#like my replies get between 4 and 10 notes

[earthchica]

my lady, my love

aaron pierre x black, fem! reader {actress}

summary: On your press tour in New York, you eagerly anticipate reuniting with Aaron in London. Despite your friendly connection with your co-star during interviews, your playful banter raises Aaron's jealousy when he sees a recent interview.

warnings: explicit smut 18+, jealousy, makeup sex, unprotected, light daddy kink, breeding kink, long-distance, dirty talking, boyfriend/girlfriend, actor/actress, not real life, original characters, use of Y/N, words: 6k

Note: hiii, back to writing. Part 4 is here, I hope you enjoy it.

chapter one - chapter two - chapter three

As you reached the halfway point of the press tour, you began counting down the days. You and Aaron have kept in touch, texting and FaceTiming whenever possible.

You miss him so much, and this is your first experience with a long-distance relationship. Aaron is still in London while you finish your last few interviews and photo shoots in New York.

However, once you're done in NYC, you're going to London, and you'll finally get to see him. The thought fills you with excitement. You could hear your co-star Noah across the hall as you sat in the little dressing room.

The next few interviews started out chill, with you and Noah sitting side by side, with smiles on your faces. The next interviewer leaned in, clearly trying to stir the pot.

“So, tell me about the chemistry between you two! It’s palpable on screen,” she said, eyes gleaming excitedly. Noah looked at you with that playful grin.

“Oh, it’s undeniable. I mean, we vibe, you know? Just look at her!” Noah gestured to you dramatically, making you giggle.

“She’s like the perfect co-star, and I might even say… the perfect girl,” he added

You shot him a teasing smirk, leaning back in your chair. “Aw, thanks, Noah. But don’t get it twisted now! I’m taken, you know?” You winked.

“What? No way, who’s the lucky guy?” The interviewer replied, feigning shock. You leaned closer, lowering your voice as if it were a deep secret.

“Good girl never tells,” you giggled, delivering the line with sass. The interviewer laughed.

The rest of the interview flew by in a blur of laughter and lighthearted banter. By the time it wrapped, you felt more at ease, the earlier anxiety melting.

You and Noah exchanged a quick hug before parting ways, and you couldn’t help but feel grateful for his friendship. He always knew how to make things feel lighter.

After a few solo interviews, back in your hotel room later that evening, you took a deep breath and took a shower. Afterward, you changed into some comfortable clothes and ordered room service.

Once settled down on the bed with your phone, you dialed Aaron's number, a smile spreading. However, it went to voicemail. You knew it must be around 10 PM in London, so he should still be awake.

So you tried again, but unfortunately, it didn't work. You then texted him. "Hey baby, just finished my interviews for the day. I miss you. Call me back when you can. I love you!"

As you waited for a response, you felt a pang of loneliness and began to wonder if Aaron was just too busy. You decided to go to bed and catch a quick flight to London tomorrow morning to surprise him.

-

Seven hours later and ten minutes later, you made it to his apartment around 2:00 PM; you texted him to see if he was home before knocking on the door.

Aaron opened the door wearing sweats and a hoodie. He was slightly happy and surprised to see you, but he looked like he had a little attitude.

“Hey,” Aaron said, his voice flat, as he stepped aside to let you in. You hesitated for a moment, unsure of how to read his expression.

“Hi, baby,” you replied softly, stepping inside. The apartment smelled faintly of tea and old books, just like you remembered. You set your suitcases down by the door and turned to face him.

“I missed you,” you added, your voice trembling slightly.

Aaron sighed, running a hand through his face. “Yeah, I missed you too,” he said, but there was a hint of something else in his tone—something that made your stomach twist.

You took a deep breath, trying to keep the mood light. “Are you okay, baby?” you started, hoping to ease into whatever bothered him.

“So, I saw the interview posted today.” Aaron’s eyes narrowed, and he crossed his arms over his chest.

“Oh, you did! That’s great. Really great, right? um, which one?” You blinked, taken aback by his tone.

“Don't act like you don't know! All that flirting with Noah? Really?” Aaron said with a frown.

Your jaw dropped.

“Wait, hold up. You’re upset about that? Aaron, it was just playful banter! You know how interviews are—it’s all for the cameras. Noah was just playing around, and I clarified that I was taken!” you said, raising your eyebrow.

Aaron raised an eyebrow, his expression unmoved. “Playful banter? No, love, that was more than that. You were giggling, smiling all over his face like you had a whole thing going on. And don’t even get me started on how he looked at you.”

You stepped closer, your hands reaching out to touch his arm, but he didn’t budge.

“Aaron, come on. You know me better than that. Noah’s just a friend; that’s it, nothing more. I love you, and I want you only. I’m sorry I made you feel like that.”

Aaron took a deep breath, his chest rising and falling slowly as he looked down at you. His eyes softened just a fraction, but the tension still hung heavy.

You wrapped your arms around his shoulders, pressing your body against him. “Let me make up to you; let me remind you exactly what you are to me," You said softly.

In a searing kiss, you crashed your lips against his, pouring all your frustration and desire into it. Aaron gasped, allowing his tongue to sweep into your mouth.

You felt his anger melted away as heat flooded his body. "I miss you so damn much, you know that," You murmured against his lips as his hands roamed your body hungrily.

A low moan escaped Aaron's lips as you deepened the kiss, caressing the back of his neck.

"I missed you too," Aaron breathed, his voice rough with emotion.

"But please don’t do that, baby. I can't stand seeing you like that with someone else."

"I know," you whispered, pulling back slightly to look into his eyes. "You're the only one I want, Aaron. The only one I need."

Aaron nodded, his expression softening even more, and you pushed him towards the couch, your hands firm but gentle. He stumbled back, his eyes widening in surprise, but he didn't resist.

You got on your knees in front of him, your hands sliding up his thighs, massaging the tense muscles there. "Relax, baby," you murmured, your voice low and soothing.

"Let me take care of you."

Aaron leaned back against the couch, his breath hitching as your hands worked their magic. "Love!" he groaned, his voice thick and low with desire.

"You always know how to make me feel better."

You smirked up at him, your fingers teasing the waistband of his sweatpants.

"That's 'cause I know what you love," you purred, sliding your hands under the fabric and taking hold of him. He hissed sharply, his hips jerking involuntarily as you began to stroke him slowly, firmly.

"Aaron," you whispered, your breath hot against his skin as you leaned closer. "I love you so much, baby. You know that, right? You’re my everything."

Aaron moaned softly, his hands gripping the edge of the couch tightly. "I know," he managed to say, his voice trembling.

"I just… I can’t help it sometimes. I see you out there, shining like a damn star, and I get scared. Scared someone’s gonna take you away from me."

You paused momentarily, looking up at him with pure adoration. "Nobody is taking me away from you," you said firmly, your voice steady and full of conviction.

"You got me, Aaron. Always and Forever."

Aaron let out a shaky breath, nodding as he gently cups your face with his massive hands. "You promise?" he whispered, his voice raw with vulnerability.

"I promise," you said, your eyes locked onto his. Then, with a sly smile, you leaned in closer, your lips brushing against the tip of his dick as you spoke.

"But right now, I wanna make it all melt away, baby. Just focus on me and how good I will make you feel," you added.

Aaron groaned, his head falling back against the couch as you pressed a soft kiss to the sensitive head of his dick.

"Shit," he muttered, his fingers tightening in your hair. "You always know how to drive me crazy."

You chuckled lowly, your breath hot against his skin. "That’s the plan," you purred before taking him into your mouth slowly, savoring the way he twitched and throbbed against your tongue.

You swirled your tongue around the tip, teasing him relentlessly, making him squirm beneath you.

"Fuck," Aaron hissed, his hips bucking slightly as you sucked him deeper. "You’re so damn good at this."

You pulled back slightly, letting him slip out of your mouth with a wet pop. "You like that?" you asked, looking up at him with a mischievous glint.

"Like it?" Aaron groaned, his voice rough and desperate. "Baby, I love it. You got me out here losing my mind, and you're not even done yet."

You smirked, fingers tracing the vein along his length, making him shiver. "Oh, I’m far from done," you whispered, your voice dripping with promise.

"You think I’m just gonna stop when I got you lookin’ like this? All hot and bothered, tryin’ to hold it together? Nah, big daddy. I’m about to take you to a whole ‘nother level."

Aaron’s breath hitched as you leaned back in, your tongue flat against his shaft as you licked him from base to tip. He cursed under his breath, his hands gripping the couch so tight his knuckles turned white.

"You play too much," he muttered, but there was no real complaint in his tone—just pure, unadulterated need.

"Oh, I’m dead serious," you shot back, your lips wrapping around him again as you took him deep into your throat. This time, you didn’t hold back, bobbing your head rhythmically, your hand working in tandem with your mouth to drive him wild.

The wet sounds filled the room, mingling with Aaron’s heavy breaths and the occasional curse that slipped past his lips.

You could feel him trembling beneath you, his thighs tensing as he fought to keep himself from losing control too soon. But you weren’t about to let him hold back—not afternoon.

"Tell me how it feels, big daddy," you murmured, pulling back just enough to let him feel the cool air against his slick skin. Your eyes locked onto his, dark and hungry, as you waited for his response.

Aaron’s chest heaved as he struggled to find the words. "Feels… feels like heaven," he finally managed, his voice strained and thick with desire. "Like you’re tryna suck my soul out through my dick, love."

You grinned, your tongue darting out to lick a slow, deliberate stripe along the underside of his shaft.

"Good," you purred. "That’s exactly what I’m aiming for. I want you to forget everything but me and this moment. Just focus on how good I’m making you feel."

He groaned, his head falling back again as you took him back into your mouth, this time deeper than before. Your throat relaxed around him, and you could feel the way his body jerked in response, his hips instinctively thrusting up into the warmth of your mouth.

Your hands moved to grip his thighs, holding him steady as you worked him over with a rhythm that was both relentless and intoxicating.

The sounds he made—those low, guttural moans and breathless curses—were music to your ears, driving you to push him even further.

"You always taste so amazing, Terry," you murmured, your voice muffled but still dripping with that same sultry tone. "Like you were made just for me. You feel it too, don’t you? How we fit together like this like it’s some kinda cosmic shit."

Aaron’s hands were in your hair now, tangling in the curls as he tried to keep himself grounded.

"Damn, yes, I feel it," he growled, his voice low and raw. "You got me out here feelin’ like I’m floatin’; keep goin’, baby. Don’t stop."

You didn’t need to be told twice.

Your mouth worked him over with a fervor that left him gasping, your tongue swirling around the head of his dick before plunging him back into the heat of your throat.

His grip on your hair tightened, sending a shiver down your spine as you felt the tension building in him, his body coiled like a spring ready to snap.

You pulled back again, letting him slide out of your mouth with a wet pop, and then you stood up, your eyes never leaving his. "You want this pussy? because I want your dick," you asked, your voice low and teasing as you slowly began to peel off your clothes.

Aaron’s eyes widened as he watched you, his breath hitching in his throat. "Yes, love," he muttered, his voice hoarse. "You don't gotta tell me twice."

You smirked, taking your time as you took your shirt, letting it fall to the floor in a heap. Your hands moved to the waistband of your pants, and you slid them down your legs with deliberate slowness, stepping out of them one foot at a time.

Aaron’s eyes were glued to your body, his gaze hot and heavy as he took in every inch of you. "Fuck," he breathed, his voice barely above a whisper. "You’re fuckin’ perfect. How did I get so lucky?"

You grinned, feeling satisfied at how he looked at you. "Maybe by fate," you purred, climbing onto the couch and straddling him.

His hands immediately went to your hips, gripping you tightly as you shifted forward, your pussy hovering just above his throbbing dick.

You could feel the heat radiating from him, the way his breath hitched as you teased him, letting your folds brush against the tip of his length.

"You feel that?" you whispered, your voice dripping with seduction as you ground down just enough to make him groan. "That’s all for you, baby. This pussy’s been waitin’ to feel you inside me for weeks."

Aaron’s hands tightened on your hips, his fingers digging into your skin like he was trying to keep himself from losing control.

"Quit playing, love," he growled, his voice rough and desperate. "You are gonna drive me crazy sittin’ up there like that. Put that pussy on me already."

You smirked, leaning down so your lips were just inches from his ear.

"What’s the matter? You can’t handle a little tease?" you purred, your breath hot against his skin as you rolled your hips again, letting him feel just how wet you were for him.

"You want this pussy so bad, huh? Tell me how bad you want it."

"Shit," he hissed, his hips bucking up instinctively as he tried to get closer to you.

"You wanna know how bad?" Aaron growled, his voice thick with need.

"I want it so bad I can’t think straight. I want it so bad it’s all I see when I close my eyes—this pussy, this body, riding me like you own me. I want it so bad I’d beg if you don’t give it to me right now. So quit playing and let me feel you, girl. Let me feel that heat, that group wrapped around me. ‘Cause I’m about to lose my damn mind up in here." Aaron moaned.

You bit your lip, holding back a moan as his words sent a rush of heat straight to your pussy.

"That’s what I love to hear," you whispered, finally lowering yourself onto him, inch by torturous inch. You gasped as he filled you completely, the stretch and burn to ignite every nerve in your body.

"Oh goodness," you breathed, your head falling back as you adjusted to him. "So big...you feel so good inside me."

Aaron groaned, his hands gripping your hips even tighter as he guided your movements. "Fuck, baby," he rasped, his voice strained. "I miss this pussy. Always so wet, so tight for me."

You moaned softly, your nails digging into his shoulders as you started to move, riding him with slow, deliberate rolls of your hips.

"You like that, Aaron?" you purred, your voice dripping with sweetness and sin. "You like how this pussy grips you? How it’s all yours, just for you?"

Aaron’s eyes fluttered shut briefly before he locked his gaze back on yours, dark and hungry.

"I love it, baby fuck, I love it," he growled, his voice rough and low. "This pussy is all mine, it's mine, nobody else can handle it like I do. Nobody else gonna make you feel like this."

His hands slid up your sides, thumbs brushing over your nipples, sending a shiver through your body. "You know that, right? This pussy belongs to me. Tell me it's mine."

You arched into his touch, your breath hitching as he teased your sensitive peaks. "Mmm, yes, it is," you whispered, grinding down harder on him, making him groan deep in his chest.

"All yours, baby. Only you can make me feel this good." You leaned in closer, your lips brushing against his ear as you whispered, "Only you can make me come so hard I forget my own name."

Aaron’s grip tightened around your waist, his fingers digging into your dark-brown skin as he pulled you closer, his breath hot and ragged against your neck.

“That’s right, baby,” he growled, his voice thick with desire. “You gonna scream my name louder than ever before. Ain’t no shame in it, either. Let the whole damn world know who you belong to.”

His other hand tangled in your hair, tugging just enough to make you gasp, your body trembling with anticipation.

“Shit, Aaron,” you whimpered, your voice breaking as his teeth grazed your collarbone.

“You're gonna wreck me, huh? Gonna make me forget everything but you?” Your hips moved faster now, riding him with a desperate rhythm, each thrust sending waves of pleasure coursing through you.

You could feel him throbbing inside you, his length hitting all the right spots, pushing you closer and closer to the edge.

Aaron’s lips crashed against yours in a fierce kiss, swallowing your moans as his tongue explored your mouth. When he finally pulled back, his eyes were blazing with intensity.

“Damn right, I am,” he muttered, his voice rough and commanding.

“I’m gonna ruin this pussy for anybody else. You ain’t never gonna want nobody but me forever. You hear me?”

His hands moved to your ass, gripping you tightly as he thrust up into you, his movements hard and relentless.

“Yes, Aaron, yes!” you cried, your voice rising with each powerful stroke.

“Only you, baby, it’s only ever been you!” Your nails raked down his shoulders as you clung to him, your body trembling with the force of your desire.

“Fuck, I’m so close, Aaron. I’m gonna cum, I’m gonna fucking cum!”

“That’s it, love,” he urged, his voice a low, guttural growl. “Cum for me. Let me feel that tight little pussy squeeze the soul outta me.” His thrusts became even more intense, each one driving you closer to the brink.

“No holding back. You give me everything you got, you hear me?” Aaron added.

“I can’t—I can’t hold it,” you sobbed, your body arching as the first wave of your climax crashed over you. “Oh fuck, Aaron, I’m cumming, I’m cumming!”

Your cries echoed through the room, your body convulsing as you shattered around him, your pussy clamping down on his big dick with a vice-like grip.

Aaron’s breath hitched, his own control slipping as he felt you come undone beneath him. “Fuck, baby, that’s it,” he groaned, his voice strained with the effort to hold back.

“You feel so good, so fucking good. You take all of me, huh? You take this dick like you were made for it.”

You could barely form words, your mind a haze of pleasure as you rode out the waves of your orgasm. But Aaron wasn’t done with you yet.

He lifts you and lays you at the corner of the couch, pinning your wrists above your head as he hovers over you and slams back into you; his pace is brutal and unrelenting.

Your back arched off the bed as he pounded into you, each thrust hitting that sweet spot deep inside you that had you seeing stars.

“Aaron!” you screamed, your voice raw and desperate. “Please, don’t stop! Don’t ever stop!”

“I'm stopping ‘til I fill this pussy up, baby,” Aaron growled, his voice thick with desire.

“You want that? Do you want me to nut deep inside you? Make you feel every drop?” His hips snapped forward with a force that had you gasping, your body trembling beneath him as he drove into you with a rhythm that was both punishing and intoxicating.

“Tell me how bad you want it.”

“So bad,” you moaned, your voice a desperate plea. “I need it, Aaron. I need you to fill me up and remember who I belong to. Please, baby, I can’t take it anymore—I need you to cum in me!”

Your legs wrapped tightly around his waist, pulling him deeper as your nails dug into his back, leaving marks that only fueled his intensity.

“That’s my girl,” Aaron muttered, his breath hot against your ear as he leaned down, his lips brushing against your dark-brown skin with softness and admiration.

“Taking this dick like a fucking queen. You love this shit, don’t you? Love feeling me stretch that pussy out; make it mine.” His thrusts became erratic, his control slipping as he felt his own climax building.

“You gonna take every last drop of this nut, huh? Gonna let me breed that tight pussy?”

“Yes!” you cried, your body arching against his as the heat between you both reached its peak.

"Breed me, Aaron. Make it so I can’t forget what you did to me." Your voice was a ragged whisper, trembling with need as you felt him swell inside you, his dick throbbing with the promise of release.

"That’s it," he snarled, his hands gripping your hips hard as he pounded into you, each thrust hitting deeper, harder.

"You’re gonna feel me for days, baby. Every time you move, every time you sit down, you’re gonna remember this dick splitting you open."

His voice was a low growl, possessive and raw, sending shivers down your spine.

Your head fell back, a keening moan escaping your lips as he hit that perfect spot inside you again and again. The pressure was building, your body coiling tight like a spring ready to snap.

"Aaron, I’m so close," you gasped, your fingers clawing at his shoulders as the pleasure threatened to overwhelm you. "Then cum for me," he demanded, his voice rough and commanding.

"Cum with me as I fill you up. Let me feel that pussy milk every drop out of me." His pace quickened, his hips slamming into yours with a force that had you crying out, your body trembling on the edge.

And then it hit you—a wave of pleasure so intense it felt like you were being torn apart and put back together all at once. Your body convulsed, your walls clenching around him as you came hard, your screams muffled against his shoulder.

Aaron groaned, his hips stuttering as he followed you over the edge, his dick pulsing deep inside you as he emptied himself, his release hot and thick as it filled you to the brim.

“Fuck,” he breathed, his voice hoarse as he collapsed on top of you, his body still shuddering with the aftershocks of his orgasm.

“You feel that, baby?” He asked, pushing his cum in and out as he kissed you then, his lips claiming yours with a hunger that left you breathless, his tongue sliding against yours as he poured every ounce of his desire into that kiss.

You moaned into his mouth, your hand on the back of his neck as you kissed him back with equal fervor, your bodies still connected as you both rode out the last waves of pleasure together.

When he finally pulled back, his eyes were dark with satisfaction, a smug grin tugging at his lips as he looked down at you.

“You’re mine,” he whispered, his voice low and possessive. “All mine.”

You lay there, spent and trembling, your body still humming with the intensity of what had just happened between you. The air was thick with the scent of sex, the room silent except for the sound of your heavy breathing.

Aaron shifted slightly, pulling you closer so that you were lying on his chest, his arms wrapped tightly around you as he held you close.

“That was…” you started, your voice trailing off as you struggled to find the words to describe your feelings.

“Perfect,” Aaron finished for you, his voice filled with a quiet satisfaction. He kissed the top of your head, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on your back as you lay there, basking in the afterglow.

“You’re so perfect.”

You smiled, your eyes closing as you let yourself relax in his arms, the warmth of his body enveloping you. After a few minutes of lying there, tangled in each other and breathing.

Aaron finally shifted, his hands sliding down your back. “C’mon,” he murmured, his voice still rough but softer now, laced with affection.

“Let’s get cleaned up.”

-

You and Aaron got dressed in some casual clothes, and Aaron got some food delivered. You two were eating and chatted about what’s been going on despite your little argument earlier.

“So,” you said, leaning. “You know that movie premiere tomorrow night?” You paused, biting your lip to hide the sly smile creeping onto your face.

“I was thinkin’… maybe you could come with me. As my date.”

Aaron’s fork froze mid-air, a piece of food dangling precariously as he turned to look at you, his eyebrows raised in surprise.

“Really?” he asked, his voice low and smooth, but there was a hint of playfulness there too. “Are you sure you want that? I mean, I’m all for it.”

You smirked, leaning closer to him, your voice dripping with confidence.

“Oh, I’m more than sure. Let ‘em talk. Let ‘em get jealous. Let ‘em know I’m yours, and you’re mine. But…” You paused for effect, your eyes locking with his.

“We’ll still keep it private between us. No need to give ‘em all the details.”

-

You and Aaron got dressed in some casual clothes, and Aaron got some food delivered. You two were eating and chatted about what’s been going on despite your little argument earlier.

“So,” you said, leaning. “You know that movie premiere tomorrow night?” You paused, biting your lip to hide the sly smile creeping onto your face.

“I was thinkin’… maybe you could come with me. As my date.”

Aaron’s fork froze mid-air, a piece of food dangling precariously as he turned to look at you, his eyebrows raised in surprise.

“Really?” he asked, his voice low and smooth, but there was a hint of playfulness there too. “Are you sure you want that? I mean, I’m all for it.”

You smirked, leaning closer to him, your voice dripping with confidence.

“Oh, I’m more than sure. Let ‘em talk. Let ‘em get jealous. Let ‘em know I’m yours, and you’re mine. But…” You paused for effect, your eyes locking with his.

“We’ll still keep it private between us. No need to give ‘em all the details.”

Aaron’s eyes crinkled at the corners as he smirked, setting his fork down on the edge of his plate. He leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest, his expression thoughtful.

“Alright, so you’re saying… you want to take me to the premiere. As your date. And we’re keeping it private but still making it clear to everyone else that we’re… together.”

He paused, his gaze never leaving yours. “And you’re okay with that? With everyone knowing, even if we’re not broadcasting the details?”

You nodded, your confidence unwavering. “Why wouldn’t I be? We’re adults, Aaron. And what we have… it’s worth it. Besides, I think it’s time people know that you’re off the market.”

Aaron chuckled, a deep, rich sound that sent a shiver down your spine. He pushed his chair back and stood, walking over to you with a slow, predatory grace.

“And who’s going to make sure I stay off the market?” asked, his voice low and teasing as he leaned down, his face inches from yours.

You grinned, your heart pounding in your chest. “Oh, I think I can handle that.” Before you could say another word, Aaron’s lips were on yours, warm and firm, sending a wave of heat through your body.

You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer as the room around you faded. All that mattered was the two of you, lost in the moment, the world outside melting into nothingness.

-

The following day, Aaron lay sprawled across the bed, his bare chest rising and falling with each slow breath, the sheets tangled around his waist.

You sat on the edge of the bed, watching him sleep, a smile playing on your lips. The memory of the previous conversation hung in the air like a promise, and you couldn’t help but feel a sense of excitement for what the day—and the night—had in store.

“Morning,” Aaron mumbled, his voice husky with sleep as he stirred, stretching his arms above his head.

His eyes fluttered open, locking onto yours with a warm, sleepy grin. “What time is it?”

“Almost Noon,” you replied, caressing his forehead. “But we’ve got a full day ahead of us. Thought we could make the most of it before tonight.”

Aaron sat up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. “Sounds like a plan. What did you have in mind?”

You stood, walking over to the wardrobe where you’d laid out clothes the night before.

“I was thinking we could spend the day out. Maybe walk along the South Bank and grab some food at Borough Market. Just enjoy the city together before the chaos of the premiere.”

Aaron’s face lit up with interest as he swung his legs over the side of the bed. “Sounds good!” He said, getting out of bed butt-naked, and you laughed, smacked his ass.

“Sounds good!” He said, getting out of bed butt-naked and you laughed, smacked his ass.

“Cheeky little-,” Aaron muttered, though the grin on his face said he didn’t mind one bit. He grabbed the towel off the bed and wrapped it around his waist, his confidence as naked as his body.

“You better stop playin’ with fire, yeah? Or I’ll have to take you back to bed.”

You rolled your eyes, trying to play it cool, but the heat in your cheeks and the smile on your face told on you. “Please, you’re the one who’s been sleepin’ in till noon. If we don’t get movin’, we’ll miss the whole day.”

Aaron smirked, sauntering over to the bathroom.

“Blame me, innit? Had a right proper distraction last night.” Steam curling up, he flicked on the shower and stepped inside without closing the door.

“You comin’ in or what?”

You raised an eyebrow, leaning against the doorframe. “You think I’m fallin’ for that? We’ve got plans, remember? You’re not gonna derail ‘em with your… distractions.”

“Suit yourself,” Aaron called back, his voice muffled by the water.

“But you’re missin’ out. Could’ve been a right nice way to start the day.”

You shook your head, chuckling as you turned away. “You’re such a liar. You’d have us late and miss the whole market.”

“True, yeah,” Aaron admitted, his voice carrying over the water. “But it’d be worth it, wouldn’t it?”

You didn’t respond, but the thought lingered as you went to get dressed. By the time Aaron came out of the bathroom, his face dripped, and his skin glowing from the shower.

You were already halfway through your coffee, scrolling through your phone for the day’s itinerary. Aaron padded over to you, water droplets clinging to his chest as he leaned in to kiss your head.

“You know I’m just takin’ the piss, right? I wouldn’t actually make us late.” Aaron said, drying himself off.

“Sure you wouldn’t,” you said dryly, not looking up.

Aaron laughed, grabbing the other cup of coffee you’d poured for him. “Fair enough. You know me too well.”

Once he was dressed—looking effortlessly sharp in a simple black tee, jeans, baseball cap, and sunglasses—you both set out into the crisp air.

The South Bank was alive with energy, the Thames glinting in the sunlight as you walked hand in hand. The smell of street food hit you when you turned the corner near Borough Market, and your stomach growled in anticipation.

“Love, I’m proper starvin’,” Aaron said, squeezing your hand. “What’s the plan? You better not be thinkin’ we’re just window shoppin’.”

“Relax,” you said, smirking.

“I’ve got your back. There’s this one stall I saw last time I was here that I’ve been dying to try once I visit here again—it does the best jerk chicken and proper Caribbean vibes. And don’t even get me started on the halloumi fries.”

Aaron’s eyes lit up. “Halloumi fries? Now you’re talkin’. Let’s go find this place before I waste away.”

You led the way through the crowded market, weaving past stalls selling everything from handmade jewelry to fresh flowers. The air was thick with the smells of spices and grilled meats, and the sounds of vendors calling out to passersby mingled.

“Ah, there it is,” you said, tugging gently on Aaron’s hand as you spotted the stall between a vintage clothing stand and a bustling flower shop.

The sign read “Kiya's Caribbean” and the aroma of allspice and thyme wafted through the air, mingling with the hum of reggae music playing softly from a portable speaker.

Aaron’s eyes widened as you approached the stall, and his stomach growled audibly. “I can smell the magic from here. Let’s get in there before they run out.”

The vendor, a cheerful dark brown-skinned woman with a warm smile, a gold hoop in her nose, and long beautiful locs, greeted you both with a hearty.

“Y’ello, darlin’! What can I get for yuh today?”

“Everything, please,” Aaron said, not missing a beat. “But especially that jerk chicken. And don’t be stingy with it, yeah?”

She laughed, her voice rich and melodic. “Oh, you’re a bold one, ain’t ya? Alright, let’s set you up. For good measure, jerk chicken, rice and peas, plantain, and a side of fries.”

“And halloumi fries,” you added, nudging Aaron. “Don’t forget the halloumi fries.”

“Course not, sweetheart,” she said, winking. “I gotchu.”

As she worked her culinary magic, the grill sizzle and the rhythmic chopping of fresh herbs filled the air. Aaron leaned against the stall, his arm brushing against yours, and you couldn’t help but smile at how at ease he was, chatting with the vendor like they were old mates.

The first bite was divine when she handed you both a loaded tray. The jerk chicken was tender, the spices perfectly balanced, and the halloumi fries—crispy and creamy inside—were absolutely perfect.

You closed your eyes, savoring the flavors, and Aaron laughed, nudging you playfully. “Told you it’d be worth it,” he said, his mouth full. “You’re in your element, innit?”

You opened your eyes, catching the glint of mischief in his. “Shut up and eat your food.”

The rest of the afternoon was a blur of laughter, music, and the electric energy of the market. You wandered through the stalls, picking up a few trinkets.

Earrings shaped like tiny palm trees, a bracelet with a small charm of the Jamaican flag—and even stopped to watch a group of dancers performing to a live drum circle.

At one point, Aaron pulled you into the crowd, spinning you around with him until you were both breathless and laughing. The music was infectious, the rhythm pulsating through you like a heartbeat.

For a moment, it felt like the whole world had narrowed to just the two of you, lost in the moment's joy.

As the sun shone, you found yourselves at a small riverside spot, sharing a bottle of fresh water and watching the boats glide.

Aaron leaned back on his elbows, his eyes half-closed as he soaked in the view.

“You know,” he said, his voice low and thoughtful, “days like this… they’re the ones that make life feel proper special.”

You smiled, twirling a strand of your curly hair around your finger. “Yeah,” you agreed quietly. “They’re the ones you remember.”

He turned his head, his gaze meeting yours, and for a moment, there wasn’t a single thing to say. The world just… was.

And in that moment, it was enough.

TAGS @writingsbytee @notapradagurl7 @ellemelaninbeauty @cocooned-butterfly

[fairytaleendingss]

Room for One More?

Chapter 11

Summary: James has had time to think during the days he'd been away and through this, has come to a shocking revelation.

CW: Swearing, creepy man being unnerving (nothing inappropriate happens though).

Pairing: Poly!Marauders x fem!reader

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8, Chapter 9, Chapter 10

This is a shorter one but I just wanted to get something out. I have more of a solid plan now of what I want to happen next to stay tuned for some more updates soon!

