#maybe some things should just stay in your notes miss girl

[em-prentiss]

So I may be slightly cooked for tomorrow’s exam but you know what, my bestie is too so that makes me feel a lot better abt it. I honestly just want it to be over idc what happens anymore lol I just wanna be done and write fics (saying that as if I’m not doing it anyway)

[saetoru]

✩ ‧₊˚ ✩。i know you still think about the times we had

synopsis. satoru will always comes when you call him, he just never thought you’d stop calling

— word count. 5.2k (where did i go wrong)

— contents. college au, rich boy! gojo, break ups and make ups <3, it’s the cliche trope where the rich guy’s parent forces you to leave him aka gojo’s father is the villain, angst with a happy ending—i don’t want my cause of death to be angry rb! gojo stans, emo gojo ft. marvin’s room (iykyk), cliche rain scene—this fic is so cliche i’m sorry, reader is gn! but gojo is mentioned to like pics of girls on instagram (he was being petty)

— notes. well, it finally happened. the long awaited break up. this one’s for you niku 🤞🏽 AND DABITEE ANON

you open the door when satoru knocks—just barely, though. it’s just enough to hand him the bag with the remaining things he’s left at your apartment. it feels familiar, being here, but it feels so different too. it’s always been happy knocking on your door—he never thought he’d dread letting his knuckles meet the cool wood. it’s like taking the last bite of something sweet when you’re too full. when the sugar is too decadent on your tongue and your head spins and your stomach twists and it’s too much even though it used to be so good.

it’s too much being here. it’s too much trying to meet your gaze and get nothing in return. it’s too much being handed back that sweater he basically let you keep. and yet, it’s good to see you. he wants nothing more than to be here with you, wherever you are, even if you don’t want him to stay.

“that should be everything,” you murmur, still looking down. “let me know if there’s anything missing.”

satoru would never tell you if there’s something missing. he’d never come back and demand back something he gave you, he doesn’t think he could ever take back something he gave you—being handed back his heart after pressing it to your palms is hard enough. but then again, maybe he should look for small things you probably missed. just so he can come back. just so he can see you—how else will he see you now?

“no, it’s alright,” he says quietly. he doesn’t miss the way you quickly let go as soon as his hands grab the bag, almost like you’re being careful enough not to let your fingers meet each other. “you can uh…you can just keep them. or…throw them out if you don’t want them,” he mumbles.

you nod, standing there silently. it’s quiet, and then it’s quiet some more. and finally, you look up at him for the first time since he got here, staring at him a little expectantly. oh, right. now would be the part where he leaves.

“can i…can i just know why?” he croaks. fuck. he’s not supposed to cry. you ripped his heart out and threw it at his feet, you didn’t even care to hand it to him even after you tore every artery apart. but he sniffles anyway, lips wobbling as he stares at you. “why are you leaving me?”

your fingers twitch, like you itch to reach over and wipe that tear that rolls down his cheek. in the end, you cross your arms instead. “i already told you, satoru—”

“that’s bullshit,” he clicks his teeth, shaking his head as he stares at you frustratedly, “you gave me some bullshit reason.”

satoru has worked so hard to be here—to be with you. hadn’t he done enough? hadn’t he told you about himself, things he didn’t want to? hadn’t he tried to become something, someone more than just a guy swimming in trust funds? hadn’t he worked for your attention, waited outside classes and walked opposite directions in the hall with you just to seem dedicated? fuck, he even burned his hand trying to learn how to make pancakes to impress you, let the maids laugh at him as he twisted the stove the wrong way to try and turn it on. 

why wasn’t it enough? what more could he give you than everything? how can the guy who has everything not have enough to give? he doesn’t understand.

“satoru, we weren’t gonna work,” you pinch your nose—it’s like you’re the one who doesn’t understand why he’s being like this. “the sooner you accept that the more hurt you’re saving the both of us—”

“we were working just fine,” he says exasperatedly. it’s like you insist he’s crazy when he’s nothing but sane. like he’s trying to tell you the sky is blue, and you’re refusing to believe it’s anything other than green. it’s clear. it’s practically a fact. you were doing just fine—why don’t you see that? “we were happy,” he takes a step forward and cups your cheeks, pressing his forehead to yours, “was it someone? did they tell you something? just tell me who, baby��i’ll fix it. i’ll put them in their place, okay? no one can bother you if i get them to leave you alone—”

“then you leave me alone,” you whisper. he stills. you pull away from his hands. “sator—gojo. please just leave me alone. it’s better that way.”

you close the door, and he stands there. numb. maybe a little shocked. entirely ruined.

gojo. he laughs quietly after a moment at that—it’s a laugh meant for men who’ve lost the last thread to sanity. gojo. it’s like a slap in the face, being called the name he worked so hard to get you to drop. it took him weeks—months, even, to convince you to call him satoru. then he upgraded to toru. then it was baby. sometimes you teased him and called him pumpkin—he called you peaches in return. when you introduced him, you called him your boyfriend. 

not anymore. now he’s back to gojo—that god-forsaken name with everything but what he really wants attached to it. his grandfather’s legacy. his future. business deals. fancy invites. more money than he knows what to do with. the name gojo comes with everything but you.

but he had you for a bit, didn’t he? when he was just satoru—but now he’s gojo again, and you’re gone. the only sign of you left is in the faint traces of your perfume in the sweaters you’ve returned. 

and satoru still isn’t sure what brought the break up on. he thinks it’s the part that stings the most—when everything seems perfect one second, and then it’s not. had he not tried enough? maybe he was too much. maybe he didn’t understand you the way you needed him to. maybe he was too overbearing. maybe he asked for too much too fast. 

he’s not sure. he tried asking when you broke it off—you only shook your head and said it wasn’t going to work out between the two of you, that it was a mistake to try at all. mistake? how could you call this a mistake? things were so perfect, weren’t they?

satoru doesn’t think there was even one second he wasn’t smiling when he was with you, and he used to think the same was true for you too. had you been faking it this long? or was it real at one point—had he really failed you so badly, seen past you so blindly that he didn’t notice when your smiles stopped reaching your eyes?

it’s too late, he figures. you and satoru are broken up. 

you ask him to come over one morning, and he does—because he always comes when you call. he brings your coffee order from that cafe you like, the one you don’t go to often because the coffee is more overpriced than any other coffee shop you’ve ever seen. he’s grinning when you open the door, leans in to kiss your lips excitedly. you turn your head then, and his lips meet your cheeks instead—he supposes he should’ve known it at that moment. he should’ve seen that your lips weren’t smiling. your eyes were tired, a little red. you were hugging yourself in that way you do when you’re nervous. you didn’t let him kiss your lips, you made him kiss your cheek. 

and then you sat him down on that worn-down couch of yours, took off that bracelet his mother gave him to gift you on your anniversary, and pressed it to his palm as you said we should break up. break up. you wanted to leave him—and satoru didn’t understand, still doesn’t understand. 

he’s tried for so long, replayed the last month of your relationship in his head over and over and fucking over. you always smiled. you kissed him first. you held his hand, and even squeezed. you asked to see him. you laughed when he was around. you said i love you. you were happy. but then you weren’t—when did you stop being happy? and how could you have stopped feeling it with him?

—————

breaking up with satoru is the hardest thing you’ve ever done. how long can people live without the sun? you think not longer than a few minutes—that’s what it feels like without satoru’s warmth, anyway. 

gojo satoru has always smiled as long as he’s been with you. he smiled smugly on your first meet, smiled bitterly after every rejection, smiled in pure glee when you finally said yes, and smiled like his fingertips could touch the sky every time he saw you after that. 

satoru has never looked sad for long in your presence—you have that effect on him, you make his lips curl and his eyes brighten in that way that they deserve to shine. but for the first time ever, his eyes dim with you around, his lips curl into a frown at your words, and he cries for you. his eyes glisten with tears instead of wonder, and you think for a moment that you might be making a mistake. 

but then you remember that this is for the best—that if you really love gojo satoru, you’ll let him go instead of clipping his wings.

“he’s picked up his things,” you speak quietly into the phone. you don’t sniffle even as you desperately need to—it’s the last bit of control you have left, and you intend to keep it. “i won’t be seeing him again.”

“good,” his father speaks, “that’s good to hear.” 

satoru’s father is a cold man, you learn that on the first meet. he doesn’t look at his wife with a soft look that tells you there’s any love built between the decades of marriage, and he doesn’t look at his only son with any affection for the boy he raised. instead, he stares at satoru like any businessman would an opportunity—with a calculating gaze that tries to work out the best course of action for the most profit. 

satoru is young, but he’s charming and conniving and knows how to get what he wants when he wants—he’s quick on his feet and rarely lets himself get cornered into a wall. in the last three generations of the family business, no heir has shown as much promise as gojo satoru. that’s what his father tells you, anyway. you believe him—satoru is smart and knows how to play his cards right, you won’t deny that. his future is set to be comfortable, and he’s never known anything outside of that, never built any other plans for himself. 

you can’t rip that away from him—not for your own sake, not for your own happiness. 

“you promised you wouldn’t freeze his trust funds once i ended things,” you remind him, “and that he’d keep his inheritance.” somehow, because the world grants you this one favor, your voice doesn’t shake—it’s steady and firm as it reminds the stone-cold man at the end of the line of your agreement—and he offers a slow chuckle that makes your jaw clench. 

“yes, i do recall,” he hums, “i’m glad we could come to agree. you understand, don’t you? it is my job as his father to do what’s best for him.”

you know what he’s saying—what that means. you’re not what’s best for him. maybe he’s right—maybe satoru needs someone who’s equally as promising to build a successful company into even more success. maybe he needs someone who can take him out for a change to those fancy places he takes you every few weeks. maybe he needs someone who’s heard of half the brands he wears and doesn’t scold him to turn the lights off so the electricity bill isn’t high. maybe he needs someone who can keep up with everything that gojo satoru is—and that someone is not you, no matter how deeply you love him. 

“—the offer still stands, should you change your mind. i’m willing to compensate you for the trouble this must all be.” 

your lips curl into a scowl at his words. that’s the thing about rich people, you think—money is always enough to sugarcoat everything. why worry about the dead grass in your lawn when you can paint it green? but you don’t leave satoru for extra cash on your hands—nothing can be worth auctioning off the only man who’s ever made you feel anything. you leave satoru because he deserves to continue living comfortably, to make a name for himself that isn’t just a ghost of his father’s. if that means being cut from the corner of the picture, you’re willing to pick up the scissors yourself. 

“no thanks,” you hiss, “i don’t need the money.”

“i would disagree,” his father sneers, “but suit yourself.”

the line ends, and for good this time, satoru is no longer yours. was he ever to begin with? 

—————

you try to forget your ex-boyfriend—keyword, try. every hour of your life consists of you using your burner account to refresh his instagram page to see if he’s posted anything new. you unfollow satoru from every social media platform the same day he picks up his belongings—you know he’s noticed within the first thirty minutes because all of his pictures with you are gone, just like all your pictures with him. 

in what you assume is an attempt to be petty, he likes every picture of every girl he sees, and he even blocks you on twitter—you know he picks twitter because twitter is the only social media that blatantly states you’re blocked. but then you’re unblocked in two days, and you know he must be missing you now that the initial anger is faded. 

it makes you laugh a little, even through your tears. satoru is not satoru without petty fits of emotion, and you can’t bring yourself to be mad, not when it’s your fault he’s hurting like this. he’s extra sad today, you gather—if the way marvin’s room is posted to his instagram story on a blank screen is of any hint. it makes you scoff in amusement that in true gojo satoru fashion, he’s effectively told all eight-thousand-something of his followers he’s pathetically in his feelings. 

you scroll through suguru’s story, too—he didn’t unfollow you even after satoru temporarily blocked you, but you figure suguru is the only person satoru really has. you shouldn’t keep yourself close to him, not when it could hurt satoru more, so you remove him too. 

suguru is, as always, drinking at some fancy party with obnoxiously rich college students who have not a care in the world for midterms around the corner. who needs to pass when you’re swimming in money whether or not you have a degree? the first thing you learn about the rich is that most of them are only at college for the experience—they don’t see college as the stepping stone to better opportunities, there’s nothing education could offer that trust funds already don’t. but satoru attends college for himself—he enjoys business classes, you learn, and especially finance ones. for someone who spends money so carelessly, he understands it particularly well. 

there’s no sign of satoru at whatever party it is suguru is at, there’s no trace of strikingly bright white strands anywhere in any corners—you do see naoya in a corner, though, and you crinkle your nose in distaste. if satoru were here, he’d say something bitterly under his breath about the asshole, and you would giggle. but satoru is not here, and even naoya the women-hating jackass makes you miss your obnoxiously whiny ex-boyfriend. 

everything reminds you of satoru. that bear he won you at the fair (after maybe six tries) by your pillows, those polaroids at your desk that you can’t bring yourself to take down, that sticky note on your fridge he left promising to replace the creamer he finished (he’s replaced it more times than he’s needed to by now), that extra big blanket you keep on the couch because the old one barely covered his legs, that pair of silly matching mugs you both had for coffee in the mornings. 

every corner of your apartment has something that reminds you that satoru was here, that he was yours, that for a short while, he was the best thing you ever had. it’s your fault, you think—that satoru and you are here in this mess in the first place. he’s always looked at life through a hopeful lens. having everything does that to you, makes you ignorant to the misfortunes of the world, makes you think everything is within the realm of your reach. you, on the other hand, knew this was bound to happen. the two of you together is like hot oil and cool water—what feels like sparks is just the oil shooting out to burn you. you should’ve known this would have never lasted. 

in a way, you think you did. it’s why you hated him so fiercely at first—maybe deep down, you always knew you wanted him, that he would never be yours. maybe that’s why you were so adamant about rejecting him, that even when he was clearly trying, it would never be enough. satoru has always been enough, has always been what everyone has wanted—you’re not so sure you can say the same for yourself. 

you love gojo satoru. he loves you too—he falls first, and you think maybe, he might have fallen harder too. no one loves like satoru. they say if you press coal hard enough, it turns to diamonds—you think if you gave satoru coal, he would hand you back the sun and all of her stars. it’s just the kind of guy he is, the one that turns everything dull into something bright and warm and worth it. you wish you didn’t have to break his heart, you wish you could’ve walked out of this the only one hurt. but maybe, at the very least, if you break him good enough that he hates you, he’ll move on quicker, maybe have something to look forward to while you continue to work your way up and cheer him on. 

before you can refresh suguru’s page one more time to stalk his story, you’re pulled from your thoughts as someone knocks on your door—correction: pounds on your door. you jolt on your couch, standing up and making your way to the front door quickly and looking through the peephole. 

satoru. of course.

he’s soaked to the bone—it’s raining outside, and of course, just as on brand as always, he must’ve rushed here without an umbrella.

you shouldn’t open it.

but you can’t just leave him in the rain, can you? but he’s not your problem anymore, you agreed to leave him, didn’t you? but how could he not be your problem when he’s all you think about? but this could cause him trouble if his father found out he was here, right? but can you really leave someone, ex-boyfriend or not, in the pouring rain? you can’t be that cruel can you?

before you can make up your mind, he speaks up, “i know you’re standing there. open the door,” he demands. 

“satoru, go home,” you sigh, head pressing against the surface that separates you, “don’t make this anymore difficult than it has to be.”

“if it’s difficult, that means you don’t really want to do this,” he argues. he’s still as good as ever at sweet talk, still as persistent and charming as ever at getting what he wants. “please,” he croaks, “just let me in.”

you know it means more than one thing. you know it means more than just your home. but you shouldn’t, you can’t let him know why you did all this—how can you protect someone from something if they don’t let you? satoru would never let you if he knew, and that’s why you can’t let him know. 

“satoru, if you don’t leave…i’ll…i’ll call the cops,” you warn. 

“no you won’t,” he says instantly. “i’m not leaving until you open the door. and if i get sick, i’ll send you my bill for the emergency room visit.”

“you’re not going to the emergency room for a common cold, you idiot,” you scoff. 

the rain doesn’t slow—in fact, you can hear thunder. satoru is still stubbornly outside, knocking away. 

“i’ll start screaming,” he insists, “your neighbors will complain for noise again. do you want to be kicked out of this apartment? just let your cold, wet, heartbroken ex-boyfriend in if you have a heart.”

and because you are, and always will be, weak to the charms of gojo satoru, you open that damned door—even though you shouldn’t, even though you can’t, even though you said you would never again. but you do. because it’s satoru, and he always comes when you call, and you’ll always let him in when he’s here. 

“you don’t come to your ex’s house less than one week after the break up,” you sigh once you open the door. he takes a step in, shutting the door behind him. 

“why did you leave me?” he asks. 

“satoru, you can’t keep bringing this up—”

“why? just tell me why.”

“i don’t have to—”

“tell me why and i’ll stop bothering you. i just need to know why,” he insists. 

and then you break.

you’re only human. you’ve lost the man you’ve given everything to for over a year in the span of one week. you’ll never see his lovely mother again who spoiled you rotten, you’ll never hang out out with his funny best friend who treats you like family, and you’ll never be enough for gojo satoru, the rich, loud, sheltered, obnoxious, handsome jackass you met and had to do a project with and accidentally fucked over and over again until you fell in love. 

so you shove his chest, once, then twice, then a third time, each time getting weaker and weaker than the last as tears slip down your cheeks as you simply break down. “just leave, satoru,” you sob, “why can’t you just leave? why do you keep coming back?”

you hate seeing him here. you want him gone. you never want to see him again. you hope he never leaves. you’re glad to see him. you hope this isn’t the last time. you hate that he seems to not be getting enough sleep. his eyes are hollow. he must not be eating properly. he probably hasn’t attended class. he has a quiz next week. he most likely forgot about that. his clothes are wrinkly. he definitely hasn’t showered in days. 

“last month you said i was it for you,” he glares at you, his eyes red and swollen and every shade of heartbreak. you miss when they were blue—that beautiful, bright, perfect shade of blue. “last week you said we were a mistake. what the fuck do you mean, huh? what are you playing at?”

“you can realize a lot in a month—”

“not enough to erase over a year,” his voice booms. it makes you flinch and hug yourself tightly. tears slide down your cheeks, your vision is blurry. this might be the last time you see satoru, and even if he’s angry, you want to remember the curves of his features. so you wipe them away. they keep coming back. “so tell me,” he clenches his jaw, “did you string me along for a year or did something happen last week that you’re not telling me?”

“i realized you were bad for me,” you say quietly. 

satoru stares at you. it’s a piercing gaze—his eyes are electrically blue and his lashes are unfairly long and every time he stares at you, you think he almost sees into your soul. they’re tired—there are purplish bags under them on that pale skin of his, and the whites of his eyes are concerningly bloodshot. he stares, and stares, and for a second, you think you’ll die like this. watching him stare at you as your heart bleeds out. 

“i spent weeks,” his voice shakes, “i waited outside your class. i followed you to the next one. i memorized your fucking schedule.”

“satoru, you need to leave—”

“and then you fucked me and left every morning like i was nothing,” he glares, sniffling. you don’t know where the rain drops on his face start and where the teardrops end. “and then i begged you for a chance—begged. i burned my hand, got laughed at by the maids to learn how to make those stupid fucking pancakes for you.”

“i didn’t ask you to—”

“it took you two months to call me baby for the first time. did you know that? i waited two months to hear that. i thought it was the best two months i ever waited.”

“satoru,” you plead. 

you’ve given up on trying to wipe away the tears—he’s given up on crying altogether. you’ve never seen him so hollow, so dead in the eyes and so, so tired.

satoru has never gotten tired—not when he’s fighting for you.

“and then you kept pushing me away, acting like i was some shallow guy who wanted to get in your pants and leave cause i had some money to my name. i took you everywhere, introduced you proudly, let everyone say what they wanted to say about me because i loved you, and…and i thought you loved me too,” he shakes his head. 

his voice breaks, and god, so does your heart right along with it.

“i do love you,” you admit it before you realize what you’re saying. 

“then why did you fucking leave me?” his voice is loud.

satoru never yells, not at you. his voice is always gentle, patient, like he worships the ground you walk on, like he’ll get on his knees if you ask him too. satoru never yells—but he does tonight. 

“because i had to,” you sob, fingers digging into your temples as you shake. the words spill from your lips faster than the tears, like a swarm of angry bees, one following after the other. “or you’d lose everything. the trust funds, the inheritance, the company. i couldn’t let that happen to you—not for me,” you whisper. 

it feels like defeat—in the end, you couldn’t keep satoru, and you couldn’t leave him either. you couldn’t love him like you wanted, and you couldn’t let him go like you should have. what else is there left to fuck up? what more can you ruin in less than a week? the bees feel like maggots in your mouth, swarming a dead carcass.  

“so you left me because my old man threatened you with my trust funds?” he asks in disbelief. you think something in satoru dies at that—something in his shoulders falls and his eyes almost seem gray. 

satoru gets his blue eyes from his mother—they’re bright and kind and deeper than the ocean. but unlike the ocean, they’re not scary to fall into, to lose yourself in no matter how far you are from shore. his father’s eyes are gray—cold and blank and not laced with a single hint of emotion. 

you can’t help but think that blue suits satoru so much better than gray ever could. 

“it wasn’t just that,” you shake your head, “that’s not fair, satoru. what was i supposed to do? know you were about to lose everything and stay?”

“you could have talked to me before you decided for me,” he hisses, “what do you want me to say? thank you? thank you for breaking my heart? thank you for making me feel like a worthless piece of shit who wasted a year for someone who didn’t seem to care? thank you for walking out on me?”

“you know i’d have stayed if i could,” you argue, voice breaking.

“then why didn’t you? why the fuck didn’t you?”

“because i couldn’t!”

“you could!” he screams—you realize, for the first time in your life, you hate when satoru screams. he never screams. “all my life, that old man has been making decisions for me. satoru, wear this. satoru, go here. satoru, don’t do that. satoru, put that away. satoru, stay away from them. satoru, come with me. that’s all he’s ever fucking done—make every choice for me. and now…now you’re just like him,” he breathes, lips wobbling as he stares at you with hurt. 

it’s like that for a bit—you stare at him as he crumbles, and he stares at you like he doesn't know you anymore. you don’t know who leans in first, if it’s your hand or his face, but one second you’re feet apart, and the next second his face is cradled in your hands, thumbs swiping away at his tears. you catch them, one by one, waiting to wipe them away no matter how fast they come. because satoru always comes when you call, and you’ll always be there for him to find you. 

“i don’t want to leave,” you mumble, “i never do. you are it for me, i meant that, you know. who else will melt extra chocolate in my hot chocolate?”

“then don’t leave,” he begs, voice cracking, “i don’t want you to. i’ll handle that old geezer—my grandfather will knock some sense into him. fuck, suguru and i can even hide his body, it’s fine. just don’t leave, okay?”

you let out a watery chuckle, pinching his cheek as you shake your head. “i don’t know if i’m worth homicide, satoru.”

“i think you’re wrong,” he huffs, “you’re wrong about a lot of things, you know. so wrong.”

“i never said i was perfect,” you pout.

he buries his head into your neck, clinging to you tightly—you cling back, because nothing is as safe as satoru’s arms. you’d melt into his skin if you could, live in that spot right where his heart is so you can make sure it’s always beating. 

“you’re still perfect,” he mumbles, “but you’re always mean to me. this was the worst you’ve ever been.”

“i’m sorry,” you murmur, slipping your fingers into his hair—it’s still wet, you realize. he’s soaked, and he could catch a cold but you don’t care. satoru is back. he’s here in your run-down apartment with the mugs and the blanket and that toothbrush you forgot to return and that pair of socks you found in your drawer. satoru is finally home. “i’ll never leave you again.”

“promise?”

“yeah. as long as you don’t block me on twitter again.”

“you deserved that.”

“and for the love of god, toru, delete that marvin’s room story. that was so dumb.”

