N” he told me, still smiling. “You too, so is the success treating you? You were amazing tonight by the way” I told him. “Oh thank you, I had to put on a great performance, I had someone important in the audience” he said.

He grabbed one of my hands and pulled me over to the couch. He sat down and I sat next to him. He grabbed my legs and put them across his lap. Daveed and I had spent many nights as teenagers in this position, talking for hours and watching movies.

“It’s been so long” I said, staring into his eyes. “I’ve really missed you” he said, grabbing my hand. “I’ve missed you too” I said, leaning my head on his shoulder.

“Y/N, why’d you ever stop talking to me?” He asked, seriously. “Are you kidding? You were the one who stopped talking to me. You moved to New York City and fame happened and you never reached back out to me. I was giving you time to adjust to the move and I figured you would call me when you settled in” I told him, so confused as to how he thought I ended our friendship.

I pulled my legs off his lap and stood up and walked to the other side of the room. “Yeah right Y/N. You never reached out to me either. And when you moved to New York a year later and you still didn’t reach out. Don’t try and pin this on me” Daveed argued.

“I can’t even listen to you anymore, you used to be my best friend and I told you everything. And one day you just started treating me like I didn’t exist and it broke my heart. Now, you’re sitting here and you can’t even take responsibility for what you did” I yelled. I walked out of the door and slammed it behind me.

I quickly started to walk down the hallway, I had tears welling up in my eyes. I ran into Lin and he looked confused. “Hey what’s wrong? What happened?” He asked me. “Thank you for being concerned, I just really have to get out of here” I told him. He nodded, understandingly. I rushed past him and eventually ended up out on the cold New York street.

I called a cab, not wanting to risk the subway at night time. I got in and told the driver my address. After a few minutes, we pulled up out my apartment complex. I thanked the driver and gave them a tip. I quickly rushed inside my apartment.

I changed into some sweatpants and a hoodie. I couldn’t believe that I actually thought Daveed and I could be friends again. I had been looking forward to things just feeling natural again. I made myself a cup of tea and curled up on my couch and looked out my window.

Then I heard a knock at the door. I put down my mug and walked to the door. I looked through the peephole and saw that it was Daveed.

I unlocked the door and opened it. Only then, did I realize what he was holding. He had a huge bouquet of flowers, a teddy bear, and my favorite candy bar. “Uh...hi” I said, shyly. “I brought you some stuff” he said, smiling.

“Isn’t this the same stuff you brought me when I got dumped by Harley Simmons?” I asked, only then remembering it. In high school, I dated our school’s star football player and he dumped me in front of the whole school and I was devastated. “It cheered you up then, so I hoped it could cheer you up now” he said, hopefully.

“Do you want to come in?” I asked him. He smiled at me and followed me inside. He set down the gifts on my coffee table. I sat down next to him on the couch.

“I am so sorry for how our conversation ended. I was being selfish and I didn’t look at things from your perspective. I never should of ignored you. I don’t want argue over who should of reached out first, I just want to tell you that it was mistake of me to not reach out. I never wanted to make you upset, I was only caring about myself and it was wrong. I really hope you can forgive me, I want us to move on and be friends again” Daveed confessed.

“I could’ve reached out just as easy as you could of, but I didn’t. This falls on both of us. Of course I want to be friends again. Not being friends with you felt so lonely, I felt like you had forgotten all about me” I told him. Then I saw Daveed smirk.

He held his hand out in front of me. I saw a bracelet on his wrist that I had given him when we were saying goodbye before we both left for college. “You never forgot me?” I asked in shock. “How could I forget the first girl I ever loved?” He asked me, interlacing our fingers.

I was so shocked, did he reciprocate my feelings? “You loved me?” I asked him. I was praying he wouldn’t say that he used to love me and didn’t anymore. “I always have” he said, smiling. I smiled back at him and he leaned in and kissed me. He cupped my face and I held onto his forearms.

We both pulled away and I started to blush. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that” he said. “You want to know something?” I asked him, excitedly. “Tell me” he said, chuckling at how excited I was. “I never forgot about you either” I told him, rolling up my sleeve and revealing the matching bracelet.

taglist: @someinsanefangirl @laurens-interlude @geekycatlover @fanfic-addict-98 @romanoffs-heart @multifandomwriterx @andreasworlsboring101 @criminallyhamilton @imatyoursurrvicesurr @irlydontknoanymore @sayweird99 @nyxie75 @rileygene11 @daveeds-whore @trost-town @notebookgirl30 @teenag1jealousy @royalstans @elizasfaith @kmsmedine @brunadesuu @lilangeldevil006

Let me know if you want to be added to my taglist for all my imagines!!

[shepard-ram]

Okay so going deeper into yandere tommy, imagine him trying to get close to/befriend reader. Like he’s trying so hard to befriend them in his little gremlin way and, especially right before his exile, it becomes increasingly difficult because of the accusations and his actions. Despite all of the buzz around him, you both manage to become, in some form of the word, friends. But then the exile happens. Tommy feels like he’s been abandoned, betrayed by his closest friends. He literally has nobody. Well, except Dream and Ghostbur. After some time into his exile, with nobody going to visit him besides Dream, you decide that enough is enough and go to visit your friend. -🦤 1/?

you manage to get through the nether and, after a few failed attempts, find the portal that leads to Tommy’s site. When you find him, he’s probs not 100% in the right mental place. Like his depression is really getting to him and he’s kinda going mental (I haven’t rlly gotten to this part of the smp, I’m at the part right before Tommy’s exile so apologies if this isn’t completely accurate). And when a fucking ghost is your only mostly-constant contact along with a practically-daily visit from Dream, a man is gonna yearn for some other human contact. Especially from someone that you befriended before hand. So he feels closer to you since, ya’know, ur the first and only one that came to visit him (excluding Dream and Ghostbur). So y’all get to talking. you eventually leave but promise to keep visiting pretty often. Now Tommy’s trust issues are most definitely probably worse than before the exile so he’s very anxious when you leave. When you return the next day or the day after he’s like fucking POG the great Tommy is here!!! Right over here!! Look at him! You came back because you enjoy him because obviously he’s the best! But secretly he’s ecstatic about the fact that you came back for him. This keeps going on for a while until Tommy goes off with Techno. -🦤 2/?

You have no idea that anything happened to because you were busy and couldn’t visit him. Then when Tubbo spills the news, you’re devastated. You hadn’t visited Tommy in quite some time and because you visited him so often, you were partially in denial. So you went to check out the site yourself, and the tower convinced you that Tubbo’s news was true; Tommy was gone, dead, killed himself, whatever you wanna say about/call the “accident”. The mourning process starts and you cry. You cry and cry, sobbing until you can’t anymore, and somehow still manage to cry. Time passes and the guilt still stacks on you day by day. Then suddenly there’s news, rumors that Tommy was back; Tommy’s alive and well, seen walking the prime path with Techno and talking to Dream in front of the portal by the community house. -🦤 3/?

You are, understandably, in shock. You must be dreaming again, hallucinating that Tommy had come back and that nothing bad had happened to him. That everything that happened after he went missing was all some sick joke or a prank he pulled that worked a little too well. But when you see Tommy, mostly well but a little beaten/tattered, your emotions suddenly can’t be held back. All you can do hug Tommy, sobbing into his shoulder and calling him a “fucking bitch” for making everyone believe that he died or some shit. Then he chooses L’manberg over his alliance with Techno. Everything turns into chaos from there. -🦤 4/?

You don’t remember much else happening besides the fight for L’manberg which lead to its fall. It was all a blur. But everyone came out mostly unscathed and that’s all that mattered to you. I mean yeah there were some deaths and Tommy and Quackity were struck by lightning, but nothing that lead to a cannon death. But Tommy remembered everything. He remembered the way that you were repeatedly slain by Techno’s dog army, blown up by the tnt, fell into the holes that the withers made. There were so many things that Tommy remembered, all of the horrific things that happened to you and his friends. Some were reality and some came from nightmares/night terrors later on when that Tommy couldn’t differentiate between reality and fiction. But shhhh that totally doesn’t matter *wink*. - 🦤 5/? (Am I losing count?)

Anyways so a decent amount of that time you spent defending your friends against dangers instead of really instigating/fighting the stuff. You defended Tommy a lot because small big man Tommy is gone through so much , it’d hurt to see him go through more. But that just further traumatized him because why??? Why are you doing this? He’s not that important??? Stop getting yourself hurt over him! He’s am a big man! He can care for self! See!! He really appreciates you doing that for him though, even if it leads to disaster and fear/anxiety later on. So the battle definitely could have gone better. -🦤 6/?

People start to rebuild, but conflict still lingers. The Eggpire? Yikes, dangers cult! It literally wants to kill Tommy! So wouldn’t it try to do anything to lure Tommy in? Nicki and Jack trying to kill him. They’d do anything to get to him. And harming the things/ones he loves doesn’t seem to be on their list of “stuff we won’t do to fuck up this kid”. And many people don’t like him. There’s so many dangers for him and anybody he cares about. Tubbo, Phil, Sam, and the others can handle themselves. They have fighting experience. But you? Your first fight/war on the SMP was literally the last fight for L’manberg and you saw how that went! You got so injured during that! He can’t allow that to happen again! -🦤 7/?

