#listen. i look at some of the characters and i just know i am going to like them. okay???

[robinvomit]

I had a thought

I'm not sure if you've done this before, but how do you think the bat boys (oh any characters you want, idm really) would apologise if they genuinely hurt their gf's feelings? Maybe from a misworded comment or a bad argument

- Shiny

I am.. going to format this as quote responses, simply because I've been in this situation — accidental and straight up abusive — and, gifts and affection don't matter if the verbal response isn't sincere. + I am being affectionately bullied into adding other characters to things, so.. you're getting a whole circus with this. [ Amused that half of these people would need to be held at gunpoint to properly apologize— ]

Dick: Hey, no- I didn't mean it like that. That.. doesn't matter right now, though, I guess. Because I wasn't careful, you heard me say that.. whether I meant it that way or not. Yeah, I was tired but that's not an excuse, not when it leads to me making you feel small. I'll do better, I promise.. you should never be the one on the end of me having a rough day. I'm sorry.

Jason: Listen, I know I was an asshole. I wasn't great with saying what I wanted but that doesn't change what I said. But look, you matter so much it scares the shit out of me. I didn't.. mean to push you away and I'm sorry. I'll crawl through hell just to pull you back and make it up to you.

Tim: ..I.. was trying to make it about logic when you needed it to be about emotion. I replayed it in my head over twenty times, dissecting every single word I said wrong, the tone, all of it. I'm sorry- I didn't mean to minimize you or how you feel. The worst part is that.. I knew I was doing it and still let it happen. You didn't deserve that and I don't expect to be forgiven for it, but I'll work to earn your trust back.

Damian: I deeply regret the phrasing I chose. I do not regret speaking, but I do regret that it hurt you. Perhaps, I could have been gentler about it. I.. am still learning to hold things that are not sharp and you are the softest thing in my life, though that is no excuse. I was unable to protect you from myself and I apologize. It will not happen again.

Kon: Shit, okay. I messed up- I messed up, like, really bad. I don't even have an excuse, no reason, it just happened and I'm sorry. You looked at me like I just shattered the most precious thing on this planet- God, I never want to give you a reason to look at me that way again.. you shouldn't have had one to begin with. I'll fix it, I'll do everything to fix it. You mean more to me than some stupid thought I didn't even think about and I'm going to prove it.

Bart: I.. said something dumb, didn't I? No, that's not it. I said something mean, something I shouldn't have, and I didn't even notice until your face dropped. I hurt you and barely noticed until it was visible and I hate that. I hate the nasty feeling in my stomach and chest when you pull away- it's like everything is moving in slow motion. I'll.. try to think more before I speak, because you're too important to hurt just because my brain outruns my words.

Barry: I wasn't even looking at you when I said it, but I felt it. It felt like the room cracked open. I tried to fix it too fast, too easily, like I always do and that made it worse because it didn't seem sincere. I'm not trying to outrun it this time- you deserve so much better than thoughtless comments and I'll give you better. I promise. I'm so sorry for not thinking before opening my mouth.

Oliver: Look, love. I talk a lot of shit, I let my mouth overload my ass. I always have and maybe it's about time I met the consequences of that. I cut you down with something that was supposed to be a joke and a joke should never be at your expense; you're a lot more to me than something like that. I'm not even looking for forgiveness, just the chance to prove I'm able to change.

Clark: I didn't.. mean for it to come out that way. I always try to be careful and I wasn't with the one person who deserve it the most.. and that's not something I'm going to treat lightly. I'm not asking you to forget it or forgive me, but I do want to show you that I've never wanted to hurt you like that. Whether it was meant or not, that's how you felt it and that's.. not something I'm just going to brush off. I hurt the person I love and that's the worst failure I can think of.

Bruce: You are the only part of my life that let's me feel like a man above being a weapon and I spoke to you like you were a soldier.. not the person I love. This wasn't a mission, not something I needed to be in control of. I spoke like someone who is used to being obeyed, instead of someone who is loved and I'm sorry. I will spend every day showing you just how much I mean that.

Diana: I pride myself on doing things with honor, with grace.. but today I chose the wrong words and held none of that. I wounded you and it was not out of malice, but my failure to listen properly. I would rather stand and face the wrath of the Gods before ever being the reason of sorrow in your eyes again. I will make this right, if you will allow me to.

John: Yeah, I said it- yeah, it was cruel. But don't go thinking I didn't feel it the second it left my mouth. You've got this way of looking at me like I'm worth your time and that's a helluva thing, love, cause I'm not. It's not 'cause I want to push you away. It's cause you look at me like that and I'm scared shitless you'll finally see me beneath it and leave before I notice. Still, you didn't deserve that and if you walk, I'll get it- won't stop you. But, if you stay, forgiveness of not, I'll spend the rest of my miserable bloody existence trying to fix it and deserve you.

[respectthepetty]

Episode six of Break Up Service and we have finally entered "this is a fucked up company and everyone knows it" part of the show, so, of course, the red is the most alarming that it has ever been.

And tell me why I just realized the broken heart logo with two people's silhouettes in it also resembles devil horns. The show looked me directly in the eye and said this work is eeeevil!

I only noticed because this week, Jued has to break up her friend's relationship because the girl has to pay her rent, and after the last mission went south, both Boss and Jued need to prove themselves to keep their jobs, even if it means Jued has to embrace the evil aspects of her job, like hurting her buddy Komai, who is appropriately wearing yellow in her profile image.

As usual, wherever there is a character in yellow, Jued is bound to see herself in them, and Boss knows this; therefore, he kicks his Yellow Yal partner off the case.

Because he is the one who ruined the last case, even if he was absolutely right doing so, he is hellbent on making sure nothing goes wrong with this one, so he must fully lean into the evilness of his job, which is why he is wearing full red this episode.

But Oat sees through this Black Brooder's bullshit. He knows that the only reason Boss is leaning so hard into this case and kicking Jued off of it is because he caught feelings and doesn't know how to deal with them. Sidenote: I have never been more attracted to Tay as I am with him playing the sassy best friend in this show. Now I need him to play the flamboyant flight attendant in A Dog and a Plane, so New can play the rugged EMT.

But back to the case! The plan is to break the couple up when Komai is on her period since, normally, she is a sweet and kind Blue Beauty.

But five days a month, she turns into a demon.

Which is the perfect time for Boss to do the devil's work and break these two lovebirds up!

He starts in the yellow doing the thing he loves most.

Dressing up as a woman!

Because just like Jued messing up the food order in the previous episode to get the couple fighting, Boss decides to mess up Komai's food order so she'll snap at her boyfriend, Pop, so even if Jued isn't on the case, she, and her yellow, are still present.

However, Boss still relies on his own evil techniques to get the job done, and he puts a red listening device in the couple's apartment to make sure they are arguing.

Plus he is staring at photos of Jued in yellow, but he is being perfectly normal about it. (Sidenote: He is not being normal about it)

The next day, he tries to cover up some of his red to seem less suspicious, yet it is still clearly on display as he sneaks into the couple's apartment to cause more havoc in their lives.

Komai is still being a demon, but the red and yellow hats tells us that Jued is still very present in this story.

And just like that, our Yellow Yal makes a surprise visit to cheer up her buddy, and unknowingly rescues Boss who got stuck in the couple's apartment.

She officially joins the case, but as her reflection shows, she is being just as normal about it as Boss is being. (Sidenote: Neither of them is being normal about this)

And by normal, I mean she is tossing and turning on the floor next to Boss on a yellow pillow and a red bed mat, while he is fake sleeping and so pressed that he finally decides to go sleep outside.

But this awkward tension allows them a surprising way to break Pop and Komai up. Pop begs Boss in his red pants and Jued with her yellow pillow to join him and Komai on a double date for their anniversary to mitigate Komai's anger.

Because by the fifth day of her period, while Pop was cleaning the bathroom in his yellow gloves, Komai turned into Satan herself thanks to Boss and his careful placed fight-starters.

So even though the date takes place surrounded by beautiful yellow flowers, Komai is still Lucifer on their anniversary date in her red hat.

And this Yellow Yal and Black Brooder, who is leaning too hard into the redness of his job like Oat pointed out, are on a mission to break this couple up before the end of the day.

Boss even came prepared with a red blanket for snuggling!

But the final nail comes when Pop tells Boss that he created a book of his and Komai's love story to give her at the end of the day. His previous girlfriend, who is the one paying for this breakup, dumped him because he was boring, but Komai thinks he is amazing, and he loves her because he thinks she is amazing.

But the red tells us that Boss knows exactly how to mess this up, so he makes a different book that will definitely piss Komai off enough that she will dump Pop.

However, Jued, finally realizing how fucked up all of this is, punches Boss, and takes the book so her friend can live happily ever after with the guy who loves her. She gives Boss a yellow ice pack to keep the swelling down though.

But even though Jued has the best intentions, she knows the whole company is trying to get Boss fired because he saved her life on the last mission, so she fucks up her friend's relationship in the most specific way since she knows Komai isn't a demon because of her period but because she feels like a replacement for Pop's previous girlfriend. Jued causes the rift that breaks the couple up, and the barrier between them shows this divide.

But this becomes Jued's final straw. She finally sees how evil this job is and resigns, leaving Boss in hell the company with the devil horns logo that ruins people's lives.

Which means it's finally time for ❤Cupid❤ to arrive!

[shadowedresolve]

SHOULD I FUCK AROUND AND MAKE A DEVIL SURVIVOR SIDEBLOG... despite having not actually gone through the game yet whoops-

[viaviavie]

OPERATION CINDERELLA-SABOTAGE [HEARTSLABYUL]

in which he rescues you from your very short-lived wedding.

SUMMARY: due to a massive misunderstanding, a prince from royal sword academy is set to wed you at sunset. thankfully, your un-princely crush is here to save the day and crash this lovely wedding.

PAIRINGS: everyone x fem reader (separately)

WARNINGS: they're being a bit dramatic, characters are 18+, makeout (cater)

NOTES: this is echoes the ghost bride event, but listening to this prompted me to write out this scenario instead. i made this for shits and giggles, so have fun with this!

HEARTSLABYUL | SAVANACLAW | OCTANIVELLE | SCARABIA | POMEFIORE | IGNIHYDE | DIASOMNIA

There was no way you would be able to say 'no' now, not when there were hundreds of Royal Sword Academy students and even more members of a random royal family whose last names you cannot recall waiting outside that door. Aside from a completely oblivious Neige and Che'nya who was nowhere to be found, there was no one you could really ask for help to get you out of this mess.

You turn to your supposed betrothed with frantic eyes, shaking your head wildly. "I already told you, I'm not the one you danced with at the ball!" Your hisses fell on deaf ears. That damned prince from Royal Sword Academy was too busy making the 'goo-goo' eyes at you to even register what you were saying.

"I just happened to have the same shoe-size!"

Damn it, why did you have to agree to fitting some missing girl's shoe?!

Pierce Charmant, possibly the most delusional guy you have ever met in Twisted Wonderland, clung onto your calf with a stubborn expression. He had no intentions of letting you go, and neither did his five other guards that had blocked your way.

"You have to be her!"

"You don't even know my name!"

You were really counting on Grim to get someone, anyone, to stop this wedding. Yet, as you are walked down the aisle by the fair Neige, you are already planning out a divorce settlement plan. Based on the number of guests here, who had filled this entire venue from top to bottom, you would have guessed that this prince was rather rich. If it was to be an unhappy marriage, at least your wallet would be more than compensated.

You managed to convince this prince to send invitations to Night Raven College, but that didn't matter. He was so excited and in a hurry to marry, that your friends barely had any time to rescue you! There must have been so much traffic with the mirrors that they couldn't even use them! There was just no way that they'd make it in time now.

And so you consign yourself to readying some divorce papers within the next few weeks, and planning out how to avoid any more interactions with this guy while you were married.

You stood at the chapel's base, your expression exasperated than ever as you kept darting your gaze to the door. You've already tripped over the aisle a few times, fumbled the scripted vows, and even called for a bathroom break or two to stall.

And now comes the big moment that you were so desperately trying to avoid.

"Would you, Pierce Charmant, take the Ramshackle Dorm Prefect, as your lawfully wedded wife?"

The prince smiles so sickly sweet, and its the look of a man who won't change his mind.

"I do."

You grimace as the officiant faces you, just as blind to your annoyed expression.

"Would you, the Ramshackle Dorm Prefect, take Pierce Charmant as you lawfully wedded husband?" They didn't even use your name!

You pause, the image of your crush flashing before your eyes.

You would never see him again if you let yourself get married. Defiance returns to your face as you suck in a deep breath, ready to deal with the consequences of rejecting this delusional prince in front of hundreds of people.

"I—"

"I object!"

RIDDLE ROSEHEARTS

"Grim, please explain to me why I received an invitation to the Prefect's wedding... I am calm, Trey. I would just prefer to know the details before I go and fetch her myself... and may I ask one more thing? Yes, hoW IN THE WORLD DID THE PREFECT GET KIDNAPPED LIKE THIS?! DON'T YOU DARE TRY TO CALM ME DOWN, CATER. I AM PERFECTLY CALM."

Riddle calmly asked about your whereabouts, and it does not take him long to immediately get to work. As one of the better respected housewardens among the roster, it was easier to ask for a few favors that could get him to that damned cathedral fast. However, as the traffic did pile up to get to this accursed wedding, Riddle finds himself on horseback.

He does have this awful crush on you, but it never really crosses his mind. Even as he holds certain feelings for you, it's at the back of his mind. Riddle values your autonomy, and this marriage was a massive red flag. Surely, you cannot have possibly agreed to such a thing. It was just not in your nature. You would have protested, and the fact that you are not back in campus means that something is preventing you from speaking your mind. Riddle really respects you in this aspect!

Still, the idea of you marrying some prince who barely knew it was absolutely absurd. Riddle won't allow it, he absolutely won't!

The doors were flung open with a loud thud, revealing a red-head in a suit. Much to your surprise, Riddle isn't burning red with a fiery rage and threatening to have everyone's head off. He's stomping towards you and your supposed groom, fist clenched as he throws out an arm out of anger. He doesn't seem too angry, but determined.

"ENOUGH! SHE WILL BE COMING BACK TO NIGHT RAVEN COLLEGE WITH ME NOW."

Okay, maybe you were wrong about him not being angry.

His voice echoes throughout the entire cathedral, followed by several flinches at his sheer volume. Immediately, the crowd by the rows inch back a bit further as he continues to march forward, ignoring the guards that seemed to hesitate to approach him. Pierce raises a brow, almost annoyed rather than fearful of this disturbance.

"There seems to be a misunderstanding. You see, the Prefect is going to be married to me. You can sort out your affairs after the ceremony is over." Well, that didn't seem to help one bit, judging by how Riddle seemed to fume even further at this statement.

The housewarden comes to a halt, sucking in a sharp breath to calm his temper. The last thing he wanted to do right now was to frighten you.

He breathes out your name, sending a stutter through your heart.

"Do you truly want to marry this man?"

It almost makes you swoon, the way Riddle looks at you so earnestly as he asks for some affirmation. Had it been any other scenario, you would've taken your time to bore your eyes into his and study his expression. Instead, you shake your head wildly, racing down the aisle until you have hidden yourself behind him.

Riddle has the nerve to smirk at the shocked Prince. "And here, I thought princes had a code of conduct when it came to their ladies." He turned back to you with an assuring look. "I'll take you home, Prefect."

Truly, Riddle had no intentions of playing around. He had only one objective, to get you out of here. Just as he turns around to escort you out of the cathedral, a pair of guards had blocked the exit.

"No, I cannot let you leave!" Pierce cried out, ready to give chase. "Prefect, please! Give me a chance. You cannot possibly be ready to leave me for... this guy!"

Riddle's eye twitches as he cranes himself to look at the prince. "You have some nerve!" He clicks out, clenching his fists once more. Everyone feels the cathedral heat up, those closer to the aisles feeling beads of sweat form upon their temples. Even as you looked at Riddle so gently, a part of you was somewhat grateful that he was sticking up for you.

Just as his top was about to blow, you muster the will to tug on Riddle's sleeve. As quickly as his reddened face came, it disappears when he glances back at your soft expression. Huffing out a heavy sigh, Riddle clicks his tongue and marches towards the exit.

"Let's be on our way, Prefect. We shouldn't waste our precious time on these trifles."

Needless to say, no one really wanted to test the housewarden's patience as he escorted you out of that Cathedral. Riddle certainly doesn't waste time hoisting you onto his horse and galloping away, not giving the prince a second to try and retrieve you.

He grumbles about the entire ordeal, mostly questioning the absolute ridicule of the marriage. What kind of prince thinks he can get away with it? Riddle is certain to send a complain to Royal Sword Academy regarding their lessons on conduct if no one tries to stop him.

You could easily see Night Raven College from afar as you peeked from behind his tuft of red hair. Riddle is still rambling, a preferable alternative to losing his temper entirely. "That ruffian dares to marry you and has yet to learn your name! How uncouth!" He spat in absolute distaste, and he finds comfort in the way you giggle in agreement.

Riddle doesn't seem to take note of the way your arms are crossed around his middle, or maybe he does, and just chooses not to let his blush show. He cleared his throat, gripping the reigns a bit tighter. "You will find better suitors, Prefect. Just promise me that he wouldn't be so impulsive as that Prince."

TREY CLOVER

"Can you drive any faster, Deuce? No, I don't think we're late. Better safe than sorry! ... Suit, check. Speech, check. Myself, check. I've got everything in order, but... hah, I'd expect to do this type of thing a few years down the line, let alone object at a wedding at all. At least, it's the Prefect's wedding... That's such a weird thing to conceptualize at this point in time."

He really didn't have to be so dramatic about the entire thing, but Trey is really going all-out for this objection. Really, all he's done is seen movies where someone objects at a wedding and while he knows its entirely fictional, our boy here has to drive the point home; no one is marrying the Prefect today.

So that explains why he even bothered to dress up and rehearse a speech throughout the entire ride to the cathedral. He has Heartslabyul helping him out to secure an escape for you in case things went awry. Sure, Trey's Unique Magic won't come in handy but he's good with his words, and is relatively charismatic. He's earned that title of Vice Housewarden, after all.

All that preparation flies out the window when he sees you down the aisle, however.

"Trey?"

He's blinking profusely, almost flustered himself by how radiant you looked in that wedding dress. For a moment, Trey swears that he's had some sort of tunnel vision when all he seems to see is you. It strikes some envy in him when he reminds himself that this wasn't his wedding, and this wouldn't be yours either.

"Prefect..." Trey breathed out, struggling to recall the damn script he was supposed to follow. They are lost, just as he found himself lost in your sparkling gaze.

Screw the script, he was just going to have to wing this one.

He narrows his eyes onto the shocked prince, taking steps down that long carpet. "I've come to bring you back to Night Raven College."

Pierce raises a brow, glancing back at you and the intruder with suspicion. "On what grounds?" He questions snidely, uncertain of what to make of this new character. "If it is for anything trivial, then you may bother the Prefect later. You are obstructing a ceremony here, sir."

You recognize that dangerous glint behind Trey's eyes, and it only serves to make your heart race. Trey simply smirks, hiding away his hesitant exterior with a haughty farce. "I am afraid it cannot wait. I cannot allow the Prefect to be married without saying my piece."

He doesn't exactly know where all his bravado was coming from, but if he had to confess his feelings to you now, then so be it.

Trey looks at you, flashing a gentle yet sheepish smile. "Prefect, I fell for you. Hook, line, and sinker." You let out a dramatic gasp along with the onlookers, allowing a hand to fly to your parted lips. "I have harbored those feelings for a long time now, and I cannot bring myself to see you married without letting my heart be known."

Swallowing to himself, Trey's expression falters slightly, falling into one of softness. "Prefect, it is your happiness that I desire. No matter what happens, I will support your choice."

He didn't exactly have to tell you twice, not when you hurry yourself over to his side and latch onto his arm. You didn't have to feed his ego like that, but it isn't as if Trey had any room to complain.

Pierce is angered by the sight, glaring daggers at Trey with such envy and animosity. "Prefect, are you really leaving me on the altar?" As if to subtly annoy the prince even further, Trey hooks an arm around your waist and pivots you to turn. "It seems to be so, Prince Pierce. I fear that your beautiful bride will be stolen on this lovely afternoon."

You do not miss the way Trey smirks at your flustered expression. Just as he continues to walk you to the exit, you gritted your teeth at him. "Don't say such things!" You tell him as the heat rises to your cheeks. You hear him hum at your ear, followed by the slight press of his fingers on your hip.

"Why shouldn't I? You look beautiful in this dress," Trey murmurs in your ear, pushing the cathedral door open with his hand. "And I suppose that the prince hasn't coaxed this expression out of you. I almost feel sorry for him, that he never got the chance to see how lovely you are when you are putty in my hands."

Trey doesn't stop teasing you, even once you are back in Night Raven College. He wouldn't stop complimenting you either, aiming to have you as red as possible. He just can't help it. It's probably the high he got from confessing his feelings to you, or maybe it's the part where you're unsure if he was being sincere or not. Regardless, it was fun seeing you get all flustered because of him.

You are seated by the Heartslabyul's kitchen counter, snacking on some quick treats that Trey had prepared for you. He claims that it was a consolation for the fact you never got to taste your own wedding cake. Still clad in your grand wedding dress, you couldn't exactly care any less about the crumbs soiling the skirts. "You're no prince charming, Trey." You mentioned mid-bite, eyes glancing at the vice-housewarden who was seated across from you.

"What makes you say that?" He asks you with a slight smile, resting his chin on his palm as he shamelessly bored his gaze into yours.

You snort, rolling your eyes at his seemingly sweet disposition. "Prince Charmings don't tease the girls that they like until they're as red as Riddle." You huffed, digging your fork into the pastry. "You cruel man! You haven't stopped ever since you stole me from the prince!"

Trey chuckles, and you cannot keep yourself from gulping as he leaves his seat, sauntering towards you like a lion would his prey. "Oh? I suppose that I am no Prince Charming. I'm not a pure white knight either. If you think I am being cruel, I won't stop you, sweetheart."

Your heart stutters as he slides a finger underneath your chin, tilting your head so that your forced to look his way. Trey smiles at you, eyes twinkling with absolute mischief. "I highly doubt Prince Charmings steal kisses from their crushes either. For you, I will be kind. May I, sweetheart? I do not need your shoe size to know my feelings for you, at least."

CATER DIAMOND

"Gah, it just refreshed! They've just gotten past the walking part! Deuce, shortcut on your left! Sorry, I'm switching tabs between maps and the livestream! Prefect looks is such a cutie in that dress, it makes me so envious of the prince! Oh well, she really looks like she doesn't wanna be there anyways. I'm coming Prefect! I'll save you!"

There's just this image of Cater clinging onto Deuce on a blastcycle, raising his phone up for a signal as they attempt to maneuver their way through the streets. Everything just happened in such a rush, and Cater's scrambling to get to you. He isn't like Trey who bothers to prepare, but if anything, Cater will ramp up the dramatics to the maximum.

His real goal is just to get you out by any means necessary, and more preferably, without violence. So Cater will do what he does best; make a grand spectacle of the entire thing until the prince is forced to abdicate. Worst case scenario, he's going to drag you out the door and shove you onto the damn blastcycle.

If he has to play the part of your real paramour, then he hopes you'll forgive him. He's got the suit and the desperate look on his face ready to go!

Your jaw goes slack at the way Cater makes a dramatic run for the aisle, somewhat unused to that stricken expression on his face. You're almost concerned for him with the way he grips his knees, attempting to keep his balance as his eyes zone in onto yours.

"Prefect, you can't marry him!" It's too out of character of Cater, and you know better than to think he'd ever be this undone in public. "Is this what you really want?!" Before you could even reply, Pierce cuts in with a slight glare.

"And who are you to talk to my bride like that?" It is then when you catch wind of that mischievous glint in Cater's eye as he throws out his arm dramatically.

"I am the Prefect's sweetheart! Who are you to take my girlfriend like that?"

You have never heard the cathedral go so silent. You are utterly speechless, lips parted with absolute surprise. Clearly, judging by the way sweat had begun to form on the side of Cater's temple, you cannot help but think that this was all improv on his half.

Pierce turns to look at you, almost stricken by the ginger's declaration. "Prefect, is that true?" His voice trembles with fear. "Is that truly your... sweetheart?"

A part of you feels a bit sorry for what you were about to do, but you had to remind yourself that you had been dragged into a wedding on the same day you met this prince.

You are running now, sprinting to Cater's side as you clutch his hand in your own. Turning back to the scandalized prince, you nod firmly, playing along with the farce. "We've been dating for a long time now! And I'm in love with him!" You declare, sending gasps throughout the entire cathedral.

You glance up at Cater, mustering a smile across your features. "You came to save me!" He's almost surprised by the way you cling onto him even harder, but it only serves to sell the act even further. Cater smiles in return, holding you closely. "I'd never let you go, cutie. I love you too much to let you leap into the arms of another man."

Maybe the act is too good, too calculated. That is exactly what goes through your head as Pierce raises a brow in suspicion, narrowing his eyes onto the pair as if attempting to spot a mistake. "Is that so?" He murmurs until he crosses his arms, disbelief on his skeptical expression.

"Prove it."

Cater and you freeze up simultaneously, heads turning to glance at one another. He looked so caught off guard by Pierce's demand, and there's so many eyes on you both.

"You're both longtime sweethearts, right? I wouldn't want to split apart such a happy couple..."

Cater is staring at you, attempting to read your expression. It's difficult, especially when you look at him as your gaze gets even more glossy. He wouldn't want to do anything you didn't want to, and he's already readying himself to sprint out the door with you in tow.

"Prefect, you don't have to—mmph!"

You wasted no time in snaking your arms around his neck, pressing your lips against him with such boldness. He could feel you pour all your wants and longings into the kiss, the plush of your soft lips melding into his own. How could he not deny you his own affections, not as he cups your cheeks with his slender fingers and presses back against you.

He dares to go even further, pulling back for a slight gasp of air before diving back into you. Much to his delight, you aren't pulling away either, choosing to even entangle your fingers into his hair for leverage.

Then you hear a groan from the prince, followed by his pleas for you two to stop this display. It seems that he got the point now, at least.

Even as both of you exit the cathedral, Cater still maintains the image that he was your boyfriend. You don't exactly protest, and even then, it didn't seem to different to the way Cater had been treating you as a friend. He is still as clingy as ever, closing the physical proximities by having you hang onto his arm.

And you best believe he's snapping as much photos of you to commemorate the event. He's already updating his MagiCam account on his success, not to mention the pretty girl on his arm.

"Cater, what are you doing?" You asked, unable to hide the grin on your face as Cater sets up his camera against the tire of the blastcycle. You could see yourselves on the reflection of the device, followed by the grand beauty of the cathedral behind you both. He grins at you as he shifts at your side.

"What? It isn't everyday a cutie like you gets to look like a bride. We got the perfect backdrop!" He sings, sliding an arm around your waist as he strikes for a pose. You follow his lead, matching his energy with each shot.

"Careful! People are going to think we're dating for real!"

Cater smirks at you, leaning in closely to your ear with a sickeningly sweet tease. "Wanna make it official then, cutie? Can't have any random princes asking for your hand, not when you're dating me." He is not stranger to the way you blush, letting out a chuckle at the sight.

"Aw, cutie! Are you still thinking about the kiss? I didn't think you would be so bold about it." Pressing a quick peck on the cheek, he rests his chin on your head as he prepares for another pose. "Don't worry. CayCay's gonna initiate it next time!"

DEUCE SPADE

"Grim, which way?! I can't see the GPS! ... Don't I just have to go in there and yell 'I object'? It looks easy! I'll say it then drag Prefect out of there... Ha?! I need to prove that I have a good reason to get her out? Fine! I don't care, the Prefect needs me!"

Possibly the closest we will get to a legit Prince Charming. Perhaps Deuce is a bit on the rugged side, but he's possibly one of the most earnest and noble students from Night Raven College. He cares about you more than he cares about getting his feelings across, but that is not to say he won't be honest about it either in this confrontation.

He's not exactly sure on how to break up the ceremony. Grim and Ace are coaching him through what to say, and admittedly, the process seems too complicated. All he knows is that he has to run through those doors and convince the prince to not marry the Prefect by any means necessary.

"Deuce!"

He is the one to always come running at the sound of your name. Deuce had been someone you trusted during your stay here in Twisted Wonderland, and you never seemed to stop and think about just how attached that boy was to you. Sure, you held him closely as a friend and held affections for him, but the way he sprinted towards you was a testament to how much he cared.

"Prefect!" You are racing to meet him halfway, launching yourself into his chest. He catches you barreling into his suit, immediately wrapping his arms around you in a protective manner. Then he takes you by the soldiers, looking down at you with such concern and worry. "Are you hurt? Are you okay?" He fusses, earning a shy smile from you.

"I'm okay, Deuce. I'm okay."

"And what is the meaning of this?"

Catching sight of the infuriated prince, Deuce beckons you to stand behind him. Cerulean eyes narrow onto the groom with animosity, accompanied by the way his hands are itching towards his wand. "I can't let you marry her. The Prefect will be returning to Night Raven College with me." You can sense the nervousness in his tone, but Deuce remains firm in his words.

Pierce's eye twitches, and he scoffed in disbelief at Deuce's protective display. "I am afraid that cannot be possible. I am marrying the Prefect, and that is final." Clicking his tongue, Pierce rolls his eyes and holds out his hand for you to take. "Come, darling. I am not surprised that you have garnered the affections of an admirer, but I fancy you more than this one ever could."

Something in Deuce snaps as he lets out a cry.

"But I love her!"

You stiffen against his back, taken by surprise by Deuce's sudden confession. And the boy glares, and it almost so painful for Pierce to keep his stare, not when there was so much conviction and certainty behind Deuce's voice.

"I've loved her longer than you have, and known her much longer than that!" His voice cracks underneath the emotional turmoil bubbling within him. "Did you even stop to consider what she wants? Did you wonder if this wedding would make her happy in the first place?!"

You take note of how Deuce's fists are clenched pale, how his breaths had suddenly grown haggard. With a soft expression, you curl yourself onto his back, arms hugging him from behind in an attempt to placate him. His body stiffens against your hold, but he reaches to clasp your hands onto his own.

He is just thankful that you aren't seeing the way his eyes had begun to water at the thought of losing you entirely. "So please," He chokes out, expression twisted with a sort of agony.

"Please don't force her to marry you. She deserves so much more than that."

Thanks to the waterworks that Deuce had caused, the wedding was called off. There was just no way that the prince could marry you after Deuce poured his heart out to deter him from wedding you.

It's almost sweet, the way that Deuce lifts you onto the blastcycle and fixes the helmet onto your head. He encourages you to hold onto him tightly as he speeds away from the cathedral, all the more determined to settle you back into NRC.

By the time he's dropped you off at the Ramshackle Dorm, only then does he take the time to bask in how radiant you appeared in a wedding dress. Thinking about his crush in a wedding dress had never crossed Deuce's mind before, but this definitely gave him something to ponder about for the next couple of nights.

You are handing him the helmet, a shy smile surfacing across your features. "Thank you for saving me from that awful wedding." Deuce clears his throat, shifting his gaze as he takes the helmet from your grasp. "I didn't want you to do something you weren't willing to. It just isn't right."

He doesn't realize just how dry his throat as gotten when he cannot bring himself to keep his thoughts to himself. "I love you. I really do, and I wish I said it at a better time." He swallows to himself, letting the embarrassment burn into the back of his head as he recalls his declaration. It was only natural that 'like' would turn into 'love' after being your close confidant for this long, pining quietly during the months spent with you.

You cannot exactly blame him either, not when his feelings were entirely reciprocated. You shift on the balls of your heel, biting onto your lower lip.

And in a swift motion, you lean in to press a chaste kiss against Deuce's warm cheek. You pull away to bask upon the stunned expression on his face, only to give him a shy smile of your own.

"Would you be down to try confessing again tomorrow?"

ACE TRAPPOLA

"BAHAHAHAHA! THERE'S NO WAY THE PREFECT IS GETTING MARRIED. WHO WOULD EVER WANNA MARRY THE PREFECT? PFFFFT, GRIM, YOU'RE SERIOUSLY PULLING MY LEG HERE. YOU EVEN BROUGHT ME A FAKE INVITATION! AIN'T NO WAY THAT SHE— Oh... Wait, really? The wedding is happening right now? ... Oh."