“are you stalking me?” he pulls away with a grin, making you glare with a huff. he chuckles, kisses your forehead as he murmurs, “missed me that bad, huh? yeah, i would too.”

“well, obviously not enough to post marvin’s room on my story.”

“you can’t be mean to me after you broke my heart!” he whines.

yeah, you think, satoru is home. he’s still that loud, obnoxious, pestering brat that he always was—and he’s still the only love you’ve ever known. 

“i love you,” you press your forehead to his, kissing him slowly. you want to kiss him harder, you want to kiss him desperately like you’ll never kiss him again. like you lost him and miraculously got him back. like you’ll never see the sun again without him. 

but there’s time for that—lots of it, in fact. because satoru is home.

“i love you too,” he whispers, “wanna shower with me? if you really love me, you would.”

read the makeup sex sequel ;) MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

if this fic was a person i would want it dead.

[thexsilentxwordsmith]

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Fem!reader

Summary: Lt. Riley sure has been taking a lot of smoke breaks lately. Strange that you always seem to disappear at the same time too.

Author's Note: Just a quick little one shot I came up with to get me back into the swing of things and give you all a little snack for what's to come.

“Again?” Soap questions as he watches the lieutenant stand up from the back of the table, cigarette pack in hand. “Ye have a real problem mate. Swear yer married te those things these days, always havin’ te go out fer another smoke. Ye should get some help fer yer addiction, L.T.”

Lt. Riley doesn’t stop to reply, moving his chair back in without missing a beat. “Maybe I’m just tryin’ ta have an excuse to fuckin’ leave so ya can’t persuade me into stayin’ for more of your inane drivel,” he returns dryly. “ ‘Sides, it’s gettin’ late.”

Soap rolls his eyes skeptically at the statement. “Whatever ye say,” he chuckles, brushing off the comment like nothing and letting the lieutenant walk off without consequence, something rare for the mouthy sergeant, but Lt. Riley is too preoccupied to pay it much attention.

From your place at the table, you carefully sneak glances to watch as the hulking form of your superior locks eyes with you for only a second before he makes his way over to the door of the mess hall and opens it to step out into the night air. You force yourself not to linger too long in his direction, redirecting your attention back to your fellow operatives that still sit around you chatting even though dinner had ended some time ago.

It doesn’t take long for the conversation to pick right back up where it left off, though you stay silent as you slowly try to fade yourself out of the group without anyone noticing your absence. The heated topic of the best explosive types has everyone engaged and you see your opportunity to leave and slip out undetected.

Too bad you don't notice a couple eyes dart your way before they turn back to one another to share a knowing look and a smirk. Yet nothing is said out loud and you make it out with incident.

Stepping out into the cool night, you find it odd that there are no signs of life near the door, no 6’4” military officer propped against the brick smoking. The unexpected absence makes your heart leap, but as you let your eyes adjust to the dark you catch movement off to your side. At the edge of the building you can just make out the dissipating wispy trail of vapor as it floats up towards the sky. Bingo, that’s what you are looking for. Turning your feet in the direction of the smoke, you make your way over, the soles of your shoes crunching over the gravel scattered along the ground and echoing off the walls of the building. You don’t have far to go and as soon as your body rounds the corner, your wrist is grabbed up by long fingers into the palm of a large, rough hand.

You know this grip intimately.

“Lookin’ for somethin’, pretty girl?” the familiar gruff voice hits your ears as your body is pushed back first into the rough surface of the wall.

Tilting your head up, you look directly into that skull-masked face and instantaneously a smile spreads across your lips. “Was looking for someone, actually,” you answer confidently, a bit of playfulness to your tone.

Hooking your thumbs through the front belt loops on his jeans, you pull him in closer so that he is pinned against you. “And wouldn’t you know, I just found him,” you say.

Fuck, did you have to play on his one weakness so early?

“Was wonderin’ when you’d fuckin’ break away,” he chuckles to disguise that fact that your little maneuver has caused his pulse to race violently through his veins.

Those large, greedy hands find their place on the curve of your hips and he wonders if you can feel his thudding heartbeat through his touch as he stands there in the silence with you. He’s waiting patiently for what comes next, the simple ritual you've developed that you put into practice whenever you’re alone together. Right now he is still under the guise of Ghost and only you can bring out the man behind the mask.

Searching his chest to find the neckline of his shirt, you dig your fingers inside and find the edge of the fabric keeping his face hidden from you. You tug at the balaclava to free it before you pull it up and off his features, bunching it together and pushing it to the top of his head so that he wears it like a beanie. And suddenly there he is: not Ghost, not Lt. Riley, but Simon, your Simon in the flesh once again.

“Didn’t want to make it too obvious,” you return as you take him all in, fingertips following the line of his cheek, “the others aren’t that oblivious; they’ll put two and two together if given enough clues. We could get caught, you know. How long till they figure out that I always seem to go missing whenever you go for a smoke?”

There is a coolness on your hip now as one of his hands finds its way around the back of your neck to hold you in place as his thumb smoothly caresses over the delicate skin of your cheek in long, slow strokes. “Don’t care anymore,” he mutters as his gaze lingers at your eyes before they drift down to your full lips. There is a yearning in his chest watching them part as he drags that same thumb heavily across the length and it blooms as he hears the quiet sigh you release at feeling his touch over that sensitive bit of skin.

“It’s gettin’ harder and harder ta keep my hands to myself whenever you’re ‘round.”

He leans in as he holds you steady by the back of the head, his face getting closer and closer until his balmy breath wafts over your bottom lip. It’s intoxicating the way the presence of your mouth lingering just out of reach makes the skin on his tingle with anticipation and he suspends you both in the tantalizing feeling of the moment for a few seconds without speaking, just letting the sensations play out.

The agonizing depth of his need pools in the pit of his stomach, making him clench his hand around your spine as it overwhelms his body. “Don’t wanna have ta keep holdin’ back.”

Being pressed against you, you can easily feel him take in a shuddered breath. “Get such a fuckin’ cravin’ for your lips sometimes it feels like I’m goin’ insane,” he whispers the words into your face, his nose gliding against the tip of your own as his mouth ghosts over yours until you tremble in his grasp as his temptation overwhelms you.

Your heartbeat pounds hard against your ribcage and you can hear it in your head. His intensity is enough to make you dizzy, your vision hazy at best as you are consumed with him and only him. No one has ever had this much control over you, but with Simon it is effortless the way he owns all the free space in your mind so that it takes the most minimal effort to have you falling apart, melting in his hands.

In the shadow of the mess hall, hidden in the dark with just you and him, the world seems to completely fall away. Whatever waits outside that moment for you both is forgotten, pushed aside to make room for the need you share for each other.

“Simon,” you moan his name, your eyes fluttering closed as your desperation overtakes you and leaves you begging for him to break the distance still between you.

God, the way his name falls so sweetly from your lips makes him just as feral now as it did the first time he heard you use it. He is insatiable in the way he is willing to do anything just to hear you say it again.

The air outside tonight is cool, but the atmosphere between your bodies is heated from the sticky, warm breath that you both share between your mouths, the proximity of your bodies, the rise in blood pressure that makes your skin hot to the touch. It’s getting harder to breathe and yet the thought of you pulling away from him before he can get his fill of you is torture.

“Swear I’ve never missed someone tha way I miss ya when I have ta stay away,” he says, followed quickly by a groan into your face as you place your palm on his sternum to feel the weighty rise and fall of his broad chest.

Your touch is exhilarating and suddenly his whole body is aroused as if struck by lightning. Unintentionally, his hips move on instinct and begin to grind into yours, the growing bulge in the crotch of his pants making him desperate for more friction and you immediately meet his need with your own. That last shred of his sanity is waning fast the more you both rub yourselves against each other until out of the haze filling his mind and distracting him from his goal he finally finds the last bit of clarity to speak before he completely falls apart.

“Christ, I will never get enough of ya, sweetheart.” And with a brief pause, Simon inhales and leans in hungrily to capture your lips with his.

His mouth dominates your own with urgency, as if at any moment you will be snatched from his hands and he will be left starving for the sensation of your mouth tangling with his.

Your back is slammed into the uneven texture of the brick, jagged bits of clay grating the skin of your back through your t-shirt from the force of your lieutenant aggressively capturing your mouth over and again. Sweet spit and heated lips mingling as he insatiably devours your kiss to leave a wreck of flesh behind on the lower half of your face that only burns for more of his embraces.

Shrouded in the dark your bodies melt together with yours being swallowed by the bulk of his, those bulging muscles along his abdomen pressing into you, pinning you to the wall until you can hardly catch your breath. You hold onto him to keep him from drifting, two tight fists balled up with his shirt as your need overwhelms every sense in an intensity that is shared like an electrical current through your bodies.

Large, coarse hands cup around your face, tilting your head upward to him as his tongue juts out from between his teeth and over his lips to prod against yours until you open your mouth and allow him to shove it in. That thick muscle fills the cavity full as he explores, feeling you, tasting you, memorizing the inside of your mouth. The nicotine on his breath is still pungent from the cigarette that is glowing discarded on the ground at your feet, its sharp notes dancing over the surface of your taste buds as you suck on his tongue.

His knee finds its way between your legs, pressing up into the wall behind you so that the bulk of his thigh is pushed against the mound of your sex, giving you access to something you can ride as your desire intensifies. The stimulation is like a catalyst and without hesitation you begin to roll your hips into it.

Simon is pawing desperately at your clothing to get beneath it and make contact with as much soft, warm skin as his hands can enjoy when a sudden loud clang somewhere close by breaks you both out of the spell of your lust. Two heads return side to side in search for the source of the noise, only to find that nothing is out of place. But the moment is broken and you are both now fully aware of how exposed you are just out in the open.

“Meet at mine after lights out, yeah?” Simon says through heavy panting, holding your face cupped between his hands as he struggles to gain back his composure, at least enough to cross base without drawing attention to himself and the bulge straining against the front of his jeans.

You nod, scrambling to regulate your own quick breathing.

He quickly pulls your face back in for one more feverish kiss before releasing you, pulling down his mask, and briskly heading off into the night. It's still about an hour you have left to wait and though you know that it isn't that long in the grand scheme of things, as you clench your thighs together, you know it won't come soon enough.

[may-stuff]

The Only Thing He Needs | F.C

Franco Colapinto x AFAB!Reader

Warnings: Cunnilingus, p in v, creampie (in that order) typos and grammatical mistakes because english is not my first language. reader has breasts and a vagina but nothing else about her looks is specified

Word count: 3k

Author's note: Behold... my first child. It's ugly af but I love it because it's mine.

This is shorter than expected and I'm sure it'll disappoint many of you, so I apologise in advance. I'm just a girl trying to make the fandom happy.

Interactions with this thing would be appreciated, even if you want to let me know how much it sucked 💖

The sun is setting when he finally enters his room after what it felt like an eternity. The weather outside is so hot that when the cool air touches his skin he almost lets out a groan.

Franco would be lying if he said that it wasn't an extraordinary day, because it was. Despite the tremendous heat inside the car and the physical pain he went through, he did an amazing job and couldn't be prouder of himself and everything he has achieved at this point in his career. Sensing that there's a lot more to come, he can only feel excitement for the near future.

Still, even after everything that has happened and all the love and support he's received in the last couple of hours, there's something missing. Someone.

You.

You were there at the paddock during the race, but trying to avoid the media and all the fuss that would be caused if they knew of your relationship, you left the moment you saw the cameras. He hasn't seen you since then, almost three hours ago, and he wouldn't be exaggerating if he said that he is dying because of it.

You're everything he needs.

When his eyes finally find you, you're coming out of the bathroom, freshly showered and dressed in nothing more than one of his old shirts. Your hair is loose and messy, your feet bare and there's that glint in your pretty eyes when you realise that now he's here in front of you, breathing the same air. Your beauty makes his heart swell with love.

His arms are wrapped around your waist the moment you literally jump into his embrace. Soon you're showering him in kisses all over his face and neck. He giggles in response, the grip on your waist increasing slightly.

"Missed you." You mutter, nose nudging the left side of his jaw. "I'm sorry I couldn't stay."

"It's okay." Franco answers. "You're here now. That's all I need."

And he means every word.

You smile in response. A smile that reaches your eyes and makes them shine with such intensity that makes him feel dizzy with love.

"You should take a shower." You don't miss the way he pouts when you pull away from him to have a better look at his face. "You stink, love."

"You love me anyway. Stinky and all."

Your laughter echoes in the entirety of the room as you walk towards the closet, where you look for a clean shirt and shorts and then toss them towards him. Rolling his eyes, he walks to the bathroom, chuckling when your voice, from the other side of the door, reminds him that you love him always.

Almost half an hour later he comes out of the bathroom, all wet hair and bare chest. He finds you in front of the bureau where you’ve put some of your clothes and he knows he should be thinking about something else right now, maybe discuss the race and his future in F1, or maybe he should tell you how much he would love to let the world know that he is yours, but all he can do is stare at you. 

Leaning on the doorframe, he observes your every move. You’re not doing something extraordinary, only going through your things, probably looking for the earrings you’ve lost again, but he isn’t afraid of admitting that every single thing you do, no matter how big or small, make you look like the most fascinating creature in existence.

Soon, as every other day, he finds himself walking in your direction. Hands itching with the need of touching you.

There's something about you. Something that lures him in like nothing else has done before. Maybe it's your hair and the intoxicating smell that touches his nostrils when he buries his face in it. Or maybe it's your skin and its taste, so sweet that it forbids him from thinking straight. It sure is the sound you make when you feel his hands on your waist.

His long fingers roam the skin of your waist and back as his lips kiss a wet trail down the right side of your neck. A soft breath leaves his mouth when his lips reach the spot right over your pulse, wasting no time in sinking his teeth in your flesh, softly but hard enough to make you hiss in pain.

"Fran." You warn him. Dainty hands touch his in an attempt to push him away, but his grip on your waist becomes stronger with the fear of losing the contact  with your skin.

"No, no. Por favor." He whimpers. He whimpers impossibly close to your ear, the agonic plea making you squirm in his arms almost against your own will.

"You bit me, Franco."

"Perdón." He cries. "Perdón. I won't do it again."

The mere thought of you leaving hurts him so bad that it is almost physical. It's been such a tough day and now all he wants is to hold you and never let go. You're the only one who can make him feel safe, at home.

There's nothing in this world that Franco loves more than having you in his arms, being able to kiss every part of you and rejoice in the way your body and soul respond to him. Always you, no one else.

“Tanta belleza..." he whispers. Hands now travel up your abdomen and then your sternum, until they finally rest on your round breasts. When he starts kneading your flesh at the same time he keeps kissing and licking the skin of your neck, you moan softly. In response he chuckles, amused by the way in which his words and touch make you forget everything.

You want to be mad at him, you want to scold him and forbid him from touching you if he bites you again, but your mind is dizzy by his kiss and the feeling of his body pressed against yours. His touch breaks your resolve and he knows it, always taking advantage of that.

Today is no exception, because soon he starts moving against you. Hips rocking forward, his growing erection brushes against the roundness of your ass, making both of you moan out loud.

"Can you feel me, baby?" He asks and he sounds desperate. You want to answer but fail miserably because of the intensity of it all. "Can you feel how hard you make me? This is all because of you, for you." 

You moan his name when he moves his hips once more, your own body meeting him halfway, desperately  looking for the contact that makes your skin shiver. 

“You have no idea,” he mutters against your skin, words interrupted by the kisses he's still giving you. “The things I want to do to you…” 

Your answer comes in a shaky breath.

“Then what are you waiting for?”

The next few minutes happen so fast that you barely have a moment to process it all. In no time you're laying on the soft bed, your shirt is long gone and the cool air kisses your skin. The only piece of clothing remaining on your body is your underwear. 

Franco is at your feet, looking at you with eyes full of need and adoration. He takes a long time taking you in, pretty eyes looking at every piece of you, and when your own hands travel from your abdomen to your breasts, repeating his actions from before, a soft whine escapes his mouth. He observes as you touch yourself for him, right hand going down until you start playing with the hem of your knickers. He licks his lips, sight fixed on the wet spot in them. 

Just before you can sneak your hand under the soft fabric, his long fingers wrap around your wrist and pull you aside. He takes no time in replacing you, taking both sides of your panties and pulling them down. In no time they're being thrown to some place on the ground, long forgotten for the rest of the night. 

Hands on both of your knees, he spreads your legs open and lets out a shaky breath the moment your dripping cunt is finally on display. He has seen you like this countless times before but he always reacts the same way: enamoured with every part of your body. He wants to taste everything he can, he wants to drink from you until you beg him to stop.

And that's what he does.

Flat tongue travels from your hole to right under your clit, repeatedly, during a few tortuous seconds that feel like hours. Spreading you open with his thumbs, Franco keeps licking you there until you're the one whining and begging him to give you more. 

In response, you feel him smirk between your legs.

“You want more, huh?”

“Please. Fran, por favor.”

He chuckles.

“Qué putita que sos.”

You want to answer but nothing comes out of your mouth. Nothing but a high pitched moan when his lips finally lick your clit. Before you can even process what's happening, he's suckling on your bundle of nerves like it is the most delicious thing he's ever had the pleasure to taste. When your hands take a handful of his hair and tug at it softly, deep moans sound on the back of his throat and the vibrations rumble through your entire body, making your back arch in pleasure.

There's nothing better than this. His mouth on you, kissing, licking, making sounds that would make even the boldest of men blush. He eats you out like his life depends on it, ignoring the need for air in his lungs because all the oxygen he needs is in you, in your skin, in the very taste of you. He drinks from your juices as if they are the sweetest ambrosia, giving him life, giving him everything he needs. Nothing else, no one else but you.

You keep moaning his name louder and louder, not caring if others are listening. You'll deal with that later, but right now there's nothing in this world that could make you stop from letting him know how you feel.

“So good…” you moan. “You make me feel so good, baby.” 

He moans as well. Hips rocking against the bed cover, unconsciously looking for release. Your words are music to him, because all he wants is to make you feel so good that you forget everything else. Everything else but him. 

“You're soaked.” He groans after gathering your arousal on his tongue and then swallowing it. “Is this because of me, amor?”

Once again, you want to answer but his actions interrupt you. This time, your words get stuck in your throat by two of his long fingers entering you. Carefully, making sure he doesn't hurt you, but the only thing you can feel is the immense pleasure spreading all over your body, legs shaking slightly with the feeling of his fingers starting to move inside of you at the same time his lips wrap around your clit again, suckling with need. 

You moan his name like a mantra, both hands gripping his hair as your hips start to move almost involuntarily, rubbing yourself on his face as you look for your own release. He doesn't protest for a second, in fact, he grabs your ass in his hands to move you closer to his face and now it's impossible to part away from him, tongue and lips torturing your puffy clit as you cry out in pleasure. 

And then he does something that he's never done before.

His teeth grazes your sensitive bundle of nerves ever so slightly and that sends you to the edge. You have no time to react because soon entire galaxies are exploding behind your closed eyes. Some sort of electricity makes your body tremble as you cum on his tongue, and for a moment you feel like you are touching the sky with your hands. Seconds that feel like an eternity, you want to feel like this for the rest of your life. 

When you come back from some wonderful place you've never been before, you find yourself still laying on the bed, but this time Franco's on top of you. He's waiting for you to recover, only caressing your sides with his hands and leaving short kisses on your collarbone and chest. 

He knows you're back when you intertwine your fingers in his soft hair. 

“You okay?” He asks. You nod in response, a content smile on your lips. “Need you to use your words, baby.”

“I'm fine.” You answer. “Better than ever.”

He purrs like a kitten when your hands travel down his back, caressing his soft skin for a few moments. Then you remember that you’re the only one that has had an orgasm tonight, the realisationg making you feel incredibly guilty. Part of loving him is taking care of him as much as he does with you. That’s why it feels wrong, leaving him like this.

Your gaze finds his. He’s hovering over you now, one arm supporting his own weight as the other is in your face, fingertips brushing against your cheek and jaw. His big, pretty eyes are looking at you as if he’s trying to decipher you, and soon he does. It scares you sometimes, how easily he can read your thoughts by the expression on your face. 

“You don’t have to, you know?” He mutters. 

You kiss him softly, tasting yourself on his lips. 

“Of course I have to,” you object. “Because I love you.”

Franco smiles as you sit and motion to him to now lay on his back. He complies, never denying anything to you. 

Soon you’re kissing him again but this time you’re the one on top, legs on both sides of his hips. The sounds leaving his mouth are intoxicating and, trying to coax more out of him, you take your hands to the waistband of his boxer and pull them down, just as he did with your underwear before. 

You wish you could take your time with him but you know that he won’t last long. His cock is impossibly hard, precum dripping out of the angry red tip. That’s why his reaction when you touch him doesn't surprise you; he’s at the edge and it won’t take much time for him to come undone in your arms.

“Amor…” he moans as you stroke him, spreading his juices all over his beautiful dick. You know what he wants. He’s trying to tell you that he can’t wait any longer, that all he wants is to feel you. 

So you comply. 

Both of you moan the exact moment he enters you, hard cock stretching you out in such a delicious way that has you closing your eyes tight. You’re so wet that he slides in easily, filling you completely. 

Your name leaves his lips in a plea that makes you move in no time. The friction coaxing more sounds out of the both of you. He whispers sentences that are never finished, words both in English and Spanish that have no coherence. He’s so lost in the bliss of having your sweet cunt wrapped around him that can barely speak properly. 

“You look so beautiful like this…” he manages to say, the phrase interrupted many times by his own moans. “Riding my cock… so, so good…”

In response you move faster. You can feel him inside of you, twitching with the need of release that will soon arrive. His grip on your waist tightens as you ride him faster and faster each time, breasts bouncing with your moves and that, too, sends him over the edge. 

“Fran…” you moan, your eyes pleading. “Come on, baby. Fill me up.”

Those words and your walls hugging his dick with such intensity are enough to make him cum. He reaches his orgasm in seconds, warm seed spilling deep inside of you and triggering your own climax, which is shorter than the previous one but even more intense.

You keep moving for a few seconds, milking his cock a little more. When you start feeling him going soft you decide to take him out of you, hearing him moan one more time as he watches his own semen dripping out of you. 

The way he looks after he has an orgasm is one of the most gorgeous things you’ve seen in your life. Hair dishevelled, skin glistening with sweat and pretty eyes full of satisfaction, he’s drunk in love and adoration for you and you love it. You love seeing him like this, knowing that you’re the reason behind it all. 

“You’re perfect.” you whisper to him, your lips hovering over his. “The prettiest boy I’ve ever seen.”

Franco smiles as his right hand comes up to caress your hair lovingly. Now, after the intensity of the love-making, both of you long for your lover’s touch in a more innocent way, in a way that can soothe all the aches. 

You stay like that, resting in each other’s arms, for what it feels like hours. After a while and starting to feel a little sleepy, you sit up on the bed. He looks in your direction, surprised and almost offended with you for pulling away from him. 

“What are you doing?” he asks. 

“We need to take a shower, come on.” 

You try to get off the bed, but his strong arm is around you in an instant, taking you back to his side. You giggle as he holds you tight and starts biting at your neck.

“There’s no way I’m letting you go,” he says. “You’re staying here with me forever.”

“But we can’t!” You laugh again. “We need to have a shower and eat something.”

“No, no.” This time his tone is more serious. His hands are both on your cheeks, softly making you look at him in the eyes. “You are the only thing I need.” 

For a second you want to scold him for not taking his own well being seriously, but then a smile appears on your face, leaving the previous frown behind, because now you realise that you feel the same way.