So he’s paranoid about your safety, not really about himself. And maybe Nicki and Jack have already tried to use you to get Tommy. Even more incentive to do something ASAP for your safety. The best idea he can come up with is hiding you in a secret base. Secret bases do pretty well in the SMP... when they aren’t revealed; nobody really finds them and they do a great job protecting the stuff inside of it! He’s lazy and impatient and can’t just demand/“persuade” someone into making it for him. Then they’ll know where the base is, get suspicious of him or worse, they’ll know where you are/could be. So “asking for help” isn’t really an option here. He’ll ponder for a while then come up with the Pogtopia idea. It’s perfect! Nobody goes there anymore/it’s abandoned, it’s got the essentials to live there (I’m gonna assume the potato farm is still down there and will work), it’s a pretty secretive location (only the people on Pogtopia’s side rlly know of the location and they’re either dead or most likely forgot about the location! Besides Wilbur, Tommy, Techno, and Tubbo, the others didn’t go there often), and it’s a good distance away from most of the SMP. It’s a great idea! Now all Tommy has to do is get you into Pogtopia without any suspicion... -🦤 8/8 (yeah this was small at first then spiraled out of control owbfhfke sorry for the dump in your ask box)

Bro I'm not even gonna add to this cause it's just so perfect by itself- ah i am so glad you decided to share this <33!!! Like you really said "I'm gonna send a goddamn masterpiece" and I'm here for it

[notcanoncompliant]

Make It Better

Starker College!AU; Student!Peter/Professor!Tony (another excuse for me to write the word ‘panties’ repeatedly) (sorry not sorry)

****

Something’s off about Peter. Tony notices as soon as the kid steps into the lecture hall, and it only becomes more obvious as Tony actually gets the presentation going.

His favorite student (sue him, every professor has one) is hardly participating, and though he’s still obviously paying attention throughout, typing notes up as he goes, all of his usual enthusiasm is just…gone. He looks tired, or maybe sad.

Tony doesn’t think about how frequently he’s glancing over to check until Peter looks up and their eyes lock. The younger’s flare just slightly, and Tony feels like he’s been caught doing something he shouldn’t. Especially when a bloom of pink spreads across Peter’s cheeks.

He doesn’t check on him again for the rest of the lecture.

But he worries.

*

After he’s dismissed everyone and the students are filing out of the hall, Tony makes a decision.

“Parker, stay behind for a minute.”

Something in him is too satisfied at the way Peter halts almost immediately at the sound of his voice, stopping hard enough that he rocks forward slightly.

All the times Tony’s pulled Peter aside before this have been exercises in both self-restraint and masochism. The twenty-something is made of sunlight, brightness leaking out of his pores, and watching that split second of supernova excitement burst across his features when Tony tells him to stay is the instructor’s most guilty pleasure.

This time, though, there’s a quick spark, a flash of the light Tony’s (hoping for) familiar with, and then anxiety, and then the kid just looks…flat. Forcibly so. Like he’s hiding something.

The door closes behind the last retreating body, and then it’s just them in the empty lecture hall.

Tony moves to lean against the front of his desk, braces his palms against the wooden edge.

“Alright, kid,” he says, raising one hand to gesture vaguely at Peter, who’s stopped a few feet in front of him, “what’s up? You seemed pretty off today. Distracted.“

Peter winces, his eyes skittering down and away for a second before he looks back at the instructor.

"I’m sorry, Mr. Stark, I–it’s nothing, I didn’t mean to get–I still took notes, I wasn’t just–”

“Okay, Peter, breathe,” Tony soothes, “I’m not trying to berate you. You’re usually a little more active participation-wise, I wanted to check up on you. That’s all.”

He has to fight the urge to physically comfort Peter when those doe eyes (those eyes, those regular, normal eyes that Tony only ever notices as such) go pained and disbelieving and hopeful before the feelings are again poorly shuttered away.

“You don’t have to worry about me, Mr. Stark,” Peter says, smiling unconvincingly while the knuckles on the hand holding his bag strap turn white, “it’s nothing, just–just life stuff. I’ll be–it’ll be fine in a couple days. Tomorrow! Tomorrow, I’ll be fine tomorrow, participating and everything!”

Tony needs to accept defeat and let him go, bad poker face and all, but a not-good-very-bad voice in the back of his mind is muttering to him about the returned blush on Peter’s face. It’s making him think a little too much about the uncharacteristic unwillingness to share.

They’ve talked about things that aren’t related to curriculum in their frequent after-class discussions. Life comes up; they know some basic things about each other–favorite takeout, least favorite movies, places they grew up, etc.–and some things that are maybe not so basic–names of best friends, stories of first pets, how often they visit their parents, and so on.

But this is the first time he’s seen Peter so…flustered.

Thankfully (yes, thankfully) Tony’s conscience prevails and he decides not to push.

“Okay. Alright. But if you ever do need to talk to someone, my door’s always open.”

He gives Peter a quick smile he hopes is as comforting as he means it to be, pushes off the desk and circles back around to his seat. 

He’s proud of himself, he really is, Tony thinks while he blindly shuffles through some papers. Resisted temptation. Kept things on neutral ground. Breached no bound–

“My boyfriend dumped me.”

Tony freezes, his fingers flexing involuntarily. The crinkle of paper is loud in the spacious, empty room.

Okay.

“That’s rough, I’m sorry,” Tony says, suddenly wishing he had something to drink. Water. Juice. Scotch.

He looks up at Peter with what he hopes is more empathy than the inappropriate excitement he’s feeling over the development, but he’s suddenly a lot less concerned with what his own face is doing when he sees Peter’s expression.

The kid’s not even looking at him, just staring off to the side with this heartbreaking shame written across his features.

“I…” Peter’s throat clicks when he swallows, “I told him about something I…like. And he, um…”

Oh, man. Oh, no.

“…he called me a pervert,” Peter says, quietly, “and I know it’s not a big–I mean, the word’s kind of a joke…but, he really meant it, you know? There’s a difference, when someone says it and they really think you’re–” he pauses, frowns tightly. “What I–it’s not even anything bad, not gross or illegal. And I know it’s not, but…for a second…”

Tony’s heart fucking shatters for him. There’s nothing quite like being genuinely kink-shamed for the first time, especially by someone you thought you could trust. For someone as genuinely sweet and kind as Peter, it would be completely implosive. He remembers similar devastation, hates seeing the confused, questioning pain on Peter’s face, the self-doubt.

He resists the compulsion to ask what, exactly, Peter likes.

“I’m sorry. That’s really shitty,” he says instead.

Tony doesn’t typically curse in front of his students (has to keep up appearances of professionalism somehow), and he preens internally when Peter huffs a surprised laugh. It’s a nice moment, both of them wrapped in shared experience (even if one party’s unaware), uplifted by just a hint of levity. Very Chicken Soup for the Secret Kinky Soul–

“Do you–,” Peter starts, blushing slightly, “–can I tell you what it is? It’d be nice to hear it’s, you know, not actually weird?” He’s squirming a little, his eyes dancing away again with nerves.

Tony might actually die. Rolling himself back a bit from the desk, he takes a breath and pastes on his last-ditch effort at an encouraging, platonic, smile. Slouches casually against the backrest of his chair.

“If you feel comfortable sharing, then shoot.”

He’s going for ‘mentorly’, he swears. This is definitely an appropriate conversation to have with his student. Definitely. Yes.

After a beat of silence, Peter shifts. Takes a breath. Swallows.

“I like…um. I like wearing pant–” the kid chokes a little, flushes darker, “I like wearing women’s underwear.”

“Ah,” Tony says. He tries to covertly lace his fingers together over the vicinity of ‘just below his belt’ and only succeeds in drawing Peter’s eye to where his hands have disappeared.

Before Peter’s eyes flip back up to meet his, Tony sees the kid’s tongue peek out to wet his lips in a subconscious motion.

Clearing his throat, Tony brings his hands up from his lap to fold them on the desk, leans forward. Watches the anticipation and uncertainty dance across Peter’s face. Hopes he’s coming off more supportive than interested.

“It’s not weird, Pete. It’s…not. Don’t worry about that.”

It feels hypocritical; essentially telling Peter not to think much of it, when Tony is going to have an impossible time thinking about anything else. He’s trying hard not to think about it right now, trying to avoid imagining clinging lace, or satin, or silk, stretched over Peter’s–

“Can I show you?”

Tony absently approves of the phrasing; that he’s being offered a gift, that this is something Peter wants to give him. The response he knows he should give is something along the lines of 'that’s not appropriate’, but the only one banging around in his head is a resounding YES PLEASE. 

When he gives up and nods in the affirmative, Peter slides his bag off his shoulder.

Tony’s expecting him to pull out his phone, maybe show him some pictures. Apparently, Tony’s going to have to re-examine his take on reality, because Peter does not pull out his phone.