Ace thought you were just messing him again for that one time he said that no one would ever be interested in you. He simply said that to discourage you from trying to pursue a relationship with anyone else, but he didn't mean for you to prove him wrong like that! He never believes Grim until Deuce, Riddle, and the rest of Heartslabyul receive invitations to a wedding that was meant to start in 3 hours.

This is the absolute worst time to be in denial about his feelings. The Prefect wearing a wedding gown is one thing, but another is the fact that the groom is some pompous prince from Royal Sword Academy. Does that guy seriously think he was your type? No way! Ace knows you better than anyone on this campus, so this guy can buzz off!

A part of him did think that you were serious about marrying this stranger. In all fairness, Crowley's allowance pales in comparison to whatever Mr. Money-Bags had over there. He wouldn't blame you if you were marrying the guy for money.

Still, the last thing he wants is for you to be whisked away to who knows where. Ace would never see you again, and as embarrassing as it sounds, he did get very attached to you. Yes, a part of him wants to keep you to himself, but he also values your autonomy here. And if he knew you that well, he knows that you wouldn't want to be married off like this.

"Prefect, I'm here to pick you up."

You are actually surprised by how princely Ace looked in that moment. Dressed in a suit befitting a groom, you could help but feel your breath stolen away once his scarlet eyes were pinned onto yours. You could have been fooled then, and perhaps, Ace did turn into a prince as he marched down the aisle with his arm outstretched for you to take.

Ace never realizes the way a victorious smile creeps onto his face when you break out into a grin, taking the skirt of your dress as you make run for it. The crowd gasps as you crashed into Ace's chest, and he does not hesitate to take a protective stance in front of you. With a haughty laugh, he smirks at the baffled prince. "Who are you?!"

The redhead's arm wraps around your waist, pressing your body closer to his own. "Sorry about that, but I'll be taking your bride indefinitely! Trust me, you'll be severely disappointed after spending one good day with her!" He snickered, much to your horrified expression. You lightly smack at his chest, glaring at him with that pout that he adores so much.

"Hey!" You whine, and Ace simply beams at the prince who hesitantly steps forward. The redhead snorts, rolling his eyes at the crowd that are offended at his immature display. "I'm doing you a great favor here! If you kissed those lips, she'll turn into an ugly green ogre by sunset!"

"HEY!"

Pierce's eyebrows are furrowed as he looks at you, as if pleading for you to return to his arms. "You'd best return her, boy. We can settle this maturely." Ace does not like the way that these bodyguards are eyeing him, shifting closer and closer as he backed you both towards the venue entrance. He never falters, and neither does that shit-eating grin on his face.

"Sorry, buddy. The clock's struck midnight and all your magic tricks are fading!" He barks. Now, he knows that an escape must be made. The last thing he wants is to have another Eliza-episode. He looks down at you with a wide grin, clasping you arm with a firm squeeze.

Ace sneaks into his pocket, still looking at you. "You know something, Charmant? Maybe not all the magic has gone yet." His hand reveals the Ace of Cards, and it is immediately thrown up into the air.

As the card reached its peak in height, a burst of smoke filled the air, obscuring the magician and yourself from view.

You don't exactly need a signal to start running when your feet began moving on their own, dashing towards the door followed by the Ace's laugh and the prince's demand for guards.

Ace has no white horse, but he has Deuce with his blastcycle! Who knows how the three of you managed to fit on that bike, but you made it work! The guards couldn't exactly catch up in their cars, not when Deuce was dodging vehicles left and right to make this escape. Ace did take one final look back, sticking his tongue out at the defeated prince before you all disappeared around the corner.

Ace gives you his shoes, despite how oversized they may be. You complained about those glass shoes on you, and to 'shut you up', he's given you his runners.

When you make it back to Night Raven College and all the adrenaline has died down, Ace stays by your side the entire time when you explain the entire situation to Crewel and Crowley. He acts so nonchalant about things, even as you both walk all over the campus like groom and bride.

It's a rather odd sight; you in your wedding gown, and Ace right next to you as you both sit on the bench by the Great Seven's statues. Students wandering about at night had given both of you puzzled stares, but no one is ever surprised when they realize it's you and Ace, however.

"Wow, Prefect. Not even a thank you?" He glances at your slightly annoyed expression, throwing his hands up defensively in response. "I was kidding about the ogre stuff! Really!"

You could only roll your eyes at his words, huffing as you crossed your arms across your chest. When you refuse to speak, Ace sticks out his lower lip into a pout as he leans his head onto your shoulder. "Come on, don't be like that. Are you actually that upset about it?"

There is no response from you, not even a glance as your nose is turned away from him. Then Ace sighs, practically clambering over your lap just so that you are forced to look at him. "Prefeeeect, I said I was sorry! What? Do I have to kiss you to make me apology authentic?"

Only then do you look back at him with a raised brow, almost expectant. Ace blinks with surprise, a slight blush creeping to his ears. "For real? You're serious?" He exclaimed, much to your agitation. You sigh even louder as you shove him off your lap, hastily getting up to your feet to leave him behind.

"Wait! Prefect, I said wait!" You feel a hand on your wrist, twirling you back to face the redhead. Ace bites onto his lower lip, unable to keep the red from flooding his cheeks. "I really just said all that mean stuff to get the prince off your back, you know? I didn't think you'd take it so seriously."

And when he sees that smirk creeping up onto your features, he groans as he leans in closely into your space.

"Now look at what you've done! You had me all panicked over what?" You feel his breath tickling your lips, followed by the way his hands crawl up your neck to cradle your jaw.

"If you just wanted a kiss, you could've asked..."

[theonewiththefanfics]

An Itch You Can't Scratch (one-shot)

Synopsis: After taking a bad fall, Y/N gets rushed to the ED of Pittsburg Trauma Medical Hospital only to come face to face with a man she had a one-night stand with, and who ghosted her that same morning without a word - Dr. Michael "Robby" Robinavitch. As if her bad day couldn't get any worse than it was...

Pairing: Dr. Michael "Robby" Robinavitch x fem!Reader (age-gap relationship (Reader is 26, Robby is implied 46-48))

Genre: angst, fluff, SMUT

Warnings: descriptions of wounds (open breaks), puke, swearing, etc., SMUT

Word count: 13,319 (yeah, this sort of started out like a cute little chaotic story and became... this. I might make more parts to these two, people like it enough, because I already have some ideas, and ideas for other stories too also, let's please pretend like Robby didn't have the worst shift of his life and everyone is happy and alive :) )

Please don't copy my work or repost it onto other platforms. all of the characters belong to HBO Max.

Catch Pt 2 here :)

In all honesty, Y/N thought Sara was overreacting. There was no need to be hauled to the ER on a Monday morning, at seven AM. So, what if she’d slipped in the shower? So, what if she’d hit her head against the towel rack? So, what if she’d sprained her ankle? Y/N could just pop a couple of Tylenol and be on her merry way, but no.

            When Sara had heard the thud and the subsequent crash of shampoo and conditioner bottles, she’d rushed inside the bathroom only to find Y/N sprawled out in all her naked glory. She cursed the stupid bathroom latch their landlord refused to change.

After Sara had had her fill of laughter, she helped Y/N stand, get somewhat dressed (a loose cotton shirt and some shorts), and helped her hobble down the stairs of their apartment, her leg in a make-shift splint of dishtowels and left-over wood paneling from an IKEA dresser.

            A groan of protest escaped her as Sara parked in the hospital parking lot and rushed to the passenger door, opening it for Y/N and helping her get out.

            “You are worse than my mother,” she huffed as she leaned her weight onto her good leg. “I am completely fine.”

            Sara sighed, and Y/N rolled her eyes, knowing what was coming. “My love,” she said. “My other half. The Yin to my Yang, the milk to my matcha. My partner in crime for whom I would kill and/or dispose of a body. I can quite literally see the fucking bone sticking out of your lower leg.”

            “It’s a sprain,” Y/N gritted through clenched teeth.

            “It’s an open fucking break and the fact that you refused to have an ambulance called, boggles my fucking mind, yet here we are.”

            To that, Y/N had nothing to say, but still, she thought Sara was being way too overdramatic. And honestly, if she kept mentioning the real situation of her sprain, making her remember the sound of the snap, how it had been the worst sound she’d ever heard, and Y/N had spent more than twenty years listening to her brother singing in the shower, before she moved to Pittsburg for her job, she would put Sara in a hospital bed herself. And then they could be the ED besties.

            But the worst was the pain that came when Sara reminded Y/N of why she had to go to the hospital.

            It had been a miracle no neighbor had called the cops or the EMTs themselves, though it didn’t necessarily comfort Y/N either. If she could scream bloody murder like that and nobody batted an eye, it didn’t say anything good about the complex they lived in.

            One look down had confirmed Y/N’s worst fears – she had, in fact, broken her leg. Not only that, it was an open break where part of her bone was sticking right out of the meat of her calf. For the first few moments, she’d been in such a shock, that the only thought running through her head was – I look like a poor man’s version of a Disney turkey leg. Then she’d started screaming. And that had made her puke.

            Right then and there, still lying half out of the shower, half on the floor, she’d emptied her stomach. There hadn’t been much in it, just the cup of water she’d drank when she’d awoken, but still. At least Y/N had been in the bathroom when it had happened. Tiles were easier to clean up than carpet, and she already felt bad enough Sara would have to wash the floor.

            But now, as some form of punishment, no doubt, Sara was helping Y/N hobble towards the emergency department of Pittsburg Trauma Medical Hospital, when a sad-looking man noticed them and rushed inside, grabbing a wheelchair, and getting by Y/N’s side in a matter of a second.

            “Here, sit down.” The man, Dennis Whitaker he introduced himself, took hold of her other bicep and moved the wheelchair behind her.

            “I’m fine,” she groaned. “I’m not an invalid. I can make it inside on my own. Besides, that wheelchair could be used for someone that actually needs it.”

            “You actually need it.” Sara levelled a gaze at her. “And I will make you a fucking invalid because I will clock you so hard in the head, you will have a concussion, if you don’t have one from the fall.”

             For a tense second, Y/N stood (or wobbled) her ground, Y/E/C eyes locked onto Sara’s hazel ones which were slowly narrowing with each passing moment until she cursed and said, “Alright fine.” Together Whitaker and Sara lowered the injured woman into the wheelchair. “God, I hate your mom-stares.”

            “It’s the only way to get you to do anything in terms of taking care of yourself.”

            “It’s not!” Y/N protested. “I’ll have you know, I made myself an omelet yesterday for breakfast. Veggies and all.”

            “Yeah, after I berated you that a stale Coke from three days ago, isn’t actual breakfast.” Sara walked side by side as Whitaker pushed the wheelchair into the madhouse that was the emergency department.

            It was fascinating to observe the situation as an outsider – nurses and doctors were like level-headed owls, their heads swiveling this way and that way, as they assessed the patients and their statuses, while the residents and patients themselves, not all, but quite a bunch, were like headless chickens, rushing around and trying to prioritize afflictions or become a priority to the doctors.

            Codes were called left and right, people moved from one side to the other, snapping on gloves and donning protective gear, and in the center of it all, was the command post – the nurse’s station which Whitaker had wheeled her to.

            “Dana, is there a room available?” he addressed a slim, blonde woman, probably the one in charge.

            “Room six is available, what’s the, oh,” she stopped mid-sentence as she noticed Y/N and the bone sticking out of her leg.

            “I don’t mind waiting,” she gave her a sheepish smile. “There’s probably loads of people before me. Besides, it’s just a sprain.”

            “Well, that’s probably one of the worst sprains I’ve ever seen,” Dana deadpanned as she motioned with her head towards someone behind them.

            Y/N shrugged. “Well, I am just special like that.”

            “Yeah, maybe in the head,” Sara grumbled as she gave the charge nurse all the necessary info for the moment. “Speaking of which – she also hit her head when she went down with her… sprain.”

            Dana’s lips quirked up as she hummed and tapped something on her iPad, weaving around the table, leaving Whitaker to follow her like a lost puppy as they moved to the room Y/N was now assigned to. “We’ll schedule you a CT ASAP.”

            Y/N turned her head to look at her best friend. “Given how this little trip was your idea, you’re paying off my medical debt.”

            “Just let these nice doctors and nurses take care of you.” Sara pinched the bridge of her nose. “Because quite honestly, I’m not too into the idea of searching for a new roommate. Do you know how many creeps I’d have to go through? And what if the one normal one I find has a fatal flaw?”

            “Such as?”

            “I dunno. What if they hate musicals?”

            “Oh, the tragedy.” Y/N pressed a hand against her chest as they wheeled her inside the room.

            There was another presence there, a young doctor, probably late twenties or early thirties. A cute little dimple on his chin, dark hair, and blue eyes. Reminded her a bit of the guy from Air Bud, if she squinted a bit.

            “My name’s Dr. Langdon,” he introduced himself, giving Y/N a reassuring smile. “And this is Dennis Whitaker, our fourth-year medical student. Would it be alright, if he and another one of our residents observed the situation today? This is a teaching hospital, but it is well within your rights to refuse.”

            She shook her head. “Observe away. Not much I can hide.”

            “Alright, thank you.” He ventured out for a quick second only to come back with a young woman who introduced herself as Dr. Mel King, a second-year resident. “Okay,” Dr. Langdon said. “Let’s get you onto the bed and see what we’re working with.”

            The three medical professionals surrounded her and helped Y/N move from the wheelchair on the paper-covered bed, without jostling her leg too much, but it was enough.

            So far, she’d been able to take her mind off the pain by distracting herself – she bickered with Sara, recited the script of The Hunger Games movie in her head while fantasising about a blond Josh Hutcherson, because Peeta was just elite like that. She’d even gone so far as to go over the division table, but now, as more attention was being placed on the broken leg, it started to hurt more and more. It was like Y/N mind-over-mattered an itching spot left by a mosquito by chanting “It’s not itchy” over and over in her head, but the second she stopped, the itching came back in full force.

            “So,” Dr. Dimple, she nicknamed him in her head, started. “What happened?”

            Y/N sighed, looking at the ceiling. “Can I just give you the not-humiliating version and say I’m a klutz?”

            He gave her a charming smile as a nurse prepped an IV line. “Unfortunately, we need to know beyond “clumsy”. The environment where this accident happened is important.”

"It could introduce pathogens into the wound," Mel, as Dr. King had requested to be called, said.

            Y/N chewed on her bottom lip before muttering, “I slipped in the shower and sprained my leg. And then got assaulted by some shampoo and conditioner bottles… and then I threw up.”

            “And don’t forget the head!” Sara said from the door where she still stood, observing the work happening.

            Y/N threw her a knowing smirk. “Never do. And I haven’t had any complaints yet.”

            “The throwing up could indicate a concussion,” Whitaker said. “Dana’s already scheduled a CT. And in terms of the leg, you actually have an open fra-,”

            Y/N took hold of Whitaker’s bicep like he’d done so for her when he’d helped wheel her inside the emergency department. “Please listen to me when I say this – unless you want me to hurl all over you, and trust me, I can aim, the only thing I have, is a sprain. Got it?”

            He gulped and nodded, stepping away from Y/N like a man who’d gotten sprayed by too many fluids in one day and didn’t want to be anywhere near the danger zone. “Loud and clear Miss Sprained-Ankle-Woman.”

            “Good.” The nausea that’d started creeping up her belly subsided. “Because I can deal with you people having to do things, but if I have to actually listen to any of it, or think about it, I will be sick.”

            “We can give you some anti-nausea medication for that,” Dr. Dimple soothed. “But first, we’ll get you a CT, and then we’ll have a surgery room prepped for you because you need to get this reset as quickly as possible. You will probably have some metal plates and screws to hold the uh… sprain together, and then a cast for about six to eight weeks.”

            “Great,” Y/N grumbled. “This is just fucking great. This is exactly how I wanted to spend my vacation, before, oh… oh, absolutely not.” Y/N’s eyes widened to a comically large size as she looked past her room and into the waiting area. “Sara, you need to get me out of here right the fuck now.”

            “Hey, woah, what is going on?” Dr. Langdon rushed to where Y/N was trying to get the IV line out. “Please don't do that, you'll only hurt yourself more.”

            “Y/N, what’s going on?” Sara’s brows were pulled tight in a frown, as she tried to help Dr. King get the oxygen monitor back onto her finger. “You need surgery, for fuck’s sake.”

            “It’s him,” she hissed, not taking her gaze away from where it’d locked on. “And I don’t want to spend a second anywhere near the dick.”

            “Who?” Sara swiveled her head to look beyond the glass separating them from the chaos beyond. “Who’s the dick?”

            “Him.”

            And then four pairs of eyes locked onto the man standing and talking with the charge nurse at The Hub, Y/N was glaring at.

            “Do – do you two know each other?” Dr. Dimple asked.  “Do you feel unsafe with him around?”

            “Yeah, you could say we know one another,” she scowled and crossed her arms as Mel managed to finally reattach the oxygen monitor, all of their attention onto her. “That’s the dude I hooked up with two weeks ago, and completely ghosted me that same morning.”

            Every single head snapped to look back at Dr. Michael “Robby” Robinavitch, who’d also finally noticed Y/N was at his workplace, as a patient no less. His eyebrows were right up to his hairline, brown eyes wide with disbelief and mouth agape as she glowered at the older man.

            It was quite a surreal moment – all of these capable doctors and residents and nurses, stunned by the information so bad, that they almost seemed to forget Y/N was there. She wondered what was going through their heads, as this seemed like it wasn’t a regular occurrence. Which stung even more – if Michael had been a fuckboy, she could take it, but it didn’t seem so. So, what was wrong with Y/N that had made him run away after the night they’d spent together?

            When they’d met at the bar, he had told her he was an emergency department attending. The big boss of his little duckling residents, dutifully running the hospital department with the help of the nurses.

Why, when Sara had finally managed to get Y/N inside the car, it hadn’t occurred to her, he would work in this particular hospital. Just why?

Y/N couldn’t say. Maybe she’d hoped he worked the night shifts. Maybe she’d hoped, he worked somewhere else, or even out of town, but, of course, for whatever sins she’d committed, karma couldn’t do her a solid one.

            Sara gasped, rushing by her side as Y/N watched Michael flounder and try and decide what to do – whether to interfere and face the music or run away from the hospital. He apparently chose the latter as he twisted on his heel and high-tailed it to the other end of the department, leaving a cackling Dana behind.

            “That’s him?” Sara strained her neck. “That’s the hot doctor?”

            Y/N scoffed. “The one and only. Couldn’t even leave a fucking note or something. Like I can take a hint a one-night-stand is a one-night-stand, alright? But don’t just fucking bolt out of the door like your ass is on fire before the other party wakes up. Fucking dickhead.”

            “Well, maybe it wasn’t as fun of a night for him, as you thought, and he didn’t want to hurt your feelings.” Sara raised a brow.

            “Oh, trust me,” Y/N smirked. “It was a very fun night for him. I would know. I was there, and you can’t fake the kind of shaking. Four hours will do that to a guy,” she winked and touched the tips of her pointer finger and thumb in an A-Okay sign.

            “Yeah,” it was Dr. Dimple smiling at her, the grin on his face almost wolfish in nature. “Yeah, you are absolutely my new favorite person in the world.”

            However, whatever he wanted to say or ask, was cut short when Dana returned to inform that her CT slot was coming up, and so Y/N was wheeled away, not daring to look at Michael as they passed one another in the hallway.

            As the results came back for a minor concussion, the anesthesiologist informed, that they recommended a spinal for the surgery, while the team prepper, but Y/N shot it down immediately.

            “Absolutely not. Look, I know it’s not safe to go to sleep after a concussion, but I will not be listening to the sounds of some bone-carpenter crunching on my leg. Put me under,” she gave him her most pathetic look. “Please.”

            The specialist still tried to argue, but he couldn’t do it much longer, as Y/N needed surgery as soon as possible, so after five minutes of strongly recommending the spinal, he relented and in half an hour, Y/N had managed to get hers – she was out like a light, without a sound in her ears.

            It was the best sleep she’d ever had in her life. Like floating on a cloud, surrounded by doves and angels singing her lullabies. She never wanted to wake up, but something was rousing her out of the blissful state.

            A large warm hand around her palm, thumb rubbing the top of it, was soothing her senses. It was like hot chocolate after being out in the sow. Or sitting by a fireplace with a blanket wrapped around your shoulders.

            “Good afternoon, Miss Sprained-Ankle,” a low, rumbly voice greeted Y/N as she floated back into consciousness. Her eyes locked onto two gentle, brown ones, and despite the medication, she knew she wasn’t hallucinating him.

            Michael’s face was beard-covered like it had been when they’d met. He still had the same worry lines on his forehead and the crow’s feet around his eyes. Y/N had said she liked those the best.

            “It shows you’ve smiled and laughed despite everything else,” she’d informed him over the rim of her Pornstar Martini.

            She couldn’t truly imagine just how draining his line of work was, both physically and mentally, but the laugh lines she could see hiding under the beard, harmonizing with those around his eyes, was a feature Y/N had noticed first.

            “So,” she slurred her tongue a swollen mass of sandpaper in her mouth, and Michael noticed that, holding a cup of water against her lips until she’d had her fill. “Do I have to keep breaking bones to wake up with you next to me?”

            “I hope not.” With gentleness Y/N knew he possessed, yet didn’t expect, he brushed away a droplet that’d slipped past her mouth, and onto her cheek. “I hope this is the only time I ever have to see you in such a state.”

            “Can’t promise that,” she shook her head. “I do have a reputation to uphold.”

            “Yeah?” amusement was evident on his weary face. “And what kind of reputation is that?”

            “When I was in first grade, on the first day of school, I broke my arm. And then like a few months later, I smashed my face against a radiator and split my lip open. Still have a scar,” she pointed right below her right nostril where a sliver of lighter skin was. “And then, but that was like third grade or something, I smashed my head against a metal railing and split my head open. I could even push my fingers inside and scrape my -,”

            “Okay, I understand,” Michael interrupted her and pulled the hand that was tapping against the hairline on her forehead. “You are an ED connoisseur, but please, don’t make this a habit.”

            “Damn, straight I am.” Y/N gave a confident nod, but before Michael could ask anything else, she said, “You know what I don’t get? Like why did my leg bone hurt while sticking out of my body, but my teeth that are sticking out right now, don’t?” She clacked them for emphasis. “They’re outside bones.”

            A soft smile bloomed on Michael’s face as he brushed a strand of hair away from her forehead. She could feel someone had put her hair in a protective style and had to wonder if it had been the man beside her. But that wouldn’t make any sense. Why would he care like that for her?

            “For one,” he muttered. “You broke your fibula – the smaller bone in your lower leg, and in doing so, hurt the surrounding things like muscles and skin. That is one reason why you felt such pain. And two – if you broke a tooth, it would hurt too. Your cavities hurt, don’t they?”

            “Mmm,” a self-satisfied smile bloomed on Y/N’s face. “I wouldn’t know. I’ve never had a cavity.”

            “That’s good. Dentists aren’t cheap.” As a response she just clacked her teeth again, making Michael laugh. “How are you feeling? Any pain? Nausea?”

            “Nope, I am A-Okay. Honestly, that was like the best sleep of my life. Well…” Y/N pouted, taking her gaze away from Michael’s. “That night when I fell asleep with you is also up in the Top 5, but then I woke up and… you know… you weren’t there.”

            She was obviously delirious from the medication being pumped through her veins, but much like when Y/N was drunk, she was a throw-up-remember-everything kind of a girl, instead of a black-out-drunk. Besides, it wasn’t like she could run anywhere. Quite literally.

            Michael sighed, dragging a hand down his face, visibly cringing at her words. “About that… I – yeah, I think the only thing I can say is I’m sorry. For, you know, ghosting, as you youngsters say.”

            “ ‘S alright.” Y/N shrugged, trying to act nonchalant, as if the second she’d seen him, she hadn’t been ready to bolt. “I’m over it.”

            “No, no it’s not okay. I shouldn’t have done that. Because that night was… great. It was amazing, actually. And everything leading up to the uh, you… you know, the...” he cleared his throat, and a smirk pulled up on Y/N’s lips.

            “The sex? Come on, you can say it in your big old man age. It’s just three letters.”

            “Jesus Christ.” Michael rubbed his neck as a slight pink shade crawled up his neck, which made Y/N let out a chuckle at how uncomfortable he looked talking about this. Maybe it was time to let this go, for his sake and her own sanity.

            “Look, if it makes you feel any better,” Y/N shifted to the edge of the mattress and patted the side of her bed, so he could sit down. After asking if she was sure, he did take the offered space. “I – I’ve been treating you a bit unfairly with this. I think my ego was a bit crushed after waking up and not having you there, but, umm… you’re off the hook. Besides, I think I’m in your debt with all of this. Your team is amazing.”

            “They’re pretty great, aren’t they?” he mumbled, one of his hands having moved to toy with the wristband the hospital had assigned to Y/N. “But still, how I reacted then, and even earlier in the morning… it wasn’t right. I mean, I’m pushing fifty for fuck’s sake. That’s not what someone my age does.”

            “So what?” she raised a brow. “The issue is you think you’re a cradle-robber? Because you’re no more that than I am a grave robber. I’m twenty-six, Michael,” she turned her palm up hoping he’d accept it and slide his hand in hers. After a moment of hesitancy, he did, and Y/N squeezed it in reassurance. “I mean, if you think you’re doing something bad, by having slept with someone two decades younger than you, I’ll have you know, according to regency times, as a woman who’ll be turning twenty-seven this year, I’m pretty much a decrepit old spinster.”

            Michael let out a soft laugh as his fingers trailed the lines on Y/N’s palm. “You have your whole life ahead of you. Me? I’m your probably dad’s age.”

            “And looking hotter than ever, if you ask me.”

            “Yeah? You think so?” He asked as Y/N hummed in affirmation. “Well then, for a decrepit old spinster, you are beautiful. And acting with much more grace than I deserved or deserve.”

            Something in the way he said those last few words made her heart squeeze. “Michael… of course you deserve grace.”

            “You’re being far too good to me… you’re far too good for me…”

            Y/N’s brows furrowed at that. Slowly, she attempted to rise in a sitting position, but she didn’t get far before Michael had his arms around her waist, like they’d been two weeks ago, pushing a pillow to stabilize the small of her back. Once he was sure she was comfortable, he opened an apple juice box and handed it to her.

            “To get your sugar up.”

            But she just stared at him, only reaching for the little carton after he’d resumed his previous sitting position. “Is that what this is about?” she asked. “Some insecurity you think I deserve better than you? Because I can decide those things for myself. I am an adult. With a fully-developed frontal lobe, mind you.”

            He took in a deep breath, held it for a second, then released it, and Y/N watched that whatever kind of decision he’d come to, had released a certain tension that’d been accumulating in his body. “Kind of, I guess. But mostly…” he swallowed, then nodded to himself, eyes trained on her wristband. “Mostly I got scared.”

            “Of what?” Y/N tilted her head. “I mean, I know my morning breath probably isn’t that attractive, and the smeared makeup made me look like a coked-out raccoon, but -,”

            “No,” Michael shook his head, chuckling. His cheeks were reddish at her words, but as he lifted his eyes to hers, there was a grateful look to them. Like he was thankful she wasn’t making fun of him even in his ripe old age. “You,” he stumbled over his words a bit, “when I saw you there, sleeping by my side like you belonged… I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything more beautiful than that. And that’s when I thought to myself – if I worked up the courage, could there be more mornings like that? Could I make you breakfast and coffee one day? Maybe I’d get the privilege of falling asleep next to you as we watch movies at night. And that scared me.”

            “The possible future?”

            “Wanting that possible future, because that feeling, the one that started to grow right here,” he tapped the center of his chest. “I couldn’t think straight. So, I had to go.”

            “I mean,” Y/N swallowed hard. “That is a lot to imagine after only a few hours together.”

            “Does that… creep you out? ‘Cause it’s totally understandable if it does. I mean Jesus, I’m old… and you’re so young.”

            “No, it doesn’t.” And she meant it when she said it. “I find it actually quite endearing, but you can stop being so hung-up on the age difference. If you think there might be some daddy issues on my side, I can assure you – there’s none. I quite like my dad, and I definitely don’t see you as such a figure. Not after the things you did to me. ‘Cause, quite honestly, sex with you was probably the best dicking-down I’ve had in a year.”

            If Michael had been drinking anything, Y/N was sure he would have choked with how he sputtered at her words. “Well, uh, yeah, I uh… I’m glad you… enjoyed it.”

            “I did. And I know you enjoyed it too,” her smile was nothing short of wicked.

            “Yeah, and apparently now the rest of the residents and nurses and doctors know it too?” Michael raised his brows at her.

            It took Y/N a while to realize he was talking about when she’d gotten admitted and spilt the beans on their night together, implying their copious amount of copulation. “Hey, don’t shoot the messenger, but I’d like to think your reputation has now gone sky-high between the female nurses and doctors. Maybe the guys and theys as well. But I do apologize for talking about your private life while at your work. In my defense, until that very moment, I didn’t know you worked here. And well, I was pissed.”

            “You and your mouth will get you in trouble one day,” Michael pointed at her.

            “Yeah? Would you like to put something in it, to shut me up? Last time, you really liked it when I -,”

            “Okay, trouble, that’s enough.” Even though his words had a finality to them, humor glowed on his features. He seemed relaxed. Content even, as he took the now empty apple juice box Y/N had been sipping on this whole time.

            “You on a break?” She started scooting down the bed once more, and Michael instantly helped her get situated.

            “Want to get rid of me so quickly?”

            “No. It’s just you’re spending an awfully long time with me. Don’t you have other patients to check in on? I don’t want you to waste your time if you need to get to someone else. Or maybe grab a bite to eat? I’m fairly sure doctors don’t know how to have a good work-life balance, despite continuously recommending it to us, mere mortals.”

            “Time with you isn’t a waste.”

            Oh.

            Oh, how badly did Y/N want to rip off the little wires connecting her to the heart monitor, because had Michael not turned the sound off, she was sure the whole hospital would be hearing it go nuts at his words, the squiggling beat of it a treat for only Michael this time, because when he noticed it, a smirk bloomed on his mouth. He didn’t say anything, but he didn’t need to, not when he murmured, twining their fingers together, “I want to kiss you so bad.”

            “I definitely won’t be opposed to that.” Y/N’s answer might have come way too quickly, but she was beyond feeling embarrassed about wanting him. “You have permission to kiss away. For as long as possible. All day, every day, whenever you want to.”

            “Well, thank you for that,” Michael chuckled, cupping her cheek, and she leaned into the touch. “But… not right now. Let me take you out on a proper date. Let me do this right.”

            “Oh my God, seriously?” Y/N whined throwing her head back. “You’re gonna make me wait? Especially after that whole speech and whatnot? You are a cruel, cruel man Dr. Michael Robinavitch.”

            Slowly, without breaking eye contact, he leaned to hover over Y/N, a golden necklace slipping from the inside of his shirt and dangling before her. She wanted to pull it between her teeth like she’d done so during their one night together. It took every dwindling ounce of willpower not to.

            “Maybe, I just want you aching. And yearning. You were the one who said men don’t yearn enough nowadays. But I have. For you, for two whole god-damned weeks. Now it’s your turn.”

            It was pathetic how Y/N wanted to cry and whimper. “But I didn’t even do anything! You were the one that ran out! Why am I being punished for your actions?”

            “Do you – do you not want to go on a date with me?”

            “I do, but I’d rather you rail me as soon as possible.”

            “Well, for one,” Michael tried to continue on as if Y/N’s words hadn’t made heat creep up his face, but he could only do so much. He was a human, after all. “You’re not allowed any strenuous activities until you’ve got a clean bill of health. And two, all teasing aside, I want to do this properly. I want to do right by you this time.”

            “Why would you?” she exasperated. “I wasn’t complaining when you didn’t do it right by me, and I’m certainly not going to if you suddenly decide to stop being chivalrous. Maybe even right here. We could recreate some scene from Grey’s Anatomy?” Y/N wiggled her brows at him, eliciting a deep rumble of a chuckle.

            “Grey’s is just a malpractice lawsuit after a malpractice lawsuit, and I, unlike the characters there, don’t want my medical license to be revoked. Until you get discharged, I’m one of your doctors.”