.

taglist: @bicchaan @amz824 @joyfulbookreviewmarvelspy

[eimiette]

minutes

࣪♡ ۪ ݁ 𓈒 ── SPENCER REID

SUMMARY: during a high-stakes stakeout, spencer reid and his partner turn their limited time into a distraction from the case at hand. GENRE: smut with plot, idiots in love CW/TAGS: soft!dom spencer (ofc), quicky, piv sex, fingering, lots of banter, est!fwb relationship, reader is referred to as a girl. this is my first spencer reid smut so b nice pls !! <3

the night had settled into a quiet lull, the kind of silence that stretched on and made time feel endless. you’d been parked outside the suspect’s house for hours, watching the shadows play tricks on your eyes while spencer sat beside you, deeply engrossed in a book he’d brought along—one that had nothing to do with the case.

you glanced over at him, unable to resist a little teasing. “you know, we’re supposed to be watching the house, not reading ‘war and peace’ for the millionth time.”

“it’s ‘the brothers karamazov’,” he corrected without looking up, his tone dry but familiar. “and i’ve only read it four times, not a million. it’s called multitasking.”

you chuckled, shaking your head. “right. because when i think of multitasking, i think of spencer reid reading existential russian literature while catching criminals.”

he looked up then, a small smile tugging at his lips. “well, it’s a good thing i’m here to broaden your definition of multitasking, isn’t it?”

you rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the grin spreading across your face. “sure, sure. meanwhile, i’m stuck doing all the actual work. keeping an eye out, staying alert… maybe you should take notes.”

he made a show of sighing, marking his place in the book before setting it down. “i hate to break it to you, but i’m perfectly capable of watching and reading at the same time. some of us can do more than one thing.”

“oh, is that so?” you arched a brow, leaning in slightly. “then tell me, genius, what’s happening at the suspect’s house right now?”

spencer paused, his gaze shifting to the darkened windows across the street, then back to you. “the lights in the living room went off about fifteen minutes ago. bedroom lights turned on shortly after, but no one’s left the house since then. there’s a dog barking a few houses down, and someone two blocks over keeps playing the same verse of ‘take on me’ on the piano. badly, i might add.”

you blinked, momentarily stunned. “okay, first of all, how do you even—never mind, i don’t want to know. and second, why would anyone ever play just one verse of ‘take on me’? what kind of psychopath are we dealing with here?”

spencer chuckled, a real laugh that lit up his face in a way that made something warm bloom in your chest. “now that’s the real mystery,” he agreed. “maybe we should call in a second team to handle it.”

you snorted, shaking your head. “only if they’re prepared for a psychological profile of a frustrated piano player. that’s definitely outside my area of expertise.”

“mine too, surprisingly,” he said, his smile softening as his eyes met yours. “though i’m sure we could figure it out together.”

your smile matched his, and for a moment, the banter fell away. it was always like this—easy, comfortable, like you’d known each other forever. bickering was your default, but underneath it, there was something else. something steady. something you never quite acknowledged.

“hey,” you said, breaking the quiet but keeping your voice low, almost conspiratorial. “be honest. are you actually glad we got stuck on this stakeout together, or are you secretly wishing morgan was here instead?”

spencer tilted his head, pretending to consider it. “hmm, well, morgan wouldn’t keep up a running commentary of every single shadow that moves, so that would be a point in his favor.”

you scoffed, nudging his arm with your elbow. “you love my running commentary. admit it.”

he grinned, his eyes crinkling at the corners in that way that always made your stomach flutter. “okay, maybe i’d miss it a little,” he conceded. “just don’t let it go to your head.”

“i knew it!” you crowed, leaning closer with a triumphant smile. “you’re not as tough as you pretend to be, dr. reid. deep down, you actually like having me around.”

his smile turned softer, almost fond, as he met your gaze. “maybe more than i let on,” he said quietly, the teasing edge slipping from his voice.

“you know,” you murmured, voice just above a whisper, “for a genius, you can be pretty slow sometimes.” he turned a page slowly, clearly fighting back a smile. “you’re just jealous because you didn’t think to bring a book.”

“why would i bring a book when i could spend my time annoying you?” you shot back, grinning when he finally glanced over at you, his eyes alight with a mix of amusement and exasperation.

“mission accomplished, then,” he replied dryly. “you’ve certainly succeeded in distracting me.”

you let out a laugh. “it’s a talent, what can i say?” you leaned in a little closer, your voice dropping to a lower, more playful tone. “admit it—you like it when i distract you.”

he hummed, pretending to consider your words as he closed his book and set it on the dashboard. “i suppose it does have its perks,” he said, turning his body slightly to face you. his knee brushed against yours, a casual touch that sent a familiar thrill through you. there it was—the shift. you’d felt it countless times before, that subtle change in the air between you. it always started with harmless banter, a little back-and-forth that led to lingering touches, heated looks, and eventually, lips pressed together in the dark of the car or the shadows of a motel room. friends with benefits, that’s what you called it, though even that seemed too formal. it was more like an unspoken agreement, a mutual understanding that sometimes, the line between friends and something more blurred when the nights got long and lonely.

you arched an eyebrow at him, leaning in even closer. “and what perks would those be, exactly?”

spencer’s eyes flicked down to your lips, his smile turning a bit more mischievous. “the kind that gets me out of reading the same case notes for the third time.”

you chuckled, your heart picking up its pace as you closed the remaining distance between you. “if that’s what it takes to keep you from quoting tolstoy at me again…”

before you could finish, spencer’s lips were on yours, warm and insistent, like he’d been waiting for this. his hand slid up to cup the back of your neck, pulling you closer as he deepened the kiss. it wasn’t the first time, not by a long shot, but it still sent a shiver down your spine the way it always did. he kissed you like it was something he needed, not just something to pass the time.

you tilted your head, smiling against his lips. “so, is this how you imagined the stakeout going?”

he pulled back just enough to murmur, “it’s a pretty standard ending for us, don’t you think?”

you laughed softly, your breath mingling with his. “i guess we have a type, huh?”

“apparently,” he replied, his voice low and teasing as his thumb brushed along your jaw. “can’t say i’m complaining, though.”

you hummed in agreement, fingers finding their way into his hair as you brought his lips back to yours. “good. because i’d hate for you to get bored out here,” you whispered between kisses, your words half-teasing, half-sincere.

“i can think of worse ways to spend a stakeout,” he murmured, his breath hot against your skin. his lips trailed down to your neck, and you let your head fall back, a satisfied smile spreading across your face.

you felt spencer’s lips brushing against your neck, sending a shiver down your spine. his kisses were warm and deliberate, a welcome distraction from the long hours of the stakeout. you leaned into his touch, but a nagging thought pulled at the edge of your mind, breaking through the haze of pleasure.

“spence,” you murmured, pulling back just enough to meet his gaze. “should we really be doing this right now? i mean, we’re on a stakeout. there’s a chance the unsub could show up any minute.”

spencer’s eyes flickered with amusement, a faint smile curling at the corners of his lips. “oh, come on,” he said softly, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “we’ve been monitoring this place for hours. we’ve got approximately 48 minutes before the unsub’s next predicted move.”

you raised an eyebrow, trying to read his expression. “48 minutes? and how do you know that?”

he leaned in, his breath warm against your ear as he whispered, “based on the patterns of his previous crimes, the time between his actions has been pretty consistent. it’s a safe bet we’ve got a little leeway.”

you let out a soft laugh, shaking your head. “so, you’re telling me that you’ve calculated the exact amount of time we have before we need to get back to being all business? kinda sexy you’ve calculated the timing on this out i must say..”

spencer’s eyes widened slightly, and he blinked at you, momentarily thrown off. “sexy? you find profiling talk sexy?”

you nodded, your gaze never leaving his. “yeah, it’s like you’re making crime analysis sound intriguing and… well, a little hot.”

he chuckled, a warm, genuine laugh that sent a thrill through you. “i’ll have to remember that. maybe i should include more of that in my briefing sessions.”

you grinned, leaning in to press a quick kiss to his lips. “just don’t let the team catch on. we don’t need them getting ideas.”

spencer’s fingers worked on the buttons of your shirt, his touch lingering with a hint of teasing. “you think they’d actually believe it’s my secret weapon?”

“oh, absolutely,” you replied with a smirk, helping him with his shirt. “morgan would probably have a field day with that.”

spencer’s shirt joined yours on the floor as he flashed a mischievous grin. “if that happens, it’s on you. you’re the one who brought up the idea of sexy profiling.”

“guilty as charged,” you said, pushing his trousers down with a playful nudge. “but you have to admit, you’ve got a way of making it sound pretty compelling.”

he raised an eyebrow, his fingers brushing against your thigh. “compelling, huh? is that the new standard for our stakeouts?” “maybe,” you said, leaning in closer. “or maybe it’s just a nice change of pace.”

spencer’s lips curved into a grin as he pulled you in for another kiss, his hands sliding around your waist. “i can live with that.” you responded with a playful glint in your eye, your fingers brushing against his chest as you shifted closer. with a confident move, you straddled his lap, your body aligning perfectly with his. the shift brought you eye to eye, a spark of heat dancing between you. spencer’s breath hitched slightly, his hands finding their place on your hips as he adjusted to the new closeness. “i see you’re not wasting any time,” he murmured, his voice a low, appreciative rumble.

you chuckled softly, your hands sliding up to rest on his shoulders. “why wait? we’ve got a limited window here.”

spencer’s breath hitched slightly, his hands finding their place on your hips. as he adjusted to the new closeness, his fingers slowly slid down, grazing the fabric of your skirt. the sensation of his touch against your skin made you shiver with anticipation. his hands wandered gently, exploring the curve of your hips and the edges of your skirt. his touch was light but deliberate, moving with an almost curious intensity as he traced the contours of your body. you could feel his fingers inching upwards, brushing softly against the bare skin of your thighs.

you pouted, a playful frown tugging at your lips as you looked down at him. “you’re really going to tease me like this?”

spencer met your gaze with a mix of amusement and warmth. “need you to use your words pretty girl.”

you raised an eyebrow, a smirk forming on your lips. “oh, is that how it’s going to be?”

he nodded, his touch growing more deliberate but still teasingly slow. “absolutely. tell me what you want.”

you bit your lip, the playful challenge clear in your eyes. “i want you to stop teasing and actually—”

before you could finish, spencer leaned in, his lips brushing against yours as his hands continued their exploration. his touch finally met your soaked core over your underwear, sending a jolt of sensation through you. his whisper against your lips was soft but insistent. “use your words. tell me exactly what you want.”

you parted your lips, your breath coming in soft, needy gasps. “touch me… please.”

spencer’s eyes darkened with desire as he heard your plea. his fingers slipped under the edge of your underwear, meeting the dampness of your core. he let out a low curse, his breath hitching. “fuck, you’re so wet. i should really explain the time management of our cases and unsub patterns more often if-” realizing he was losing focus, spencer shifted his attention back to you. he let out a soft curse, his fingers slipping inside you with a deliberate, smooth motion. the sudden, intimate contact made you gasp, the sensation warm and intense. spencer's fingers moved with a focused precision, sliding inside you with a smooth, deliberate motion. the warmth of his touch and the rhythmic pressure made your breath hitch, a soft whine escaping your lips as the sensation intensified.

he pressed his fingers deeper, his hand moving with a steady, measured rhythm. each thrust was controlled and purposeful, designed to maximize the pleasure that rippled through you. his palm rested firmly against your core, the heat from his hand mingling with the warmth of your skin.

as you whimpered softly, your breath coming in short, shuddering gasps, spencer leaned closer, his breath hot against your ear. “you’re doing so well,” he murmured, his voice a low, intimate rumble that sent a thrill down your spine. his thumb brushed lightly against you, adding a delicate pressure that made you whine again, the sound filled with both need and satisfaction.

you bit your lip, struggling to find the words through the haze of pleasure. “spence… i want to feel you. i want—”

he cut you off gently, his breath warm against your ear as he whispered, “i know. just give me a moment.” his fingers continued their rhythmic dance, his touch a tantalizing blend of warmth and pressure.

but as your need became more urgent, your voice grew more insistent. “please, i need to feel you inside me.”

spencer’s gaze grew more intense, filled with a deep, hungry longing, and he pulled his fingers away slowly, his expression a mix of affection and eagerness. “alright,” he said softly, his voice thick with desire. “i’m here.”

he reached into his wallet, retrieving a condom with a practiced ease. his lips curved into a small, knowing smile as he prepared it, a thought crossing his mind. it was probably because of you that he’d made it a habit to carry them during cases—an adjustment made in response to your playful insistence on being prepared. he tore open the wrapper and readied himself, then guided you gently but firmly into position. his hands were steady on your hips, helping you align perfectly.

as you settled into position, your breath quickening with anticipation, you glanced at him, a playful edge to your voice. “how much time do we have left?”

spencer’s eyes remained locked on yours as he checked the time. “forty minutes and thirty-two seconds—oh fuck.” the expletive slipped out as you slid onto him, the sudden, intense sensation making his breath hitch.

you leaned in closer, your breaths coming in short, heated bursts as you adjusted to the rhythm. the space between you was charged with electricity, each movement synchronized with a growing intensity.

“don’t stop,” you whispered, your voice trembling slightly with pleasure.

spencer’s fingers dug into your hips, his movements becoming more deliberate as he matched your pace. “so pretty like this…” he replied, his voice low and intense. “so fucking pretty.”

as the urgency and desire between you built, spencer’s breath quickened, his hands guiding you with a steady, firm grip. each thrust was met with a soft, satisfied gasp from you, the rhythm between you becoming a fluid, intimate dance.

“doing so good for me baby,” spencer murmured, his voice barely more than a breath as he leaned in to kiss you, his lips brushing against yours with a heated, passionate intensity. his touch was everywhere—his hands on your hips, his fingers trailing along your sides.

your fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer as you both lost yourselves in the sensation. the car’s confined space only seemed to heighten the intimacy of the moment, making each touch and movement feel more intense, more immediate.

with each passing second, the urgency of the situation only added to the thrill. spencer’s focus was entirely on you, his eyes locked onto yours as he pushed you both towards the edge. “we’re almost there,” he breathed, his voice thick with desire and determination. “just a little longer.”

the combination of his touch, his kisses, and the urgency of the moment drove you both closer to the peak. the pleasure built steadily, every sensation amplified in the charged atmosphere. you could feel yourself unraveling, every nerve ending sensitized and every touch magnified. the sensation of him inside you was electrifying, a wave of intense pleasure crashing over you with each movement. your breaths came in ragged gasps, your body trembling as you felt yourself falling apart.

“spencer,” you gasped, your voice breaking with the intensity of the experience. your grip on his shoulders tightened, your entire body tensing as the pleasure reached its peak.

spencer’s eyes were locked onto yours, a mix of awe and desire reflected in his gaze. “i know, i know, i’m almost there,” he murmured, his voice a low, reverent whisper. his hands moved with careful precision, his touch both guiding and responding to your reactions.

as the climax hit, you felt a powerful release, your body shuddering and trembling with the intensity of the moment. your voice broke into a series of breathless cries, each one a testament to the overwhelming pleasure you were experiencing.

as the intensity of the moment enveloped you, spencer’s grip tightened on your hips, his breaths coming in sharp, uneven gasps. the way you had fallen apart, your body trembling with pleasure, had driven him to the brink.

his movements became more urgent, his focus solely on the sensation of being inside you, feeling your warmth and responsiveness. you could see the struggle in his eyes, the way his expression shifted from focused desire to complete surrender. “god, i’m close,” he gasped, his voice thick with a mix of urgency and satisfaction. his hands moved more fervently, his rhythm driven by the overwhelming sensations coursing through him.

as you clung to him, your body still trembling from your release, spencer’s movements became erratic. the pleasure built within him until he could no longer hold back. with a series of deep, shuddering breaths, he finally came undone, his body shivering with the force of his climax.

he buried his face in the crook of your neck, his breaths ragged and hot against your skin. his hands still rested on your hips, holding you close as he rode out the final waves of his release.

as the intensity of the moment gradually faded, spencer’s touch softened. he pulled you close, his hands gently brushing over your skin as he helped you both come down from the high. his breath was still uneven, but his touch was tender and reassuring.

“are you okay?” he asked softly, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face with a mix of concern and tenderness.

you nodded, a contented smile forming. “yeah, i’m fine. you?”

spencer chuckled, slipping on his shirt. “well, we’ve got approximately 22 minutes to spare.”

you raised an eyebrow, pulling on your top. “and what are we going to do with those 22 minutes?”

he smirked, buttoning his jacket. “well, i could use a quick breather. maybe we can discuss how i should properly schedule my case briefings.”

you laughed, adjusting your clothes. “sounds like a plan. just make sure you don’t forget to factor in the importance of effective timing.” spencer’s grin widened as he straightened his collar. “duly noted. next time, i’ll make sure to account for every possible variable.”

-

꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱

[minniesmutt]

❄︎ ━━━━━━ 𝐟𝐫𝐞𝐞 𝐮𝐬𝐞

❄︎ ━━━ PAIRING: BANG CHAN X READER X CHANGBIN ❄︎ ━━━ CW: DOM!CHAN, DOM!CHANGBIN, SUB!READER, FREE USE, POLY RELATIONSHIP, MASTURBATION, FINGERING, UNPROTECTED SEX, CREAM PIES, DEGRADING, MANHANDLING, FILMING, CHOKING, DP, FINGER SUCKING, PET NAMES (BABY, DOLL, PRINCESS,), ALLUDES TO AFTERCARE ❄︎ ━━━ WC: 2K ❄︎ ━━━ NOTE: ❄︎ ━━━ 18+ work!! minors and ageless/blank blogs DNI! you will be blocked, put an indicator on your blog somewhere that you are 18+ before interacting with this work/blog

     It was a stressful time for both of Y/n’s boyfriends. She knew it was when a comeback was on the horizon. They needed to put together all their songs with everyone’s takes and with what sounded best. It would go into the early hours of the morning. Chan always brought work home with him anyway. But now more than ever.

     Even with the soundproofing in the two’s home studio, she could still hear their frustration as Chan and Changbin went about mixing their tracks. Y/n gave them their space. Only bothering them to feed them so they didn’t miss taking care of themselves. She felt bad she could only do so much for them. But both found a way for her to help them out.

     Changbin needed a break from the studio. Walking out into their kitchen and grabbing some water for him and Chan. Seeing Y/n in her own world cleaning up the kitchen with her headphones on. Unaware of his presence or the fact that he was eyeing her up and down since she was only wearing one of their hoodies; and it was barely covering her legs which made his gym shorts tighter.

     “I have an idea,” Changbin said as he came back into the studio

     “Let me hear it,” Chan sighed as he leaned back in the chair.

     “Remember last month when you, me, and Y/n were talking about exploring new kinks?”

     “I thought this was going to be about the song.”

     “It wraps into it.”

     “Alright… and yes I remember the conversation.”

     “Remember what she said she wanted to try?”

     Chan thought for a moment, “Free use? Right?”

     “She said last night she wished she could do more to help us.”

     Both boys looked at each other and reached a silent agreement. Texting her to come into the studio real quick.

     “What’s up?” Y/n asked

     Chan too had to eye his girlfriend up and down as she walked over to them.

     “Remember the other night when you said you wanted to help more?” Changbin asked

     “Yeah. What do you guys need from me?”

     “Let us use you till we finish the album?” Chan asked

     Y/n felt her whole body heat up hearing the offer. “Are you guys sure?”

     “A hundred percent,” both said

     “Do you guys want me to stay in the studio or leave you guys alone till you need me?”

     “How about you stay in here with us for today? Make it easier the first time?” Chan suggested 

     “Be like when we’re at the company. Just chill while we work,” Changbin added

     “Except we’ll just fuck you when we feel like it,” Chan giggled

     “Bedroom rules?” Y/n asked

     “Bedroom rules. We know all of our yes’ and no’s.” Chan confirmed and Changbin nodded

     “Okay. Should I go grab anything from the bedroom?”

     “No baby. Just go lay down pretty on the pull-out couch, maybe get yourself ready,” Chan said as Changbin got up and fixed the couch they had. Typically used for naps or when one of the kids was over and passed out. 

     Y/n laid back on the mattress after Changbin fixed the pillows and walked back to his chair. The two looked at her for confirmation. They had never not made her cum when they had sex. But they honored her wish. They always gave in to what she wanted but rewarded her in the end.

     The two tried working. Bin moved a few things around and made Chan listen. Chan leaned back in his chair with a sigh as he took back the headphones. He couldn’t keep his ears from picking up the small noises coming from behind them. The oldest looked back at their girl. Lying back on her phone with her legs bent up on the mattress and spread just enough so he could see her fingers dipping in and out of her little hole. 

     He got up from his chair and walked over to the pull-out. Grabbing her ankles and pulling her to the edge, her sweater riding up and phone falling next to her as he did. Giving him a good view of her fingering herself and of her wet folds. Chan smiled as he kneeled between her legs. 

     “Our little whore,” Chan smiles and pulled her fingers out of her. He pinned both her arms down onto the couch before sitting up and pulling his gym shorts and boxers down. Y/n watched his hard cock spring up before he wrapped his hand around himself. 

     Chan pressed himself against her before pushing himself in fully. Bottoming out in one fell swoop. Y/n moaned as her walls stretched to accommodate him. Chan grabbed her hips and pulled out before harshly pushing in. 

     “There we go,” Chan groaned as he got to a fast and rough pace. Hips slamming into her as she bit her bottom

him. 

     “Channie,” Y/n whined.

     “Just let Channie fuck his stress out on you baby.”

     Chan moved one of his hands up to wrap around her neck. Y/n gasped as his cock pistoned into her, which seemed faster now that he had a hand wrapped around her neck.

     “There we go, baby,” Chan groaned as his dick twitched inside her.

     Y/n clamped her legs around his only for him to spread her open again, “Maybe we should have tied you up,” Chan smiled

     Chan let up on her neck a bit, letting her get some air in her lungs just as he knocked it out of her. “Gonna hold Channie’s cum inside you, huh?”

     Y/n attempted to nod before Chan filled her with his seed. Painting her walls white before pulling out and fixing himself and going back over to the desk with Changbin. Y/n took a second to compose herself before she rolled over onto her stomach and grabbed her phone again. Trying not to focus on Chan’s cum dripping down her leg. Just scrolling through social media.

     She got lost in videos till she felt her bottom half being repositioned and turned to see which one it was. “Eyes forward doll,” Y/n heard Changbins voice.

     Y/n turned back to her phone as he spread her legs and arched her back. Y/n scrolled down to another video before she felt his tip pushing inside of her. His hands grabbed onto the fat of her ass, spreading her cheeks apart and watching himself sink into her, some of Chan’s cum getting pushed out. Y/n dropped her head down, keeping her composure as he stretched her just a little bit more.

     Changbin didn’t move for a moment. He always liked feeling her around him, even stressed out apparently. Y/n smiled as she lifted her head back to her phone as Changbin moved up to her hips. Pulling out and quickly pushing in again. Hitting hard in her, making her moan.

     Repeating his thrusts as his hips slammed into her. Y/n laid her head on the couch and dropped her phone in front of her. Changbin noticed and leaned over her, grabbing the phone from below and sitting up again. Opening up her camera app, propping her phone in front of her, and pressing record. Changbin sat up and grabbed the back of her neck, pulling her up a bit for the camera.

     “Fuck Bin,” Y/n moaned, catching the image on her phone screen.

     “Going to have a nice memory of this forever,” Changbin smiled

     Y/n gripped at the covers without luck. Bullying her cunt till he spilled inside her. Shoving himself deep inside her as he added his mix of cum to her insides before pulling out. 

    He watched it drip out of her for a moment before tucking himself back in his pants and returning to his work. Y/n grabbed her phone after a moment and stopped the recording. Her hole clenched around nothing as both their cum dripped out of her. 

     She felt a little high on the fact they were using her. The idea made her throb when she had originally brought it up. Now she couldn’t wipe the smile off her face.

     Y/n laid back down on her stomach. Mindlessly scrolling or playing some game on her phone. Just waiting around for them. 

     Eventually, both boys sighed behind her then she felt their mattresses dip down on both sides of her. 