--

You started to feel better over the next few days. Remus checked on you periodically to make sure you were making progress while Sirius hovered awkwardly, not quite sure what he was supposed to do whenever the two of you happened to be in the same vicinity.

You weren't sure what had come over him in the last few days but things between the two of you had been stilted to say the least.

By Wednesday you were back on your feet and back at work, meaning Remus' job was done, however, you desperately hoped that things between the two of you would continue to be civil in the aftermath. Who knows? Maybe you'd even become friends.

James was also getting home from his trip today and you were bubbling with a combination of nerves and excitement. You'd found yourself missing him over the last few days. Everything had been strange, to say the least and James was the person out of all your roommates who you were the most comfortable around by far. He just had this light energy about him that was able to balance everything out around your house and without it, things had just felt off. You couldn't quite place your finger on what it was but James Potter just had a way of putting you at ease.

Although, you couldn't help but feel slightly guilty for wanting him there for your own selfish purposes. You knew things had been particularly rough for him after the revelation at New Years and you knew he needed this time to get away from everything and clear his head.

You pondered this concept as you sat back in your desk chair, pen pressed into your cheek and eyes gazing off to nowhere. When did things become so complicated? you thought to yourself.

"Whatcha thinking about?" Mary sang, sliding across the linoleum office floor on her desk chair. Mary was always pretty but you took note of it today in particular. Her hair was pulled up on top of her head in a tidy bun and she had a burgundy lipstick on, one that was a departure from the usual neutral tones she went for at work.

You raised a brow at her, choosing to pass by her question.

"You look lovely. Got plans tonight?"

Mary bit her lip as she often did when she was excited.

"It's Lily and I's four month anniversary tonight! I know it sounds silly to celebrate it but if I'm being honest, it's kind of a big deal! Today marks the longest official relationship I've been in!"

"Oh my gosh! Mary, that's wonderful!" you chirped. Then you paused. "Hold on, what do you mean 'official relationship'?"

Mary sighed. "Well, technically there was this guy in high school that I talked to for like a year over Snapchat but he lived in America and we never met in person so it doesn't really count."

You rolled your eyes at her fondly. "You had an internet boyfriend?"

She gave you a gentle slap on the shoulder. "What? I was like fourteen!"

"Okay, fine. Whatever. Congratulations anyway," you replied.

"Thanks girl! Now tell me," she scooted forward slightly on her chair, leaning in as if to share a secret. "What's going on with you and Sirius?"

You sighed thickly. "Unfortunately, there's nothing to tell."

"Really?" she looked surprised. "So you still haven't talked about anything that happened on New Years... or you know, before that?"

You shook your head. "Nope. In fact, honestly, we've barely talked at all recently. It's like he's avoiding me or something."

"That's is odd," Mary muttered. "I mean Sirius isn't usually known for being subtle. For some reason I had it in my head that maybe he would've gone all prince charming and come to your aid while you were ill," she chuckled.

"Ha! No, none of that. Every time we were in the same room, he'd just stare at me like I had two heads and then stutter out some excuse to rush away."

Mary let out a genuine laugh at this. "Yeah, actually that does sound like him. He's uh, not really much of a caretaker."

"No. Well, actually, it was... um, Remus who ended up doing most of the caretaking," you muttered bashfully.

Her eyebrows shot up like rockets. "I'm sorry, WHAT? Did I just hear you say Remus, the man that supposedly can't stand you, looked after you while you were unwell this last week?"

You shrugged but you couldn't deny the way your cheeks warmed at the thought. "He was quite wonderful actually."

A playful smirk overtook her. "Yeah, I bet he was. What? Did he like, bring you soup, and stroke your hair until you fell asleep?"

"Shut up," you joked. "You read too many romance novels, you know?"

"Hey! It's not my fault that you're living out the plot of New Girl!"

"You know, it actually kind of is, right?"

She shrugged. "Well, maybe that was the plan all along. I think Remus would definitely be Nick-"

"Anyway," you stated pointedly, before her comparison could get too deep. "You should probably get going. It's after 5 and you don't want to be late for your special date tonight!"

"Oh, shit! You're right," she exclaimed, jumping from her chair and racing to grab her coat.

You chuckled to yourself as you watcher her scramble for her things, calling out a hurried "goodbye" as she headed for the exit.

You took your time packing up that night, both having nowhere to be and also not looking forward to going home. You wondered if maybe Sirius would be out working tonight but you doubted it since James was supposed to have arrived home today and you suspected they'd want to spend some time together.

"Are you heading off now then?"

You abruptly turned on your heel, eyes wide as you noticed Glenn standing closely behind you. You hated when he did that. He was always creeping up on you when you were distracted.

You gave him an awkward smile, hoping he would say a quick goodbye and then leave you be.

He smiled at you broadly, flashing his perfectly pearly white teeth in a way that you could tell usually worked to make girls swoon. It didn't, however, work so well on you.

"Yeah. Just finishing up now."

He nodded thoughtfully. "Ah. Well I see that Mary has made an early exit. Do you need some company walking out?"

You cringed internally. There was something just so artificial about him. Like he was constantly putting on an act, displaying qualities that he thought people liked to see. But you could see right through it and honestly, it left a bad taste in your mouth.

"That's very kind but I'm okay by myself."

He shook his head stubbornly. "Nonsense! What kind of gentleman would I be if I let you go alone in the cold?"

You restrained yourself from rolling your eyes. Clearly it wasn't going to be so easy to shake him off.

"Okay, then," you relented unwittingly. "Lets go."

The walk from your office on the seventh floor down to the front exit was particularly awkward. Glenn hovered at your side, not saying much but just sending you that unnerving smile of his every so often. As you approached the front steps, you were more then relieved to see a familiar figure waiting by the door.

"James! What are you doing here?"

He looked up from his phone, flashing you a genuine grin, one that made your heart feel warm, instead of causing bile to want to rise in your throat the way Glenn's did.

"Hey!"

He approached with rapid footsteps, engulfing you in his warm arms. You relaxed into his hold for a moment, savoring the feeling.

You pulled away at the sound of a throat clearing beside you. Glenn was looking between the two of you with an unreadable expression.

"Oh! Sorry," James corrected himself, only then noticing the other man. "I'm James, Y/n's roommate. Nice to meet you."

He stuck a hand out towards Glenn, which the latter man shook with a reluctant hesitation.

"Glenn Mulciber. We work together."

You didn't like the way the man was looking at James, something akin to jealously flashing across his eyes in a way that made your skin crawl.

"Well, thanks for walking me out, Glenn but James and I'd better be going. I'll see you tomorrow."

"Yeah, right. Okay," was all he said before he turned on his heel and stalked away, his demeanor suddenly very cold.

"Well, he's an odd sort of person," James observed as the two of you began the journey home.

"I'm not a fan of his, to tell you the truth," you responded. "He's weird. He kind of creeps me out."

"Hmm," James muttered thoughtfully, although you could tell his mind was elsewhere.

"You don't have to keep coming to pick me up from work, you know? I'm perfectly capable of making it home myself."

James shrugged. "I know, I just like spending time with you."

You felt your heart swim at his words and had to turn your gaze away from him in the hopes that he wouldn't see the embarrassment on your face.

"Well, um... how was your trip?"

"Good. Yeah. It was good."

He was fiddling with the hem of his coat, looking vaguely off into the distance as he spoke to you. Something seemed off about him. You furrowed your eyebrows, wondering what was going on.

"Is everything okay?" you questioned. "You seem nervous or something."

"Um, well," he hesitated for a moment before turning to face you. "Actually, there's something I wanted to talk to you about."

You felt your heart sink into your stomach as a slew of worst case scenarios began to run through your mind. You did your best to keep composed.

"Okay, what's up?"

James released a heavy breath as if he was preparing himself for the words to follow.

"So, while I was away, I had a lot of time to think about things,"

"What kinds of things?"

"Well, you know, just everything that's been going on. When I found out about Lily and Mary back on New Years Eve, I was heartbroken..."

You sighed feeling a rush of sympathy. "Yeah, James about that, I'm really sorry. You shouldn't have had to find out that way, I-"

"No! No, it's okay!" he interrupted. "What I was going to say was actually that I was heartbroken at first. But then the more I thought about it, the more I realised, I've been in love with Lily for so long that I think at some point I just started to like the idea of us together more than I actually liked her, if that makes sense."

You sent him a look of confusion.

"That's not to say I don't like her of course," he rushed to amend. "She's a great friend and obviously she's beautiful and a wonderful person and all that but I think that I just got so comfortable with wanting her that I didn't realise when I didn't really want her anymore..."

You couldn't help but chuckle at the boys rambling. "James, what are you trying to say?"

Then he stopped walking suddenly and you followed suit. He turned to look at you then, his face serious and eyes ablaze with an unfamiliar friction.

"I think what I'm trying to say is... what that night made me realise is that I have feelings for someone else."

In that moment, despite the cold of the street, heat began to swirl around you. You felt energy of an unknown source drawing you together in a magnetic pull as James gazed down at you with a look of yearning clouding his dark eyes. Your heart stuttered in your chest as you looked up at him. Your eyes raked over every inch of his face; his sweet smile, his gorgeous eyes, his stupid curls that he couldn't contain no matter how hard he tried. He was beautiful.

Then, without warning, he leaned in and your lips connected.

It was like the world faded away around you. All the noise of the cars and the crowds and the hustle and bustle of London in the evening, all just melted away. You didn't care that you were standing in the middle of the street, with icy tendrils of wind piercing your skin. You didn't care that you had a rock in your shoe or that your hair was blowing in your face. In that moment, all you cared about was him and the feeling of his soft lips against yours.

It wasn't desperate and passionate the way it had been with Sirius. No, James' kiss was sweeter, gentler, filled with warmth and comfort just like he was.

When you pulled back, James had a playful smirk on his face. He licked his lips, looking down at you affectionately as he used a finger to push his glasses up on his nose.

"So," he muttered. "Will you do out with me, then?"

You rolled your eyes. "Of course I will, you idiot."

He laughed a little and intertwined your fingers with his own.

"Okay good. I just wanted to make sure."

You scoffed as you began to walk once more, hand in hand and smiles painted on your swollen lips.

--

Taglist:

@hisparentsgallerryy @navs-bhat @shushbruv @magicwithaknife @eeviee4 @notapoetjustscar @gugggu6gvai @robertsmithclone @ilovesugurugeto69 @taytayy178 @its-notkiee @bugworldsworld @switchingfandomslikecrazy @evangelquill, @delusional-4-fake-people, @ch4rlotte35, @insideoutjulie, @hiireadstuff, @laniirackssss, @starrystormwritings, @strategicsweetheart, @1800brat, @sammyreid, @frootloops1213, @ill-be-okay-soon-enough, @loveelylani, @ilovejamespottersomuch, @that-gay-person-27, @serenadingtigers, @lily-mylove, @arielthee-potterhead, @treefairy-28, @happycatanxie, @lettertovera, @captainlunaxmen, @ellieshifts3, @marauderslover18, @hidontmindtheintrovert

[pynkhues]

Oh my God! This is madness! I'm so sorry that people are attacking you because of FICTIONAL characters. iwtv fandom is the worst

It’s - - yeah, a bit much, and obviously doesn’t make me feel great. This isn’t the first time they’ve sent me messages like this, and I usually just delete (actually one they sent me was my Dad’s workplace, and I do have to say that after the initial feelings of violation wore off a little, it did make me have a slightly delirious chuckle. What a way to re-connect with my estranged father! I feel like there’s an indie black comedy film in that!) and like I’ve alluded to previously, I think it reveals a lot more about them than it does about me.

Like even being willing to say that you’d send a child pornography over fandom discourse is wild to me. You’d literally rather threaten to commit a sex crime against a child (two children!) than press the x button in the far right hand corner of your computer screen and load up a different blog that caters to your interests? Like how do you possibly feel good about that?

I do genuinely try to be empathetic though. The world’s a dark place at the moment, and I don’t know what’s going on in this person’s life, so perhaps my inbox has been an outlet for them, albeit a grossly inappropriate one, and all I can hope is that they either find a healthier one, or get bored and move on.

[ittybittyfanblog]

Error 404: (Self-Aware!AU, Sylus Edition) – Pt. 7

Summary: A LADS self-aware!AU featuring Sylus and a player. That’s it, that’s the plot. Tags: player!reader x sylus, fem!reader x sylus, reader x lads, self-aware!au, strong language, suggestive themes!, there’s some slight smut…  but nothing too graphic (ion rly write smut haha), angst and comfort, this chapter’s brought to you by: a bunch of sad songs on repeat! A/N: 7k+ words what the fuck!!  (this might actually be one of my favorite chapters. :’))

Pt. 1 - Pt. 2 - Pt. 3 - Pt. 4 - Pt. 5 - Pt. 6 - Pt. 7 - Pt. 8 - Pt. 9 - Pt. 10

“You don’t have a favorite color.”

“I… don’t, no.”

“But you’re quite partial to green.”

“I guess so—?”

“You’ve worn the same green shirt to bed thrice this week,” he notes lightly, pertaining to your Loki: Master of Mischief tee. The corners of his mouth pull into a faint, knowing smile. “It suits you, by the way.”

Your fingers hover over the keyboard as you glance at him, narrowing your eyes in slight embarrassment. “It’s a perfectly comfy shirt,” you reply, a defensive edge to your tone. “Nothing wrong with that.”

“Nothing at all,” he agrees reassuringly. “Just making an observation.”

“What, are you keeping a dossier on me now?”

Sylus gives a noncommittal hum, but offers nothing more in response. He keeps watch on you from his usual spot in the corner between the monitor and the CPU box, chin resting on an open palm. His gaze betrays hints of smugness to it.

You eye him weirdly. With a huff, you turn back to your typing.

–

You’re cooking dinner—with Sylus supervising the entire thing like your very own personal sous chef. Something that has now been the norm for you two, since your–banging!–success with the tofu dish. 

And for tonight’s menu: Butter noodles. Simple, foolproof, straightforward. 

"Simple" is… well, it’s not entirely inaccurate. But the way that the boiling water hisses angrily through the small lid hole wavers the already shaky foundation of your developing culinary confidence. 

(Just a little bit! You’re sure you’ve got nothing to worry about.) 

A faint burning scent clings to the air; you forgot to stir the garlic early on, and now it looks dangerously close to a char. You rescue it just in time, cursing under your breath. Your sous chef, of course, catches everything. Even your nervousness.

“You know,” Sylus chimes in, watching the wooden spatula tremble in your hand. “This is quite the step up from your usual instant noodle packets. You should be proud of yourself, sweetie.”

“Gee, thanks. Really complex work for an extra half-hour of cooking time,” Your words are snide, but he doesn’t miss the way your grip on the spatula tightens ever-so-slightly. Steadies. 

The smell stabilizes. You add half a stick of butter, squashing it to a melt, and he lets the subject drop—for now.

“Do you have siblings?”

“I have an older sister,” you answer distractedly, stirring the sauce and trying to scrape the edges of the sauté pan without having it splatter from the inside.

“How much older?”

“Uh—six years,” you reply, reaching for a pinch of salt. “She's got a family. Two kids. Another on the way.”

“Hm. You two are close?”

You pause, the question landing softly in the haze of rising steam. “I mean. S’ alright, I guess. We catch up over the phone sometimes.”

“Ah. Good.”

“... Yeah.” 

You catch a glance of his expression in your peripheral, looking thoughtful. 

_

It’s a recent development, his curiosity. Sporadic at first, like light rain on a windshield—little questions scattered here and there, easy to brush off. But over the past week, it’s grown into something more unrelenting. It’s almost as if you two were playing a round of twenty questions, only it’s just you in the hot seat being interrogated. 

There’s also that habit of his to take it one step further. Hedging his questions strategically, acting like he already knows the little factoid he wanted to ask and just needs you to confirm it. 

You don’t really get the logic behind it, but hey, who are you to judge? Everybody has their quirks. Even someone of his caliber, apparently.

… God forbid he gets blindsided by something he’s genuinely surprised to know about you, though. 

“You know how to play the violin.”

You pause the video you’re watching on your laptop at its five minute mark to stare at Sylus through your phone screen. He sounds… terse? Like you’d intentionally kept this a secret from him.

“Wha—yes, I know how to play the violin,” you huff, incredulous by the show of attitude. “What’s up with all these weird questions?”

“You’ve given me explicit permission to ask them. Level the playing field,” he reminds you, eyes slightly accusatory. “What else are you keeping from me?”

You groan, collapsing onto your back on the couch. “Ugh, I don’t know,” you say sarcastically. “Do you wanna know my time of birth too?”

“Born at exactly twelve twenty-eight PM,” Sylus recites without missing a beat, his voice bored and unimpressed. “I saw it on your Co-Star app, sweetie.”

You freeze.

“…”

“That’s creepy,” you tell him, tone disapproving, giving him a scolding poke on the nose. 

“Call it thorough research,” he counters smoothly, rolling his eyes at your feeble attack. “After all, a stubborn kitten’s been slacking on her side of the deal.”

_

The questions are, for the most part, harmless in nature. Anchored firmly in the mundane. He doesn’t stray too far from what’s comfortable, or what he deems safe to ask. And yet you can sense it beneath the surface: the burning curiosity. To know more of you, to take what he could—piece by piece, until he’s unraveled the puzzle of you entirely. 

And you don’t get it. His world—filled with endless adventure, lore, and literal fucking superpowers—surely has to be more exciting than anything you’ve got to offer. What’s your life compared to that? 

You said as much to him, mostly as an offhand comment. Although it did feel slightly more earnest when you put it into words, compared to how it sounded in your head. 

“Honestly, Sy-Sy. Life here’s really not that interesting compared to all the stuff going on over there,” you told him matter-of-factly, in the middle of collecting your daily rewards. “You don’t have to keep this up, you know.”

Sylus didn’t speak for a moment. The easy nonchalance he wore so well shifted into something more reserved, almost somber. He didn’t challenge what you said, nor did he affirm anything—you're met with silence, loaded with thoughts unspoken. 

“Don’t presume things on your own, little dove,” he said after a while, his voice low, a gentle reprimand. 

Before you could even process what he meant by that, he smoothly changed the subject, his tone reverting back to his usual effortless calm as if to ease the weight of your words. “Now then, let’s circle back—what were you saying earlier? You almost drowned in a lake when you were eight? Because of a dare you made with your sister?”

And that was the end of it.

You tell yourself it’s exhausting—the way he keeps digging, prodding, asking questions like you’re worth the level of fascination he’s making you out to be. But there’s also the truth, hidden and tucked beneath your half-hearted protests, slowly unfurling. A part of you—cautiously hopeful, dreadfully fragile—that preens under the weight of his scrutiny. 

So you let him press further; let him sift through twenty plus years of tiny, unremarkable fragments of your life like a beachcomber seeking treasures amongst the tide. And in return, he gives you his full attention, undivided and unyielding, as if your answers are the only ones that matter.

––––

He tells you there’s a new tête-à-tête feature in the game, so you check it out—not without giving him a slightly suspicious look. 

“A microphone feature?” You snort, leveling him with a half-amused glare. “You already hear me talk all the time.”

Sylus blinks at you, his face a guilefully-crafted mask of innocence. “I’m just giving you the option, sweetie. You know, in case you’d like to put our conversations ‘on record.’”

“Treat you like some kind of… quasi-therapist or something? An online confessional?” You give him the stink eye. “Is that what you’re angling for now?”

He shrugs. “If it helps.”

_

You had no intention of using the tête-à-tête “feature” you’ve been so graciously offered, quickly dismissing it as just another one of his tactics to show off his capacity to manipulate the game’s code, or something along those lines. 

It’s not the first time he’s done it. 

But then, midnight comes on a deceptively ordinary Friday, and it’s suffused with an all-too familiar feeling of utter emptiness that drowns you. You’re crumpled on the toilet seat like chewed-up gum, knees pulled to your chest—the day’s wounds still festering. It's not anything new, but it leaves you feeling like shit all the same. 

Yet another overtime shift. Yet another argument with your mom, over fuck all you know that you’re too damn old for, but still, still, finds its way to cut deep. Over and over, and over again. 

Your phone’s blank screen stares back at you, just as mute and useless as the rest of the night. And you—

“Sweetie?” 

You can’t speak. Not yet. But you don’t have to. One look at the exhaustion on your face is enough for Sylus to know exactly what you need.

Your mouth trembles open, then shuts again. He doesn’t say anything else, just waiting for you to make the first move. To start whenever you’re ready. 

After a long moment, you finally exhale a shaky breath. That’s when you catch his gaze; fixed, patient, almost... encouraging. It’s a subtle invitation, urging you to take the plunge, to make use of him to an extent only he can provide–the only one he could offer to you at this time–

So, you talk. Tentatively at first, the words slipping out like droplets from your leaking sink faucet. But once the dam breaks, you can't stop. 

It spills out. Every frustration, every ache, every moment that feels too much to carry for one person, especially for someone like you, and he… he just—

listens. 

-

-

-

You feel drained. Every ounce of energy wrung out of you after unloading the day’s weight to your unexpected confidant.

“That helped, didn’t it?”

If it were anyone else—or if you didn’t know Sylus the way you do now—you’d only catch the smug notes in his voice. The teasing lilt and the airy pretense of someone trying to ease the heaviness out of the room.

But you do hear it. Beneath the surface, woven so subtly into the words… something vulnerable. 

You hear the unspoken question behind it: he’s genuinely asking if it helped. If his presence, however small or inconsequential it might seem, was enough to pull you back ashore.

I helped.

Tell me I did.

“You did, Sy.” Your grin is tired, grateful, and a little lopsided. But it’s real. “Thank you.”

For a moment—just a split of a second—the red in his eyes betrays something achingly raw.

“Anytime, darling,” he says, his voice quieter now, rough around the edges, like it’s carrying more than the words themselves. “I mean it.”

And like a beacon of light slicing through the storm-tossed seas of your mind, you realize that he truly does.

____

You start giving Sylus the reins to select the music, trusting his taste enough to let him DJ for you. He picks the soundtrack for everything—cooking, errands, long rides—filling the silence with something that he knows the both of you would like. 

The playlists grow. From one, to two, to almost an entire collection of carefully curated tracks to suit the mood and vibe of the day. He takes it seriously—so seriously that you can’t resist sneaking in a Megan Thee Stallion track onto his precious “Slow Evenings” playlist.

He finds it hilarious. Hilarious enough to loop Kitty Kat for all sixty-five minutes of your commute back home.

You laugh despite yourself. It’s exactly the type of shit you know he’d pull as petty retribution, already intimately familiar with his brand of humor. And if you close your eyes, you can almost imagine him beside you, sharing an earbud, smirking as he revels in your exasperation.

____

One night, you notice a weariness in his eyes. It’s an odd enough thing to see that it leads to a discussion on what he’s been up to as the shadowy leader of a notorious faction, deep in a lawless part of his universe.

“Just an operative gone wrong, sweetie,” he says with a sigh, rubbing a temple as though trying to physically push the stress away. “It happens.”

You press him on the details of the botched deal—and maybe, just maybe, a small part of you is excited to live vicariously through the tale. But it’s not about you this time, you remind yourself. So you listen as Sylus indulges every question you throw at him, giving you the play-by-play: what the deal was for (special, hard-to-get protocores), where the trade-off occurred (west of Charon), and how it all went sideways (he knew it was a set-up the moment he walked into the venue).

You don’t really know how to comfort him in a situation like this, but you want to try.

In an attempt to lighten the mood, you joke, “Can you imagine clumsy, ol’ me there? I’d be dead before I even make it inside.”

Sylus freezes, his expression going still. Unreadable.

“No, you won’t.” He says in response to the second part of what you just said, his tone brooking no doubt. He says it with such intense conviction that you almost believe this exact hypothetical has already crossed his mind—more than once.

I won’t let you.

Before you can even think of what to say, he adds, quieter this time, but no less convinced: “And yes—I can.”

It’s a direct answer to your question, and it makes the words die in your throat. His voice is softer now too, but there’s no mistaking his tone. It has the same conviction from before, and it hits you that he’s had time to ruminate on this thought—more times than he’d care to admit.

And I do. You have no idea.

____

There’s another shift in the dynamic of your, well, relationship.

“Did you hear what I said, poppet?”

You snap back to meet his inquiring gaze, unwavering as always.

“Sorry, can you repeat that?” You ask, the apology clear in your eyes.

He huffs, shaking his head in amusement—always patient, never annoyed—at your inattentiveness. “What’s on your mind, my sweet?”

Well. That.

Lately, Sylus has gotten into the habit of using possessive pronouns like they’re nothing. There’s also a notable increase on the variation of pet names too, each one more layered than the last.

It’s a little excessive, honestly. Like he’s trying to compensate for something—or maybe he sees it as just another natural step in whatever’s going on between you two. You’re still not sure what exactly goes in his head. He’s always been an enigma to you.

And yet, you never put a stop to it. How could you?

Little dove. Sweet girl. My darling.

When it comes off his lips like sunkist honey—each one brings a jolt straight to your heart. 

You're quite partial to one in particular. 

My love.

____

“Oh, my love,” Sylus tuts, feigning concern. “You’ve snoozed that alarm five times already.”

You groan, hitting the snooze button again—number six now—burying your face in your arms on the desk. 

____

You’re attending a despedida party for a friend who’s flying abroad to study (For a PhD in Biomedical Science! You couldn’t be more proud.) and the venue’s going to be at The Penthouse, somewhere fancy up north. It even has an infinity pool on deck, something the celebrant dropped into the group chat with far too much enthusiasm.

So, earlier today, you’d ventured out to buy something nice for yourself. Nicer than what you have in the closet, which isn’t much of a stretch. Something different than your usual rotation of plaids and band shirts—not that there’s anything wrong with them. They’re just… you. Comfortable. Predictable. Not exactly the dress code for a rooftop soirée.

Now, you’re back home from a successful (!) trip to the mall, bags in hand: a small gift for your friend on one arm and a much larger shopping bag on the other. 

You set the gift gently on the coffee table. Then, you head to the bathroom, the grosgrain ribbon of a paper tote held tight in your fist. 

The pretty fabric caught your eye almost immediately, the moment you saw the garment; its sheen almost like woven liquid in the light. It felt like a risk, even on the rack. But under the unforgiving glare of your bathroom bulb? 

Well, now, it’s looking less of a “bold choice,” and more along the lines of: “damn, what were you thinking?”

It’s not that big of a deal or anything. You like feeling pretty. But at the same time, you haven’t deluded yourself into thinking that you’re anything above average to look at, even on the nicest occasions. 

It’s something you’ve grown used to, a definitive truth ingrained deep in your bones. You know this—like you know gravity tethers you to the ground, even when you’d rather be carried by the wind. You’ve gone through more than a decade to accept it as just another fact of life, to make peace with the reflection staring back at you from the bathroom mirror. 

Even if it means you’ll never be on the receiving end of ‘interested’ glances from strangers on the street. Or that you’ve never known the feeling of someone doing a double take when they see you at your best, all dolled-up. More than once, you’ve sat across from dates whose eyes wandered—toward some other, someone better-looking, in restaurants, at parks, even outside the movies. Everywhere past your direction. 

But that’s okay. You’re used to it, the same way you’ve grown used to everything else.

And still, there’s that impulse—a sudden need for someone else’s opinion. Someone close. Someone that matters. 

There’s a pang of fear you can’t quite shake. You hear the small voice from the deep recesses of your mind, whispering to you that it’s one of your worse ideas. That you’ll fall short of any and all expectations, and that it’ll hurt more this time around. You’ll hear the polite, “you look nice” and you’re gonna have to live with the quiet certainty that you don’t, not really, and that you’ll never quite measure up to what he’s used to seeing. To her—

You swallow hard. He wouldn’t. He wouldn’t do that to you. Not outwardly, at least.

And if he did… Well.

“I bought something,” you say as an opener, the words tumbling out in a rush as soon as you get a glimpse of his form on the screen. You’re rocking back on your heel, a little awkward as you stand there in front of your small vanity table even with your phone laid flat, front camera pointing upwards. “You remember the going-away party I’ll be attending two days from now, right?”

“Of course, the one for your secondary school batchmate.” Sylus replies easily, voice reverberating through the tinny speakers. Even at an angle, you can see the confused tilt of his head. “Is it on the ceiling, sweetie? What am I looking at, exactly?”

“No, smartass. I—” You press your lips together, eyes flitting upward, as if courage might be dangling from the ceiling in question.

Fuck, this is a bad idea. I can’t do this.

“It’s–I bought something for myself. I mean, I bought her a gift too, obviously. But I also bought an outfit. For the party.” 

There. 

He blinks, and you can almost see the gears turning in his head. Realization dawns on his face, a knowing smile beginning to form. His voice dips, a teasing edge to it as he purrs, “Oh? Well then, save me from the suspense, sweetheart.”

“I–I’m getting to it, okay?” It comes out a little snappier than you intend, nerves flaring hot. You sigh, feeling your shoulders drop. “I’m just… Don’t be—ugh, just don’t make a big deal out of this, alright?” 

You keep your eyes off the screen, unable to face him directly.

But when he speaks, his tone carries only a quiet understanding of your struggle.

Of course he understands. He always does.

He speaks; and it’s slow and measured—as if he’s coaxing a terrified, cornered animal out of hiding. 

“Show me.” Trust me.

And so with a heavy exhale through the nose, you flip the front camera towards your direction, revealing the bare expanse of gooseflesh skin—

… And the flimsy one-piece that clings to your body like wet plastic. 

It dips low between the valley of your breasts and stops short just halfway up your thigh. The material is a gauzy organza; see-through and light, in seafoam green. Barely leaving anything to the imagination as it reveals the dusky coral swimsuit from underneath the fabric and the hot flush that spreads across your chest like wildfire. Your fists clench and unclench behind your back – hiding the physical manifestation of your rising anxiety – while you shift your weight from one foot to the other. 

There's a deafening silence. 

The knots in your stomach grow tighter, creeping its way past your lungs. Your fingers tremble as cold sweat breaks out across your skin, chilling you from the inside. You feel horribly exposed. So exposed it’s almost unbearable. 

And you still can’t bring yourself to look at him.

Your thoughts stumble, desperate to cling to anything solid, and a faint memory surfaces—a passage from an org pamphlet you’ve skimmed through back in college, something that has to do with “self-perception.”

The flesh does not define you. 

Your body is but a facet of who you are. You are as inconsequential as the earth beneath your feet, and as important as stardust in the universe.

A low, guttural sound cuts through the stillness, and it makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end. 

You—

“Look at me.”

A searing heat laces the cadence of his voice. It sounds restless—like a flame unchecked, rapidly growing into a raging inferno. Stifling in the way it pulls the air from your lungs, like a suckerpunch to the gut.

Your primordial instinct is to flee. But right at that very moment, you're no different from a paralyzed insect caught in an inescapable web with the way you’re stood frozen in place. Every instinct to run is smothered by the mere inflection in his voice. 