The brunet lowers his bag to the floor and starts taking off his jacket.

Tony’s frozen, again, as the jacket hits the carpet beside the already discarded laptop bag. Frozen, twice in one day. Twice in less than an hour. Peter is a fucking trip. He’s a dream, he’s a hallucination–

–that will be immediately visible if anyone were to open the lecture hall door.

Peter seems to realize it at the same time. He’s across the room in a couple of seconds, reaching for the door handle, pausing for a beat…and locking them in together.

It feels a little like someone snaps their fingers in Tony’s face.

He’s about to let one of his students–his favorite student–basically give him a striptease. In his classroom. It’s beyond 'inappropriate’. This is something Peter should be exploring with other twenty-somethings, not a professor fifteen years his senior–

But…Peter had tried to explore it with someone else, hadn’t he?

“Mr. Stark,” Peter says, suddenly, “Is this okay?”

The younger man’s back in place, like he’d never moved at all, but now he’s shyly lifting the hem of his t-shirt with one hand and undoing the front closure of his jeans with the other, and Tony’s eyes lock onto the peekaboo of fire-engine red now visible beneath the worn denim.

“Yeah, Pete,” he says, voice rasping slightly, “It’s okay.”

Everyone has a breaking point, Tony reasons as he stares at the picture in front of him. There’s only so much he could possibly endure before letting go, and apparently his threshold’s pretty low when it comes to Peter; a few seconds of crepe paper resistance.

He stands slowly, comes around the desk. Peter doesn’t move, just watches him, brittle-sharp hope in his eyes. Tony’s aware he’s moving like Peter’s a frightened animal, and his brain both shies from and reaches towards how this could make him the hunter, more so than the awed observer. Though he is definitely both.

The way the kid’s chest heaves slightly on a sharp inhale, the way his lips part just barely when Tony lowers to his knees in front of him, are just more gifts, more memories Tony wants to etch into his brain and play on loop. He plans on showing just how grateful he is.

Peter’s flushing a lot brighter, but he’s not pulling away; he just pulls the zipper open a little further, revealing more of the delicate pattern that overlays Peter’s pale, smooth skin.

“Can I touch you? Kiss you?” Tony asks, voice rough

Peter gives him a shaky but enthusiastic 'yes, please’.

Tony groans and reaches for him, tugs the denim waistband down a couple inches and pulls Peter gently forward by the hips so he can drag his lips along the line where that softly-defined vee of muscle disappears under the thin lace. Peter’s hand slides into his hair, and Tony hums in approval as he presses drawn out kisses into the skin of Peter’s stomach.

When Tony grabs two generous handfuls of Peter’s ass and squeezes, those tentative, sweet fingers tighten reflexively.

“This is–you look edible, Pete. I’m so lucky you’re letting me see you like this.”

“Yeah?” Peter asks, breathless and wide-eyed when Tony looks up.

“Yes, sweetheart. Beautiful. Gorgeous…” He punctuates each word with another brush of lips to the border of lace and skin. 

He smells lightly musky and male through the delicate fabric, his cock hard and hot underneath.

Shutting his eyes, Tony gets lost in nuzzling at Peter, murmuring sweet nonsense, nipping and kissing and dipping lower, reveling in lightly musky male scent through the delicate fabric. Peter’s cock is hard and hot, and Tony can’t help but lave his tongue over the swollen head, humming when Peter shivers against him.

He pulls back to both attempt to calm down and check on how Peter’s doing; he hadn’t meant to get so worshippy–

When he looks up, he feels like his chest is caving in. Peter’s on the verge of tears, eyes red-rimmed and wet, and Tony pushes to stand.

“God, Pete, I’m sorry–”

He’s cut off with a muffled 'mmph’ when Peter grabs his shirt and yanks him down for a kiss. It’s short and hard and desperate, and when it’s over, Peter pulls away enough that Tony can see the almost-panic on his face.

“I–Mr. Stark, thank you, please don’t apologize, please don’t say it was a mistake, it felt so good, you felt so good, I don’t want to stop, I’ll stop crying, I promise–”

For a second, Tony’s furious with whoever made Peter believe he has to apologize for his tears (wonders if it’s the same dipshit who said no to Peter Parker in fucking panties), but Tony’s anger won’t help anything right now. He reels in his questions, and instead reaches up with one hand to swipe the fresh-fallen tears from Peter’s cheeks, a move that stops the flow of anxious word-vomit.

“If you want more, I want to give you more,” Tony says, using his free arm to wrap Peter’s waist and tug him gently forward. “I want you to have the world, kid.”

It’s too honest–Tony’s being way too honest right now; months of feelings and want trying to break free–but he’s not about to stop. Not when Peter’s staring up at him with heartbreaking, careful hope. 

Lowering his head, Tony presses a kiss to the corner of Peter’s jaw, murmurs his next words into his ear. 

“You’re amazing, Peter. So brilliant. So sweet.” He drops both hands to slide down Peter’s hips and around to the small of his back, slips his fingers just under the lace, drags them back and forth along the soft skin just above the curve of his ass as Peter arches against him with a shaky gasp.“That you look like a wet dream right now is really just a bonus.”

“Mr. Stark…” Peter breathes, surprised, his flush deepening.

Tony’s going to have to tell Peter to use his first name at some point, but he’s a little too selfish to do it right now, when the moniker sends a bolt of liquid heat swooping low in his stomach.

“And you’re going to make a mess in these for me,” he continues, tugging at the panties, “because I want you to feel good. Because you deserve to feel good.”

Peter’s staring up at him with a sweeter version of the supernova Tony loves, tentative hope and anticipation and want.

“Come on, sweetheart,” Tony says, tilting his head down to brush a kiss across Peter’s lips, “let me make you feel good. Let me make it better.”

***

@the-amazing-spidertwink, @starkercrossedlovers

[eleanorbloom]

When You’re Ready Ch. 17

Pairing: Bryce Lahela x f! MC (Eleanor Bloom) x Ethan Ramsey.

Word Count: 6.6k  (Am I sorry? Absolutely not.)

Warnings: Angst and cussing.

Taglist @utterlyinevitable​ @binny1985​ @shanzay44​ @choicesficwriterscreations​ @laiba-the-person​ @starrystarrytrouble​ @lahellacute​ @lucy-268​  @cinnamonspongecake​ @romewritingshop​ @bratzlahela​ @mrs-raleighcarrera​​   @mercury84choices​  @curiousconch​

Chapter 17: Truly, Madly, Deeply.

I'll love you more with every breath Truly, madly, deeply do I will be strong I will be faithful 'Cause I'm counting on A new beginning A reason for living A deeper meaning, yeah

 “I’m an asshole.”

Aurora stared at Bryce leaning against the wall with his face buried in his forearm and his shoulders slumped. Defeated. Ashamed. Mortified.

“Bryce, if I told you this is not to make you feel worse than you already feel, it’s because you had understandable reasons to be mad. This whole situation between Eleanor and Ethan is… complicated and adding the information Elijah gave it to you only made things worse.”

Bryce stood straight and faced his friend, his eyes glistening.

“Understandable reasons. Thinking that Eleanor slept with Ramsey and she would dump me it’s an understandable reason to ignore her even if she had never given me any reasons to distrust her? I think not. It’s awful.”

His voice was full of regret and desperation, and even if seeing Bryce like that was painful for her, she didn’t regret her decision.

“You got caught in a misunderstanding. I bet you thought the worst because you’re afraid and that’s understandable. Now you know the truth and you can move on.”

“Move on?—He turned around and started pacing around the hallway trying to contain his anger.—"How can I move on if I know the last three days could’ve been so much different and I…”

“Bryce, stop there.”—Aurora snapped, serious. —"You have to stop wallowing in what-ifs and should’ves right now, because is not going to lead you anywhere, and is not going to help Eleanor either. She needs you. You’re the person she needs the most now, so you have to be in your best shape and mood to help her. Your feelings are important, but right now you have to focus on her.”

Bryce stopped in the middle of the hallway and sighed loudly, then he nodded and looked up at Aurora.

“You’re right. I’m sorry. I’m not usually like this, I don’t lose control this easily, it’s just…”

It’s just that he couldn’t imagine a life without Eleanor, and he couldn't live with the fact that he could've held her, and kiss her, and love her the last three days but he didn't because he was blind and scared.

His breath started raging and he winced, trying to contain the emotions that were overwhelming him. The idea of losing her was becoming more palpable than ever.

“It’s okay, Bryce. You love her, she’s your girlfriend, I’d be more worried if you hadn’t lost your shit by now. Come here.”

Aurora pulled him into a hug, and he wrapped her instantly as if holding her was like clinging to the last drop of sanity he had left.

Guilt had always been his weak spot. He learned it when he left Keiki in Maui and never came back, and to this day he was still dealing with the consequences and trying to make up for the lost time.  

And now he was dealing with another kind of guilt, and facing death was making everything worse. The effects were instant, devastating, and maddening.

After a minute of herculean effort to not crying his soul out, Bryce pulled away from Aurora, feeling more serene and like a lot of weight had been taken off his shoulders.  