     “Done for the day?” Y/n asked them as she turned her phone off

     “Just with the tracks,” Chan said behind her and wrapped his arm around her waist. 

     “Wanna order in for dinner tonight?” Changbin asked 

     “Sure. Means I don’t have to cook,” Y/n smiled as she turned her body to him. 

     Chan kissed the back of her head, both of them now pressing up against her. She wasn’t unaware of the hardness against her and both their wandering hands. Chan groped her breast over the sweater and Bin’s hand grabbed her ass.

     Y/n smiled at the boyfriend in front of her before he lifted her leg. Bring it up his waist before she felt Chan’s dick behind her. Rubbing between her folds, spreading their cum mixture around before he pushed into her again. 

     “Take two more for us,” Chan growled in her ear

     “Been so good letting us use you today,” Changbin said before he pressed his lips onto hers. Y/n melted into them. Continuing to let them do whatever they wanted to do to her. Chan thrust up into her from behind as she felt Changbin pull himself out of his shorts.

     Chan moved his hand that was groping her breasts down and bunched the sweater up above her breasts. Her chest pressed up against Changbins as he ran the tip of his cock over her clit. 

     Chan slowed down his thrusts and Changbin pulled his lips away from her mouth. Chan took the opportunity to push two fingers into her mouth and Y/n wrapped her lips around his fingers. 

     Changbin moved his tip to her hole currently being filled and slowly fucked. Tip poked her till he slipped inside with Chan. Y/n moaned against Chan’s fingers while Changbin hooked his arms under her thigh and pushed her leg up more. Both shallowly thrust inside her. Bit by bit they worked themselves into her while they rubbed up against each other. Letting their own moans and grunts fall into her ears. 

     “Forgot how tight it is when both of us are in her,” Chan grunted

     “Should do it more often so she can take both of us whenever,” Changbin suggested

     Y/n moaned in agreement as Chan pulled his fingers out of her mouth, resting his hand around her neck, not putting any pressure on it though.

     Both boys had to move slowly but Y/n still could feel both of them throbbing inside of her. She was sure they could feel the other too. Y/n dropped her head, resting against Changbin’s forehead.

     “Feel good baby?” Changbin asked

     “Mhm,” Y/n nodded

     “So good you can’t talk now,” Chan said behind her

     “Always so good for us,” Changbin replied

     Both of them tightened their holds on her as they got closer to their release. Y/n whimpered with each thrust they made into her. Chan grunted as his cum shot up into her again. Both Changbin and Y/n moaned as they felt his cum covering them. Changbin released not long after Chan finished and feeling the same effect. Both stilling inside her, catching their breaths, and coming down from her high.

     “Gonna pull out, alright?” Chan told them

     Both nodded at his warning and Chan slowly pulled out of her. Y/n grabbed onto Changbin in front of her.

     “Did so good today princess,” Chan cooed in her ear till he popped out of her and it was just Changbin in her.

     “Perfect today. Binnies gonna pull out too, okay,” Changbin added

     Y/n nodded as Chan wrapped his arms around her tighter. Changbin slowly pulled out of her, Chan kissing her neck and whispering sweet nothings in her ear.

     “Cuddles,” Y/n sighed

     “Of course,” Changbin smiled

     “How are you feeling baby?” Chan asked, pulling her hoodie back down to cover her

     “Good,” Y/n giggled

     “Liked it?” Chan confirmed 

     “Loved it. Love you guys too,” Y/n said “Can we go again tomorrow?”

     “How about you rest up and we’ll see,” Changbin suggested 

     “M’kay,” Y/n agreed as she snuggled up to the two 

❄︎ ━━━━━━ M.LIST    TIP JAR

❄︎ ━━━ please support writers by reblogging and/or leaving feedback

© 2024 MINNIESMUTT. DO NOT COPY, REPUBLISH OR TRANSLATE MY WORK ANYWHERE

[russellsppttemplates]

Hey girl I was the anon that requested Herve being a mommas boy while reader recently gave birth and it was sooo sooo adorable. You killed ittt

Would you be okay with writing a story part 2 blurb to it where maybe Herve still is being stubborn and Charles explains it to him and then he comes and apologises to his mama🥹🥹🥹

Note: thank you 💗 I'm happy you liked it!

"Hervé, can I come in? I need to talk to you", Charles said as he walked inside your son's bedroom after he nodded, "Is this about what I did?", Hervé mumbled.

"Yes, it is. That can't happen anymore, just because something didn't go your way and mama wasn't there for you at that moment it doesn't mean that you get to behave like that", Charles stated, "if there is something troubling you, you can talk to me".

Hervé stayed silent for a bit before he spoke up, "mama is always with Amélie, and when she isn't with her she's tired and can't play with me or when she plays, she's really slow", he explained his feelings, "and I miss having mama for myself", he nudged his foot on the floor.

"Mon petit, that's what happens when we have a baby - it happened when you were born too", Charles said, sitting next to him on his bed, "when you wete born, mama was tired because she was the one feeding you and you woke up a few times during the night, and then her body was healing as well - from what she tells me, some days it still hurts even if it hasn't hurt for a few days, and it's not something she can control.

"And now she has Amélie, and Amélie is little, so she needs help with everything - changing diapers, feeding, burping, changing clothes, baths, everything! And we boys have to protect Amélie and mama and make sure they're happy and healthy, so sometimes we have to be patient and understanding", he finished.

"Okay", Hervé sighed, "she still loves me, right?", he mused, "Of course she does, we both do, buddy", Charles ruffled his wavy hair.

"I should go apologise to mama", Hervé said before getting up and heading to meet you in the living room, seeing his sister asleep in the cot you kept downstairs.

"Hey, Hervé", you smiled at seeing him in a better mood than before, "mama, I want to apologise to you, I'm sorry for saying those things and for screaming", he said, approaching you.

Straightening your back and hissing at the pressure from your sensitive boobs, you held your arms out for him to cuddle, "apology accepted, amour, come here", you pulled him closer, "Amélie needs a lot of my help - and she's always on my boobs, right?", you playfully rolled your eyes, getting him and Charles to giggle, "so there will be times where I can't do everything with you, but I'll try to be better, okay?", you promised me.

"You're already the best, mama, I'm sorry I did those things, I love you and Amélie and papa", he said into your neck, fist grasping the fabric of your shirt, "Thank you, amour, I know you do", you smiled, kissing his cheek and waving at Charles to join the cuddle.

(Thank you for sending this in ✨️)

[webslingingslasher]

hey, i loveee your writings! i was wondering if you could write a fic or one shot of peter parker and reader getting into an argument based off of peter parker saying something to his friends behind readers back about reader that hurts her feelings? ending is up to you! thanks!

iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii dunno how i feel about this

You were many things. 

Beautiful, talented, smart, caring, affectionate, loyal, honest, needy. 

Needy. 

Needy, needy, needy. 

Needy, he called you needy. 

Were you needy? You didn’t think so, but then again, would you be aware if you were? 

Maybe he didn’t mean it, it was a private conversation. He could’ve been just venting, ranting about small things. You’ve done it before with your friends, it could be harmless. 

But, god it hurt. It was so casual coming from his mouth, like it’s a common thought passing through his mind. 

“Hi petey,” you said with a hum, he had just left yours to hang out with his friends when he called. 

Silence drifted on the line. 

“Petey?” 

Shuffles, maybe a cough? Murmured voices, nothing too solid. 

“Peter, you there?” 

Laughs break through, you understand it was a buttdial. 

You were about to hang up but Peter moved around, suddenly the voices were crystal clear. 

“So, how is it with your girl, parker?” 

You think it’s Mark. 

It’s wrong to eavesdrop but if your partner accidentally called while they were about to talk about you, wouldn’t you listen, just for a second? 

Notes from future self, don’t. 

“Eh,” you imagine him rubbing at the back of his head, “good, good. It’s good.” 

Good? 

Good, that’s it? 

Good? 

You thought everything was great, wonderful in fact. When your friends ask about Peter you take your time on the soapbox preaching, he wants to end the conversation immediately. 

Is that a good sign or a really bad sign? 

“Just good? Don’t tell me she stopped putting out, I know how chicks are.” 

“Don’t talk about her like that, Logan.” 

Peter came to your defense, point one for parker. 

On the other side of the line Logan holds his hands up in surrender, “didn’t mean to poke the bear there, parker. Get your girl to suck your dick, you’ll be fine.” 

Next time you see Logan you’ll clobber him. 

Peter grunts, he’s never liked Logan and neither did the friend group. But every group needed that one person that was mutually hated so there was always something to joke and talk about. 

“She sucks my dick just fine, you sound jealous. I’m sure she’s got a friend that’ll pity fuck you.” 

Your eyebrows furrow, Peter doesn’t talk like that. At least not around you, is this what the ‘saturday’s are for the boys’ boys mean when they say locker room talk? 

Mark cuts back in, he lights up a joint. 

“I’m sure parker is just fine, he can barely rip himself away from Y/N.” He coughs on the smoke between laughs, Peter stays quiet. He’s wondering if he should tell his friends this, it’s nothing serious and it didn’t really bother him, and he didn’t want to say anything to you because he knows you’d take offense and stop it; and he’d miss it way too much. 

“Yeah, that’s kinda the problem.” 

He mumbled it, but he said it and what the fuck did that mean? 

You couldn’t stop now, you pray he doesn’t see you’re connected to the call. 

“Trouble in paradise? Do tell.” Mark offers the joint to Peter, he accepts it and passes it to Logan. 

“Sometimes I feel like she’s all over me and needs me for everything, I dunno.” 

Peter tugs at his hair, he’s not saying it right. 

“I think I feel like no matter how much I’m there it’s not enough, she’s so needy.” 

Gut punch. You took such a sharp inhale you have to stop breathing to make sure Peter didn’t pick up on it. You’re reeling trying to look at it from his side, you didn’t seem needy, but everyone’s idea of needy must be different. 

Sure, you do try to extend his visits for as long as possible but that’s because some weeks you feel like you don’t see him but for a few hours and you’re willing to scrape up as much time as possible. And because you love him. And sure, there have been times you ask him to do things or help you but you love watching him fix things around your apartment and have him take extra time to dote on you. And because you love him. 

You want to hang up, you don’t want to know why he thinks you’re needy. If you do then you’ll spiral and question everything you do from here on out. 

On Peter’s end he pulled his phone out to check to see the time, and if you’ve texted. His eyes widen at the screen, he feels like he stopped breathing before he whispered a “fuck” under his breath, he looked at the screen and tried to pretend it wasn’t real. 

It was. Bold and in his face, your saved name and small lettering below it, ‘call connected’ you’ve been on the line for six minutes. You heard absolutely everything, in a panic he hung up the call which was the worst thing he could’ve done, because now you know he knows, and suddenly you realized that if he thought you were needy you’d show him you weren’t. 

—----------------------------------

There is no surprise your boyfriend is pounding on the door. 

Not loudly, but constant and quickly, demanding to not be ignored. 

Like his four missed calls. 

After two straight minutes of his rapping you finally swung the door open, waiting for him to bombard you with reason and apologies. He looked surprised. Peter opens and closes his mouth, he doesn’t know what to say exactly.

Your eyebrow raises at his silence, “you had forty minutes, four missed calls, seven ignored texts, banged on my door for two minutes, and in all that time you didn’t think of one thing to say?” 

“I’m sorry?” He looks sheepish, he gave a tiny shrug. Hoping you’ll find him cute enough to be let off the hook, like a kid with cookie crumbs around his mouth claiming he didn’t know who ate them. 

You run your tongue over your teeth and click them, “yeah, no.” You try to swing the door shut and he foot catches it. 

“Baby,” he catches your eyes, his own look wet and sad. He looked remorseful for his words but didn’t know what to say. “I’m sorry.” 

You know what you want to say, you want to tell him that it hurt your feelings, that you didn’t know you were being that way, why he didn’t tell you, why he felt that way, a million things ran through your mind. 

But that would make him right. Needy about answers, about why he would think that. That would prove him right, and you weren’t needy, you didn’t think you were but anything he might deem as needy wouldn’t be done anymore. 

“It’s okay.” 

Peter pulls his head back, he’s unsure if you know what you said. 

“It’s…okay?” 

You nod, “yeah, sure, I understand, you were just venting, and I shouldn’t have been listening.” 

“But that doesn’t make it okay, because if you did that to me I’d be hurt.” 

But I wouldn’t do that, I only praise you around my friends.  

“Yeah, well, fuck around and find out, you know.” 

It feels off, this is why Peter didn’t want to tell you anything. He knew you’d pull away from him, you already are. 

“Wanna watch a movie? I heard there’s -” he tries to move around your shoulder to come in but you move to block him entirely. He looks at you half confused, half offended. 

You didn’t need him. He had plans with his friends and you weren’t about to prove them all right and have Peter come running back to you, like he always does, and try to fix things. 

This time Peter wouldn’t fix things, you were. It was clear what he didn’t like, so you’ll stop doing it. 

“Don’t you have plans tonight?” 

Peter snorts, “since when do you care? You always beg me to stay with you anyways.” 

Is that one? One of the things that made him think you were needy? 

Not tonight. 

“I won’t beg tonight then, go have fun.” 

Peter regrets everything about the past two hours, he should’ve stayed when you asked the first time. 

“I have more fun with you, lemme in.” Peter tried to push past but you were adamant he leaves. 

“Go smoke some weed with Mark, come back when you have the munchies. I’ll make cookies.” 

Peter shakes his head, “I don’t wanna hang out with them right now, I want to hang out with you.” He tries to move past you for the third time, you put a hand on his chest to push him back.

“No you don’t. You feel guilty and want to prove something to me or yourself or whatever, and I don’t need Logan thinking if you don’t grovel at my feet then I’ll stop sucking your dick.” 

Peter jumps in immediately, “that was fucked up, and I know I said some shitty things too but I didn’t want him thinking I wasn’t getting laid.” His eyes blow up, he moves his hands around, “not that that matters! Cause I’d love you no matter how much we had sex, but we are having sex and he-” 

You hold up a hand to stop him, “I don’t know where you think that’s going but it’s nowhere good. You’re just digging a deeper hole.” 

Peter’s voice is panicked, “there’s a hole?” 

You sigh and clasp your hands, you point them at his chest. 

“I’m not mad and I don’t need you here, I also don’t need you trying to make a point about not meaning it. You said it and you meant it, don’t lie to my face. Either man up or go back to your friends.” 

You were right, this is going nowhere good and Peter knows it. 

“This shouldn’t be a fight, right?” 

You shrug, “I dunno.” 

Peter pleads with you, he wants anything, something he can work off of. 

“I’m sorry, I really am.” He reaches for your hands and you let him hold them, he rubs his thumbs over the back of your hands. 

“Are you sorry you said it or sorry you got caught?” 

Peter doesn’t know how to respond yet, he doesn’t know how to be honest without offending you and he doesn’t want one thing to change. 

“I just….” He groans and tilts his head back, “can I please come inside?” 

You take him in and decide it’s okay for him to enter, your head looks at your roommates door to make sure it’s still closed. 

Peter flops on the couch and slaps the coffee table, you take a seat where he called and waited. 

“You’re not needy. Not at all, and don’t think I’m just saying that because I think that’s what you want to hear. Needy is the wrong word, it makes you seem annoying or unbearable and I promise you’re my most favorite person in the world, so it’s not that.” 

You whisper your words, your thumbnail being nibbled on. 

“So what did you mean?” 

“I don’t even know!” Peter stresses his point, you can see how upset he is, that he not only said it, but couldn’t place it. 

“I just think maybe,” he groans, he doesn’t like being vulnerable. He’s the strong one in the relationship, it wasn’t very manly to cry over loving your girlfriend too much. 

Peter rubs at his cheek and shrugs, “I don’t know.” 

Your eyes narrow, “liar.” 

Peter folds his cards, the only thing he has to lose here is you, and he will if he doesn’t be honest. But it’s a whole new level to him, a layer he’s about to peel back, one that isn’t so light and happy. It’s a side very few people have seen, he’s scared to show it to you. 

“Can we talk?” 

You look at him oddly, “we are?” 

“Private.” 

You’re confused but lead him to your bedroom. Peter didn’t know how to tell you he was about to cry, but when he did he didn’t want your roommate seeing it. 

You wait for Peter’s lead when you reach your room, he pushes you towards your bed for you to take a seat, he stands between your legs and cups your face. Peter tilts your head up until he’s looking down into your eyes, he looks troubled. A small tired grin hugged his lips, “hi baby.” 

“Hi, peter.” you whispered soft, his thumb brushed your bottom lip. 

He takes in a deep breath like he’s remembered the task at hand. 

“I’m about to tell you something I haven’t told anyone else, and it’s a different Peter than you’re used to.” Peter presses a kiss to your forehead and steps back, this time he takes a seat at your desk chair. 

“I don’t think you're needy. I don’t even know what to say, cause like, fuck… I don’t, look, spider-man has a lot of people that need him, right? And he works hard all day and has no one to share it with, but I do. I get to tell you about my shit days, and you’ll patch me up and I’ll pretend to leave just so you can ask me to stay over, and honestly? It feels nice to have someone who needs Peter and not spider-man for once.” 

You try to speak but he stops you, he looks like he’s about to cry. 

“I look forward to it too much. I fucking sit here and play pretend, like it’s a chore to spend time with you, and you always ask me how I do it so good and I’m just so used to hiding it. I’m so used to hiding this lonely feeling, like nothing is enough, and then I had you.” 

Peter shakes his head slowly, he wipes at his nose. Tears drop casually with every few blinks as he speaks, you want to hold him to you forever. 

“I didn’t have to do anything because you did, you made all the decisions I wanted to in the first place. I love when you ask me to fix things, and when you want me to spend every second with you, when you want me to skip a night out, when you get me to stay over for the third night in a row.” 

Peter wipes his eyes, he sniffs and breathes out shakily, this is what it’s about, right? 

“Baby, you aren’t needy. I am.”

“And you projected that on me.” It wasn’t a question. 

He laughs, a tear drips down his nose, he wipes it away.

“I’ve never felt so needed and wanted in my life, and I am so terrified I’ll fuck it up and lose it all.” 

You’d never do that, if the relationship ends it won’t be on your terms.

Finally you stand and sit on his lap, he welcomes you and for the first time you notice how tight he’s always wanted to hold you, forever stuck in his grasp. You straighten the collar on his shirt and fix his hair, his eyes shiny from his tears. 

“You could, you could fuck it all up and lose it.” 

You press your forehead against his, “but I need you too much.” 

[thejujvtsupost]

The Red Queen

So this isn’t entirely smut but it’s definitely suggestive so I’ll still say it’s 18+? Anyway, I love this trope of sweet husband! Sukuna so much. I picture this set in a somewhat modern time where he lives in a large castle/estate and rules over land; but it can definitely be read like it’s the Heian era. It’s also my first Sukuna work!

Notes: F!reader, lovesick sweet husband sukuna, period and blood mention, suggestive/light smut throughout, almost oral sex (f receiving), reader is victim to the ridiculous stigma surrounding periods.

Sukuna is familiar with menstrual cycles, it’s one of the reasons he had more than one concubine until now- when he only had you. His queen.

He didn’t mind blood, but there was too much complaining mess and disinterest. He wasn’t going to fuck someone that wouldn’t worship him.

And you were one of them, at least at first. Starting out as a concubine and carrying out some maid duties as well until you quickly became the master’s favorite.

He tried to rationalize his feelings at the time. Maybe it was the way you squeaked when he was inside you for the first time, or the way you rode him… perhaps, and the more likely reason, was how you treated him. You were worthy of being his queen, and dare he say, he experienced love for the first time.

You didn’t look away like the others when you witnessed him covered in blood (even though blood made you squeamish), instead you ran to him to see if he was alright.

“Master Sukuna! Are you alright, did someone attack you- woah!” Your voice wavered when you tripped on your own kimono. Sukuna caught you easily, though one hand facepalmed at your clumsy display when he did.

Okay, maybe you were a bit oblivious. And clumsy. And hopelessly charming. “I am fine. I intend to bathe shortly.”

“I’ll start the water then- oh, or would you like me to find Uraume?” The pout you sported amused him enough to humor you. His other concubines hadn’t been this concerned about him before. You were strange, but not bad…

You also sympathized with him while he took out his stress on your smaller body.

“I should kill him for his insolence!” Was expressed between sharp thrusts, yet you were too overwhelmed to do more than moan and cum. By then you were the only concubine being called for quite some time, you took the brunt of his anger by yourself, happily. The other concubines were nowhere to be found but you didn’t miss their poor attitudes towards your favoritism.

As you were collecting your clothing afterwards, you went out on a limb that you know could have gotten you killed, but he deserved to be validated: “I’m sorry you had to deal with that, my king. Please tell me if there’s anything I can do to make it easier for you. Good night.”

You were mid bow when he barked out “stay”, is your assumption that he wanted your body again was incorrect. It was the first night you slept in his chambers and you’ve slept beside him ever since. You didn’t question him, you weren’t afraid.

You were happy to stay.

It wasn’t long after that night when he decided you would be his queen.

You were married under cherry blossom trees in the spring.

The plush bed did little to help your suffering. The aching of your womb didn’t stop, and after a particularly painful cramp, the tears were coming.

The arrival to your shared chambers had him concerned, he hadn’t sensed you elsewhere and your energy was drained- yet you weren’t asleep.

(And you didn’t greet him cutely, which he totally wasn’t looking forward to after being away for a week.)

“My love?”

Your pained grumble led him towards you, and as he grew closer he smelled the blood. “Where are you injured? Why isn’t anyone tending to you?” He knelt down to be level with you and brushed the hair from your eyes.

“‘m’not injured, it’s… it’s a girl thing. It’s just really bad this time around.”

“Ah, your menstrual cycle.”

“Sukuna! Don’t just say it out loud! It’s so embarrassing, I bled on the sheets too and Uraume is washing them alone so I don’t crawl into a hole and die. I don’t want anyone to know.”

“Or what? I’ll be smited? It’s just a sign of fertility, that you can carry my heir. Don’t hide, there’s nothing to be embarrassed about. You’re always so secretive about it but I know anyway, it’s not a big deal.” He tried to placate you but you burrowed into the blankets further.

“I just feel gross like this, like I’m an ugly mess and it’s so bad this time. I can’t even move without it hurting and I’m frustrated! This is hardly fair.” You winced at another cramp and he tutted at you.

“You tried heat and the usual stuff I’m assuming?” Your pathetic nod was his only response. “Alright lie on your back, I’ll get rid of the cramps.”

His robes were dropped off the edge of the bed and he tossed the blankets back to get to you. “Wait I don’t think I can handle sex right now-”

“Who said anything about fucking you? I’m going to eat you out until you can’t feel anything except my tongue on your cunt. Release soothes cramps.”

“Oh my god, you can’t there’s so much blood! That’s gross-”

A large hand took hold of your face to meet your eyes, “no part of you is gross or ugly or whatever nonsense is in your head. Do not speak of my queen that way, my love. I’ve killed for less and I have no problem spanking your ass raw when you’re no longer menstruating. Understand?”

“Yeth s’kuna” your cheeks were smushed in his firm albeit gentle grip, causing your words to slur. He released you and kissed each cheek, then your lips, lovingly.

“Now, may I continue on? You are free to decline but don’t let nonsense cloud your answer.”

You contemplated, if it would relieve your cramps then… “You can continue, it really hurts though so be gentle.”

Sukuna peeled your clothes from your body and grew level with your hips “As if I’d be anything else, woman.”

Let me know if you guys want more sweet husband!Sukuna, I kinda really like this flavor of him.

Divider credit to @saradika-graphics and @thecutestgrotto

Thinking about making a request? Check my bio to see if they’re open! 💗

[tiredfox64]

Too Late? You’re Still Young!

Prior notes: DILFS! I LOVE THEM! I LITERALLY HAVE A I ❤️ DILFS SHIRT! YOU KNOW WHAT ELSE I LOVE? CONSENT! WE 👏 LOVE 👏 CONSENT👏!