—are all. And that is all there is to be. 

“My sweet little dove,” it’s almost a croon, the way the words curl around you like wisps of smoke. Sickly saccharine… downright serpentine. “Won’t you look at me when I talk to you?”

And like a marionette on a string, you obey. 

-

Time seems to stop to a standstill the moment your eyes meet his. 

Sylus’ gaze sinks into you. Loaded. Heavy. A crazed glint, almost—to it. Even to someone like you who's embarrassingly clueless about the nuances of attraction and wholly inexperienced in its depths can see it as plain as day.

Carnal desire. In its purest form. 

Sylus looks at you as though you’re something to be coveted. Devoured. 

A small, fearful noise slips past your lips, and the twin crimson flames burn brighter.

“You’d like to know what I think?”

Yes.

No?

He sees the war in your eyes, and a throaty chuckle escapes him—raw and breathy. “Maybe so?”

You give him the tiniest nod, and the grin on his face sharpens into something wanton, something far more licentious. It slinks in like a fever, stirring something deep within you. Something as old as time.

Sylus opens his mouth. 

You brace yourself for the inevitable.

-

-

-

A ring slices through the room like a hot knife. Just like that, you can breathe again. 

____

Your saving grace comes in the form of a phone call that grounds you back to reality.

It’s a friend, one of the party guests, asking for directions to the venue. You’re listening with one ear on the receiver, answering each question robotically—your voice a controlled calm on the surface, a stark contrast to the thoughts running amok inside your head. 

The words blur into background noise, muffled and distant, like a TV commercial playing on low volume in another room.

The moment you hang up, a suffocating hush swallows the room whole. You’re left alone with nothing but heat kindling low in your gut. The ghost of the heavy exchange from earlier stays with you, thrumming beneath your skin, hot and pulsating. 

You don’t know what to do with yourself. The abrupt suddenness of it all gnaws at you, its weight driving you toward an early retreat—maybe a long night’s rest will do wonders and help you get your shit together, who knows. 

You slip between the sheets... but not before retrieving your, ah, trusty little companion from its hiding spot in the bedside drawer.

You didn’t want to assume… You don’t want to expect anything from him, but you have needs. 

God, but you do.

Your body feels like flint struck against steel, sparked ablaze by just a handful of words. Words weaved into a vivid imagery from the mouth of your… friend?? 

(Something more?) 

The uncertainty wrecks you, every nerve alight with tension. And yet it’s the same uncertainty that roots you there. Hesitating. 

So. You lie back, pushing the sheets away from your fevered skin, and just—lay there. Staring at the ceiling. The plaster cracks form maps you trace with your eyes, as if searching for answers in their tangled routes. You count your breaths, one after the other, as though the repetition could calm your racing heartbeat. 

It feels ridiculous, almost. You’re a grown adult, acting like a teenager with a demented crush. It’s more than that, though—it’s deeper, messier, and completely illogical. 

But it’s not something you can figure out tonight, not in this state. So you stop trying. 

Instead, you switch on your little toy, open an incognito browser, and let yourself succumb to what your body’s been screaming at you for the past fucking hour. 

You feel… You feel weird about using anything Sylus-related to get yourself off. That’s not to say you haven’t, before, back when he was just another eye candy from a measly mobile game. When it was just another infatuation. 

But now? Now it feels all levels of wrong, like you’re toeing some invisible line. Worse, it feels like you’re exploiting something fragile, testing the limits of a bond already stretched thin.

So, any content related to that man stays off the fap fodder. You’re not that far gone. You think. 

Instead, you scroll through your bookmarks tab, a shaky sigh leaves your lips as you let the hard vibrations of your trusty rabbit glide from inside your thighs, up… up to your warm center, in between the juncture of your legs.

You pause on a Toji smut fic—one amongst, uhh, dozens in your folder. It’s not the same, you know this, but you’re settling for the next best thing in your current circumstance. 

Since what you really want, who you’d rather much have, isn’t—

…

Your phone glitches. 

The Chrome app crashes.

And what do you think you’re doing?

Your heart stutters a beat, and you stop breathing. 

You can’t answer. The words don’t come. But he doesn’t wait for you to try.

Put on your headphones.

You’re done with that. Tonight, tomorrow, any other night. Do you understand me?

The uncharacteristic curtness of the message sends a jolt through you, and a blush overtakes your entire body. You hesitate, just for a second.

Now.

You scramble to obey, fumbling for your earbuds, slipping them on with shaking hands. 

The moment the bluetooth connects, the game boots up on its own—straight to an irate Sylus, looking royally pissed-off. 

“Sy-Sy—” you stammer, your voice barely above a whisper. “I—I don’t—”

"Oh, so back to Sy-Sy now, are we?"

The mocking lilt in his voice cuts sharper than the glare he fixes on your dimly lit face. Your mouth opens, then closes, words failing you entirely. 

You want to explain, to defend yourself. To…

“I see what you read. What you watch,” he begins, voice cutting and mean. “In the dead of night, when you think you’re alone. When you think it’s safe. That no one hears the sweet moans spill so sinfully from your lips.”

His words pierce through the air like an arrow; you feel his overwhelming presence take over, the weight of his gaze pressing down on you, every exhale grazing the sensitive shell of your ear.

“Oh, but I do,” he murmurs, the ambiguity in his tone somehow making it worse. “I hear everything. I know everything about you, kitten.”

A shiver races down your spine, your body betraying you as he speaks.

“What makes you tick,” he continues, his voice a sinister caress. “What leaves you writhing, desperate for more. The way your breathing quickens… the way your body trembles under the weight of your own pleasure.”

You’re struggling now—each breath harder to catch than the last.

“And the way that pretty little mouth of yours falls open in a silent gasp, right after you come undone.”

His words are a noose, tightening with every syllable. Your head spins as the air seems to grow heavier, saturated with the tension between you.

“But it’s never for me, is it?”

“I—I’m sorry… I don’t want to assume—”

“Assume?” His voice darkens, any hint of softness replaced with something colder, harsher. “Again with your presumptions.”

He leans closer, his tone dropping to a command that leaves no room for doubt. “From now on, the only thing you’ll need to believe is when I tell you you’re mine.”

You blink at him dumbly. His grin turns into something wicked—caustic and biting—as he cocks his head. Derisive.  

“Do you understand?”

Your head bobs in a weak, reflexive nod.

“Words, poppet.”

“Y-Yes.”

“Good.” His tone shifts, smooth like languid amber, yet no less imposing. “Now, my love,” he coos, savoring the way your eyes tear up with desperation, “show me how you touch yourself.”

____

“Shi–iit,” he hisses. “This wet already?” 

You attempt to close your legs, shame rising like a tide, but freeze halfway when Sylus lets out a low, warning growl.

“Try that, and we’ll stop,” he warns. “I won’t repeat myself twice, pet.”

The weight of his words pins you in place, and you let out a helpless whimper.

“Don’t be afraid, sweet girl,” he murmurs, his tone gentler—coaxing. “It’s just me.”

His gaze burns into you, relentless, but something tender bleeds into it. 

The glow of the screen casts shadows along the sharp angles of his jaw, the upward tick of his mouth a dangerous contradiction—part teasing, part command. His sanguine eyes gleam with a mix of hunger and control, a look that leaves no room for hesitation.

You give in.

Your body relaxes under the weight of his stare, the fight draining from your limbs. It’s not submission—it’s surrender, pure and unfiltered, the kind that leaves you bare and vulnerable.

Sylus watches you, a faint smile tugging at his lips. Not soft, not kind, but triumphant—like a predator relishing the moment its prey stops running.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, the praise dripping from his tongue like honey. “That’s better.”

____

Sade’s Smooth Operator starts to play in the background as you catch your breath.

You let out a tired giggle, swiping a hand down your sweat-drenched face, earbuds still in place. “Ugh—don’t piss me off.”

You hear a resounding chuckle. 

Gently, he asks, “Alright, little dove?” There’s a beat of hesitation before he adds, quieter now, “Did I go too far?”

You curl onto your side, phone clutched in your hand like a prayer. Sylus’ gaze peers back at you through the screen, a dangerously soft expression on his face that you don’t want to identify. 

“It's perfect, Sy,” you say, your grin tender and bittersweet, heart full of something you won't name.

____

It’s one in the morning. The dim glow of your laptop screen flickers across your face, spilling into the darkened room, casting shadows along the wall. You lean back against it, the end credits of Everything Everywhere All At Once rolling quietly in the background.

 

Silence settles between you and Sylus like a warm blanket.

“Do you think it’s… like that?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper, unwilling to shatter the stillness of the moment. “All versions of ourselves colliding and coexisting at the same time?”

The question hangs there; he doesn’t rush an answer, and for a moment, you wonder if he’s choosing not to. 

When he finally speaks, it’s with the same quiet restraint, his voice threading softly through the air. 

“I’d like to think that in this vast expanse of the universe, there’s something for you and me.”

There’s a trace of something dreadfully optimistic in his voice, and it makes your chest tighten. You blink a few times, glancing upwards. 

The moment lingers, delicate in its quietness, until you instinctively reach for your phone. A quick swipe reveals a new addition to your shared playlist.

This Is A Life by Son Lux and Mitski.

A small, genuine smile tugs at your lips as you press play. The haunting strains of the song pour into the room, filling the spaces words can’t seem to touch.

“Sneaky,” you murmur, your gaze sliding back to Sylus’ face on the screen. His expression is unreadable, save for the faintest twitch of his mouth, the barest hint of a smile.

“Thought it fit the mood,” he says simply.

And it does. The music sweeps over you, soft and wistful, like the moment itself.

____

The balcony feels like a lifeboat drifting away from the chaos inside. The music, the chatter, the endless parade of tequila shots—it all fades to a dull hum as you step into the cool night air. 

Out here, the world feels wider, the sky a little darker, and you can breathe without choking on the weight of the party.

She’s already there, of course. The friend of a friend. An acquaintance by definition, but someone who feels more of a comrade in these fleeting moments away from the crowd. You’ve seen her like this most times—leaning on the railing, a cigarette perched between her fingers, its faint ember glowing against the night. You don’t need an invitation to approach her.

“You mind if I bum one?”

She shrugs, silently offering the box to you. You take one.

“Fun party, huh?” you comment after two puffs, the lit end of the stick briefly catching the glow of the skyline. Your voice is loaded with the kind of irony only shared by those watching the world from the outside in.

“It always is with them around,” she snorts, rolling her eyes in fond exasperation. Her voice carries the warmth of familiarity, from an observation you’ve both shared before. 

You exhale a soft laugh, the sound barely audible over the low hum of the city below.

The silence that follows isn’t just companionable—it’s necessary. A pause to recalibrate, to let the noise, and the lights, and the weight of too many people melt away. Neither of you feels the need to fill it. Words would only dilute the reprieve.

And then, unexpectedly:

“You look happy.”

The words land like a stone dropping into still water, rippling through the quiet. You glance at her, startled by the way her eyes narrow slightly, the way her tone suggests she’s already drawn her own conclusions.  

“You ‘ave someone?”

You weren’t ready for that. You blink at her, surprised she’s noticed anything about you—surprised, too, that it’s written plainly enough for anyone to notice.

“...Yeah,” you mumble, looking away. The admission feels strange in its simplicity. “Yeah, I do.”

She smiles at that—easy but genuine, as if your happiness has spilled over and warmed her, too. “That’s good.” 

There’s sincerity in her voice, unfiltered and direct, as she adds, “You look happier.”

You don’t reply, but her words settle somewhere deep, in the quiet places you thought were hidden. 

And for once, you don’t mind being seen.

____

The party has left you drunker than you’ve been in ages. 

As soon as the celebrant spots the two of you in the corner looking like a sad pair of eyesores, she quickly remedies it with copious amounts of Stone-Cold Stingers. You try to protest, but in the end, it’s futile against the cacophony of cheers and the face of societal peer pressure. 

So now you stagger inside the condo building, looking every bit like a drowned rat dragged in from the storm. A weary guard from reception following closely behind, his patience visibly fraying as you giggle your way toward the elevator.

“‘m fine!” you insist, words slurring together as you attempt to shoo him off with a lazy wave. To emphasize your point, you pinch your fingers together, holding them inches apart. “Just this much to drink, see?”

He doesn’t respond, his expression coming across resigned and frustrated. You can almost hear the thought running through his mind: I don’t get paid enough for this. 

With a long-suffering sigh, he finally relents, letting you totter into the elevator alone.

UG… P… 4…. 5…… Oh! Here you are. 

Rivulets of water drip down from your rain-soaked hair, trailing icy paths down your neck as you stagger down the narrow hallway. Your vision blurs, making everything double—no, triple—as you fumble your way to the left, stopping in front of the door of 601—wait, no, 603. 

You squint hard at the numbers, your head throbbing with the effort, but the stinging in your eyes and the stubborn clumping of your lashes make it way harder for you to make sense of it all. 

Your waterlogged clutch feels heavier than it should, and your trembling fingers struggle to find the zipper pull that’s somehow become the bane of your existence. You huff, muttering incoherently to yourself, your throat tight and raw as a burning lump starts to rise. An annoyingly persistent buzzing from inside your bag adds to your mounting frustration.

With an angry yank, you finally manage to tear the bag open, water splashing off it in tiny droplets. 

“Aha!” you exclaim, though the triumph is short-lived as your hands shake even harder when you pull out your phone. It’s the source of the buzzing apparently, the bright screen momentarily blinding you. 

You try to unlock it—once, twice, three times—nearly getting locked out before the numbers finally click.

The notifications hit you like the mars lights of a freight train. Texts. Lots of them. You scroll through clumsily, the device slipping slightly from your grip as you snort gracelessly.

Sylus. Of course.

The words on the screen blur and twist, but you don’t need clarity to know the progression of each message—ranging from mild curiosity, to slight worry, to exasperatedly concerned. 

The syllables of his pet name echo faintly in your muddled head, a small, fleeting comfort against the weight pressing down on your chest. Sy-Sy. Sy-Sy. Sy-Syyyyy—

Synchronous with your erratic breathing, you dig through your bag with a heavy hand, each failed attempt sends you spiraling lower.

Another ping jolts you from your drunken haze: 

How are you feeling? Did you just get back?

“I can’t—I can’t find my damn keys!” 

The words slips out as a frustrated cry.

Inner pocket, left side. Answer me, sweetheart.

His words flash across the screen just as your fumbling fingers find the keys exactly where he said they’d be. 

A tear burns a path down your cheek as you let out a half-hearted chuckle, mumbling, “Can I even function without you?” 

How long has it been since you could manage something like this on your own? Has he become an extension of your mind?

The door’s stubborn resistance only adds to your unraveling. After several failed attempts—your fingers too wound up to grip the key properly—you finally twist the lock and push it open, stumbling inside, into the darkness. 

“I’m a mess, Sylus,” you whisper, voice thick with tears as your head spins, wiping your nose with the back of your hand. 

The world feels heavy and muffled, like you’re trapped behind a fogged window. You know you’re a sight to behold—shoeless, drunk, drenched like some stray that wandered too far into the rain.

“I’ve noticed,” he says, his voice warm and steady, cutting through the quiet void of the room. It takes a second for the words to sink in, for your scattered mind to piece together that, somehow, you’ve already opened the game in the middle of all your fumbling. Automatic. Like second nature.

You stare at him, trembling and pitiful, like a kid lost in a crowd. Your bottom lip quivers, and you hate how small you feel under his gaze.

You see concern pooling in the depths of Sylus’ eyes. That and something… desperate.

You sniff, rubbing at your wet cheeks with pruning fingers, clinging to humor like a lifeline. "Don’t you do anything else?” you mumble, your voice fraying at the edges. “Like... live your own life or something? You spend so much time with me...” You force out a weak laugh, bitter and jagged. “It’s a miracle you haven’t gotten sick of me yet.”

Your laugh cracks halfway through, more like a sob than anything. It’s pathetic—you’re pathetic. 

And yet, you can’t stop. Even if it stings your throat.

Sylus’ response comes, and his voice is solid—unwavering. He doesn’t flinch like you do. “I don’t get sick of you, sweetheart. Not in the slightest.”

Something in you cracks, spilling over. “I really like you,” you murmur, voice steeped with emotion. “You’re the brightest light in my life. You’re… you’re everything.”

A flash of lightning cuts through the room, illuminating your tear-stained face.

And for the first time since you’ve known him, Sylus calls out your name.

It’s quiet, reverent, and it feels like a tether pulling you back from the brink.

You crumple down the floor, clutching your phone like it’s the only thing holding you together. In the silence that follows, all you can hear is your ragged breathing and the quiet hum of his presence on the other end of the line.

“I’m here,” he tells you softly. “I’ve got you.”

____

This is a life

(Every possibility)

Free from destiny 

(I choose you, and you choose me) 

Tagging: @xxfaithlynxx @beewilko @browneyedgirl22 @yournextdoorhousewitch @sunsethw4 @stxrrielle @mangooes @hrts4hanniehae @buggs-1 @michiluvddr @ssetsuka @imm0rtalbutterfly @the-golden-jhope @beomluvrr @milkandstarlight @bookfreakk @ally-the-artistic-turtle @sapphic-daze @sarahthemage @cchiiwinkle @madam8 @slownoise @raendarkfaerie @sylusdarling @luminaaaz @greeenbeean @vvhira @issamomma @shroomiethefrogwhisperer @nicora04 @blueberrysquire @love-anteros @fiyori @peachystea @slyfoxtsu @tinyweebsstuff @i2sannie (i spend so much time cross-checking the tags this is tiring lmao)

[moonstruckme]

summary: your roommate James plots to befriend a shy you

part 1 │ part 2 │ part 3 │ part 4 │part 5 │ part 6 │ part 7 │ part 8 │ part 9 │ part 10 │ part 11 │ part 12 │ part 13

roommate!James x shy!reader ♡ 1k words

The apartment is loud and messy when you come home, and James immediately feels bad about it. You freeze in the door like a doe in the woods, a few of his friends pausing their conversations to greet you from where they’re scattered haphazardly about the living room. 

You give a terse smile and beeline for the stairs. You’re wearing your work clothes, dirty and rumpled from a long shift, and it doesn’t escape James’ notice that you’ve bypassed the kitchen in your hurry to get to your room. You seem to have an aversion to being witnessed. He makes a mental note to check that you’ve eaten later. 

“Oh, do you work at Rizzo’s?” Lily asks you, evidently recognizing the uniform. You stall halfway up the stairs, and James suppresses a smile at your obvious reluctance. 

“Yeah,” you reply, voice even quieter than usual. 

“My friend works there.” Lily’s friendly demeanor is unphased by your timidity. The two of you have met before, like you’ve met most of his friends, in passing. “Do you know Mona?” 

You nod, easing up a bit. James wonders at the fact that you’ve lingered as long as you have, but then he notices Sirius noticing you, and he prays his friend doesn’t say anything to make you regret it. 

“Yeah, we’ve worked some of the same shifts,” you say. “She’s nice.” 

Lily grins at the confirmation. James braces himself as Sirius angles his head. 

“What do you do there, lovely?” 

The endearment instantly flusters you. Your shoulders tighten and your hand flexes on the banister as though to keep yourself from bolting. “I’m a host,” you say. 

“That’s nice.” Sirius’ grin is intentionally disarming, lopsided and flirtatious. You look as though you’re not sure what to make of it. “I’m sure it makes for good business to have the pretty girls welcoming customers.” 

It’s your last straw. You mumble something about it being nice to see them and all but dash up to your room. James hears your door shut with a soft click. 

Sirius frowns. “Skittish thing, isn’t she?” 

“Tosser.” Remus pulls him roughly against his side, rolling his eyes when Sirius wraps his arms around his boyfriend’s torso sulkily. 

“I was paying her a compliment.”  

“She’s just shy.” James doesn’t know why he feels the need to explain you, exactly. Your diffidence is fairly obvious now, but he still feels a bit guilty for thinking you just hated him when he first moved in. After knowing Remus for so long, he thought he’d be able to tell the difference between shyness and standoffishness. Now apparently he feels responsible for liaising between you and his friends. “You knew you were going to embarrass her, prick.” 

The conversation turns to Sirius’ tendency to verbally prod at those with quieter demeanors, which he denies vehemently and Remus corroborates with pointed looks but not much commentary. 

Once they’ve gone, James goes up to your room with a sandwich. The door is cracked but he knocks anyway, waiting for your quiet “come in” before he pushes it the rest of the way open. 

“Figured you might’ve missed dinner,” he says by way of greeting, going to set the plate down on your bed. 

It takes effort not to let his eyes roam the room. He can see in his periphery that your desk is cluttered but neat and your walls covered with pictures and art. An effect of your reticence is that, aside from what sort of shampoo you use and how often you need to restock the milk in the fridge, James knows very little about you. He knows you’re a good roommate. You’re clean, you don’t bicker about the thermostat, and you haven’t even seemed cross with him for eating the rest of your oreos (which he’s going to replace, seriously, as soon as he remembers to go to the store). You’re quiet, obviously, but along with that you seem kind. 

Honestly, it makes him a bit uncomfortable that you don’t seem to want to be friends. James is only human; he likes being liked, even more so by nice girls with pretty smiles, and it seems crucial that he be liked by nice girls with pretty smiles who he shares a living space with. If you’re going to brush your teeth using the same sink as somebody, you should be on good terms. James believes this. 

And though he hasn’t had to work so hard for friendship in some years, he is diligent. He thinks he’ll bring you around yet. 

Evidence of progress: the happy-surprised look in your eyes when you spot the sandwich. 

“Thank you,” you say, a tender sort of bemusement lining your words. “You didn’t have to do this.” 

“Well, if you’ve actually missed dinner, you probably ought to eat something more substantial,” James hedges. He pushes his luck, sitting across from you on your bed. “I don’t want to be an accomplice to your snacks-for-meals agenda.” That wins him a small smile. “But I do feel bad, keeping you from your own kitchen because I have friends over.” 

Your eyes flit away at the last bit. You take a hearty bite of your sandwich, chewing to avoid a reply.

“You should know, you are actually paying rent for the whole apartment,” he says, “not just your room.” 

You look chastened as you swallow, but you wave him off. “I would’ve gone down to get something later,” you say airily. “I didn’t want to infringe on your time with your friends.” 

“You?” James actually laughs. “Never. Trust me, we see plenty of each other. They could probably use a fresh face.”

You roll your eyes. It’s a ploy to keep from looking at him, he’s certain of it. “Well, regardless, you shouldn’t worry about it. I wasn’t starving.” 

“Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.” Your mattress creaks as James stands. Some of the stiffness to your posture eases, and he wonders if you’re relieved to see him go, but you look up with another small smile. Pretty. 

“Thanks for the sandwich,” you say. 

“You should really have another one,” he replies, grinning back because of forces beyond his control. He starts backing out of the room. “Do you want me to make it? Actually, don’t answer that. I’m making it.” 

Your quiet laughter follows him down the stairs. 

[carolperkinsexgirlfriend]

can you see the stars in your dreams (and do they have a lot to say about me) - Part 21

Or: a secret Admirer AU

PART 1 || PART 2 || PART 3 || PART 4 || PART 5 || PART 6 || PART 7 || PART 8 || PART 9 || PART 10 || PART 11 || PART 1 || PART 13 || PART 14 || PART 15 || PART 16 || PART 17 || PART 18 || PART 19 || PART 20

Chrissy’s in Steve’s bed, sprawled out on her stomach, trying to plow through her homework when Steve says, “I need your help.”

Her heart’s in her throat as she whips her head toward him, already halfway through jumping up off the bed, ready to bury whatever body he needs burying.

But, he’s not even looking at her; he’s restlessly tearing a blank piece of paper into tiny little pieces, and his ears are a familiar, damning red. He’s not worried, he’s embarrassed.

“Jeez, you’re going to give me a heart attack,” Chrissy sighs, flopping back down onto the bed. She’s gotten far too used to all of Steve’s problems being life or death, and whatever this is, she can tell it’s not that.

“Sorry,” Steve mutters.

She just waves her hand and flips her notes and textbook closed, ready to think about something, anything else. “What is it, boy troubles?” she asks, fluttering her eyelashes flirtatiously, only to drop all pretenses when Steve ducks his head like a turtle hiding within its shell. “Already?”

“It’s not a problem, Chris, god,” he sighs, running his hand anxiously through his hair. “I just thought—nevermind, it’s stupid.”

And then he just, picks his homework back up, as if Chrissy would ever let him get away with that. “Steve Harrington,” she snaps, only feeling marginally bad when he snaps his head back up. “Nothing about you is stupid.”

He’s still turtling into himself, but he nods dutifully, so she continues. “Now, tell me what you were going to say.”

He groans, flopping down on the bed to stare up at his white ceiling, barely blinking. She follows his lead, collapsing bonelessly next to him and rolling atop all their coursework until she’s nestled into his side, both of them giggling.

He wraps his arm around her shoulder, and finally begins to speak. “I have  a date with Eddie tomorrow, right?” he says, looking down at her for confirmation. She nods, even though he’d never given her a specific date. “And I wanted you to help me, like, plan it?”

She blinks, nonplussed as the blush on his cheeks disperses across his cheeks. She rolls over, elbow planted on his chest so she can use it to prop her chin up and peer down at him. “You need help planning a date?” she asks, voice incredulous.

He groans, reaching up to hide his face from her view, but she grabs his wrists and yanks them back down. He pouts up at her while she watches on, unamused.

“Most of my usual date plans are like, public? We can’t exactly just show up at Benny’s and share a milkshake, you know?” Chrissy grimaces, not having thought of that, but before she can apologize, he continues talking. “And besides…”

He trails off, eyes darting back and forth between her eyes as his blush travels down his neck and up the bridge of his nose.

“Besides?” she prompts, voice soft.

“We started this whole thing together, right?” he asks, looking earnestly up at her. “It wouldn’t feel right if we didn’t finish it together.”

Chrissy’s shriveled heart grows three sizes and bursts with such a ferocious love that she collapses onto him without warning, arms wrapping around him and squeezing tight enough that he groans.

“I love you, Steve Harrington,” she says, ignoring all his pleas for her to loosen her hold. “I’m so glad you looked pathetic enough that day for me to come ask if you needed help.”

“I didn’t look that pathetic,” he grumbles, finally succeeding in tossing her off of him, sending her careening off the bed and onto the lush carpet of his bedroom floor.

He peers over the side of the bed, looking worried, so she smiles up at him until he reaches down and helps her back up.

“You looked like a wet puppy someone had tossed in a river,” she replies, bulldozing through his continued complaints to ask, “now, what were you thinking?”

In the end, it’s a fairly typical date set-up, but instead of dinner at a nice restaurant, it’s in Steve’s home. They lay a checkered table cloth across the Harrington’s breakfast nook, make sure he has all the ingredients for burgers and fries, and then set about attempting to make milkshakes once Steve reveals he’s never made them before.

Their first attempt splatters chocolate ice cream and milk all over the ceiling. Their second results in a water concoction that, while edible, is less than pleasant.

The third is thick, barely able to be sucked through one of the straw’s Steve had stolen from Benny’s. It’s perfect.

“Can you dump Eddie so I can go on the date instead?” she asks, barely pausing in her pursuit of sucking the shake through her straw.

Steve laughs and replies, “Or, I can just make you one whenever you want,” he says, nudging the shake closer to her, leaving his own straw inside.

She beams, and drinks the entire thing.

Steve accosts her before lunch the day of, telling Jeff, “can you tell everyone we’ll be missing lunch? Thanks,” before dragging her away.

“I thought we were done with this,” she says, settling into the seat across from him as he pulls out a familiar notebook she hasn’t even glimpsed for weeks.

He opens it, but doesn’t turn to the back of the notebook where all his rough draft secret admirer letters lay. Instead, he pulls a light blue envelope from the front and hands it over to her.

She stares down at Eddie’s name in Steve’s messy scrawl, clearly written carefully to keep it legible.

“Steve?” she asks, ghosting her fingers over the letters before looking up into his anxious face.

“It’s just—I liked writing the letters, so I wanted to give him one on our date, so,” he breaks their gazes to look down at the envelope, biting his lip. “I already wrote it, but it wouldn’t feel right if you didn’t read it first.”

Steve Harrington, Chrissy thinks, eyes welling with all the fondness her body’s too small to contain. “Okay,” she sniffs, smiling down at the letter as she carefully slides her finger under the envelope’s flap and pulls it free.

It unfolds into the letter itself, Steve having clearly reverse-engineered it from all the times Eddie had done the same. Only then does she realize that at some point, he must have stolen a page from her planner because that’s the same as the first time, too.

She raises an eyebrow at him, but doesn’t say anything, just hunches back over the letter and begins to read.

   Eddie —

   I know we don’t have to do this anymore, but I miss it. Isn’t that the strangest thing? I’m happy talking to you face to face, holding your hand beneath the table, pressing my lips against yours, but I miss reading your words, and I miss writing my own.

   So, here I am, writing you the day before our second date, so nervous and excited I might just throw up. Because we can do it now, you know? We can do all the things we’ve talked about (and more). I’m excited to do them with you.    

   If the date goes well, I want you to put this under your pillow, hold my face in your mind, and dream of me.

   Hopefully Yours, Hopefully Always,

   Steve

   P.S. I know you can just put them in my locker now, but maybe put this one in The Return of the King? Just this once, for me?

“How is it?” Steve asks when she’s been staring down at the words on the page for probably too long. “Is it okay?”

“It’s perfect,” she says, grinning when his entire face lights up like a Christmas tree. “And so are you.”

***

“They’re not coming to lunch,” Jeff says as he settles onto the bench at their usual table, a slab of lasagna already somehow congealing on his tray.

“Are they okay?” Eddie asks, dropping his own fork to try to glean any worry on Jeff’s own face.

“Steve was definitely excited when he dragged Chrissy off,” Jeff replies, shrugging. Before Eddie can even spit out his follow-up question, Jeff continues, “no idea what they’re doing, though,” and he closes his mouth.

“I know,” Robin calls from down the table, voice all sing-songy and sly.

Eddie turns to glare at her, but she just keeps grinning around her sandwich, Vickie looking equally lost at her side.

“Are you going to enlighten the rest of the class,” Eddie asks, gesturing to the rest of the table despite clearly being the only one who gives a shit.

Robin grins wider and replies, “it’s a secret,” tauntingly like she knows somehow that word is his ultimate trigger.

Eddie whines, but no one pays him any mind. Even more cruelly, he doesn’t see Steve for the rest of the school day, leaving him flushed and flustered as he rushes home to get ready for their date. 

Unfortunately, it’s Wayne’s day off, so he’s there to heckle Eddie as he changes his outfit enough times to leave his hair a frizzy mop on the top of his head.

“You dressin’ for a date or to be the janitor’s new mop?” Wayne asks, laughing as Eddie rushes past him and into the bathroom, slamming the door behind himself.