“Thank you, Aurora.”—He muttered, staring deeply at her chocolate eyes, trying to convey his feelings.— “You’re an amazing friend.”

If it wasn’t for her, Bryce would’ve drowned in guilt, shame, and self-loathing to a depth so dangerous, it would've taken an impossible effort to come afloat by himself.

Aurora smiled at him and shook him by the shoulders.

“Anytime you need, I’ll be there for you. You’re not alone.”

“Likewise.”

“Dr. Lahela?”

Bryce turned around and found a nurse a few feet away, looking at them cautiously, almost sorry for interrupting the intimate moment.  

“Yes, Marlene?”

“I’ve been trying to contact Eleanor’s family for a couple of hours, but no success. Dr. Ramsey told me you probably have an alternative number? Or maybe you could have access to Eleanor’s phone so we could get another number?”

“And what numbers do you have?”

“Her family emergency contact was her mom’s cellphone and a landline in Cincinnati.”

“And none of them works?”

“The cellphone is out of service, and no one answers in her house.”

Bryce frowned, thoughtful, and after a few seconds, he nodded.

“Oh. Of course. Eleanor’s parents aren’t in the city. They went to Chile to spend the national holidays with her mom’s family. We should try with her brother, he’s in college in Michigan. Where’s Eleanor’s phone?”

“It’s at the Diagnostics Office, with the rest of her belongings.”

Bryce and Aurora entered the empty office. In the center of the round table was a plastic bag with Eleanor’s clothes, shoes, and her phone. Bryce grabbed her phone and unlocked it with his fingerprint without a moment's hesitation.

Aurora chuckled without hiding the surprise in her eyes.

“What?”

“One thing is knowing her password, but adding your fingerprint?”

“It’s faster when you wanna put a song on Spotify.—He shrugged with a nonchalant expression on his face.—"She has access to mine too.”

Aurora and Marlene shared a knowing smile, but he didn’t notice it.              

Bryce scrolled through Eleanor’s contacts list. When he found “Benja”, he dialed instantly. After several rings, a whispering voice was heard on the other side of the line.

“Hello? Andrew? I’m in class right now.”

“Um, hello Benjamin, this is Bryce Lahela.”—He said softly.

“Bryce Lahela…  oh, shoot. Hello. You’re my sister’s boyfriend, right?”

“Y… Yes. Can we talk? I have something important to tell you.”

“Okay, wait a second.”

While he was waiting, Bryce couldn’t help but feel shivers down his spine. It was the first time he was talking to a member of Eleanor’s family, and even if he knew her family was aware of their relationship, it made him feel nervous reaching this milestone, especially under terrible circumstances, and after the doubts he had been feeling the past few days.

“Okay, I’m out. Something happened?”

Bryce tried to balance the concern of a boyfriend with the calmness and professionalism acquired in his medical career to not shock Benjamin more than necessary.

“Unfortunately, yes. There was an assassination attempt on a Senator here in Edenbrook, it was Eleanor’s patient, and she was caught in the middle. The hospital tried to contact your mother, but as she’s in Chile, I decided to contact you directly.”

“Shit. Yes, you did the right thing. How is she? What happened exactly?”

“She’s stable at the moment. This assassin used a canister with an unknown substance, so the hospital is working to figure out what was inside as soon as possible.  It already killed a man, and there’s a nurse in a coma."

“Oh my god, no…”

Bryce could sense the pain Benjamin was feeling even if he couldn’t see him. He knew how much Eleanor adored her brother, so it was natural that Benjamin would feel the same way about her. And knowing his sister was in danger of course would cause this type of reaction, especially being away.

“Is she awake? Can I speak with her?”

“She’s in quarantine, so is kind of difficult to let you talk through the phone, but I can try.”

“No, it’s okay. Don’t worry. I… I’ll fly as soon as I can to Boston.”

“Do you have a number so we can call your parents?”

“I’ll do it. I have my grandma’s landline, that’s the quickest way to contact mom.”

“Okay, then. Let me know if you need anything, alright? Do you have money to fly here?”

“Yes, I have a credit card to use in case of emergencies. Thank you, Bryce.”

“No problem.”

After a few more questions and Bryce giving him his number, Benjamin hung up. If he was lucky, he would be able to land in Boston in three hours.

“Okay, Benjamin is going to contact Eleanor’s parents and once he's here, they'll have a video call with the Team so they can inform Eleanor’s state more detailly.”

“Understood. Thank you so much, Dr. Lahela. I’ll let know Dr. Ramsey.”

“No problem, glad I could help.”

When Bryce grabbed his own phone to save Benjamin’s number, he noticed he had several missed calls and messages from Keiki.

“Bryce, I read that something happened at the hospital. Please answer me.” “I know you probably are in the OR but please call me when you see this” “Are you okay?”

Bryce sighed and dialed her number.

“Bryce? Oh my god, how are you? Why you didn’t answer!”

“I was at the surgery, Keiki. I told you it would last long”—He lied, but regretted it the second he let out the words.

“I know, but… I was worried, the news are saying the police is in the hospital, that someone tried to kill a Senator. Is that true?”

Bryce pondered his words. There was no point in lying, sooner or later she would find out, and it was better if it was from him.  So he told her the truth. That the rumors she saw on the news were true, and that Eleanor was in danger. Keiki was desperate and wanted to come over to the hospital to see her, but even if he needed his sister here, he had to play the responsible and serious older brother for once in his life.

“Keiki, it’s better if you stay at home. Is too dangerous here and I think Eleanor would kill me if I let you come over.”

She chuckled.

“That’s true. Better not give her a hard time.”

“Exactly.”

“Okay, but please, keep me informed.”

“I will. And if you need anything, please call me, and stay safe. I’m probably staying here tonight.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll be fine.  Please send Ella all my love if you see her, okay?”

“Sure, thank you, sis."

Three hours later, Bryce was deep in thoughts sitting in a chair near the atrium, when he saw the vivid image of Eleanor walking towards him.  He had to blink several times.

“Damn, pictures give you an idea, but I didn’t know you and Elle were so alike.— He joked, standing up from the chair and offering his hand to the guy in front of him. —"Hello Benjamin, nice to meet you.”

The situation wasn’t appropriate for jokes, but somehow Bryce felt like he needed to kill the tension from the start. Eleanor had told him her brother was ongoing and nice, and it just felt right to act that way with him, instead of serious and gloomy.

Benjamin returned the handshake and smiled.

He was way taller than Eleanor but not taller than him, and he had an athletic body, even if he wasn't on any sports team at college. He was just a soccer and basketball aficionado, or at least that’s what Eleanor had told him.

“Nice to meet you too, Bryce. For what it's worth, you’re as handsome as you seem in Ellie’s Pictogram. Thought you were using some Ken filter, but nope, that’s really you.—Benja teased, containing a laugh.

Bryce couldn’t help but chuckle.

“100% real, no weird filters, I promise.”

“Any updates?”

“None. She’s stable and was sedated right after we spoke the first time, so she should be awake by now. The rest is working in the labs trying to find out what could’ve been inside the canister.”

“And you’re not going?”

“I was hired as moral support. My friends are more expert in that field than me, I’m just a surgeon.”—Bryce replied sheepishly, shrugging.

“But the best surgical resident or that’s what I’ve heard.”

His eyes widened for a second, but then Bryce shook his head, amused.

“She told you that?”

“That and other fangirly praises like “oh, he’s so cute, so charming, and talented, the best surgeon, he’s amazing.”

His heart did a flip. He never expected Eleanor would talk about him like that to her brother. Or that she would talk about him at all.

“You must be really impressive to have my sister babbling like a teenager at the age of 27.”

“What can I say? I’m a total catch.”—Bryce gave him his characteristic charming smile, feeling somehow relieved for a moment. It was like Benjamin was giving him the same relaxed and nice vibes he always felt around Eleanor.

Benjamin laughed and Bryce’s heart did another flip as he saw traces of Eleanor’s smile in him. She was everywhere. In the shape of his eyes, the way he quirked his brows, in his grin, even he could hear her in his still marked Ohioan accent.

“Yeah, I’m pretty cocky too, ask my friends and everyone will say a round yes, but your sister doesn’t deserve any less.”

“I agree completely.”

After a few minutes, Bryce and Benjamin stood in front of the quarantined room. Eleanor was half-asleep staring at Rafael, who was sleeping.

“Andrew”—Benjamin muttered.

Eleanor was extremely pale, her eyes were puffy, and her lips parched and cracked, but the moment she opened her eyes and recognized Benjamin, her whole face brightened with love and surprise.  

“Benja! Ohmygod! What are you doing here?”

“Bryce contacted me so I had to come to see you. How are you?”

Eleanor stood up with difficulty. When she reached the door, her eyes were full of tears.

“Bebé… I’m… well, I’ve been better, but right now I’m so happy to see you.”

“Me too, sis.”

Both siblings shared a smile, the same kind smile, and Bryce couldn't help but mirror them.