Pairing: Johnny Cage (MK11) x Virgin! Afab reader

Warnings ‼️: NSFW, fingering, praising, nipple play, safe sex is sweeter, mating press, aftercare (is freaking important)

So you spent all of high school and all of college with you virginity in tact. Impressive, but it wasn’t your choice. With a sheltered home life like yours you struggled to understand the dating scene. You were too afraid to have a boyfriend since you worried you would get in trouble with your family. You never had the talk before but your hormones were a big indicator that you were missing some important information about your body. You somewhat found the solution when you placed a pillow between your legs and it felt incredible good to you.

Through Sex Ed class and word around school you figured out what you were in need of. But to get it seemed so difficult. At least now you knew your fingers were a good option.

That frustration grew in you and you couldn’t voice it out. Even telling it to your best friend Cassie felt wrong. You’re almost graduating and you still have your v card! You can’t do this anymore. Maybe it’s time to ask Cassie for advice. Even if she can’t help you maybe one of her friends can. Two of them are engaged to each other you doubt they are waiting till after marriage. Heaven knows you can’t.

══💤══╡°˖✧🦊✧˖°╞══💤══

You went over to Johnny’s mansion since you remembered Cassie was staying with him for a bit. You knocked on the door and waited patiently with an anxious look on your face. It was Johnny who opened the door.

“Hey! I haven’t seen you in a while,” He paused for a second, “Woah, what’s up with that face?”

“Hi, Mr. Cage. Is Cassie here right now?” You asked sheepishly.

“Nope, sorry. She just went out with Jacqui. But you should still come in. I’ll get you something to drink.” He invited you in.

You went inside, taking your shoes off at the entrance like a decent human being. You followed Johnny into the kitchen where you sat at the island. He gave you a glass of water which you thanked him for before he started talking.

“So what’s going on? You don’t seem to happy. Let me guess, a professor gave you a bad grade.”

He knows you too well. That could be true but not at this moment. You did smile though which is the reaction he wanted.

“No actually, it’s more of a…body issue.” You tried your best to explain it without saying it out loud.

“Ah, shark week I’m guessing? That’s why you need Cassie.”

“No! No! It’s another kind of issue that I have a hard time saying.” Your voice grew quieter the more you spoke.

Johnny stayed patient. He waited to see if you would say it yourself. You were being vague so he really didn’t understand what was going on. You sighed before continuing.

“The thing is I’m still a virgin. It’s really embarrassing. I feel so frustrated knowing that my body needs something but I either don’t know what it is or I can’t get it.” Now he understands.

He stayed silent for a bit as he thinks about what you said. He would say it’s no big deal but he’s a man with a high body count so he shouldn’t be talking. Still, he doesn’t want you feeling bad about it.

“Cassie did tell me you were a bit sheltered. But I don’t see why it’s a problem. You’re a nice and intelligent girl and I would hate for some dick to take your virginity as if it was nothing.”

“Everybody says that to me! I know what I am and I understand I need a good man to do it with. But how will I know what is considered a good man if no one tells me.” You were really expressing your frustration.

You had a point and Johnny could see that. You were at risk of being misguided. Everyone is at risk of that no matter what but you had a disadvantage. He had an idea that might work out but it seemed so stupid. Hormonal stupid. He’s been deprived for a while now and getting the chance to have some fun is really tempting right now. But he doesn’t want to take advantage of your situation. It won’t hurt to ask.

“Alright listen, how about you and me…do it. I’ll show you how it goes and what a man should be doing to you. It’s up to you. I won’t force you to do anything.” He said calmly.

You froze up and your cheeks started to feel warm. You were surprised he would suggest something like that even though you knew of his flirting habits. Was it a good idea however? He is your friend’s dad and he is way older than you. You can’t deny though that he is still good looking for his age. Older does mean more experience, right? He’s been so nice to you too so you can trust that he’s a good man. Screw it, he’s the best option!

“You wouldn’t mind doing that? I mean I do feel comfortable with you, especially since I don’t have any guy friends.”

“Of course, but only this one time. Promise me you won’t tell Cassie, right? I get it she’s your best friend and best friends tell each other everything and whatnot. But she is still my daughter and I doubt she will be happy that I banged one of her best friends.”

“I promise. She will never find out.” Better make sure of that.

He nodded before taking your hand and guiding you up the stairs. It was exciting yet nerve racking. Johnny could sensed that and squeezed your hand to tell you it’s gonna be alright. He’s gonna take good care of you.

You two walked into his bedroom. His bed was large and comfortable which helped settle your nerves. He brought you over to the bed and had you sit next to him. He may be an expert in this but he has never really dealt with a girl who was so nervous before. He better take this real slow and talk you through it.

“Alright, first things first, a man should never go right into it. Foreplay is very important. It will help make the experience better for you and prevent you from getting hurt down there.” He instructed.

You had no idea what foreplay was but you trusted Johnny enough to not asking him about it. You were right to do so since all he did at first was kiss your neck. Already that was a lot for you. Each kiss felt like a little tingle that shot down between your legs.

Johnny’s hand was slowly tracing down your body till he got to the waistband of your pants. Your breathing hitched which alerted him you were getting nervous again.

“Shh, it’s okay. Remember I’m taking it slow. I won’t hurt you.” He whispered against your neck.

You relaxed a little as his hand slipped under. His fingers lightly touched your clit and you whimpered immediately. It felt way different than when you would do it to yourself. This is way better, probably cause you are receiving it from someone else. Johnny wanted to see how you were a little more down and was surprised at how wet you already were. He could easily slip his fingers in if he wanted to.

“Damn, you’re really wet. I’ve never had a girl get this excited so quickly.” He commented.

You were embarrassed by that. Barely touched and you are soaking wet down there. You turned your head away from Johnny to prevent any further embarrassment. He just chuckled lightly at your reaction.

“It’s not a bad thing. It makes it easier. You’re doing good.”

One of his fingers slipped into your pussy with ease. You gasped in surprise and pleasure. You never fingered yourself since you never felt anything from it. But you sure felt it now. That one finger slowly pumped inside you as his thumb rubbed your clit. You were keeping yourself together which was good. Johnny felt like you could take a little more.

“You think you can take another one?”

You nodded your head confidently. You wanted more anyways. Your body was in need of it. Now having both his ring and middle finger in you was like heaven. He went a little faster while his thumb kept rubbing your clit.

Your whimpers to turned to quiet, breathy moans. Now it felt too good. Without thinking you were trying to close your legs. You don’t know why you do it you just know you don’t want to make it hard for Johnny.

“Gotta keep your legs open for me. I promise it will be better for you if you do.”

You listened and tried your best to keep your legs open, spreading them wider than before. That should do it.

“That’s it, good girl.” He whispered.

Immediately you had a reaction. Your heart did flips and you felt warmth in your stomach. Johnny caught on when he felt your pussy clench against his fingers. Not surprising considering you always did seem excited by praise no matter what. He’ll keep that in mind when he fucks you in just a moment.

Your body grew hotter the longer this went on. It didn’t help that Johnny was so close to you. So close that his other hand went to the small of your back to support you. You didn’t know what to do with your hands so you were left clenching the bed sheets. Suddenly he asked you a very important question.

“Wait, now that I’m thinking about it, have you even had your first kiss?”

Nope, you didn’t even get that. You nodded no.

“Well I must look like a jerk. What kind of man am I,” He said comedically, “Let me help you with that as well.”

This must be some sort of dream. A dirty one at best. A dream where you are kissing your best friend’s hot dad as he fingers you. Even if you weren’t the best at kissing, Johnny was making it work. Thank goodness your lips were soft cause you’d be embarrassed if they weren’t.

This was all enough to send you over the edge. It really didn’t take much effort since you were so deprived. Your eyes were shut tight as you felt pleasure pulse through your body. You were moan against Johnny’s lips. He felt your pussy clench his fingers which was enough evidence to show he just made you cum. Damn, in three minutes? That’s a new record. To him that was impressive and boosted his already high ego. You were embarrassed, thinking that cumming too early was a bad thing. It’s only bad when it’s guys, you’re fine.

“I’m sorry. I thought I would last longer.” You apologized.

“There’s no need to apologize. It just means we can get to the really fun part now. Take your clothes and get comfortable on the bed.” He instructed.

Johnny gave you a quick kiss on the cheek before slipping his hand out from your pants. He wanted to make sure you were still comfortable. There was no need to feel embarrassed around him. The important thing is if you’re comfortable and still okay with this.

You took your time when taking your clothes off. Obviously you never stripped down in front of a man. Even when you would go to the pool you were nervous to take your shirt off. This was a big leap but you felt like you could do this. Deep breathes and take your time.

While you did that, Johnny went over to his bedside table to grab a condom. You could see how prepared this man is when you saw the long line of condoms he had. It’s been a while for him, they’re still good.

When you took all your clothes off you were quick to get on the bed and cover yourself with the blankets. He doesn’t mind he understands. He started to strip his clothes off and oh…wow.

You don’t care what anybody says he is like fine wine. He looks like he’s still in his prime. You couldn’t deny you felt yourself get wetter and you pressed your thighs together to alleviate the pressure down there. Then he took his pants off. Girl, you’re in trouble but a good kind of trouble.

You’re not mathematician or scientist but you can definitely say he was bigger than average. Was it supposed to be that thick? He saw how wide your eyes were and decided to tilt your head up so you could look at him instead.

“You should probably keep your eyes on me for now. Might scare you if you look down there for too long.” He’s not wrong but he sounds arrogant saying that.

He got on the bed and slowly pulled the blankets off you. You were still being shy which is fine. There is no need to rush into this he will make sure you are comfortable with going ahead. Plus, he’s gotta comment on those tits.

“You have a nice pair on you. Do you mind?” He was asking for your permission to play with them.

You nodded and he went in slowly. You felt his hands cup your breasts gently. His thumb rubbed against your soft skin. You were surprised by how calming it felt. Sure you were even more turned on but you also felt less nervous. Johnny came in closer and started to leave kisses all over them. At first it was gentle but then he decided he wanted to leave hickeys on them. Nothing too big but they were the perfect spot since no one will see them. It was definitely a new feeling but when you saw the marks he left on you, you knew you liked it.

You know what else you liked? When his tongue ran over your nipple. It surprised you but you soon relaxed again to the feeling. He sucked on your nipple gently, not wanting to overstimulate you just yet. His other hand went to pinch your other nipple which excited you more. Once again it was another situation where it felt better when someone else did it instead of you. With all this combined you started to grow needy. There was no sense of embarrassment or nervousness anymore, only this need to be fucked. You started to whine which let Johnny know you were ready.

“Alright, alright, I get you. Just give me a second, babe.”

It didn’t take long for Johnny to put the condom on, what a manwhore. He angled himself before holding your hand. It was for support.

“Just tell me if you need me to stop, okay?”

Then he started to push into your wet pussy. The feeling of being stretched out for the first time was deliciously painful. It’s not what you expected. You expected to be screaming and for a bunch of blood to come out. Nope, not at all. Inch by inch he slowly pushed himself inside of you till he was fully in. He didn’t start thrusting immediately since he knew you had to adjust.

“You okay?” He asked.

“I’m more than okay.”

“That’s good. You’re doing so good. So good for me.” Johnny started to give you kisses on your face which you appreciated.

After a few moments he started slowly thrusting into you. Your hand squeezed his but you never told him to stop. The pain slowly turned into pleasure. Finally, the pleasure of being fucked. Each thrust was another wave of pleasure through you. It was confusing at first, like your mind couldn’t comprehend something this good. Your body could.

Johnny started picking up the pace when no sign of pain was present in your face. You stopped having control over your moans. You weren’t being loud like a porn star. It was more like you couldn’t fake it even if you tried.

Damn, that’s what I sound like?

He didn’t want to push it too far but he was so tempted to pound into you. It’s been so long and you honestly felt amazing. He loved looking down at you and watching your breasts jiggle every time he thrusted in. You squeezed so nicely around his cock. He was trying to hold himself back from getting rough and you could see that. You wouldn’t push your lucky but your body says otherwise. Hormones are crazy like that, they will yell at you to do anything to get the pleasure you need. Your arms wrapped around his neck and your legs around his waist. You looked into his eyes and you said something that seemed so out of character for you but was what you truly wanted.

“Please go harder.” You begged.

“Fuck, are you sure?” Trust me, Johnny wanted to but he was still worried about hurting you.

You whined and wrapped your legs even tighter around his waist which let him know you weren’t playing.

“Alright, I get it. Never would have expected you to be so needy.” He teased.

He’ll do you one better. How about a new position? Nothing crazy but you will like it. He grabbed your thighs and pushed your legs back before putting you into a mating press. And you thought he was already deep enough. Good thing you are surprisingly flexible.

You really do need to keep your legs open more. It felt amazing to you when Johnny started pounding into your pussy. This position made it easier to hit that sweet spot inside you which you didn’t even know about.

You could hear a wet, squishing sound coming from down there every time he pulled in and out. Not only that but there was also the sound of skin slapping every time he rammed into you. It turned you on even more. You know why? Cause that’s the sound of being fucked, honey!

Johnny had a nice view in front of him. Listening to you moan for him as he continues to fuck you. You make him feel young again. He still has it in him. The energy to have fun with a girl and make her moan. Fuck, he is so glad he is doing this now.

You would be thinking the same but all you could focus on was how big he was and how all of that was slamming into you. At this point why hide any of your moans. No one is around and this is your first time. You should have as much freedom as you want. Get the full experience. You were keeping your eyes closed out of embarrassment but that won’t last for long.

“Come on, open those pretty eyes for me. Can you do that just for me, gorgeous?” Johnny whispered to you.

When he says it like that how can you deny. You slowly opened your eyes to look up at him. Sure you were still embarrassed but you realize that it was just hotter this way. The connecting that the eyes make. You’ve never seen a man look at you in such a way. A look that makes you feel desirable. There might even be some affection behind it. Because Johnny does care for you. Even if this is a one time thing he wants you to have the best experience and walk away with no regrets. It’s working for you.

It was all so much. The sounds, the feelings, the connection, the intimacy is all getting to you. Your nails started scraping against his back lightly. Your toes curled and your legs shook a little. Your eyes almost rolled back and your moans grew louder. You were about to cum and Johnny could see that.

“You’re gonna cum? You wanna cum, pretty girl? Go ahead. Just keep looking at me.” He commanded.

You kept looking at Johnny as he slammed into your sweet spot again. This orgasm was better than the last one. It felt like a heat radiated through your body. All your worries came undone just like you. Like a knot just unraveling in your stomach. You looked at Johnny with half-lidded eyes as you let out breathy moans. Damn, he could have came right there on the spot but he was holding himself together.

“Bet that felt good, didn’t it.” He teased before leaving some kisses on your face.

You knew Johnny would feel like a king after making you cum twice. He’s cocky like that. Ah, but you forgot. He hasn’t cum yet.

“You think you can go a little longer for me, baby? Just a little longer.” He asked to keep going so he can cum.

He didn’t wanna overstimulate you during your first time but it’s your call. You’re a trooper, you can go a little longer even though you are incredibly sensitive down there now. You nodded which made him smile.

He stopped pressing down on you which was a relief for your legs. He still kept them open. He started thrusting into you again, not as rough as when he had you in a mating press but it still felt great. He watched as his cock went in and out of your pussy. Your wetness coated the condom and it still made a wet sound. Oh how he wished he could just take it off and fuck you raw. Fell how warm you are and cum into that sweet pussy of yours. But that’s a stupid idea. One that young Johnny would make and he’s a better man than that. Still won’t stop him from thinking about it.

And that view of you, mwah! Watching your legs shake slightly from being overstimulated. Your hands gripping the sheets around you. Your breasts kept jiggling no matter how hard he pounded into you. He can see your eyes grow wet as you handle the sensations. All that combined with his little fantasy of cumming inside you sent him over the edge. One more thrust in and he was cursing softly as his cum filled the condom.

You both were left panting after that wonderful experience. Johnny pulled out and went to dispose of the condom. Damn there was a lot in there.

You were pretty exhausted but happy nonetheless. You don’t really know what you are supposed to do after. If you’re supposed to just put your clothes on and walk off as if what happened didn’t happen. That’s not how this goes. Not with Johnny.

He came back to you with a bottle of water in his hand. He went next to you and helped you sit up, placing his other hand on your back.

“You’re probably really exhausted after that. Here, drink this.” You gladly accepted the bottle of water, not even realizing how parched you were.

“So, what now? Do I just leave?” You asked which just proved to Johnny that it was best that he did it with you first.

“If a man ever told you to leave right after he’s an asshole. Don’t ever let a man do that to you. Come here.” Johnny pulled you close to him and made you lay down.

Your head laid on his chest which his arm was wrapped around you. He pulled the blankets over you to make sure you were comfy. His fingers ran through your hair which soothed you even more. This was incredibly nice. You didn’t realize how tired you were till he put you in this position. Your eyelids started to grow heavy and your breathing slowed down. There was only one thing left to say to him.

“Thank you…” You said softly.

You drifted off to sleep in his arms as he gave you a kiss on your forehead. Maybe Johnny was getting pretty old since he needed to sleep as well after that. He too started to fall asleep, happy to have a wonderful girl next to him again.

══💤══╡°˖✧🦊✧˖°╞══💤══

Cassie and Jacqui just came back from their little, or more like big, shopping trip. Cassie was about to call out to her dad till she saw your shoes at the entrance.

“Oh shit, she’s here?” She said.

She went around calling your name, surprised you weren’t out in plain sight. in fact, neither was her dad. She guessed that maybe you were upstairs in her room. Nope, not there either. Well if anything her dad had to be in his room or something. She knocked a few times but no answer. She just decided to open the door herself.

“Hey dad, do you have any idea where-“ Cassie stopped herself when you looked at the scene in front of her. Even Jacqui gasped out loud.

She slowly closed the door again, a shocked expression on her face. She looked at Jacqui who confirmed what they saw was true. Out of all of Cassie’s friends she would have never suspected you of sleeping with her father. She doesn’t even think you did it on purpose you’re not that kind of person. This was all so much and she could only mutter three words.

“What the fuck.”

After notes:🍊…🦊so like, you gonna pay rent or something? Do I gotta feed you? Fuck do you even eat? One of your comrades came crashing through the window this early morning. Who the fuck gonna pay for that? Ah, anyways. My daddy issues have come to say hi. Can’t tell if fucking Johnny will heal me or having him be a father figure to me will. Just need him to ruffle my hair and tell me my professors are the bitches not me. Hope y’all have a good day! Adiós!

[chaoticbardlady99]

I Wondered If I Could Come Home? (Astarion x F! Reader)

Synopsis- It’s been 4 months since you last saw Astarion and 3 months since you killed the Netherbrain with your other companions. Shortly after, you settled down in Silverymoon to begin a life out there and try to push Astarion out of your mind- except it can never be that easy. You shortly discover you are pregnant with his child- a child that could kill you during childbirth. Scared and alone- Shadowheart stays with you to help you deliver the baby and keep you alive.

While out at the local market, Shadowheart runs into Gale and invites him over for dinner. Gale has unexpected company.

CW: Pregnancy, mentions of potential death during birth, mentions of nudity, mentions of NSFW smut

To my fellow DND fans- no this is probably not canon compliant, yes I’m upset about that, but look I really needed to write this so sue me I guess

Author note- Self indulgent, I have baby fever, but don’t want a baby fic. I’m unsure of how long this will be or if it will have more parts-it depends on how angsty I feel, but I need to have like six different ideas to think about at a time soooo 😂

*This hasn’t been edited ✨well✨so please forgive me

*again, no fucking clue who’s picture it is, but it sure as shit isn’t mine so if it’s yours- reach out so I can give credit!

You keep yourself propped up against the sink in the kitchen as Shadowheart holds your hair out of your face and dabbing away the cold sweat that drips down your neck.

You are really sick of being morning sick. It’s absolutely the worst thing in the world- well besides your potential death from carrying your little girl inside of you. You sometimes think Astarion may get his wish- you may just die screaming.

You dry heave one last time- not a single thing comes up because you haven’t kept a single thing down since two mornings ago. Your morning sickness is inconsistent and comes on with little to no warning.

It’s been five months since you conceived this fricken kid, but it was like all the symptoms hit after you killed the Netherbrain.

A part of you really wishes you had somehow known before then- maybe it would have changed the cruel fate that ended your relationship with Astarion. You were literally pregnant in the middle of fighting Cazador. You think about what he last said to you all the time and just sob hysterically- like it happened yesterday.

A deeper part of you feels abandoned, but you blame yourself for him leaving. You should have been more convincing or maybe you shouldn’t have flat out told him no and explained why in the hells you didn’t want him to ascend.

For example- you didn’t want to lose him to some evil version of himself.

Ironically, you lost him anyway and are pregnant with his fucking child who insists on occasionally making you miserable.

Despite your inherent sadness, anger, and sickness, you find you are actually quite excited to meet her. You haven’t settled on a name yet and Shadowheart has been very helpful in regards to making sure you are healthy and strong for delivery. She’s your best friend and you could not be more grateful for her.

“I’ll go back to the market today and get you more of those herbs,” Shadowheart says quietly when she talks to you, “they seemed to help last time?”

You nod- exhausted and your head is pounding. You and this kid are going to need to have a serious conversation. You will not be letting a second Acunin make you miserable before she is ever born.

Shadowheart guides you to your bed upstairs, standing behind you in case you get hit with a wave of vertigo- which usually happens post vomit episode.

You pull your curtains closed- thankful that the desperate hope in your heart led you to buying black out curtains. You close your door and lay down on your bed- tears spilling down your cheeks freely.

You miss him terribly. You shouldn’t. You should positively hate him, but everyday of this pregnancy makes you ache for him. You should be doing this together.

You know it’s hormones- the weepiness, the intense longing, and the Gods awful horniness. Dreams are the worst. You wake up a squirming disaster at least three times a week with your skin burning hot with memories of Astarion touching you.

You are happy that isn’t the case currently, but the weepiness sucks too. Remembering how he used to curl around you, the way it felt to have him kiss you on the forehead, and all those late night conversations with (now empty) promises. You curl yourself around your pillows, willing your imagination to pretend it’s him, and you sob until you fall asleep.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Astarion tries to contain his excitement and fear as he follows Gale and Shadowheart to your home. Finally, after searching for literal months, he was going to see you again.

Astarion has been haunted by the last words he had said to you for what feels like eons now. He hadn’t meant it at the time and he certainly doesn’t mean it now.

He had been too afraid to come back to you after everything he had said. Astarion decided you probably hate him anyway so he tried to move on.

He tried being with other people (it always failed miserably because they weren’t you), he drank until he couldn’t remember a damn thing, and when all else failed, he began his search for the Ring of the Sunwalker.

After the nightlife of Baldur’s Gate lost it’s appeal and he finally found a ring location, Astarion found himself in front of Gale’s door in Waterdeep- begging him of all people to help him.

The wizard had been puzzled and melancholy when he realized Astarion was at his door. Astarion told him every little piece of how he feels about you, how much he misses you, and how he wants to be able to give you the life that you deserve. Astarion was practically on the verge of hysteria while trying to make his case.

Thus began the search for the Ring of the Sunwalker.

They were able to locate and obtain one after a grueling three month long journey and some help from one of Gale’s old friends. Then, they headed straight to Silverymoon- your last known whereabouts.

Running into Shadowheart had felt like a miracle, but to also have her living with you had made the trip even easier. Except Shadowheart was being really really weird towards him.

When Gale first asked if Astarion could come along too, Shadowheart had asked Astarion why he wanted to come and see the person he “hoped died screaming?”