Unfortunately, Wayne’s right, so Eddie runs a damp brush through his hair, trying to make the frizziness merge back with the rest of his hair. When it doesn’t really work, Eddie folds his hair into a bun and elects not to look at himself in the mirror again.

With ten minutes to spare, Eddie moves his frantic pacing for the living room, walking back and forth in front of Wayne, fingers gyrating as he tries to keep them from further ruining his hair.

“You really wearing that?” Wayne asks, long since having given up on trying to watch the TV, Eddie’s body too much of a moving obstacle to crane his neck around.

Eddie stops and stares down at his outfit. “What’s wrong with this?”

It’s a more put together version of his usual style: his only pair of black jeans that haven’t gotten any holes yet, clunky boots, still adequately polished from his last date with Steve, a plain black t-shirt, fingers full of rings except the one he keeps bare, the ring still on Steve’s own finger.

“You know what I mean, boy,” Wayne sighs, looking him up and down with so much judgment that Eddie wants to shrivel up and die. “Ain’t the jacket a bit much?”

Eddie fondles the green and white cuff of the jacket’s sleeve. He does a little spin, like a dog chasing its own tail, trying to get a look at the way it hangs on his frame.

Wayne’s right—it looks almost incongruous on him, clashing absurdly with the rest of his outfit, but it’s got Steve’s name on its back, and a small, shivery part of Eddie likes that. Jock courting rituals are absurd, but there’s maybe something to this one.

Maybe Steve will like it, too—his name on Eddie’s back.

“Is it too much?” Eddie asks, voice taking on that higher pitch that only dogs can hear. He turns to Wayne, panicky and desperate. “Do you think it’s coming on too strong?”

Wayne’s mouth twists up all sardonic and wry as he snorts and replies, “that boy’s been writing you love notes for months. There ain’t no such thing as too strong, for a thing like that.”

Eddie feels his cheeks warm. He breaks eye contact, looking down the floor as he scuffs the toe of his boot against the carpet bashfully.

Before he can voice any of the self-conscious bullshit kicking around in his head, there’s a knock at the door. Eddie snaps his head up and freezes, staring with mounting hysteria at the closed front door until there’s a second knock and he snaps back to life.

“Oh my god, places everybody!” Eddie cries, clutching at his head in panic, undoing all the work he’d done on his hair in one fell swoop.

“I ain’t moving,” Wayne says from the chair.

Eddie rushes past him, skidding to a halt in front of the door. He wastes precious seconds taking a few deep breaths before he swings the door open, fake smile plastered on his face. It melts into something excited and real when he catches sight of Steve.

Steve, who’s wearing the leather jacket Chrissy still hasn't returned. Steve, who’s fiddling with the lapels and blushing self-consciously until he catches sight of Eddie’s own attire and bursts out laughing.

“Great minds think alike, huh Harrington?” Eddie asks, smiling down at him.

While on Eddie, the aesthetic mismatch looks bizarre, Steve’s light-wash jeans and green polo somehow only enhance the effect of Eddie’s oversized leather jacket.

“It’s The Return of the King,” Eddie says, looking up and down Steve’s body, smirking before catching sight of his befuddled face. “We’ve really gotta get you up to date on Tolkien.”

“Oh, the hobbit books?” Steve asks, smiling brightly. “I just started the first one. Bilbo’s a pretty cool dude.”

Eddie takes a shuddering breath, heart kicking up a notch. “Yeah, he’s pretty cool,” Eddie replies in a hushed tone. Steve Harrington is reading The Hobbit. This fact somehow has him feeling more faint than seeing him in Eddie’s own jacket. He clears his throat, face hot, heartbeat rapid. “Should—should we go?”

His voice squeaks awkwardly, but Steve doesn’t seem to notice. He just beams up at Eddie and takes two graceful steps back off the front stoop, holding his arm out to gesture Eddie over the threshold of his own trailer.

Eddie slams the door, muffling Wayne’s embarrassing call of, “have him home by ten!” just in time.

He skips down the steps and latches onto Steve’s held out arm, letting Steve lead him toward his car like a gentleman.

“You know, I think Chrissy and Jeff had some sort of weird sex thing with this jacket?” Eddie asks, shaking his arm demonstratively.

“Yeah, Chrissy told me.”

"Seriously?" Eddie squawks, stopping suddenly enough that he kicks up gravel beneath his boots.

"No, you idiot,” Steve says, laughing at him even as he stops beside him, still holding onto Eddie’s arm.

“Oh, good because—”

“Jeff did.”

Eddie sputters, eyes wide until he turns and sees Steve’s shit-stirring grin. “You’re the worst,” he says, pouting as Steve just starts laughing again. “Why do I even like you?”

That has Steve’s ears turning pink, and his eyes averting to look toward his car, seeming almost shy. “Well,” he starts before cutting himself off when his voice comes out strangely high. He clears his throat and continues, “shall we?”

Steve gestures toward his parked car with his free hand because return of The King or not, this guy’s somehow, inexplicably, a nerd.

Eddie wants to kiss him about it, but they’re in public, already toeing the line of what’s acceptable in polite society, so all he does is squeeze Steve’s arm where it’s still wrapped around his and reply, “we shall.”

There will be time for kisses later—time for all of the things Eddie’s finding he wants to do with Steve Harrington.

They’ve got nothing but time.

The End

If you've read this far, thank you so much! Especially if you've like, reblogged, or commented. It all means so much to me, and I appreciate every single one of you.

This could have gone on for another 50k, I'm sure, but this feels like the right ending to me. It's not a story about Being Together, it's a story about Finding Each Other, and they've both done that, with Chrissy, and Robin, and Jeff, and now with each other <3<3<3

Now, one final shoutout to @queenie-ofthe-void for both being the best beta a guy can ask for, and to be the one who came up with this idea at all. It literally couldn't exist without you, and I appreciate you so much <3<3<3

[starlighttsv]

request: Paige and reader making gingerbread houses, lots of fluff etc <3 ty

Day 4

Gingerbread - p.b

Sum: building gingerbread houses with Paige

Warnings: fluff

Note: I didn’t know what to put in this story and I wrote it when I was about to fall asleep so I’m sorry if this sucks

Pair: Paige x gf!reader

Wc: 640

My masterlist

“Nooo” you whine out when your gingerbread house falls again, making Paige chuckle “karma” Paige says amusingly making you glare at her. Before you can say anything though her house also falls down “haha karma” you say pointing at her and she just shakes her head staring at the edible house in disappointment

You on the other hand immediately get back to work on trying to make your house stay put so you can decorate it - Paige eventually does the same.

“Why’d we decide to do this as todays holiday activity? This is just making me mad.” Paige says as her house falls again “Because it’s fun” you reply back starting to ice the roof of your house “Where’s the fun? I’m not having fun.” Paige reply’s back sassily making you look away from your house and make eye contact with her

“You just need to have patience. The house will stick eventually.” You start making her roll her eyes “Don’t roll your eyes at me, you know I’m right! My house fell down like ten times, you watched it fall each time. But I didn’t give up and now look at it! You’re giving up and you don’t have patience so obviously it’s not sticking.”

She just huffs while staring at the house and then eventually leans forward grabbing the icing and starts trying to carefully ice and place the cookie pieces together.

“Finally!” She yells excitedly after around another 20 minutes, throwing up both her fists in the air “babe look” she says with excitement in her voice, making you look up from decorating the door on your house to see that her house is standing upright…finally

“See? What’d I tell you? Patience.” You say looking at her house and then back to her, she rolls her eyes amusingly with a fond smile on her face “No need for the ‘I told you so’ moment.”

“Yes there was” you reply back starting to go back to your house but you turn your head to face her again before doing so “good job it looks great” you see her smile cheekily before turning and going back to decorating your own house

After some time you both finished decorating your houses and obviously cleaned up the mess, once you guys were done doing that you both decided to lay on the couch - Paige laying her head on the couches armrest with you laying in between her legs with your head on her lower stomach

You both decided to watch some Christmas movies, so with one of her hands massaging your scalp and her other one rubbing your back - you’re almost asleep but not quite there yet

“You know you can go to sleep right? I don’t mind” Paige says not stilling her movements, you mumble a response while rubbing your thumb in circles on her bare stomach. She just carefully lifts your head up and away from her stomach holding your head up for you with her hands on your cheeks “say that one more time?” She asks you meaning about what you mumbled “I’m not tired” you say mumbling still just not as muffled since your not talking into her stomach

“Uh-huh, then can you tell me why you’re about 10 seconds from falling asleep with your head in my hands?” You just groan instead of answering knowing you can’t get yourself out of this one, you pull your head out of her grip and scoot up on her now laying your head just above her heart

With her hands back to massaging your scalp and rubbing your back and now on top of that - hearing her heart beating in her chest, you’re out like a light.

[rebelliousneferut]

balancing fame and secrecy | max verstappen x influencer! reader

summary; you and max have been secretly dating for a while and things have been going great... until fans started speculating about your love life.

genre; smau and written.

face claim; cindy kimberly.

note; english is not my first language.

in honor of my birthday boy, whom i love and admire very much.

masterlist!

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀˚ ༘♡ ⋆˚

y/n_updates

liked by judebfans, username and others

y/n_updates y/n via her stories.

she was at the real madrid game today and sources say she was seen leaving the stadium with star footballer jude bellingham.

lately there have been rumors circulating about a possible relationship between the two, what do you think?

view comments

username i think they would be a powerful couple

judefan definitely no 💀

username wdym?

judefan he's so sweet and she seems so mean

username you don't even know her silly

judefan but still...

y/nfan go out and touch grass

bellingham.source who is she?

y/n_updates @y/n_l/n, she became known for her Instagram lives and her makeup and beauty tips videos.

username1 i just stalked her and she's so gorgeous

username2 idk, there's something about her that doesn't fit

username3 right??? it doesn't give me a good feeling

y/nfan2 why is everyone judging my girl for a photo? you guys don't even know her to say if she's mean or not and as far as I know, she's been single for a while.

username4 tx, say it louder

"why is everyone saying you're dating jude bellingham?" was the first thing i saw when i unlocked my phone. it was 10 pm in spain, but in singapore, where max was for this weekend's race, it would be around 4 am.

"you know how the internet is, mijn leeuw (my lion), don't pay attention to it," i replied. a few minutes passed, and there was no response. worry started to creep in. had i upset him too much?

just when i was about to overthink it, his video call lit up the screen. "are you coming to the race?" he asked, his tone flat. there was no trace of the smile i loved so much.

"are you mad at me?"

"no," he mumbled, more like a petulant child.

"baby, you know i can't control what people say online."

"i know. i just wish everyone knew you were mine."

"it was your idea to keep it a secret," i reminded him.

"well, i don't like that idea anymore."

i let out a nervous laugh, but his blue eyes, even through the screen, conveyed tiredness and something more. i was about to respond when jude appeared behind me. max's expression turned cold.

"are you ready?" jude asked me.

"ready for what?" max snapped, his voice filled with venom.

"we're going to celebrate real madrid's victory, is that okay?"

"whatever. i'll call you later," he said, and hung up before i could reply.

"i'm sorry, i didn't mean to cause any trouble," jude said, visibly uncomfortable.

"it's okay, don't worry about it. i'll see you downstairs, alright?"

i left max messages that he didn't answer, and now all my excitement for going out had vanished.

jude and i have been friends for a while now, it's funny how these rumors are popping up now. we've been trying to laugh it off, but now the situation is getting serious and i'm afraid it might affect my relationship with max.

y/n_l/n

liked by landonorris, judebellingham, footballwags and others

y/n_l/n girls just wanna have fun

username so beautiful girl

username is this the rumoured jude's girlfriend?

username supposedly

username why is no one talking about lando in the likes?

username because he is everywhere

username fr

username call me crazy but i think she's trying to tell us something

username why is everyone so delusional?

username as a f1 fan i could only pay attention to that can of red bull

username does the song have any meaning or...?

username she wasn't even that relevant before they started linking her to jude, she's just a gold digger

username fyi, her father has always had money so she doesn't need to hunt for anyone's gold

username she has her own makeup line girl, what are you talking about?

on the other side of the world, max stared at his plate with disinterest. lando, sitting across from him, watched with a sympathetic smile. max hadn't touched his food since they started breakfast.

"everything okay?" lando asked, noticing his friend's tension. max nodded, but it was more of a grimace.

"it's about y/n, isn't it?"

max sighed. "something like that."

lando showed him his phone. "she just posted something new." max felt a knot in his stomach. "everything's alright between you two, right?"

"yeah, it's just..." max ran a hand through his hair. "i wanted to keep things quiet for a while. you know how fans are." an involuntary smile appeared on his face as he thought of y/n. "sometimes i wish i could show her off to the world, have her come to races with me..."

"and what does she think about that?"

"i know she doesn't mind. in fact, she's told me she'd love to. but i wanted to protect her from the media circus."

lando nodded. "i know, and she knows too. just tell her you want to go public."

"i'll wait until she gets here. she's coming on saturday."

"alright, that's it. don't stress about her and jude. you know they're just friends."

max thanked lando and picked up his phone. as he dialed y/n's number, a sense of calm washed over him. he felt lucky to have someone like her and a friend like lando.

y/n_updates

liked by footballwags, y/nfan and others

y/n_updates this friday, during her instagram live, y/n clarified to all her fans that she and jude were not dating, they are just good friends and she would appreciate it if they stopped pairing her with him.

it seems that our girl has been dating someone else since the summer of last year and she doesn't want these rumors to affect her relationship.

view comments

username what do you mean last summer? how the hell did she manage to hide it for so long?

username am i the only sad one here? i really liked them as a couple

judefan omg, thanks god!

username jude is not going to be your boyfriend, you idiot

username what are you doing here if you don't like her???

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username maybe another footballer

username could it be lando?

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y/n_l/n

liked by maxverstappen1, landonorris and others

y/n_l/n lately

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username she said a while ago that she preferred dogs over cats 😭

username it must be of her mysterious boyfriend

username did he send you those flowers? i can treat you better

username this is jude from his secret account

username they are just friends 🙄

username call me crazy, but i know that cat

username WHOSE IS IT? TELL US!!!

username i thought i was the only one

username nobody talks about how beautiful she is?

username why doesn't anyone talk about her likes?

username do you think...?

username no, i don't think so...

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username no, definitely not

f1gossip

liked by y/n_source, judebfans, username and others

f1gossip new wag alert

this weekend, y/n l/n was seen in the paddock alongside driver max verstappen sharing hugs and smiles very affectionately.

the influencer, who had been paired with footballer jude bellingham, clarified through her instagram that they were nothing more than just good friends.

on the other hand, y/n attended the singapore grand prix and was watching the race from the red bull motor home. but not only that, at the moment of the podium she and max shared a beautiful moment together and the driver, who had started the weekend off, looked happier than ever.

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username i said it and they called me crazy

username i started screaming when i saw her on the screen, she was so beautiful and she and max look so happy

username this was not on my 2024 bingo card

username i already love them both

judefan from a footballer to a driver, such a gold hunter

username let me hold your hand while i tell you this...

username get a life and stop fucking around

username this is so unexpected, but they look so cute

y/n_l/n

liked by maxverstappen1, f1wags, y/n_updates, landonorris and others

y/n_l/n well, my boyfriend's pretty cool but he's not as cool as me

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maxverstappen1 ik hou van je, schat (i love you, darling)

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y/n_l/n i love you too, mijn leeuw

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username STOPPP! this is the couple you didn't expect but now you love them

landonorris i waited so long for this

username of course he knew

username you should tell us the details of their relationship

username mom n dad

username idk if i want to be her or be with her

maxverstappen1

liked by y/n_l/n, f1wags, maxandy/n and others

maxverstappen1 mine

username this is max's account or a y/n fan account

username both

username he is so in love

username i want a boyfriend like max

username she's so lucky

y/n_l/n my one and only

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[myeagleexpert]

Throw wood on the fire

Pairing: Tim Drake/Red Robin x YN AFAB Warning: yandere fic, toxic relationaship, he's possessive, you're stubborn, obsessive, emotional manipulation, nswf (pt 2) Summary: You  and Tim have always been soulmates, but it's so suffocating that you've reached your limit. It's time to break up with Tim. Note: Reader is described and represented as YN or as "You" because, grammarly, I'm trying to adapt the text so that it is more harmonious! Eng is not my mother language, so often the way I write does not relate to the translator and I have to translate most of my works manually. Therefore, thank you for understanding!

After a great night spent with your friends, having fun and bringing lightness to life, without even worrying about the time. But as the night is young, you have an annoying alarm telling you that it's time to go back to bed: Tim. You enter yours a luxurious apartment in the city center. Your shoulders immediately tensed when you heard his voice demanding answers.

"YN where were you??" He immediately grabs your arm and demands to know where you've been and why you were so late getting back

"Relax Tim, I just went out with my friends" you say taking off your red high heels, sighing heavily as you have this same conversation…for the fifth time.

Tim's expression remains stern as he crosses his arms across his chest. "I don't care if you were out with your friends," he retorts.

 "I told you to be back by 10 PM. It's midnight." mentally you ignore him as you take off your fancy suit and place your bag on a couch in the living room.

Tim follows after you, his annoyance growing with every step. "That's not an excuse," he snaps, his voice sharp. "You knew what time you were supposed to be home, and you didn't even try to keep track of the time."

He watches as you start walking to your room, and he grabs your hand to stop you. "We're not done talking about this." he says firmly. "You need to understand how worried I was about you being out so late."

"We just talked about it. I came back late by accident, it already happened there's no way back. I said I'm sorry. I won't do it again. Happy now?" Irritated, you release your hand from his grip and return to your route.

Tim's jaw clenches tightly as he listens to your response. He clearly isn’t satisfied with your dismissive attitude.

"No, I'm not happy," he replies with a mix of irritation and frustration in his voice. "You don't seem to understand how big of a deal this is for me. You're supposed to be mine, and I need to know where you are, what you're doing, who you're with. It's for your own safety."

"When did such a healthy relationship become so suffocating? Where is the Tim I knew? Why is it getting more and more tiring to continue this?" YN thinks, searching the timeline for where and when the red flags started to appear… and when she started ignoring them.

"I'm your girlfriend, I'm not an object to possess Tim." I look at him seriously "We've talked about this before, I'm going to sleep now. You can't control me 24 hours." Tim's expression hardens even more as you challenge him. He's not used to being contradicted or questioned, especially when it comes to you.

Your therapist said that in moments like this it was ideal to remain calm and that counting to 10 would help to calm down and not explode at others.

1....2....3.......

"You're my girlfriend, and that means you're mine," he insists firmly. "I'm not trying to control you, I'm trying to protect you. Can't you see that?"

He takes another step closer, closing the distance between you. "I care about you, more than anything else. I can't stand the thought of something happening to you. It drives me crazy when I can't keep an eye on you."

4......

You increase the distance and turn your back to Tim, ignoring his words while you change your clothes and put on satin pajamas. He looks at you irritated as you lie down on the big bed, covering me with the soft linen blankets. Tim’s eyes follow you as you changed into your pjamas and climbed into bed, his irritation growing with every movement you make. He stands there, his fingers clenched tightly into fists as he watches you get comfortable in bed.

“You’re seriously just going to go to sleep now?” He asks, his voice tight with frustration. “We’re not done talking about this.”

"I would love to talk about this with you, but as you can see, I'm already asleep. And good night dear, be careful the bogeyman doesn't get you" you say sarcastically as you cover your head with the sheets, mentally praying that Tim will give up any upset tonight, your patience has been...very little.Tim's jaw clenches even tighter as he listens to your sarcastic retort. He's clearly not amused by your dismissive attitude and attempts to end the discussion.

5....

He takes another step towards the bed, his hands balling into fists at his sides. "You're seriously being a brat right now? I'm trying to talk to you like an adult, but you're just acting like a child, YN."

He stops at the edge of the bed, looking down at you with a mixture of irritation and frustration in his eyes. "You can't just shut me out and expect this conversation to go away," he continues, his voice firm. "We need to talk about what happened tonight. You can't just pretend it didn't happen!"

"Tim." you look at him seriously "I don't want to talk about it now, I'm tired and sleepy. We'll talk about it tomorrow."Tim's expression softens slightly as he meets your gaze, but his stubbornness remains. He sighs heavily before replying.

"I don't want to wait until tomorrow," he says, his voice still firm but slightly calmer. "I need to know what happened tonight. Where were you? Who were you with? What were you doing?"

6.....

"If you keep insisting, I'm going to go out in my pajamas and sleep at a friend's house." You threaten him as you run your hand through your hair, for a moment, Tim's gaze turns dark, he knows you have the audacity to do this.

"You're really going to leave in the middle of the night and go sleep at one of your friends' houses? Over this?" he asks, his voice filled with a mix of irritation and disbelief.

7.....

"Goodnight darling." You get up irritated and give him a kiss as you get out of bed. Still in your pajamas, you take your car keys and I go out to the garage where my beloved car awaits me. Tim follows hot on your heels, his expression a mix of alarm and determination.

"Wait, what are you doing?" he calls out, his voice tinged with worry.

He can't believe you're actually leaving in the middle of the night. He catches up to you just as you're about to get in your car.

Tim grabs your arm, trying to stop you from getting into the car. "You can't just leave like this," he says urgently. "We need to talk about what happened tonight. I need to know that you're safe."

You take his hand off your arm and say dryly "I'm fine and safe as you can see, see you tomorrow. I'm not going to talk to you irritated!" YN say, getting into the car and turning on the ignition, pressing the control to open the gate.

8.....

Tim's expression turns to one of frustration and helplessness as he watches you get into the car. He knows he can't stop you from leaving, but it kills him to see you so upset and willing to walk out in the middle of the night.

"Damnit, don't do this," he says, his voice pleading. "Please don't drive off in anger. Just come back inside and we can talk about this like adults."

He takes a step closer to the car, leaning down to look at you through the open window. His expression is a mix of concern and desperation.

9....

"Please, just don't drive off like this. It's the middle of the night, and I'm worried about you being out alone. Just come back inside, and we can talk this out."

"I don't want to talk right now." you start the car and start walking when he stops irritated, and almost crying, in front of the car "Excuse me, I need to pass if you don't mind" you say disguising the anger and frustration, honking the horn calmly. Tim takes a step back, his arms falling to his sides in frustration. He watches with a mix of anger and helplessness as you start to drive away.

But just as you're about to pass him, he steps in front of the car, blocking your path.

“TIM!”

Fuck counting to 10...

"What the hell are you doing?" he blurts out, his voice tight with irritation and worry. "You're really going to drive off like this in the middle of the night? It's not safe!"

He stands in front of the car, his eyes locked on yours through the windshield. "God Damnit, just stop and talk to me," he pleads, his voice filled with a mix of frustration and desperation. "We can't just leave things this way. You can't just walk out and leave in the middle of the night without talking to me about what happened tonight."

"I'll text one of your robots to read." you respond sarcastically while rolling your eyes, but after taking a deep breath, you try to negotiate with him "If you stay quiet, I'll come back and sleep on the couch. If you keep insisting like this, I'll leave now and only come back in the morning" I turn on the car and make the engine make a loud noise.Tim listens to your response, his expression growing more frustrated by the second. He clenches his fists at his sides, clearly fighting the urge to argue further.

Tim considers your offer for a moment, his mind racing with frustration and worry. But he knows he doesn't really have a choice right now.

"Fine," he finally says, his voice tight. "But we are going to talk about this in the morning. And you better not try to sneak out again tonight."

He takes a step back, allowing you to drive off, but his expression is still filled with irritation and worry. He watches as you drive off, his mind racing with frustration and insecurity.

"Damnit," he mutters to himself as he watches you drive away. "Why does she always have to be so damn stubborn."

The powefull Red Robin, stands there for a moment, his arms crossed tightly across his chest. he's torn between the need to go after you and the knowledge that you won't listen right now.

His mind races with conflicting thoughts. he's worried about your safety, but he's also irritated by your stubbornness. He knows he should just let you go for the night, but the thought of not knowing where you are or what you're doing is driving him insane.Tim takes a deep breath, trying to calm himself down. he knows he can't just follow your car and chase you down. That would only make things worse. But the thought of you driving off in anger and irritation, alone in the middle of the night, is eating him alive.

At that point, it was like throwing wood on the fire, fueling anger and rebellion.

As time passed, YN saw the love she felt for Tim gradually turning into a prison. Like a perfect fairy tale it lost its color, slowly turning into a horror film where she would be the only victim.

“Baby, we need to talk…”

The constant need to be together and Tim's obsession with protecting her created a web of possession that left her increasingly suffocated. Constant calls, constant paranoia, constant accusations… it was all getting too much. As heiress to her father's company, YN always tried to be at the height of the company and it was very difficult with a boyfriend demanding to know who she was with all the time, why she cared about all that and why… that man was shaking her hand .

Each day was a desperate effort to maintain some of his autonomy, while Tim became more controlling and domineering. The feeling of being constantly surrounded by a hyperprotective guard was oppressive, depriving her of space to breathe.

“How will I know she’s really your friend? !What if she wants to poison your head about our relationship?!”

YN tried to rebel against the prison that had become her relationship, her stubbornness and her independence at stake. She began to become more indifferent towards Tim's possessive efforts, trying to create the distance needed to have more control over her life. Increasing and rebuilding the walls that were previously knocked down with sarcastic, poisonous comments, trying to get back to having a busy and festive life like before. However, each attempt to regain her autonomy was met with resistance from Tim, who desperately clung to the illusion of being her protector. With every step she took toward freedom, he strived to hold her back, increasing his possessiveness and desperation to keep her by her side.

“Why do you want to go to this event alone? We're a couple, aren't we? What are you going to do there that you won’t need me?”

Little by little, the web was made by Tim's efforts and undone by YN's stubbornness, it was a tiring, exhausting process and honestly YN was already at the limit of it all.

Like a butterfly that turns and convulses its way out of its web, so YN was determined to fly free again.

The plan to sleep over at a friend Daisy's house failed, leaving only one friend on the other side of the city. YN breathes a sigh of relief as she turn off location, cell phone, and any other service that has anything that connects to it. While at his house, you took advantage of the time away from Tim and focused on your training, finally a full workout without Tim hacking the gym. You posted some photos and videos on social media, recording your workout and the breakfast you were having with your friend you met the other day.

Meanwhile, Tim was anxious and worried, unable to focus on anything other than his absence. He became even angrier when he saw your posts on social media. He knew that you were making these posts on purpose to irritate him, which only increased his anger and frustration. he tried to control himself, but he couldn't help the feeling of helplessness and anxiety that overwhelmed him. He wanted to know where you were, what you were doing, who was with you.

It was noon when you called Tim, giving him the air of your presence "Tim, are you home now? Do you want me to bring you lunch?" YN say hoping he would forget the conversation as she gets into the car, reapplying lipstick and putting on sunglasses.

Tim answers the phone, trying to control the frustration and anxiety in his voice. He was in the apartment, busy with work, when you called.

"Yes, I'm home," he replies, trying to remain calm. "But there's no need to bring lunch, I'll order something." He tries to keep the conversation casual, but he can't forget the argument from the night before.

"I'll order… Your favorite" You say trying to lighten the mood, the calm before the storm. Tim hesitates for a moment, his frustration with the situation still present. But his favorite's offer makes him relent.

"Okay, fine," he says, trying not to show how much he was looking forward to your return. "But you'll be here soon, right?"

"If I say I'm going to help the chef, will you let me take my time?" I try to bargain with him. Tim is holding back.

Tim takes a deep breath, his possessive and controlling side taking over for a moment. He really wanted you home where he could keep an eye on you and make sure you were safe. But he also knew that you wouldn’t give in that easily. He tries to remain calm as he responds.

But he also knew that you wouldn’t give in that easily. He tries to remain calm as he responds.

"For how long?" he asks, irritated. "And why do you need to help the chef?"

"I'm going to make the special recipe with him" you say without even realizing it, a little evil in the intonation, but soon swallow it to be a decent person, , as if she hadn't thrown wood on the fire.

Tim raises his eyebrows when you mention "the special recipe." What the hell were you doing? The “Special Recipe” was a dish that only the two of you made. Period. It was a couple thing and not a delivery from a fancy restaurant. It wasn't a different seasoning or something exotic, the fun of the “special recipe” was making the YN and Tim recipe, a pasta where the two make romantically in the kitchen, an illusion of domesticity and togetherness.

"The special recipe?" he repeats, irritation and suspicion evident in his voice. "Why the special recipe? You didn't mention anything like that before."

"Isn't it your favorite, love? I'll be there in 20 minutes"

"Okay, cool," he replies, his voice tense. "I'll be waiting for you."

Tim notices the sarcastic tone in her voice, but he tries to ignore it, his irritation still present. He knows you're joking, but he can't help but wonder what's really going on. He was sitting in his office, trying to stay calm and work while he waited for you. But his irritation and frustration were quickly growing as the minutes passed.

YN arrived at the shared apartment within 40 minutes, ready to talk. "Good morning Einstein" she takes off her heels and goes to the living room, placing the delivery in the kitchen watching the fuming man leave the office

When you finally arrived, he quickly got up from the office and left to meet you in the living room. His look was serious and full of anger.

"Six hours" was the first word he spoke, without even greeting you. His tone was cold and controlled, but the irritation was evident in his expression and in every word he said.

"Six fucking hours," he repeated, "No news, no messages, nothing. I was on the verge of madness, not knowing if you were okay or not." He approached you, his eyes locked on yours. He wanted to hug you, pull you into his arms, but the feeling of irritation and frustration prevailed at the moment.

"Explain to me," he demanded, his voice firm. "Where were you? What were you doing? Who was with you?"

"I went to celebrate our company's profit with my friends from work" friends that he hated "Then I went to that restaurant that opened now, the Japanese one" That Tim hated "As it was early at night, I was invited to a party at the other city ​​with the girls." girls who hated Tim "As we had a disagreement yesterday, so I slept at Galileo's house" the guy who hit on you

With every word you spoke, Tim's expression changed. He felt his veins pulsing with anger and frustration as you mentioned your friends and the guy who hit on you while you explained in an indifferent way, as if you were talking about the weather and not turning on warning sirens in Tim's head.

He tried to contain his possessive and controlling side, but it was difficult to control his feelings. The thought of you spending the night at another man's house drove him completely insane.

"Did you sleep at another man's house?" he repeated, his anger evident in his voice. "Daisy wasn't home, my closest option was Galileo." "He's gay baby, relax" YN says

Tim snorts when you say Galileo is gay. Even though he knew he wasn't interested in women, the idea of ​​you spending the night at another man's house was irritating to him, especially because Tim saw him hitting on you and was paranoid since from the first time the two of you were introduced. He tries to calm down, but the anger still clings to him like a thorn.

"That doesn't change the fact that you slept at another man's house," he snaps. "Because my man wouldn't let me sleep in peace" I retort with the same intensity

Tim takes a deep breath, his hands clench into fists in anger. He knows you're right, but he doesn't want to admit it. He feels the guilt slowly creeping into him, but the anger still prevails.