“Well, I leave you to it. I’ll let Dr. Ramsey know you’re here so you can have the meeting with your parents.”

Bryce turned to leave but Eleanor stopped him.

“Bryce, wait.”

“Yes?”

“Thank you, thank you for calling my brother.”

Eleanor gave him a tender smile, full of thankfulness and adoration.

“Yeah, thank you, Bryce, for all you’ve done for my sister.”—Benjamin added, earnestly.

“It’s nothing. Let me know if you need anything.”

And he left the siblings catching up with their lives, the younger trying to cheer up the older with the usual jokes and mocks siblings have.

Hours later, Eleanor paged to report a new symptom Rafael had manifested before falling into a coma. Hopefully, it would be the key to find the answer they’ve been trying to reach all day.

“Bryce?”—Aurora murmured, approaching him in the hallway. “Dr. Ramsey wants to talk to you, he’s in his personal office.”

When Bryce turned to her he didn’t need a second glance to read the panic in her eyes. He gulped and then forced himself to smile at Eleanor.

“See you later, gorgeous.”

Bryce walked to the office as fast as he could. When he reached Ethan’s office, he breathed deeply before getting in. As he opened the door, he found the attending looking at the window, pensive. He looked small and fragile, and when Bryce stood behind him, he saw how haggard he was in the reflection of the window. After a few moments, Ethan turned to face him, and he didn’t even bother to hide his feelings.

“Do you know what’s in the canister?”

“Yes. June was right. It’s…”.—Ethan cleared his throat, brows knitted in worry.—“ It’s a maitotoxine.”

“Maitotoxine? I think I’m not familiar with the name.”

“It’s an extremely potent toxin commonly found in fish, but this… this toxin is something I’ve never seen before. Not June, not Baz…”—Ethan shoved his hand through his hair, evidencing his frustration.

“What does this mean?”—Bryce said in a tiny voice, already knowing what Ethan was about to say.

“There is no antidote for this, Bryce.”

For a moment, Bryce felt like he would faint, his mind went clouded, and lost track of space and time. His body wasn’t strong enough to process such information. Such undeniable and hurtful truth.

What he had been fearing all day was now materializing.

“And what are you going to do? Can you create an antidote or modify another one with a similar molecular structure? That has been done lots of times.”

“Yes, that’s what we are hoping to do. Aurora informed me that a group of doctors from Mass Kenmore is coming to Edenbrook to help, so we’ll have the best minds working on an antidote.”

But they had to have it before it’s too late.”

“You have to… you have to find the antidote, Ethan. She can’t die… She…”

Bryce suddenly got out of breath. The desperation was brewing again. The pain was inexorable. He couldn’t hold it anymore.

“I can’t lose her. Ethan, please… You have to...”

He couldn’t tell when happened, but all at once, he found himself drowning in sobs and with large tears streaming past his neck, reaching his chest.

He did his best to not succumb to his feelings in the OR because Kyra needed him, and he couldn't fail her nor Eleanor.

He managed to hold it while he was with Aurora because there was still hope and Aurora forced him to focus on Eleanor.

He was doing fine keeping his hopes high, trusting they would find out what was in the canister and then set a treatment and everything would be alright.

But there was no cure, no antidote.

Even if one hundred doctors were working on it, no one could assure him that they could do it before it’s too late. Before she’s gone.

He didn't even want to think in a world without her, but the sole draft, just a slight hint of it was devastating, unbearable.

He started gasping for air. His guts were shaking uncontrollably. The lump he felt in his throat at OR was now bigger and even more painful. His entire body was numb.

This was a living nightmare.

After a few seconds, Bryce took a chair and sat down before his legs could fail him.  Ethan did the same.

“We have to stay positive, Bryce. Many of us have experience with research and with the help of Mass Kenmore and your friends, I’m sure will be on time to fight the toxin.”

“I wanna believe that, I’ve been believing this shit all day, Ethan. But… if it’s too late. I…”—He rubbed his face with both hands, his face red and wet with tears. Then he buried his face in his hands.—“She doesn’t deserve this… She can’t die… Please…”

Ethan patted him in the shoulder, comfortingly, his eyes haunted with fear and sadness.

“Bryce, I won’t let anything happen to Eleanor ...”—He hesitated for a moment, pondering his next words.— “You know what she means to me. I know you do. And I’ll do everything I can to save her, I promise. Whatever it takes. I won’t let anything happen to her. "

Bryce looked at him defeated.

“If I could, I would do it too, but I’m so useless. I feel so useless.”

"No, Bryce, on the contrary, you have done for her more than any of us could. If she’s still able to have a smile on her face despite the hell she’s living, if she’s still standing is not only because she’s incredibly strong. It’s because she has you. You’re part of the reason she hasn’t fallen into a coma yet.”

There was a painful rawness in those words. In another time and circumstances, Ethan would have never been able to say it aloud, mostly for pride and because he didn’t use to open to anyone. But not today. His love for Eleanor was selfless enough to let him recognize that if she was doing good was because of Bryce, and she had given him enough bravery to accept it out loud in front of the person she had chosen over him. Because Ethan only needed one second of watching Eleanor looking at Bryce to realize she was in love with him.

The only person Eleanor needed, was Bryce.

Ethan’s words felt like an absolute and relieving certainty to Bryce, mostly because who was saying it was the person he would expect it the less, and it gave him the strength he needed to keep going. To keep being there for Eleanor in this difficult night.

“Thank you, Ethan.”—Bryce said after a while, regaining breath and clarity.

The attending nodded and then stood up from the chair.

“Come on, we have to speak with Eleanor, and she’ll need you by her side.”

Eleanor was hopeless. Bryce could tell how the slight hope she had inside her had vanished with the news.

“We’ll do our best to find the antidote. Just keep fighting Eleanor.”—Elijah reassured.

The doctors from Mass Kenmore and the rest of their friends started to go. Sienna was heading Benjamin to the fifth floor so he could have some rest. He didn’t want to leave the hospital in case something happened.

And then, there was only Ethan and Bryce outside the room.

Eleanor smiled at Ethan, noticing how troubled and scared he was, as if he didn’t want to leave her there, knowing things could go wrong anytime and he couldn’t say goodbye. But he knew it wasn’t his place to be anymore. He knew it was Bryce’s.

“Thank you, Ethan. For everything.”

“We’ll make it, Eleanor. Keep fighting just as you’ve been doing until now.”—He stared deeply into her eyes for a moment, before turning around and leave Bryce alone in the hallway.  

Bryce watched him leave, and when he looked at Eleanor, her swelling eyes were already on him, clinging onto him even if she couldn’t touch him. Like his eyes were strong and powerful enough to hold her to life.

She was tired. She was giving up.

“It’s gonna be okay, Elle, I promise.”

“It won’t. How they’re going to create an antidote in just a few hours? Raf and Danny are in a coma, they could go at any moment, so do I."

“Yes, it could happen at any moment, but that moment could take hours, even days, and I’m sure the team will have it on time.  They have a lot of brilliant people working on it, with tons of experience. They’ll make it, I know.”

Eleanor shook her head hastily, sobbing.

“It’s just I’m so tired, Bryce. I… I can’t take it anymore, I’m tired of being strong and show hope and shit, I want this to be over, I’m done.”

“I know you are, babe. You have been so strong and brave, it’s understandable that you want a break. You deserve it, but you have to keep fighting, okay?”

“The only reason I’m doing it it’s because of you. Because somehow you don’t let me fall. If it wasn’t for you, I don’t think I would be still standing. I don’t know I’d be here. I wouldn’t be that strong.”

Bryce smiled tenderly at her puffed eyes.

“You would. Don’t you know it already, Eleanor? That strength that you have is all you. You have it inside you. You always have.”

“Don’t you know it already, Bryce? You make me stronger. You know it’s true.”

“Glad to be of service.”—He flashed her a smile that made her smile too.—“But this is mostly you.”

“I wish I could hold you right now. I miss you so much.”

“Maybe you can.”

“How?”

“There’s another hazmat suit out here. I could go inside and make you company for a while.  I hate the idea of you being alone in a moment like this.”

“Would you do that for me?”

“How dare to ask that, Eleanor Andrea Bloom? You know I would do anything for you.”

Eleanor bit his lower lip, compassing her sobs for a moment.

“I’d love to have you here with me.”

“That’s it, then.”

A few minutes later, Bryce entered the room with the hazmat suit on, and a dashing smile adorning his face.  

“Well, what do you think? Am I still handsome? Or am I somehow more handsome? Be honest.”—He said flirtily.

She shook her head, chuckling.

“God, how I missed you, Johnny Bravo.”—She said looking at him from head to toes.—"I think it’s your best look yet. You’ll catch a lot of babes with that.”

“Ah,”—He growled, taking slow steps towards her— “but you know there’s just one babe I want, and I have it right here in front of me.”

Eleanor looked up at him, almost not believing he was in front of her, that she was able to touch him.

In an intent to believe it, she cut the distance and wrapped Bryce in a tight embrace.

“You’re here, you’re really here.”

“You’re not the only one who was dying for a hug, you know? Especially after all the opportunities, I wasted in these few days."