Astarion had flinched at the anger and venom in Shadowheart’s voice. He figured the others would be mad, but he was hoping maybe Shadowheart would give him a little easier time like Gale had. Astarion was genuinely surprised by how quick she was to be defensive of you and your whereabouts. When Gale confirmed that Astarion was telling the truth, Shadowheart reluctantly said he could come.

The three arrive at the front of your shared townhome- it faces the beach and has the perfect amount of windows for the sun to light up the house, but one of the rooms is hidden from sight with heavy, black out curtains.

Shadowheart turns to both of them, “Tav might not be able to join us… she’s been sick for a bit now and is… recuperating.”

Astarion feels his heart drop to his stomach.

“Sick? For how long?”

Shadowheart shifts on her feet uncomfortably, “5 months, but it got worse around 3 months.”

“Tav has been sick for that long?” Gale exclaims, “why didn’t you write!? I could have helped.”

“This particular affliction is one you wouldn’t understand,” Shadowheart says with a finality that suggests the conversation is done as she leads them into the kitchen.

Shadowheart immediately gets fussing with the herbs while Gale looks around the house. Astarion is still unsure of what he should be doing. The house engulfs him in your scent and he feels positively intoxicated. You must be really sick though because your scent smells different- not bad at all, just different.

Does he talk to Shadowheart? Does he look around with Gale?

Or does he sneak off and find you? Astarion doesn’t want to waste anymore time than he already has. Slowly, he creeps towards the stairs.

“Don’t even think about it, Astarion,” Shadowheart warns.

Astarion looks at her and then back at the stairs. He does this a couple times until Shadowheart appears to be annoyed enough that she’s let her guard down a bit.

Astarion takes off up the steps and he hears Shadowheart and Gale coming up right behind him.

Astarion hears a dry heave from down the hallway and he goes racing for the door.

If you are as sick as Shadowheart has suggested (5 months is crazy long), Astarion may not have much time with you and Gods he needs to take advantage of the time he does have.

Shadowheart be damned.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

You wake up feeling even worse than you did when you fell asleep. Your headache feels like it’s taken on a life on it’s own and Gods you are going to vomit all over the floor if you don’t move NOW!

You get up with an impossible amount of speed for how dizzy you are and you grab the pail on your nightstand and heave painfully.

You are rocking back and forth, groaning as more stomach acid comes up because again, not able to even keep anything down.

You hear a pair of footsteps and then Shadowheart screaming after-

“ASTARION! THEY ARE SICK! YOU NEED TO WAIT!”

“I have been looking for them for months now,” you hear him hiss, “if they are sick, I need to see them. If this has lasted five months- then who knows how much time I’ve wasted!”

“Will you stop being selfish for five minutes!? It’s not about you and who even says she wants to see you!?”

Shadowheart and Astarion are yelling in front of your door now. You feel tears prick your eyes- Astarion is here. Here here. A flurry of excited kicks from inside you catches your attention and a feeling of blissful happiness comes over you. Oh look, the nausea is gone. Of course it is.

“Traitor,” you whisper before laying down on your bed for a moment.

You are very happy that your unborn daughter appears to be pleased and feels good about her dad being on the other side of the door. You, on the other hand, are less than optimistic.

Wasted time doing what? And why did Shadowheart say I was sick!? In what world was that going to keep him from going upstairs!? Especially if he, your mind pauses, cares about me? Again?

Which you hope he does- you would hope Shadowheart wasn’t so sick of taking care of you that she brought him here to finish the job. Maybe this is all one big show.

Another, “I WILL DO WHAT I PLEASE” from Astarion, a “YOU SELFISH BASTARD” from Shadowheart, and a “Please can’t we all just be nice, catch up, and get along?” from Gale finally gives you the motivation to get up. The arguing feels far too much like being in camp again. You pinch the bridge of your nose, willing the growing headache to go away.

It doesn’t so you change into a pair of longer cotton pajama pants, a t-shirt that is unfortunately showing off your bump more than you’d like, and then you swing open the door in tired annoyance.

You are met with Astarion looking at you- his eyes scanning up and down your body- settling on your stomach. His expression is unreadable- it’s somewhere between lust, love, grief, and heartbreak. Embarrassed by Astarion’s intense gaze, you look over at Gale who is all smiles for you.

“Congratulations Tav!!!” Gale practically yells, making you wince, “the father is a lucky man.”

“I don’t think he considers himself a lucky man,” you say pointedly before turning to Astarion, “or do you?”

Astarion’s face changes entirely with your words. His eyes look at you, round and soft. His eyes are full of adoration and need- a look you never thought he would give you again. You have to fight the urge to grab him and drag him into your bedroom. You will not let the hormones win- you will be strong.

“I- it’s- I mean,” Astarion is fumbling over his words, “you are carrying my child?”

“Yes,” you say grumpily, crossing your arms,” and she’s been giving me nothing but trouble. Thanks to your genetics, I’m sure. This is day two of not being able to keep a damn thing down and this fucking headache is UNBEARABLE so please for the love of every God keep the arguing down.”

Astarion is still looking at you with a mystified expression- taking you in as if for the first time in his entire life. You look back towards Gale and Shadowheart- you are entirely too self-conscious and way too excited to see him for him to be looking at you like that. You are trying to be mad dammit!

Shadowheart gazes at you and your surely red tipped ears with amusement before she says, “I’ll go and get the potion ready for you- that should hopefully help.”

“I will- uh,” Gale says awkwardly, looking between you and Astarion, “join you! I might need to know which herbs to use… in the future?”

“Planning on getting pregnant Gale?” You say with a smirk.

Gale snorts at you, “Dear friend, as wonderful as you look right now- none of the side effects sound appealing.”

“Oh they most certainly aren’t,” you say,” but thanks for thinking I look ‘wonderful’. I feel, well, disgusting.”

“Gods, how could you even think that?” Astarion blurts out, appearing shocked that he even said it, “you look like…. A vision. A wonderful, stunning vision, Darling.”

Shadowheart and Gale excuse themselves as you struggle to find the words for Astarion’s comment. Your entire body feels like it’s on fire and you feel yourself begin to melt a little bit. You feel your emotions bloom into something resembling spring as he steps closer to you- looking at you with pleading eyes.

You clear your throat, “would you like to come into my room and talk?”

Astarion nods eagerly, following behind you so close that you once again have to remind yourself that ripping off the clothes of someone who literally told you they wanted you to die screaming was not healthy- at least not until you get a proper apology.

You sit against your headboard as Astarion walks around your room- running his fingers along the bassinet and rocking chair in the corner. You still can’t get a read on him.

“A girl?”

His question breaks the air.

“Yes,” you smile at him, “no name yet though.”

“I’m sure you’ll pick a nice one,” he says with a smile, but his tone is entirely too melancholic.

A painful thump in your heart fills your body with sadness. He doesn’t want to be involved. Of course he doesn’t want to be involved. You are his knocked up ex-girlfriend. What were you expecting? The lump forming in your throat is unbearable.

“You don’t want to be involved?”

Oh good Gods you are crying. Astarion rushes over to you the minute your tears begin to fall- sitting in front of you on the bed. He reaches out and gently wipes your tears away as he speaks.

“I want to be involved so badly it hurts,” his voice comes out scratchy and emotional, “but that is your decision, not mine. You have been on your own for months, my Love. Instead of trying to come back and make it better- I pushed it off until I thought I could give you what you deserved- a life in the sun.”

You almost whine in protest when his hands leave your face. He twists the ring around his index finger before continuing, avoiding your gaze, “But maybe I was wrong. Maybe what you deserve is a person that isn’t so damaged. Someone who can give you what you actually deserve which is a loving partner who hasn’t hurt you over and over again- a man worthy of being a father to ou- I mean your child.”

His confession and the tears that are streaming down his face are enough for you. Yes, you absolutely want to scream and yell at him, but you also ache for him. You can’t fault the man for being a slave for 200 years and then not taking it very well when you told him what to do. You always knew you would forgive him if he came back- you never thought he would, but here he is and like he said- there is no reason to keep wasting time.

“She is our child, Star,” you whisper and guide his eyes to look at you, “I want you to be involved. I don’t care what you think I deserve either. I have missed you so horribly since you left. It’s almost pathetic really. I’ve tried to blame it on the hormones, but… I don’t know. The picture has felt incomplete up until now.”

You absentmindedly put your hand on your stomach- receiving a kick. You glare at the place where your hand is resting.

“Will you stop kicking me for five minutes!?” You scream, “I WAS IN THIS BODY FIRST!”

Astarion looks at you bewildered and confused, but quickly realizes you aren’t talking about him. The smile that spreads across his face is wide and Astarion gingerly moves closer. You are still a little cautious- needing to protect not only yourself, but also your unborn child. He moves to the right of you and goes to move you just slightly so he can slip in behind you.

“Could I? I mean if it’s not crossing any boundaries!”

Astarion is on edge- you can tell that much, but he doesn’t look at you like he did that last time you saw him- Astarion is looking at you like you are the most precious individual who has ever walked this earth.

You nod shyly, and then Astarion slots himself behind you, your back against his chest, his face in the crook of your neck, and his legs on either side of yours. He cautiously puts his hands on your stomach and is immediately kicked.

Astarion laughs with joy, “she’s strong!”

“Strong willed and strong physically,” you shake your head and you are laughing a bit now too, “you may just get your wish yet.”

“What wish?”

It had slipped. You hadn’t meant to bring it up again- or maybe you did. You want to know for sure if he still feels that way, but the confusion in his voice says he doesn’t. You go rigid and go to dismiss it when you feel his posture change behind you, his grip loosening ever so slightly.

“Right… that.”

The silence is nerve-wracking. You’ve lost him again, you are sure of it. A stray tear begins to roll down your cheek.

“Astarion-“

“No, let me think, Darling. I want to make sure I say everything I want to say correctly.”

You continue to sit there in silence, he places soft kisses on your neck. You feel him smile against your skin at the needy moan that escapes your lips. You absentmindedly reach out for one of his hands and begin to play with his fingers while he thinks. Astarion used to let you do this all the time while you were traveling- it helps you feel grounded.

“I was so consumed by all that power in the moment,” he says slowly, “I wasn’t thinking. By the time I had realized what I had done, I felt like it was already too late- you most likely hated me and moved on.”

You have to bite your tongue- you want to scream. Hate him? Never. You had been miserable without him around for that last month of traveling. Your heart had felt like a dead weight in your chest and you had been moving around like a zombie.

“So I tried to move on… I even tried to be with others, but I just couldn’t do it. It’s selfish, but I want you. I never want anything bad to happen to you- I certainly don’t ever want you to die screaming. I don’t want you to ever carry a child that is not mine.”

You are surprised by the warmth in your core when he says his last sentence. There is something so primal there that you have to really focus on what he is saying next.

Astarion clears his throat before finishing speaking, “I don’t want to be without you anymore- four months is too long. I don’t want to miss out on anymore of your pregnancy and I want to be here for you- with you- doing this together like we should have been doing this whole time. I was a horrible fool- please give me another chance. Please, Darling. I love you- so so much more than I ever thought anyone could ever love someone.”

Astarion’s words hang in the air and you are trying not to begin crying for the 15th billion time. This is what you had wanted to hear all along. You can feel his tears on the collar of your shirt- the way he inhales as if to memorize your scent like this is the last time. Astarion is not expecting you to say yes- you know that because he’s starting to loosen up, pulling away from you so that he can respect your decision.

“I love you too,” you whisper, “I don’t want to be without you anymore either. I forgive you- please stay.”

“I won’t be going anywhere unless you want me too, my Love.”

[littlemissmentallyunstable]

Would you be making a Part 4 of the dancer and the angel🥺🥺

so many people have asked about this so I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to piece it together BUT it’s here so I hope you love it 🤍🤍

title: the dancer and the angel part 4

pairing: grayson hawthorne x reader

synopsis: crying sucks and you needs somewhere to just let your hair down but when gigi goes missing, all hell breaks loose and things don’t stay exactly to plan

parts: part 1 part 2 part 3

warnings: SPOILERS FOR TGG, swearing

a/n: I’m dedicating this to @midiosaamor <33 ilysm belle thank you for your endless love for this fic, I’m so grateful 🤍🤍

tag list: @bewitchingkisses @whatsamongus @wish-i-were-heather @inmyheaddd @never-enough-novels @notshortbutsweet @midiosaamor @sweetreveriee @emelia07 @f4iry-bell @zaraaaabear @thoughtdaughter3 @benny1989fredd @elysianwayy77 @maybxlle @sheisntyou @anintellectualintellectual @aleatorio1234 @adalia-jaycee @off-to-the-r4ces @lyra-kane @reminiscentreader @lyrakanefanatic @imaseabear @elizaa31 @loveinalocket

YOUR POV

I’m tired of crying. Tears are overrated anyway.

I’m sat with Avery, my cheek resting against her shoulder, her head resting on top of mine. It’s peaceful. I can hear her soft steady breathing in my ear and it’s oddly comforting. Maybe it’s because I’m used to sleeping on Grayson’s chest and hearing him breathe so rhythmically.

I need to get him out of my head. His stupidly perfect face is the only image running through my mind. That angular jawline, those velvety lips and those silver eyes that made me melt every damn time. Every inch of him is too engraved in my soul to get rid of him so quickly.

“Let’s go somewhere,” Avery says suddenly, like she’s been reading my mind this whole time.

“We’re on a secluded island,” I scoff.

“And I happen to be a billionaire who owns many modes of transport,” she winks at me, helping me to my feet.

“You wouldn’t,” I say.

“I already have,” she winks, “there’s a helicopter that should be showing up in about…” she trails off checking her watch, “five minutes.”

“You’re joking!” I gape.

“Do I look like the kind of girl to joke about ordering a helicopter?” she asks, raising her eyebrows.

No. No she does not.

***

We arrive at our destination thirty short minutes later via helicopter of course. And as if by magical transformation we’d gotten changed into some variant of sparkly party dresses inside, a sentence I never thought I’d ever say aloud. We walk down a cobbled alleyway towards a tall establishment.

“A club?” I say tilting my head to the side.

“A club,” she nods.

“I’ve never been to a club before,” I admit, feeling a little nervous.

“Neither,” she shrugs, “but there’s a first time for everything right.”

“Right…” I trail off.

She takes my hand eagerly and together we walk in. Lights flash, music pulsates and my ear drums nearly burst. It’s so lively, so upbeat, so full. People are grabbing drinks, making out, dancing and all the in between.

Avery glances at me, “drink or dance?”

“Drink,” I don’t hesitate, having already spotted the bar, “please.”

“You got it,” she grins, linking her arm into mine as we go over, weaving between throngs of half drunk sweaty bodies.

The bartender offers us a welcoming smile, “what can I get you two ladies tonight?”

“Vodka martini dry with a twist,” I reply, the order bitter on my tongue when I remember how Gray and I would usually order these together.

I feel so pathetic. Linking everything to him, but I couldn’t help it. He’s just there, but not properly. It’s like some sort of ghost of his has decided to haunt me for fun.

“And a mojito please,” Avery says, forcing me out of my thoughts.

He nods sharply and turns to make our drinks. I fiddle with my necklace trying to figure out how I feel in this very moment. A weird mix of emotions are settled heavily on my chest. Notes of sadness and bitterness, building up anger and fury as well as a pathetic self pity and loneliness. I don’t like that none of the feelings are definitive, it makes me uncomfortable. I don’t know how to be, my brain is too preoccupied trying to work out what emotion to act on.

The bartender hands me my drink. I take a long sip closing my eyes as the flavours hit my tongue. The sharp burst of lemon mixed with the kick of hard vodka feels like someone is slapping me across the face. I’ve never felt more awake.

“How’s the martini,” Avery asks.

“Much needed,” I smile, “your mojito?”

“Divine,” she replies taking another sip.

“Never pictured you as a mojito girl Ave,” I mention leaning against the bar and surveying the room.

“Jamie got me into them when we went to Greece,” she replies naturally.

A sinking sensation hits my stomach, I know it shouldn’t. She’s been with Jameson forever it shouldn’t hurt. They were beautiful people with beautiful souls that belonged to each other. So why is it suddenly so hard to digest? I knew about their trip to Greece, heck I’d helped them plan it. But Avery mentioning Jameson sends this rippling pain through my upper chest. She loves him and he loves her. It’s the same both ways, they’re devoted, they’re each other’s everythings. And it reminds me of what I don’t have. I think I hide it well but she sees it on my face.

“Oh god I’m sorry I didn’t mean to bring up-“

“Hey it’s fine,” I shrug.

“That was so stupid of me,” she winces putting her drink down.

“Avery you don’t have tread on eggshells around me, it’s okay,“ I try and laugh it off, “no big deal.”

“Okay,” she replies, but I can see she still feels bad.

Neither of us say anything for a few beats until the music changes and I recognise the song.

“Oooo you love this song, come on,” she laughs, tugging my hands forwards.

I sigh, “I don’t know Avery, I’m not much of a dancer.”

Not like Lyra.

“Doesn’t matter,” she shrugs, swigging her mojito, “let’s let our hair down, have a bit of fun.”

“Fine,” I crack a smile.

She squeals excitedly, practically dragging me forwards as we fall on the dance floor. We move to the beat, hips swinging from side to side, arms in the air. I wish this could take it all away. I appreciate what she’s doing. But despite her best efforts I don’t think it’s working. This distraction, this attempt of respite isn’t hitting like it should. I feel buried under too many layers of him, each time I did myself out of the first in into another. And digging is exhausting.

“Why don’t you just kiss a random guy?” Avery says bringing me back to the present.

It takes me a few minutes to process what she’d just said and when I do I can’t form a response.

“How much of that mojito did you have?” I laugh.

“No seriously,” she says, a deadly true look in her eyes, “it might help you get… him out of your mind.”

“You can say Grayson,”I roll my eyes, playing it off coolly. I didn’t want her to know that this was affecting me this much, because it shouldn’t be.

“No,” she shakes her head, “the name holds too much power, he’ll get all in your head again.”

“He already is all in my head,” I tell her with a sigh.

“That’s why I’m saying,” she continues, “so just go and kiss someone for the hell of it.”

“How do I even go about doing that?” I say. I can’t believe the words are coming out of my mouth.

“I don’t know, never done it,” she shrugs with a wicked grin.

“I don’t think it’s a good idea,” I reply.

“Who cares?” she laughs, “yolo.”

“Yolo? Since when do you say yolo?” I scoff, wondering if she is drunk or just spending too much time with Xander.

“Since now,” she sticks her tongue out.

“I could be kissing a serial killer,” I point out, “or an axe murderer.”

“I don’t think they’d murder you in front of everyone, it’d be a bit off brand for them,” Avery replies, “besides everyone would know who they were then. Do you really think they’d risk jail time to specifically murder you in a club? “

I think about it. Contemplate the idea of kissing someone else. Maybe she had a point, someone else’s lips on mine, hands in my hair… they won’t be his. I won’t have to associate those actions with him anymore. Would it hurt? It’s one stupid night and one stupid kiss. What’s the worst that could happen?”

“You know what, you’re right, why the hell not,” I say suddenly.

Surprise flickers across her face for mere moments before she breaks out into a large smile.

“You get them girl!” she shouts.

I scan the room, or all the faces I could see at least. I spot someone. He’s fairly attractive. Dirty blonde, tanned, muscular. He didn’t look too old either. I couldn’t tell the colour of his eyes but from here they looked light. I hope he isn’t taken as I approach him.

“Hey,” I shout over the music.

“Hi,” he shoots me a smile.

It’s in that moment I realise how unprepared I am for this. Why did I think this was a good idea? How do you just kiss someone?

So I blurt out the only thing in my mind, “do you want to kiss me?”

“What?” he replies.

I feel like an idiot but I say it again, “do you want to kiss me?”

“I can’t hear you love, speak up,” he yells.

I don’t know what comes over me but I just grab his face and kiss him. It’s probably the most impulsive thing I’ve ever done. But he doesn’t pull away, in fact he kisses back. His lips are rougher than what I’m used to and he’s a more aggressive kisser. When his hands hold the small of my back it’s more like he’s grappling onto my body than holding me gently. This didn’t feel as natural, as tentative, as loving as when Grayson kisses me.

“Well that was quite something huh?” the man smiles as I pull away.

Maybe for you I want to say, but I bite my tongue.

“Fancy doing it again?” he asks.

“Maybe another time,” I force a smile, walking away.

He doesn’t follow much to my relief. I’d chosen someone who wasn’t a serial killer at least. I make my way back to Avery who pretends she didn’t see the whole altercation to save my dignity. Though she’s very bad at hiding it.

“I know you saw,” I sing song, giggling a little.

“You went for it girl,” she says eyebrows raised.

“I did,” I nod, chewing my bottom lip tentatively.

“And?” she prompts me. I don’t know what she wants to hear. So I tell her the truth.

“It’s not the same,” I shrug.

“It won’t be but sometimes that helps you get over it,” she replies.

“It’s not working,” I sigh, “also he tasted like beer and that was gross.”

She scrunches up her face, “oh ew,”

“Yeah 100% ew,” I agree wrinkling my nose as I still taste the residue of it on my lips.

She senses how I feel even though I don’t quite know what it is I’m feeling, “you want to get some air?” she asks.

I nod, feeling that my cheeks were flushed and my everything was sweating. Hand in hand we swim upstream through dozens of people before we reach the door. The cold night’s air hits us as we slump down onto the pavement. I take a deep breath in, closing my eyes tasting the fresh air in my lungs.

“Well that was a bust,” Avery sighs.

“Not completely,” I tell her, “the dancing was fun.”

“But you’re still thinking about him, aren’t you?” she replies. It’s a question that she already knows the answer to.

“How can I not?” I say, leaning my head against the back wall and looking up at the sky.

“I don’t know,” she replies sadly.

Silence envelopes us, swallowing us whole like a whale shark to plankton. A thought recurs in my brain like an annoying decimal that wasn’t supposed to be the answer. I keep thinking, if someone had told my yesterday self that I would be here today I never would’ve believed it. Hours ago he was my person, the one. And now? Now what? I was in a club kissing some random trying to get over him. Trying and pathetically failing. How can I still love him? After all of it, how is it possible?

“That guy I kissed, it just reminded me of how I don’t have him to do that with anymore and I never will,” I say, glancing at Avery.

“Do you still love him?” she asks me, some sort of morphed pain and pity bleeding through her eyes.

“Of course,” I reply with no hesitation, “I’ve always loved him, it’s always been him and I can’t stop now, I’m in too deep. But I have to make myself.”

She gently pulls my body into her arms, “this will get easier, it’s still the first night. The feelings are fresh, the wounds are new and they need time to heal.”

“I just don’t understand,” I whisper, “I love him so much my heart bleeds but he never felt it back that same kind of love… and I was stupid enough to think he did.”

“I think he did,” she murmurs, “I really do.”

“You don’t have to do that, you can be honest,” I say softly, “it’s not like it can hurt anymore.”

“I’m serious I promise,” she replies, “you don’t see it as clearly we do. When you came into Gray’s life he changed in the best possible way. I mean I’ve not known him as long as his brother but I saw it. And they definitely did. He wasn’t the same, he was in love. I know it.”

“He kissed another girl,” I laugh bitterly.

“It doesn’t mean to say he never loved you like that,” she says.

“Suppose so,” I mumble into her.

“And for the record he was an absolute idiot for doing what he did,” she replies, a flicker of anger I wasn’t used to in Avery sparking for a fraction of a second, “actually there’s a list of words I would use that are way worse than idiot but we’ll keep it PG tonight.”

I crack a weak smile.

She softens her tone, “But seriously sweetie he’s losing the best thing he’s ever had in his life.”

“But Avery,” I say, my voice shaking, “I’m not sure I want to be lost.”

She hugs me tighter. There are no words that can fix my state we’ve both silently agreed, so she hold me as I stare up at the stars. Some glow, some twinkle, others gleam. Then they all blur as water fills my eyes. I blink away the lousy tears. I’m not going to cry.

“Avery…” I murmur hesitantly “can I ask you something?”