"You ran away from me," he responds, his voice firm. "You just left our house without a word and i didn't hear from you for hours." The muscles in Tim's neck tighten as he speaks, anger and frustration mixing in his words.

"I was worried," he continues, "I was desperate not knowing where you were or if you were safe. I tried calling and texting you, but you left me hanging." His voice becomes lower and more intense as he continues to speak.

"And now, I find out that you spent the night at another man's house, the guy I detest, for God's sake."

He moves closer, invading your personal space, chest rising and falling with each hectic breath.

"How do you think I feel, huh?" he asks, his voice tense. "What do you think I was like, not hearing from you, not knowing where you were, what you were doing, who you were with?" He places his hands on both sides of her face, forcing Yn to look directly into his blue eyes. Mentally trying to connect his stormy eyes with your lovely ones. How cute, you might think….

A boyfriend desperate for his girlfriend's well-being, and everything for her protection, hmm?

Apart from the fact that they've had this conversation before.

How a prey follows the natural instincts that the predator will attack, turning on the fight or flight button…..

So YN remains firm and upright, she can notice the gentle changes in Tim's gaze, his worried speech, his dominant touch trying to make her “stay in her place”, but there is not a hint of guilt in her eyes.

YN had seen this film many, many times, the same script with the same characters. It's time to leave the cinema and live real life.

"Sorry, it won't happen again." you press your hand against his for a few seconds and then remove it from your face, looking at him seriously, your eyes as steady as a mountain weathering the storm. Tim's smile widened, but it closed realizing something was going to happen. Tim looks at you, his face showing a brief expression of relief and happiness as you rest your hand against his. But that feeling quickly fades when she realizes something isn't right.

He tries to stay calm, waiting for you to say something.

"What it was?" he asks, the anger and irritation still evident in her voice. "I know that expression. What are you going to do?"

The silence lasts for a few seconds as you remain quiet, your gaze serious and determined. Tim feels the atmosphere getting tense, he knows something is happening but he doesn't know what, and he hates every second of not knowing what goes on in Yn's head.

He crosses his arms, his gaze fixed on you, waiting for you to speak. His patience is starting to run out.

"Come on," he scolds, his voice brusque. "Speak quickly."

"I think we better break up." In the same way I speak abruptly, and I see his world turning upside down. Tim's expression changes immediately, as if he's been punched in the stomach. He stays frozen in place, his mind trying to process what you just said.

What? No… it can't be….. No…..it's not real. She must just be mad….

He babbles for a few seconds, unable to form words.

"I-I didn't hear you right," he finally says, his voice shaking slightly. "Repeat please."

"I think its better if we better break up, Tim. It's not working out, sorry." The words fall like a hammer on Tim's heart. He remains still, his mind trying desperately to find the words to argue, to change your mind.

He opens and closes his mouth several times, his hands shaking slightly. Finally, he manages to speak, his voice fragile and shaky.

"But…but why?" he asks, his words coming out almost like a whisper. ' "You know why."

Tim remains silent, his gaze fixed on his. He knows exactly what you're saying, but he still doesn't want to accept it. Millions of conversations about the relationship, the opinion of friends and family, the indirect ones, the distance… he knows he's being too much, that he's trying to imprison you, that he's pushing you away with all his obsession and paraoic… but he He can't stop, you're his drug. Slowly killing and addicting him until he can no longer live without you.

He runs a shaky hand through his black hair, trying to control himself but failing miserably.

"I…" he tries to say, but his voice trails off. He takes a deep breath, trying to muster the courage to speak. "I can change."

He won't change. Yn thinks, already knowing where this story would end.

"You don't need to change, Tim. I'm the problem here." I put my hand on his shoulder, "I'm sure someone out there will appreciate and value all your concern and your temper. But we've been hurting each other a lot lately."

Tim holds your hand, his fingers intertwining with yours. He knows you're right, that things weren't working between you. But he can't accept it.

"I-i don't want it to end," he murmurs, his voice lowering. "I love you. I want to make it work."

“Listen Tim… I-” your sentence is cut off when Tim hugs you tightly, his head resting on your shoulder as he starts to cry. He tries to control himself, but emotion takes over him.

He squeezes you tighter, like he's desperately trying to keep you from leaving. Trying to bring you close, inhaling your scent, feeling your heat, trying to mold your body to his.

"Piplease," he whispers, voice shaking from crying. "Please don't leave. Please stay with me."

Tim continues to hold you, his body shaking with the emotions he's trying to keep under control. He doesn’t want to let you go, desperate to keep you by his side.

Anything other than us breaking up…

I don't accept it… I don't want it!

How will I exist without you by my side?

Why don't you want to try again?

He lifts his head, looking at you with red, teary eyes.

"I'll change," he promises, his voice husky. "I promise I'll change. Just don't leave. Please don't leave me."

He holds your face and looks at you, with hearts in his eyes, knowing that you won't give in anytime soon. He uses emotional blackmail to make Yn stay, after all, she always liked beautiful words, covered in honey.

Don't you love him anymore? Why do you want to hurt him so much?

Tim desperately tries to find a way to change your mind. He knows words aren't working, so he takes desperate action...

He holds your face tightly, looking directly and deeply into your eyes.

"If you leave…," he murmurs, voice shaking. "I won't be able to live. I'll go crazy without you. Please don't leave me. I won't survive."

"You're Red Robin, you've survived worse things." YN says trying to free herself from him which makes him increase the emotional blackmail, holding you against him, she tries to cut off his line of reasoning, the blackmail, the depraved words but it seems like it only makes everything increase more…. Tim remains holding you, his grip becoming firmer as YN tries to break free. He can see that you are not giving in easily and desperately grasps at any means possible to make you stay.

He presses his face against your neck, his voice shaky as he murmurs.

"It's not just a matter of physical survival," he says, voice muffled by the contact of his face against her skin. "I won't be able to live without you. You are my reason for living."

"I'm going to die without you…..I'll kill myself if I don't have you by my side…" He threatens, increasingly serious and desperate, for a moment, in the name of all the love in your relationship, you fear for his life.

Tim continues to murmur against your delicate neck, his embrace becoming almost painful. He seems desperate to keep you by his side, whatever the cost. He puts one hand on your back, the other wrapping around your waist. He pulls you against him, as if he's afraid he'll let you escape.

"I love you," he whispers, his voice rough with emotions. "I love you so much. Please don't leave. Please stay with me." Tim continues to beg the same words, his embrace becoming more and more desperate as he tries to stop you from leaving.

He looks completely vulnerable, as if his life depended on it. His voice is low and full of emotion as he repeats as a pray:

"I love you. I love you. I'll get better, I promise. Just don't leave me. Please don't leave me."

When he hears your silence, his voice rises as if to prove he is telling the truth, almost shouting in your ear as he shakes and sobs in fear. Tim raises his voice as he desperately tries to convince you to stay, his words increasing in intensity as he sobs and shakes in fear.

He clings to you as if you were his anchor, his body shaking with emotion.

"I'll do anything for our relationship," he repeats, his voice almost desperate. "I'll get better for you. I'll change. I'll do whatever it takes. Just… please… don't leave me."

Tim's sobs grow stronger as he tries to hold back the tears. He's clearly desperate, his hug growing tighter and tighter as he desperately tries to keep you by his side.

With pity, YN runs an involuntary hand through Tim's hair, making him hope. "Are you really going to change?" I know he won't change, but maybe I can push the breakup further, in a month or two when he gets used to the idea.

Yn makes a mental note of the idea, without knowing that Tim himself already had plans for the two of them stay toguether forever.

Tim seems to perk up slightly when he feels your hand running through his hair, feeling you give in a little. He lifts his head, looking at you with a hopeful look.

He nods, his eyes still red from tears, but a little calmer.

"I'll change," he promises, voice firmer. "I'll be better for you. Just…give me another chance. Please."

"Okay…. the last one" with that he kisses you and cries more, relieved that you changed your mind. Tim takes the opportunity to kiss you, his tongue penetrating your mouth in a desperate and needy way. He cries as he kisses you, the relief evident in his gesture.

You still haven't said you love him too….. You do not love me anymore?

However, he is not satisfied with just the kiss, the insecurities and the countless scenarios running wild in his mind. He uses everything he can, pressing your body against his as he murmurs low, desperate words.

Will you still leave me? No, please no! You still love me?

"I won't survive without you!" he whispers, arms squeezing you against him. "You are everything to me. Just give me one more chance, please."

Tim repeats the same words, his hands roaming her body as he presses YN against him. He's desperate to keep you close, his embrace becoming almost possessive. He brings his mouth to her neck, kissing and biting the skin gently.

"I'm a dead man without you," he whispers, voice hoarse with emotion. "I won't survive without you. Just give me one more chance, please. Just one more, Yn. I love you so much..."

"…..I love you, Tim. Let's get better okay?" I confirm it when I hug him back

Tim takes a moment to process the words, his hands shaking with relief and hope. He hugs you tighter, his facial expression softening slightly. He closes his eyes, taking a deep breath as he tries to contain the tangle of emotions inside him.

"I'll make you happy," he promises, voice hoarse. "I'm going to be the best man I can be. Just… have a little more patience with me."

Tim remains hugging you for a few minutes, trying to calm down as his mind seems to spin with all the emotions. He takes a deep breath, trying to control his heart that feels like it's about to come out of his chest and YN is the only thing keeping him sane, stable, preventing him from becoming another Gotham madman.

He lifts his head again, looking at you with an almost vulnerable look.

"I'll get better," he whispers, his voice firm but soft. "I'm going to do everything differently. Just… don't leave me. Please." He continued to hold your face in his shaking hands, trying to hold you against him. Trying to breathe your air. Trying to get into your heart.

YN kisses him on the mouth, catching him off guard "I know you're going to do it differently, my love. It's going to be okay."

YN feels so exhausted by this argument, fed up and patiently reaching the end, realizing that he won't let them end that easily. So, YN changes her mind, mentally changing her strategy before Tim arrests her and chains her in the apartment.

you tuck a strand of his hair behind his ear. "Let's watch a movie, hmm?" She suggests he calm down, cutting off any obsessive or paranoid trains of thought with a gentle smile.

Tim seems almost surprised by the unexpected gesture of the kiss, but he quickly recovers. His hands lightly squeeze her waist as he returns the gesture.

He nodded, his voice a little calmer.

"Yes, a film." He responds, his facial expression less tense. "That sounds good. Like we did before."

Tim moves away from you a little, but he doesn't let go of you completely. As he takes you to the couch, he remains close, with one hand on your waist, melting into Yn's warmth, the familiar scent bringing him a sense of comfort and security that only she can bring.

It looks like the film will repeat itself again.

The beautiful butterfly is caught in the spider's suffocating webs.

(っ◔◡◔)っ ♥ Every like, repost and comment is very welcome and appreciated. ♥

[spencewalterreid]

The Red Means I Love You

Summary: Spencer came into the restaurant you work at when you were in a bad mood, but nonetheless he has to see you again.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female First-person POV

Category: Fade to Black Smut (TV-14)

Warnings: dirty talk, switch!Reid!!! switch!Reader, first person pronouns no use of y/n, date nights,hair pulling, neeeerd spencer, reader works at a truck stop, fade to black smut, smooches, second base. I think that should be it?

Word count: 4.3k

Author's Note: Hello again ladies!! I'm not sure how I haven't yet come across a riff fic off of Spencer and Cat's scenes, but here it is!! Don't get me wrong, I'm not saying they were a good pair, but the way their characters played off of one another was positively scrumptious. Here's an indulgence into that.

The first time it happened, I was working a 14-hour shift at a truck stop diner. I’d started my shift right out of school, and I was working until the next morning. Just an hour before he’d come in, we were slammed – every table in the store was full, and I’d only just gotten all the tables bussed. I was exhausted, my manager was hounding me, and I was on the verge of a full-blown breakdown. When refilling a Dr. Pepper for the jackass at table 32 who I had to argue with over the burger that he specifically requested onions on, I glanced up at the door as the bells rang. Oh.

He is... stunning.

My attention was abruptly yanked out of my daydream about the gorgeous boy that had just walked in with a handful of other people, and I looked down at my right hand wrapped around the plastic cup, which is now cold and drenched in the sticky beverage. Goddamn it.

“Boys, are you dining in?” I asked cheerfully as I grabbed a new straw, a smile plastered across my face. Stay professional. Stay professional. Stay professional.

“Yeah, we’ve got–” he paused to turn around and count heads– “six,” said one of the three men. Not the pretty one, though he was by no means ugly. He was tall, but not the tallest of the group (that title belonged to the one that caught my eye), with broad muscles laced under dark skin. He had a great smile. 

I glance back at table 32, who was rolling his eyes at the few-second delay. “Wherever you like,” I reply, swiftly returning to this grumpy-ass trucker. “Your refill, sir! Anything else I can get for you?”

He blatantly ignores me.

“If you change your mind, just holler,” I added, and as I turned to walk away:

“You can get me a new fuckin’ burger, this one got cold while I was waiting for you to finish flirting.” He slammed the second burger I’d brought to him back down onto the tray. Fuck you, dude. I’m already getting chewed out by the kitchen, but cool! Yeah! Okay!

“Yes, sir. I apologize, I’ll be right back out.” As I walked away with his tray, shifting it between fingers so as not to scald my fucking hand, I let a subtle sigh escape from my lungs.

10 seconds at the door. 30 seconds at the table. 15 minutes for food. 1 minute to bus.

I remind myself for the umpteenth time today of what’s supposed to be the restaurant policy. That had been out the door since 4:30 that afternoon and it is now… I glanced at the clock above the window as I slid the tray back onto it… 12:57 in the morning. Sick. Can’t wait to see the reviews.

“What was wrong with it this time?” The chef snapped, yanking the tray back.

“I’m just as annoyed as you are, I promise. He said it got cold. Just…”

She cuts me off. “Leave it there for a few minutes and come back. I’m not making a whole new burger.”

I did not roll my eyes, thank you very much.

Wheeling around on the balls of my feet and carefully controlling my breath, I picked up 6 menus and a matching number of silverware on the way to the round booth the group had settled into. I flipped on a positive tone to greet them. “Howdy, howdy! How are you folks-”

“Just say the word, and I’ll see him out,” the dark man interjected. The rest stared at him in partly shock, partly reprimand. I think the silver-haired one was his superior, he was carrying the ‘don’t interrupt her, asshole’ look.

“Uhm, sorry?” I glanced around the mostly-empty store, divvying up the hardware on the table in the meantime.

“The old fuck over there. If you want him to leave, I’ll make it happen.” He crossed his arms over his chest, looking me dead in the eyes. I chuckled uncomfortably.

“No, that’s okay.” I have a feeling he was not kidding. I swept my eyes along the table to make eye contact with each person as I introduced myself, but I risked a few seconds longer for the boy on the far left. “I’m gonna be your server tonight. You folks know what you’d like to drink?”

They rattled off their drink orders one by one (The dark-haired woman asked for scotch and I’m only a little sure she wasn’t being serious, and the one with the colourful clothing almost squeaked in joy when she saw strawberry lemonade on the menu), but the sweet-looking boy on the end took the longest.

“Sir?” I nudged, tilting my head down to catch his gaze under his hair.

“Yes, uh, what kind of coffee do you serve?” he inquired, pushing his menu in front of him on the table, trying to straighten the edge flush against the side of the table.

I stammered. “It’s just black coffee…” I replied uncertainly, glancing at the other members of the group.

“They don’t serve frappuccinos, Reid. Do you want the coffee or not?” the second blonde woman sighed, and I think she was probably just as far down her rope as I was. That slips from my mind, though, at the mention of his name. Reid. Cute.

“No, I just meant the roast,” he clarified, but at the uncomfortable look on my face, he conceded. “Yeah. Black coffee, please.”

If he slumped any further down, I think the booth would swallow him.

—-—-

The second time it happened, he caught me on a better day. Our breakfast rush wasn’t too bad, and I actually had a second server helping me that day. It was almost noon, and I was feeling far lighter than I was the last time. When I glanced up at the chime by the door, a smile far more genuine than last time crossed my face.

“Hello again!” I chirped, wiped my hands on my apron, and pretended not to notice his flinch. “Just you today?”

He returned my smile, albeit feeble. “Yes. It’s just me.” 

“It’s Reid, right?” Grabbing a menu and silverware, I followed him over to the same booth he’d occupied with the other five people last time.

“No, I- Well, yes. Derek uses my surname. It’s Spencer,” he replied, sinking into the fake leather and glancing around the store. “It’s busier than last time.”

Setting the menu in front of him, I followed his gaze. “Well, yeah, it was the middle of the night.”

“The coffee was Colombian roast with hazelnut,” he said. Huh? “You seemed confused when I asked what kind it was.” He nodded, like he was trying to remind himself. “That’s what it was.”

“Oh.” Did his lips look that soft last time? His sleeves are folded up his arms this time. “Your hair looks pretty,” I said before I could stop myself. Shut up, shut up, shut- “It matches your eyes.” My smile softens the compliment, but I don’t think that made him any less confused.

“T-thank you,” he replied softly, pushing it back on instinct. Change the topic.

“Do you, uhm.” I clear my throat and shift my weight. “Would you like a coffee, then?”

He shook his head with a grimace. “Absolutely not. It was awful.”

He’s funny. I guess I didn’t throw him too far off-course.

“Why did you order it, then?” I asked, not unkindly. He turned pink. Pretty.

“I didn’t want to make you more stressed than you already were.” Reid– No. Spencer adjusted the strap of his cross-body bag. 

“Did I seem stressed?” I asked, quickly chancing a look behind me to check for my manager. We’re in the clear.

“Ye- No, not like that. I’m, uh. I’m trained to read people well. You were walking at an abnormally quick pace, and you kept looking around when you were at other tables, even though there were very few, as though any second you’d be pulled away." He straightened slightly, setting his shoulders, as if he were in his element, but he still doesn't look at me, his eyes cast down. "When you were filling our drinks, you poured some out and refilled it more than once, which I assume was to achieve a perfect ratio, or at least one you perceive as such. And–” he looked up from his menu that I’m positive he wasn’t reading to look me in the eyes. “And the man at table 32 was being very curt with you. That would cause stress. Your manager behind the window wasn’t making it any better, I bet.”

I scoffed incredulously. “Good memory,” I said with a smile. “That was impressive. Yeah, I wasn’t in the best mood that night.” My voice lowered to a conspirational whisper, but I didn’t let my facial expression change. “But you helped. You have no idea how far a little bit of kindness goes. And hey, I never got the chance to tell you I was sorry for messing up your order.”

Spencer shook his head, stretching and relaxing his fingers above the table for something to do. “It was just a salad. I just took the tomatoes off, it was no problem.”

I smiled softly. He’s so sweet. “Do you know what you’d like to drink, Spencer Reid?”

He let himself genuinely laugh. “Good memory,” he repeats, an air of light-hearted sarcasm to his tone. “I’d like a sweet tea with lemon and– actually. I know I shouldn’t ask, and you absolutely do not have to answer, but uhm… when do you have a lunch break? Maybe we could-”

“Right now. I’ll be right back,” I replied, taking off my apron and walking to the back to alert my manager (thankfully, different than the overnight one.) They could manage without me for an hour. I was not passing him up a second time.

——

The third time it happened, we were on our third date. Spencer wanted to go to a museum, I wanted to do something a bit more interactive. We agreed on an aquarium.

“Actually, Parrotfish are one of my least favourite of the wrasse family, and definitely least favourite of the Labridae,” he countered when I insisted their colours were pretty.

“I didn’t say they were my favourite, Reid, I said they were pretty."

“No, I know, but I’m just saying.” He was practically vibrating, balling a fist and unballing it, and I could tell he needed to tell me number 1,001 of his facts in the last hour.

I sighed, an affectionate smile on my face as I turned around and leaned on the rocky wall. “Why are they one of your least favourites?”

Reid offered me a toothy grin. “The parrotfish has a tendency to coat itself in a bubble of its own mucus and saliva in order to protect itself from parasites and predators. It’s intended to mask their scent. Many refer to it as an underwater sleeping bag,” he explained with a grimace. Oh, that’s why. “I’m positive it only spreads bacteria, and if fish could get sick in the same way as homosapiens, they would all be sick all of the time.”

“You know, not for nothing, but I wouldn’t mind your saliva all over me.”

“Ugh! Gross!” Spencer staggered backward, glaring at me. “Don’t say things like that.”

I pout. “You’re not even a little curious what I taste like, Dr. Reid?” I stalked up to him, mocking a femme fatale in one of those cheesy black-and-white spy movies.

“Stop it.” He swallowed thickly and when I went to lay my hands on the sides of his neck, his instinctively found my hips. He glanced at my lips. I stared at his.

“Make me,” I whispered, deciding eye contact was a better choice. Good god, his face was red.

His mouth parted slightly and he squeezed my hips, then adjusted his bag. “Enough,” he asserts, and I’d be lying if that didn’t turn me on. In all honesty, I was totally doing a bit and I was just about to back off anyway, but yeesh. For the sake of my own sanity, I giggled and pushed off of him. He sighed in relief.

“Fish can get sick,” I said, changing the topic back to what he'd said about the parrotfish to ease his nerves. When he took more than a half a second to reply, I started to doubt myself. “Can’t they?”

“Well, yes, but not… not ill. They can’t have a sickness like we can. They just feel sick. Like, if they swim upside down, or have issues breathing, or if the water quality is poor.”

I pushed myself off the wall and linked a finger around the strap of his bag, dragging him along behind me. “Alright, last section. Lock and load, you’ve got…” I glanced at my phone. “13 minutes to give me as many facts as you can. Go.”

–

Spencer insisted (according to Date Etiquette 101 from Professor Derek Morgan) that on the third date, he had to take me to a romantic dinner. He still wants to stop by his apartment to get changed, so we’re on the way there now, and have 1 hour, 42 minutes and counting to get to our reservation. I brought a bag with makeup and a change of clothes so I could get done up too and not have to go all the way across town to my place.

Y'know, you wouldn't think it, but he's really a reckless driver. It isn't that he doesn't understand the rules of the road or how to follow them. It's more that he knows them well enough that he feels confident in breaking them. It's kinda sexy. He drives with his left hand only barely touching the wheel and his right hand in mine. It took him a long time of being around me to be okay with physical contact, but now that he's to that point, he's incredibly clingy. He turns a 25-minute drive into 18, and I guarantee that's only because there was a fair amount of traffic.

–

“Are you almost ready?” I hear a rustling sound on the other side of the door, then a muffled, soft scraping noise that suggests he just sat on the floor (which by the way, is clean enough you could eat off of it) against the door. I’m in his room also sitting on the floor, utilizing a full-body mirror against his wall, carefully tweaking my eyeliner. Reid didn’t want to see me before the date, said it was bad luck. It’s strange what he chooses to be superstitious about.

“Almost. 1 minute.” I lean back, raking my fingers through my hair and checking my appearance. Not to toot my own horn, but toot fucking toot, I look downright strapping. “Okay!”

Just as the word leaves my mouth, the bedroom door is flying open and he’s barrelling in, but he stops dead in his tracks as he sees me. “Wow.”

I spin in a little circle, my black, mid-thigh corset dress making a dome around me. “You like?”

Spencer approaches slowly, his eyes scanning me head to toe, right to left, and everything in between. “You… are magnificent.” His fingers twitch when he’s about a foot away from me as though he wants to touch me but chickens out. I gently take his hands and place them on my hips, emboldening him to slide his touch upward, over my waist and around to my back. I pretend not to notice his repeated glances at my breasts, as does he.

“Et toi, mon amour,” I reply, a fresh grin painted across my lips. “You look hot.”

He makes a sour face. “You ruined it.”

My jaw drops and I take a step back, feigning offence. His grip falls from my sides. “Fuck did I do? I can’t call you hot now? I’ve said that a thousand times, calm down.”

“I was being a gentleman,” he pouts. “You’re just being crude.”

“That’s not crude, Dr. Reid. If you want crude-”

“No! No, don’t do that. Save it.” He chuckles, stepping forward again and putting his hands right back where they were. I don’t stop him. “Just hush.”

I let him look at me for a few seconds, and I, him. Just a few until I started getting squeamish under the scrutiny. “Okay. Enough, we need to go,” I interject, pressing against his chest gently with my fingers splayed out. With a glance at the clock behind me, he nods.

“Après toi, ma chérie.”

–

Fancy, fancy FBI boyfriend-not-boyfriend rented out a whole room for us. Candle in the middle of a two-seater table, a window into the main room so we can see what’s going on, and a record player in the corner. The decor is upscale, but not obnoxiously proud. Lots of wood, mostly dark, but light walls. He even goes so far as to pull out my chair for me. 

We’re almost to the end of our meal and I’m taking pin-sized bites to try and draw out the time it takes to finish my lava cake. Reid has already called me out for it twice, but I have blatantly ignored him.

“Spencer,” I begin, cutting off a conversation about the history behind the Hays code and its relevance in a specific episode of Supernatural.

“Hm?” He straightens up, clearing his throat.

“I have a stupid question. You don’t have to answer it.”

“Go ahead.”

“What was your first impression of me?” My voice is low, unsure. I have time to cross my legs, then uncross them, then look at him, then back at my lap before he begins to reply.

“I thought you were pretty. You seemed agitated,” he says, slow, haltingly, like he isn’t sure if that’s the answer I wanted. It wasn’t.

“No, after that. When we started going out. What kind of person do you think I am?”

Spencer hums, folding his hands and leaning back. The seconds tick by like minutes, and god he looks delectable.

“You’re self-assured and conduct yourself as though you think you’re the greatest person in the world. You hand out compliments like candy and you flirt like you’re dying tomorrow because you want people to find you exciting. You think you have to have major sex appeal to attract a partner, which isn’t true, it’s actually quite off-putting.”

“You think having major sex appeal is off-putting?” I interrupt.

“No, I think overdoing it to the point of-”

“I’m not overdoing it! It’s just the way I am.”

“I’m not saying-”

“It’s just that-”

“If you’d stop interrupting me, I’d answer your question.”

I shut my mouth. That was hotter than it needed to be.

“Thank you. As I was saying, it’s clear to others, or at least to me, that you do not feel that way about yourself in the slightest. For the sake of honesty and because I always answer your questions to the fullest of my abilities, I’d say you find yourself almost repulsive."

My stomach twists. Does he find me repulsive? Why would he think I feel that way? Better question: How does he know I feel that way?

"When you first began getting into relationships, you were probably up-front about that because you didn’t know any better, but quickly learned people internalize what you tell them. So, to combat that reaction, you started acting like all you wanted from people was sex so it didn’t matter whether they liked you or not, which led to a lot of meaningless flings that left you feeling worse than you did when you were single.”

If my jaw were any lower, it’d be on the floor. I swallow my arguments.

“Tell me more about my sex life, then, Dr. Reid. Since you know so much.” I’m hoping he knows me well enough to know I didn’t mean that to be as bitter as it sounded. He does.

“You project dominance because you fear loss of control, not to mention your hatred of your own body. You wouldn't ever want to be the receiver in a sexual situation, or at least you wouldn't ask for it for worry of your partner finding you less-than-satifactory."

I fight the urge to ask if he'd feel that way, even if I know his answer.

"You only lightly dabble in more aggressive sexual habits, but your enthusiasm whether or not it comes across as joking suggests there’s more truth in it than you’d like for there to be.” He pauses, and I’m not sure whether it’s because he’s trying to remember his next line or it’s because I distracted him when I leaned forward to lean my chin against my palm. I forgot how much of my cleavage this dress shows. He licks his lips and moves on more elegantly than I thought he would. I take advantage of his silence.

“What about you, Dr. Reid?”

He blinks. “What?”

“What about your sexual habits?”

“I, uhm-”

I stand up and walk over to him, placing my hand on his shoulder before I settle on his knee. His hand goes to my thigh nearest to him and he catches my eyes, careful not to look away.

“Well?”

His composure repairs itself like magic.

“It depends on my partner,” he says, his voice lower than it was before, and I swear his eyes are darker than they were a few minutes ago. “I tend to let my partner set the pace. I can embrace aggression if the circumstance proves it necessary.”

Holy shit.

This, my dear reader, was the third time I thought: I’d really like to see just how red I could make you.

“What about me?” I ask, my throat dry. I think I’m more nervous than he is, but I’m taking it like a champ. I look down at Spencer’s hand (his very pretty hand, his very big hand, across my entire thigh. Has it moved up?), but he’s not having it. His free hand goes up to hold my chin firmly, and with utter and total reverence, he lifts my face to look him in the eyes again.

“What about you, beautiful?" He watches me carefully, brown eyes full of intent. My self-control right now is dazzling.

And if I said a little thank-you prayer to God for not giving me a dick with which I would be cursed a boner right now, then maybe that’s nobody’s business.

“What kind of aggression would you use with me?” I bite my lip and swallow, staring at his lips. Perfect, perfect boy.

He studies me for a moment, and I think he’s trying to make me squirm on purpose. His hand hasn’t left my chin, the bastard.

“Keep talking," he prompts. Yes, sir.

I could not tell you, gun to my head, where the fuck I got my bravery from, but hallelujah holy shit.

“Would you grab me by the throat and hold me against a wall?" Woah, where did that come from? Go me. "Would you hold onto me so hard it bruised? Would you leave marks that wouldn’t go away for weeks? Would you ever hurt me, Dr. Reid?” If he notices my face getting so hot it would rival the sun, then it was sweet of him not to address it.

“Is that what you want?”

“I guess I just want to know if you could,” I reply, my left hand coming up to his face, my fingertips tracing his bottom lip, my eyes glued to the point of contact.

“You have no idea what I could do, given enough provocation,” he whispers, finally allowing his eyes to fall to my mouth, parted slightly in awe.

“Are you gonna kiss me or not, Spencer?”

Rather than responding to me, his grip on my chin loosens for favour of travelling down my jaw, then to the back of my neck, curling into my hair, pulling just hard enough for me to feel the tension. “Fix your attitude,” he asserts, and then his lips are on mine and it’s all passion and fury and the taste of chocolate. I moan into his mouth on instinct, and his grip on my hip tightens.

If there’s one thing about Spencer Reid, it’s that he exists as a multitude. And if there’s two things, it’s that he kisses like a man fucking starved. Like he’s been suffocating slowly in a room with no oxygen, and once he gets a mask, he’s not letting it go. He’s teeth in lips, he’s hands roaming, he’s furrowed brows and mouths parting.

His right hand roves over my thigh furthest from him, dipping under my skirt just barely. He stays under the fabric and moves his hand to the top of my thigh, then braving the inside. He’s squeezing once or twice everywhere he touches, like the cliche of saying pinch me. I spread my legs instinctively.

As quick as it started, it stops.

I whine, my eyes opening slow like molasses.

“This is an incredibly uncomfortable position,” he pants. I only just realized the poor thing is not exactly on a sofa made for two. I may be snug as a bug in his lap, but the arms of the chair are digging into the sides of his legs. The recollection of our being in a fucking restaurant right now hits me in the face like a fresh bucket of ice water. 