Bryce tightened his hold, almost scared that Eleanor would vanish into thin air any second now.

“Elle, I’m…”

“Shhh… Not now.”

He nodded and both remained silent, savoring the embrace, the sweet feeling of having each other in their arms. Even if they couldn’t feel the warmth and smell they loved so much, feeling their arms wrapped around those so well known curves was sufficient. It brought them joy, peace. A sense of reality in the middle of that living hell.  

After a minute, her limbs started trembling and her breath got short.

“Come on, babe, let’s get you to bed.”

Bryce took her hand and helped her laid down. Then, somehow, he managed to squeeze in the bed beside her.  

“How’s that?”

“Much, much better.”—Eleanor placed a hand over his waist and then added: —“My brother really liked you. A lot.”

“I know. I liked him too.”

“You know?”

“I told him I was a total catch, cause I am, and he agreed with me. That totally means that he likes me, right?”

“Bryce…”—She laughed, rolling her eyes.

“What? It’s the truth! I didn’t force him to agree or anything! I mean, you did half the job by telling him all those incredible things about me.”

“He told you that? Oh, that brat!”

Bryce shrugged, amused while Eleanor shook her head.

I’m glad you finally get to know each other, and you actually liked each other.”

"I mean, it's hard not to. He's really nice and you've told me so much about him I feel like I've known him for a long time."

“I think something like that happened to me with Keiki, even if I had absolutely no idea about her existence before I met her”—Eleanor teased, feigning annoyance.

“Keiki… She’s been worried about you all day. She was crazy to come up here, but I told her you would kill me if she came. But I’ve been giving her updates every hour.”

“Oh, yes. I would’ve been so fucking mad, Bryce Lahela. I’m glad you kept her safe.”—Then she sighed.—"The poor thing, must be all alone. You should go to see her.”

“I know, but I can’t leave you here, Elle.”

“Would it be too selfish of me if I tell you I don’t want you to leave?”

“No. Not at all.”—His look softened.—“I don’t want to leave, either. In fact, I won’t leave your side, Eleanor.”

Bryce gave him a tiny smiled and they stared at each other, savoring once again the moment of being together. After a while, Eleanor laughed.

“What is it?”

“You look so fucking handsome, Bryce, it’s ridiculous, and I look like shit. I’m done a complete mess.”

Bryce chuckled, spotting the dark circles around her eyes, her tousled hair, how pale she was. He really hadn’t noticed how bad she looked.

“Yeah, you look like shit”—He teased.—"But you know what? You’re still the most beautiful creature in the universe, princess.”

Her eyes were swelling with tears, and a moment later, a sob escaped her mouth.

“Okay, okay, I take it back,”—He added seconds, later, noticing her swelling eyes. “you don’t look like shit, you look amazing, babe, incredible. Ready for a Vogue photoshoot. Ready for the Oscars.”

Bryce couldn’t tell if what escaped her mouth was a sob or a giggle, but her face had lightened somehow.

Somehow, he managed to end her anguish and ease her pain.

Somehow.

He didn’t know how.

As if it was pure luck.

But she perfectly knew it wasn’t luck.

“Gosh, Bryce…”—She couldn’t continue. It felt like she was out of breath.—"Bryce I…”

She brought her hands to the side of his head, her thumbs over the face shield as if she was caressing his cheeks.

She locked eyes with him, and that look, that adoring look made him feel millions of shivers through his all body. Those dreamy tender eyes managed to convey all the emotions that were brewing inside her.

And Bryce was finally, finally able to see it, after missing it so many times that day.

“Te amo.”

He was at last, at last able to hear it, after longing for it for so long.

Her eyes were looking directly into his soul, into his heart, pouring everything she had inside to fill him with the most sincere and sweet love. With adoration, admiration, tenderness. With the purest feelings anyone could imagine.

And those two words sounded like relief. Like she had been choking and those words out loud were acting like the air she had been needing for so long.

“I love you so, so, so much, Bryce.”

And her eyes now were even fuller with adoration and candor. Full of happiness and life, even if ten minutes ago she had been feeling ready to die.

“I… I wish I had realized sooner, and these weren’t the circumstances where I’m able to say it… but if I don’t make it, I don’t want to go without you knowing what I feel about you.”

“Babe, you’ll make it, you don’t need to do this just because you’re here.”

“I’m doing this because that’s how I truly feel. I’m in love with you.”

“You really are?”

Even if he had been waiting for those words for months, he couldn’t believe it. Even if he had been receiving signs all day, from different people, he still couldn’t believe it.

“Yes. Yesterday I was finally able to see it, but it has been there for a while.”

“How so?”

“I’ll explain it later. You need to know some things first.”

“Okay.”

“As you know, I went to Ethan’s apartment after the game.”

“Aha.”

And she told him everything that happened that night. She didn’t keep anything. Well, except the personal stuff Ethan had shared with her, but the confession, the things he promised her, the kiss, how she felt after that, what she talked with Aurora. Everything. Because she had nothing to hide and he deserved to know everything, just as it always had been.

“And I just like that, I realized that I was over him. Just like you said. I was in front of the Ethan I used to love, telling me he loved me, offering me everything. But it turned out I… I didn’t want him anymore.”

“I’m sorry it had to be this painful to you. I had no idea you had been hurt so much.”

“Yeah, I had it blocked, but I’m sure I would’ve told you if it wasn't the case.

Bryce stroke her hair in the most tender way he could, his eyes haunted.

“I’m sorry, babe. I’m for being so distant and an ass with you. I should’ve let you talk, but I was afraid of what you would tell me”

“I know. I know and I completely understood it. But I can’t deny that at some point I was afraid that… I hurt you to the point of you not wanting anything to do with me anymore. That going with Ethan that night was the last straw and that no matter what happened between him and me, you… you would want to break up."

“No, of course not. How could I decide something like that without a warning? And with something I pushed you to do? No. I was just… trying to delay the inevitable. The suffering of knowing that you gave him a chance.”

“Well, I didn’t. And I realized that I was in love with you instead. At last.”

“Are you sure about that? You know there’s no need to hurry…”

“Bryce, why is so hard to believe it? Should I shout it with a megaphone, or maybe post photos and stories on my Pictogram telling that I’m truly, madly, deeply in love with you so you can believe me? Because I’m willing to.”

Bryce laughed, incredulous.

“Truly, Madly, Deeply. Damn. Just like that Savage Garden song?”

“The very same. I like the 90s.”

“A woman after my own heart.”

She bit her lower lip, smiling.

“I cannot believe how blind I was. It has been there, the whole time!”

“I’m listening.”

“It’s…”

Her whole face lit up with that sunny smile he loved so much. For a moment, he forgot where they were.

“It’s in the way I look at you, like a fool. Like I was fifteen. It’s the fact that you’re my first thought in the morning and my last one before going to sleep. You’re the first person I think of when something good happens, or when something bad happens too. In your arms is where I feel safe, and I know there's no other place I'd rather be. And god, I laugh with all your jokes, even the bad ones, and I don't find you cocky anymore because all that you say about yourself is true, and I think about you all the damn day, Bryce. I’m all day wanting for the day to end so I can see you and kiss you. And…”

Eleanor stopped for a moment, trying to catch some breath. Bryce shook his head. He had the stupidest smile she had ever seen on him. The same smile she was sure she had on her face right now.

“Another example? My brother. I haven’t been able to stop talking about you. It wasn’t like this from the beginning, but now I’ve just realized that the last few weeks I haven’t done anything but tell him, or my mom, how happy I am with you. I’ve been even imagining how it would be if I ever introduce you to my abuela. I bet she would adore you the moment she meets you, and she would love you more than me, and would cook your favorite meal, and would give you the last spoon of ice cream and… and I really don’t care, because you deserve it. You deserve the last spoon of ice cream, and my grandma’s meals, and … Everything. You deserve everything, Bryce.  I don’t know what else to say. I’m in love with you like a teenager, and I feel like never before. What did you do to me?”

He smiled, tears of joy streaming down his face. That slump in his throat hurt again, but for different reasons. It was for the absolute tenderness and adoration he was feeling inside his chest. Admiration. Love. God. He couldn’t understand how he could love her so much. How much she meant to him. How happy and complete she made him feel. He had never felt this for anybody before, he knew it already, but now he was realizing he would never feel this way for anybody else, ever.

“I’m crazy about you too, Eleanor. I’ve been holding these feelings for so long to not scare you or pressure you, but god, I feel the same way. I think about you all day, and every time I think about the future, you’re in there.”

“That’s a relief, because for a moment I thought I was being too cheesy and clingy.”

“Babe, you’re always cheesy. You can’t help it around me.”

“You created a monster, Bryce Lahela.”

“I like cheese. I would eat cheese all day. And for the record, I would definitely share the last spoon of ice cream with you"

Bryce winked at her and then pressed her body against his.

“God, I wish I could kiss you.”

“You will.”

“But I want to kiss you noooow."

Eleanor pouted and butterflies fluttered ferociously in his stomach. She made him feel like fifteen too.