“Yeah sure,” she nods.

The questions are so weighted on my chest, it’s physically hurting me, “why do you think he chose her? What did I do wrong? What does she have that I don’t?”

“Oh sweetheart,” she murmurs sympathetically, “it’s not like that.”

“Then why,” I choke, trying to keep my tears at bay, “why would he…”

I trail off, the tears I was trying to express rolling down my face. The sobs get stuck in my throat and I’m unable to make a sound. I silently shake in Avery’s grasp, my lungs aching.

“You cannot sit here and think you are the reason for this. I won’t let you,” she shakes her head, “I don’t know why he did what he did, that I can’t tell you, but I do know for sure that it wasn’t you. You have no faults, you did nothing wrong, you’re beautiful, you’re brilliant, you’re smart and brave and kind and perfect. He’s the biggest fool of them all.”

“You think?” I snivel.

“I know,” she says, wiping away my tears with a gentle hand, “now come on, let’s go back in, have one final shot and a dance and then we’ll hit the streets at midnight, do something crazy fun and stupid, no murder please, and just breathe a little you know, forgetting all of this.”

“Okay,” I nod, biting the inside of my cheek to prevent more tears from spilling over.

I am strong. I am strong. I am strong

She stands up and dusts her little dress off before hoisting me up behind. She flashes a smile my way that reminds me of Jameson for a split second. I eagerly take her hand and we re enter. The lights feel as if they’re flashing brighter than before. The fluorescence stings slightly. The familiar aroma of sweat mixed with all manner of alcoholic drinks hits us as well.

Just as we’ve reached the dance floor Avery says, “Jamie’s calling, give me a second.”

She rushes off out of the back door, probably to hear him better, leaving me alone on the dance floor. I don’t really feel much like dancing so lazily drag my feet to the bar and take another shot. The liquid burns my throat and I feel somewhat alive as I slowly swing my hips and move my arms to whatever beat is playing.

I feel dead. I don’t understand how in the space of mere minutes I can go from feeling so emotive, so distraught, so melancholy to nothingness. A wave of coldness from empty voids and bottomless pits.

I hand touches my shoulder and I jolt as the unfamiliar touch makes me jump. I look up to see a man stood there, but he’s a little fuzzy. The alcohol is getting to my head.

“You alone sweetheart?”

Sweetheart. The word cuts like a poisoned blade. Grayson calls me that.

“No,” I respond calmly, positioning my back more towards him, hoping he’ll gage my body language and kindly leave me be.

“Well you’re very pretty,” he grins, flashing white teeth I’m sure he paid a lot for.

“I’m sure my boyfriend would agree with you,” I say coolly.

“Which one’s yours then?” he asks, clearly still not catching onto the several messages I’m sending him.

I shrug, “why do you care?”

“Maybe you’re wasting your time on him,” he smiles. Something about the smile makes goosebumps rise on the surface of my skin and an icy shiver run down my spine. Something about him isn’t right and I didn’t like it.

“I highly doubt it,” I reply nonchalantly, “but thanks for the offer.”

“Come on sweetheart,” he says, making my skin crawl, “you can ditch your boyfriend for a night, I promise I’ll be better. Ask anyone in here.”

My stomach twists and something goes off in me. Like a ticking time bomb that’s finally hit zero.

“Look here mister,” I snarl, “there’s hundreds of other women in this place that would love to get into your bed, find one and do it, but leave me alone. I’m not interested and I’m taken.”

“You heard her Dex, back off,” shouts a new voice.

I look up to see another man, with a striking resemblance to the one I was talking to, behind him. Brothers, I infer silently. Dex glares at his brother and then turns back to me.

“Okay, until next time then,” he says with a wink.

He skulks away as I roll my eyes. I go to turn back to my drink when Avery comes crashing into me. I gasp audibly before I catch a glance at her. She looks pale.

“What? What’s wrong?” I ask quickly, checking over her to make sure she was physically in tact.

“We have to cut our trip short,” she tells me, regret and apology lacing her tone.

My heart thumps in my chest and a million thoughts race through my mind.

“Gigi’s missing.”

And suddenly I’m very very sober.

***

LYRA’S POV

Finding out he was with someone else made me feel sick to my stomach. I can’t explain it exactly. It’s just this horrible awful tug in the gut. I am the other woman. I shiver at the thought.

I thought everything was going to be okay, that for a change, life might be on my side. I deserve it don’t I? To be happy, to be free, to be in love. I thought wrong. I always think wrong. I am the fool of a flower that let her pretty petals be plucked by anyone who pleased until she became a stem. Until no one wanted her. The tender truth of it all burns violently all over my skin.

So I dance.

Dance is my way to escape all of this, my freedom. The music begins and my heart aches louder, screaming in my ears. The pain coursing through my limbs that delicately dust the empty air. I reach out to touch something that doesn’t exist. I relax into a deep plié letting the music seep through my throbbing soul and form the moves. I do a gentle three step turn on pointe and the pace of the music picks up.

I hurt an innocent girl, who fell under the same loving spell that Hawthorne’s are so good at casting as I did. But I didn’t know. I didn’t know. I didn’t know. How was I supposed to know? I thought he looked at me differently, I thought his gentle touch he only used for me, I thought his words were mine to cherish. But I’m just another trophy in his grand cabinet. Another meaningless prize to collect on the journey to greatness.

I developpé sauté to perfection. I am nothing to him. And now, he’s even less to me. I pirouette and pirouette and pirouette, spiralling into furious thoughts. I’m angry. How dare he turn me into someone I am not. Making me betray my own morals. As if he has that right, that power. Men always feel so entitled, so deserving of power. He couldn’t just have one girl and be happy, no he had to find another. He had to act of his greed, the fatal flaw that poisons so many men. How many more will fall into greed’s bloodied hands?

I grand jeté until my thighs burn but I keep perfect positioning. I hate the fact that I’m feeling so deeply, that my emotions are so raw and intense. It’s too much for my mind to take, I’m so overwhelmed and head is splitting, pounding, screaming. My breath picks up the more grande jetès I do. My chest is so tight, so constricted, so suppressed. It feels as if an invisible force is choking me. I come to a halt suddenly and find myself paralysed in an arabesque, unable to breathe.

The music has silenced. Nothing dare move and the world comes to a standstill. I let myself get wrapped up in feelings I shouldn’t have had. I’m an idiot. Lyra Kane doesn’t fall in love, she doesn’t trust people with herself, she doesn’t let people in. Especially not Hawthornes. Never Hawthornes. I intricately move my feet. On pointe, pivot, flat, up, on pointe, down, in, out, over, up. At some point my mind hits a blank, a white room and I just move to what feels most natural. My mind doesn’t properly register the moves. I become aware I’m performing rapid battements and sissones when I’m deep in analysis. I should’ve seen the signs sooner.

The way he stared at her while we were dancing, the look of distraction and captivation in his eyes. The guilt that flashed across his face every time he got that little bit closer to me. The minute he had to take after our lift in the room we’d been locked in with Odette. It all made sense now.

My legs extend naturally as I leap with great height across the room. It was so pathetically unfair. Everything in his life is perfect, he’s got the money, the face, the family, the support. People would kill to be in his position, quite literally. And he takes it all for granted. God, how did I think I could love someone like that?

I travel with light and airy sauté passes. Everything to a Hawthorne is a game. Including people. I was his game. And he played me. Just like he played y/n. I only wish I could talk to her, tell her I understand how she feels but I’m probably the last face in this earth she’d ever want to see.

My movements are now sharp and staccato, jagged and uneven. The opposite of what a ballerina should be. Catherine Howal wouldn’t let me forget that if she were watching me today. My old dance teacher was always strict on me, but right now I missed the sharpness of her voice and her minor corrections. She made me the dancer I am today. I push the bittersweet memory of her away and my rage over Grayson bubbles over. Even his name now disgusts me. It used to be one that I craved to say, to feel my mouth curve in the shape of each and every letter. Now it’s just a reminder of my sheer revulsion for him.

I pirouette I don’t know how many time on pointe. I’m dizzy, but not from the turns but from the idea that I let myself be so easily tempted by a pretty face. I begin a fast paced sequence of fouettés and chainés across the space, desperately trying to hold myself together. I’m poised, I’m professional is what I try to tell myself. If only I had known, I wouldn’t have. Ever. I wouldn’t have even looking into those stupid gray eyes. But he knew, he knew how to manipulate my feelings, he knew what he had the power to do. I was a marionette that obeyed every string he pulled without even knowing it. He lead me on. He had a girlfriend and he lead me on. Why did he lead me on?

God, he’s even more of a jerk than I’d given him credit for. Hawthornes never change. With this painful honest realisation my movements gradually return to more fluid and flowing motions, interspersed with slow gentle turns. It’s ruined, the moment we shared. It’s now tainted. How can I even imagine such a beautiful kiss without feeling regret? Without tasting the bitter aftertaste that coats my mouth even now? I pirouette for the final time, getting so lost with each spin I’ve lost count of how many I’ve done. It’s an everlasting void of blurry scenery and my messed up mind.

I collapse into a helpless heap on the floor, finishing the routine. There is no fight left, no anger, no pain, no momentum. Just space. The little girl in her ballet flats is long gone. The teenager locking her pointe shoes away has also disappeared. The woman who lent her heart to a Hawthorne for far too long will never return again. Every part of me is lost. I’m not sure I even know who I am anymore. All I know is that, the dancer in me is broken.

***

YOUR POV

“Any word?” I rush in, Avery close beside me.

“We need to know everything,” she says, dominance in her tone.

We had arrived back on the island practically in a flash. My head is all over the place, jumbled with attempts to remember things that could help us find Gigi. My heart dropped when I found out. We couldn’t lose out Gigi.

“Y/n!” Xander exclaims.

He looks in shock to see me, both burnt and unburnt eyebrows raised, jaw dropped. Jameson wears a similar expression and so does Nash. It’s like they’ve seen a ghost.

“Yeah?” I reply bluntly.

“You’re here,” he says, eyes bulging.

“Unless I’ve magically become a hologram in the past 2 minutes,” I say looking at my watch, “yeah I’m here.”

“Right,” he nods slowly, before turning back to his computer.

“So Gigi,” Avery says, steering us back to the present.

“We’re just about to scout for her,” Jameson explains.

“And I’m attempting to search the security footage,” Xander calls, eyed glued to the screen.

“If someone kidnapped her wouldn’t they cut it?” I ask.

“The main footage has been cut but we’re Hawthornes,” Nash flashes a very Hawthorne grin, “there’s always a back up camera where they least expect it.”

“Unfortunately for us, it’s a very blurry back up camera,” Jameson grimaces.

“Oh,” Avery sighs.

“With horrible sound,” Nash adds.

“Fantastic,” I smile sarcastically, walking behind Xander to look at the screen.

They are right. The screen is black and white and pretty much the blurriest thing I’d ever seen. Our situation is looking quite dismal.

“I’m putting better back up security on my to do list,” Avery murmurs.

“I’ll second that,” Jameson says, kissing her cheek.

“We have to find her,” she says, leaning into him, “Jamie we have to.”

“I know heiress, we’re going to, don’t worry,” he soothes, giving her that look. The look that only men in love can master.

My heart feels sore and I turn. Then I realise why. The room suddenly feels so empty, so hollow. And I feel alone despite being surrounded by people. He’s not here. My head had been so caught up on my millions of thoughts that I hadn’t registered it.

“Where’s Grayson?” I ask out of the blue.

The whole room stands still. Everyone is frozen by a force I didn’t know existed until this moment. No one dare move, let alone breathe. A sickening chill rolls down my spine and I fear the worst.

“He’s outside,” Jameson finally says.

“He won’t move,” Nash adds quietly, looking down at the floor.

Xander sighs, “and we had to take the whiskey away from him.”

“You left him alone!” I yell, not meaning to sound so attacking.

“We didn’t know what else to do, he isn’t exactly a joy to be around right now and we need to find Gigi,” Jameson reasons.

“We thought it’d be best to focus on that, the sooner we get Gigi found, the sooner he’ll marginally snap out of dark era,” Nash explains further.

“I’m going to talk to him,” I reply, my tone sharp and definite. No one was going to tell me no.

Eyes snap up at me. All four pairs. I can read all of their emotions so clearly it’s painful. Elements of confusion, shock and pity wash over me, but I push it all to the side. What they thought didn’t matter.

“Y/n, you don’t have to do that…” Jameson trails off.

“No,” I tell him softly, “I do.”

He opens his mouth to argue.

“I can help him, you know that and so do I,” I say before he can get a word out, “so that’s what I’m going to do.”

***

He’s sat on the rocks, looking over the choppy water. The wind whips the hair across my face and back again. My cheeks grow rosy with the cold. He hurt me, but he’s hurting. I can’t let him hurt alone. As pathetic as it may be I physically can’t. Slowly I approach from behind. I know he can hear me but he doesn’t turn, he doesn’t even move a muscle. He just sits and stares.

I cautiously sit beside him, my legs hanging over the edge. The reflection of death’s face snickers at me in the water. Still, Grayson does not move. He remains a stationary block, robotic almost. I look towards at him and analyse his features. He’s sober. But oh lord is he broken. I turn away, any longer and I might’ve done something stupid.

“Are you okay?” I murmur, looking out to the moon kissed water miniature waves bobbing up and down.

“You’re asking me?” he almost scoffs. I can tell he’s been sobbing, his tone is thick and swollen with grief. It stings my soul, like antiseptic to a fresh wound.

“Why shouldn’t I?” I reply quietly.

“Because I hurt you,” he says, his voice barely a whisper.

“Just because someone hurts you doesn’t mean you have to hurt them too,” I respond, finally turning to look at him.

To my surprise his eyes are ready for me, already locked onto my every move. They meet and something washes over me, something that probably shouldn’t.

“How are you so kind?” he asks, something tender in his voice. It makes my soul squeeze.

“People need to be nicer to each other in this world,” I shrug in response.

“They do,” he says quietly, playing with his fingers.

“So,” I exhale, “are you okay?”

I already know the answer. He’s not. He’s filled with guilt and sorrow and hatred and anger and upset and conflict. He’s the furthest from okay you can get.

“Not really,” he breathes, “are you okay?”

“Not really,” I grin.

A ghost of a smile haunts his features. Who gave him the right to look so beautiful?

“Gigi will be okay,” I tell him confidently.

He shakes his head as pain constricts his features, “ we don’t know that.”

“She’s stronger than you think she is,” I reply quickly.

“She’s just a kid,” he growls.

“No, she’s not Gray,” I snapped fiercely, “she’s bold and she’s brave and she can handle herself, but we will find her, we won’t stop until we do.”

He stares at me. Eyes fixated, like I’m worthy of being looked at. My heart rate picks up and that’s when I realise that this is all wrong. I can’t be the idiot that lets him back in, I won’t be.

“What?” I ask.

He says nothing but his silver eyes still remained glued to mine.

“What is it Grayson?” I whispered, the wind barely carrying my words.

“I still love you.”

The words hit me like a tonne of bricks. I can’t respond. All the air is knocked out of me. His hand is in my chest and wrapped around my heart. He’s squeezed it between his fingertips and licked my blood greedily from his fingers. He stills loves me. And I know I still love him too, but I can’t say that. I won’t.

“How can I trust you?” I scoff, letting my rage take hold. It’s better than my love.

“I don’t know,” he murmurs softly. Did his voice have to be so soft?

“Fool me once, shame on you,” I state, “fool me twice, shame on me.”

“I’m sorry,” he tells me. I can hear he means it, I can see he means it but I can’t believe it. He was too good of a liar before, too talented of an actor. I can’t afford to fall for it again.

“Sorry isn’t good enough,” I press on.

“I know…” he trails off, voice hoarse, “but I don’t know what other words to say.”

“Then don’t say anything,” I snap, shooting him a fiery look.

“But I love you,” Grayson says, too much emotion decorating his tone.

“If you loved me you wouldn’t have kissed her,” I say, throwing it all back in his face. He needed to face the truth and so did I.

“I don’t expect you to forgive me, I don’t expect you to love me too, but I need you to know and hear it from my lips that I love you,” he confesses, his eyes not wavering for a second, pinning me down with their addictive nature. It feels like my hands are tied. I’m a prisoner to those eyes. I always have been.

“I’ve heard it from your lips a thousand times before today and you still did what you did,” I spit back, the words rolling from my tongue before I gave them permission to.

He falters, there’s no words left to say.

“I want you to be happy, that’s all I care about,” I tell him, my tone still slightly jagged, “so drop the guilt, I forgive you. But things can’t go back to how they were, not after this.”

They are all lies. Every single sentence. I’m avoiding the truth beating so loudly in my chest. I’m ignoring its petulant screaming. I’m such a hypocrite. I loathe him for his lies and then I return them with my own tongue.

“How can I drop the guilt when it’s all I know now?” he murmurs.

“You’ll find a way, you’re stronger than you think Grayson. You doubt yourself too often,” I sigh.

He doesn’t say anything for a while, but runs a hand through his hair, then over his face. After one too many best of silence he turns to me one final time.

“Why are you so good?” he asks me.

“It’s not a question of good or bad it’s a question of what’s right,” I say impatiently, “I’m not going to just sit here and let you wallow because that’s not you Grayson and you know it.”

“You’re an angel,” he murmurs, almost in a daze.

But you chose the dancer. The words are on the tip of my tongue but I don’t say them.

“No time for flattery, we’re wasting time,” I sigh, “let’s go and find Gigi.”

***

GRAYSON’S POV

We search for four hours straight until all of us are too exhausted to speak. We need to sleep, though we’re all too stubborn to admit it. As a collective we decide half of us are to get some rest whilst the other half stay up two more hours, then we’ll switch. I take the first shift, searching with Jameson. Xander is still inside still attempting decipher the body on the mini security camera or placement of Gigi’s phone and everyone else has gone to sleep.

Jameson and I are on the edge of the island, calling for Gigi with raw throats and pounding heads. I can’t believe I’d lost her. I was meant to protect her, look after her. Things like this weren’t supposed to happen when I was around. I’ve failed as a brother.

“What did she say to you?” Jameson asks snapping me out of my thoughts.

I look up. I knew exactly who ‘she’ was.

“Who?” I reply plainly.

“Don’t play dumb,” he rolls his eyes at me.

Sometimes it was annoying how well my brothers knew me.

“She asked me if I was okay, comforted me about Gigi and helped me pull myself together.” I pause, “she told me that wallowing isn’t what I do.”

“Are you sure she knows you properly?” Jameson raises an eyebrow with a smirk.

I try to crack a smile but can’t.

“I told her I still loved her,” I blurt out.

I don’t know why I say it, the words just come out. Jameson has that effect on me. Lying to him has always been difficult, I feel so transparent in his presence. And I know he’ll be honest, he won’t sugarcoat what he really thinks. Maybe that’s why it’s easier.

His eyes grow to the size of saucepans, “what?”

“I told her I st-“

“I know what you said Gray but are you crazy?” he asks me, looking semi-genuinely concerned.

“I don’t know,” I shrug, “maybe.”

“That was selfish,” he seethes, eyes blazing with fury. Similar to how they looked earlier.

“Selfish?” I furrow my brows, “she deserves to know!”

“No, you needed to get it off of your chest in a last ditch attempt to get her back,” he snaps.

I’m not fighting the truth this time. He’s hit the nail on the head. My silence unfortunately speaks volumes and my brother understands.

“So…” he exhales, “what did she say?”

“If I loved her I wouldn’t have kissed Lyra,” I say, her words rubbing through my head again.

“She’s right,” he sighs.

“She always is,” I say, my voice catching slightly.

“I don’t think she’s okay,” Jameson murmurs, “I don’t think Avery does either.”

“It’s all my fault,” I groan, closing my eyes.

I wish I could be taken out of her life, erased forever just so she could be happy. I deserve to hurt, not her. Never her.

“She shouldn’t love me,” I say, the words becoming more real when I say them out loud.

“No one decides who they love, it just happens,” he shrugs at me.

I open my mouth to reply but a familiar ringing cuts me off. My phone vibrates in my pocket. I presume it’s Xander for some sort of update so I answer the way I always do.

“It’s Grayson,” I say sharply.

I hear Jameson mutter something about how weird it was that I answered like that but I choose to kindly ignore him.

“I know,” the voice sings from the other side.

All the oxygen is robbed from my lungs and I struggle to breathe. Every muscle ceases to move and I become a picture frozen in time. It couldn’t be, she wouldn’t call me, it shouldn’t happen.

“Y/n?”

Her name feels foreign to my tongue in that moment, despite the thousands of times I’d uttered it. Jameson gapes.

“Grayson Davenport Hawthorne actually,” she corrects me, her speech a little slurred, “one s, one v and one h.”

“Are you drunk?” I ask bluntly.

“Noooo silly,” she laughs, “I don’t get drunk I’m always fine, perfect actually. That’s what you used to call me, perfect!”

My heart shatters, “you are perfect.”

She giggles, the sound so light and airy and beautiful I want to lock it away and play it on repeat to myself all the time.

“Where are you?” I question.

There’s a few beats of silence before, “I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?” I say, suddenly alarmed. Protection surges through me and all I want to do is run to wherever she is and scoop her up into my arms.

“I’m in a room,” she explains, soundly dazed, out of it.

“Your room?” I prompt her.

“Maybe,” she muses, “there’s all my stuff here but this burning liquid I’m drinking is not mine. It’s kind of hurting my throat.”

“Stay right where you are,” I snap, “I’m going to get someone to come and help you.”

I want the someone to be me. Why can’t the someone be me?

“Help? I don’t need help! I’m fine, always fine. I’m never not fine,” she laughs. I can imagine her tipping her head back with a hand on her stomach.

“I know lo-“ I catch myself again, almost saying love, “I know, but don’t you want a friend to talk to you right now?”

“Yeahhh I do,” she agrees, her words all mushing together into one.

“Good, someone will be right over-“

“Gray can you come?” she murmurs.

I stop. She sounds too vulnerable, too helpless for me to ignore. Her voice is small and cautious. It makes me want to weep.

“Where?” I ask.

“Here…” she trails off, “…with me.”

“Okay,” I blurt out before actually thinking about what I was saying.

“Then bye bye pumpkin pie,” she giggles, “oh my gosh I just rhymed!!”

“Yes you did,” I chuckle, the smile stretched out in my face physically agonising me. She could always make me smile.

I made her cry.

“Are you coming then?” she makes sure, with that soft defenceless voice again.

“On my way now,” I reply, almost as if it’s a reflex.

“Oh good,” she says and I can hear the smile in her voice. With that she hangs up. I shove my phone back in my pocket and meet my brother’s eye.

“She’s drunk,” I explain slowly.

“I heard,” he nods.

“I’m worried she’s going to do something stupid,” I admit with a sigh.

“Go and help her, I’ll carry on looking for Gigi,” Jameson says, as if it’s that simple.

“No I can’t do that,” I shake my head.

“Why not?” he furrows his brows.

“She hates me,” I say quickly, “you go.”

“She asked for you,” he points out, “and I think she’ll notice if I turn up.”

“Maybe she won’t,” I suggest.

“She can’t be that drunk,” he rolls his eyes, then sighs, “look Gray, this might be the last time she ever asks you for help, so go and help her, look after her, then leave.”

“This won’t end well,” I tell him. I can feel it in my chest and in my stomach. If I go there, I’ll lose myself and she won’t be in the right mind to stop me.

“Then don’t go,” he says with a shrug.

I groan, “but she needs someone.”

“You’re arguing with yourself Gray,” Jameson says. And he’s right. The only person who’s stopping me is me. I just don’t want to do the wrong thing.

“It my fault she’s in this situation,” I reply, “it’s my fault she’s on her own, drunk and at risk of doing something stupid.”

“All the more reason for you to go and fix it,” he says.

I stand in silence. That consolidates my answer. To myself and to him.