            “My hot doctor, you mean.”

            The sigh that left Michael was not weary or a worn-out kind of noise. Rather it was a resigned I-guess-this-is-my-life-now kind of a sigh, especially combined with the endearing look on his face, it made Y/N feel warm all over.

            Slowly, as they talked a bit more, her eyes began to droop, exhaustion from the morning, from the surgery and the subsequent consequences settling in once more. “Will you stay?” she asked as Michael brushed a knuckle along her jaw. “Just until I fall asleep?”

            “Of course,” Michael took her hand in his, sitting down by her side again, as he pressed a kiss to her wrist. “And I… I wish I could promise I’ll be here when you wake up, but I, -”

            “I know,” Y/N interrupted him with a soft and understating smile. “By that point, you’ll probably be off saving lives. It’s why I’m not asking you to.”

            “I’ll try though.” He promised.

            “Okay.”

            And with her hand still in Michael’s, Y/N drifted off once again without even realizing it was pitch-black outside, and Michael hadn’t been wearing his shift scrubs. He should have long been home resting, and yet, he hadn’t been able to leave her. Not like he did before.

            By the time she awoke early the next morning, Y/N was clearheaded, and yet all her thoughts mulled over the conversation she’d had with Michael the previous night. Would he go back on his word? Had he only talked with her like that because she was high on pain meds, and maybe thought she wouldn’t remember their discussions?

            She knew he hadn’t promised to be there when she awoke, so Y/N didn’t hold it against him, but she couldn’t deny the sting. But that was immediately soothed by the hoodie that’d been laid over the back of a chair.

            His hoodie.

            A promise he would at least have a reason to come back and check in on her. It was Dana, the charge nurse, peeking her head inside that pulled Y/N back into the present. “How are we feeling today? Ready to be discharged? Dr. Langdon will be with you shortly for a follow-up.”

            The woman in the hospital bed groaned. “Can’t I just stay here? Like you people – you are normal. Sara will be a mother hen on crack. I am willing to brave hospital food, as long as I don’t have to go home to all that fussing. She’s probably already bullied our landlord into installing a lift or something.”

            “She cares for you,” it was Dr. Langdon piping in, as he entered her room, pulling on a pair of gloves and nodding to Dana in thanks. “You’re pretty lucky to have a friend like her.”

            “Yeah, I know,” Y/N sighed as Dr. Langdon looked over her leg, asked some questions about pain levels and talked her through the post-op care. “But in my defense, she has a tendency to overreact.”

            “I’d say you have a tendency to underreact, but that’s just my professional opinion.”

            She rolled her eyes as Dr. Langdon finished his assessment and handed off her chart to Dana, so they could start the discharge process. “God forbid a girl has hobbies.”

            “In any case, I do think the whole ED is in debt to Sara.”

            To that she raised a brow.

            “Well, had she not made you come in, I don’t know if Dr. Robby would have had a chance of seeing you again. Because, if I have to be honest, we’ve all been scratching our heads the past couple of weeks trying to figure out why he’s been in such a mood. Now we know why.”

            “You two shit-talking me?” Michael’s soft tone interrupted the conversation, as he crossed his arms and leaned against the entryway. “How are you feeling?”

            She tried and failed to hide the heat creeping up her veins. Even if Y/N had succeeded, that damned monitor, the sound no doubt having been turned back on by Michael before he left, to make sure if anything went awry at night, someone was there for her, betrayed her anyway. God, she wanted to punch the smile off both the men's faces.

            “Fine.” She turned her head to look at the wall, as a nurse stepped in and removed the IV catheter and wrapped her hand in gauze. “Not looking forward to the itching that will appear, in what? Three days?”

            “No scratching,” Dr. Dimple pointed at her with a pen. “You could injure yourself and cause a serious infection. No rulers, no knitting needles, no crochet needles, no twigs or branches, no nothing.”

            “But what about -,”

            “No nothing,” he emphasized. “Or I will have to recommend Dr. Robby make a house call on you. Though that isn’t much of a threat for you two, is it?”

            “Okay, Frank? Scram. Now. There’re patients that need checking on. I can take care of Y/N.”

            “Yeah, I bet you can,” Dr. Langdon let out a laugh but was out of the room before either she or Michael could say anything.

            The only thing Y/N was happy about, was that the comment had made not only her flustered, but Michael as well, as he shifted on his feet and rubbed the back of his neck in a nervous tick. In the end, he gave her a smile that said “Sorry about him” and padded over to where he’d left his hoodie.

            And that only made her even more flustered, because seeing a man like him, so level-headed and sure, get visibly nervous over her, did things to Y/N. Which made her want to do things to Michael, but then Dana returned, two crutches in hand, Whitaker wheeling a wheelchair once more, and all passion slipped away.

            “Right, thanks.” She eyed the crutches like they were cow-eating pythons. “I fucking hate my life.”

            Low, warm laughter filtered through the room as Dana helped Y/N get redressed and situated her in the wheelchair, crutches placed over her knees as she was rolled to the nurse’s station.

            “I uh, took the liberty of calling Sara for you,” Michael said as he leaned against the table. When Y/N raised a brow in question, he elaborated, “She’s in your emergency contacts. Should be here in fifteen or so.”

            “Thank you. You didn’t have to do that, you know.”

            “I know,” he smiled. “But I wanted to.”

            And there it was again, that warmth that blossomed in her chest, only this time she let it spread, let it wrap around her heart and wash away that bitterness, that’d been there since the morning Y/N had woken up cold and alone.

            It hadn’t been just the sex, though that night Michael had given her some of the most earth-shattering orgasms she’d ever had (thankfully, Sara had been away with her girlfriend, so she didn’t have to suffer through the teasing).

            It was the conversations leading up to it, the sense of ease Y/N felt around Michael. He was witty and sarcastic, his humor dry, but not at the expense of others while being engaging and thought-provoking at the same time. What had sealed the deal for her though was when he actually engaged in the debate, she presented him – if he had to kiss a fish-spider hybrid, what would he choose – fish head, spider body or fish body, spider head?

            He’d made her laugh so hard she cried, and when Y/N had deemed it was time to call an Uber and go home, she’d taken the risk and asked if he wanted to come to her place. And after a few moments where she wanted the earth to open and swallow her whole, he’d nodded.

            Together they waited for the cab, standing side by side, yet not touching. He’d opened the car door for her, before slipping in himself.

            The tension could be cut with a knife, and afterwards, Y/N had given the driver five stars for enduring it, while the whole way, one of Michael’s palms had slowly moved to rest against her thigh, and she’d had to clench them together because if she didn’t, there would be a noticeable wet spot underneath.

            After an agonizing half an hour's drive, they finally got to her place. Michael held the door open for her, and insisted on paying for the Uber, no matter how much Y/N protested.

            Every step towards the apartment she was renting on the fourth floor of the complex, was agony. As she fumbled for her keys, Michael’s fingers were slowly skimming the side of her dress where the zipper rested.

            Y/N’s whole body was a live-wire, and she wondered how in the world had the lock not melted from the heat, as it slid in place and she unlocked the door, the motion now forever having a sexual connotation, for in that moment Michael was the key that would unlock her desires.

            Together, they stepped beyond the threshold, and yet still, he never once removed his touch from her body. From that damned little black number. She’d only worn it because she’d been set up on a blind date. They were supposed to meet up at the bar for a drink before going to a play, but as it turns out, even guys who like theatre can ghost.

            When Y/N realized the situation, she wanted to go home, as her date was the one who had the tickets, pull this thing off and drink the already opened bottle of wine that was in the fridge, but she could have at least one good cocktail before that.

            That’s when Dr. Robby, or as he’d asked her to call him by his first name, Michael, slid into the seat next to her. They didn’t talk for the first five minutes, not until she’d been scrolling through Instagram and some post had caught her eye. Something about green tea enemas and glowing skin, and the man beside had released a heavy-duty sigh, accompanied by “fucking Dr. Google.”

            It’s when slowly but surely, they’d struck up a conversation, which had now resulted in Y/N having Michael towering over her, his beard scratching against the crook of her neck where he’d placed his chin.

            When his hands wove and settled against her stomach, any sort of resolve she’d had, snapped. Instantly, she turned, weaving her arms around his neck and pulling his mouth to hers in a bruising kind of kiss. The kind that left you breathless and dizzy and wanting more.

            She felt an insatiable thrill rush down her spine as Michael responded with just as much vigor, the pads of his fingers digging deep into her hips and pulling her to be flush against his chest, so much so, that Y/N could feel his own desire growing in his groin.

            “I’ve never hated clothes more than I do right now,” she giggled as Michael grappled with the door handle and pushed it close without disconnecting from one another.

            “Then let’s get them off, shall we?”

            The way he dragged the side zipper open, was almost reverent, worshipping even. Like he wanted to prolong the build-up between them, and Y/N couldn’t lie – she was loving it, even if she was losing her mind. So many times, when she’d had hook-ups, guys tended to just get her naked as fast as possible, which was fine. She was down for it, but there was something indescribable about how Michael reveled in feeling her slowly start to tremble, in how he kissed up and down her neck, while his fingers took their sweet time. It drove her insane with want, in an amount she’d never felt before.

            His pointer finger dragged its way up Y/N’s bicep, making goosebumps erupt all over before he slowly slid a strap down. Then the other, until the dress was pooling around her waist, and still, where usually she’d be helping the guy shimmy herself out of the dress, Michael didn’t rush. He simply allowed his hands to explore her body, skimming along her ribs and up to the black lacy number she’d worn, then right back down.

            “You counting if I have all my ribs in place, Dr. Robby?” Y/N let out a shaky breath, trying to alleviate the gathered tension, for she was just about to combust, but all she got was a soft smile as he leaned down and pressed a kiss to her neck where her pulse was visibly thrumming.

            “I don’t have much time in my day to stop and admire art. So please, indulge me. And art, which I’m allowed to touch, should be revered even more so.”

            Her eyes may or may not have rolled to the back of her head at his words, and he hadn’t even gotten his head between her legs yet. Yeah, Dr. Michael “Robby” Robinavitch, the attending of a trauma centre, would be the death of her.

Name of the deceased - Y/N Y/L/N. Date of death - 4th of April, 2025. Cause of death – self-combustion. Reason for self-combustion – a sexy as fuck doctor.

            Quite honestly, if that was how she was going to go, so be it.

            Finally, though, after what felt like ages, her dress was shed, leaving her only in her underwear and strappy high-heels she’d worn.

            “If there is one thing I hate, it’s not having a photographic memory,” Michael grumbled as his hands skimmed along the waistband of her panties. “But trust me when I say this, I will be picturing this moment for decades to come.”

            “You are more than welcome to have a look at what’s hiding underneath,” Y/N said. Or that is what she would have said, had she not simply whimpered in response. Not very sexy of her, but the feeling of his chest rumbling with a laugh, totally made up for it.

            She gathered enough of her bearings to step out of the fabric around her feet and move them along to her room. Never did his eyes leave her, never did his gaze waver or wander as they faced one another, her queen-sized bed behind her.

            “You are awfully overdressed,” Y/N mumbled, allowing herself the luxury of running her palms along the still-covered planed of his chest. His breathing was steady, but to feel the erratic thumping of his heart excited her beyond measure. It meant all that composure was just an act, and she was thrilled she’d be the one to crack it.

            She was just about to move her fingers to the buttons of his shirt when Michael slid down to his knees. If his hands hadn’t been resting against her thighs, she was sure she would’ve buckled and crashed. And Michael, damn the man to hell and back, knew it, if only by the smirk that stretched his face as he unlaced the strappy heels she had on and helped her stand on her feet.

            Y/N covered her face and groaned, throwing her head back. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you? Torturing me?”

            “Torturing you?” A kiss against her navel. “The only person being tortured tonight has been me. At the bar. In the car. Even now, you’re driving me crazy. So, if this is torture, simply consider it payback.”

            With the gentlest of touches, only a doctor could manage, Michael skimmed over Y/N’s stretchmarks, scars and blemishes – pieces of herself she didn’t particularly like, but the way he touched her… it was like he was mapping out the carve-marks of a Michelangelo statue. She was Venus and those – the history of her life.

            By the time he got back up to her mouth, she was a trembling mess, her nails digging into the muscles of his back, as finally, to her relief, he allowed her to rid him of the shirt.

            Much like he’d done to her, Y/N allowed herself the pleasure of exploring his body, mapping out the ridges and slopes of his chest and abdomen, before moving around to his back, and once they made their way to the small of it, she dug her nails against the skin there. The groan she was rewarded with, was sweeter than the cocktail he’d bought her.

            “Is it okay, if I touch you here?” Michael’s fingers slipped along the tops of her breasts before they moved to her back where they toyed with the clasp of the garment.

            “More than,” Y/N’s words were a breathless whisper by that point, and her inhale stuttered in her chest as she deftly snapped it open.

            It was clear he had experience, and not just because he was two decades her senior, but probably also because he’d done so in the trauma center, he worked at. For a brief, stupid second, she wondered how he could still find such acts pleasurable when he’d no doubt had to have done it during horrendous emergencies, yet all that was wiped away when Michael lowered his head and his teeth grazed a nipple.

            Her sharp gasp echoed around them, and Y/N weaved her fingers through his hair, pushing his face closer, as he lavished at her chest. The next day, she was sure, there would be bruises and love bites blooming like flowers across her chest and sternum, not to mention the delicious beard burn.

            Y/N moaned as he pulled the peak into his mouth, but when an uninhibited thought entered, it made her throw it back in a deep groan.

            “That feel good?”

            “So fucking good, but also, so yeah, I,” she stammered trying to get her brain to cooperate and create a coherent sentence. “Okay, so I just imagined you in glasses, and this got like ten times hotter.”

            “Glasses?” Michael chuckled, pulling slightly back and looking up at her. “That’s what does it for you?”

            “Correction – you in glasses. Though you right now are so doing it for me too. But that image just… yeah… kinda glad you don’t have any on. I’d probably be a pile of ash by this point.”

            “Now that would be a shame, wouldn’t it?” He said, slowly moving to her other breast, but not neglecting the one he’d already loved on, by cupping it in his large palm. “I mean, I’m just getting started.”

            Yeah, Y/N was dead and done for.

            As he continued licking at her chest, the hand that’d been fondling one of them, slid down her front and tentatively brushed against her clothed core. It was a single knuckle right against where her clit was, but it was enough for her to jolt in his grasp. Michael just steadied her and held tighter around her waist.  

            Once he deemed Y/N’s breasts worshipped enough, he trailed back up between them and covered her mouth with his, yet the knuckle, that damned fucking knuckle, still slid against her pussy. He could no doubt feel how wet she was, the material, though there wasn’t much of it anyway, soaked through so bad, her thighs were already sticky.

            “Michael please,” Y/N was now openly begging. She was way beyond feeling embarrassed for such a move when in the span of half an hour, he’d reduced her to liquid fire. No one had ever made her feel this wanted. This needed. And she desperately wanted and needed him too.

            “Tell me what you want,” he murmured, as he pushed his thumbs beyond the waistband of her panties and started to lower them down. The cool air hit her exposed core, and Y/N released a breathless moan. “You gotta tell me what you want and don’t want. I’m not gonna go any further until you do.”

            “I want you to touch me.”

            “I am touching you.”

            She could feel him smirk as his hands took hold of the globes of her ass and squeezed.

            “No, I want you to touch me there,” Y/N whined and tried to chase his mouth with hers, but Michael pulled back, shaking his head.

            “Gotta be more specific than that, sweetheart.”

            She debated on pulling away completely, on not giving him what he wanted either, but she was pathetic for this man. So, instead, she took one of his hands and guided it from where it rested against her ass, towards the front, sighing in relief as he let her do so. With her fingers guiding his, they slid to rest between her legs as Michael slowly, ever so exploratory, found her clit. She pressed her hand harder against his, so he could match the pressure on her core, and when he did so, overwhelming pleasure flooded her veins.

            “There,” Y/N breathed. “I want you to touch me there. And then,” she moved his hand deeper, by the wrist, until she could feel the pads of his fingers nudging against her entrance. “I want you to put three of your fingers inside me, while you suck on my clit, until I’m a crying mess.”

            As Y/N lifted her head back to look at him, there was absolutely no sign of the warm brown irises that’d looked at her so gently at the bar. Sure, it was dark in the apartment, yet even in bright daylight, she’d bet all her student loans, only two black abysses would be staring back at her, especially with how fast his chest was rising and falling.

            “And then?”

            God, had his voice dropped even lower? How did he manage to make it so gravelly, yet smooth as the darkest, most succulent chocolate?

            “And then…” Her fingers trembled as she moved her hands to the front of his pants, undoing the buckle and flipping open the button, lowering the zipper as she went. All the while, Michael applied steady pressure on her clit, circling the bundle of nerves just enough to drive her towards the edge, but not enough for release to come. “And uhm, then…” She pushed his pants down as far as they would go, letting them bunch around his knees.

            It took barely a moment for him to step out of them completely, kicking them to some forgotten corner of her room, leaving him in only his boxers. Somewhere along the way he’d lost the shoes and socks, but Y/N wasn’t about to go and hunt for them. Not with how he still circled her clit with those experienced appendages.

            “Yes?” He raised a brow and pressed harder against her clit, making her pull in a sharp breath.

            “And then,” Y/N trailed a teasing finger along the band of his boxers, for once delighting in how his abdomen muscles went taut, and his obviously hard dick twitched inside the confines. “And then I want you to fuck me. However, you want to. As long as by the end of it, neither of us know up from down and left from right.”

            When she cupped him over the clothes he still had left on, it seemed like it snapped something in Michael, some taut, already fragile wire, that’d begun fraying ever since she’d invited him back to her place. Because this time when he kissed Y/N, it was a hungry kiss. A man starved being served the most lavish meal of all.

            She was on the mattress in a matter of seconds, body covered by his towering frame. They molded perfectly together, Y/N thought. When she rolled her hips up to get at least some form of friction, he responded in kind, clearly searching to satiate his own desire.

            Michael’s hands slid from her shoulders down the length of her arms before intertwining their fingers and bringing them up and over Y/N’s head, not once disconnecting from the kiss.

            “You keep them there,” he instructed, breathing the words into her mouth. “And when I’m done with my appetizer, we’ll move on to the first of the main courses.”

            “Appetizer?” Y/N squeaked out. A good hook-up in her books was at least two orgasms, usually only having one. But calling eating her out an appetizer, and then having a numbered list of courses, was something else completely.

            Michael’s only response was that same damned smirk she’d learned could only mean torture, as he made his way between her legs, and without wasting another second, diving in between them.

            The first lick of his tongue was a broad, all-encompassing one. And Y/N could only hope her neighbors had some good noise-cancelling headphones at the ready.

            His forearms had settled against her hips and palms splayed themselves over her stomach to push her down against the bed, as she tried to chase his mouth.

            And what a mouth it was.

            Who knew the soft-spoken trauma doctor she’d met on a random Friday night at a bar while waiting for a date that never came, would be the creation of the Devil himself?

            But when he pushed two thick fingers inside, shortly followed by a third, just like Y/N had asked, all thoughts flew out of the window. The way he curled them in an attempt at finding that spot that made her gasp and choke on air, the way he scissored them, stretching her, preparing her for the first course he had in mind, was diabolical.

            Her first orgasm came unexpectedly. She could feel it like a wave – pushing and pulling – but she hadn’t expected the moment it crested and shattered against the rocks, swift and sharp, coming without a warning, all due to the teasing that’d happened before, no doubt.

            Michael rode it out with Y/N, until her hips stopped grinding against his mouth, and he could gently remove his fingers from her pussy.

            He placed a soft kiss against the inside of her thigh, the skin raw and tender from his beard, that now glistened with her juices.

            “ ‘M sorry,” Y/N mumbled, an arm thrown over her eyes as she came down from her high and tears streamed down to her temples, just like she’d requested.

            “Whatever for?”

            “Didn’t warn you I was coming.”

            As the aftershocks receded, and she removed her arm, she found Michael looking up at her completely puzzled. “And why would I need a warning? I could tell, you know.” He rose to hover over her. “The way you were clenching. Fucking proud of it too.”

            “No, I mean,” she huffed, trailing a hand down his chest. “Sometimes guys don’t want to… you know… have that in their mouth. They’d rather finish a girl off with their fingers and not have to… taste it.”

            Now that was one way to kill a mood, but Y/N had already opened her big mouth and the words were out.

            “And why wouldn’t I want to taste it, hmm?” Michael tilted his head at her, as his hands drifted up and down her sides, over her breasts and clavicles, to skim along her neck and finally settle on the pillow beside her head. “Why wouldn’t I want that, when it’s the end goal? You got your tears,” he kissed the corners of her eyes where the salt still lingered. “And I got my wine.”

            Her gaze drifted to the beard, the one she would be feeling for days to come, as she went about her life. The one that was glistening with the remnants of her orgasm even in the dark, and Y/N wondered, what it would be like to sit atop it. To have him pull her down by the waist as she claimed his mouth for her throne. They were such salacious thoughts, for a moment, embarrassment flushed through her, but come on! After such an eating out, Y/N was allowed to fantasize.

            “And by the end of this, if you let me,” Michael mumbled, a golden chain dangling in between them. Quickly she snatched it between her teeth and pulled, making him come closer. “I’d like to do so at least once more.”

            “You are absolutely welcome to it. Morning, noon and night.”

            But at that moment, Y/N had no intentions of allowing him to go for another round, as when he leaned down for a kiss, she lifted a leg over his hip and twisted, throwing Michael off his balance and onto his back, with her now on top.

            “But right now… you had your starter.” She gave him a wicked grin. “And I’ve yet to still have mine.”

            “Fuck me,” was all he managed to groan out as he threaded a hand through his hair, head pressed tight against her silk-covered pillows while Y/N rid him of his boxers.

            His length sprang free, thick and aching. It slapped against his abdomen and her hand curled around it immediately to give him some sort of relief, precum dripping from the tip. Or maybe, she intended to do quite the opposite.

            He’d taken his sweet fucking time riling her up. She could take hers. But it was the way he let out the smallest of “please”, the way his eyes locked onto hers, practically begging to put him out of his misery, that did her in. She’d tease him come morning. For now, she was way too aroused herself to deprive her body of his any longer.

            Y/N gathered a bit of saliva in her mouth and let it drip down onto his length, before dragging her tongue along the vein at the base of it, her lips wrapping around the tip as she made her way up and giving it a gentle, yet firm, suck.

            Michael’s hips jolted, and a hand grasped onto her head. He didn’t push it down or pull her hair in any way, more so it seemed he needed something solid to hold onto as she pulled his length into her mouth, until it hit the back of her throat, making both of them choke.

            “You don’t need to do that,” Michael started, ready to pull Y/N away if it became too much for her, but she stayed there, relaxing her muscles bit by bit, until he was so deep down her throat, her nose brushed against the hairs of his pelvis.

            “Fucking. Hell.” Those were the only two words he managed to express before Y/N trailed her mouth up and started to really suck him off. After that, it was just grunts and groans, his hand tightening and then unclenching in her hair, but never pressing, never pushing her to take more than she wanted to. Michael was completely immersed with her pace, and ready to take whatever she gave him.

            That sort of power could make anyone lightheaded, and when Y/N started to feel him twitch in her mouth, she pulled completely off.

            Instantly, his eyes snapped open, head rising to look at how she climbed his body and settled her knees around his hips, pressing her core down against his length. She was just about ready to let it slide inside when Michael’s hands closed around her waist and stopped her.

            “Condom,” he breathed out, chest rising and falling rapidly, probably the only word he could manage, which was great, because at least one of them still had some thinking skills left.

            “Shit. Fuck. Right, yeah.”

            Leaning over to her nightstand, Y/N half-fell over the bed to open the lowest drawer. In between her panties and vibrator, was a little foil packet which she fished out. She was glad of Michael’s unwavering hold, because the way she was precariously dangling over the edge, could end badly and with a stupidly gotten concussion.

            When she was back to straddling him, opening the packet and rolling the condom on his length, their eyes met.

            Michael rubbed his thumb in a circle on her hip. “We can always stop if you don’t want to go any further.”

            “I’m not a quitter,” Y/N scoffed, yet it didn’t elicit the smile she was aiming for, as he rose into a sitting position, wrapping his arms around her, hers resting onto his shoulders.

            “And this isn’t some race or competition. You can revoke consent anytime you want. And so can I.”

            “I know that,” Y/N nodded, her gaze softening at his words. He could easily create a power imbalance between them. With double the decades of age and experience on her, Michael could be pushing at her limits, trying to twist things into teaching her how to properly please a guy and so on, yet throughout all of it, his focus had been zeroed in on her wants and needs. She shifted a bit in her lap at the thought that she hadn’t checked in with him. “Do you want to stop?”

            “No.” His voice was soft but sure, and then, after a moment of him searching her eyes, the smile she’d hoped for, formed on his face. “But uh, and that is obviously if you are alright with it, I wouldn’t be opposed to adding your… friend… to our activities sometime later.”

            “My friend?” Y/N tilted her head in confusion. “Oh…” A furious heat exploded through her body, and not because of the fact Michael’s cock was slowly rubbing against her clit, the head nudging just right for pleasure to zing through her.

            He’d obviously noticed her vibrator, though the bright purple shade would be hard to miss. “You’re not turned off by it?”

            “Why would I be? You’re a woman who has needs. And if that’s how you take care of them, it’s completely fine. I mean, as long as you’re being hygienic and safe about it. Besides,” Michael breathed against her neck, as his hand slid between their bodies and he grasped himself, lining the tip up with Y/N’s entrance. “Real men see them as tools to use to their advantage, not competition. And well, not to stroke my own ego,” he smirked, “but I don’t think I have any competition here.”

            Y/N wanted to call him out for that statement, but he wasn’t lying. Not with the way his length stretched her out as he pushed inside. The fingering beforehand was incomparable to the feel of Michael sliding inside at a slow and agonizing pace, but one she desperately needed and welcomed.

            He was thick and veiny, all ridges and girth, and so, so perfect for her.

            It took a minute for him to be fully sheathed, and a minute more for Y/N to adjust, her forehead pressed against his, while he rubbed his hands up and down her back while she settled.

            This wasn’t fucking. This was sex. This was intimate, and it was something she hadn’t known she’d wanted from a partner. Usually, it was fast and hard, leaving both her and the guy she was with, panting against the sheets. Satisfied in the sense that both (hopefully) had had orgasms, but something was always missing. Now, Y/N knew it was this – time.

            Time spent exploring one another, time spent learning and teaching, and time spent simply enjoying each other’s bodies.

            “You good?” Michael muttered, shifting ever so slightly and making the tip catch a spot inside of her, Y/N had only reached with her purple “friend”.

            “Yeah,” she nodded. “You?”

            “Yeah.” Michael kissed her. Whether as an affirmation of his words or simply because he could, she didn’t know. But neither did she care. He was the best kisser she’d had the opportunity to enjoy, so she’d take it.

            While they kissed, Michael started moving. At first, it was slow rolls of hips, figuring out what movements made both of their breaths hitch and hearts pound, but it wasn’t long before Michael was on his back, knees bent as Y/N bounced up and down, his thumb pressed against her clit the whole time.

            Her second orgasm of the night was a more controlled approach. She could feel the coil tightening in her abdomen, and when Michael started lifting his hips up to meet hers, Y/N listed forward, balancing herself against his chest.

            “You gonna come?” he breathed against her ear as she pressed her chest against his, Michael’s hands wrapping along the small of her back and holding onto it, so he could fuck up into her pussy. “I can feel you clenching around me. Fuck, you feel good.”

            “Michael,” Y/N moaned his name. Not Dr. Robby or Robby how he’d explained the people in his life called him, but the name he’d asked her to call him. His real name.

            One snap, two, three. That was all it took for heat to explode. The only grounding thing in the world was his scent – some form of cheap cologne, antiseptic and sweat, but she knew she still had a long way before she came down, with how he was drilling up inside of her, chasing his own release.

            It elicited another, albeit smaller orgasm, but the most pleasure she got was when she realized he’d come with her as his palms grabbed onto her ass and pulled her sharply down, her name a sweet grunt on his lips against her ear.

            Yeah. Y/N needed to go out with more doctors. At least they knew where to find the clit and not neglect it once they had.

            He brought a hand up to her face and pulled her by the cheek to meet his mouth, a satisfied sigh leaving her as he did so.          

            “That was the best one yet,” Y/N mumbled against his lips.

            “And the night’s still young.”

            They went three more rounds after that (because she only had three more condoms, and she’d rather use them on one man who knew how to make her come three more times, than three men, who would have trouble getting one out of her).

            Michael was also a man of his word, as he had her vibrator join in on the fun. Y/N had her ass up in the air while he railed her from behind, an arm wrapped around her middle, pressing the toy to her clit, the vibrations sending pleasure unlike any other through her.

            His front was flush to her back, beard having left delicious burns down her spine, as he’d kissed her there, before eating her out once more in between the rounds and pushing his again-hard cock inside.

            That was the final orgasm she could manage, and it seemed Michael knew it. It was the kind that not only made her legs, but her whole body shake, leaving Y/N a trembling mess against the sheets, while he soothed her through the aftershocks.

            “You with me, sweetheart?” he mumbled against her temple as he gathered her in his arms and laid them side by side.

            “Jus’ give me a momen’,” Y/N slurred while Michael brushed a finger from her cheek to her jaw and back. “I think I’m a medical fucking miracle with how you just fucked my brains out, and yet, I can still function. Barely though.”

            Michael’s chuckle reverberated through her body, as after she’d recovered slightly, he gathered her up and moved them to where she instructed the bathroom was, to make sure she peed and didn’t get a UTI. If these had been normal circumstances, she would have never let a guy see her peeing, but quite honestly, Y/N wasn’t sure she’d be able to get back from the toilet seat on her own.

            “You’re more than welcome to have a shower if you want. Of course, only if you’re down with smelling like peaches or passion fruit.” Y/N nudged her chin towards the shower gels lining the floor, one hers, the other Sara’s.

            “I wouldn’t be opposed to, but only if you join me.”

            She hissed, biting her lip. “I don’t have any condoms left. Besides, from what I’ve heard and read, shower sex can be quite precarious. I’m surprised that you as a trauma doctor would risk such a thing.”

            “I’m not asking to have sex,” Michale laughed and helped her stand on her still wobbly legs after she flushed. “I’m asking for you to shower with me. Nothing more, nothing less.”

            And that’s what they actually did. They simply had a shower. Michael washed her back and she washed his, along with his hair. When she did so, the blissful look on his face, the way he allowed himself to melt against her touch, sent a new kind of thrill through her. But it also made her wonder – when was the last time he allowed someone to take care of him?

            By the time they got out from under the water, it was close to four in the morning, so they dried themselves down and went to bed. Y/N’s down duvet was a warm and fluffy cloud around them. Sure, she could have asked him to leave, but why would she, when he seemed so content to be there? Whether anything came from it once they awoke, didn’t matter. If he didn’t want to leave at that moment, Y/N would be the last person to push him to.

            She drifted off almost instantly, warm and safe in Michael’s hold, but when the real morning came and she rubbed the sleep from her eyes, body sore and satiated, she was met with a cold spot next to her.

            There was no fucking sign on Michael, and judging by how she’d been tucked in, he’d left a while back.

            Her dress and underwear had been neatly laid out on the chair in her room, heels tucked beneath it. As she ventured into the apartment, there were absolutely no signs of him, except for a cup of tea on the kitchenette. She knew it’d been made for her – it was filled to the brim, but much like the sheets, it was also already cold.

            Sourness settled in her mouth as she poured the liquid down the drain. Not even a single fucking note. It was like they’d never even met.

            Y/N hadn’t expected him to leave his phone number, God forbid, his address, what with how he’d laughed when she’d told him she was twenty-six, and he’d responded that he could be her father with that age gap. She knew she was some kind of spur-of-the-moment mistake he’d made. A weakness in his judgement, but fucking hell, she at least deserved an “it was great meeting you, wish you all the best,” note. Especially because he knew the only reason she’d gone to the bar was because she’d been ghosted by a date.

            And now – now Michael was also a ghost, an unscratchable, unreachable itch under her skin she couldn’t get to.