“Fuck. Sorry,” I breathe, my hands tangled in his hair, and I’m not sure when they got there, or when they managed to unbutton the top half of his shirt, or how the straps of my dress are halfway down my arms.

“Bathroom?” I propose, glancing at the adjoining one that I am thanking my lucky stars for as we speak.

“Bathroom,” he agrees.

[frost-queen]

The moment I knew // part 8 (Reader!Bridgerton x Tewkesbury)

Forever tag:@missmelodramatic, @merlin-dahlia, @alex--awesome--22, @elllie-does-the-posts, @floatlosers, @merlieve, @queen-of-books, @glimmering-darling-dolly,@denkisclown, @wildieflower, @meyocoko, @bubblybrianna, @justanothercoco,@subjecta13-thefangirl, @m-rae23, @harleyquinnswifeyfrfr, @swampthing07, @melsunshine, 

@panhoeofmanyfandoms, @venomsvl, @the-uncoordinated-house-cat, @rosecentury,  @imagines-by-her,  @evilcr0ne, @vviolynn, @cayt0123, 

@powwowsworld, @yomamacrusty, @mileyy22, @omgsuperstarg, @helen06dreamer, @misscaller06, @l4venderia, @dracoflaco, @loliakeoghan23, @emotionaldamageemotionaldamage, @reallysparklychaos, @ok-boke, @the-fifth-marauder7, @asgards-princess-of-mischief, @cherrysxuya, @lol6sposts, @cierrajhill, @heheyhey

Summary: During a ball sneaks Tewkesbury his presence more onto you. Almost desperate to be near you. Even so desperate he calls upon your house yet he isn't the only one. [ part 1 & part 2 & part 3& part 4 & part 5 & part 6 & part 7 & part 9 & part 10 ]

Candles were dazzling in the bright room. The walls warmed with the comfort of people. The ton bustled together in a room of delight. Chattering chippering up yet not too loud for the music to be overwhelmed. In a corner was the orchestra. The piano forte, violins, cello’s, enough to make the room dance. In the centre ladies and gents were waltzing. Graceful and delicately.

Each in their own world of slowly falling in love or hoping to be. Benedict appeared from between the crowd holding two lemonade glasses up so they wouldn’t get knocked over. He approached with a heavy exhale. Francesca and you turned more towards him. – “Your drinks sisters.” – he said lowering his hands to offer the glasses. Francesca and you took yours.

Benedict joined Colin’s side behind the two of you. Colin looked at Benedict half disappointed. – “What about me dear brother?” – he asked with pouted lips. – “Go fetch it yourself!” – Benedict replied with a sneer. Colin raised his eyebrows playfully at you when you had turned around to listen in to their conversation. – “I’ll fetch mine all by myself than.” – he exaggerated making Benedict roll his eyes.

The dancers came to a stop as the dance had ended. The room emptied as the orchestra began their next song. The first few notes shot up like a rush. Playful tunes that made you supress a squeal out of excitement. You hastily pushed your glass in Colin’s hands. Startled he nearly spilled some lemonade on his gloves.

“Y/n!” – he groaned out as you grabbed Benedict’s wrist. – “Come brother dance with me!” – you called out. Benedict got pulled with you swept amongst the crowd of joining the dance. Francesca came standing at Colin’s side. – “Now you have your drink.” – she said before taking a serious sip. You came to a stop as Benedict nearly stumbled. You positioned him before you and dove right into the dance that had already begun.

Benedict was a bit slower watching those beside him to what he needed to do. He held his hands up as you clapped your hand against his diagonally. You then clasped your hands together and spun around. Benedict started to catch on clapping his hands against yours at the same time making you laugh. You heard laughter from all around you as this dance was not so stiff.

A pleasant folklore dance with lot’s of spins, hops and fun. Tewkesbury’s eyes widened seeing you amidst them dance with your brother. He knew what kind of dance it was. Gulping nervously he very much wanted to join. Looking quickly around he grabbed the first girl’s wrist he saw near him and pulled her without a word into the dance. He forced his way to be beside you.

The couple that were already dancing near you got stopped in their movement, leaving them confused for a brief moment. They cleared the way as Tewkesbury dove right into the dance. He took the girl’s hands facing your back as he followed the dancers go in a circle forwards.

“What an honour my lord.” – the girl said breathlessly. – “Quiet!” – Tewkesbury said to her trying to focus on you. They came to a stop, changed hands and went back the other way. You furrowed your brows looking at the suspicious back of the person hopping before you. – “Is that?” – you muttered before Benedict pulled you to a halt. Clapping your hands against his again. Benedict let you spin under his arm. Benedict then walked over to you to come at your side.

Tewkesbury’s eyes widened as he hastened himself at your side. Taking your hand before the girl he was with could do so. Feeling the sudden warm grip on your hand made you look up. – “My …” – you wanted to address his presence but got pulled to the centre by your brother and Tewkesbury. Each holding your hands as you had formed a circle with the other dancers. Coming together in the middle to then part back to a full circle.

In a confused haze they pulled at you needing you to follow the direction they were going. The full circle going to the left. There was a brief pause before you were pulled in the other direction. There was another stop as you stood lost when Tewkesbury stood before your brother and you before the girl he danced with. – “What are you doing?” – Benedict shout-whispered, clapping his hands against Tewkesbury’s. – “May I dance with your sister?” – Tewkesbury asked before taking a spin as did Benedict.

You and the girl did the steps in silence and confused as to why you were suddenly dancing with each other. – “Please.” – Tewkesbury pleaded as Benedict sighed deep. Tewkesbury took it as an agreement turning his posture away from Benedict and giving the girl a gentle nudge to get her out of the way. You took each other’s hands hopping to the side and back. 

You watched Benedict leave the dance returning to your siblings. – “You scared my brother away.” – you teased. – “I asked.” – Tewkesbury responded taking you by the waist. You did the same twirling around with him. – “This is more fun isn’t it?” – he said. – “I’ll decide that.” – you responded trying to supress a smile. Tewkesbury saw the mischief in your eyes knowing you weren’t serious.

He let you twirl under his arm before he pressed his hand on your back and pulled you to his chest. He was a bit too eager making you fall against his chest, needed to have pressed your hand to escape a hard bump. – “Where’s your partner?” – you asked glancing to the side. Tewkesbury pulled you back in by your chin, wanting you to look at him. – “Right here.” – he whispered making you look bashful away. – “Don’t be silly.” – you slapped him against his chest. Tewkesbury took a hold of you dancing around with you. Hastened and energetic that you were out of breath. The music slowed, fading out as the two of you were panting.

Tewkesbury bowed before you as you took a hold of your dress and curtsied. The two of you moved to the side allowing other dancers to join the next dance. – “May I see your hand?” – Tewkesbury asked. – “Wha--- why?” – you responded confused. Cheeks flushed from the heat. – “May I see it?” – he pressed on. You moved your hand up with a taunting smile. Your dance card dangled on the cord around your wrist. – “Perfect.” – He mumbled pulling at the  cord. – “Hey!” – you called out as it snapped, dance card now in his hands. – “That’s mine!” – you called out wanting to grab for it. Yet he was faster pulling it back out of your reach. – “I’ll keep this.” – he showed you the card with a smirk.

“If you think you are being charming, you are wrong silly boy.” – you answered crossing your arms. Tewkesbury shrugged his shoulders. – “You can have it back when I’ve claimed all my dances.” – he replied finding it cute how angry you were trying to look. – “You see it has my name on it.” – he continued as you puffed loud. – “Where? I don’t see your name.” – you said tauntingly back looking closer at your dance card just for the dramatics. – “Right here.” – he began moving his gloved finger down your entire card. – “Tewkesbury.” – he spoke slowly as his finger went down.

“It’s in invisible ink.” – he added jokingly.  You punched him in the armpit just to stop him from laughing at his own smoothness. – “Au!” – he called out, rubbing the pain area. You stuck your tongue out to him as Tewkesbury did the same just to play with you. He dangled your dance card happily up to tease you even more. – “Stealing girl’s dance cards are we now?” – you heard as Tewkesbury stiffened. He turned, dropping down into a bow at the presence of his grandmother. – “I…I was just…” – Tewkesbury began as his grandmother shushed him.

“Who are you girl?” – she asked narrowing her eyes at you. You dropped into a curtsy. – “Miss Y/n Bridgerton, My lady.” – you introduced yourself. She only hummed intrigued. – “I hope my grandson has his manners.” – she shot him a glare making him swallow nervously. You stepped up, coming a bit in between him and his grandmother. – “He has been more than polite, My lady. A dream as to say.” – you spoke to her. His grandmother hummed intriguingly again before taking her leave. Tewkesbury exhaled relieved once she had gone. The dance card was for your plucking as you took it from him. – “I’ll have this back now.” – you laughed out backing up.

Tewkesbury smiled widely following you trying to take it back from you. You kept backing up till you bumped against someone. It made you gasp, turning round quickly to apologize. – “Enola!” – you blurted out upon seeing it was her you had bumped into. She furrowed her brows. – “You know my name?” – she then looked beyond you putting on a smile to Tewkesbury. – “Viscount.” – she addressed as Tewkesbury smiled nervously back at her. Then the two dots connected. – “Ah you must be the girl.” - she spoke with a giggle at Tewkesbury.

“I can see why he likes you.” – she spoke as Tewkesbury was waving his arms across behind you. - “What was I not to say that?” – Enola said dumbfound just to tease him more. Tewkesbury slapped his palm against his face in agony. You looked back to Tewkesbury who nervously rubbed his hand to the back of his head. – “Y/n!” – you heard, drawing your attention away from him. Francesca appeared from between the crowd making her way over to you. She eyed Enola and Tewkesbury before coming to take you away from them.

You brushed past Tewkesbury letting your hand brush against his. His eyes slightly widened feeling the card being forced into his hand. He closed his hand keeping the dance card by him. Enola came at his side as they watched you leave. Tewkesbury opened his hand and held the dance card up. Letting it twirl in the air by it’s snapped cord. – “You are so in on her.” – Enola teased with a comforting pat on his shoulder. Tewkesbury looked from the dance card to where you had gone.

The next day you were in the Parlor with mama, Francesca, Hyacinth and Gregory. Your brothers had gone out. Just a boring midday. Mama was knitting. Francesca reading a book with less interest. Hyacinth and Gregory playing a game of cards. You sat near your sister, head laid back to stare bored at the ceiling. These calling hours could be so dreadfully boring someday. The time of the day where anyone without an invitation could announce themselves at the house.

Mama had let her calling card known with who would be at home. The door opened as it barely made any of you move. – “Is that how you all spend the day?” – your eyes widened at the voice of your sister. – “Daphne!” – Hyacinth shouted loud dropping her cards immediately. All of you jumped awake getting up to greet your sister. You were hugging her when the duke dropped in with Augie. Augie now at the age of three he held Simon’s hand.

“Ladies.” – Simon greeted. Hyacinth and Gregory rushed up to him to hug him. Simon let go of Augie’s hand and hugged them tightly back. Francesca picked Augie up to play with him. You hugged your sister tightly as you had missed her dearly. – “You must come more often.” – you told her. – “I know.” – Daphne responded giving you a tight squeeze.

Daphne took your hand and led you to the armchairs. – “Now you must tell me all.” – she spoke. – “There is not much to say.” – you told her. – “Now that is a lie.” – Francesca pitched in as Augie bounced on her knee. – “Is that so?” – Daphne asked intrigued. – “There’s this Viscount.” – Francesca went on. – “Viscount? What Viscount?” – Daphne wanted to know looking curiously and eagerly at you. – “It’s… it’s… not like that…” – you told her a bit unsure of what was happening between the two of you.

Would this simply grow into a friendship or was there room for more from both sides. To be honest Tewkesbury have been giving you mixed signals. All with the whole Enola thing going on. – “Then what is it like?” – Daphne wanted to know more. The door opened once more, this time the doorman entered. He cleared his throat before speaking. – “A visitor for Miss Y/n Bridgerton.” – he called out. – “Me?” – you said confused getting up. – “Well who is it?” – Daphne asked. The doorman cleared his throat again. – “He said Miss Y/n Bridgerton could guess.”

You already had a clue so you left the Parlor to head into the hallway. Your idea had been right. Tewkesbury stood by the door waiting for you. – “Miss Y/n.” – he spoke dropping into a bow. – “What are you doing here?” – you shout-whispered at him. Tewkesbury got startled a bit by the tone of your voice. – “I…I came for you.” – he said. – “My sister is inside.” – you told him a bit panicking. – “Francesca?” – he guessed. – “Daphne!” – you told him. – “I…I just wanted to see you.” – he responded as you kept looking frantically over your shoulder.

“I hope my grandmother had not scared you away.” – he asked when you gave him a gentle nudge back towards the door. You stopped furrowing your brows. – “I…you needn’t be frightened of her. She’s all bark but no bite.” – he told you taking a hold of your hand. – “I promise you.” – he continued as you got lost in his eyes.

Forgetting about your surroundings and only thinking of him. You were so deep into his eyes that you didn’t hear the door open. Till you heard a voice. – “You must be the Viscount?” – Daphne spoke. You jumped out of your skin, pushing Tewkesbury behind you.

“I am.” – Tewkesbury replied politely, moving a bit from behind you. – “And he is just leaving.” – you said pushing him back. – “Wha…no… no Miss Y/n.” – Tewkesbury whispered at you holding you by your wrist as you pushed him back. – “Come back another time.” – you whispered back to him. Desperate to get him away from Daphne yet he stood his ground, not moving quick enough. – “I still have your dance card.” – he whispered back making you look panicking over your shoulder.

Daphne watching the whole display. Tewkesbury holding you by the wrist trying to stay close as you tried to push him out of the house. She tilted her head with an intriguing hum. – “A cup of tea Viscount?” – Daphne called out. – “Yes!” – Tewkesbury called out letting go of you and stepping to the side. Daphne gestured to the Parlor. Tewkesbury went in as you followed behind. In the door opening plucked Daphne at your cheek with one of her glances. The one you feared the most. The one that stated that she knew more than you could see.

“The Viscount!” – Francesca pointed out teasingly. Simon turned his head looking the boy up and down. – “Isn’t it wonderful that he came to visit.” – Daphne said. Tewkesbury glanced over to you, catching your gaze. You held it still for a moment, for a longing moment where you stared into his eyes. Daphne looking between the two of you. – “Y/n tea!” – Francesca called out making you hum loud. You took your leave to set some tea.

Tewkesbury came to sit down in the armchair as Daphne had offered to him to sit. Both Simon and Gregory got up, coming to sit at each his side. Tewkesbury swallowed nervously at the stare Simon was giving him. Gregory smiled rather teasingly at him yet it uneased him a bit. – “You were at the opera.” – Gregory stated. – “I…I was…” – he replied. You returned to give him his tea. Taking a seat by your sisters across from him.

Tewkesbury drank his tea nervously hoping his hands weren’t shaking too much. – “Are you nervous boy?” – Simon asked. – “Simon!” – Daphne hissed at him for trying to intimidate him. Tewkesbury nearly spilled some tea. – “No…no your grace.” – Tewkesbury answered. You smiled sheepishly at Tewkesbury feeling a bit embarrassed by your own family.

“He’s very handsome.” – Hyacinth sitting on the ground in front of him. Staring dreamingly at him. Tewkesbury smiled. – “If you do not marry him then I want to marry him.” – Hyacinth said to you. – “Hyacinth!” – you shout-whispered at her to stop embarrassing you. Francesca snorted loud. – “Alright I believe calling hours are ending.” – you had jumped up, wanting to end the attention on you. – “Are you perhaps feeling shy sister?” – Francesca asked as you slapped a pillow at her head.

You gestured for the door as Tewkesbury followed. In the hallway you waited with him as the doorman opened the door. – “Have a good day my lord.” – you told him pushing him a bit to the door. Tewkesbury stood in the door opening turning back to you. – “Your family is lovely… please do not fear mine.” – he said almost desperately. As if he wanted you to know his rather cold grandmother could do you no harm.

You leaned against the door with your head, curling up a smile. – “I am not afraid.” – you answered. Tewkesbury took your hand and kissed the back of your hand. – “Till our next meeting.” – he told you taking his leave with a bow. – “For that I cannot wait.” – you spoke out of reach for his ears, watching him get in the carriage.

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

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[yothangie]

This is how i flirt

pairing: boxer!San x Fem Reader

genre: boxer au, loser in a hot body, SMAU, med student reader

warnings: mentions of the fight and medical stuff nothing really to have a warning

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Part 4: keep woo away from the room ✎. Next>>

~

Changing into your scrubs you started to get nervous, you went over your notes real quick on what you needed to do. Since you’re still in school you needed to take your notebook to write down what you did.

After getting everything you went and knocked at your brother Sohee’s door.

“Sohee are you ready” you knocked.

Sohee came out with 12 different hats stacked on his head.

“which hat should i bring” he asked

“who are you trying to impress” you said

“uhh definitely not Choi San” he scoffed

you rolled your eyes and looked through his hats he has stacked on.

“go with this one i guess”

“okay im ready, are we carpooling with everyone else?”

you checked your phone one more time to figure out the ride situation.

“Jongho and Mingi are already there, so we will be going with Yeosang and Julie” you mentioned.

You and Sohee grab all the things you needed before leaving your apartment heading down to the first floor waiting for your ride.

~

when you guys got there Jongho and Mingi were already in line waiting. Since you have to go through another entrance you left Sohee with the rest and going through a different entrance.

Knocking on the door a ginger haired man slowly opened the door letting you in.

“You must be the intern, I’m Hongjoong the manager” he introduced

“Hi i’m Y/n nice to meet you” you said.

Hongjoong steps aside to let you in, you follow him down a hall into a room that looks like a small clinic room.

“You know who your patient will be right?” He asked

“I wasn’t told who the patient was” you said

“ahhh your patient is Choi San”

your breath stopped almost choking on spit, which Hongjoong took a noticed.

“are you okay?”

“yes sorry” you apologized

“are you a fan” he asked

“no i don’t know anything about boxing but my friends and little brother are huge fans” you clarified.

“are they here tonight?”

you nodded your head

“so during halftime and after the fight we will bring San in here so you can inspect him and make sure he’s not too hurt” he starts.

“if it gets to the point where you can’t do much cause i know you’re not allowed to do certain things then we will go to a hospital”

“sounds good, i do have to do notes for school so ill go ahead and do that in the meantime” you said.

“are you sure you don’t want to watch the fight?” he asked

“i’m sure i’ll stay right here” you sat down on a nearby chair.

“okay well San and the rest of our crew will come in a few minutes to have an introduction”

As soon as Hongjoong left you messaged your friends letting them know you got to your little office safely.

Not wanting to feel useless you decided to get your stuff ready such as your notebook and looking around the room to know where everything was located.

~

The fight was set to start in less than 10 minutes, you had everything set up and you know where everything is at.

Almost a minute later there was a knock on the door.

“can we come in” Hongjoong poked his head out

“of course” you replied

Hongjoong comes inside following inside were 4 other men.

“Hi i’m San” he reached his hand out

“Hi i’m y/n” you shook his hand

“and i’m Wooyoung” the boy slid between you and san.

“don’t acknowledge him” Hongjoong pushes the man away.

“anyways that’s Yunho our bodyguard and Seonghwa he’s our friend”

the boys stayed a few minutes going over a routine that will happen every fight before heading out for the first round.

After explaining they went out for the first round. You sat at the desk knowing how the next few months would be. Tiring.

~

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[tookthe-405]

On our way

Chapter 1 :

We’ll keep falling on each other

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DAILY CLICK🍉

Loser!ellie x ex-bsf!reader

ROADTRIPPPP

authors note: first chapterrr🤪 ENGLISH IS NOT MY FIRST LANGUAGE SO PLS

And pls tell me if the chapters should be shorter and what kind of perspective I should write from (Ellie pov will come later when I’ll fit), LONG AF

Summary: modern Jackson au!

you and Ellie were best friends through your childhood. Now your just neighbours who act like enemies towards each other, but after an incidence you both decide to run away together.

Joel lives 💯

warnings: anxiety , Panik attack?, alcohol, smoking, feeling of throwing up (only mentioned once) smut in future chapters!!, chaotic and stupid arguing between reader and Ellie, school anxiety, messy af (I mostly write at night when the demons come out🐺)

(ellie is 18 and reader is 17 (soon 18))

Readers pov:

6/25

You couldn’t remember the fall out.

For a matter of fact you couldn’t remember anything that happened that night.

You just knew that the next morning Ellie and you weren’t friends anymore. You guys weren’t anything, just total strangers who knew more about each other than any other.

“Iced Coffee and 4 chocolate donuts should be your order”

Your head snaps up and an older guy holds out a bag of donuts.

“Yes, thank you”

You quickly scurry out of the waiting crowd, out the dinner and into the summer air.

2:25 p.m. If Jody would finally pick you up, the both of you might only be 10 minutes late to the game.

While you're waiting, you take a donut out of the bag and realize as you're eating that you don't have a cold ice coffee in your other hand.

"Fuck”

you really wanted that coffee, and by any normal logic you should just go back.

But the fear of embarrassment won. so you decide to just wait outside without a coffee, feeling the dizziness of the lack of sleep in your brain.

The day before was the last exam and you couldn’t sleep the whole night, because of your anxious thoughts that are so unjustified that it’s actually embarrassing.

you watched the cars drive by, as you wait for Judy to pull over.

Today was the last school day. Ever. This morning was the last morning you would ever be in a high school class room to study.

After waiting for a while you hear the horn of Judy`s car or rather her parents car, since both of you are broke and only one of you has their license.

"i forgot my coffee" you complain as you collapse into the passager seat.

"yeah but you didn`t forgot the donuts and thats the really important thing here" Jody happily takes the box full of donuts, out of your hand

"footbal games always stress me out" you rummage through your bag, looking for gumm or just something that will help your body through this hard time.

"i hope my exams were good" you tell her anxious.

"It was our last fucking day, dont worry about something that is over soon. Those last days don`t really matter no one cares"

"I do"

Judy scoffs, puting the donute to her mouth again, all while looking at the street.

"I know, thats your problem. Really, you need to fix that. Your grades are amazing and whatever college you wanna go to, will say yes."

Now you scoff.

"right then why haven’t they replied yet then?"

"because you were too anxious too send your application, you almost threw up in my room"

Your face contorts at the memory. Judy's poor cat hissed at you the whole time because you couldn't sit still at all.

"yeah sorry he gets like that, but not all cats are this easy to annoy i swear"

Your giggle fills the car and you share the last donute, as judy tries to find a parking spot which is obviossly not that easy anymore.

"goddamit those wild people are so greedy" her hands grab the steerig wheel harder, but theres simply no other free spot anymore.

You grow even more annoyed now.

The thoughts in your head take more space than you usually allow them.

The whole morning was shit, the whole day is shit and your life is fucked if you don’t get into university.

"i think we need to use the other one" judy says

"then we`ll have to run through the whole fucking school, were already late, Malik is playing!"

Out of the corner of her eye, she looks at you, thinking, and finally sighs.

"get out I’ll park the car" You immediantly regret snapping at her.

"you dont have to-"

she interrupts you (no suprise)

"bro get out of my car. It’s my fault we`re too late anyway and we both know im only here for the fries"

For a few seconds you hesitate, but then you grab your bag and the donut, and get out the car. Outside, a warm brise tickles your skin, now that the sun is shining right on your face. You pinch you eyes.

Judy dissapers around the corner and you wave, hoping she saw it, but the worry leaves with her because you start running towards the football field.

The whole row was full, every seat. You try to push your way through the crowd on the front, which didn't make it any easier because everyone was pushing forward against the bar to see better.

And it was so loud, every type of noises from every angle. This is your last game of course everyone will be loud, Jesus you’ll be loud, but the game hasn’t even started.

Arriving in the almost last row, Lyla waves to you and you sprint towards her.

"I don't know how you manage to save us seats, thank you so much," You almost scream, because the large group sitting behind her started singing the fucking national anthem.

lyla quickly hugs you and sits right back down. "I don't know how either, but here you go. Where's Judy?"

Her gaze wanders behind you to look out for her, as if judy is hiding behind you "Looking for another parking spot and getting us some fries"

You feel the light box in your hand and remember the one donut inside it.

“Here we’ve left you a donut”

“How generous” lyla replies smirking

Your attention turns to the football field. No one’s there.

“Everyone is still in the cabins, you're not as late as you think" she adds while slurping her milshake.

Malik is Lylas brother and a good friend of yours. Even Judy likes him, and that's saying something.

After the "incident" you tried so hard to find another group of friends, that one day it actually happened.

Which wasnt easy, before ellie you didnt relly need other friends. You also didnt want other ones. You always thought she felt the same way.

Her company, her words, her feelings and thoughts were all you wanted.

"Holy shit im not late!"

Judy's loud voice pulls you out of your thoughts. She quickly sits down next to you and hands you the large french fries package. You grin at her and pass them on to lyla. The loud noises became quieter and quieter, which made you hear the microphone voice.

"Dear seniors and juniors, After weeks full of learning and exams, one last football game with our beloved team and a guest team of their choice should be enough for you. I don't understand why you wanted to have this when every one of you’ve seen so many other games, but as you want. That’s the last one really though, please."

Judy giggles at the voice of the principal, but with empathy rather than mockery.

"Poor Ms. Servopoulos, juniors and seniors are not easy. The Other Class's prank surpassed everything"

lylas eyes widened at the memory. "Which of the 20 One?" She asks, leaning a bit over my lap to hear judy better.

"The one where they all had their tables outside at the_" Judy's bright voice gets stuck in the air, and she looks past me with squinted eyes in dismay.

You know why and didn't want to turn around.

But you do it anyway.

She wore her typical short baggy shorts and a red oversize t shirt with a fucking beanie , which makes her look like the love child of Adam Sandler and Jesse Pinkman.

You’d be happy to laugh at her if she didn't look so fucking good. But you chuckle a bit in your head at the Beanie, because it’s fucking june.

She looks down at you , just standing there.

Ellie has always been a bit taller than you. You might be sitting right know, but you still know That hasn't changed yet. You don't have to get up to be sure. You would notice if she grew even 1 cm. You don't know if she would still recognize that about you.

The familiar, soft and light brown freckles on her face. As a tween you always wanted to connect them, to find out how it would turn out. Or how she would look. Or react. You wanted to make her laugh so bad it hurt.

"Seth told me to bring this too you"

The Ice Caffee, with your name on it, is suddenly right in front of your face.

"Why should I accept it? It's already warm anyway" The irritated pitch in your voice cannot be ignored

Elie's gaze remains neutral, but there was some caution in her expression. "He forced me when I was paying, just take it and throw it away."

"Why didn't you throw it away?"

"Because im at a point where I listen to that old man for my benefits. Seth hates me already. He didn't even tell me about the senior special last week" she protests

You roll your eyes in annoyance.

"i dont give a shit about you or the now hot coffee"

Your argument became more intense, Judy and lyla exchanged glances but stayed out of it. You want to sort out your shit yourself and they know that.

"just fucking throw it away ellie!"

"No, I'm sitting at the top and have to go down all the fucking stairs and-"

"I don't care Ellie"

The people around slowly became aware of the both of you screaming, and you wonder for a second how strange you both must look right now. How you line up like little kids. But ellie also hurt the child version of you. God she has hurt so fucking many versions of you.

"just be happy that I’m even bringing this too you, i didnt really had to do that"

Her hand holds the plastic cup so hard in front of your face that it looks like it's about to explode.

The fact that she thinks she has a right to be angry with you bothers you even more, as you try to hold back your tears. You try to imagine her as adam sandler, screaming at you in this fucked up voice from grown ups, to make the tears go away.

"right i didn’t ask you to do anything, you decided to be so stupid and come over here"

she chuckles sligtly at your words, really pissed now. "you bitch-"

The last words never came out of her mouth. But the coffee out the cup. On your shirt.

Frightened, you take a loud breath in and stand up. Ellie has already put a safe distance between the both of you and her own mouth is open with surprise and startle.

Behind her stands a paralyzed Joshua, with his hand on his mouth.

"I swear, he ran into me...," she babbles desperately to herslef, waving her hands in the air, the empty cup on the floor now. Looks like the rest of the liquor soaked your shoes.

Yo didn’t let her finish. You mumble to lyla and judy not to follow you and that you would call them later. You grabbed your bag and Then left.

And you cried the whole ride home with your mom next to you. And not because of the coffee.

The smoke comes out of your mouth, you take the ciggarette to you lips again, and breathe in deeply.

If you smoke in your room, you always have to lean almost completely out of the window, now with the shadows of the trees falling in your face.

The light, split by the limbs, danced to the movements of the branches. There was a small and almost sweet breeze in the air.

The sun is still shining, but the golden hour is almost here.

You get goose bums on your arm as a cold breeze comes, and you put out the cigarette on your ashtray.

As you lie down on your bed and just stare at the wall for a while, the dark smell of cigarettes is still in the air. your parents don't care as long as it doesn't get into the rest of the house.

You grab a book from your bedside table and start reading.

"And when you at last find someone to whom you feel you can pour out your soul, you stop in shock at the words you utter- they are so rusty, so ugly, so meaningless and feeble from being kept in the small cramped darek inside yous so long"

You close the book with a jerk.

Yes, maybe no sylvia plath for today.

The buzzing of your phone makes your head move to the side.

Judy: Malik won

Judy: Tonights a party at the beach, everyones going

Your eyes stare back into the void of your ceiling.

Ellie has had so much influence over you and your feelings for so long, that has to stop at some point. And with all the anger in you, you think that today it will.

You get up and stand in front of your closet, you rummage around to find something and you do. A t shirt that belonged to ellie.

Your fingers brush over the dark green material. It was a fucking normal t shirt. Except that it wasn't.

"Today it will stops"

You put the t-shirt in your backpack and look for an outfit that was well suited for the beach. In the end, you wear short jeans shorts, where your grandma had sewn in flower patterns years ago, With a light blue shirt it goes nicely with the flowers.

you: can you pick me up?

Judy: I would love too :)

You quickly brush your teeth to get rid of the smell of smoke. Outside, you can already hear Judy's honking. You sprint down the stairs with your backpack and look for your beach shoes.

"Where are you going" Your mother is standing behind you with her arms crossed. In her old cardigan, she looked like she did a few years ago and you almost get a déjà vu.

"A party, Judys picking me up"

"how long are you gonna be there?"

"Mom im going to be 18 in what now 4 days you dont have to ask me that anymore"

she scoffs

"yes i do and guess what? i also want you to text me So i know youll be fine"

Nervously, you look out to see if Judy's car is still there, maybe she thinks you've changed your mind.

"Ok, Mom, I'll probably go to Judy's and be gone till midnight."

Suspiciously, she looks at you from head to toe, but (luckily) gives in.