“Well, miss impatience, is nice to finally meet you.”

"Tell me that you're not dying to kiss me right now."

“I am. But we’ll have to manage with what we have for now.”

“How so?”

“Imagination. How would you like me to kiss you the next time?”

“If there’s a next time.”

Bryce scowled her and squeezed her waist.

“There will be. You’ll get through this, babe. I promise.”

She gave him a sad smile.

“So?”

“So what?”

“How will you want me to kiss you after you get out of here.”

“Mmm… I think… Slow and sweet, just like our ‘first kiss’ at Isabella’s”

“Mmm what a good kiss. Cute and romantic.”

“Or maybe passionate and breathtaking, just like that kiss at the beach, on your birthday. God, I can’t decide!”

“Don’t worry, we can always try both.”

“I hope so.”

“We will. You have to believe me.”

“Okay. I believe you. If I die, I’ll come to visit you every night, Bryce Lahela.”

“Lucky for me you won’t die. I would hate to have your ghost every night by my side and not being able to kiss you and do you dirty things.”

“Bryce!”—Eleanor giggled. “Okay, okay, I believe you. Bring me that dreamy kiss now!”

“Close your eyes.”

Eleanor obeyed and closed her eyes.

“Remember that night at the Museum?”

“I could never forget”—She muttered—.

Bryce took her hand and with the tip of her fingers, he brushed her lips delicately, exposing her inner lip for a moment. Then with her thumb, he caressed her mouth.

“I will kiss you sweetly and delicately while I hold you by the waist, transmitting how much I love you, how much you mean to me. How happy I am to have you in my life.”

After a few seconds, she opened her eyes, smiling.  

“That night was perfect.”

“Yeah, and you looked gorgeous.”

“But you, you were stunning in that silky pink shirt… And the night was so nice. Warm and starry. Oh, and there was music playing.”

“Yes, that slow jazz… When I fall in love… It will be forever”—He sang slowly.

“Or I’ll never fall in love…”—She continued.—“You remember the song?”

“Obviously. It played on my mind on repeat for like two weeks.”

“Oh. That means you had that kiss playing on repeat on your head for two weeks?”

“I plead the fifth.”

She chuckled.

“Well, I, for one, thought about that kiss a lot in the following days. Another example of how goofy you leave me.”

“Good I wasn’t the only one.”

Suddenly, her smile faded, and Eleanor looked at him earnestly.

“Thank you for taking a chance on us that night, Bryce. Since that day you’ve given me nothing but happiness. And I’m sure that from that day there was no returning point for me. Sooner or later I would fall for you, and I’m glad I finally did.”

“I would do it a million times, in a heartbeat, Eleanor.”

“And I’d choose you a million times, over and over again. I only wish that none of those million times had to involve me dying just when I realized I was in love with you.”

“You’ll make it, babe. I have so much love to give you, that I won’t let you go so easily.”

_____

A/N: Hello! If you make it this far, I have to thank you! I know it was a super long chapter, but it was really important (for the story and for me) and I honestly didn’t want to save words, nor split it in two chapters.

If I had to resume Bryce in this chapter in two words those would be: Husband material. And next chapter will be husband material x3264546.

Thank you for all your support, I hope you liked this chapter. I’d love to hear your opinions in the comments.

A big hug to each and every one of you!

A/N2: *spoiler* Graphic description of Eleanor after chapter 17:

I think it works the other way around too 😂

[rpd-rookie]

He Shouldn’t Have Done That (PART 2) - Leon S. Kennedy x Reader

Summary: Ever wondered what happened after your terrible fight with Leon in part 1. Well here is your answer.

Author’s Note: After receiving some messages telling me to write a sequel for "He Shouldn't Have Done That", there it is. But I must warn you, the angst is strong with this one. So get ready to cry! Oh, and I must warn you, that this chapter revolves around the theme of religion in addition to the theme of alcoholism and it also contain strong sexual terms. So if you're not okay with that, please don't read.

Tags: Angst / Alcohol Abuse; Alcoholism / Anxiety / Depression / Language / Explicit Sexual Content / Religion / Death and mourning.

  When Leon was a kid, his mother would take him to church every Sunday, dressed in his Sunday best, which was a fancy white shirt and a pair of trousers he was only allowed to wear on Sunday. Needless to say, he hated Sundays.   But his mother was such a good Christian, always wearing a silver cross around her neck, always having a Bible under her pillow. She’s the one who had told him to believe. She had told him to believe in God, in Jesus and Mary, in the Holy Trinity, the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit. She had told him to believe there was someone up there watching over him, judging him, someone capable of punishing him if he would ever misbehave, sin. Someone powerful, so powerful he could decide his destiny, his fate, his life, his death, and even his beyond. Someone who would accompany him to an heavenly residence after death, that sweet oh so beautiful paradise.         Yes, that’s what his mother had told him. And he had listened and followed her teachings to the letter, maybe even longer that he could remember. He had done it because nothing could bring his mother more happiness than him behaving like the sweet choirboy from the suburbs, and that’s all he wanted back then, make his mother happy.             But with all the horrors he had seen, Leon Scott Kennedy could not believe in any god anymore. He had buried all his belief, all his teachings - much to his sweet mother’s regrets - in the ashes of Raccoon City a long time ago. And with time, he even wondered if he had ever really believed in the first place.

“That city changed me, in more ways that I can think of. It turned me into the man I am today and sometimes I wonder who I would have become if I had just stayed home on that day instead of driving right into the hellish nightmare that was expecting me there.     Possibly, some city cop whose worst worry would have been to know if there was enough paper in the printer. Maybe it wouldn’t have been that bad, who knows? After all, that dude would have never become the mess I am today, that’s for sure. That dude would have never found comfort in alcohol. He would have never cast God away in favour of something able to help him reach some ephemeral paradise, something that just needed a glass to be worshipped, something that preferred cheers to amen. No, that dude would have had a nice quiet life in the suburbs with a lovely wife, two beautiful kids and a dog. And like my mother, he would have taken his charming perfect family to Church on Sunday. Would it have been better for me? For us? Maybe, cause surely, he wouldn’t have done the same mistakes I did”

7 weeks ago - D.S.O Headquarters – Washington DC

You couldn’t help but focus on the fancy pen relentlessly tapping against the glass table. Sitting at the end of the table, perfectly still, his old face appearing somewhat more rigid than usual, the President looked very impatient. And his annoyance was for once more than justified. Leon was terribly late, and by ‘terribly’ you meant ‘almost fifty minutes late’ to be more precise.   But the real problem was that he usually was never late. On the contrary, Leon was always the first person to arrive at morning meetings, most of the time carrying cups of coffee for each D.S.O agents including a special one for you: a large black coffee with extra foam on top and a small heart drawn next to your name on the cup, perfect to make you smile like an idiot - Your heart ached as you thought about it and realised there would be no more hearts drawn on your coffee cup now.

You discreetly glimpsed at your watch again, worried and imagining the worse. What if something happened to Leon? What if he drank too much again and fainted at home? Or worse, what if he had a car accident? After all, last time you heard him on your voicemail he sounded devastated and drunker than ever.     “I am sure Agent Kennedy must be stuck in traffic, Mr President.” Ingrid Hunnigan dared say in his defence. “Then why isn’t he answering his bloody phone?” The President slammed the pen against the table and let out an angry growl. Hunnigan mumbled, trying to find something to say but the President cut her off before she could even pronounce a word. “Let’s start without him.”           “Of course, Mr President.” She stood up and handed out a case file to each agent sitting at the table. When she got to you, she whispered, “Where is Leon?” You briefly looked at her and shook your head. She certainly didn’t know Leon and you had broken up. After all, it had only been a couple of days. “I don’t know.” You mouthed, trying to keep the nascent tears in your eyes.             She probably noticed how sad and worried sick you were since she pressed her hand on your shoulder before taking her place back next to the President to explain the content of the documents on the table. “An informer from the BSAA has recently sent us information concerning a possible …”

All of a sudden, the door of the meeting room opened widely, interrupting Hunnigan in her explanations. Leon had finally arrived. Seeing him instantly took a weight off your mind and you sighed, definitely relieved. But the relief was short.     “Sorry, I’m late.” His voice sounded off and rather somnolent. Hand still on the doorknob he looked at all of the persons around the table with half-lidded eyes. “Oh, seems like everyone is here. Must be a pretty damn important meeting then.” Oh no. Not now. Not here. Leon.         “Agent Kennedy. Thank you for finally honouring us with your presence.” The president declared with a cutting tone that cast a new chill in the meeting room.             “You’re welcome” Leon replied, definitely too drowsy to get the sarcasm.   You almost gasped, refusing to believe it was actually happening, and watched Leon stagger towards his usual seat next to Hunnigan. She silently gave him a file and discreetly poured him a glass of water to help him sober up a little since she had noticed – just like everyone else in this room – that your ex-boyfriend was mighty drunk. Then, she resumed her monologue, ignoring Leon’s grimace as he drank his water contrary to the President, who was glaring at him, and you, who were staring at his face, completely eating up by guilt and sorrow. Were you the one responsible for this? You thought that leaving him would probably help him realise his alcoholism not fall deeper in it.