            That was the real reason Y/N’d felt so bitter for the past two weeks. If he’d been a bad lay, or maybe she’d been the bad party, she would understand the one-and-done-dump, but something about falling asleep while being wrapped up in one another, and then just leaving without so much as a goodbye, was crueler than if he’d left while she was still coming down from her release.

            Now though, as she watched him while they waited at the nurse’s station, she noted how his fingers twitched by his side. She wondered whether he wanted to touch her as badly as she wanted to touch him, but then horrible reality kicked in – there wouldn’t be any sort of touching for a while.

            She was stuck with her leg in a cast, and a scheduled check-up with Dr. Langdon in a week to take it off and remove the stitches, before it would get swaddled again for a month or more.

            Y/N cursed the day she’d met Dr. Michael Robinavitch, for he’d released a monster of carnal urges, she didn’t even really know resided in her. And he was the only one who knew how to properly tame it because even in his scrubs and hoodie, surrounded by the smell of antiseptic and all sorts of bodily fluids she didn’t want to think about, all she wanted to do was grab him by the neck and get him to some supply closet to have her way with him like they were actually in Grey’s Anatomy.

            “Michael, I,” Y/N started but got cut off by Sara waltzing into the emergency department.

            “How’s my pirate doing?” She threw her arms around her shoulders and squeezed. “They assign you a parrot yet?”

             “I don’t have a fucking peg-leg.” Y/N rolled her eyes as she signed a final form. With that, Sara took the wheelchair handles, gave Dana a salute and wheeled her out of the hospital, making Y/N crane her neck back and shout a final thank you to the nurse.

            She was just about to ask Sara to slow down as she needed to talk to Michael, when she felt his presence moving with them, silent, steady and strong, his hands taking hold of the crutches as the automatic doors opened.

            He followed them out and once they got to Sara’s car, helped Y/N settle in the front seat.

            “You good?” He tucked a strand behind her ear.

            “Yeah.” She gave him a genuine smile, and her heart pounded in her chest as his eyes trailed to trace her lips. “I am. Thank you. For taking care of me in there.”

            “Honestly, I can’t believe I’m saying this, but the only time I’d like to see you back here is for your check-ups.”

            Y/N nodded, suppressing a smile. “Duly noted. No shower karaoke for me.”

            “I’m serious. You have an appointment with Frank in a week, but other than that, please take care of yourself, alright?”

            “You don’t have to worry about that.” She nudged her head towards Sara who was wrangling the crutches inside the boot of the car. “Mother hen is on the job.”

            “Good.” Michael nodded and before Y/N could properly prepare herself, he’d leaned down, cupping her jaw in his hands and kissed her.

            Her brain short-circuited at that, but when his tongue probed against the seal of her lips, she had to start wondering if she’d actually died when she’d hit her head in the shower. It didn’t take more than that though for her to open up, for her arms to brush against his scrubs and weave into the salt-and-pepper hair.

            By the time Michael pulled back, both their lips were kiss-swollen.

            “Let me take you out on a date.”

            Y/N let out a breathless laugh, scratching the back of his neck. “What happened to the doctor-patient thing?”

            Michael only smirked. “You’ve been discharged. You’re no longer a patient of mine.”

            “Okay, but even so – what would we do? My leg’s in a cast, and I can barely hobble around with the crutches.”

            “I can carry you. I don’t mind.”

            “And throw out your back, old man?”

            “Hey, I’m not that old!” Michael protested, and when he noted the smile on her mouth, he pressed his against it once more.

            “How about this,” Y/N proposed, “when you’re done with your shift, you could come over to my place, and -,”

            “Our place,” Sara butted in, sliding into the driver’s seat. “So, whatever you have in mind – no hanky-panky with me next door.”

            If Y/N rolled her eyes any harder they would get stuck in the back of her head, but she returned her attention to the awaiting attendant. “And we order some take-out. We watch a movie and then just… go to sleep?”

            “It might be very late by the time I’m off.”

            When she raised her hand and cupped his rugged cheek, it took him no time at all to lean into her touch. “I can wait.” She pecked his lips. “I’m in no rush.” She could only hope he understood the double meaning behind what she meant with it.

            Later that night as Y/N sat by the TV, the glow of the screen illuminating her face, she fell asleep with her head against Michael’s chest.

            And when she awoke, her sheets were warm with the remnants of his body, even if he wasn't there anymore.

            She was alone, yes, but atop the pillow rested a note:

            Shift started at 8. Sorry, I can’t be there to wake up with you.             I’ll be home by 9.

            It was almost impossible to wipe the smile off her face for the rest of the day.

Even as the itching under the cast started.

-----

Tags: are open :) if you wish to be tagged in further fics, please drop a comment under the fic or message me or leave me an ask :)

A/N: I have arisen

if you wish to know how this man makes me feel, please listen to Slutty by The Scarlet Opera.

I am FERAL.

P.S. I hope you enjoyed it :) feedback/constructive criticism is always appreciated :)

[misswynters]

༘⋆♡ Arcane characters reacting to having you be a vs bombshell model

featuring: vi, sevika, mel, cait, ekko, viktor and ambessa

warnings: kissing, heavy touching, implied nsfw themes

inspired by my fic XOXO w/ jinx (which is why she isn’t included)

a/n: might of went overboard with some (let me know if there any mistakes)

Sevika

Sevika leaned against the wall, her eyes sweeping over you as you entered the room, the curves of your body accentuated by the form-fitting outfit you were wearing. She didn't say anything at first, her gaze intense as if she were appraising you, testing you. "You look good," she finally said, her voice husky. "But l've got a better idea.

Want to show me just how good?" She stepped closer, her hand grazing the side of your cheek as her fingers gently trailed down your neck. "I want to see you in that lingerie of yours-the one you always wear when you want to really make an impression. The one that drives me wild," she added, her lips curling into a half-smile.

You swallowed, feeling the heat rise between you both. She didn't need to say it twice. The way her eyes burned into you told you everything.

As you slipped out of your clothes and into the requested set, she took a slow, appreciative breath. "Damn... Now that's what I'm talking about." The hunger in her eyes was unmistakable, and you could tell she was ready to claim this moment as hers.

Sevika leaned back in her chair, the low light of her quarters casting sharp shadows across her face as her piercing gaze locked onto you. Her usually composed demeanor faltered slightly as you stepped closer, the lingerie she had insisted on seeing clinging to your figure in all the right ways. She let out a low hum of approval, her scarred lip quirking into a smirk as she rested her elbow on the armrest, her metal fingers tapping rhythmically against her knuckles.

“You’re gonna kill me one of these days, y’know that?” she drawled, her voice husky as her eyes roamed over you, lingering on every detail of the delicate lace and silk.

“You said you wanted to see it,” you teased, stepping between her legs, your confidence wavering slightly under her intense scrutiny.

Sevika’s smirk widened as she reached out, her human hand brushing over your hip while the cool metal of her prosthetic traced your thigh, sending shivers down your spine. “Didn’t think you’d actually listen,” she admitted, her tone rough but tinged with amusement. “But damn, you wear it better than I imagined.”

Her grip tightened, and in one swift motion, she pulled you onto her lap, her lips crashing against yours in a kiss that was all heat and hunger. Her hands roamed boldly, one sliding to your waist to pull you closer while the other cupped the back of your neck, anchoring you to her.

“You’re mine tonight,” she growled against your lips, her voice low and possessive. “Every damn inch of you.”

The tension in the air was electric, her touch igniting a fire under your skin as she kissed down your neck, her sharp teeth grazing your skin playfully. You could feel her smirk against your collarbone as her hands continued their exploration, leaving no part of you untouched.

“Sevika,” you gasped, your voice trembling as her lips and and hands sent your senses into overdrive.

She chuckled, the sound rumbling through her chest as she leaned back slightly to admire the effect she had on you. "Relax," she murmured, her thumb brushing over your cheek as her eyes softened ever so slightly. "We've got all night." And knowing who sevika is with you, you knew that she was telling the truth. It was going to be a rough night.

Vi

Vi was already leaning against the wall when you stepped off the stage, her arms crossed and a cocky grin plastered across her face. The moment she saw you in your intricate wings and delicate lingerie, she couldn't hide her pride-or the heat in her gaze.

"Damn," she drawled as you approached, her eyes shamelessly raking over you. "How am I supposed to share you with the whole world when you look like that?" Your cheeks warmed as you stepped closer, unable to keep the smile off your face. "You like it?" you teased, spinning slowly to give her the full view.

"Like it?" she repeated, pushing off the wall and closing the distance between you. Her hands found your waist, pulling you flush against her. "Babe, I love it. But now I can't stop thinking about getting you out of it." She whispered, her breath warm against your ear, the promise of more heat to come in her voice.

Before you could answer, she reached out, pulling you toward her with a strength that made your heart skip a beat. Her lips found yours, firm and passionate, a kiss that left no room for hesitation. Her hands slipped down your back, pressing you flush against her, grinding your hips together for just a moment, enough to send a thrill through both of you. Hands roaming from the soft silk of your waist to the small of your back, where she hooked her fingers over the straps of the wings.

"You're incredible up there," she murmured against your lips, her voice husky. "But I think I prefer this view with just you and me."

You laughed softly, your hands sliding up her chest and locking behind her neck. "So, no complaints about my job, then?"

She smirked, leaning down to nip at your jawline. "None. As long as I'm the only one who gets the private shows."

"Jealous much?" Her grip tightened slightly on your hips as she kissed a trail down your neck.

"Nah," she murmured, her lips brushing against your skin. "Just possessive." Your breath hitched as her hands dipped lower, her voice dropping to a whisper. "What do you say we head home? I wanna see you take this off."

Mel Merdarda

The evening air was heavy with the scent of candles and sweet perfume as you stepped into Mel Medarda’s private quarters. Her golden eyes lifted from the glass of wine in her hand, and the moment they landed on you, the room seemed to still. She was lounging on a chaise, her regal posture radiating authority, but the flicker of surprise and desire in her gaze softened her otherwise impenetrable demeanor.

“You’ve outdone yourself tonight,” she murmured, her voice like velvet, her lips curving into a knowing smile. She set her glass down and stood, her silk gown cascading around her as she crossed the room with an elegance only she could command.

Her hands reached out, brushing against the edges of your robe. Slowly, she pulled it aside to reveal the intricate lingerie beneath. The golden embroidery glimmered in the candlelight, hugging your figure perfectly. Mel’s fingers grazed your bare shoulder, her touch light but electrifying.

“You’re a vision,” she whispered, her voice dropping an octave as her lips found yours in a kiss that was both reverent and insistent. Her hands traced your waist, pulling you closer as her warmth enveloped you.

Breaking the kiss, she looked into your eyes, her smile soft yet mischievous. “Tonight, you’re not just mine to admire,” she said, her voice sultry as she led you toward the chaise. “You’re mine to worship.” And worship you, she did, with all the precision and devotion you’d come to expect from her.

Caitlyn Kiramman

Caitlyn had always been composed, but the moment you entered her bedroom, the shift in her demeanor was undeniable. She stood by the bed, her eyes never leaving you as she slowly approached.

"You're looking stunning, as always," she said softly, but there was something more to her words— something loaded with desire.

Before you could respond, she moved quickly, her hand finding the back of your neck, pulling you into a passionate kiss. Her lips were gentle at first, almost hesitant, but that hesitation faded quickly as she pinned you to the bed, her body pressing you down.

Her hands roamed, tracing the curve of your body as her lips trailed down your jaw, your neck, each kiss leaving you breathless. "You're mine now," Caitlyn murmured, her voice filled with possessiveness and longing, as she kissed you with renewed fervor.

Caitlyn's weight pressed you gently into the soft mattress as her lips moved hungrily against yours, her usually refined and composed demeanor unraveling in the privacy of her dimly lit bedroom. The moonlight filtered through the curtains, casting a silver glow over her tousled hair and sharp features as she kissed you with an intensity that sent heat rushing through your veins.

Her hands roamed your sides, her touch firm but reverent, like she was mapping every inch of your body for the first time. As her lips left yours, you barely had a moment to catch your breath before they found their way to your jaw, then lower, to the delicate skin of your neck.

"You're incredible," Caitlyn murmured against your skin, her voice husky and filled with awe. Her hands slid under the hem of your shirt, her fingers grazing your bare skin as she drew closer, her hips flush against yours. "How did I get so lucky?"

Your breath hitched as she grabbed your wrists harder above your head with one hand. She tilted her head up, her sapphire eyes locking onto yours, a mischievous smirk tugging at her lips. "Do you want me to continue?" she asked, her tone soft but teasing as her free hand traced lazy patterns down your torso.

You nodded, unable to form words under the weight of her gaze, and she leaned down, her lips brushing the shell of your ear. "Good," she whispered before trailing kisses down your neck, her hand releasing your wrists to cup your cheek.

Her kisses became slower, more deliberate as she moved lower, her touch grounding and unhurried, savoring every reaction she pulled from you. You arched into her, your fingers tangling in her hair as she found the sensitive spot just below your collarbone.

"You're breathtaking," Caitlyn said softly, her voice raw with emotion as she pulled back for a moment to admire you. She leaned in again, her lips brushing against yours in a tender kiss before she smiled, her thumb stroking your cheek. "And you're mine."

It wasn't just the passion in her touches or the hunger in her kisses that left you breathless, it was the way Caitlyn held you as if you were the most precious thing in the world. The quiet devotion in her every move.

Ekko

Ekko was nervously tapping his fingers against his leg as he watched you enter, his eyes wide. He'd always admired you from afar, but seeing you now in that revealing outfit-it was too much for him to handle.

"U-uh... can we... can we do a private show? Just for me?" he stammered, his cheeks flushed. His fingers fidgeted as he tried to gather the courage to ask, his voice full of a mix of excitement and nerves. You could tell he was flustered, and a smile crept onto your face. You approached him slowly, giving him a teasing wink.

"Of course," you said softly. "Just for you, Ekko." His eyes lit up, and the look of wonder on his face made your heart flutter. You moved into the center of the room, giving him a slow, sensual dance, letting the rhythm flow through you.

Every movement you made seemed to take his breath away, and when you finished, he was speechless, his eyes wide and full of admiration. "That... was amazing," he whispered. "I-I can't believe you did that for me."

Ekko leaned against the wall of the hideout, his face still flushed from your impromptu “fashion show.” His wide eyes darted between you and the floor, his words stumbling over themselves.

“I-I didn’t think you’d actually—”

“You asked for a private fashion show,” you teased, stepping closer, the soft fabric of your robe brushing against your legs. “I just delivered.”

Ekko swallowed hard, his hand nervously rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah, but I didn’t think you’d actually…” His voice trailed off as he gestured vaguely toward you, his fingers twitching.

“You didn’t think I’d wear something like this for you?” You tilted your head, a playful smirk tugging at your lips. “You really underestimate me, Ekko.”

His gaze flickered to yours, the usual sharp confidence in his eyes softened by his clear awe. “No, it’s not that,” he muttered, his voice dropping. “I just didn’t think I deserved to see you like this.”

That caught you off guard. You stepped closer, reaching out to cup his cheek, your thumb brushing against his warm skin. “Ekko,” you said softly, “you’ve done so much for me. For everyone here. You deserve a lot more than just this.”

His hand came up to cover yours, his touch steady despite his flustered demeanor. “You don’t have to do anything special for me, you know?” he murmured, his eyes searching yours. “Just… you being you is enough.”

You smiled, leaning in to press a soft kiss to his lips. His breath hitched, but he quickly melted into the kiss, his hands hesitantly finding your waist. The tension in the air shifted, the nervous energy giving way to something warmer, more intimate.

As your fingers threaded through his hair, Ekko pulled you closer, his grip firm but gentle. The kiss deepened, and you felt his heart pounding against yours, fast and steady like the rhythm of a drum.

When you finally pulled back, his cheeks were flushed, and his lips were slightly swollen. “You’re really trying to kill me here,” he joked breathlessly, his hands still resting on your waist.

“Not at all,” you teased, trailing a finger along his jawline. “But I do like seeing you flustered. It’s cute.”

He groaned, burying his face in your shoulder to hide his embarrassment. “You’re such a tease.”

“And you love it,” you quipped, wrapping your arms around his neck. Ekko chuckled, the sound muffled against your skin. “Yeah,” he admitted softly, his arms tightening around you. “I really do.”

The moment lingered, the hum of the hideout fading into the background as the two of you held each other. For all the chaos and danger in your lives, this was a rare moment of peace. And neither of you wanted to let it go.

Viktor

Viktor's lab was cluttered with papers and equipment, but as soon as you stepped in, the clutter seemed to disappear. All he could focus on was you. You stood before him, your usual elegance replaced by an undeniable confidence, as you slowly peeled back the layers of your clothing. Viktor's breath caught in his throat as you revealed what lay beneath. The way your eyes met his, made his pulse race.

You leaned casually against the counter, but the smirk playing on your lips betrayed how much you enjoyed his reaction.

"Well?" you teased, your voice soft yet challenging. "Are you just going to stand there, or are you going to say something?"

Viktor blinked, his lips parting as if to form words, but they didn't come. His gaze flickered downward to the lingerie you wore, all delicate lace and sheer fabric, a stark contrast to the sterile and utilitarian environment of his workspace. "You're... truly something," he finally managed, his accent curling around the words.

You tilted your head playfully. “Something good, I hope?"

He took a cautious step closer, his cane clicking softly against the floor. "You know exactly what I mean," he murmured, his voice lower now, tinged with awe. His hand reached out, hesitating for just a moment before his fingers brushed the fabric at your hips. "You've outdone yourself."

Your heart skipped at the reverence in his tone. "I thought l'd surprise you," you said softly, leaning into his touch.

"You've done more than surprise me," Viktor admitted, his golden-brown eyes locking onto yours. "You've... completely distracted me."

You chuckled, looping your arms around his neck to pull him closer. "Is that such a bad thing?"

Before he could answer, you leaned in and pressed your lips to his. Viktor stiffened at first, clearly caught off guard, but then his hands found their way to your hips, hesitant yet firm. He kissed you back, slow and deliberate, as though trying to savor every moment. When you deepened the kiss, sliding your fingers into his hair, Viktor groaned softly against your lips. His grip tightened, his fingers brushing against the bare skin beneath the lace. The cool touch of his metal prosthetic sent a shiver down your spine, and he immediately stilled. "Did I hurt you?" he asked quickly, his brows furrowing in concern.

You shook your head, smiling up at him. “No. You could never hurt me."

Relief washed over his face, and his grip on you grew more confident. He leaned in again, this time guiding you backward until the edge of the counter pressed into your lower back. The hard surface contrasted sharply with the warmth of his body as he kissed you again, more fervently now.

His hand roamed upward, tracing the delicate straps on your shoulder before cupping your jaw, tilting your face so he could explore the curve of your neck.

You gasped as his lips found the sensitive spot just below your ear, his breath hot against your skin.

"Do you have any idea what you're doing to me?" he murmured, his voice rough with emotion.

"I have a pretty good idea," you teased, your hands slipping under his shirt to trace the lines of his torso.

He groaned again, his lips finding yours once more. The lab faded away, the hum of the equipment replaced by the sound of your shared breaths and the soft clink of his cane as he shifted to pull you impossibly closer.

For once, Viktor allowed himself to forget his work, his experiments, and the ever-looming weight of his ambition. In this moment, all that mattered was you-and the way you made him feel alive.

Ambessa Merdarda

Ambessa reclined back in her chair, her gaze heavy and consuming as you finished your slow, deliberate movements across the room. The rich velvet curtains framing her private quarters swayed slightly with the night's breeze, though the air felt anything but cold under her watchful eyes. You stood before her in the intricate lingerie she had requested, the delicate pink fabric accentuating every curve of your body in the flickering firelight.

Her lips parted slightly, and for a moment, the powerful general seemed at a loss for words, a rare vulnerability slipping through her commanding exterior. At nearly twice your height and with shoulders that could carry entire armies, Ambessa always made you feel small in the best way. A stark contrast that clearly did something to her now as her gaze grew darker.

"You've outdone yourself," she finally said, her voice a low rumble that sent a shiver down your spine. "I knew you'd be breathtaking, but this..." Her words trailed off as her golden eyes roamed over you. Feeling emboldened, you tilted your head with a playful smile. "Is it everything you imagined, General?" you teased, your voice soft yet sultry.

Ambessa smirked, the slight twitch of her lips only emphasizing her predatory demeanor. "More," she admitted, rising from her chair with a deliberate slowness that made her seem even larger. She approached with the precision of a lion stalking prey, her heavy boots clicking against the polished wood floor. When she stood before you, the top of your head barely reached her chest.

Her broad shoulders eclipsed the firelight behind her, casting you in her shadow as she placed her massive hands on your hips. She pulled you forward effortlessly, as if you weighed nothing to her, the size of her hands spanning nearly your entire waist.

"You've got my attention," she murmured, her voice rumbling against your smaller frame as her fingers traced the delicate diamond straps of your lingerie. Looping it around her fingers, letting it fall off your shoulder.

"Now, what will you do with it?" Your breath hitched as her lips brushed the shell of your ear, her warm breath fanning your skin and sending a shiver down your spine. Her hands roamed your body, the stark contrast of her rough, calloused touch against the soft silk of your lingerie making you tremble.

"Ambessa," you whispered, your voice trembling as her kisses moved lower, trailing along your neck and collarbone with an intensity that left you breathless.

She chuckled softly, her hands tightening their grip on your waist, her fingers brushing against your lower back as she pulled you impossibly closer. The difference in your size only seemed to spur her on, her gaze filled with an almost possessive hunger as she loomed over you. "Careful," she teased, her tone a mix of amusement and warning. "I might start thinking you enjoy being at my mercy."

Then ambessa made her way back to her chair, sitting down while manspreading, with her arms laying of the arm rest. Looking at you with a feverish expression. "Come here," she commanded softly, her voice velvet. "Since you're looking even more irresistible than usual."

You hesitated for just a moment, the air thick with unspoken desires, before walking towards her.

"Dance for me, darling," Ambessa purred, eyes darkened with intent. "Let me see you move."

With a small smirk, you began to dance, slow and seductive, your body swaying to an invisible rhythm. Her gaze followed every movement, and you could feel her heat from across the room.

As you moved closer to her, her hands caught your waist, pulling you in for a slow, deliberate kiss. "You going to kill me with the way you move," she murmured against your lips, and you couldn't help but smile at her words, feeling the tension between you both become even more palpable. “How about you use those skills for a different purpose.”

taglist: @iwanttoberich420 @pluhhbabyy

banners: @anitalenia

[irisinluv]

Isekaied as the Yandere Villain!? Pt 2

Part one

It was almost 2 minutes before I realized I was still dragging the crown prince behind me. I quickly dropped his hand and looked at him, not able to hide the embarrassment on my face. Listen- I’m committed to the bit. I WILL be the crazy jealous fiancé. But… I’m still human ok. I just dragged a full grown man down several halls and a flight of stairs while I spaced out thinking about how I’m gonna buy my cat premium wet food once I get back home to her.

It’s fine, I’m not flustered at spacing out about my cat, my characters just flustered because she’s been holding the hand of the man she’s obsessed with, that’s all!

“Well…. Did you still want to dine and take that walk?”

I expected him to scold me for my mistreatment of Cressida, grow irritated from me dragging him along like this. Instead, he chuckles and threads his arm in mine, and begins escorting me down the hall.

“Absolutely, have you dined outside by the roses yet? There’s this lovely pavilion that I am eager to hear your thoughts on.”

And that’s how I found myself under an impressive array of roses, all trained up and around a cozy dining area, creating a canopy of green and pink over an intimate tea table. The food was equally impressive, I had to keep reminding myself that the other me is used to this lavish lifestyle, to not gawk at the fancy tiny sandwiches and deserts.

��Well? Is everything to your liking? ”

I’m going off script here, how am I supposed to know how the villainess would react to a romantic scene like this?? If my “evil crazy” side isn’t supposed to be directed at him, and she’s usually kinda distant and unsure around him…. That means I should probably respond pretty curtly, polite, yet not really engaging. But…. I’ve already messed that up…. I guess I can be more genuine when it’s the two of us like this. He can think that this version of me is the facade, that I’m pretending to be pleasant, and then will start to see what a jerk “I” truly am when Cressida’s around. Besides…. I almost feel bad for the villainess. She really just seems like she was shy. Who knows- maybe, if given the opportunity, she really would have opened up more. It’s clear she loved the prince, and just didn’t know how to show it. So, with that thought, I made up my mind.

“It’s breathtaking! Roses are my favorite flower, and I’ve never seen so many kinds in bloom at once…. Plus the food and company leave little to be desired.”

There you go- slip in some subtle flirting! I’m not quite sure what time period this is supposed to be, but I get the impression flirting as bit more high class here, and I think I can have some fun with that.

“I’m glad, to be honest I was a bit flustered asking you to dine with me… you caught me quite off guard today, but in a good way.” He reaches his hand across the table and places it on my own, “I’d like to do this more often, you and I. I feel like the confines of our current arrangement have left us practically strangers, despite being engaged for several months already. I’m enjoying just being companionable with you, even if it’s just existing comfortably in the same room.”

Ohhhh, I know I’m the villain in this story but I can’t help but root for him- what a sweetheart! It’s so obvious he’s been lonely, I can’t wait for him and Cressida to fall in love and have a couple of kids that they’ll spoil rotten. And in the meantime…. Maybe I do have a bit of evil in me, because I’m going to selfishly enjoy this handsome man treating me to lunches under roses and reading in cozy libraries while I can.

“I know exactly how you feel your highness. Now, you mentioned a walk?”

We spent the afternoon laughing and chatting, and it felt nice to chat without worrying too much about my role. He asked me about that book I picked out earlier, and listened attentively as I caught him up with where I’m at in the plot. In turn, I asked about what papers he’s been signing, documents he’s been drafting, etc.

The only thing I had to do was send glares to any young ladies we passed, settling my hand on his arm possessively, and I saw their eyes widen and faces disappear behind fans as they whisper to one another. I can picture this illustrated in a manhwa- the nasty princess sinking her claws into the gullible prince… hopefully all these ladies will start gossiping and we can really cement this evil persona of mine now that Cressida’s here.

When we returned to our separate apartments, I explored my rooms a bit until servants came to get me ready for dinner, and I slipped back into the frigid bitch persona. The servant girls dressed me in a slightly stuffy gown, but I had to admit, I looked gorgeous. I sat stiff and straight as they did my hair, forcing myself to be the very picture of cold indifference. I then dismissively thanked them for their help, then sat there awkwardly as they stared at me like I was crazy.

Ohhhh shit…. The original story hadn’t prepared me for this. My character was a villain, yes, but a side character for the most part! How was she supposed to act towards her servants? I went over what I knew- the novel showed the villainess alone quite often, usually obsessing over Eric and plotting/stalking. It showed her with Eric, and how distant and awkward their relationship was when together. And then of course the numerous scenes with Cressida where the Villainess did all sorts of heinous things to the sweet girl. But… it never depicted her with servants, or even any friends or other nobles. Just… Eric and Cressida. Was other me not actually a bitch all the time? Am I being unnecessarily rude right now? Oh god I’m such an idiot.

The story is told through Cressida’s point of view- of course there’s more depth to my own character than I initially thought! The Villianess must be a misunderstood introvert! Unsure of how to act around her crush, she’s fiercely insecure and jealous of this new girl who doesn’t struggle the same way she does. When she notices the prince slipping from her grasp, she acts out against Cressida because she can’t bear to lose Eric!

As someone’s who’s worked minimum wage jobs and struggled with social anxiety most of my life, I try to be nice to the people just working to survive, but here I am acting like these poor women are the dirt beneath my shoe…. Ok. Um. Well they’re still standing there in shock, I can fix this….

“You really did a lovely job… my hair has never looked so gorgeous, you’re truly talented! And I think the prince will be very pleased with this choice of ribbon!”

There- I was nicer, and I brought it back to Eric, so I’m still the lovesick fiancé whose entire world is waiting for her in the dining room. I frowned as the servants scuttled out of the room with hurried excuses, all of them looking like they were about to faint. Damn it… I can’t believe I misread the relationship between us. I probably just ruined their night by being uncharacteristically rude. I’ve gotta learn their names next time…. Maybe ask them to help me eat some fancy pastries as an apology…?

I didn’t know it, but while I was lamenting how wrong I was about the Villainess’ character, the servants were all gossiping to the others about what had just transpired.

“You’re telling me she said THANK YOU!?”

“Yes!!! And then you should have seen how nervous she got! She just rambled, blurting out such a sweet compliment, and she even tied it back to the prince!”

“I had no idea how precious she was… I can’t believe I never realized she’s just shy! In a new place, all alone aside from her new fiancé…. Who I gather she’s got a bit of a crush on! Poor dear.”

“Ohh our sweet girl, I’m sure it must be hard bonding with the prince, when all you do is sit yards apart and hardly speak …”

“Well I may have some news about that… and it’s no wonder she was a bit flustered today, because I saw the two of them in the gardens today! They were both nothing but smiles- absolutely smitten with one another!”

“Such a lovely girl, and we never knew it all this time!”

Apparently, I had it backwards. The real villainess truly was a 2D, basic character. She was insecure and possessive over the prince, bullying Cressida half to remind her who Eric belonged to, half for the fun of it. But she didn’t let on to anyone about the true depth of her love for him. She didn’t gossip to her handmaid, didn’t ask the servants which dress he would like better. Simply acted as if they did not exist, hardly saying a word to them.

While I thought my blunt “thank you” was colder than they were used to, and then tried to smooth things over…. It was more words than they’d heard from me in the whole time I’d lived in the palace. They lapped it up and declared me their own shy little dove after that.

When I arrived to dinner, I realized why daily dinners weren’t exactly a bonding activity for the villainess and Eric. The table was massive, and only held two chairs, one at either end. It felt so…. Cold?

Eric had beat me there, and quickly stood up from his seat, waiting until I sat and a servant pushed in my chair to retake his own seat. He smiled at me and said,

“Good evening, princess.”

He had to project his voice slightly. It wasn’t like he was shouting or being loud, it was just the manner of speaking you use when talking to an elderly relative, clearer, and enunciating better so they could hear you.

I replied back, projecting my voice similarly, and found the conversation was, in fact, more awkward than it had been earlier. We ate our food mostly in silence, occasionally one of us would say something and the other would stop moving their utensils on their plate, listening closer as they ask,

“What’s that?”

By the time dinner was over and we each went to bed, I felt drained. I could have just been louder I suppose- but it’s so hard to keep up a conversation like that. I know we get along- we had chatted all afternoon after all. But some part of me realized it’s probably good to keep a bit of distance between us, even if I’ve rewritten things to be a bit chummier between the two of us. Cressida needs to swoop in and steal him from me… and my job is still to leave that room for her to do so.

It’s hard trying to be someone else, yet also making sure you lead the plot in the right direction- it’s exhausting! I feel like both director and actress!

It’s with this in mind that I launch myself into the softest bed I’d ever felt, and passed out. My first day as princess consort, the Yandere fiancé, complete.

While I was getting acquainted with my feather bed, Eric was speaking with the head waitstaff.

“Yes, tomorrow, would you mind adjusting the seating situation? I’d like for the princess consort and I to be closer together from now on. Yes, and ask my assistant to arrange my schedules like so, I’ve detailed it here. Thank you.”

At the same time, Cressida was recounting her run in with the prince and I to her handmaiden as she finishing unpacking and settling into her family’s guest apartments. Which, unbeknownst to me… was right across the hall.

Series discontinued- sorry my loves. Ik y’all wanted more but the good news is that I’ve seen several really talented authors picking up this idea and executing it wayyyy better than my sporadic mood writing ever could.

[luvsupa]

a/n two posts in one day… ruh roh… (I miss gojo </3)

ex!satoru who doesn’t really understand the concept of being an ex. he just thinks you want a break from him. but permanently separated? hell no, he could never understand that.

“‘toru… things aren’t gonna work out between us,” you begin as he sits in front of you at your dinner table in your shared apartment. he looks at you with no emotion, as if you didn’t just end things. “we’re growing in separate ways, and i feel i would only—satoru.”

you could scream at him—he’s not paying attention, scrolling on his phone instead. he shows you the order he placed for dinner, coming in twenty minutes. of course, he bought your favorite.

“satoru, can you please be serious for one minute?” you huff, clearly annoyed that he’s not listening while he’s purchasing things he knows will make you swoon.