"okay but please call me if something happens. Be smarter than your brother"

Your body flinches at the mention of him. "Has… he called lately?" you murmur

She looked at the floor and you thought for a moment she was going to cry. "No, but maybe if you call him, he'll answer"

You nod, but you know you won't do it.

He doesn't care about you either.

~

"I'm proud that you're coming along" Judy and you are walking, with beer in your arms, towards the beach where a few people have already gathered.

"I mean, that was a great show, a few people definitely noticed it"

You sigh at the unpleasant memory. "Then that's the way it is, I think a few other things are going to happen tonight, that are far more interesting than a girl with coffee on her T-shirt"

"I hope so" A mischievous smile on her face.

You look around to find lyla and malik, But because of all the people, it doesn’t really work. You were sure that there weren't that many seniors and juniors, but that a few friends of others came along. There was a big fire and even a barbecue.

After wandering around for a while, you find the two siblings. They had already made themselves comfortable on the big blanket and had taken some alcohol with them, but the bottles will probably spread over the whole beach anyway.

"Finally I see you, everything ok with you?" Malik mentions as he stands up, giving you a vigorouslyhug. "Really fucked up what happened"

You digress with a wave of your hand and sit down

"im fine, but you won, tell me abou it!" You try to make your voice as shrill as possible to make it clear that you don't want to talk about it.

“oh yeah we won, I made a touchdown, obviouly"

"almost didn’t catch it tho" throws lyla into the round and you giggle.

"Shut up, we only won our last game Ever, Because of me!”

Pride, but also the quiet pain of the loss of his team, can be noticed on his face andin his voice. The reality that you try so hard to run away from hits you again. high school is over, real life begins now.

“whatever, im getting something to drink and then im gonna tell sam to put on some music” Lyla ties you back into the moment. "I'm going with you , I need a drink of Voda-Coke"

~

Later that night Mr. Brightside was what got you on your feet and into the crowd.

Mesmerizingly, the fire flares higher and leaves just light trail of smoke behind. Malik and Judy are now singing along loudly with the others.

All these people who so clumsily sing the song about a heartbroken man, as if they would die if they don't do it, carry the same fate with them. They will all wake up tomorrow with a headache and worries about the next day. as it is one day closer to real life.

Some have broken families or parents, complicated friends, grief and draining fear of the future.

Knowing that it was like that but everyone was still singing along motivates you to do it too.

"Here more vodka has to work not taste good" Judy pours more vodak into your cup, but misses more than ends up in it.

Now you just laugh, because why did you thought so long about everything, this night was a good decision.

"I need to dance like I physically need to dance"

She grabs Malik's arm as he pours more beer next to her.

“let’s danceee!"

Lyla stands next to you, grinning and sober, and you both watch her.

"he likes her"

Lyla explains

"I know" you reply.

“That’s fucked up”

She looks a bit worried, as she watches the two of them dance and sing, with her arms crossed

"is that bad? or are you the "dont date my fucking brother" type of girl, please dont be by the way its always a bit-"

Your brain is mush, your tongue works on its own and Lyla obviously didn't like that

"no of course not, i don't care about him or who he dates"

The light from the fire reflected on her skin, she looked like a painting drawn at sunset and you wished you had your camera with you. It would be a shot of a very sad girl, with a lot of repressed feelings that she will never explain to a human soul.

But she didn't have to, because you understand.

You once looked at someone like that, from a distance where these looks were not visible to the person, where they were safe.

Comforting her was your first thought, dumb decision because a drunk person comforting a sober one never works out.

"I'm sure judy likes you back"

Alarm bells could be seen in her eyes.

"shut up you don't know that"

you laugh but it sounds unstable.

“No your right I don’t”

It looked like a lot of fun, everyone singing and drinking away their worries, you just wanted to join the dancing crowd when you see her. Again.

Fast an quickly, just ignore her, act like you didn’t see her.

But your eyes lock with hers and your stomach sinks.

In that moment you wish you could just admit that Ellie will always be a part of your mind. Wherever you are, with whomever, she will always appear In your mind and she will haunt you.

The worst thing is that it was also your fault, you allowed this relationship to be far too deep and perplexed even though you knew that it was becoming too emotional.

Ellie's presence on the other side of the fire, fills you with all those deeply buried feelings, as if she dug them up with her own hands. As if you told her where you buried them.

“I really don't understand you two"

with a snap you arrive back on planet earth.

"what?"

"the both of you. starring at each other, like you're about to run through fire to be just a bit closer. Makes me want to puke" lyla repeats.

Disbelief and vulnerability spreads through your chest and all those lights are too bright, the music is too loud and Ellie is too close.

"It's ok to forgive, we don't even know what happened so be honest, how bad was it?"

brushing all those feelings off, or at least trying to, you turn around and disappear into the darkness.

In a kind of trance you push your way through the many people, a few call after you, and you are sure that you have run into someone. You just didn't notice anything about it.

You stop in front of the many cars. You used to drive with your father to the local supermarket or other short distances, but you're not willing to steal a car.

Your head turns to the right then left, looking for something, anything that will take you away from here.

Cars, skateboards and bicycles.

Without thinking about it, you grab an unchained bike and get on it. The adrenaline in your veins works on its own and has far too much influence on your body.

It took some time to get stable on it, because the tears in your eyes made it difficult to see. Nobody seems to have noticed that you ran away and that you are riding a bike that doesn't belong to you.

The road was pitch black dark.

The warm summer wind wipes your tears away, the bright street lights of the city can be seen in the distance.

You step on the pedals and realize that you have arrived on the local road.

Out of breath, you press your fingers on the brake lever.

Desperately trying to get your lungs to return to normal, mind concentrate on the outline of your shadow that was visible on the floor, because of the street lanterns.

You get off the bike in silence, put it down next to you on the sidewalk and sit down.

The pumping of your veins feels like electricity.

You could still hear a few cars in the background.

You brush away strands of hair from your forehead.

“Fuck” you hear yourself whisper.

The tears were just about to come back when you hear a car turning.

She still drives Joel's old truck.

The vehicle stops in front of your feet and you notice that some of the light green paint has rusted off.

That wasn't the case the last time you saw that thing.

Ellie slams the car door loudly behind her, so she looks back to see if everything is still fine.

The feeling of shame just bubbles out of you and drips onto the floor, as she steps in front of you with even louder steps.

your head lifts up just a bit, to look at her. Her nose is a bit crooked and she's breathing just as fast as you were a few seconds ago, it looks a bit like she was running after you.

“What the fuck are you doing”

Ellie Williams will always come from the far corner of the world and remind you that you will never let go of her.

The effects of the alcohol still had an influence on your brain, so you stay calm.

“calming down"

For a few seconds it's eerily quiet, for a moment you thought Ellie had left again, but the squeaking of her sneakers prove the opposite. Her body settles down next to you.

"You look really stupid, sitting here like that."

You scoff mockingly.

"yes, that's exactly why you're sitting next to me bitch"

"don't fucki-"

"Don’t act so innocent, remember what you said today before you spilled my coffee on my shirt”

Her head turns to you, sweet regret and longing in her moss green eyes. She scans the bike next to you.

"i think i stole that" the embaressment goes up your cheeks.

"yeah totally badass, but we have to bring that back later" she chuckles softly.

The bright beam of light from the lantern above you gives her face an bright tint , like the beach sun always did in the evening.

"sorry... about the coffee, joshua ran into me and-"

"Yes, I know you've said that before"

She drops her head. No idea why she's sitting here, but you don't mind. you just wanted to capture her and keep her close to you, like a butterfly.

"your brother called me" Ellie mentions it so casually that it shocks you to the bone.

He can even call her but not you. After she just sat down, you were as close as ever.

"what did he say"

"He wants us to come visit him."

Her pupils were large, but you assumed it was because she just drove a dark route and not because she was high. She's way too lucid to be high.

"why? and why the both of us?"

Ellie shrugs her shoulders cluelessly

"He said that we would like Florida, that he was getting a new apartment next week and that we should visit him. You didn't tell him anything about me?"

"I haven't told him anything Ellie, we haven't been able to get in touch with him for months"

You can clearly see from her expression that it makes as little sense to her as it does to you, which worries you even more. something is wrong.

You can feel how your hands shaking, you tried to tell yourself that your just cold.

"Alex said that he tried to call you and your parents, but the line never got through, fuck he even reached Joel"

You continue to shake and Ellie gently grabs your shoulder like she has often before, when you were lost in your head, when you were so afraid of roller coasters that you almost vomited or when you cried because Alex moved out 3 years ago.

Ellie's own security was always an anchor for you, when things got too confusing she strengthened you and even though you didn't talk to each other for almost a year, she still decided to tell you that your brother was fine.

That he wants you with him.

Sometimes, on the particularly melancholic nights when loneliness and nostalgia take over, you read Sylvia's poems and it just clicks. That all because this girl with her hair that is way too short and her pants that are way too big and her full lips, her unhealthy obsession with the universe and planets, exists on the same time as you.

“There’s gonna be a explanation or a reason whatever but just calm down for now okay?”

her voice is suppressed but still safe. yes the Ellie Anchor effect, fuck that shit

“Okay yes your right what the fuck”

“Yeah I can be right sometimes”

“ I Doubt that”

Her lips pucker upwards and yours follow suit. you are still too close to each other, it all feels too new and yet too nostalgic.

The old patterns gave your heart a little sting, you quickly shook off her hand on your shoulder. You clear your throat, thanking the universe or whoever there is that it's night.

Otherwise Ellie wouldn't have been able to miss your red cheeks. In your mind you beat yourself up because you still feel this way after everything she did.

"Show me your phone"

Your hand goes protectively to your back trouser pocket. "um no?!"

Ellie Scoffs thinking your joking, but when she sees that you’re serious, she laughs.

"just give it? the fuck do you think im gonna do"

"I don't know"

With a little nudge to your foot, she gives you that look again that shows trust and you give in.

"fine"

It's a little painful for you, this morning you had a mental crisis because of her, now you letting her scroll through your contacts.

"yeah, sorry to disappoint you, but this is not your bros number"

But that must be his.

Your parents gave it to you.

Oh.

"show me" you said firmly, having a really fucked up scenario in your head, about why this is the wrong number.

Ellie takes out her phone and shows you your brother's contact. chats, phone calls, everything is there. the one from this week too.

"this doesn't make any sense, I just- I don't get it"

"Your parents gave you the number?"

You nod, "My mom said, a few Months ago he had to change his number, in the beginning we texted a bit but never really called"

your eyes switch from her phone to yours to check the numbers again and again .

"After a few days, he didn't get in touch at all, with no one. We thought he was just done with his old life." you pronounce the words and your stomach turns.

Ellie's eyes stare thoughtfully at the asgap in front of you. You're helplessly trying to build up eye contact to figure out what you're thinking.

"I think they lied to you… He said something like this could happen" She says it so fucking sure.

You couldn't take in any more and you get up with your eyes are watering "What the fuck are you talking about Ellie" Your voice broke with the trust in your parents, even Ellie looks at you sympathetically.

"Alex said on the phone that he has been trying to reach someone from home for a long time, but it doesn't work. He was so desperate that he even called me and joel. Do you think your parents or your mom-"

you raise your hand to tell her not to finish the sentence. "Why… would they do that?"

She gets up and comes closer to you. "He mentioned that your mother said he shouldn’t call her anymore or you anymore, that even you don't him in your life anymore"

It feels like your whole past is falling apart, all the beautiful moments with your family, you even want the bad memories back.

"Hey"

Ellie's soft fingertips gently touch the back of your hand. Roughness was still there, she hasn`t stopped playing guitar.

"lets run away"

a/n: omg, the chapters are gonna be shorter next time and we’re also on the road PLS STICK W IT

(and reblog😍)

anyways if you’ve come this far ur a real survivor thanks 🫶

@yourelliewillms @bready101 @liasxeatt @darkerstarsstuff @elliezato @crxmxnzl-c0rpzes @lovelyxbaby @yalaysbee @macaroni676

[whatdoeseverybodywant]

TIL FURTHER NOTICE - THE REACTIONS

I do NOT give permission for my work to be translated or reposted on here or any other site, even if you give me credit. DO NOT REPOST MY FICS

❤ Reblogs, comments, likes, and feedback ALWAYS appreciated ❤ 

All OC Characters belong to me

Summary: He's been gone for 4 months. 118 days without a phone call or a text. What happens when he finally shows back up to work? Will he give Kaela the answers she's looking for?

Parings: Roman Reigns x Black OC

AN: I have a little writers block. I started this as a way to try to get rid of said writers block lmao

ROMAN FINALLY SPOTTED AFTER LOST TO CODY RHODES AT WRESTLEMANIA 40

REPLY 1: FINALLY A ROMAN SPOTTING AFTER 4 MONTHS!

REPLY 2: OH SHIT! HE LOOKS SO GUUUUURD!!

REPLY 3: Wait! didn't it get posted on here that he was fucking w/ Kalea

REPLY 4 : This is not KALEA

REPLY 5: OOP! OH SHIT THIS IS MESSSSSSSYYYYY

REPLY 6:

REPLY 7: I told yall he wasnt leaving his wife 😭 this is exactly why you don't mess with married men 🤣🫵🏽

REPLY 8: THE POST SAYS EX WIFE, they're divorced. I followed Rachel before she made her page private.

REPLY 9: She posted this back in January

REPLY 10: Kalea don't seem like the homewrecker type...

REPLY 11: I mean, you never know.. maybe she is the reason for the divorce... you know what they say, how you get them is how you lose them... i don't feel bad for ms. homewrecker 🤣🤷🏽‍♀️

REPLY 12: yall so miserable on here, nobody knows the full truth.

REPLY 13: the full truth is, she was messing with a married man and he went back to his wife.. karma got her ass..

REPLY 14: THEY NEVER LEAVE THE WIFE!

REPLY 15: what part of divorce do you not understand!

REPLY 16: I went to college w. Kalea and she would never do some shit like that!

REPLY 17: Kalea, is that you? 😭🫵🏽

REPLY 18:

REPLY 19:

REPLY 20: Y'all are funnyyyyy 😂

Authors Note: NGL, writer's block is kicking my ass with all of my stories. I know this isn't part two but hopefully, y'all still like it ❤️

The text message is between Bianca and Jade... I should have mentioned that lol

❤ Reblogs, comments, likes, and feedback ALWAYS appreciated ❤ 

🏷️: @paigereeder @harmshake @empressdede @theninthwonder @jaethaone

@mzv11 @shantinextdoor @sheydnni @zillasvilla @thatone-girly

@xmonetsworld @christinabae @southerngirl41 @reci1996 @alyyaanna

@li-da-savage @kill-the-artiste @trashbin-nie @adoreesun @shayaaaaaaa

@bebesobrielo @bookuce @rianasixx @kat3457 @queeny23

@privateeyed95 @cyberdejos2 @justazzi @jstarr86 @sabrina-carpenter-stan-account

@vampygomez @msbigredmachine @ashyknee @callmekayd @Yana3sworld

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@thedondada05 @nbanenefrmdao @tshepisho @girlsg1rl @sparxx27

@loloschive @joshuafatubaee @pittieprincess22 @sayyestoheav3nn

[mrschristensen]

Kinktober Day 4 (10/04): Piercings + Nipples starring Sam Monroe

Kinktober Masterlist

WARNINGS: porn w plot/eventual smut though brief (READ AT YOUR OWN RISK), female s/o, dom Sam/sub s/o, piercings, brief nipple play/sucking, hc that Sam has a Prince Albert piercing, car sex, piv sex, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it), lmk if I missed any!

synopsis: Tension was high between Sam and his best friend who he wanted so much more with. Finally, though, it was the day that he completely lost it.

-> note: I just got my helix piercing today, so I thought it was super funny that this was today’s prompt! Hope you enjoy <3

WC: 829 words

When she mentioned going to go get a helix piercing done, he couldn’t help but offer to accompany her; he knew how much she hated needles. So there he was, waiting in his car at her house to pick her up. She came out in comfortable clothes, something loose, but he couldn’t help but stare. She’s always drawn him in like that.

“You ready?” he asks as she buckles up and he leaves her house.

“Probably not,” she responds with a small smile, crossing her arms and looking out the window, “but we’re doing this.”

“I guess we are.”

Most of the ride was silent, with some metal music on low. However, he needed to talk to her; he needed to hear her voice again, he craved it. “…So you just gettin’ a helix?”

“No, I’m actually getting another one,” she corrects, “but I’m not telling you. It’s a surprise.”

He huffs and rolls his eyes before refocusing on the road, driving the remainder of the way to the piercing shop.

Soon after she was lying down in the seat, and he was holding her hand for comfort. She was a bit sweaty, due to her anxiety and literally being a living furnace, but he didn’t mind; he could be like that sometimes too. She was nervous, he understood that. But he had a feeling, a gut feeling, that his presence gave her at least a little bit more comfort.

He sat down in a stool next to her but out of the piercer’s way, whispering praises and words of encouragement to her. After the first one was done, he couldn’t help but lean in and give her an ever so gentle kiss on the forehead. It was bold yet an experimental move, an action to test the waters. She was taken aback by it, but she didn’t say anything further; she liked it.

“Took it like a pro,” he murmured against her forehead before leaning back, giving the piercer space once more to do the other side. He gave her a kiss on the cheek this time after that side was done, and she looked so amazing with them.

“And then…” the piercer started, looking over at his paper, “Nipples?”

“Yeah,” she replies in confirmation, and Sam was in absolute shock. Eyes widened, face a bit paler, everything. However, his cheeks were completely flushed.

He couldn’t help but stare as she lifted her shirt, revealing her full, perfect breasts. Holy fucking shit, were they better than he ever imagined.

He spaced out, pretty much, until he heard her suck in a sharp breath. The first one was done, and it was clearly painful.

So, he leaned in and gave kisses along her jawline. “You’re such a fuckin’ tease, draggin’ me here for this shit,” he whispers to her, nipping on her neck.

The second one clearly hurt more than the first, since she took in a bigger breath and her expression clearly served as further evidence. However, it was done just like that. The jewelry that now adorned her perky nipples, fuck… Sam was already rock hard.

Once they got in the car, he was completely silent, driving with a neutral expression. She looked out onto the road, not necessarily minding the silence, until she realized this wasn’t the way to his house. Weren’t they going to hang out at his place after? That’s what they planned. “Sammy?” she started, using that nickname only she got away with, before he quickly parked in a secluded spot in basically the middle of nowhere.

She couldn’t even get another word out because his lips crashed against hers in a bruising kiss, immediately claiming dominance and his tongue making its way into her mouth. She melted into him, kissing back softly, making a noise of content.

He moved down a bit, to her nipples as he ever so gently pushed her shirt up, careful as to not cause her any pain. “You think they’ll be fine with gettin’ a lil’ jizz on ‘em?” he questioned with a cocky smirk before latching onto one, suckling greedily yet gently to make sure it didn’t sting.

And then she was bent over in the back seat as he pounded into him. “Fuckin’ prick,” *he grunted as he thrust into her at an unruly pace, “he shouldn’t have been able to see what’s fuckin’ mine. These fuckin’ tits are mine.” It didn’t take long before they came, and he filled her full of his cum. Panting in the afterglow, he smirked as he looked down at his work. “C’mon, baby,” he breathed out, basically saying they were dating now and no excuses, “my mom’s cooked up your favorite.”

She went to grab tissues that she had with her, just in case she had some sort of reaction to the piercings, and he stopped her. “Ah ah,” he chided, “none of that. No cleanin’ it up. Want you to feel my cum drippin’ out of you.”

SORRY THE SMUT IS SO SHORT I’M SO TIRED

[marshmellin]

Star and Stone, Ch. 10 | Where He Dwelleth, None Can Say

The field lay trampled, stamped down by the feet of countless Elves and Men and Dwarves and Hobbits. The Last Alliance stretched across the plains of Udûn outside Barad dûr — Sauron’s last stronghold — an endless circle of gleaming armor like a silver thread winding through the plain, Men and Elves side by side, surrounding the tower.

They had, Gil-galad hoped, finally cornered the bastard.

-> COMPLETE! F FOR FIX IT: Explicit for rare smut (🔥) between consenting partners. All other content is Mature for language and canon-typical descriptions of angst/violence. Gil-galad x female OC Sindarin elf, Occurs between the Fall of Ost-in-Edhel in Eregion and the Battle of the Last Alliance. Contains references to other Tolkien lore and the Silmarillion with author notes for full explanations.

Repeat: Happily Ever After; everything is beautiful and nothing hurts. I try to be as canon-compliant as possible except for the whole 'keeping Gil-galad alive part.' No beta, we die like Mirdania.

If you enjoy this, check out ✨The Director's Cut✨ masterlist with quick links to all my TROP/LOTR content and AO3 profile.

✨ Star and Stone: Complete Chapter List

Ch. 1 of 12: Between the Mountains and the Sea

Ch. 2: Mirrored

Ch. 3: Fair and Free

Ch. 4: Countless Stars

Ch. 5: Silver Shield

Ch. 6: Preparations

Ch. 7: Where the Shadows Are 🔥 [Explicit scene]

Ch. 8: Long Ago He Rode Away

Ch. 9: Wherever the Need is Greatest

You are here -> Ch. 10: Where He Dwelleth, None Can Say

Ch. 11: Of Whom the Harpers Sing 🔥 [Explicit scene]

Ch. 12: Last High King of the Elves of the West

///

But long ago he rode away, and where he dwelleth none can say; for into darkness fell his star in Mordor where the shadows are

Outside, the camp stirred with the restless energy of an army on the brink of battle. Inside the council tent, Gil-galad stood at one side of the table, reading the same map for the fifth time. Opposite him, Elendil leaned forward, one hand tracing the markings on the map while the other rested lightly on the hilt of Narsil at his side.

“The supply lines from the western realms are steady,” Elendil said, his deep voice calm. “And we can get to the gate. But we’ll need additional provisions from Eriador and Lindon if….if we have to siege the tower.” He opened his hand casually against the hilt of his sword, his expression one of “…and that’s that.”

Before Gil-galad could reply, the tent flap rustled, and Oropher strode in, long cape trailing behind him as his grey eyes swept over the room. He inclined his head slightly, his long pale hair brushing his shoulders.

“My lords,” Oropher started, his voice crisp. “I must interrupt your discussion. I bring news from the Woodland Realm.”

Gil-galad stiffened. No news was good news when it came to messages from each king’s realm. If they sent an urgent message — it meant their regents needed support. “News, King Oropher?”

Oropher stepped closer, his gaze steady but serious. “Yes,” he said quickly, pulling a scroll from somewhere under his cape and slapping it it into Elendil's hand. “I just received word from our fastest courier. There was an incursion near Amon Lanc — a force of orcs began to siege the city, unified under one of Sauron’s lesser commanders. We’re unsure of his name because…one of our soldiers killed him before he could answer.”

And the Noldor are the bloodthirsty ones? The Sindarin seem to hold their own. Or Oropher's son, at least.

Oropher jutted his chin toward the scroll in Elendil’s hand. “My son Thranduil reports he suspects it was a diversionary attack orchestrated by Sauron. To draw our focus from Dagorlad. Thranduil did not think he could get a messenger out to call for us in time, so we remained on the field.”

At this, both Gil-galad and Elendil exchanged a glance.

They can’t stay with the Alliance if Amon Lanc was sieged. They must leave to protect their people. Dagorlad was won weeks ago. His people might not…

Elendil’s hand tightened briefly on the edge of the scroll. “Amon Lanc?” he said, his voice edged with concern. “Your people, are they—”

Oropher’s expression softened, though his tone remained formal. “Safe, yes. Thranduil and King Amdír’s son Amroth coordinated their defenses in time to repel the attack. Thranduil was able to anticipate the orcs’ movements and call for aid using the palantíri.”

“And Amroth answered?”

Oropher nodded, his voice quieter now. “Yes. We lost some of our most valiant soldiers, and we will mourn for them properly when we return. But my people are saved, and the orcs no longer roam near Amdír’s borders either.”

The Elvenking dipped his head low, lower than Gil-galad had ever seen him. “Your trust in the Woodland Realm has saved many lives this day, High King Elendil, and I wished to tell you personally, along with High King Gil-galad, who brought our request to you. Without the seeing-stones, the attack would have destroyed my people. Instead, the orcs were routed, and Amon Lanc stands.”

Elendil and Gil-galad breathed sighs of relief in unison. 

“That is welcome news indeed,” Elendil said enthusiastically as he set the scroll down, his grin broad. “I am truly glad your people are safe, Oropher. And,” his tone turned more solemn. “Thank you  for taking the risk to leave your people and join us on the field. The Realms of Men will never forget the faith you have shown today. That you both have shown,” Elendil ended, turning toward Gil-galad with a nod.  

For the first time, a faint smile touched Oropher’s lips, though it did not erase the weariness in his eyes. “The unity between our peoples is what will see us through these dark times, indeed.” 

Elendil clapped his hands, almost eagerly now. “What is our next move? Sauron still hides behind the Gate like a coward. I think direct assault against it is the only option. We can not sneak thousands of Men and Elves in through some back path we have not even found — especially with his Nazgûl securing the far lands. This is how to get him to leave the accursed tower. A shot across the bow is not enough."

Oropher’s eyes flashed. “Amdír and I had a thought on archer placement for the coming push to the Black Gate we would like to share. Both are realms have...groups of specially trained soldiers who may find that back path you mention, Elendil. And take advantage of it.”

“How long do you think it will take to bring down the Gate,” Gil-galad asked, his eyebrows furrowed. He was doing math in his head, and none of the numbers made sense for a standard charge.

“Ah,” Elendil’s eyes crinkled impishly. “Not long at all.” He cocked his head, a grin spreading across his face. “Though, the archers will make it faster."

Gil-galad and Oropher turned in unison to stare at him. 

“I brought ravagers." A broad smile like the sun broke across Elendil's face, hand leaning casually against the hilt of his sword, a blend of mischief and arrogance and rage in his bright blue eyes.

"I came here to beat the bastard's door down.”

//

The small tent that served as Gil-galad’s quarters was dimly lit by a single lantern swaying gently from the pole above, casting golden light over the rough-hewn wooden table that served as a makeshift desk. The sounds of the camp carried faintly through the thick canvas — low murmurs, the clink of armor, and occasional shout across tents or from sentries. 

Serene. At least, for a camp hosting the largest military force assembled in Middle Earth’s history. 

And because it was so peaceful, Gil-galad decided to read a note from Elaniel that he knew would not be a troop report or grain supply notice or an update on watchtower routes. He had saved this one as soon as he read the first line, and tonight was just the kind of night he needed to laugh. He leaned back in his chair, a huge grin on his face as he began reading her neatly-written note: 

— High Ereinion King Galad-gil of the Noldor, Flame of Hair and Eye, Scion of Kings, Wielder of Aeglos, Defender of Eregion, Bearer of Vilya, Ellon who blatantly cheats at card games —

I do not! Well... can I not have one true reward for the burdens of leadership? I like to swindle Círdan once a year for bottles of wine – let me have that, ilmarënín.

Gil-galad could not stop himself from laughing out loud and he hadn’t read past the introduction yet. He saw the flap of the tent shift too late, but his instincts were faster than his eyes. He tucked the letter under a pile of maps just as Elrond entered, holding a scroll.

“High King, I hoped I’d find you here,” Elrond began, but he paused, his sharp eyes narrowing in on the slight blush creeping up to Gil-galad’s ears. His head tilted. “May I ask what you were reading, High King?”

Gil-galad shrugged far too casually. “A report from Lindon,” he said — he hoped — smoothly. He had managed to keep his face perfectly still, but he couldn’t control his inability to blush. "As always, grain continues to plague us."

“Oh, Ereinion,” a deeper voice called as another figure entered behind Elrond. Celeborn, his silver hair catching the light, swept into the tent with an amused grin. He sighed dramatically. “You are many things, and you are a convincing liar most days — but not today, nephew. I could hear your laughter three tents down. Are you reading a letter from your bride?”

Elrond and Celeborn shared a knowing grin.

Damn it. 

Gil-galad sighed. “Do you both have nothing better to do than mock your High King? No other work you could attend to in the broad expanse of this camp to support our fight against the Enemy? Sauron’s forces grow ever—“ 

“Stronger, the darkness, the duty, the burdens, yes. I have heard this speech several times and I could recite it for you in both Westron and rhyme if you’d like.” Celeborn caught the glare Gil-galad shot his way. “Oh, please do not misunderstand,” Celeborn said sincerely. “You’ll have nothing but my respect and loyalty in the council tent and on the field, High King.”  

Gil-galad dipped his head in thanks.

“But here?” Celeborn continued, smiling slyly, “Absolutely not, Ereinion. Here you’re my nephew and a new husband who's been caught red-handed, daydreaming about your wife. Ah-ah,” Celeborn motioned his elbow toward Elrond, “Look at him blush like a youngling!”

Elrond chuckled and leaned against the table, crossing his arms and lounging – an ellon with nowhere else to be and nothing else to do. “Indeed,” Elrond snorted. “Tell us more about Elaniel. Half the camp speaks of her as a legend for kicking Ristarion off the council after your rather public vows. But some of us,” — he pointed his thumb repeatedly toward Celeborn, — “haven’t had the pleasure of meeting her, after all. And I would not want to take away your opportunity to do your lady justice, High King,” he ended with a lilt to his voice. 

Celeborn raised a brow. “Come then, come. Tell us all about this elleth you’ve managed to snare— who, it sounds, is far too good a lady for you.”

Gil-galad narrowed his eyes at Celeborn, who stared back unflinchingly.

A sigh. Damn it. 

“Bold, both of you. Bold. But especially you, Elrond.” Gil-galad reached for the letter, folding it carefully and leaving it in his hand as he used it to point at each of them in turn. “Yes, it is a letter from her. Yes, it is private. What do you wish to know about your High Queen that is not contained in this piece of personal correspondence?”

He’d draw blood first. Gil-galad was a solid thousand years younger than Celeborn – he liked his odds at keeping the letter away from him. 

Mostly. 

Celeborn grinned and settled into a chair uninvited, motioning for Gil-galad to continue. “Well, tell me what she’s like. I know little of her, aside from hearing she holds her own among the councilors and the soldiers say they like her because she’s blunt — oh, and apparently, she has you blushing like that in the middle of war.”

Gil-galad hesitated, but pushed on at the open, truly eager look on Celeborn’s face. It was rare not to hold a meal of some kind so family could meet each other, even in times of war. In a happier time, Galadriel and Celeborn would have had an opportunity to meet Elaniel before she joined their family. 

“Elaniel…makes me curious,” Gil-galad began slowly. It had taken him long enough to put these feelings to words in his own mind, much less to share them with an audience. “She’s smart and…blunt is a fitting term. She has a deep respect for the responsibilities I have, but I know she does not care about the titles or names anyone else uses to refer to me, and never will. I appreciate that she…does not see my crown first. I very much appreciate her.