Despite the huge level of alcohol running in his blood, Leon was astonishingly listening to the reunion with the biggest care. Actually, he was paying so much attention that when Ingrid Hunnigan pronounced his name and the words “Los Illuminados” in the same sentence he almost hit the roof. “This again? Seriously?” He cut her off, surprising everyone. “You want me to deal with that Spanish bullshit again? Is that what you’re going to say, Hunnigan? Like I haven’t done enough, already.” Ingrid suddenly didn’t know what to do with herself, shocked by Leon’s sudden anger towards her. He had never talked to her like that. That was not in his nature.         “Leon, please just let her finish before...” You whispered to calm him down, hoping he would cooperate. “Excuse me. You’re talking to me? You? Really.” He sneered, clearly angry. “I thought you didn’t want to talk to me anymore. After all, you haven’t been answering my calls since you dumped me.” You wanted to reply. But you knew that it would only aggravate the situation and make Leon angrier than he already was and the last thing you wanted was to make a scene or cause him more trouble.

“Is this a joke, Agent Kennedy?” The President growled and glared, definitely irritated by Leon’s behaviour. “No. The joke was your election, sir!” Oh God! Tell me he didn’t say that.             There was a sudden heavy silence. Everyone exchanged some aghast quick looks as the President was staring at Leon, his face reddened by anger, ready to burst. “Get out of here, Agent Kennedy. You are furloughed.” But Leon didn’t move and, with an air of defiance, simply replied “Whom are you going to send on your suicide mission if you kick me out? I’m the only one who can do the job here and you fucking know it.”     “Out! Out! Get out of here! I’ve had enough of you!” The President shouted, menacingly pointing his finger at Leon who remained still without batting an eyelid. “Leave this building now, Kennedy!” You decided to get up and grabbed Leon’s arm to lead him out. “Come on, Leon. You’re drunk. Let’s get you out to sober up a bit.” You said with an incredible calm but he refused to follow you “Of course I’m drunk. What else can I be? You left me. My job fucked me up. And I’m working with selfish assholes who clearly don’t care about that and want me to continue this fucking job till the day I die. So yeah, what else can I be if not drunk?”

“Gosh, if only I had known back then what the consequences of my actions would be, I would have never said those things or behaved like this. But regrets don’t matter. They don’t matter because it doesn’t matter how many times I tell myself I shouldn’t have done that, I know that there’s no turning back. I know that you will never come back. And I don’t blame you. I can’t blame you because the only person to blame here is me. And I don’t expect your forgiveness either. I know I don’t deserve it and how could you forgive me when even I can’t forgive myself? No, I expect nothing for you.”

3 weeks ago – In a bar somewhere in New York

He didn’t know her name and he was quite sure he hadn’t even asked before locking himself with her in the toilet. And truth to be told, he couldn’t care less. He didn’t need to know her name to take his pants down and he didn’t even need to hear a single word coming from a pretty mouth either. Actually, all he wanted that mouth of hers to do was to keep sucking him off right now. Yes, that’s all he wanted. Hand in her black hair, his head against the dirty wall, he was feeling dizzy with pleasure … and alcohol, especially alcohol. A routine he had grown even fonder of since he had been furloughed. “Yeah, right, suck that cock, you dirty slut.” How many glasses had he had since he entered that bar? Six? Eight? Meh, better not thinking about it right now. “That’s it.”

His cell phone suddenly vibrated on the floor, the blue light of the screen catching his weak attention. He managed to read “Hunnigan” and sighed. “What the hell does she want?” He mumbled, annoyed. “What did you say?” The girl asked but he chose not to answer and instead shove his cock back in her mouth. But the phone kept on buzzing on the grimy tiles and Leon couldn’t take his mind or his eyes off it, his professionalism getting the better of his drunken self. “Fuck” He cursed as he bent to grab the device, pushing the girl away from him, making her lose her balance and fall on her rear.     “Better be important, Hunnigan.” He immediately said, annoyance tinting his drunken voice.         “Leon.” Her voice was strangled and trembling. It didn’t take a genius to get she had been crying. And Leon knew that if Hunnigan was crying then something terrible had certainly happened. “Give me a second, Hunnigan.”

He quickly pulled his jeans back up and pushed the door of the toilet, leaving his brief conquest high and dry on the floor. “Where are you going?” She squealed but he didn’t listen. He got out of the bar to find a quiet place, phone still against his ear, listening to his partner sniff on the other side of the line. “Alright. What’s going on? Do you need anything?” He was worried. Maybe something had happened to her. “No” She said, her voice shuddering even more than before. “Where are you? Are you alone?” She asked.   “Yeah. I’m outside a bar, in New York. Why?” He dared ask, impatient yet apprehensive to know what was actually going on. “Sit” He frowned and froze. That didn’t sound good. Nothing is ever good when someone tells you to sit down. “Hunnigan.” “ Y/N is dead.”

It was as if someone heavy and massive had instantly dropped on him, as if something had punched his stomach and crushed his chest in a single move, preventing him from breathing, preventing his heart from beating, preventing all his members from moving.               That was not possible. This couldn’t be happening. This was a dream, a nightmare or a perhaps hallucination cast by alcohol. But as soon as Leon heard Hunnigan saying his name again, he knew this was too real for this to be the mere fruit of  his imagination or his subconscious.         “How?” It was the only word that he managed to say, feeling too numb to make a complete sentence right now. “Leon that wasn’t your fault.” “How?” He insisted. He wanted to know. He needed to know. He needed to know why you would never come back to him, why he would never see you again, kiss you again. But foremost, he needed to know who was the son of a bitch responsible for it.   “ In a mission in Spain.”

His phone immediately fell to the humid ground, breaking in a thousand pieces just like Leon’s whole body. His knees bent under the sudden weight of pain, anger and guilt and soon he collapsed to the sidewalk, completely appalled, tears flooding his blue eyes.  

He had done this. It was his fault. All his fault.          

Disoriented and panting, he started looking all around him for something, anything that could help him get out of this hell. But there was nothing and he was alone. He would forever be alone now.          

He had killed you. You were dead because of him.    

Leon screamed, face reddened by rage, angry tears flowing down his face. His fists hit the ground repeatedly, hard, so hard, his knuckles started bleeding. But he didn’t care. He didn’t even see it. He couldn’t feel that pain either. The only pain he could feel right now was the one from his heart being torn out from his chest, a pain that would ultimately leave an emptiness he would never be able to fill ever again. But he wanted to feel pain. He wanted to feel that precise pain, finding it a fitting punishment for everything he had done that had lead to this moment, that had led to your death.

Was it God punishing him? Was his mother right all along? Was He making him pay for what the pain he had brought you, for all the mistakes he had done, for choosing to worship a fucking bottle of whisky instead of Him? Was it his plan all along?

“IS THAT WHAT YOU FUCKING WANTED?” Leon shouted on his knees, looking at the menacing stormy sky.

He bent over the sidewalk, head in his arms, sobbing and sniffing loudly, moaning your name, begging you to come back. “Please don’t leave me here.” But just like God, when Leon was a little boy praying with his mother at the Sunday mass, you didn’t answer. “I’m sorry.”             He had never wanted this to happen to you. He had never wanted your life to end like this. All he had ever wanted for you was your happiness even if it meant a long and beautiful life without him. Because if a bottle of whisky smashed against the wall had made him realise one thing is that you deserved to find the person that could love you better than him, a person to worship you just as his mother worshipped God and he worshipped his liquor. Because you were the only thing worth worshipping in this goddamn world, the only thing he would gladly believe in. Because, if religion was meant to bring comfort, if God was truly there to watch over him, judge him and punish him as his mother had told him then you were his God all along.       After all, who if not you brought him the comfort when he needed it? Who if not you watched over him when he was in a very bad way? Who if not you judged him when he needed to be judged and no one dared to do it? Who if not you can make him fall on his knees like a pilgrim and wish for a paradise just to have the hope he would one day see you again?          

He stayed on that sidewalk for at least an hour on that night, still and quiet, completely empty, feeling the rain pour on him, until two policemen sent by Hunnigan went to look for him. “Are you okay, sir?” No, no he was not. And he wasn’t even sure he would be okay ever again. But he eventually got better.

“ I haven’t had a single drink in three weeks. Hunnigan says that I should feel proud but I don’t. Because look what I needed to quit.”

Leon looked at the flowered marble tomb at his feet, staring at your name with an intense sadness and melancholy he would never be able to get rid of. He had taken him a while to come here, refusing to step a foot in this cemetery even for you funeral because that would be admitting your death and he couldn’t do that. But that he was here, he couldn’t help but acknowledge how cathartic talking to you was.

“ I’m leaving for Spain tomorrow. President’s order. I guess that despite being a complete asshole he is not very resentful. I have no idea what’s expecting me there but I promise you, I’ll find whoever is responsible your death and I’ll make them pay. They will learn they shouldn’t have done that.”