“i am serious,” he says, placing his phone down to observe your breathtaking features.

“you weren’t even listening,” you say, crossing your arms as you slouch in the seat.

“baby, of course i’m listening—you’re crazy if you think i’m leaving you,” he coos condescendingly, and you roll your eyes.

ex!satoru who, in fact, respected your decision and gave you your personal space, not exactly broken up in his eyes, just a temporary break.

ex!satoru who stays over at suguru’s place for a few months, whining every day and night about how he missed being in your arms.

“i miss her,” gojo says as he pets geto’s cat, miyu, while geto himself groans as he cleans his apartment.

“can you at least help out and stop whining like a bitch,” geto says, adjusting the pillows neatly on his couch. this only causes gojo to frown and embrace miyu in a tight hug, nuzzling his face in her soft fur as she tries to get away from his grasp.

“and let go of miyu, she doesn’t want you holding her.”

ex!satoru who continues to send you money, always sending you hundreds and hundreds of dollars for food, shopping, and especially paying for your necessities. he doesn’t care that you work for yourself—you’re still his baby, and he loves spoiling you. his money is your money.

unknown number sent $500! —go get some food, baby~ ♡

unknown number sent $600! —please unblock me on insta

unknown number sent $300! —i love u, mama

ex!satoru who chokes on his breakfast when shoko says you’re going on a date. gojo, never in his life, was speechless, and that really creeped out shoko and geto.

“satoru… are you good?” geto asks concernedly—even miyu jumps on gojo’s lap, sensing a difference in his character.

“yeah, i’m good…” he says calmly, placing down his utensils to pet miyu’s soft fur.

ex!satoru who does a little investigating of who this mysterious man is, finding his identity within ten minutes. he scoffs when he finds his social media—he’s nowhere near as handsome as he is. what do you see in him?

ex!satoru who sits comfortably in the luxurious restaurant where you and the mysterious man planned to go. little did you know, gojo texted the man, telling him that you’re married.

“aiko?” gojo hears a soft voice call as he turns to look at you. your eyes widen when you see gojo. this has to be some kind of joke—he is fucking crazy. you turn around, going back to the entrance, but gojo grabs your wrist.

“no, no, no, baby, please let me talk,” he pleads, and you fold from the way he calls you baby. oh, how you loved and missed the way he called you baby and claimed you as his own.

he guides you to the chair in front of him as he holds your hand, your pretty acrylics grazing his hands. he loved the way you looked well put together, his baby doll.

“my love, i promise to leave you,” he says, rubbing small circles on your hand. your heart pangs at his confession. “i just want to know how you’re doing.”

“i-i miss you so much,” you say. gojo feels like he’s hallucinating at what you just said. “shoko told me you were having a date today, and i felt so jealous—” you stammer, and gojo blinks multiple times, stunned at what you’re saying.

“this guy aiko asked me on a date, and i wanted to make you jealous,” you continue, frowning at being confused with your emotions. but gojo, on the other hand, is putting two and two together.

“give me your phone,” he sternly says. you stare at him in confusion, but you oblige, taking out your phone from your purse and handing it to him. gojo smiles as your lockscreen is still a baby photo of him. he unlocks your phone—the password still the same, his birthday.

“i was meaning to change the lockscreen,” you quickly state, not trying to look like a weirdo in front of him.

gojo goes into your contacts and clicks aiko’s contact information, calling the number. multiple rings go by, and the man on the other line picks up.

“hello—”

“shoko, i know this is you.”

you look at him and your phone in horror. shoko set you guys up by making a fake number to make you go on a date with ‘aiko’ but really you’d be with gojo.

“ahh, did my plan work? both of you kept whining about each other—it was infuriating. i had to do something,” she says on the other line, gojo clearly hearing geto’s giggles in the background.

“don’t ever do this again,” gojo says as he hangs up the phone. the two of you burst out in laughter, but for you, it’s more embarrassing that you were flirting with shoko through texts!

fiancé!satoru who proposed to you a few weeks later, he’s beyond happy to be in the arms of his baby again <3

[primofate]

Confessions Series - Part 2: Description [Genshin Impact Male Characters]

In a nutshell: He asks if you have your eyes set on someone. You start describing HIS features and watch for his reaction. (Hint: He likes you too)

Other works in this series: (Part 1 - Overheard)

Warnings: The usual, haven't written in a while, please forgive mistakes, bit of angst in Diluc (couldn't help it), I am a sleep deprived mother, some profanity, for some reason did not feel like writing Zhongli though he's one of my faves.

Characters: Aether, Albedo, Alhaitham, Ayato, Baizhu, Bennett, Chongyun, Cyno, Dainsleif, Diluc, Gaming, Heizou, Itto, Kaeya, Lyney, Neuvillette, Scaramouche, Tartaglia, Wriothesley, Xiao, gn!reader

Personal Favourites: Diluc, Wriothesley

Aether

"Yeah, I do," you start. "He's very selfless...He's always running around helping other people,"

Aether nods, intense gaze in his eyes while listening.

"Hmm...He has...a partner. Like a companion he always travels with..."

Aether's brows start to furrow and his head tilts the slightest bit. Paimon flying next to him has no clue who it is whatsoever.

"He's not originally from Teyvat...He's on a journey, you see..." this is where you start getting nervous

You see it click in Aether's head slowly, and his eyes start to widen the slightest bit

"Hey, that sounds an awful lot like you, traveller! Why have we never met this person before, Y/N?" Paimon asks and you only smile.

"P-Paimon," Aether glances at her and then back to you. It's silent for a moment. Paimon is super confused.

But Aether being Aether didn't want to get the wrong idea and racks up the courage to ask you one last question. "He's on a journey...to look for his twin sister?"

You smile the brightest smile you've ever given him. "Correct!"

"Ah...Well..." Aether starts to feel the heat on his cheeks. "That's..." he doesn't say anything else for a few seconds. "Don't get me wrong, I'm just...I'm happy!"

Is basically flustered when he realizes you've technically just confessed to him.

Albedo

"Simply put, I think he's dedicated to his craft," You shrug and smile

"...An admirable trait," he responds.

"He's frequently in Dragonspine. He spends a bit of time in his lab there," you decide to just go straight for the obvious.

Albedo pauses. "I...see..." Turns to you with a small smile "I wasn't aware that you were that fond of me,"

"Now you know," you simply say and try to play it off with a wave of your hand.

He chuckles under his breath and strides over to you while saying. "Well then, I suppose it's my turn to talk about the person I've set my eyes on,"

Proceeds to describe you accurately, down to your likes and dislikes. In his eyes, you seem like something so precious and you can't help but feel a bit embarrassed.

Alhaitham

"Hmm... Sort of," you explain. "He's a little...hard to reach,"

Alhaitham "...and you still pursue him?"

You laugh a bit "I'm hardly pursuing him, I'm just...observing. I like watching him, even though he has the most unreadable face I've seen,"

Alhaitham goes quiet for a moment. He catches on fast, he already has an idea but is cautious about what he says. "...I see," he doesn't ask anything else, but you continue to offer information.

"He likes reading. Really smart guy...but kind of no nonsense type. Very straight to the point," You begin to feel a little nervous so you pretend to read your own book with a small shrug.

The silence is deafening.

"I suspect that type of person will be hard to put up with," he suddenly says aloud and you chuckle in response.

"Possibly, but he seems to be putting up with me too...I guess?"

He suddenly closes his book and leans forward to pry the one in your hands away. He locks his gaze with you. "...'Putting up' is hardly the word I would use." his lips twitch the slightest bit before continuing. "He has little to no patience for other people...so if he keeps you around...perhaps it signals something else,"

"Something else...As in, I'm special?"

Again he quiets for a moment, before he stands up, chair scraping the floor. "...Precisely," he turns to start walking out of the library, waving a hand behind him. "I'll pick you up in the morning tomorrow,"

Ayato

"I do, but he's a very busy sort of man,"

Ayato "Is that so?" he pours tea for you.

"Quite. He's also a very important person,"

He hums and watches the billowing steam from the tea. "It sounds as if I might know this person," but he genuinely doesn't know it's him, he just thinks its another noble.

"...You most definitely know him. He has a sister. Lovely girl." This is where you avert your gaze from him in fear of him instantly connecting the dots.

He talks in pauses "A...sister..." His mind is starting to make connections but he can't be quite sure yet. So he prods further. "...Does she happen to have a vision?"

"A cryo vision holder, yes," you're biting the inside of your lip at this point. There's a moment of silence before you hear Ayato laughing rather gleefully, like he was amused by a story.

"I see." he ends with a chuckle. "I apologize for being so busy, Y/N," he smiles at you "I promise I'll do my best to arrange my priorities in order to spend more time with you,"

Baizhu

"He takes his job too seriously and can be quite reckless...Sometimes he even puts himself in danger,"

Changsheng catches on immediately. The snake had already known for a while. Baizhu was just being dense. "Oh here we go," the snake half whines.

Baizhu gives it a weird look before turning his attention back to you. "That does sound reckless,"

"I've told him a couple of times to think about himself too...but I guess he's just really passionate about his job,"

Baizhu sort of shrugs, "What IS his job?"

"...Well for starters he owns a pharmacy around town,"

To Baizhu the realization hits all too slowly. It's not that he was slow or dense, but he was having a hard time believing that it was him you were talking about, specially when you hadn't said it outfront.

"...You do realize I'm the only one who owns a pharmacy around town?" he asks, eyes piercing through you and awaiting your answer.

Changsheng is the one who answers for you. "Yes you ridiculous doctor, Y/N's pertaining to you!"

It's the first time you've seen him blush and he turns his head away when he does so. "I-I see, well...that's rather, unexpected...but not unwelcome,"

Clears his throat "Just give me a moment"

Changsheng would roll its eyes if it could.

Bennett

"Has a lot of energy...Sometimes I wonder where he gets all of it. I really like him for that though."

Deflates as soon as you start talking about your "crush". What kind of answer was he expecting anyway? That you had eyes for him?

"He has a bit of a...problem when it comes to luck," you continue

Bennett stops, you look at him and you can practically see the gears in his head starting to turn a little faster.

"Y-Y/N? Are you talking about..." then the gears suddenly stop. "Oh what am I saying, it can't be. Ahahaha! Let's go!" starts walking again as if nothing happened

Your jaw drops and you're forced to just DIRECTLY tell him you're talking about him.

"...Oh...Oh! F-For real?! Oh...Sorry... I just thought... there's no way! B-But, I'm really glad! Really!"

Chongyun

"Hmm...He's a little shy...but he's very responsible,"

Chongyun stares at you intently and nods as if taking notes.

"He doesn't like spicy stuff,"

Chongyun nods twice, eagerly.

"He's very dedicated in learning about thaumaturgy,"

Chongyun blanks out, brows furrow but still nods. Slowly.

"He's really good with a claymore too!"

Chongyun stops and stares at you, you see a hint of red gracing his cheeks "Y/N...You can't possibly be...talking about... m-m-m-"

Can't seem to say it, so you outright say that it is, in fact, him.

Combusts into a tomato red

Cyno

"How do I say this...He's a pretty strict guy." The two of you are playing Invokation TCG during this convo.

"Mmhmm..." Cyno is focused on his cards, frankly he doesn't give a craps ass who you're into. He didn't even know why he asked, he just dug himself a hole.

"...but he really only takes his work seriously. It's his job to be serious, I guess. I think that's what Matras need to do," he finished his turn and its yours now, though he's still studying his cards intently. Until you get to the Matra part.

"He's a Matra?" You rarely see a surprised face on Cyno so you focus your gaze on him. "Which one?" He further asks. Honestly he looks about to murder someone.

You blank out a bit at how intense his stare was, "Well...You know. That one, the one who's really into Invokation TCG,"

He immediately follows up without missing a beat "I don't know anyone else who's into--" then it clicks.

It was so damn silent for a good 10 seconds. You clear your throat, tear your eyes off him "Um, it's your turn,"

STILL doesn't budge until he finally goes back to his cards with a whisper, you can't really tell but he looks slightly bashful and you can barely, BARELY hear him "...If I win then we go on a date,"

"Okay, and if you lose?"

Cyno "...I'm not gunna lose,"

"See, I told you he's a really serious guy,"

Dainsleif

"I think he's a very dedicated person," you get lost in thought a little, thinking about him. "Whenever I look at him...Sometimes I feel as if there's a certain sadness in him... Perhaps he blames himself for not being able to protect his nation,"

He IMMEDIATELY knows. And he knows that you hurt for him too. How could he not?

"He searches for answers... I don't know for how long, I suppose a long, long time," you close your eyes, imagining how long he must have been wandering Teyvat.

You only open your eyes when you feel a hand brush against yours. He's looking straight at you, neither happy nor sad. "...You don't have to feel that way, for my circumstances,"

The brush against your hand disappears and reappears next to your cheek, his fingers gently resting on it "...Knowing that you feel that way, has taken away some of the burden that I shoulder,"

His gaze suddenly hardens and his voice drops to a whisper, "But please, just don't end up in the same way as everyone else,"

Diluc (I don't know why I end up writing a whole novel for this guy. I guess he's my OG favourite)

You pause for a moment, wondering how to describe Diluc. "...Sometimes... I feel as if I know a lot about him and yet... he's still far off in the distance,"

Diluc, rifling through paperwork, doesn't even look at you. "...That tells me nothing about him," there's a bit of bite in his statement.

You sigh a little, "I mean, simply said he's a hardworking man. He always has Mondstadt's best interests in mind...but he prefers to work alone,"

He's silent, but you can still hear the paper shuffling.

"....but people love him. They care for him. I suppose I understand why he keeps a distance but..." at this point you don't even realize that you're just rambling and staring into space. Sort of in a daze of thinking out loud. "...isn't it lonely? ...I suppose I shouldn't assume how he feels. Maybe he's fine with it...I just wonder how long till he sees us..." there's silence, no ruffle of papers, you're still just staring at the bookshelf and you continue in a monotone voice. "...or sees me,"

You blink, and all of a sudden its as if a magic spell is cast on you and you wake up to the reality that you've been rambling about him. You sit up straight "Oh," then turn to him with a careful smile. You don't think he knows what or who you're talking about anyway. "I better get going," you stand, "Jean must be waiting for me."

You leave, and he doesn't stop you.

You don't really think anything of it, feeling as if your whole monologue was very vague...but to your surprise he knocks at your door in the evening, there's a bit of rain falling.

"Diluc? You're drenche--"

"I see you,"

The determination in his voice lulls you to keep quiet and only stare up at him, wondering if he had more to say, but instead of saying something, he leans in, wrapping his arms around you and resting his forehead on your shoulder, as if he had been defeated.

You only welcome his embrace, and, for the first time in a long time. Diluc finally feels like he's home.

Gaming

"Passion!" You nod your head as you say it. "He knows what he wants to do and is incredibly dedicated to it!"

Gaming looks surprised, has no idea you're talking about him. "Huh! That's really cool!" He thinks he's the total opposite. "Wish I could be as dedicated as him."

You kind of laugh out loud and he raises his eyebrows and tilts his head. "What?"

"Gosh you really sell yourself short," you shake your head "Anyway, this guy, right, he kinda works two jobs," you put out your hand to count one and two "One, for the Secure Transport Agency and two, he's in a Wushou Troupe,"

Gaming instantly straightens his back and looks at you wide-eyed. You figure you had to be direct when it came to him otherwise he'd never get it with how modest he was.

"...You're...talking about...me?" You smile at him sympathetically.

"You know, Gaming, I wish you saw yourself the way others saw you. You're a great person,"

Big smile, but legit looks like he's about to cry. "Between the two of us? I think you're greater Y/N,"

Heizou

"...Honestly he's kind of a flirt," you raise your eyebrows at the fact and kind of question yourself why you like this kind of person. "Makes me wonder if he does that to everyone, you know?"

Heizou hums and puts his hand under his chin in a "thinking position"

"That's not enough evidence to go by. Perhaps we can investigate this guy together to see if he's worthy,"

You look at him, pursing your lips while musing and giving him a suspicious look. You're not sure if he's figured it out.

He's got no idea. I mean, it was a pretty general description. "Any distinguishing features?" he asks.

You look at him in a deadpan manner. "Red hair, I guess. And moles under his eyes,"

He looks back at you with a matching blank face.

Then breaks into a wide, close eyed grin. "I see! From experience, that person is truly trustworthy,"

You sigh a little, "Is he though?"

He chuckles heartily. "I promise you he is," offers you his hand with a genuine smile. "Let me show you,"

Itto

"Ummm... big, tall, strong looking guy. Intimidating at first look but he's actually a dork," you explain.

Itto crosses his arms above his chest with an unamused face. "Tch! No way! Ain't no one taller than me in Inazuma!" Then he looks smug again. "Anyway, keep goin'. What else?" Only asked you because he wants to see what your "type" is.

"...Popular? Nah... Infamous is the word, I think. He kinda gets into a lot of trouble,"

Itto raises a brow "You serious? Whaddyou want with someone like that?" as if he wasn't a troublemaker himself.

"I mean... He also loves life and somehow always sees the good side of things."

Itto "Eh... guess that's a good thing..." folds his arms behind his head and huffs.

This guy is never gunna get it so you drop more obvious hints. "He's an oni who has his own gang."

For a split second he looked like he was going to get it, and then... "WHAT?! There's another oni who wants to challenge the Arataki Gang?"

"That's not what I--"

punches his fist onto his palm "Lead the way Y/N, let me at 'em!"

"I'm talking about you!"

"Huh?"

"Itto, there's no other oni around town!" leave it to him to make you exasperated.

He quiets for a few seconds. "...But Y/N..."

You expectantly stare at him, curious what he was going to say about your confession.

"...Did you just call me a dork?"

Of course that's what he picks up on.

When he finally processes it though, he's stoked and on an all time high.

Kaeya

"...good at talking to people, and he knows it... Exudes charisma like he breathes air," You're saying this with a glare.

He chuckles and rests his head on his fist. "Why, pray tell, do you look angry when saying that?"

"Not angry..." you mumble under your breath, eyes trailing away from him. "Just... probably a lot of people like him,"

"And you don't like that?" He smirks. He totally knows.

"...No...Well...I'm okay with it... It's just... I think he's so much more than what he shows to others,"

That, he wasn't expecting. He actually feels genuinely touched.

"Sure he jokes around a lot...Is good at making people feel comfortable...but he's also kind...and you can always count on him," there's a faraway gaze in your eyes now, a small smile on your face. "To me, he's...a safe space."

Kaeya's smile drops. It looks like he's unhappy and you think that maybe you've made a mistake. Still...there's no way he knows that it's him, right? It was kinda vague...

You're about to stand and excuse yourself but he catches your wrist easily. "...You know..." he starts, meeting you eye to eye. He looks at you as if he's looking into your soul, his eyes the gentlest you've seen them.

"You make it so hard, not to fall deeper in love with you,"

Lyney (I have no idea how this ended up so dramatic)

"He isn't exactly a trickster...but he has a lot of tricks up his sleeve,"

Lyney "Oh?" Raises an eyebrow. Something kind of clicks in him, but he shakes it off. "The good kind or the bad kind?"

You stall a little, thinking of the answer, knowing that he's Fatui. "The...good...kind,"

"You don't sound very sure," he gives you a lopsided smile.

"It's complicated," you admit. "Regardless of the circumstances though, I think he's a great magician,"

You watch his face turn into surprise quite quickly, but he still looks and feels unsure of himself. "Oh, perhaps...I can learn a thing or two from him?"

Your smile turns forced and hard. He can't be serious? He STILL doesn't know, or...what?

"I...Well..." You don't know what to say next, but he seems to get the idea.

"Sorry, have I put you in a hard place? Ahaha..." Scratches the back of his head. "My apologies, I was just curious,"

This, for some reason, really puts you off and you feel as if you've been rejected, even though you technically had not outright told him that you're talking about him.

It seems silly for you to get upset, but you are. So you stand, and make a request of him. "Can we... just pretend this conversation didn't happen?" and you give him some sort of excuse that you need to run an errand or something, and you're off, leaving him feeling...guilty. But he doesn't know why. Or does he?

Lyney would look like the type of person who would be confident about himself. But, really, as a magician, he had to be 1000% sure about something before he went ahead with it, and so...that's where his doubt stemmed from.

Lynnette is really the one who knocks some sense into him. "...and you...let Y/N leave?" after hearing the story from him.

"Oh, Lyney... Regardless of what Y/N feels... For you, next to Freminet and I, is there someone else that you love dearly?"

That's how he ends up at your doorstep. Though you've seen his disappearing rose trick hundreds of times, he was the most sincere at that moment, when he says sorry that he didn't get the hint and to give him a chance.

Neuvillette

"Serious person. He seems to put his work first, above all else," you say. "I respect him a lot for that,"

Neuvillette is interested in what you say, but doesn't know at all that it's him. "He does sound quite respectable," he says while looking through some files.

"A long time ago he said that he feels like he's an outsider...but really I feel like there isn't anyone who knows Fontaine the way that he does,"

Neuvillette, moves the file he was reading downwards, just to look at you questioningly. "He's from Fontaine?" this was surprising to him.

"Well...he currently resides in Fontaine, yes," you nod.

"Ah," he answered curtly. "And I have never met him?" he asks.

"...He's very busy." you bite your lip, about to say something and you know that the next sentence is the point of no return. "He's the Iudex...so it's hard to catch him,"

You swear you can hear your heart hammering in your chest.

You see him put his files down and just stare at you with a sort of...unsure look.

His shoulders relax, he wasn't even aware he had been tense that whole time. "That... must have taken a lot of consideration and courage to say," he clears his throat.

You only nod your head slowly, moving your gaze away from him with an awkward smile. Hand absentmindedly grabbing a book and flipping through the pages...you had no idea what you were doing out of nervousness.

"I apologize...I'm unfamiliar with what to do in these kinds of situations... However," he pauses and seems to think carefully about what he was going to say next. "Please don't take it as a rejection. I'd be honored to navigate this with you, if you would so graciously have me,"

Scaramouche

"He's an asshole," you bite back a laugh.

He instantly knows.

"Actually he acts all tough only to give in to his inner-kind-of-agreeable-personality,"

He snorts

"What? Am I wrong?" you challenge him. You KNOW that he knows. The two of you have been hovering around each other for a while, and there's a certain closeness between the two of you. Though that line was never crossed.

He doesn't answer you back but prods you more. "Is that all? You like that he's an asshole? Are you some type of masochist?"

You almost laugh. "No, you moron. I'm saying he has a weird way of showing he cares. He's always biting my head about not being careful enough. But if he really didn't care he wouldn't be screaming at me, you know what I mean?"

Scaramouche grumbles something under his breath and crosses his arms, turning away from you.

"Say that again?" You ask, not hearing what he said.

"...I said, you're not as stupid as I thought you were," shrugs his concealed embarrassment off and turns back to you all nonchalant again. "Anyway, stop yapping and get going, we got things to do,"

Snatches your hand and starts pulling you to walk with him.

Tartaglia (I feel like this is ridiculously short but I also feel like Tartaglia would have known a LONG time ago if the two of you had the feels for each other)

"Oh man...Probably the most reckless man I know,"

Also knows. Instantly. But shuts his mouth just so he can listen to you talk about him, but it gets deep real quick.

"In my opinion he's a handsome guy. Real charming," you smirk the tiniest bit. "but I don't know if I can keep up with him, honestly. It's a little hard not knowing when he's going to come back...or if he's even gunna come back at all,"

You weren't going to hide the fact that you were scared shitless he didn't return from Fontaine for ages. You legitimately thought he had died.

Tartaglia stops you there, by suddenly cradling your cheek. "Y/N," he's wearing a pained expression. "I'm sorry,"

"Don't be, it's your job, right?" You reassure him, and shrug.

He sighs "Yes, but I'll promise this to you as I've promised my family," he smiles, the most confident smile you've seen on him. Even more confident than when he wields his blades. "I'll come back to you, I always will,"

Wriothesley

"Er... How do I say this... He kind of has some... big boss energy?"

"Oh?" he sips at his tea, glancing at you while he looks at today's paper. "So he's a bigshot?" he asks curiously.

"Somewhat, yes. Intimidating at first look, but...he just has a great sense of responsibility," you pick at the selection of cakes and cookies he has.

"Huh," he lets out in a quick huff. In the deepest, DEEPEST parts of his mind there is a NANOSECOND that he thinks its him but it gets erased so quickly he's not even sure that he had thought about it.

"Sounds like a good person... Any interesting, weird quirks?" he grins as he says this, yet again glancing at your expression.

Your lips tremble a bit at what you're about to say, because you're SURE he was going to get it once you say it. You gulp and feel the hairs at the back of your neck stand before you say out loud "He likes tea. I kind of wonder if it's an addiction," you can't meet his eyes.

He's looking at the paper he's reading but nothing.registers.in.his.brain.its.like.it.stopped.working.

You shift in the uncomfortable silence but he calmly folds up the newspaper and places it on his table. "...I'm inclined to ask, because it would be embarrassing if I got the wrong idea,"

"Mmhmm," you pop a cookie in your mouth to distract yourself.

"By any chance, are you...talking about me?"

"Mm," you nod your head, still not looking at him and glue your eyes on the cookies instead, out of embarrassment.

Suddenly chuckles. You brave a peek at him, now covering his eyes with a single hand, head tipped back to rest on his chair.

You're not sure if that's a good or bad thing.

"Sorry, no, it's just... I didn't think it would happen this way." Visibly takes in a big breath and sighs it out slowly. Seems to have regained his composure and is back to his confident self, smiling at you. "Thanks Y/N, I... don't think it's much of a secret that I enjoy your company too. I'm just a little embarrassed that you beat me to it...some big boss energy huh?"

Xiao

"...He takes on everything by himself. I worry about him," You look at the stars as you say this. Xiao doesn't say anything.

"But I'm glad that he's opening up a lot more now. It's great to see him among friends,"

Xiao has a feeling at this point, that its him you're talking about, but he still doesn't say anything and keeps his gaze in front of him rather than on you.

"Yes, the road in front of him is long but...he's also already come a long way," you sigh a little "The time of Rex Lapis has long gone, but he still sticks to his principles. I think his dedication is part of what I like about him,"

This is when he turns to you, blank look on his face, contemplating on what to do. When you turn to meet his gaze, its then that he decides to bridge the gap between the two of you, shoulder to shoulder, leaning in sideways to catch your lips in a chaste and rather shy kiss.

"You should give a bit of credit to yourself, for putting up with me all these years, Y/N,"

End!

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[just-a-space-duck]

So About That Armor…

I regret to inform myself that I like it.

If you haven't seen it:

I'll give you time to take it in. This is a static, (hopefully) eternal text post, so take your time.

Ok so before I go further, you are allowed to have any and all opinions about the armor. Do not listen to me; I am a stranger on the internet who attaches himself to fictional murder cyborgs and treats them like kitty cats.

So first of all, it's weird. And I like it for that. Even if I found it to be the most infuriating piece of costume design ever, I still wouldn't be able to help but respect it for how strange it is.

When it comes to fanworks, adaptations, new installments in a franchise, or even just different takes on the same trope, I love it when creators take things in an unconventional or even seemingly unrelated direction that upon closer inspection still relates to the base or original concept. To get what I mean, think goth interpretations of Rarity or Cosmopoliturtle's Pokémon redesigns. The TV series armor sits alongside these for me, because this was the thought process of the designer, Tommy Arnold:

First of all, it is so funny that The Company would just brand their armor and by extension their secunits, their combat/security products, like Louis Vuitton bags. Also, the logo of The Company strikes a nice balance between being simple enough to be easily reproducible and recognizable, but complex enough to read as a logo and not just a simple shape or pattern. Plus, The Company logo being mostly just concentric Cs, clever there.

But there's also some worldbuilding and character expression in this design.

The Corporation Rim is just capitalism but more. A company slathering everything and everyone they create and own in mountains of logos, even when it's potentially impractical, showcases just how extensive corporatism is in this setting. Additionally, this design could be something of a status marker. Secunits are high end additions and/or alternatives to other security measures. Much like how logos on purses, tennis shoes, and cars serve to tell observers, "I have the fancy, expensive version of [insert category of thing here] ergo I am a very wealthy/powerful/cool person", a secunit covered in corporate logos communicates the high status and access of the client(s).

Now what was one of the first things we learned about Murderbot in the books? It disabled its governor module, the thing preventing it from defying orders and having any level of freedom, but instead of doing what it could to leave The Company, Murderbot just stayed with it and kept doing its intended function. For over four years. What else do we learn in the first book? That it feels most comfortable in the armor because this prevents humans from seeing its face, from treating it more like a person or human rather than a tool or bot. This makes the armor being composed of the logo of the group that both created and hurt Murderbot very symbolic.

Murderbot has internalized the message that it is a dangerous weapon and not a person deserving of care to the point that, at least at the beginning of the series, it shies away from anything that insists that it deserves the same kindness that humans do. It's only ever been taught what the company built it to do, so it doesn't know what to do next once it's obtained some semblance of freedom for itself by disabling its mental shock collar and so keeps doing what it's always done, even though it very much would rather not be in such a situation. Even by the most recent book, System Collapse, Murderbot is still wrestling with the idea that it matters beyond how it can assist others. Murderbot finding comfort hiding behind the very thing that will not let you forget the company that enslaves it, is just juicy theming.

Also, the helmet looking so weird works well with how many humans don't know what secunits look like, with some not even thinking they have human-like faces. If you had no context for this image, you might very well assume this is a fully robot character or even a statue.

I have my own gripes and worries and hopes concerning the upcoming show, but I just couldn’t get this fun bit of character design analysis out of my head. Shouldn’t have watched so much TB Skyen.

[always-just-red]

A multi-headcanon request please. How the boys react when they discover their s/o has been hiding a wound from them because she had it under control and didn't want to give them something else to worry about

Hi! Thanks so much for the request and all the support! Have written a little fic for each of the guys, starring... - Xavier, Deepspace Hunter extraordinaire ✨ - Linkon's worst best baking partner, Zayne 🍪 - Drama queen Rafayel 👑 - King of self-care, Sylus 💅

Putting On A Brave Face

L&DS Boys x Reader

Summary: Sometimes, a certain hunter likes to say things are fine when they definitely aren't...

Genre: A lil bit of angst, mostly fluff + comfort!

Warnings/Additional tags: female reader, established relationship, swearing, canon pet names, some injury details/blood mentioned, teeeeency bit of suggestion (I'm looking at YOU, Sylus...)

| Word count: 4k (1k each!) | Masterlist | Opt-in to my taglist here!

Disclaimer: Characters belong to Love and Deepspace. All work is my own, so please don't repost or plagiarise!

Xavier ⭐

This is bad. Not ‘end of everything as we know it’ bad, but definitely ‘an obscene amount of paperwork’ bad.

You clutch one of your pistols to your chest— deep breath— and you listen carefully, your head leant back against the rock you’re using as cover. Your mind latches on to every sound: each growl, each rumble of earth that marks the movements of the Wanderers that have trapped you here.

You’ve fought worse odds, but then again, you don’t usually have to do it with a broken leg.

Or maybe just sprained? You shift a little, trying to move, and the pain that sears through you settles the debate in an instant. Your teeth sink into the back of your hand to keep you from crying out.

You hope Xavier’s okay. You sent him your co-ordinates minutes ago, and the lack of response has worry gnawing away at the deepest parts of you. You check your hunter’s watch.

Still nothing.

Another deep breath, and you readjust your position as much as you can. Balancing on your good leg, you manage to peer over the top of the rock to get a visual of your surroundings.

There’s four, no— five Wanderers. Stupid no-hunt zone; you’re never not outnumbered.

You can see your second pistol, abandoned in the middle of the clearing where you’d dropped it. There’s flickers of movement, too: further in the woods. More Wanderers. Shit.

You duck behind the rock you’re starting to think might be your new home. Then your watch flickers, broadcasting a map of the area, and there’s the co-ordinates of another hunter, closing in fast.

Something flashes in the clearing, lighting the dark of the forest like a stutter of lightning. Then again. Then again. There’s a blood-curdling roar, and it ends— abrupt— with another flash.

Everything goes silent, save for a familiar voice calling your name.

“Xavier!” you call back.

You peek over the rock to see your partner jogging towards you, dead Wanderers littered behind him. “Are you alright?” he asks, his voice soft as always, but his sword is still dripping blood.