“Oh,” Gil-galad added as an afterthought. “She’s also the most skilled stonemason in Middle Earth, but that’s not why I married her. But that,” he pointed with the letter again, “is the sum of what I am willing to share with the two — of — you.” 

Elrond tilted his head, a small smile playing on his lips. “And she writes to you often, I take it, since you seem to expect there’s something embarrassing in that letter beyond a typical report from Lindon’s regent and queen? High King, I feel I must inform you that your ears are bright red.”

Gil-galad rolled his eyes exaggeratedly, annoyed that Elrond was right — since he could not keep the smile off his face, Gil-galad had decided he may as well lean into the teasing. Now or later made no difference, it would happen to him either way, at least from Celeborn. 

“She sends more letters than I could have hoped for,” Gil-galad admitted, his tone turning wistful. “I do not reply as much as I wish I could, but it helps to hear from her.” He jutted his chin. “And, yes, she does report on the state of Lindon, thank you, which she is managing quite well.”

Celeborn leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “If she’s willing to bluntly tell you when you’re wrong or stupid and she can run your realm, she’s already a wonderful match for you in my eyes,” he said, mischief blooming across his face. “But what of her presence? What is she like when blunt words and letters are not her medium?”

Sigh. Old man….Valar, between you and Círdan, honestly.

“Elaniel is an intelligent and capable leader who knows how to command a room and inspire those around her. She is a gracious host.” 

Celeborn’s face did not change at all, as though carved from stone. Elrond tilted his head, unamused at the lack of an answer. 

Together, their faces said, “try again.”

Sigh.

 “She makes Lindon feel like home even though I’ve lived there for centuries. I can’t explain it. I am…connected to her. And have been since before the vows.” He could feel the blush spreading.

Celeborn’s smile turned  fond. “Ah, you are besotted, Ereinion, far worse than lovesick — but that is genuine, and I’m glad for it. I always worried you’d marry out of a sense of duty. Or because Elrond arranged a political alliance and sprung a wedding on you.”

Elrond grinned. “But now, I needn’t. You’re living proof that even High Kings can fall like us common ellons if their love is quick-witted and charming enough – oh, no, no, forgive me: capable and blunt enough.”

Gil-galad’s eyes narrowed. “Mmm, you seem to have many thoughts to share, Lord Elrond. I would put forth one of my own. I find it curious that no one in this tent has yet offered a comment regarding Celeborn’s daughter Celebrían?  And the conversations you have not yet had with her? The lack of letters between the two of you?”

Elrond's eyes shot open.

Gil-galad all but cut himself off, tapping a finger on the desk in mock-thought. “Oh, hold a moment. No. I find I am mistaken. Lord Elrond, I have noticed, receives many letters from Lady Celebrían. I can not recall, however, if the Lady Celebrian is the vice-regent of Imladris. If memory serves, she is not. Strange, indeed. I wonder what her letters to Lord Elrond contain — since we know they are not reports of grain or weapons supplies.”

Learn not to strike when your flank is exposed, Elrond…

He paused, letting the flush rise to Elrond’s ears at the mention of Galadriel and Celeborn’s daughter. Who, it was very clear to anyone who looked at his face, Elrond had met and fallen madly in love with during her first visit to Imladris — and yet, Elrond had not moved to make his own feelings known to his love. 

Easier to whisper advice from cover than to risk its merits yourself, isn't it, Elrond? Whatever happened to “Let her know, tell her, decide together”?

Celeborn tilted his head, appraising Elrond before his grey eyes flicked back to Gil-galad, his face showing he knew exactly what Gil-galad meant and was more than willing to join in turning on Elrond if that was the most amusing course for the conversation. 

Celeborn was a joyful man, full of laughter. He was also deadly on a battlefield — but Gil-galad mostly valued the mirth he brought to everything. 

Celeborn turned to Elrond and cocked an eyebrow, as if to say, “shall we discuss it now?”

Gil-galad nearly smiled as he saw Elrond — Elrond. Lord of his own realm. Commander of Lindon’s troops. Herald to the High King of the Noldor, which, by the way, was no small honor. Vice regent of Lindon. —  suddenly become a bashful young ellon in front of his (hopefully) father-in-law. 

“Ah,” Gil-galad nodded smoothly. “Luck follows you today, Lord Elrond, as it seems we have no appetite to discuss that. So, are you two finished testing me, or shall I summon the scribes to document your lack of wit for posterity?”

Celeborn leaned back in his chair, clearly content. “Oh, no. No,” he said with mock solemnity. “You may have beaten Elrond, but I am not finished with you by any means. But, I’ll retreat and let you lick your wounds for now.” His grey eyes glittered. “I’ll confess, I’m looking forward to meeting Elaniel when this war is won. I’d like to see how much higher you’ve managed to climb the ladder of love than you deserve — your looks are already against you, and I’ve heard she’s quite lovely.”

“You will have to earn her respect,” Gil-galad warned, though his tone was light. “Elaniel has little patience for ceremony.” And she would user a different term… “Transparency is the only way to meet her equally. She is beautiful, but that is one of the least interesting parts of her by far. Ask about the latest foundation wall she’s built, and you will understand her much more than by flattering her. Besides, she…does not appreciate many titles outside of Master Stonemason, because she earned it with her own two hands.”

Celeborn stood, straightening his posture with an exaggerated air of formality. “Then she and I shall get along splendidly, as you well know I am the very essence of humility and taste — and interest in stonework.” He smiled again, mischief in his eyes. 

Gil-galad continued to blush. “Get out, both of you, before I send you to the Ettenmoors to find me a specific-colored rock.”

“Mmm, yes of course, High King, you have, uh, correspondence and reports to attend to,” Elrond said with one last laugh, exchanging amused glances with Celeborn before they both bowed mockingly and exited the tent. Their laughter faded into the night as they walked away, a rare moment of levity in the camp. 

Alone again, Gil-galad unfolded Elaniel’s letter, the smile on his face growing broader as he read her words, her warmth reaching him even across the distance.

But about this cheating at cards accusation, it was one time that she knows of for Valar sake….

// 

The field lay trampled, stamped down by the feet of countless Elves and Men and Dwarves and Hobbits. The Last Alliance stretched across the plains of Udûn outside Barad dûr — Sauron’s last stronghold  — an endless circle of gleaming armor like a silver thread winding through the plain, Men and Elves side by side, surrounding the tower. 

They had, Gil-galad hoped, finally cornered the bastard. 

It had taken years. Bloody, bloody years. And even now, Gil-galad did not understand how Sauron kept finding, producing, making more orcs. 

His supply of orcs seemed endless.

The Alliance’s supply of soldiers was not. 

They had continued their southeastward march, moving from their victory on the plains at Dagorlad to the Black Gate — their only entrance into Mordor and to Sauron’s stronghold of Barad dûr. 

They had sieged against the Gate for days, firing arrows as fast as they could be made and brought to the front. The Men of Gondor, true to Elendil’s word, had brought battering rams and trebuchets, large siege engines to break down the Gate. 

If he had not been so focused on staying alive at the time, Gil-galad would have found it a humorous parallel between their peoples. 

The Eldar fire each arrow with care and with precise blades. They move through hidden paths to fell their enemies. The Edain rush enemy lines and batter walls with their fists and their fury. They demand the enemy come meet them.

Both were good. Both were needed.

And the Gate fell.

For one brief moment, the Alliance all but strolled into Mordor. 

Mordor met them.

More died in the open plateau of Udûn. So many more in the open land between the Gate and Barad dûr, Sauron’s tower fortress, than in any other battle so far. These days of tears were when they had first earned what a Nazgûl was — what the fell beasts of the air could do. What the wraiths were. What Sauron's twisted power had done to the beauty of the world.  

And finally — finally — they had cleared Udûn and reached Barad dûr. Sauron had not exactly opened his doors in welcome, so the Alliance dug in around the tower and began to siege it. The King of Men was good to his word and, in some ways, even better:

The Edain did, in fact, come here to beat the bastard's door down.

And they had not stopped. They would not stop. Gil-galad was almost in awe at their persistence.

The Men would not stop, breaking wave after wave of their brief lives against the walls. The Men would not stop. Not until they brought Sauron out of his tower or forced their way in to kill him with their hands.

It had been seven years. Sauron was still in his tower.

Because he could not leave. Sauron had so much of his power poured into the One Ring and had corrupted so many kings of Men, there was nothing left of him to be. Too much of his power was occupied. He could control the Nazgûl that screeched through the skies above them. He could send out wraiths. He could order orcs and low men and trolls to advance. But he was trapped in that fortress.

And finally, it seemed, the bastard was running out of orcs.

There was one more push of the enemy surging against their entrenched location, throwing the field into a chaos of ash and blood. Somewhere in the distance, the cries of orcs mingled with the battle cries of Elves and Men. But at that moment, all seemed to quiet as the massive gates of Barad-dûr creaked open.

And finally – finally –  Sauron came out himself.

He sent whatever was left of his forces first, sending out the final waves of orcs and trolls and other monsters of the deep to wear out the men and elves at his doorstep. The battle raged for days, but the Alliance was winning.

Victory was near.

And then, Sauron, the Abhorred, strode into the field. His towering figure, clad in jagged black armor, forged by the Shadow himself, was at least two Men tall. The One Ring, shining dully under the cloudy sky, rested on his gauntleted hand. 

His red eyes, glowing like embers, scanned the battlefield. Power emanated from him – but it was a sickening, twisted version of what Gil-galad felt when he wore Vilya. Vilya was a warm presence, grounding, musical. 

Even though he was far away from it, Gil-galad knew the One Ring felt wrong. Pushing and demanding and dark, underpinned with rage and grief. 

Sauron – or at least, his armor – swung a large, twisted mace and hefted it over his shoulder. He seemed to be stretching, a warrior preparing for a training round. 

Was there even a body in that armor to destroy?

Soldiers on both sides froze, terror rooting them in place at the sight of him. The orcs looked horrified that Sauron was on the field.

Gil-galad and Elendil stood close together after they had cut down a group of orcs, their weapons bloodied and their breaths labored. They looked up in near-unison.

Then they turned to each other and their eyes met – brown and blue. Elendil nodded slowly, a smile spreading across his face. This was what he had come for. Gil-galad nodded in return and set his jaw as Elendil grabbed his forearm in a warrior’s grip. The understanding between them was clear.

If we fall today, we fall together. We will not go home when our people can not. 

Aeglos gleamed in his hands, its haft firm beneath his grip. Beside him, Elendil shifted his weight, raising Narsil. Together they moved toward Sauron, determined to end this – one way or another – today.

Sauron saw them coming and laughed, a slow, mocking sound that rumbled like thunder. The ground seemed to quake with each deliberate step he took to meet them. The bastard.

Gil-galad and Elendil closed the gap, their movements sharp, unified after decades of battle together. Sauron swung his mace in a wide arc, almost to test his reach.

Gil-galad attacked first, darting in with Aeglos, using the extra space the spear provided, forcing Sauron to shift and parry as he swung the giant mace in broad sweeps. Elendil followed, stepping in to aim a powerful slash at Sauron’s exposed flank – the bastard’s armor made him slow. But Sauron countered, and Narsil met his gauntlet with a deafening clash of steel.

Gil-galad spun behind them both, feinting high with Aeglos while Elendil drove forward, aiming for the joints in Sauron’s armor. 

But Sauron was not a normal fighter. His mace swung with the power of an earthquake, and even when Gil-galad and Elendil avoided the blows, the shockwaves threw them off balance. The One Ring gave him that strength. 

They need to get the ring off him. How? They needed to.

Gil-galad spun Aeglos in an arc, sharp blades whirling as he aimed for a joint in the Shadow’s armor. He was fast, but not fast enough. Gil-galad lunged forward, his spear jamming upward under Sauron’s breastplate. At the last second, Sauron shifted, and the blow missed. 

A gauntleted hand snatched out, gripping Gil-galad by the throat, lifting him in the air. 

He gasped, his grip on Aeglos faltering as the iron fingers closed around him. Gil-galad could not breathe as the metal seared into him, the silver plates of his armor melting through his gambeson into his flesh.

He struggled to free himself, clawing at the hand grabbing his throat, blindly kicking with his legs to find some kind of purchase. He couldn't breathe. He couldn't...

Sauron laughed at him, a cruel mocking sound, shaking GIl-galad's body like a ragdoll.

But through the haze of heat, the screams coming from his own throat, Gil-galad saw movement from the corner of his eye.

Elendil. 

The High King of Men charged with Narsil held impossibly high, letting out a guttural roar as he swung up and slashed with as much strength as he had, aiming for Sauron’s extended arm. 

Narsil struck true, and Sauron’s gauntlet fell with a sickening thud against the ground. Gil-galad tumbled to the ground along with it, his body still smoldering from the burns, armor breaking against the rocks beneath him.

Darkness pushed at the edges of his mind. He thought he saw Elendil swinging his greatsword again, aiming for the gap between Sauron’s armor that Gil-galad had exposed.

But Sauron was not there when Narsil stuck. 

Where was He?

Gil-galad lost consciousness as darkness took him.

— — — 

He felt cold. 

In the shifting darkness, he felt a presence — a faint, distant warmth that reminded him of…Elrond? And of Vilya. Musical. The sensation was warm but prickly, pulling him back from the edge of grey darkness with tiny stabs. 

Gil-galad felt like he was being knit together from the inside. 

With awareness came pain, sharp and unyielding, pressing him back into his broken body. He tried to fight against the waves, but he was so cold. He felt himself slipping. Like dipping under sun-warmed waves to swim near the shore. 

Since he was a child, Gil-galad had always wondered how much it would hurt to go to the Halls. It did hurt, but not as much as he thought it would. Could. And he thought it might be over soon.

Voices murmured around him, indistinct and far away. He thought he heard Elrond, low and urgent, calling for him. He thought he heard Elrond…yelling at him? Demanding something from him, and loudly, too. 

Well, that was wrong, if only because how dare Elrond start yelling at him while he was dying.

Gil-galad wanted to respond, to assure Elrond that he was still here. To tell him to speak quieter. Gil-galad’s voice would not come to him.

Where was it? — — —

Elrond pressed a hand to Gil-galad’s chest, feeling the faint flicker of life. His friend, his mentor, his king was slipping away. Without hesitation, he reached for Vilya, unceremoniously ripping it from the chain around Gil-galad’s neck and jamming it onto his finger.

The elves had not used these rings in a century. Sauron controlled them since he forged the One Ring after Eregion. He could control their wearers.

But Sauron was gone. Elrond had seen him turn to dust and float over the field, carried on the wind. He watched the Nazgûl screech and moan at the loss of their master. He watched Barad dûr crumble. 

Sauron was gone. 

Gil-galad was here. 

Elrond would use the ring. 

He lowered his hand to Gil-galad's neck, looking for his pulse. Looking for signs of life. “Ereinion,” he commanded — pleaded — his voice far-too-loud from his blend of anger and fear. “Your duty is not done. You may not rest yet. Come back. Now.”

Closing his eyes, Elrond opened himself to Vilya, feeling its energy surge through him. He had felt this kind of power before, the delicate setting of the ring hiding the raw energy it contained. 

Energy that Elrond needed to fix….this…. 

Today, he would need every ounce of power Vilya could offer him. He kneeled next to Gil-galad’s broken body, willing each pulse of energy to mend, to restore, to knit flesh and bone back together. 

He felt his way through the injuries with deliberate precision, focusing first on a jagged wound in Gil-galad’s shoulder. An orc’s arrow had splintered bone and sinew, but Elrond could fix that easily. He suspected Gil-galad had barely noticed the arrow, and had likely ripped it out — Elves were hardy creatures. But the dark magic clinging to the wound — that did not budge. Elrond forced Vilya’s light into the wound, feeling the resistance as the ring’s power battled against something much more evil than poison spreading in Gil-galad. 

Elrond murmured every healing and commanding phrase in Quenya and Sindarin he could reach for, begging the ring to do more, faster. More. Faster. 

Save him. Save him. Save him. Faster. He is not here but he is not gone. Not yet. 

Elrond felt Vilya’s power begin to mend the torn muscle and splintered bone. 

Booted feet came into his field of view, about ten feet away from Gil-galad. Elrond looked up, meeting Elendil’s eyes as the High King of Men picked up the One Ring that fell from Sauron’s gauntlet. Elrond felt something lance through him, tasted the metallic tang of adrenaline flood his mouth. 

No.

Elendil tilted his head, appraising Gil-galad before his blue eyes turned to Elrond’s. Elendil looked heartbroken. “Tell me what to do to save him,” he said simply, motioning toward Gil-galad. “I don’t understand how to use these rings, but I will try. Or you may take it, Elrond,” he said, holding the ring in his palm, pushing it forward. “Can you…can you save him?”

Elrond stared at the ring in Elendil’s outstretched hand. Even from five feet away, Elrond could hear it calling to him. A whisper to take it. To use it to heal Gil-galad. 

Just once. Just for Gil-galad.

He could use this ring for good. Gil-galad had not opened his eyes and Elrond could barely feel his pulse.

One minute. That’s all he needed. Elrond could repair it – he knew he could undo it – all of it – if he just took the ring one time. 

For one minute.

And then Elrond would take it off immediately. He would march to Orodurin himself and watch it melt into the flames. He would throw himself in if he had to. He knew he would.

Elrond had taken Vilya off before, when he carried it as Gil-galad’s vice regent and willingly returned the ring to his High King. He had used Nenya to help heal Galadriel and still, again, he returned it to her and rejected the sweet, bitter, musical calling to keep it. 

He knew better. He knew better. But… 

Elrond could; he could save Gil-galad and he could still take the One Ring off. He knew it.

A more than even exchange, truly, given how much Elrond could repair with that Ring if he chose to. How much suffering he could undo. How much he could put right for the broken bodies of Men and Elves around him.  

So much to repair. So much to heal. 

Yet he was only asking for this one thing. For Gil-galad, this one time, for one minute…

Opening his mouth in reply, he had not decided what he would say – but his mouth snapped shut. 

Elrond thought he heard humming. 

He also thought heard his father’s voice, though it had been so long since he last heard it that he barely remembered it. A sad sound. The call of seagulls, so far away from the sea if they could be heard on this dust-choked plain.

Elrond froze, not daring to take a breath, trapped between begging for the ring to save Gil-galad and…

The weight of understanding settled around Elrond’s shoulders. Elrond could save Gil-galad. 

But Gil-galad would not want to be saved that way. There were many things the Eldar could control. When they journeyed to Mandos and his Halls was not one of them. 

And as much as he wished he did, Elrond truthfully did not know if he could take that ring off.

Elrond set his jaw firmly, but he knew desperation was creeping into his tone. He let it. “You have to destroy it. In the mountain. It can only be destroyed in the mountain where he forged it, Elendil. It will never save your people – it will only trap you in a labyrinth you can not escape. It can not save Gil-galad either, not without a greater cost to us all than he would ever wish for. It must be destroyed, or Sauron will return.”

Elendil nodded slowly, his sharp eyes considering the ring in his hand, bright blue seeming to fade to a darker, more inky color.

Elrond heard the humming grow louder, felt his heart hammering in his chest. 

The strength of Men the strength of Men the strength of Men the strength of Men .

The chant worked its way into the humming, into the sound of the seagulls, growing louder and louder. 

Elrond stared at his brother’s son. Elros’ great great great many times removed son, yes. But Elros’ son nonetheless. Elros’ kin. Elrond’s kin. 

The strength of Men can not fail. My brother had such strength. His son must have the same strength. He must find it.  

“Elendil. Destroy it.”

The humming turned into a blaring noise in Elrond’s ears, drowning out everything but Elendil’s voice. 

“Elrond,” Elendil paused, taking a deep breath. The ring vibrated in the palm of his hand, as though it were something heavy pressing him to the earth, pushing him into the ground, bringing him to his knees. 

But High King Elendil the Tall stayed standing. 

“May Manwë take my vow to Erú Iluvatar and may Varda bind me to it,” Elendil whispered hoarsely. “As one of the Faithful and for the sake of my people, I will take every action in my power to unmake this Ring or I will give my life trying. I start fulfilling this vow today.”

Elendil tucked the ring firmly in a leather pouch hanging from his side, and his blue eyes seemed brighter as soon as he stopped touching it. “Help him,” he said softly, motioning to Gil-galad with his chin. “My work is not done and neither is yours. Namarië, Lord of Imladris.” 

And with that, the King of Men walked toward the nearest group of his soldiers, telling them to gather as much water as they could carry and to follow him toward the mountain. 

The humming stopped. The silence was jarring now. 

Elrond wondered what it was. Where it went. The gulls stopped crying, too.

Elrond turned back to Gil-galad, grieving that he may have doomed Gil-galad to the Halls. But he would not stop trying. Elrond’s sharp eyes moved to the wound deep in Gil-galad’s thigh and he started murmuring again, weaving tendrils of healing energy from Vilya into the gaping flesh. “Come back.”

Chastise me for ordering you around. Mock me for not having told Celebrían. Yell about grain shipments and Oropher. Just come back. 

Finally, when he had done all he could, Elrond felt the faint rhythm of Gil-galad’s pulse. Not strong. Not steady. But here.

Elrond drew a shuddering breath, pulling his hands back slowly. Gil-galad was still. His breathing had steadied, but he had yet to awaken, and his body was…Valar. His body was broken. 

But he was still here. For now.

Elrond lingered a moment longer, then rose to his feet, glancing toward the warriors around him. Raising his voice, he called out to a group of lieutenants in Lindon’s armor. “Gather a group of twelve to bring him back to Lindon. We ride immediately.”

“It’s three week’s hard ride–”

“Then. start. NOW,” Elrond snarled, his hand flying to the hilt of his sword.

These three lieutenants now stood between him and getting Gil-galad home. He could be healed if Elrond got him home, and Elrond would not hesitate to remove any obstacle between him and that goal.

Regardless of which uniform the obstacle wore.

It showed on his face.

Without even glancing at Elrond’s sword — which he had already thumbed out the scabbard — the Lieutenants moved quickly toward Gil-galad's body.

— — — Gil-galad drifted through a haze, caught between dreams and darkness. His body felt distant, an ache pressing him from somewhere beyond wherever he was now to somewhere else he did not understand. The first thing he noticed was the sound.

It began as a faint hum, gentle and sweet. What he always imagined the light of the Two Trees might sound like. Galadriel described it to him once. The music seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere.

Gil-galad stood barefoot on a golden beach, the cool sand pressing between his toes, the waves rolling lazily to the shore in the moonlight. His arms, once streaked with blood and ash, were now clean and unscarred. He stared at his hands and arms with curiosity, turning them over. 

The ache in his body, the burns and cuts that had seared his skin, were gone. 

Where had they gone? 

Where had he gone?

Above him, the stars gleamed brighter than he had ever seen in Middle Earth. The last time Gil-galad had seen stars like this, it had been in a dream with Elaniel. Maybe more than a dream, he could not remember. 

Where was she?

He did not know how he knew, but Gil-galad knew Elaniel was too far away from him. He felt for her in his heart, finding the golden thread that wound them together. It was thin and weak, but he tugged on it anyway. 

Perhaps it would help her find him. He wanted to see her again, but he did not know how to find her here. 

He did not know where he was.

Gil-galad tugged on the string again. But his heart stayed hollow. Empty. No matter how many times he reached for her. No, she was not with him. She was not here. That felt both right and wrong to him. The way it must be, for now. 

But he did not know why it must be that way. 

When would she come find him? How would she? Would she know where he was?

As he gazed across the water, his heart tightened. The song grew louder, clearer, as though beckoning him back into the water, away from the shoreline. Yet he did not move. Something held him rooted to the sand.

Then Gil-galad saw her.

A figure stood farther up the beach, where the golden sands gave way to white. She wore a pale gown that fluttered behind her in the breeze. Her hair, deep golden and glittering under the stars, spilled down her back, catching the moonlight. She looked at him with eyes he knew well — a familiar shade of deep, thoughtful grey. 

The same shade as their mother’s eyes.

Finduilas.

His sister. His Finduilas. Who had been lost so long ago. 

Why was she here?

She did not speak, but beckoned him, pointing up at a collection of stars he did not recognize. Constellations he had never seen before. She had taught him all the names for every constellation in Middle Earth, even the ones from the East. 

But these stars were strange. 

Finduilas’s smile promised she would teach him these new names, too, and they would watch them together. He hoped they would teach Elaniel together. For a moment, they simply looked at each other. Finduilas had walked towards him, nearer now, the smile never leaving her eyes. If Gil-galad reached out, he could touch her, but…he could not reach her. 

He tried. 

He took a step forward, his hand reaching out to her, but his feet sank deeper into the sand, and the waves surged higher around him. The song seemed to shift, growing fainter, its melody now tinged with something new.

He could not name it, but it made him sad. 

Finduilas remained where she stood, her smile never faltering. She shook her head gently and the stars seemed to brighten behind her.

Gil-galad wanted to call out to her, to hear her voice, to ask her all the questions that…that he did not want answered. To tell her all the things she had missed.

But no words came.

The edges of her grew hazy, as though she were dissolving into the starlight she had brought with her. 

Was she going? Or was he going?

“No,” Gil-galad whispered sadly, a youngling once more, begging for his sister to pay attention to him. Tears came quickly. “No, stay with me. I have so much to tell you. Please don’t leave me again. Nésa, no. Stay. Please.”

The last please he tried to whisper made no sound. His whole body shook from the sadness in his chest, his vision blurring as tears clung to his eyelashes. 

The music ebbed, growing faint and distant and solemn once more, an echo carried far away from shore. 

The strange stars he could not name glowed even brighter. 

He felt a new yearning, one he didn’t understand, to turn back to the sea. To the east. He looked out across the moonlit water. It called. It whispered. It promised rest. It tried to sing him to sleep. 

He was too tired to whisper back. 

He could not rest. 

He was already asleep. 

— — —

Pain surged back like high tide returning to shore, lapping at the edges of him, yet he could not wake. Gil-galad stretched for it, reached through layers of pain to open his eyes, but he could not. The sounds and shouts around him made no sense and he did not know where to listen because of how loud and jarring they were. 

Finduilas was in Aman. He was with Finduilas. So, he was in Aman. Aman did not sound like this.

Why did he know what Aman sounded like. 

Why did the sounds stop.

It was quiet.

             Where was he. 

                        Where is he.

////////

Author's Note:

Dear reader, I married him I am sorry, but please know I am in it with you. I was whispering, “it’s a fix it it’s a fix it,” while I rocked back and forth and sobbed the whole time.

Why is this my hobby, again? Hobbies are supposed to be fun. 😭

////

Ok, the rest of the note, which is long if you want to skip it:

THAT'S RIGHT I FIXED THE DEAD MARSHES, SAVED THRANDUIL’S DADDY’S ASS AND A BUNCH OF SILVANS, AND KEPT GIL-ENDIL ALIVE IN THE SAME CHAPTER.

Here’s the actual breakdown, though, since some may not know what I’m having these leaders *not* do.

-> -> -> We’re opening when their largest Elf Eff-Up already undone:

In the lengendarium, Oropher and Amdír were truly pressed about the Noldor/Sindar/Silvan thing and did not trust Gil-galad’s arrogant Noldor ass to keep their people alive. ****(see well-earned Oropher slander at the end). 

So in a show of hubris that only Lee Pace Thranduil’s daddy could pull off, Oropher bum-rushed some of Sauron’s forces on the field at Dagorlad against Gil’s order AND without proper support. Oropher managed to get his own ass handed to him and ALSO cut off Amdir’s escape route at the same time.

Both kings died because of this choice. More than half of Amdír’s soldiers ended up trapped in the Dead Marshes. Oropher lost 3/4 of his people and died in front of Thranduil, if I recall. (which is why Thranduil is Like That™ in The Hobbit– an isolationist king who won’t answer your call for aid. Ever.)

So, I changed it. 

I used the palantíri as the Thing™ that changes the course of this storyline. 

The stone that changes the course of the star.

The scene a few chapters ago where Gil-galad heard loud humming, that Elendil could not, as he asked Elendil for the stones, is the main turning point for the AU/fix it.  

Gil-galad sets his (High Elven) pride aside to ask for help from Elendil in securing Oropher’s trust, admitting he can not speak for all Eldar. A huge thing for that Lorge Irritated Burdened High King to admit, since it seems he is allowed to have their problems but not their trust. 

In return, Elendil agrees to share an important part of his birthright if Oropher and Amdír vow not to not abandon them in battle. Elendil is asked to sacrifice the potential safety of two of his sons’ cities and their people, as well, so this is fair request on his part. He believes the Valar will hold the elven kings honest if they agree to stand together (e.g. if they all refrain from making choices solo. Such as, say, deciding to be a platinum-haired jagoff who floods a battlefield against orders with no support. As a random example). 

In return, the palanteri do provide a chance for Oropher and Amdír’s people to call for aid.

These two actions of vulnerability and trust from Gil-galad and Elendil change the fate for all four kings and their people in the narrative. 

Another pivot point happens with Elrond and Elendil: Gil-galad did not outright die on that field, and therefore Elrond now has a shot he never had before to save him. Elrond was tempted – to show us that Elendil is in the same frame of temptation Elrond is facing re: the One Ring.  Elendil treats capturing the One Ring differently than Isildur, and I believe he may have tried to use it differently than his son -- but still fail.

Elrond and Elendil’s choices, to not use the ring to save Gil-galad and for Elendil personally to make a vow before Erú to destroy it, are why the crying stopped in this pivot point. The seagulls Elrond hears is his momma joining in to beg him to make wise choices, instead of Varda.

Also yes Elendil swears like, well.....a sailor. And so does Elaniel. They both rubbed off on our golden boy. He'll be worse than Elaniel by the time we're done ;) jkjk

***** Oropher Slander Alert: You know, some might say Oropher, a Sinda, rolling up to rule a realm of Silvan elves who have no representation because they “asked for his leadership” when he left Lindon to find a place to rule is also sketchy af. He’s throwing around “don’t like the Noldo, they’re arrogant and act like they own us all,” while he moved into someone’s spot and said “I’m the king here now, welcome to my realm, thanks for begging me to be here.” Some may say it’s sketchy. NOT CELEBORN AND GALADRIEL THO THEY THINK IT MAKES SENSE. But I digress.

//////

✨ Star and Stone: Complete Chapter List

Ch. 1 of 12: Between the Mountains and the Sea

Ch. 2: Mirrored

Ch. 3: Fair and Free

Ch. 4: Countless Stars

Ch. 5: Silver Shield

Ch. 6: Preparations

Ch. 7: Where the Shadows Are 🔥 [Explicit scene]

Ch. 8: Long Ago He Rode Away

Ch. 9: Wherever the Need is Greatest

You are here -> Ch. 10: Where He Dwelleth, None Can Say

Ch. 11: Of Whom the Harpers Sing 🔥 [Explicit scene]

Ch. 12: Last High King of the Elves of the West

If you enjoy this, check out ✨The Director's Cut✨ masterlist with quick links to all my TROP/LOTR content and AO3 profile.