“I’m okay.” You clamber up, using the rock as a seat when the small effort almost breaks you. “You?”

Xavier draws close— his gloved hands on your face, cupping your cheeks. His thumb grazes over a shallow scrape on your brow. “Yeah,” he answers.

“Did you find that weird Wanderer?”

He shakes his head: no. Steps back to check his watch. “It’s probably moved on to a different zone by now.”

“Then we should look for it,” you say, standing up. All of your weight is on one leg.

“Ah,” Xavier ponders, rubbing his neck, “really? I thought we should maybe head back.”

“No need.” And what’s the plan here, exactly? You can’t walk. You definitely can’t fight. Maybe you can wait here while he— no. He’s never going to leave you. “I told you I’m okay.”

“But you’re not.”

“I am,” you assert. You’re determined to convince him and your own, useless body. It’s just a sprain. It is just a sprain. You take a step forwards and stumble, your bad leg crumpling beneath you.

Xavier catches you, strong and solid, and he's holding you like you’re something delicate. He sets you down on the rock again. The pain is making your vision swim.

“You’re hurt,” he reasons gently, even though the truth of it is a knife that’s twisting in your heart. He seems to sense your reluctance: “There’s no shame in admitting that. It happens. Let’s go back.”

“No.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m slowing you down, Xavier!” you gush. Your heart is split open and it has to bleed somewhere. “You have no idea what it’s like… being your partner.”

He’s looking at you with so much guilt and gods, you wish that somewhere was anywhere but his hands. “What do you mean?” he asks on a shaky breath.  

“I love working with you.” Soften the blow. “I love being with you, but you don’t need me. You’re this incredible hunter. This figure of legend, of everyone’s stories. You can do so much on your own and I just don’t know how to keep up. I mean, look at me— I can’t.”

You feel sick. Empty. “You shouldn’t have to hang back for me,” you finish limply. “You’re you, Xavier. You can fight like a hundred Wanderers and still come out unscathed.”

The blue of Xavier’s eyes has grown understandably more turbulent, though it settles a little. He seems to relax. “Yeah… about that,” he mumbles hesitantly.

He turns around and your mouth drops. A savage cut drapes like a crimson sash down his back, splitting the white of his uniform. It’s not deep enough to be fatal, but it’s not good, either.

“Wha— Xavier!” you exclaim, trying to surge forwards, but your pain keeps you rooted. “You said you were okay!”

“So did you,” he frowns, bewildered. “Can we get out of—?”

“Yeah, yeah.” You let him take your arm and help you to your feet.

He leads you through the clearing and into the forest, supporting your weight as you hop along beside him. There’s a murmur about how he should carry you, but you’re quick to reassure him he’s doing enough. You’re both hurting; you both just need to survive the short walk out of the no-hunt zone, where a med team can take over.

“You don’t slow me down, you know,” Xavier says quietly, after a minute of silence. “You’re the reason I can keep going.”

You squeeze his arm affectionately, mustering a smile even though you’re nauseous with pain and the idea he’s been dwelling on your speech this whole time. “Well,” you chuckle through gritted teeth, “you’re gonna have to learn how to get by without me.”

“Huh?” He gives you a curious look.

You glance down at your leg. “Zayne’s gonna kill me...”

Zayne ❄

“I’m a doctor.”

You stop what you’re doing to fix Zayne with a questioning stare. “Okay…?”

“I’ve published dozens of research papers. Pioneered new surgical techniques. My work on Evol-based regenerative properties still has lasting implications for my field, and I’ve the accolades to show for it. The Starcatcher Award. The Linde Award, too— I was the youngest ever recipient.”

None of this is news to you, and you can’t help chuckling at this change in your usually-humble physician. You humour him: “The youngest ever recipient, huh?” There’s a crack as you split an egg on the side of the bowl in front of you. “That’s very impressive.”

“Is it?”

Zayne stands from his seat at your kitchen table: you hear the chair draw back. You feel his presence arrive behind you as you continue to stir your soon-to-be cookie dough. “Yeah,” you lilt with a smile.

“Really?” he pushes again, and his arms wrap around you as he bends to speak into your ear. “Because someone seems to think I can’t even recognise a—” he nips at it— “sprained ankle.”

His breath is warm on your neck and you let out a giggle. “Keep speaking to me like that and these cookies are never making it into the oven. Or your stomach.”

The man relents. He releases you, not returning to his seat but opting to lean against the kitchen counter instead. You glance up at him; he stares back, waiting for an actual answer.

“My ankle is fine, Zayne.”

There’s a sigh as he crosses his arms.

“It is,” you insist, even though you did sprain your ankle at work today, it does hurt like hell, and you do just want to sit down. You reach for the flour you’d measured out previously, tipping it into the larger bowl. “If it wasn’t, would I really be here— making you cookies?”

“Yes,” he says plainly.

“You’re delusional.”

“Okay.”  

Well, that was a little too easy. Don’t overthink it, and definitely don’t read into the fact that he’s standing there smugly, like he knows something you don’t. You finish stirring the flour into the mixture, then add the last of the ingredients. Just a pinch of salt, and then…

Where did you put the chocolate chips? You glance about yourself but they’re nowhere in sight. “Hey, Zayne? Have you seen the—”

“This cupboard,” he indicates with an upwards nod of his head. His eyes are relentless. “Top shelf.”

Ah. That’s okay. You’ve totally got this. You move beneath the cupboard, opening it and gazing up into the contents. You can see the pack of chocolate chips. You can get up there somehow, right?

“Would you like me to—?” Zayne starts, but you cut him off:

“Nope.” You put your hands on your hips. “Please— if I can climb the back of an alive, awake, and very angry deluge wyrmlord to put a sword through its skull, I think I can make it onto the kitchen counter in one piece. Lemme just…”

Your knee lifts. You make it about a centimetre from the floor before Zayne’s hands are on your waist, grounding you. “Stop,” he instructs, and it's not a tone that allows for any rebuttal. Satisfied by your silence, he brings the chocolate chips down to you.

“Thanks,” you say quietly as they’re placed on the counter.

“You’re welcome."

Sheepishly, you spill a generous amount of chocolate chips into the cookie mixture. Your throat hurts in the way that keeps you from saying anything more. You already feel like an idiot, and your eyes are watering, threatening to make you look like even more of one.

Zayne’s hand appears in front of you, hovering over the bowl. You laugh in understanding: giving the half-empty bag another shake so chocolate chips fall into his palm.

“You… don’t have to explain yourself,” he says as he lifts them to his mouth. His next words are muffled: “But you can tell me anything, my love. I never want you to feel as though you can’t.”

You chuckle again; you can’t help yourself. Look at him: your oh-so-serious doctor, shovelling chocolate into his mouth. He raises an eyebrow at you, his lips still on his palm.

“I know I can tell you anything,” you smile, the ache in your throat receding, however much the rest of you hurts. “I did sprain my ankle. It’s not that I wanted to hide it from you, it’s just—” you stop stirring the mixture— “it’s just that your whole life is taking care of people at the hospital. You should get a break from it. You should get to be Zayne, here… at home. Just Zayne, not Doctor Zayne.”

Zayne’s hazel eyes have taken on a hue of regret. He pushes his glasses further up the bridge of his nose, buying himself a few seconds as he contemplates. “Are you a doctor?” he asks after a moment.

“No?”

“And yet, here you are, taking care of me.” He reaches for the abandoned packet of chocolate chips. “Tell me, does it feel like work to you?”

“Yeah,” you tease, drawing the packet away from his stretching fingers in explanation; you’re both grinning.

“Well, it never feels like work to me. Just Zayne likes taking care of you. And right now? He wants to bundle you up on the sofa and finish these cookies for you.”

You purse your lips: that’s some dubious wording. “Zayne, hell will freeze over before I leave you and this cookie dough unsupervised.”

He shushes you, pulling on the cord of your apron until the bow at your back comes loose. Before you can protest, he’s wearing the apron himself.

“Zayne, I’m not kidding. I know what you’re gonna do. You’re gonna get rid of me, and then you’ll—”

“Shh,” he coos again, whisking you carefully off your feet, because it’s time for a taste of your own medicine. “You’re delusional.”

Rafayel 🔥

“Mmhmm. Mmhmm.”

“Raf, who are you—?”

He holds out a finger to shush you. “Mmhmm.”

You cross your arms impatiently. Who is he even talking to, anyway? His lilac eyes are locked on you as he continues humming away, apparently very invested in whatever the person on the phone is saying; you’ve never seen him go this long without talking.

He narrows his eyes at you. You narrow your eyes right back.

All around you, guests of the exhibition are milling about, all dressed to the nines and minding their business, however much they want the attention of the man in front of you. A few of them linger as they pass him, like they want to say something, like they’re going to say something…

But they don’t.

It’s a wonder that Rafayel stands out in the crowd as much as he does. You’d seamlessly located him, back from your third trip to the bathroom to check on the bandages you’ve managed to conceal beneath this dress. He’s still holding your purse for you, his phone in his other hand, except—

That’s your phone. That’s your phone! “Rafayel!”

He shushes you again. “I understand,” he says solemnly, notably not to you, “thanks for letting me know.” The call is ended. He takes a deep, collected breath, then looks at you. “I knew it!”

“Knew what? Who was that?”

“Zayne.”

“You called Zayne?”

“Like I had a choice!” Rafayel retaliates. It is true; he’s spent the entire evening trying to get you to admit something was wrong, and you had no intention of giving him that pleasure. “You’re supposed to be in the hospital! What kind of idiot breaks out of the hospital?”

The lack of irony in the question almost breaks you. “Umm… you?! Like every other week?!”

He shrugs. “That’s different.”

“Rafayel, I swear, I’m gonna— ah!” you gasp in pain. You’d stepped forwards too quickly— maybe to strangle him, but that’s neither here nor there— and the wound on your side is clearly on his side. It stings like hell: punishing you, and you know the pain is self-inflicted.

Rafayel frowns in concern, maybe even guilt, and that’s why you didn’t tell him. “C’mon, we should go,” he insists gravely.

“It’s fine, Raf. It doesn’t even—”

“Stop lying! You said you wouldn’t hide stuff like this from me. You promised, remember?”

You’re losing track of all the promises you’ve made to the Lemurian, but you do remember that one. Guilt has its teeth in you, too. “I know,” you grumble, “I’m sorry, okay? I just knew—”

“What?”

“That you’d act like this! You’ve been working on this exhibition for months, Raf. Tonight is supposed to be about you. Not me— you. And I want it to stay that way. Everyone’s here to celebrate you and your work, and that’s how it should be. That’s what I want. To support you. To be here for you.”

Your voice has gone timid. You finish meekly: “Can’t you let me do this for you? Please?”

Rafayel’s eyes are wide and still the prettiest things you’ve ever seen, even in a room full of masterpieces you could never afford. They shine with uncertainty, but soften as he smiles, full of fondness and affection. “That’s sweet. But also? Really dumb.”

“Raf—”

“The only— and I mean only— reason I’m here tonight is because you are. I don’t care about what anyone thinks about me or my paintings. Just you. And you can see this?” He gestures around the gallery. “Anytime. My life’s your private exhibition, cutie. Exclusive access, 24/7, and I wouldn’t want it any other way.”

He steps closer to you: close enough that he can see the tear that’s made it halfway down your cheek. He wipes it away with a chuckle. “Plus,” he adds, “I know you know I’m amazing. You don’t need these old sourpusses to tell you that, do you?”

You laugh tentatively. “No, I don’t.”

Your injury protests as you use the lapels on Rafayel’s blazer to pull him closer; you have to stand on your tiptoes to kiss his cheek. He’s still grinning as he draws away, a light blush on his cheeks, but the sweetness of the moment vanishes as his gaze drifts lower.

“My eyes are up here, Rafayel.”

“Yeah…” he concedes mindlessly, but then he points: “you know you’re like, bleeding, right?”

You glance downwards to where the red of your dress is turning darker. There’s just a small splotch, but it’s growing. Shit. You must have reopened the wound.

“Thomas?” you hear Rafayel call, and then he’s stuffing a silk handkerchief into your hands— helping you apply pressure. “We have to get out of here,” he explains as a figure joins you.

His agent folds his arms; this is not dissimilar to stunts you and Rafayel have pulled before. “Fake blood, guys? Really?” He pinches the bridge of his nose. “You can’t leave, Rafayel. I can just see the headlines tomorrow…”

“Dashing artist selflessly flees exhibition to save devoted bodyguard,” Rafayel concurs with a nod.

Thomas groans. “That’s not what they’re going to—”

“Help me out with this, cutie?”

“Yes, sir,” you mock salute.

A moment later, Rafayel has scooped you up into his arms. Your hero; he gives you a conspiratorial wink before glancing about frantically. “Quickly!” he cries out. “Everyone out of the way, please!”

“For the love of—” Thomas starts.

“Oh, gods!” you shout in agony. “It hurts. It hurts!”

Heads turn. Cameras flash.

Tomorrow morning, half of Linkon will be talking about one of their favourite celebrities and his long-envied bodyguard. A news article will pop-up on her doctor’s phone, and he’ll see the pictures and sigh.

Sylus 🩸

“It’s not too late to back down, sweetie,” Sylus sneers.

“Aw, but you got all dressed up for the occasion.”

Your eyes rake over the outline of the man’s abs, courtesy of the tank top he’s wearing, and it does take the sting out of the fact that he’ll be trying to hit you. He holds his wrapped hands before him, ready to defend, ready to attack. He’ll probably attack, right?

“Last chance,” he growls.

“Is it, though?” This is the third ‘last chance’ you’ve been given in the five minutes you’ve been teetering on combat. You beckon him with a curl of your fingers. “Come on, Sylus. This is getting old.”

He scoffs: “How do you think I feel?”

“Like you’re about to get your ass kicked?”

“Alright, enough.” His hands drop and it feels like you’re back at the academy, about to be scolded for not taking something seriously. Sylus turns his back on you. Moves to the edge of the boxing ring so he can retrieve a stool from outside of it and sit down in a huff. He starts peeling the wraps from his knuckles, and— wait, is he mad? Like, actually mad?

“What’s wrong, Sy?”

He laughs as though you’re missing something dreadfully obvious. Maybe irony.

“Sylus?”

“You really are heartless, sweetie. You know that?”

The words steal your breath away, if only for a moment. Yours is a relationship of pulled punches, but he won’t meet your gaze and that one was real, wasn’t it? He wanted it to sting. “Why—?”

“I could have hurt you,” he snaps, his dishevelled, snowy hair falling to cover his eyes. His discarded wraps slide from his hands, pooling by his feet like blood. “You were going to let me hurt you.”

He looks at you, finally, but it’s not in the way you want. His gaze is cast low, trailing over your body and making you feel every bruise, every closed cut that wants to reopen and every ache, rooted almost to bone. You’d done your best to hide it, even going so far as to press make-up hastily over your purpled skin.

That Wanderer really did a number on you yesterday.  

“You should have told me,” Sylus says, since you’ve made it onto the same page. “Honestly, kitten. Why would you—?”

“Because Luke and Kieran told me, okay?”

Oh, they’re going to kill you. It was supposed to be a secret, and here you are, spilling like a fresh wound because you can’t stand the thought of Sylus being upset with you. You step closer, scrambling to dissect what you’ve done right in front of his eyes— holding it out to him: this is why. This is why. “They said you had a rough week. Some deals of yours had fallen through or something. And I’ve been too busy. I haven’t called, I haven’t even texted, and…”

You need him to understand, but the truth is a mess in your hands and how do you even start to explain it to him?

“You wanted to do something for me,” he finishes for you, and you don’t have to explain a thing.

“Yeah…” you confirm, bittersweet and still sad. “You do so much for me, Sylus. I just wanted to do what you wanted, for a change.”

Maybe it’s a round of boxing. Maybe it’s a dozen illicit dealings where he needs you to play enforcer— it doesn’t matter. As long as he’s happy.

“Come here,” he orders gently.

You close the rest of the rift between you, letting him reach for you and pull you closer. His knees have spread so you can slot against him, and his arms circle around you— trapping you— as he nuzzles into the warmth of your stomach.

“I’m sorry I called you heartless,” he speaks into you, his voice muffled as he gives you a chaste kiss. He then cranes his head upwards, resting his chin against you so he can profess more clearly: “I do worry about you, kitten.”

“I know—” your hands move to his head— “I’m sorry too. I shouldn’t have lied to you.”

“Mmm,” he hums in accordance, maybe even forgiveness, and his eyes close as your fingers card through the soft of his hair. “I lied too.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he confesses on a contented sigh. “I didn’t want to spend today… boxing.”

“What do you want to do today, Sy?”

His eyes flicker open and his hands find your hips. “What I really want…” he contemplates, as his thumbs slip under the hem of your shirt to rub circles on your skin, “is to take care of you.”

There are lifetimes of need in his gaze.

“Won’t you let me take care of you, sweetie?”

…

“If he finds the terms so disagreeable, then he’s more than welcome to take his business elsewhere. Although—” Sylus’s voice is cold— “he might find his other options less… amenable than when he saw them last. Less communicative, too. You can tell him I said so.”

He ends the phone call. Smiles. “Sorry about that, sweetie.”

“Are the boys okay?”

The smile widens, even though you can’t see it. “They’re fine.”

Phone set aside, Sylus carries on with the important business Kieran’s call had distracted him from. You’re half asleep, your head in his lap as he brushes your hair: rose-scented and soft from the bath he’d drawn for you, hours ago. Every bandage is fresh and clean. Every ache has been dulled with a lazy massage and more chaste kisses, for good measure.

“Perfect day,” you mumble blissfully.

“Perfect day,” Sylus agrees.

[cressidagrey]

A Pawfect Coincidence

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x Margot Bonheur (Original Character)

Summary:

When Arthur Leclerc loses his brother’s emotionally codependent dachshund, he doesn’t just misplace a dog—he accidentally jumpstarts a full-blown Leclerc family crisis. Luckily, Leo is found by Margot Bonheur: local vet, egg chef extraordinaire, and the girl Charles Leclerc was once devastatingly in love with (and never quite got over).

Warnings and Notes: 

I am feeling so bad about bashing Charles in White Horse that I figured I needed a palate cleanser, so I pulled this out of the purgatory that are my Google Docs.

As always big thanks to @llirawolf , who listens to me ramble

Arthur Leclerc was not in the habit of losing things.

Not his phone, not his keys, and definitely not his older brother’s ridiculously spoiled dachshund, who was currently - oh, merde—nowhere to be seen.

“Leo?” he called, spinning in a slow circle in the middle of the park, panic tightening his chest.

Ten seconds ago, everything had been fine. The sun was sinking, he’d taken a casual detour through Parc Princesse Antoinette, texting a friend back while Leo sniffed a patch of grass for the fifth time. Arthur had only looked away for a moment. A moment.

And now? No leash. No golden tail. No floppy ears. No dog.

Arthur cursed under his breath, scanning every path and hedge. He jogged toward the playground. Nothing. He doubled back to the fountain, heart rate climbing like he was doing qualifying laps in the rain. Still nothing.

“Leo!” he shouted again, louder this time, drawing a few curious glances from an elderly couple and a kid eating ice cream. “Leo, come on! This isn’t funny!”

His phone buzzed in his pocket. Charles. Of course.

Charles: All good with Leo?

Arthur stared at the screen like it had personally betrayed him.

He didn’t answer. Instead, he shoved the phone back into his pocket, muttering, “I am never going to hear the end of this.”

Because he could already imagine it. Charles’ blank face when Arthur admitted he’d lost the dog. The slow, silent stare of older-sibling disappointment. The inevitable “I asked you for one thing.”

And worst of all—Leo. Leo, who adored Charles more than anyone else in the world, probably off charming some stranger into giving him treats or belly rubs while Arthur had a full-blown anxiety attack in the middle of a public park.

He jogged toward the exit, breath catching. “I swear to God, if I find you eating someone’s sandwich again—”

Nothing.

Just the rustle of leaves. The empty sidewalk. And the slowly dawning realization that Charles’ dog might actually be gone.

Arthur ran a hand through his hair, frustration mixing with guilt in his chest.

He was so dead.

***

Text Messages: Arthur Leclerc & Lorenzo Leclerc

Arthur: I need you to swear on your life you won’t tell Charles.

Lorenzo: ...what did you do.

Arthur: Hypothetically If someone was walking Leo And he maybe slipped his harness And then vanished into thin air How bad would that be?

Lorenzo: Arthur. Where is Leo.

Arthur: THAT’S THE PROBLEM. I DON’T KNOW.

Lorenzo: You LOST Charles’ dog???

Arthur: No!!! I temporarily misplaced him. There’s a difference. (He’s very small and very fast and honestly too independent for his own good.)

Lorenzo: Do you want to die. Is that it. Is this a cry for help.

Arthur: Please. Help me. I can’t tell Charles. He trusted me. He said “don’t let him eat anything off the street.” He didn’t even think to say “don’t lose him” because he believed in me. And now Leo is GONE.

Lorenzo: Where are you?

Arthur: Parc Princesse Antoinette. I’ve done three laps. I checked the bushes. I even bribed a child with gelato to help me look.

Lorenzo: You bribed a child.

Arthur: WITH GELATO. I’M NOT A MONSTER.

Lorenzo: Okay. Breathe. Dogs like routine. Try retracing the walk. Call shelters. And vets. Someone might bring him in to check the chip.

Arthur: Do you think I should fake an injury so Charles pities me before I break the news?

Lorenzo: Try finding the dog first.

Arthur: Right. Right. Operation Find The Sausage is underway.

***

Arthur retraced his steps.

Twice.

He checked every corner of the park, the shaded paths, the trash bins—because Leo had zero shame when it came to half-eaten food. Nothing. No flash of caramel-colored fur, no jingling of a collar, no yappy bark announcing his tiny reign of chaos.

He even tried bribery. Again.

“Leo,” he called, crouching low with the last bite of a croissant he’d bought from the boulangerie around the corner. “If you come back now, I’ll give you the whole thing. No questions asked. No leash. No walk of shame.”

Silence. A pigeon stared at him, unimpressed.

Arthur groaned and rubbed his hands over his face. “You’re not even my dog,” he muttered.

But that wasn’t true, not really. Leo wasn’t his dog, but Charles’ ridiculous little dachshund had somehow made himself part of the entire family. He’d wormed his way into Arthur’s life with stubby legs, sad eyes, and an inexplicable talent for finding the most expensive thing in the apartment to pee on.

Arthur pulled out his phone again, hovering over Charles’ name. His thumb wavered.

Don’t you dare tell him you lost Leo, his brain screamed. He’ll kill you. Or worse—he’ll never let you walk him again.

And he really liked walking Leo. The little guy made strangers smile. Old ladies waved. Children asked to pet him. Once, a girl gave Arthur her number entirely because Leo was wearing a raincoat.

Now he was just a guy pacing a park, sweating through his T-shirt, muttering to himself like he’d lost his mind. Which, fair. He kind of had.

He circled back to the park gate for the third time when a flash of hope struck—a woman with a small dog!—but it wasn’t Leo. Just a fluffy Pomeranian in a pink harness who barked at Arthur like he’d insulted her personally.

“Not helping,” he muttered, stepping aside.

Maybe someone had found Leo. Maybe he was already somewhere safe. Maybe—please, please, please—someone would scan his chip and call Charles.

***

Text Messages: Arthur Leclerc & Lorenzo Leclerc

Arthur: It’s getting dark. I’ve checked the entire park. Twice. Then the neighborhood. Then the park again. Still no Leo.

Lorenzo: You haven’t found him at all?

Arthur: Unless he’s developed the ability to turn invisible—NO. I even asked a guy walking a chihuahua if he’d seen a dachshund. He asked if I was okay. I said no.

Lorenzo: You need to call Charles.

Arthur: No. Absolutely not. I will fake my own death before I tell Charles I lost his dog.

Lorenzo: Arthur. It’s LEO. You lost the love of his life. You think this isn’t going to end up in a group chat?

Arthur: I CAN FIX THIS. I just need a little more time. And maybe a tranquillizer dart.

Lorenzo: For Leo??

Arthur: For me. So I can stop panicking for five seconds.

Lorenzo: Okay. Deep breath. Have you called every vet in a 2km radius?

Arthur: Yes. One of them asked if I was crying.

Lorenzo: You're two hours in, and it’s getting late. If someone found him, they’ve probably taken him somewhere. You need to start thinking damage control.

Arthur: You mean like… buy Charles a new dog?

Lorenzo: Arthur. I will block you.

Arthur: Okay okay okay. I’ll call more vets.

Lorenzo: Good. And maybe prepare a will, just in case.

Arthur: Tell Maman I loved her. Tell Charles it was Arthur Jr.’s fault. That’s what I would’ve named the new dog.

***

Margot didn’t notice him at first.

Her hands were full—reusable bags weighed down with vegetables, pasta, a bottle of wine, and the fancy sheep’s cheese she only bought when she was having a day. The sun had long since disappeared behind the hills, the sky settling into a navy velvet dusk as she trudged home through the winding streets above the port.

She was thinking about the silence of her apartment. The way her keys still felt unfamiliar in the lock. The way everything in her life was still slightly off, like a puzzle someone had forced together with the wrong pieces.

And then she heard it.

A tiny, pitiful sneeze.

Margot turned instinctively, eyes scanning the dim sidewalk—and there, right at the edge of a crumbling stone wall, sat a dachshund. Small. Muddied. Trembling slightly.

“Mon dieu,” she whispered, kneeling immediately and setting her bags down. “What are you doing here?”

The dog blinked at her with glossy brown eyes, ears drooping dramatically, like a tragic Victorian heroine.

“No collar,” she murmured, reaching slowly. “No leash. You’ve clearly been on an adventure.”

The dog didn’t flinch when she touched him. He wagged his tail once. Then sneezed again.

“Okay,” she said softly. “Let’s get you inside.”

She looked around—quiet street, no one calling out a name, no footsteps approaching. Whoever he belonged to, they weren’t nearby.

So Margot scooped him up, balancing him against her chest with one arm while gathering her groceries with the other, and started the climb to her apartment.

Her building wasn’t far. Second floor, no elevator, uneven tile floors that made the dachshund snort when she carried him inside. He shook himself out as soon as she set him down, spraying mud across her hallway rug like he was blessing the space.

“Charming,” she muttered, flicking on the bathroom light. “Alright, monsieur, bath time.”

He did not resist. In fact, he seemed to enjoy the warm water, letting her rinse the grime from his fur, soap away the stickiness from his paws. Margot caught herself smiling as she towel-dried him, wrapping him up like a burrito and murmuring nonsense in a voice she hadn’t used in… well, a long time.

It had been almost three months since she’d moved back to Monaco.

Not a dramatic return—no big announcement, no confetti, just a one-way train ticket from Toulouse and a job offer she hadn’t expected to say yes to.

She hadn’t planned on leaving. She loved Toulouse. The city had been hers in a way Monaco never had—full of light and bustle and purpose. She’d built something there. Friends. A job. A future.

A fiancé.

Her smile faded slightly as she rubbed the dog dry.

It still stung, the way it had ended. The too-calm conversation. The finality of the phrase “I think we want different things.” The way he’d packed up and moved out like they’d been roommates all along, not five years of love and shared groceries and weekend hikes.

Margot hadn’t told anyone the full story—not even her mother. Just said she needed a change. A new pace. A return to familiar streets, even if they no longer felt like home.

The dachshund gave a content sigh, now wrapped in a fresh towel, head resting on her thigh like he’d always belonged there.

Margot looked down at him and exhaled.

“Well,” she murmured. “You’re a good distraction.”

***

Text Messages: Arthur Leclerc & Lorenzo Leclerc

Arthur: He’s still not back. It’s been hours. HOURS. What if someone took him? What if he joined a biker gang?

Lorenzo: Arthur. It’s past midnight.

Arthur: YES I KNOW. THE CLOCK IS MOCKING ME. Do you think I could set up one of those “MISSING DOG” posters?? Like old-school. With tabs and everything. “Answers to: Leo. Probably judging you.”

Lorenzo: I’m going to bed. Unless you are calling emergency services, do not text me again.

Arthur: What if he never comes back. What if I have to look Charles in the eye and say, “Sorry, your dog is now one with the Monaco shadows.”

Lorenzo: Did you eat dinner?

Arthur: I shared half a croissant with a pigeon earlier, does that count?

Lorenzo: No. You’re spiraling.

Arthur: I’m spiraling because Charles is going to MURDER me and use my body as a cautionary tale for Pierre or something.

Lorenzo: Arthur.

Arthur: WHAT IF HE THINKS I DID IT ON PURPOSE. What if he thinks I took Leo to emotionally sabotage him before a race weekend???

Lorenzo: What race weekend?

Arthur: I DON’T KNOW I PANICKED

Lorenzo: Eat something. Drink water. And stop pacing the same square kilometer like a cartoon.

Arthur: ...how did you know I was pacing?

Lorenzo: Because I know you. And because the last time you panicked this hard was when you lost your passport and it was in your pocket.

Arthur: Okay, that was ONE TIME and the pocket was weirdly deep.

Lorenzo: Look. If someone found him, they probably took him home. It’s late. Vets are closed. You’ll get a call in the morning.

Arthur: What if they don’t call? What if Leo decides he likes his new life better? What if he finds someone who gives him bacon without rules?

Lorenzo: Then you’ll be replaced. Which is fair.

Arthur: ...harsh. But valid.

Lorenzo: Go home, Arthur. Sleep. Or at least lie down and stare into the abyss like the rest of us.

Arthur: Fine. But if I die of guilt in the night, tell Charles I tried my best.

Lorenzo: I’ll tell him you wept nobly into a pile of posters with your own phone number misspelled.

Arthur: Okay that’s accurate.

***

Text Messages: Arthur Leclerc & Joris Trouche

Joris: Morning. Charles just asked me if you still have Leo. Can I tell him yes and get back to my already overbooked morning?

Arthur: So… funny story.

Joris: No. Absolutely not. I do not have time for a funny story. You either have the dog or you don’t.

Arthur: I don’t. I lost Leo.

Joris: WHAT. You’re joking. Tell me you’re joking. Tell me this is a Leclerc brother prank. I knew I should’ve never let you all have a group chat.

Arthur: I’m not joking. He slipped out of his harness yesterday afternoon in the park. I’ve been searching all night. I didn’t even go home. I’ve walked more than I did during preseason training.

Joris: ARTHUR.

Arthur: I KNOW.

Joris: DO YOU UNDERSTAND WHAT YOU’VE DONE??? You lost Leo. LEO.

Arthur: I am aware!!!

Joris: Leo is not just a dog. Leo is Charles’ everything right now. You lost the one source of unconditional love he has left since the breakup. The love of his life. The only thing he’s cared about since the breakup. THE DOG WHO HAS HIS OWN MONOGRAMMED TOWEL.

Arthur: Okay in my defense that towel thing is not normal.

Joris: YOU DON’T GET TO JUDGE THE TOWEL WHEN YOU LOST THE DOG.

Joris: He cried watching a dog food commercial three weeks ago. THREE. Leo is the only thing he trusts. Leo is the only one he lets spoon him when he's sad. You lost the love of his life.

Arthur: I didn’t mean to!! I was texting back and he—he just disappeared. It’s like he melted into the pavement!

Joris: Oh my god. Oh my god.

He trusted you.

He handed over his entire emotional support system and said, “don’t let him eat anything off the street.”

And you said, “Great, I’ll just lose him completely.”

Arthur:

I bribed a child with gelato to help search. I tried. Can we not tell him yet? Maybe someone scanned the chip. Maybe he’s safe somewhere!

Joris: I swear, if we find out someone found him and called the chip number and you just didn’t answer, I am personally putting your name on a “Do Not Trust with Pets” list.

Arthur: That’s fair.

Joris: And if someone does call and Leo is fine, I’m still going to be angry. Just less angry.

Arthur: Okay. Please tell me if he’s okay. And, like. Tell Charles gently?

Joris: Gently?? GENTLY??

Arthur: He likes you.

Joris: So did Leo. AND LOOK WHAT HAPPENED TO HIM.

***

Joris had delivered a lot of difficult news in his tenure as Charles Leclerc’s personal assistant.

Travel mishaps. Press obligations. The time a well-meaning sponsor wanted him to pose with a falcon for reasons no one could adequately explain.

But this?

This was worse.

He found Charles outside the simulator room, still in his race suit from that morning’s promo shoot, looking relaxed in that suspiciously unbothered way that only made Joris more tense.

“Hey,” Charles said, wiping sweat from his brow. “Everything okay?”

Joris took a breath. Then another. He held up a hand before Charles could get a word in.

“I need you to remember that you love your brother.”

Charles froze. “What?”

“Just—just hold that thought in your heart for a second,” Joris continued, voice strained, hands gesturing like he was conducting a symphony of impending doom. “Because the thing is, Arthur was walking Leo. And then… he wasn’t.”

Charles blinked. “What do you mean, wasn’t?”

“Leo ran off,” Joris said, with the grave tone of someone delivering a eulogy. “Arthur looked away for maybe thirty seconds. Boom. Gone. No leash. No collar. Just vibes.”

Charles straightened. “You’re telling me Arthur lost my dog?”

Joris winced. “Arthur was walking him yesterday. In the park. And, uh… Leo slipped his harness.”

Silence.

“He what,” Charles said, very quietly.

“He… bolted. Arthur says it happened fast. He’s been searching all night, didn’t even go home. He’s calling shelters and—”

Charles dropped the knife. “He lost my dog?”

Joris took a careful step back. “Temporarily misplaced.”

“Joris.”

“He ran off yesterday evening,” Joris said, hands up in surrender. “Slipped his harness while Arthur was texting in the park. He’s been searching all night. I got the full unhinged confession this morning.”

Charles looked like someone had just unplugged him. All the light behind his eyes dimmed. “Leo has been gone since yesterday?”

“I didn’t know either,” Joris rushed to say. “Arthur didn’t tell me until an hour ago because he was apparently too busy bribing children and interrogating chihuahuas—don’t ask.”

“He lost Leo,” Charles repeated, voice rising. “He lost the only thing in my life that hasn’t let me down in the last six months.”

And there it was.

Joris had been waiting for the breakup to surface again, quietly lurking under every tired sigh, every too-long pause in conversation. Charles hadn’t spoken about her in weeks, but he also hadn’t not spoken about her. He’d just… poured all of it into Leo. Every bit of softness, every ounce of trust.

And now Leo was gone.

“He’s okay,” Joris said quickly. “Probably. He has a chip. He’s smart. And Arthur’s already filed a report and left his number everywhere.”

Charles sat down heavily on the kitchen stool, one hand running over his face.

“I knew it,” he said hoarsely. “I knew Arthur wasn’t ready. He doesn’t even like mornings. Leo’s entire personality is built around 6:45 a.m.”

“I think he genuinely thought he was doing a good job,” Joris offered. “Like… mostly.”

Charles didn’t respond. Just stared at the floor like it had personally betrayed him.

“He has a monogrammed towel,” he said suddenly, like remembering a lost heirloom. “He sleeps in my bed. He knows how to open the fridge.”

Joris nodded solemnly. “I know. You trained him well.”

“And now he’s alone somewhere. Scared. Probably judging someone else’s cooking.”

There was a long beat. Then Charles’s voice cracked—just a little, just enough.

“I can’t lose him too.”

Joris’s heart ached. He stepped forward, softer this time.

“We’re going to find him. I promise.”

Charles gave a slow nod, silent. His eyes were glassy, and he looked young—too young for the heartbreak in his voice.

***

Group Chat: Leclerc Brothers

(Members: Arthur, Charles and Lorenzo) 

Charles: So. I just spoke to Joris.

Arthur: 🥲

Charles: Tell me that this is some elaborate, deeply stupid prank and Leo is curled up in your apartment right now, wearing his stupid hoodie and judging your coffee table choices.

Arthur: I wish it was. I really, really do. Charles I swear, it happened so fast. I looked away for one second and he was gone. I’ve been searching all night. I didn’t sleep. I filed reports. I called every vet and shelter.

Charles: You lost him yesterday. And didn’t say anything until this morning.

Arthur: I panicked. I thought I could find him before you noticed. Lorenzo told me not to fake a leg injury to get your sympathy, if that helps?

Lorenzo: To be clear, I said that was a bad idea.

Charles: Leo is not just a dog. He’s not a weekend errand or a plant you forget to water. He’s mine. He’s family. He’s the only thing I’ve had that didn’t leave when things got hard.

Arthur: I know. And I’m sorry. Really, truly sorry.

Charles: I trusted you.

Arthur: I didn’t mean to break that. Please believe me.

Lorenzo: He does. He’s just scared right now. We all are.

Charles: If anything happens to him— I don’t know what I’ll do. He’s been the only thing keeping me grounded since everything fell apart.

Arthur: We’re going to find him. I swear it. Even if I have to knock on every door in Monaco and personally interview every dog.

Charles: He knows how to open the fridge, Arthur. You lost a genius.

Lorenzo: Let’s focus. No blame right now. Only action.

Charles: Joris is handling it. Of course. Because Joris always handles what we break.

Arthur: …do I send him flowers?

Charles: Send him a new spine. He probably needs one after carrying our chaos for five years.

Lorenzo: Okay, but seriously—Charles. We will get him back. And when we do, I’m buying that dog a GPS tracker, a backup GPS tracker, and probably a bodyguard.

Arthur: I already picked out a name. Sir Barkalot.

Charles: If I wasn't so emotionally ruined I’d block you.

Arthur: Fair.

Charles: I just want him home.

***

Sunlight streamed through the gauzy curtains, catching on the dust motes in the air and casting soft gold across the hardwood floor. Somewhere outside, a gull screamed at an unreasonable hour, and a scooter rattled down the street, but Margot barely stirred.

She rolled over, blinking sleep from her eyes, the quiet weight of morning settling gently over her shoulders. For a moment, she forgot about everything—about Monaco, about the clinic, about the fact that her life had recently undergone a full-scale emotional implosion.

And then she registered the sound. Not her alarm. Not traffic.

Snuffling.

She squinted down toward the end of the bed.

There, curled up like a smug croissant in the exact center of her duvet, was a caramel coloured dachshund.

Sprawled out on his back, paws in the air, snoring softly, utterly shameless.

Margot groaned, pressing the heels of her hands to her eyes. “You did not start the night there.”

The dog gave a lazy tail thump in response but made no move to vacate the space.

“Oh, I see. You’ve claimed the bed. This is your apartment now,” she muttered, sitting up and stretching.

She padded barefoot into the kitchen,and flicked the switch on the coffee machine. As the familiar hum filled the space, she caught movement out of the corner of her eye.

The dog trotted in a moment later, completely at ease, and went straight to the spot in front of the window where the morning sun hit just right. He flopped down with a grunt of satisfaction.

Margot stared at him.

“You’ve been here eight hours,” she said. “Eight. You’ve already decided on a sunbathing spot?”

He blinked at her. Yawned. Rolled onto his side and looked deeply unconcerned about the fact that he’d technically been lost less than a day ago.

She crouched beside him. “You know, if you were a person, this would be deeply invasive. Just showing up in someone’s life, taking a bath, stealing the blanket, and claiming the best corner of the apartment.”

The dog offered her a single, slow blink. Margot sighed.

“…but you’re not a person,” she added, rubbing behind his ears. “You’re a spoiled little drama queen with big eyes and too much charm. No wonder someone’s probably out there crying over you.”

Margot watched him for a moment, her heart doing that soft little squeeze it hadn’t done in a while.

He didn’t seem stressed. Or scared. He wasn’t pacing or barking or trying to claw at the door. He was just… here. Cozy. Safe. Like this was temporary housing on his luxury tour of Monaco.

“Okay,” she murmured, “Let’s see if I have anything fit for a prince.”

She dug through the fridge—cheese, eggs, leftover roast chicken—and eventually settled on plain scrambled eggs. Just a little. No salt. Vet-approved. She plated them onto a saucer.

The dachshund sniffed the offering when she set it down on the kitchen floor, tilted his head like he was evaluating her taste level, then devoured it.

“Right,” Margot said. “A culinary success.”

He licked the plate clean and then followed her back into the living room, where he jumped up onto the couch like he paid rent. He curled into the throw blanket she’d left bunched in the corner, eyes half-lidded, already preparing for nap number three.

Margot leaned against the kitchen counter and watched him with a strange tightness in her chest.

He looked like he belonged there. Too easily. Too naturally. Like he’d decided she passed whatever secret dachshund test he’d run last night and now this was his summer home.

And Margot—who hadn’t expected to feel anything but detached competence and maybe a vague professional curiosity—felt something else entirely.

She felt… lighter.

Not fixed. Not whole. But not quite as adrift.

“I can’t keep you,” she said quietly, to no one and only him. “You definitely have someone. And they’re probably losing their mind.”

The dog, naturally, said nothing.

He simply sighed and closed his eyes, like he had all the time in the world.

Margot stared at him for a long moment.

She hesitated. Then added, “But if not… you can stay a little longer.”

***

The clinic smelled faintly of lavender and disinfectant, the way it always did first thing in the morning—clean, calm, full of potential chaos that hadn’t yet arrived.

Margot pushed through the door with a reusable tote slung over one shoulder, and the dachshund’s head poking around like that was a completely normal mode of transportation for him. 

“Uh-oh,” Céline called from reception, raising an eyebrow as she spotted them. “You’ve brought in backup.”

“Temporary guest,” Margot said, lifting her hand in greeting. “Found him last night. No collar. Took him home so he wouldn’t end up in traffic or under a Vespa.”

“He’s adorable,” Céline said, already standing up to lean over the counter. “What breed is he? Besides ‘absolute heartthrob.’”

“Dachshund,” Margot replied dryly. “Clearly spoiled. Possibly royalty.”

“I mean, look at him,” Céline whispered as Margot lifted the dog onto the floor. He strutted across the waiting room and flopped into a sunbeam like he was taking a press photo.

Within ten minutes, he’d made the rounds of the break room, had a staff member attempt to make him a tiny paper crown from post-it notes, and somehow convinced the vet tech intern to feed him a single piece of chicken from her sandwich.

Margot watched it all happen with an expression of pure disbelief. “He’s been here twenty minutes.”

“He’s got it,” one of the techs whispered. “Like… star power.”

“I think he winked at me,” another muttered.

Margot rolled her eyes, but a smile tugged at the corner of her mouth.

She finally herded the dachshund into an exam room, gently lifting him onto the table. “Okay, rockstar. Let’s figure out who you are.”

He wagged his tail, smug as ever.

She grabbed the scanner from the wall, swept it slowly over his neck, and waited for the beep.

Beep.

“Good boy,” she said absently, turning to the screen.

The name appeared.

She froze.

LEO — Owner: Charles Leclerc. Contact: +33 —

Margot’s breath caught.

Her fingers hovered above the screen.

No.

No. There was no way.

She read it again.

Charles Leclerc.

She stared at the name, the familiar rhythm of it.

The Charles Leclerc.

As in, Formula One driver. Ferrari. International star.

Of course this was his dog.

Of course this smug, emotionally manipulative, blanket-stealing loaf belonged to him.

To Charles.

As in, the boy she’d kissed under the bleachers behind the tennis courts when she was sixteen. The boy who’d held her hand at the Monaco Grand Prix and whispered that one day, he’d be the one on the podium. The boy she’d cried over for at least three months after they broke up because “life was getting too busy.”

The boy who—apparently—now owned a dachshund named Leo.

“Oh,” she said faintly.

Leo looked up at her and thumped his tail, as if he knew.

Of course he knew.

Because the universe had a twisted sense of humor.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

***

The phone rang just as Joris was mid-scroll through yet another email chain titled “RE: RE: RE: URGENT: Helmet Sponsor Placement Issue.”

He didn’t recognize the number. Monaco area code. That wasn’t unusual—his number was attached to everything from Leo’s microchip registry to Charles’ old tennis club membership.

Still, he hesitated. Then answered, already bracing himself for some kind of insurance call or dog-related ransom demand.

“Bonjour, Joris Trouche speaking.”

There was a pause.

Then: “Hi, um—Joris? It’s Margot. Margot Bonheur.”

Joris blinked.

Margot Bonheur?

He sat up straighter, every neuron in his brain suddenly pinging like a crash at turn one.

“Wait. Margot Margot?”

She gave a slightly breathless laugh. “I… think so? We went to lycée together.”

“Oh my god,” Joris said, stunned. 

There was a short pause. Then a soft voice, low and slightly tentative: “You don’t happen to be missing a dachshund named Leo, do you?”

Joris sat up straight. “You found Leo?”

“Uh, yes. Last night. He sort of… found me, really. He was wandering near Rue Bel Respiro, no collar. I took him home for the night.”

Joris covered the phone’s mouthpiece and mouthed holy shit to the empty office. Then he cleared his throat. “Is he okay?”

“Perfectly fine. He had a bath, has been sleeping, eating scrambled eggs, sunbathing, and judging me silently ever since he woke up.”

Joris huffed out a laugh. “Yeah, that’s him.”

There was a beat of quiet on the line. The kind of silence that stretched just long enough to mean something.

Then Margot said softly, “He’s yours, then?”

Joris’s mouth twitched. “No. He’s Charles’.”

Another pause.

“Ah,” she said. Barely a whisper. “Of course he is.”

Joris leaned back in his chair, gaze flicking toward the ceiling like he might spot the ghost of Monaco high school past hovering above him.

Charles and Margot.

God. He hadn’t thought about that in years. The school hallway hand-holding. The shy smiles.

Margot Bonheur. Margot with the laugh that made Charles forget how to speak in full sentences. Margot who wore oversized cardigans, tied her hair with ribbons, and absolutely ruined Charles for other teenage girls.

Sixteen-year-old Charles, gangly and earnest and completely gone for a girl with curly hair and a laugh that cracked through his walls like sunlight.

Sixteen-year-old Charles, biking all the way across town with a melted chocolate bar in July because he’d heard Margot had a bad day.

Charles, heart-eyed and hopeless, telling Joris at least three times a week, “I think she’s the one, you know?”

And then the silence. The breakup.

Racing had come calling, and Charles—still a boy, really—had chosen speed over stability, pressure over presence. Not because he didn’t love her. Because he did, too much, and thought she deserved better than goodbyes over phone calls and promises he couldn’t keep.

It was the only time Joris had seen Charles cry in a hotel hallway. No cameras. Just him and a cracked iPhone screen with her name still at the top of his pinned messages.

And now?

Now she’d found his dog.

In Monaco.

At a time when Charles was still nursing emotional wounds, pretending he wasn’t sad, and sleeping curled around that ridiculous dachshund like Leo was a weighted blanket for his soul.

Joris stared at the desk.

The universe didn’t send you things like this for no reason.

“Well,” he said, clearing his throat. “He’ll be relieved. He’s been—look, let’s just say the household emotional stability has been tied directly to that dog’s continued existence.”

Margot made a small sound, part sympathetic and part amused. “I figured. He looked very loved.”

“He is. But also? High maintenance. Like his owner.”

Another pause. He could practically hear her raised eyebrow through the line.

“I’ll text you the address,” she said eventually, voice quieter. “I’ll be at the clinic most of the day. You or Charles can come by whenever.”

“Thank you, really,” Joris said. “This means a lot.”

When the call ended, Joris didn’t move for a moment.

Then he stood, walked to Charles’ door, and knocked.

This was going to be interesting.

And if—if—it led to something more?

Well.

He wouldn’t meddle.

Not directly.

But he also wasn’t above “accidentally” scheduling Charles to pick up Leo himself.

***

Charles was halfway through pacing the length of his hotel room for the fourth time when the knock came.

He turned sharply, the pent-up worry already pushing at his chest like pressure before a storm.

“Oui?”

Joris opened the door, face unreadable. “Good news,” he said.

Charles blinked. “You found him?”

“We didn’t,” Joris said. “But someone did.”

The world tilted slightly. His breath caught. “Wait—he’s okay?”

“He’s more than okay,” Joris said. “He was found last night. Someone took him in. He’s safe, healthy, probably being pampered as we speak.”

Charles ran a hand through his hair, barely processing the words. His knees actually went a little weak, and he leaned against the doorframe. “You’re sure?”

Joris nodded. “I spoke to the person directly. They found him near Rue Bel Respiro. No injuries. Fed him scrambled eggs.”

Charles let out a noise somewhere between a laugh and a gasp. “He loves scrambled eggs.”

“I know,” Joris said, softer now. “He’s okay. You can breathe again.”

Charles pressed his hand to his chest like he needed to check that his heart was still there. “I thought—I thought maybe he got out of the city. Or worse. I didn’t know what to do, Joris.”

He nodded, too many thoughts tumbling around in his head. Leo. Safe. Leo, who he’d been picturing lying under a car or lost in some alley. Leo, who had become more than just a dog—his anchor, his post-breakup coping mechanism, the one living being who never asked for anything but a lap and a few treats.

His eyes stung. He scrubbed a hand over them.

“I know,” Joris repeated. “It’s handled. You can pick him up when we’re back in Monaco this evening.”

Charles closed his eyes for a second, letting it sink in. “Thank you,” he said quietly. “He’s really okay?”

“Completely,” Joris confirmed. “He’s just waiting for you.”

Charles looked away, blinking hard. “I thought—I kept thinking about the road. Or if someone tried to take him. Or if he was scared and cold—”

“He wasn’t,” Joris said gently. “Apparently, he made himself at home. Shocker.”

Charles let out a weak laugh, finally sitting down. “God. I feel like an idiot. I should have never let Arthur take him out.”

“No argument there,” Joris muttered.

A pause.

Then Joris added, voice casual: “Oh, and maybe don’t wear that hoodie when you go to pick him up.”

Charles frowned. “Why?”

Joris sipped his espresso. “Just a feeling.”

***

Group Chat: Disaster Mitigation Team

 Members: Joris, Lorenzo, Arthur

Joris: Update: Leo is SAFE. Found last night. Someone took him home, gave him a bath, scrambled eggs, and emotionally supported him through what I assume was a dramatic 12 hours. He’s completely fine. A little smug, but fine.

Arthur: OH THANK GOD. I’m not going to be disowned??? I can come out of hiding???

Lorenzo: Where was he?

Joris: Wandering near Rue Bel Respiro. A vet found him. Took him home for the night.

Lorenzo: This is the best news I’ve heard all week. Tell me who found him so I can send them a fruit basket and/or a handwritten apology.

Joris: …you’re going to want to sit down for this.

Arthur: Bro if you say it was someone from Ferrari PR I will actually combust

Joris: It was Margot.

Arthur: ...

Lorenzo: ...

Arthur: As in Margot Bonheur??

Joris: That would be the one.

Lorenzo: As in “Charles’ teenage girlfriend” Margot?

Arthur: As in “the only girl Charles ever wrote poetry for and then immediately denied it” Margot??

Joris: Yes. THAT Margot.

Arthur: NO WAY. Margot who used to make Charles forget how to speak?? Margot who literally ended all his teen crushes after 2012??

Lorenzo: Margot who knew how to shut him up with one look? That Margot?

Arthur: This is cinematic.

Lorenzo: This is fate.

Joris: I’m not saying I’m thinking about matchmaking but …I’m thinking about matchmaking.

Arthur: YES. FINALLY. She was the best of all of them. And she liked us. Remember when she brought cookies to family lunch and Maman asked if we could keep her?

Joris: The very same. Vet now. Back in Monaco. And apparently, Leo has chosen her as his new emotional support human.

Arthur: She was always my favorite. Honestly, best of all his exes. No contest. 10/10. Would support a redemption arc.

Lorenzo: Same.

Joris: I’m not saying I’m plotting anything. But I may have strategically left out her name when I told him he could pick Leo up tonight. Just… letting fate cook a little.

Arthur: Oh my GOD you’re playing the long game. I’m so proud.

Lorenzo: We support this. You have our blessing. 

Arthur: If they get back together, I’m taking credit. Even though I lost Leo in the first place. Especially because of that.

Joris: Focus, gentlemen. Tonight, Charles picks up Leo. From Margot. Let’s just see what happens.

Lorenzo: You want us on standby?

Joris: No interference. No chaos. Let them talk. Let the dog do his work.

 We may be watching the start of something ridiculous.

Arthur: Or something really, really good.

***

The clinic looked ordinary from the outside—white stone, blue shutters, a potted plant wilting just slightly in the sun. The kind of place you wouldn’t look at twice unless you had a limping retriever or a cat with dietary issues.

Charles had passed it before. Years ago. He hadn’t remembered until he stood outside the door, hand hovering over the handle, heart thudding with the kind of nervous energy he usually reserved for a final lap in the wet.

He wasn’t sure why he felt so anxious. Leo was safe. That’s what mattered.

And yet—he couldn’t shake it.

Maybe it was because he hadn’t seen Leo in two days. Maybe it was because this whole week had felt like a slow unraveling. Maybe it was because he’d been forced to confront the terrifying truth that he’d built his emotional stability on a dachshund with judgmental eyebrows.

He pushed open the door.

The bell above chimed.

Inside, it smelled faintly of antiseptic and lavender. Soft music played overhead. The waiting room was empty, save for a sleepy golden retriever stretched out across the floor tiles and an older man flipping through a dog breed calendar like it contained state secrets.

He wasn’t sure why he was nervous.

It was a veterinary clinic, not a press conference. He wasn’t here to face a grid of rivals or answer uncomfortable questions about tyre strategy or heartbreak.

He was just here for Leo.

That should’ve been it.

But his palms were sweating, and there was something tight in his chest he hadn’t been able to shake since the moment Joris said, “She found him last night.”

She.

He hadn’t asked questions. He’d been too focused on the relief of knowing Leo was safe. Alive. Fed. Unbothered.

But now?

Now, something about the quiet warmth of the waiting room made his heart stutter.

“Bonjour,” a receptionist called from behind the desk. “Can I help you?”

Charles pulled off his sunglasses. “I’m here for Leo. Someone brought him in this morning?”

“Oh! Yes, he’s in the back. Quite the charmer you have there, Mr. Leclerc. Margo found him yesterday. He’s still with Dr. Bonheur. She said to send you through.”

Dr. Bonheur.

Charles blinked.

The name hit like a gear shift slamming into place.

No.

He didn’t move right away—just stood there, rooted to the tile floor, as if his body hadn’t caught up with the memory. The receptionist gestured politely to the hallway, but her voice felt distant, muffled.

Margot Bonheur.

The girl who used to tuck daisy stems behind her ears. The girl who gave him her library card because he kept forgetting his. The girl he’d tried so hard not to look up after the breakup, because he knew he wouldn’t like the feeling if he saw her happy without him.

The girl he hadn’t seen in years.

And she’d found Leo?

Of course she had.

Of course it was her.

Because fate didn’t tap you on the shoulder. It threw your dog into the arms of your teenage heartbreak and waited to see what you’d do next.

Charles swallowed hard and walked toward the back hallway, feet moving before his brain could catch up.

The door to the exam room was ajar.

He pushed it open gently.

And there she was.

Margot stood with her back to him, crouched beside a small exam table where Leo sat like an unbothered loaf. She was tying a bandana around his neck—a soft green one that made him look outrageously smug. The same springy curls. The same soft concentration in her movements. She hadn’t changed.

And then she turned.

Their eyes met.

And for a moment, the world tilted.

Margot blinked. “Oh.”

Charles opened his mouth. Nothing came out.

She gave a slow, cautious smile. “Hi, Charles.”

He couldn’t breathe.

Couldn’t move.

Memories rushed in uninvited—bike rides and beach afternoons, shared earphones on the school bus, her handwriting on the corner of his notes. And that goodbye. That stupid, quiet, I don’t want to make you choose kind of goodbye.

Charles couldn’t speak.

He was sixteen again, sunburned and awkward and head over heels. He was seventeen and heartbroken. He was eighteen and too busy pretending he didn’t still think about her. And now he was… what, exactly?

Margot didn’t look away.

She stood, slow and steady, wiping her hands on the hem of her white coat, as if grounding herself in the motion. She looked older, yes—but not in a bad way. She looked like someone who’d lived through things and come out steadier for it.

Leo gave a grunt, apparently offended by being forgotten in the middle of his reunion fanfare, and thumped his tail once against the exam table.

That was what broke the silence.

Charles finally let out a shaky laugh, stepping fully into the room. “He looks like he owns the place.”

Margot smiled softly, folding her arms. “He acted like it. Claimed my couch, my blanket, and the best sunspot in the apartment before I’d even finished putting my groceries away.”

“I believe it,” Charles said, crouching beside Leo. The moment he touched the dachshund’s fur, something in him cracked wide open. “I thought I lost him. I thought—”

“I know,” Margot said gently. “I figured someone would be looking. He’s… unforgettable.”

Charles let his hand rest on Leo’s back. “He’s been everything. These last few months… it’s been hard.”

She didn’t press. She never had.

“I’m glad he found you,” he said finally, lifting his eyes to hers. “I mean—really. Thank you.”

Margot looked at him for a long, quiet beat. “I wasn’t expecting you to walk through that door.”

“Me neither.” He stood slowly. “When Joris said someone found him… I didn’t ask who. I should’ve.”

“Would you have come if you had?” she asked, not accusing, just curious.

Charles met her gaze. “Yeah. I would’ve.”

Her lips curved, a little surprised. A little knowing.

There was a silence, comfortable and awkward all at once. The kind of silence that could only exist between two people who used to know each other completely and now didn’t know how to begin again.

“I heard you were back,” he said eventually. “From my mum, I think. Or someone in town.”

Margot nodded. “Three months ago. I’m working here full time.”

“That’s… that’s good.” Charles shifted his weight. “Toulouse wasn’t forever?”

“No,” she said, quiet. “It was good. Until it wasn’t.”

He understood that far too well.

“Well,” she said, patting Leo’s head, “your prince is in one piece. Clean, fed, slightly spoiled.”

“Always has been.” Charles hesitated, then reached into his pocket and pulled out Leo’s leash. “Can I… take him?”

“Of course.” She smiled. “Though he might pout for a while. I think he liked my eggs.”

Charles bent down, clipping the leash onto Leo’s harness as the dachshund made a snuffling noise of vague disapproval. “I can’t believe you cooked for him.”

“I was trying to win him over,” Margot said. “Turns out he’s an easy bribe.”

Charles glanced up, and for the first time, he smiled. Not the tired, strained smile he’d been wearing lately—but something warmer. Real.

“Can I walk you out?” he asked. “Just… for old time’s sake?”

Margot paused.

Then nodded. “Yeah. I’d like that.”

***

Outside, the sunlight hit the street in soft amber as they stepped out together, Leo strutting ahead of them like a celebrity returning from a five-star vacation.

They walked in silence for a few minutes, their footsteps slow and in sync.

“You look well,” she said finally.

“You too,” he answered, and meant it.

Another pause.

“I’m sorry,” Charles said. “For back then. For how I ended things.”

Margot looked over, surprised. “That was a long time ago.”

“Still,” he said. “I never said it. And I should have.”

She looked at him for a moment, expression unreadable. Then: “Thank you.”

They reached the corner. Leo stopped, sniffed a bush like it owed him money, and flopped down dramatically on the warm pavement.

Margot laughed. “You may need to carry him. He’s decided he’s done.”

Charles crouched again, scooping Leo up effortlessly. “You really took care of him.”

“I was glad to,” she said.

Their eyes met again.

“Margot,” he said, quietly. “Would you—maybe sometime—want to catch up properly?”

She raised an eyebrow. “Like dinner?”

“Or coffee,” he said quickly. “Or a walk. Or, I don’t know. Something.”

She tilted her head, considering him. “Are you asking for you, or for Leo?”

Charles gave a sheepish smile. “Both.”

Margot bit back a grin. “Then maybe.”

Charles smiled back, a little stunned. A little hopeful.

And Leo—smug, full, and freshly bathed—closed his eyes in Charles’ arms, perfectly content.

***

Group Chat: Leclercs & Logistics

 Members: Lorenzo, Arthur, Joris, Charles

Arthur:DID YOU GET HIM???? IS HE OKAY?? IS HE MAD AT ME??

Lorenzo: Photos. Now. I need visual confirmation of the sausage prince’s wellbeing.

Joris: Are you still breathing or do we need to send a second emotional support animal to your location?

Charles: Yes, Leo is back. No, I didn’t cry. Yes, I nearly did.

Arthur: Tell him I love him. Also tell him I’m sorry and that I accept any form of punishment he deems fit.

Lorenzo: Start with a restraining order and work from there.

Joris: And how was Margot?

Charles:Yeah—about that. You could’ve warned me, Joris.

Joris: Warned you about what?

Charles: THAT MARGOT FOUND LEO. You let me walk in there unprepared, like it was any other Tuesday! I could’ve had a heart attack! Or worse—said something weird!

Joris: I believe I said, “someone found him.” That is technically true. I just didn’t say who the someone was.

Charles: YOU LEFT OUT CRUCIAL INFORMATION Like the fact that my teenage heartbreak was about to hand me back my dog.

Arthur: Did a breeze catch in her hair at just the right moment? Was Leo smug about it??

Charles: Yes to both. He refused to leave until she said goodbye. And she tied a stupid little green bandana around his neck that somehow makes him look even more entitled. It was… weird. Familiar. Like nothing changed, but everything had.

Lorenzo: So basically: cinematic.

Joris: So… how did it feel seeing her again?

Charles: Like getting the wind knocked out of me and then immediately wrapped in a warm blanket. She was Margot. Still Margot.

Arthur: CHARLES. ARE YOU IN LOVE AGAIN??

Charles: I never really stopped.

Lorenzo: Oh.

Arthur: OH.

Arthur:Did you ask her out?!?!

Joris:Are we preparing for a slow-burn second-chance narrative?!

Charles: I asked if she wanted to catch up sometime. She said maybe.

Arthur: A MAYBE IS A YES IN DENIAL

Lorenzo: A maybe is the foundation of hope. I approve.

Joris: I’m scheduling you both for a casual Leo-themed coffee run in two days. Nothing obvious. We’re letting the tension simmer.

Arthur: You’re terrifying.

Joris: I’m efficient.

Charles: You’re all insane.

Lorenzo: And yet here you are. Smiling at your phone like a lovesick teenager again.

Joris: We’re not rushing this. No chaos. We give them space. Let Leo work his magic.

Arthur: Can I at least put together a playlist??

Charles: You’re all insane.

Joris: Yes. And we love you. Now take that dog home, feed him something outrageously expensive, and start planning your next casual run-in with Monaco’s most emotionally significant veterinarian.

Lorenzo: I’m so proud. 🥹

Arthur: Tell Leo he’s getting a new raincoat. Embroidered. “Wingman of the Year.”

Charles: He deserves it.

***

Margot had no idea why she was nervous.

It was just coffee.

With her ex-boyfriend.

Her first boyfriend. The one who used to blush when their hands brushed and left flowers in her locker with absolutely illegible notes. The one who broke her heart the way only someone young and kind and convinced he was doing the right thing could

 And now… he was sitting at a tiny café table across from her, stirring sugar into his cappuccino like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Like it hadn’t been years.

Like he hadn’t shown up at the clinic two days ago looking like he’d lost his entire world—until Leo launched himself into Charles’ arms, and then everything shifted. Warmth. Relief. Something deeper that still hummed under her skin if she thought about it too long.

“So…” Charles said, glancing up with a shy sort of smile. “I feel like we should start with something safe. Like weather. Or Leo’s digestive schedule.”

Margot snorted into her mug. “It’s Monaco. The weather is always smug. And Leo’s digestive schedule appears to involve manipulating humans into feeding him eggs.”

“I knew that smug face meant he was being spoiled,” Charles muttered, mock-affronted.

She leaned her elbow on the table, chin in her hand. “He was a perfect gentleman. Demanding, slightly judgy, but charming.”

“So basically me at seventeen.”

That made her laugh. “You were never demanding.”

He shrugged, a little sheepish. “Maybe not out loud. But I was kind of... all-in. With you.”

That stilled something in her chest.

She didn’t look away.

“I was too,” she said quietly.

There was a pause—gentle and heavy in equal measure. The little café noise hummed around them: clinking glasses, a scooter rattling by, someone’s dog barking at a pigeon.

Charles cleared his throat, voice softer now. “I’ve thought about reaching out. Before.”

“Why didn’t you?”

He gave her a small, honest smile. “Because I didn’t know if you’d want to hear from me. And… I didn’t know if I was someone you’d be glad to hear from.”

She sat with that for a moment. The honesty of it. The way it didn’t sting, because it wasn’t said to wound.

“I was angry,” she admitted. “Back then. Not because you left. I got it. But because I kept waiting for you to stop choosing everything else first.”

“I thought I was protecting you,” he said. “From the chaos. From me, honestly.”

“I never needed protecting,” she said. “I just wanted honesty.”

Their eyes met. This time, there was something calmer there. Grounded.

“I’m not seventeen anymore,” he said. “I can’t promise I’ll be less chaotic. But I know how to show up now.”

Margot’s lips curved slowly. “Even if I burn the eggs next time?”

He grinned. “Especially then. I feel like Leo would riot otherwise.”

She laughed again, warmth blooming in her chest. “Well. In that case…”

“In that case,” Charles echoed, brushing his fingers against the edge of her mug, just barely, “maybe this doesn’t have to be just coffee.”

Margot looked at him, really looked. And saw not just the boy he was—but the man sitting in front of her now. Tired, maybe. Bruised by life a little. But open. Trying.

And hers, maybe, if she wanted him to be again.

“Maybe it doesn’t,” she said.

And across the city,  snoring on Charles’ couch, Leo Leclerc dreamed smug little dreams of eggs, sunbeams, and the chaos he’d orchestrated to make this happen.

[dumplingsjinson]

List of “sweet and intimate actions which make me go feral and have me folding like a folding chair” prompts 

Character B carding their fingers through Character A’s hair and playing with the strands.

Character B peeling back the neck of Character A’s turtle neck sweater to trail gentle kisses down their neck. (This!! It is so hot, and it's everything I didn't know I needed until now, and I cannot stop thinking about it wlkfnlkwe)

Character B placing their arm around Character A’s waist while in public, resting their chin on Character A’s shoulder. “Hello,” they say in a teasing tone as Character A tries to grab ahold of their hand to keep it there but fails a few times before successfully doing so. 

Leaning against each other while in public.

Spooning and back hugs.

Character B letting Character A rest their head on their chest; lets them listen to their heart beat. 

Character B whispering sweet nothings into Character A’s ear.

Character B checking in on Character A to make sure they’re comfortable and okay with the way things are going; to make sure they’re not being too much. “You’re not,” Character A would reassure, repositioning themselves to get closer to Character B.

Just cuddles and snuggles in general.

Neck kisses.

Kisses littered all over the face. (!!! It's one thing to read about it and one thing to experience it wlejbfewljn)

Character B tucking Character A’s head under their chin while they’re cuddling.

Character B nuzzling their neck and breathing in Character A’s scent/fragrance, and commenting on how nice they smell.

Character B making sure Character A gets home safe by driving them home.

Character A telling Character B to message them when they get back home safe, and once Character B gets home, they follow through by sending a message to let Character A know they’ve gotten back home safe.

Taking naps together, from day till night, waking up every now and then to get more snuggles in. 

That soft exhalation of adoring laughter leaving Character B’s mouth after kissing Character A (this shit had me folding so fucking hard it’s not even funny. I Am Weak). 

That soft exhalation of laughter once again just because Character B is so content with having Character A in their presence, and Character A just basking in how cute that sound is and how happy it makes them. 

Character B entangling their legs with Character A’s, pressing their bodies flush against each other’s, leaving little to no space between them. (It’s almost like they can’t get enough of Character A.) 

Kissing so many times, to the point where they lose track of how many times they’ve kissed already. 

Holding hands and lacing their fingers together while they’re cuddling.

Comparing hand sizes and giggling about it together.

Character B stroking Character A’s hair while they’re asleep. (Or uh, pretends to be asleep DJSKKSKDSK but it’s so FUCKING CUTE WHEN HE DID THAT IM GONNA SCREAM, me thinking moments like these only happen in Korean dramas or some shit anfkakfksk-)

The sweet little banters in between; Character B being all cheesy and Character A playfully deflecting their comments only for Character B to playfully push back with an “Is something wrong with that?” or “But I’m not lying.”

Falling asleep in each other’s arms, both not wanting to leave the bed for the entire day and wanting to stay comfortably snuggled up against each other instead.

Character B placing their hands on Character A’s shoulders, and Character A, with a grin on their face, gently grabs Character B’s hands and wraps their arms around their neck while leaning back into them. Character B reciprocates by hugging them closer to them.

The soft noises of content Character A makes when they snuggle closer to Character B, or when they want Character B to hold them closer to them, with Character B happily obliging. 

Character B rubbing their cheek against Character A’s.

Character B trying to not wake Character A up because they look so comfortable when sleeping. (His words, not mine.) 

Soft, repeated pecks on the lips, causing Character A to laugh/smile against Character B’s lips. 

[violentdelightsandviolentends]

You would hit BELIEVE how happy I am that you’re writing fics for Declan O’Hara he’s my new DILF obsession!!! Also it was so well-written and in-character, oh my goodness!

I was wondering if I could request a fic where Declan and female!reader are having an affair, and she’s super nervous because she’s Taggie’s best friend. She meets Declan one night in his car, and he calms her down and, obviously, they have car sex.

Ending this with a huge I LOVE YOUR WORK

Shut Up and Drive.

It’s a funny thing, isn’t it? The one person who riles you up the most is also the only person that can calm you down.

declan o’hara x female reader

warnings - smut. cursing. age gap. cheating. declan and his dirty mouth. one use of the c word. overuse of the nickname sweetheart.

word count - 3k

authors note - the minute he put that baby blue t shirt on… I was suddenly on my knees. funny how that happens. can’t and won’t stop with the fics for this man. I am riding the rivals train to the ends of the earth, baby. thanks for being so sweet, anon <3

masterlist. inbox.

The phone is shaking in your trembling hand, cord all tangled where you keep twisting it around your finger nervously.

“Hello?”

You almost drop the receiver at the sound of that familiar Irish accent, despite the fact that you were the one that rang him. It has your stomach churning, in a different way than usual.

“H-hi,” you barely whisper, before clearing your throat and trying again. “Hi. It’s me.”

“Hi, sweetheart,” he breathes, as if it’s the first time he’s taken a lungful of air all day.

“I, um… I’m sorry to call you on the house phone. I know it’s not how we do things usually.”

“It’s alright. What’s the matter? Are you okay?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m okay. I just, uh… I called to say that I can’t do this anymore.”

“Sweetheart-”

“I would have told you in person, but I didn’t know when I was going to see you next, so.”

“Can we-” he begins, before lowering his voice so as not to be overheard, “-can we talk about this properly? Please?”

“We can’t. I can’t. We shouldn’t.”

“Sweetheart, I’m beggin’ ya. One conversation. You’re not ending this in a quick phone call on a Wednesday night, you hear me?”

You inhale deeply, biting at your lips. There’s pure anxiety radiating through your body, prickly and unrelenting.

“I hear you,” you murmur down the receiver. “Okay.”

“Okay,” he sighs in relief. “I’m gonna come and get ya - we’ll go for a drive, alright?”

“Sorry you have to lie,” you whisper, guilt colouring your tone.

“I’d lie for you a thousand times over.”

His words shouldn’t make you feel as giddy as they do, but alas. Here you are.

“I’ll put some shoes on.”

“And a coat. It’s cold as fuck tonight.”

You half laugh, half snort at him down the phone, dreamily imagining the grin he most likely has painted on his face listening to you.

“Yes sir,” you tease, giggling. “I’ll see you soon.”

“I’ll drive up without my headlights on. Look out for me, yeah?”

“I will.”

I always do, you think to yourself. I always do.

The line goes dead abruptly, the buzzing vibrating straight into your temples. You slip your shoes on, quickly fixing your hair and touching up your makeup in the mirror in the hallway while you’re there. You shrug your arms into your coat at Declan’s orders, knowing he’d tell you off if you turned up without it on.

You’ve almost forgotten the entire reason you called in the first place was to break things off with him.

Almost.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

True to his word, Declan drives up your road without his headlights on, slowly and with practised precision.

You’re waiting at the window for him, patiently anticipating the sight of that stupid yellow car. You’re out of the door in seconds as soon as you see him, bounding towards the passenger side and slipping in before anyone notices. He drives off quickly, not taking any time to say hello before he’s taking off out of the town and towards the rolling countryside.

You drive for a good fifteen minutes, to a spot the two of you frequent on your drives. It’s a dirt track, leading to nothing but fields for miles on end. Declan pulls the car around the bend and out of sight from the busier road, knowing that it has more than enough privacy. You’ve never been caught here before, and you don’t plan to start.

Finally turning off the engine, he turns to face you, taking in how the moonlight illuminates your features in the lowlight of the car.

“Hi, sweetheart.”

“Hi.”

You’re refusing to look at him, knowing that if you do, you’ll surge over and kiss him until you’re both dizzy. You can feel his gaze on you, though, intense and unwavering. As it always is.

His thumb and pointer finger hook under your chin, forcing you to stare straight into his determined brown eyes. You’re willing yourself not to crumble, but you can feel your resolve starting to slip already.

“I missed you,” he whispers, careful not to spook you.

“I missed you too,” you say before you can stop yourself. “Shit.”

He chuckles, and the low timbre of it settles right in the pit of your stomach.

“What’s all this about then, hmm? The phone call?”

“What did you tell Taggie? Where did you say you were going?”

It’s your least favourite part about all of this, the lying. Lying to Taggie, to Patrick, to Caitlin, to Rupert, to your friends, to your family. Coming up with excuses has become second nature - something you hate about yourself now. You hate how it comes so naturally to both of you these days.

“Told her I was going to meet someone about some potential research for a show. She had evening plans anyway, she’s off out to Lizzie’s.”

You’re fiddling with your fingers, picking at your nails in a nervous habit as you chew your bottom lip. If anxiety was personified, it’d be you.

“You avoided my question. We need to talk about what you said on the phone, sweetheart.”

Taking a deep breath, you turn in your seat to face him properly, going over the speech you’ve practised in your head dozens of times.

“Okay. I’m… I’m not sure we should do this anymore. I- I just… I feel guilty. For lying to Taggie, mainly. And because you’re technically still married, but mainly for lying to Tag. She’s the closest friend I have, and I’m sleeping with her father. It makes me a terrible person, Declan. I have to put a stop to it.”

He processes your words for a moment, looking at you intently.

“Do ya want to?”

“Hmm?”

“Do you want to? Put a stop to things? Or do you just feel like you should? For other people.”

You want to lie, tell him exactly what you had planned out, feed him what you know will work. But you can’t. You can lie to everyone… except Declan.

“I don’t want to,” you whisper. “But I should. We should.”

“Why now? Did something happen? Did someone say something?”

“No, no. I just… Taggie said something really sweet the other day about how she was glad that she had me, because making friends here hasn’t been easy for her. And it should have made me happy, and instead, it broke my heart.”

“Oh, sweetheart.”

Declan cradles your face in his rough hands, resting his forehead against yours. It’s like the whole world melts away for a moment, leaving just the two of you in the tiny yellow car.

“I’m a horrible person,” you mumble. “And a horrible friend.”

“You’re speaking as if it’s just you. And it’s not, you know. There’s two of us in this affair - I’m just as guilty as you are.”

“Fine then. We’re both horrible people.”

He chuckles, breath tickling your face, and you can’t help the giggle that escapes you. His lips are brushing yours every time he speaks, meaning you can practically taste the cigarette smoke and spearmint on his tongue.

“I never claimed otherwise,” he retorts, still smiling.

“I don’t know what to do,” you admit as his thumbs sweep back and forth across your cheekbones. “It’s weighing down my conscience, and I don’t want to hurt Tag. But… I can’t give you up, Declan. I need you. I need you more than anything.”

“You make me crazy. God, I think about you night and day, sweetheart. My thoughts revolve around if I’ve seen you and when I’m going to see you next.”

“So what do we do? I can’t quit this. I can’t quit you, I can’t quit us. I couldn’t even if I wanted to.”

“I don’t know. Honestly, I don’t know. I wish I had the answers… I wish I could make all your worries go away. But I can’t.”

“I don’t expect you to. I just… I thought that I could do it in one clean sweep. Get it out the way, you know? Call you, end things, be done. And then the minute I heard your voice over the phone… I knew I couldn’t do it. Because deep down, I didn’t want to.”

He leans in to press a lingering kiss to your forehead, desperate to be close to you.

“Declan.”

“If I could fix it all for you, I would,” he murmurs against your skin. “You know I would.”

You pull back to put some distance in between you, watching him carefully for his reaction to what you say next.

“You should break things off.”

He flinches as if you’ve punched him in the stomach.

“What?”

“You should. I clearly can’t, so you have to be the one to do it. Do it, Declan. End things with me right here, right now. Please.”

Your tone is weak and unconvincing, as if you can’t even bring yourself to say the words with any conviction.

“I can’t,” he confesses, voice breaking on the last word. “I can’t do it.”

“Why?”

“Because.”

He takes a deep, shuddering breath, exhaling it slowly as if he’s buying himself some time. You wait patiently for him to continue, nerves frayed at the edges.

“Because I love you.”

Now it’s your turn to flinch, his admission smacking you across the face violently.

“You-”

“Yes. I love you, sweetheart. It’s taken me a while to figure all of this out, but I know it now. That’s why I’ve never been able to end this. Because it’s not just incredible sex… it’s something more. Something real.”

There are tears welling in your eyes as you look at him, watching the way he lays his heart on his sleeve in the moonlight just for you.

“I’m scared,” you confess. “I love you too and it scares me.”

You don’t miss the way his face lights up as you say it, but he’s trying to keep a careful lid on his emotions for now.

“I’m not going to let anything bad happen to ya. You know that.”

All you can do is nod in response, digesting everything that has happened in the last five minutes. You do know that. He’s proven time and time again that you’re not just some fleeting fling to him.

“Declan?”

“Hmm?”

“I love you.”

Now he grins like an idiot, eyes alive with adrenaline and hope.

“That’s the prettiest thing I’ve ever heard ya say.”

You tuck some hair behind his ear before leaning in to gently press your lips to his, wanting to seal the moment. He kisses you back sweetly at first, before taking control with more force, slipping his tongue into your mouth cheekily. You happily let him take the lead, sighing in contentment as you melt into him.

“C’mere.”

Climbing over onto his lap, you hinge your legs on either side of his in the drivers seat, straddling his hips. You try to straighten up but end up hitting your head on the roof of the car, which makes you both wheeze with laughter.

“This car is too fucking small,” you grumble, rubbing the spot that you smacked.

“Y’alright? Want me to kiss it better?”

You hate the way the teasing tone in his voice shoots right to your core, shaking your head in defiance.

“Fuck off,” you mumble, leaning your head on his shoulder. “Patronising bastard.”

“I like it when you get your claws out,” he chuckles, tracing patterns on your thighs over your jeans. “S’hot.”

You kiss him again to shut him up, biting at his bottom lip in punishment. He groans all low and slow, which makes you grind your hips into his, despite the multiple layers of clothing separating you.

“Backseat,” he whispers, pushing you off of him gently. “More room.”

You splay yourself across the wide back seat, opening your legs so Declan can slot in between them.

“You’ve got too many clothes on,” he prompts as he shrugs off his own jacket and undoes his belt.

You can’t help but chuckle at his impatience, happily taking off your coat and jumper and unbuttoning your jeans. Your breath catches in your throat when you look back up at him - he’s wearing the Venturer t shirt that hugs his biceps just right, accentuating every delicious muscle he has to offer you.

“Wore it for you,” he mutters against your lips. “Know you like me in a t shirt.”

You roll your eyes but kiss him with determination anyway, all teeth and tongue and clashing bodies. You’re clawing at his clothed shoulders, wrapping your legs around his waist to buck your hips into his.

“I’ve been thinking about this,” he mumbles into the skin of your neck, pressing kisses wherever he can reach. “Lying awake at night thinking about your thighs, your tits, your cunt.”

All you can do is sigh, fingers digging into his biceps in desperation.

“Wish I could take my time with you like you deserve. These quick fucks just aren’t the same.”

He sounds almost upset about it, voice staying deep and low.

“Remember that time I stayed the night? And you couldn’t walk in the morning?”

You laugh breathily, thinking back fondly to that night a few months ago. You’d both orchestrated it so carefully, crafting cautious lies and fabricated stories to snatch a good sixteen hours of time together.

“Need that again soon. Might have to start sneaking ya into my house in the dark, make you climb the gutters like we’re in a film. Although, it is a bit hard to keep you quiet.”

You try valiantly to ignore the heat that flushes across your chest as he teases you, knowing that he’s right.

“Declan?”

“Yeah, baby?”

You grab his hand and shove it down your underwear, jeans trapped around your thighs. There’s very minimal room in this tiny car, but you’re both determined to make it work. He groans when he feels how wet you are, swiping through your core.

“Fuck me. Have you been like this the entire time?”

“Since this afternoon,” you whimper, trying to grind down onto his fingers. “Couldn’t stop thinking about when you ate me out on my kitchen worktop last week. My legs were shaking for two days afterwards.”

“Fuck,” he breathes, slipping a finger into you as he drops his head onto your shoulder. “I got myself off thinking about that yesterday. I swear if I concentrate, I can still taste you on my tongue.”

All you can do is whimper, desperate to have him in any way you can. The fact that you have the same effect on him that he does on you makes your head spin, dizzy with want.

“Don’t make me wait,” you beg, cradling his face so he has to look you in the eye. “Fuck me, please. Please, Declan.”

“Okay, pretty girl. I’ll give ya anything you want. Anything.”

He shuffles around so he’s sat back on his knees, pushing his jeans and underwear down just enough to free himself. You spread your legs as wide as you can, trying to give him as much room as possible. It’s not the first time you’ve found yourself in this position in this car with him - and it won’t be the last.

“So beautiful,” he murmurs as he leans down to kiss you, licking across your teeth with his tongue. “Most gorgeous girl I’ve ever seen.”

He slides into you with ease, both of you gasping at the familiar sensation. Your nails are digging into his shoulders as he holds your hips in a bruising grip, pads of his fingertips biting into your flesh.

Declan doesn’t waste any time, setting a relentless pace that has you bouncing across the seat. The car is shaking like crazy, all the windows fogged up - anyone who passes will know exactly what’s happening inside.

The man above you can read you like a book and play you like a fiddle. He knows the exact angles of his hips that’ll have you keening, the certain spots to focus on that’ll have you seeing stars. He knows you better than anyone, in more ways than one.

“That’s it,” he soothes, pressing a kiss to your sweaty forehead. “Atta girl. Taking it like you were made for me.”

“Maybe I was,” you breathe, tipping your head back to give him access to your neck. “Just for you.”

He groans all melted and golden like molten honey, the vibrato of it rumbling through your bones. You’re holding onto him for dear life, as if he’s the only thing tethering you to this reality. When his thumb finds your clit to rub firm, slow circles, you’re convinced you’re floating on another plane of existence.

The only word you can seem to formulate is Declan, which only pushes him closer to the finish line. He’s determined to get you there first, angling his hips upward to hit that one spot that has you gasping. When he moves one hand to your throat and gently squeezes, you fall apart instantly, taking him with you.

“I love you,” he breathes as he comes, forehead resting on yours. “My girl.”

You’re shuddering and shaking as you lie underneath him, panting like you’ve just ran ten miles. Declan collapses on top of you, laying his head on your chest comfortably. Your fingers rake through his hair, fingernails scratching at his scalp like you’ve done so many times before.

You both allow yourselves to close your eyes for a minute, recovering and attempting to catch your breath. You’re convinced, for a moment, that you’ll never feel more peaceful than you do right now. You breathe each other in, satiated and content.

You finally open your eyes, expecting to see nothing but fogged windows and starlit darkness. Instead, you see a man bending down, looking straight at you. Arguably the worst possible person that could see the two of you in the position you’re in.

Rupert Campbell Black.

He’s grinning like an idiot, shaking his head in disbelief.

You’re about to warn the man in your arms when Rupert opens the car door, slipping himself into the drivers seat and spinning so he’s facing you. Declan has jumped out of his skin, jolting upwards to cover you as best he can.

Rupert smirks all dirty and knowing, eyes dancing over your half naked forms.

“Well, well, well. Secrets out, lovers.”

@graceflorence @dionysus-drabbles

as aaaaaaaalways… reblogs are golden!! they’re the currency of tumblr, my loves. you reblog, and your favourite writers will write you more fics. simple as that. mwah. <3

[itertarot]

TAROT | FUTURE SPOUSE

What will your future spouse find so sexy about you? +18

Pick an image:

Pile 1:

Your future husband’s heart will belong entirely to you. What you share will be more about love than carnal desire. He will adore you with a warmth that feels like home, he’ll want to take care of you, to cherish you as something precious. He’ll find your mind unbelievably sexy, your ideas, the way you express yourself. You’re different from everyone around you. There’s something uniquely captivating about you, and it will intrigue him endlessly. He’ll always wonder what goes on inside that brilliant head of yours. If you love shopping, it will make your future husband extremely happy. he might even join you at the mall just to watch you try on clothes. He’ll love spoiling you and seeing you enjoy his gifts. The way you take such good care of yourself is a huge turn on for him. He’ll adore spending on you and seeing you with the finest things. Your outfits, your jewelry, your perfume… he’ll love it all. Your confidence will drive him wild. he’ll find it irresistibly sexy.

When you take charge of a situation, the way you command with both grace and precision will amaze him. You don’t even have to try, you’re just naturally incredible. He’ll melt when you allow yourself to be vulnerable with him, when you show him your scars, share stories of your childhood, and let him into your innermost world. He’ll find your softness and strength equally intoxicating.

I don’t see him as overly kinky, he’ll prefer making love over just sex. His desires are deeply tied to emotion, making every moment intimate and tender. Your future husband will adore your spontaneity, the thrill of never knowing what you’ll do next. If you randomly spout an unexpected fact, he’ll love it. If you decide to go to the beach at 4:35 AM, he’s all in. Not knowing what your next move will be? That’s his favorite thing about you.

They adore your legs, especially if you’re tall or have that elegant, long-legged silhouette. Your skin drives them wild, so soft and radiant. Some might even have a thing for your feet, but most? Their real fetish is being your devoted servant. They’re mesmerized by your hair, the way it falls, the way it moves. Your back? A graceful curve they can’t resist tracing with their eyes (or hands). And lingerie? Absolutely lethal. When you spoil yourself, indulging in luxury, is pure seduction to them. Short dresses and heels? A combo they’ll never tire of. And when you play innocent just to tease them? Maddeningly sexy. If they’re an artist, prepare to be their eternal muse, they’ll sketch, make a big painting of you to put on their private museum.

Your breasts? Perfectly proportioned, not just to your body, but to your very essence. You’re a masterpiece, darling. But nothing turns them on more than your vulnerability. Even as they kneel at your feet, they know the truth, you hold all the power!! And that’s exactly how they love it.

Pile 2:

Your future spouse is deeply drawn to the way you move through the world with quiet strength and compassion. There's something incredibly attractive about how you offer kindness without expectation, the gentle way you listen, the safe space you create where people feel truly heard. They admire how you never minimize others' pain, but instead meet suffering with open arms and understanding. You're powerful, healing, and surprisingly sensual. What really captivates them is your strong moral character. You have this innate sense of justice that refuses to look away from unfairness, yet you're never quick to judge. They love watching you navigate conflicts, carefully considering all sides, seeking solutions that restore balance rather than escalate tension. That thoughtful approach, that commitment to doing what's right even when it's hard, makes them respect you deeply. Your patience is sexy. You look towards the future, planning, building, and creating stability. They find this long term vision incredibly sexy because it shows you're someone who stays, someone people can rely on. Also intellectually, you're endlessly fascinating to them. The way you constantly seek to learn and improve yourself, the curiosity you bring to conversations, the knowledge you've accumulated is very sexy from their pov.

They love your waist.

Your future spouse loves when you wear a bra or clothes that hint at what's underneath, that tease drives them crazy.

They're like your shoulders.

Some might have a thing for food fetish.

They love you complement them.

If they're taller, they adore how perfectly you fit against them.

Pile 3:

Your future spouse is deeply drawn to your traditional nature, not in an outdated sense, but in the way you honor commitment and create meaning in your relationship. They see you as the perfect partner, someone who embodies exactly what they’ve always longed for. You make a house a home, it’s not about chores or perfection, it’s the feeling you cultivate. Whether it’s the way you decorate, the warmth you bring, or the little rituals that make your space uniquely yours, they adore how you make your personality be seen through your home. Also if you both have dinner together with candles, they will love it. Your respect for partnership is everything to them. They feel complete with you, secure in knowing they chose someone who values loyalty as much as they do. The way you prioritize "us" over "me" makes them proud to call you theirs.

Your vulnerability is sexy.

They find it sexy when you let yourself feel pain in front of them

Trust them enough to cry in their arms

Share your deepest dreams and secret fears

That moment you come out of your shell? It’s amazing to them. They’re honored to be the only one you allow past your walls.

Your introversion is sexy.

Watching you get lost in hobbies.

How you are straightforward.

When you take the lead.

You lying down is sexy.

If you wear glasses they find it so sexy.

The way youre shy.

That tantalizing half covered look, sheet or towel artfully draped.

The way you trust them to let them fuck you

Your breast.

Some have a corruption kink.

They're big on giving you oral.

Pile 4:

Your future spouse is captivated by every part of who you are. your strength, your resilience, the way you’ve faced challenges and reinvented yourself time and time again. They admire how you never gave up, no matter how hard things got. Your sharp mind, your quick wit, your creativity, they find it all incredibly attractive. You have magic in your hands and an innovative spirit that sets you apart. You don’t just follow the crowd, you think for yourself, and that independence is something they deeply respect.

They’re in awe of how well you collaborate with others, the way you bring people together and make teamwork seem effortless. To them, you shine like the sun, you the center of their universe, someone they’d gladly spend a lifetime serving. In their eyes, you’re the main character, the one who commands attention without even trying.

They adore your fiery, bold, and self-assured nature, the way you carry yourself with confidence and grace. But they also love the softer side of you, the way you care for those you love, how you let your affection show when you feel safe enough to open up. To them, you’re their person, the perfect one, the ultimate girl in the world. Your mind fascinates them endlessly. They love when you suddenly switch topics mid conversation, how you effortlessly weave one thought into another. They find it charming when you say or do random things, when you’re completely and unapologetically yourself.

They like your breast. They like your belly. They love talking to you. They like your butt. They love your pussy, also heavy on oral. They love quando voce usa roupa de tecidos finos. They love your legs.

[madamechrissy]

Priest! Gojo - MDNI- freaky, horny Father Gojo, Imma end up in hell for this one lmaoo, including confessional fucking, please don't read if you don't wanna SIN mmkay, character in her 20s as is Gojo, explicit -word count- 1.2k

Full Priest oneshot- Forgive me Father for I have Sinned

Priest! Gojo who watches you sit in that sundress in that pew right up front, crossing your legs, revealing those pretty pink panties that drive him to think of sin, drives him to imagine being on his knees, worshipping your pretty body. Surely you are sin.

Priest! Gojo who is so beautiful you think he's a god himself, with his crystal blue eyes and that white hair, that perfect face so serene until his eyes hit you, and something... shifts.

Priest! Gojo who licks his lower lip as he reads the bible passage, and watches how you run your fingers down your collarbone, hips shifting in your seat, craving friction as you watch the man command the room in this white robes, as you watch him lick a thumb as he shuffles a page, you get wetter and wetter, knowing you're just a sinner, craving this holy man.

Priest! Gojo who when you come and take your eucharist, your tongue hanging out while on your knees, caresses your bottom lip as you swallow, eyes hungry as you're right at his lap with your face, seeing his huge length semi hard even under his robes. The wine drips down your chin, and he pictures his cum replacing it instead, making him even harder as he looks at you.

Priest! Gojo who takes your confession, and fuck what a confession it is, as you're in the little confessional. 'I dream of someone fucking me, someone I should not.' 'It's natural to have thoughts, my child...' 'Oh, Father... but I play with myself, thinking of him. Of his pretty mouth... drinking me, father. Or me, on my knees, drinking him.' Priest Gojo makes a choking sound then. 'I'm so sorry, I..."

Priest! Gojo who is rock hard now, pressing against his pants under those white robes, who feels sticky precum as he sees you through the lattice of the cross in the wall that seperates you, as he sees you arch your back, head tilting, hair falling. He starts stroking his cock over them, as you bite your lower lip, heating him huff, asking 'Father, what should my Pennance be? How long should I be... on my knees, I wonder?' and Father Gojo can't help himself.

Priest! Gojo who says, 'I have to ask, how are you doing it, just so I can know what pennance, how many Hail Mary's' and you bite your lip, hot in the itty bitty room now, as your hips rock on the bench as you hear that husky voice of his. 'Father, I don't know how to say how... I guess I picture him, in my mind he is shirtless, and he's laying on top of me, so I play with my...' 'go on, it's all right' he whispers. 'my pussy, I play with it, it gets so wet, so aching, how do I handle this... Father... are you okay?'

Priest! Gojo who now has his cock in his hand and is stroking it, picturing you playing with yourself with his eyes shut, you say something but it's hard for him to listen as he's pinching his tip and imagining it between your thighs, he imagines you're so sweet, you're such a good girl, aren't you? 'Indeed I am, perhaps you need some help, some guidance? So that I could make sure you do not afflict yourself so.' You nearly touch yourself again as you hear him, his pants, as you barely see his robes move up and down, making you wetter 'yes, Father I need guidance'

Priest! Gojo who has you in his side of the confessional then, and he's crooking two long fingers, as you shut the door behind you, shoved right between his thighs, feeling his body heat as he looks at you, his cross right on his chest. 'Show me what you do, do not fret, it's god's will of course, through me.' You nervously let him lift your dress, and he slides down your panties, moaning softly as he sees your cunt, glistening. You rub between your slick lips, head falling back as you play your little clit.

Priest! Gojo who is close to cumming just from watching you, and sighs, putting his fingers right on your hand. 'Let me help you, so you can get this affliction taken care of, yes?' you nod eagerly, then Father Gojo has sunk two long fingers in your slick heat, hitting spots you could never, and you gush around him, as he pulls you on his lap, and you grip that silky hair. 'F-father Gojo! That's... that's...' he exhales, thumb slipping to your clit now, as he watches your pretty face flush. 'I've got you, you can let go, you're safe with me, let me see your sins so I can cleanse them.'

Priest! Gojo who's hand is soaked, as he brings you higher and higher, and you're moaning against his neck, inhaling his scent as you cling to him, trembling. 'Father, it's... I'm gonna... mmm!' You're so close, soaking the sleeve of his robe now. And he's so ready to slide into your eager cunt, looking up at you behind snowy lashes. 'Show me how you sin, let me watch you cum, so I can... help you' and you fall apart then, pulsing around his fingers, and he groans as he watches you, sucking your juices off his fingers.

Priest! Gojo who tastes you, then watches you with a smirk, which no priest should have! 'Has it alleviated some of the... need, my child?' only for you to shake your head, straddling him on his little chair then, and his big hands grip your hips. 'it's only made it worse, Father Gojo! You must help me, I need to sin even more... and with who I'm thinking of.' He blinks a bit. 'Me, you think of? that is a sin.' You sigh, grinding on him, making a wet spot in his robes. 'I know, Father... I told you, I am consumed by the need to sin. You must save me.'

Priest! Gojo who is now thrusting into your tight little cunt, in the cramped confessional, as you're riding his cock, as he's slamming your cervix, and you're soaking his length. He's holding your mouth shut as he bucks up his hips, watching the lust and pleasure on your face, feeling you drool on his hand and his cock. 'That's it, let me save you, through... ah... mmm... God's wisdom." He sucks in a breath as he presses in so deep, and feels you cum all over him, burying his head against your breasts, biting at your tender skin. You can only whimper in response.

Priest! Gojo who whispers 'I'll bless you, do you want me to bless you, to fill you with so much... of... god's light?' he removes his hand, gripping your ass now, and you nod as you grind on his length, his tip bruising your cervix, as you're cumming again, all over your priest. 'Bless me, Father... please!' You beg, only for him to cum deep inside you, hot white ropes, as you're blinded by pleasure, as it's dripping back down the veins of his length, and he's hissing, capturing your lips in a kiss, sloppy, tongues messy and unpracticed, a string of spit between you hanging.

Priest! Gojo who watches you the next Sunday, and you open your legs to cross them, only for him to see you have no panties, and he fears he will have to work harder to save your slutty little soul.