“Let me know if you get any word of Gigi, I’ll be back soon,” I say, sharply adjusting my suit jacket.

“Bye,” he salutes.

***

I’m quick to make my way to her, the worry sort of takes over and my instinctual protection kicks in. When I get there the door is unlocked, my first indication to how drunk she really is.

“Grayson is that you?” I hear her murmur.

Her voice is vulnerable but the sweet notes are all the same. If I were to hear any voice for the rest of my life I’d want it to be hers. I’d never tire of listening to it. I walk further in the room I see her, the moonlight streaming through the window is the only thing illuminating her figure. Her face is red and there are prominent dark circles underneath her eyes. She looks pale and hollow and there’s something not quite right about her eyes, their usual sparkle dimmed. A catch a glimpse of a glass half empty in her hand.

“How much have you had?” I ask her, cocking my head towards the glass.

“Not that much,” she grins lazily, stumbling over herself in an attempt to make her way towards me.

“You need to get to bed,” I say softly.

All I want to do is scoop her up into my arms and hold her close to my chest, taking in her sweet shampoo. I want to keep her safe, protect her forever but I couldn’t. I wouldn’t let myself. I make a silent promise that I won’t get too close, I won’t touch her because I know once I do I’ll fall in too deep.

“But I’m not even sleepy,” she pouts.

She doesn’t know what she’s doing to me. Those lips are killing me softly.

“Come on,” I murmur gently, gesturing to the bed.

“Nu-uh,” she shakes her head, “you’re going to have to carry me.”

I sigh and weigh up my options before lifting her up into my arms, knowing I shouldn’t be doing this. But I can’t just leave her. She squeals and giggles. An essence of sunshine shining back through the empty void I’d entered.

“Do you feel okay?” I ask her, lowering her down onto the mattress.

“Me? I’m fine!” she smiles, that beautiful smile, “are you okay?”

She tilts her head to the side and a chunk of hair falls over her face.

“I’m fine,” I say, moving it out of the way. It surrounds her like a halo.

“Oh well I know that’s a lie,” she laughs, “I’ve always known that about you though, you’re hurting. On the inside.”

“I am hurting,” I say, caressing her cheek, “but you’re hurting more.”

“I’m not hurting, I’m in the numbing process,” she explains with great enthusiasm.

“Hence the alcohol?” I raise an eyebrow.

“I call it happy juice,” she grins.

“Well no more happy juice tonight,” I explain to her.

“Why not?” she pouts, “it makes me happy.”

“It also destroys your liver,” I say, taking the glass away from her and putting it on the other side of the room.

“Come sit,” she murmurs, patting the bed beside her, “please.”

“I don’t think I should,” I reply. I have to stay strong, I can’t listen to my heart, my brain must have superiority.

“But I want you to,” she whispers.

My brain switches off. I sit beside her and as soon as I’m on the bed, her head falls into my lap, quite literally. It flops down as if she can’t hold it up any longer.

“Can you do that thing, where you massage my head and be all gentle with my hair, I love it when you do that,” she asks me.

When we were together I used to do it all the time subconsciously. If we were watching the television or cuddling. I never realised she loved it so much.

“I’m not sure you want me to,” I say hesitantly. This isn’t fair on her. She’s not in her right mind, she can’t make a decision properly.

“Of course I do!” she exclaims, “that’s why I asked you silly!”

“It’s not a good idea,” I murmur, only saying this because it is right not because it is true, “us being this close.”

“I disagree,” she says cheerily.

“You won’t like it when you sober up,” I warn her. Deep down I know she can’t even comprehend this, I know her mind if fogged over by alcohol and she doesn’t know what she’s really doing. But it doesn’t make me leave.

“I am sober-ish,” she says, “that’s good enough.”

“You are anything but sober,” I chuckle shaking my head.

“Head massage please,” she says, readjusting her head in my lap.

Slowly I comb the hair out of her face and eyes. My fingertips slide gently through her silky hair. The silence is torturing. Seconds morph into minutes until if feels like it’s been hours. I’m being strangled by no sound, suffocated by a blanket of blankness. To distract myself I weave my hands in and out in a rhythmic pattern.

“Why did you choose her?” a small voice asks making me jump. We’d been sat in silence for so long I’d forgotten that we could speak. My hands stop moving suddenly as I register the question.

“What?”

“Is it because she was prettier? Better personality? Funnier? Nicer? Happier?” she lists.

“I didn’t choose her,” I shake my head in defiance.

“But you kissed her,” she says, yet again. The words sting every time they come out of her mouth.

“That was a mistake,” I explain resting my heavy head back until it hit the headboard.

“So were all of our kisses a mistake too?” she asks, rolling onto her back so her eyes are gazing up into mine.

“None of them were,” I murmur in reply, the colour of them so mesmerising it was distracting.

“Then I don’t understand,” her eyebrows pinch together in confusion.

“You don’t need to,” I whisper running my fingertip over her knuckles.

She sighs and sadness ripples over her face. I hate seeing her with that expression on her face. It rips me apart.

“My chest hurts,” she moans softly.

“Where?” I ask urgently, running through every illness and condition that could possibly cause chest pains.

“Here,” she says pointing to her heart, “you broke it.”

My eyes grow glossy even though I didn’t ask them to. She lets me take my hand and place it on top of hers to feel the steady beat in her chest.

“I didn’t mean to,” I barely choke out.

“But you did and it can’t be mended, pain like this there aren’t any pills for,” she tells me.

“I’m sorry.”

“You said that before,” she smiles sadly.

“It’s true,” I whisper.

“Can you fix me?” she says quietly, “because I can’t fix me.”

My heart shatters into a million pieces, fragmenting into shards of pulsating muscle.

“Of course you can fix you,” I tell her.

“No I can’t,” she says, beginning to tear up, “look at me, this is the real me and she’s ugly.”

“This isn’t the real you and she is most certainly not ugly,” I assure her.

She giggles with tears rolling down her rosy cheeks. Beautiful even in tears.

“What?” I ask her.

“You use big words like ‘certainly’, it makes you sound very posh,” she chuckles to herself.

“I’m not that posh,” I reply.

She scoffs, “have you seen your house?!”

“Maybe I’m a bit posh then.”

“You know how ealierrr,” she slurs, “how you and me were talkingggg.”

“You might not want to continue that sentence lo-“ I stop myself from saying love. She’s not my love. She’s not mine to love.

“No,” she shakes her head, “no I do want to carry on actually…” she giggles bringing ther fingertip to my nose, “boop!”

“Okay,” I say softly, taking her hand into mine, away from my nose or any other poke-able part of my face.

“You said you still love me,” she says.

The beating in my chest begins to slow, as does my breathing, “I did.”

“And I still love you too.”

I can’t speak.

“But I can’t say it out loud, because then I’m an idiot for loving someone who cut me deeper than any weapon could ever cut me. And I tried to drink it all away, believe me I tried, but then halfway through my fifth glass I kind of realised it wasn’t working. And then I realised why. It’s because I still fucking love you, how depressing is that? You murdered my heart and yet it can’t stop beating your name. I mean it’s so on brand for me because my whole life people have told me that I always love the wrong too hard, that I get in too deep to come back out of and I’m just proving them all right,” she laughs and sobs at the same time, “I’m so stupid, so horribly ironically stupid.”

“You’re not stupid,” I snap.

“You’re only saying that because you still love me,” she groans, rolling her eyes.

“I would say it regardless, any competent person can see that,” I say.

“But you still love me?” she murmurs, her for eyes forcing the truth from my lips.

“I still love you,” I say.

I knew something stupid like this would happen but I’m not stopping it now.

“How? How can you still love me when you love her?” she asks, agony in her tone.

“I don’t,” I tell her sharply,

She furrows her brows, “you don’t love Lyra?”

“No,” I shakes my head.

“But you kissed her,” she says, tracing a fingertip across my bottom lips.

I shy away from her tentative touch, “I did but that was the worst mistake of my life.”

“Why?” she laughs.

“Because I’m losing you because of it,” I admit. She won’t remember tomorrow morning, she won’t remember what she said or why she said it. This moment will be lost in time and I’ll be the only one left to remember it.

“You’re just losing the outside me, I have a feeling I’ll always love you,” she replies.

“You don’t know what you’re saying,” I shake my head, “you’re drunk, you need to sleep.”

I need to stop this. I’m being selfish again. She’s pouring her heart out to me because she can’t control her mouth. It’s not fair and I won’t let her do it anymore.

“No I do know what I’m saying,” she insist, sitting up, “you don’t understand what you do to me and I wish I wasn’t so in love with you because maybe I’d be able to walk away more easily but I can’t, because this love isn’t just love. It’s something more for me.”

I’m in shock. A physical state of shock. It was more to me too…. I know I must go quickly before this escalates. It’s already gone far too far. Enough is enough.

“Look sweeth-“ I stop myself, “y/n, I need to leave.”

I stand up quickly and attempt to make a b-line for the door.

“No!” she yelled, yanking be back down. Her fingers clawing at my arm, like a scared animal, “please Gray, stay with me.”

“I can’t,” I shake my head, my face pinching in pain.

“You have to,” she begs, tugging at my arm.

I sigh, “you’ll be mad at me tomorrow if I stay tonight.”

“No I won’t silly,” she says, “please I need someone to cuddle.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” I tell her. As much as I want her in my arms again, to feel her skin against mind and listen to her sweet breathing as she sleeps I can’t. I can’t do it to her, I won’t.

“Well I do,” she says, pushing me down firmly.

Slowly she crawls onto me and curls up against my chest. If the last twelve hours had never happened this would be totally normal and completely natural. Instead I carrying the heaviest stone of guilt I’ve ever lifted. I can’t leave her, but I can’t stay either.

“You won’t like this in the morning,” I tell her, hoping she might find to her senses.

“Well I like it now,” she yawns, cozying further into me.

“That’s because you’re drunk,” I explain, resting my cheek on top of her head. I smell her sweet shampoo and deja vu washes over me like a tidal wave. I’m swept under

“Grayson?” she whispers gently.

“Yes?”

“Promise you’ll just stay for tonight, then you can leave me for the dancer again tomorrow,” she says.

The bones in my chest ache and the pump that supplies me with blood crushed between fate’s cruel fingers.

“I’m not leaving you angel,” I tell her firmly, “not ever again.”

“I love you,” she mumbles, the words muffling against my chest.

“I love you too,” I whisper, planting a kiss onto the top of her head.

***

heyyyy guysss. so you’ve probably noticed this is the first fic I’ve posted in a bit of a while. It’s bc of exams and stuff and also this fic was so long. I got a little bit carried away mid way through but oh well… I hope you guys enjoyeddd 💖💖

am I dancer? Yes. The last time I did ballet? when I was about nine years old…. so apologies to any actual ballet dancers who are reading lyra’s routine and are thinking what in the world…

ANYWAYS I love love loved writing this and I know different POVs sometimes are a bit controversial but I felt like it was necessary here and thanks for readinggg 🤍🤍

also no one asked but I’m going tell you guys anyway, Lyra’s dance is based off of a song called girl with one eye by florence and the machine (omg it’s such a good song)

I wonder if any of you worked out my little clue 🤭🤭

hint: weiv fo tniop s’aryl

TIG masterlist

[ur-local-anti-hero]

Speak now (Marauders' version) Masterlist

Hi! this is the first time I'm posting in the Marauders fandom, and as my formal application I decided to write a series of different one-shots and drabbles based on Speak now :)

Therefore I present to you: Speak now (Marauders' version), in which each song has its own piece of writing for a diffent marauders era character.

Here is the masterlist, I'll be uploading it weekly, (at least once a week). First piece of writing will be up tomorrow.

Some clarifications: reader is fem! unless stated differently. English is not my first lenguage, so some mistakes are bound to happen, if you spot any don't hesitate to politely reach out.

If you want to be added to the taglist send me a message or ask!

Mine - Remus x reader

Remus swears he's never been more in love. "Flash forwards and we're takin' on the word together, and there's a drawer of my thing at your place" "You are the best thing, That's ever been mine" Domestic fluff

Sparks fly - Sirius x Pure blood Slytherin!reader + What happened after.

Dating a Black was not the problem, the problem was that is Sirius, a known bloodtraitor. “I run my fingers through your hair and watch the lights go wild. Just keep on keeping your eyes on me, it's just wrong enough to make it feel right” Hurt/comfort

Back to december - Remus x reader

Remus feels like he will regret that night the rest of his life, the marauders convince him to do something about it. “So this is me swallowing my pride standing in front of you, Saying I'm sorry for that night" It turns out freedom ain't nothing but missing you. Wishing I'd realized what I had when you were mine” Hurt comfort, second chance romance

Speak now - James x Malfoy!reader

If the marauders are against something, its agaisnt pureblood families ideologies. Sometimes that implies to wreak havoc on a white veil occasion. “So don't say yes, run away now, I'll meet you when you're out of the church at the back door. Don't wait, or say a single vow, You need to hear me out” Hurt/comfort, Fluff, arranged marriage

Maybe you should have listened to your best friend's warning about Regulus, you didn't. Now you just have to deal with the consequences. “Maybe it's you and your sick need To give love then take it away. And you'll add my name to your long list of traitors, Who don't understand" "And I'll look back and regret. I ignored when they said, "Run as fast as you can" Angst

Dear John - Regulus x reader

Mean - Lily x reader

You had some words you'd like to say to Snape after he insulted the kindest girl you've ever met "All you are is mean. And a liar, and pathetic, and alone in life" Hurt/comfort

The story of us - Sirius x reader

Sometimes your relationship with Sirius looked like a contest of who could be more prideful, but this time it's gone too far and all you want is to have him back. "This is looking like a contest, of who can act like they care less. But I liked it more when you were on my side, the battle's in your hands now." Angst, fluff

Never grow up - Wolfstar x daughther!reader (No voldy au)

Remus and Sirius watch their daughter grow up and wish she could stay as their little girl forever. “Don't you ever grow up, it could stay this simple. I won't let nobody hurt you, won't let no one break your heart. And no one will desert you, Just try to never grow up, never grow up”  Fluff

Enchanted - Remus x reader (Soulmate au)

As soon as you saw him walking through the door you knew you'd love him forever. His first words only verified it. Your eyes whispered, "Have we met?". Across the room, your silhouette, Starts to make its way to me The playful conversation starts, Counter all your quick remarks Like passing notes in secrecy. And it was enchanting to meet you” Fluff

Better than revenge - James Potter x reader

Maybe fake dating your ex's best friend wasn't the best way of getting revenge "The story starts when it was hot and it was summer, and I had it all, I had him right there where I wanted him She came along, got him alone, and let's hear the applause She took him faster than you can say"Sabotage"" Fake dating

Innocent - Regulus x reader

After he realized what his parents have done Regulus can't help but breakdown, good thing you are there for him. “Did some things you can't speak of, But at night you live it all again. You wouldn't be shattered on the floor now, If only you had seen what you know now then" Hurt/comfort

Haunted - Remus x reader

Remus' worlds shifts entirely when his worst nightmare becomes true and he isn't sure if he is ever going to be able to look at you again when he is sure he has destroyed your life. “Something's gone terribly wrong, You're all I wanted.Come on, come on, don't leave me like this, I thought I had you figured out Can't breathe whenever you're gone, Can't turn back now, I'm haunted” angst hurt/comfort

Last Kiss - Sirius x reader

Breaking up with sirius was the hardest thing you've ever done. You can't help but miss the way his lips felt against yours. "I love how you walk with your hands in your pockets. How you'd kiss me when I was in the middle of saying something, There's not a day I don't miss those rude interruptions”  Angst

Long live - poly!Marauders x reader (Band!Au)

All your hard work as a band has led you and the boys to this moment, nominated as the best new artist and attending one of the most prestigius galas in the music industry. “I passed the pictures around, Of all the years that we stood there, On the sidelines wishing for right now When they gave us our trophies, And we held them up for our town, and The Cynics were outragedScreaming, "This is absurd!"” Fluff

Ours - James x reader (Band!Au)

When people start to comment on James' personality is your job to make sure he knows how much he means to everyone, but specifically how much he means to you. “So don't you worry your pretty, little mind. People throw rocks at things that shine And life makes love look hard, The stakes are high, the water's rough. But this love is ours”  Hurt/comfort

Superman - Remus x reader (Spiderman!Au)

Remus worries that his girlfriend will leave him when she learns the truth. You worry he is too oblivious to realize you already know. "I'll be right here on the ground, When you come back down. Tall, dark and beautiful. He's complicated, he's irrational, But I hope someday he'll take me away, And save the day fluff

From the vault tracks

Electric touch - Sirius x reader (College!Au)

Your friends are tired of telling you that he is going to break your heart. You'd let Sirius gamble with your heart as long as the chance of hapiness is there. “All I know is this could either break my heart or bring it back to life. Got a feelin' your electric touch could fill this ghost town up with life And I want you now, wanna need you forever. In the heat of your electric touch”

When Emma falls in love - James x reader

You navigate what's like to be in love with James 'Cause when Emma falls in love, she's in it for keeps She won't walk away unless she knows she absolutely has to leave” fluff Hurt/comfort

I can see you - Remus x reader

As much as you hated him, you couldn't deny his natural charm and the way he seemed to have a magnetic field around him that made you gravitate towards him, once and once again. “Passed me a note sayin’, "Meet me tonight", Then we kiss and you know I won't ever tell. And I could see you being my addiction, You can see me as a secret mission. Hide away and I will start behaving myself" Rivals to lover

Castles crumbling - Regulus x reader (Royal Au)

You loved him more than anything, you were the best thing that ever happened to him. But your love is impossible and forbidden. When he doesn't have anything left he runs to you, wondering if you'll love him now. “And I feel like my castle's crumbling down And I watch all my bridges burn to the ground And you don't want to know me, I will just let you down You don't wanna know me now” Hurt/comfort, forbidden romace, fluff

Foolish one - Peter x reader

Peter is used to being the second chance, but he can't help but feel betrayed when his bestfriend and crush starts to get closer to Sirius. "Foolish one, Stop checking your mailbox for confessions of love That ain't never gonna come You will learn the hard way instead of just walkin' out" Hurt/comfort

Timeless - James x reader (Soulmate!Au)

James and you are fated to find each other in every life you live. "Cause I believe that we were supposed to find this, So even in a different life You still would've been mine. We would've been timeless" Fluff

[shegatsby]

Love Thy Enemy

Summary; Y/N Atreides had always been a stranger to the entire galaxy, her bed wasn’t her bed, her home wasn’t her home due to the fact that she was sent to accompany and be sisters with Irulan. She had limited access to her actual family and over the years they grew distant. She thought she would be like Reverend Mother, alone, yet powerful, and soon she would realize that there was no need of being alone when a wild creature had his eyes on her for a long time.

A/N; Hi my little doves, I've missed you, I'm in love with my work lol I really enjoy writing this series so don't forget to share your thoughts with me. Don't worry, there will be SMUT in the future chapters. Sorry for any typos English isn't my first language.

TAG LIST IS OPEN! (Text me if i forgot to tag you little doves 🕊️ ♥️)

Warnings; Violence. Angst. Enemies to lovers. Female Bene Gesserit Reader x Feyd-Rautha,reader is reffered to as she/her.

Words; 2.232K

Chapter Four- ‘’Misery Begins’’

Giedi Prime, House Harkonenn

The air felt heavy in her lungs, the planet was orbiting a black sun, thus, everything outside looked black and white, no wonder these people were raised like animals, planet’s harsh conditions shaped their characteristics. The second she stepped out of the ship she hated every single thing but kept a firm stance.

Now she was settling in the guest quarters, the wedding was to be in 7 days and thankfully Harkonnen traditions says that they, under any circumstance, cannot stay in the same room.

Y/N had few of her personal maids and the rest was Harkonnen servants, all dressed in black with bald heads and pale, thin figures. Y/N noticed the looks she got from them, an outsider…

Inside the fortress one could see colors yet Harkonenns choose to keep it simple, her chambers consisted of a bedroom,  a small living room, and bathroom. Without a word she moved to the velvet armchair which was facing outside, she didn’t want to engage in any conversation with anyone, ‘’Prepare my bath.’’ She ordered without looking at any of them and then moved to the desk in her bedroom to write a letter to her family saying that she landed on the planet safely and everything was fine of course she knew that every letter she would sent was going to be read by Feyd-Rautha’s most trusted politicians, maybe even by himself so she kept the letter short. ‘’Send this to my family.’’ She gave the metal, thin device which was the letter to a servant, ‘’Yes my Lady.’’

After her bath which consisted of warm water and bath oils she brought from home, she smelled fresh and felt better. She was on her desk reading when her door was knocked, ‘’Yes?’’

A servant girl entered, she looked sickly pale and thin, her eyes on the floor, her hands interlaced on her thin stomach, ‘’Na-Baron wishes to dine with you my Lady.’’ It wasn’t a wish, it was an order. ‘’The trip have made me exhausted, please tell Na-Baron that I desire to rest.’’

She noticed the girl’s change of body language, her eyes rose to look at her ladyship pleadingly.  Y/N kindly smiled at the girl, oblivious to what was going to happen, she dismissed the servant girl.

The black sun of Giedi Prime shone bright just like the day before, Y/N decided to do some reading, learn more about the planet’s ecosystem. She had a light breakfast, the air still stingy in her lungs, she didn’t have much appetite.

Y/N Atreides was on her desk, taking notes and reading and her door knocked, ‘’Come in.’’ she was focused on the old books, ‘’My Lady.’’

‘’Yes?’’ she turned to face a man, he was a guard in his dark uniform. ‘’Na-Baron has a gift for you. He insists that you should open it after I am dismissed.’’ A strange request but what wasn’t strange about him anyways?!

Y/N couldn’t read the guard’s expression, his face was a blank slate, however he look more pale than usual skin color, was he ill? ‘’Thank you, place the box on the floor and you may be dismissed.’’ He did what he was told. She stood up and approached to the metal box, there was a strong smell of iron coming from it, it appeared there was no lock, no writings. Just in case, she placed the portable force field on her hand, activated it and tested it, working just fine.

Her hand went to open the metal box and her first reaction was to scream in terror, and her second reaction was to run to her bathroom and throw up her breakfast, shaking uncontrollably, on her knees like a wild animal.

Y/N Atreides didn’t know how many minutes or decades she had spent in that position, finally one of her old maids came for her rescue. ‘’My Lady…’’ she was an old woman with white hair and motherly touch, ‘’It’s okay now..’’ she was rubbing Y/N’s back gently and whispering kind words.  ‘’Is it-‘’ she sobbed, ‘’is it gone?’’

‘’I took care of it my Lady.’’ She helped Y/N stand up and leave the bathroom. The metal box which had the servant girl’s head was gone and yet she could feel her eyes watching her every move. She threw the shield on her hand and marched out of her chambers. There was a solider guarding her chambers, ‘’Where is Na-Baron?’’ she asked trying to control her tone. ‘’He has a meeting with Baron Vladimir and Glossu Rabban.’’

‘’Take me to him.’’ She said, could feel the anger on her chest, so hefty. ‘’But my Lady-‘’

‘’Take me to him.’’ She used the voice on him, the guard, without a word started to guide her to the meeting room. The corridors of the fortress were mostly black, some grey and white here and there, there were guards on watch duties, servants cleaning or carrying stuff. It was so different than the environment she grew up in, in Caladan or Emperor’s planet was vivid and thriving, here it was just… lifeless. She cursed her fate.

There were two guards on the doors of the meeting room, ‘’Open.’’ She used the voice again and the doors were opened slowly, Baron Vladimir was sitting on a metal chair which was placed on marble steps, towering over Glossu Rabban and Feyd-Rautha who were standing and looking up at him, listening to him as if their lives depend on it.. well.. they weren’t wrong. Baron was surprised to see her. ‘’Lady Y/N!’’ he announced which made the boys look at her direction but she refused to look at them, her focus was on Baron. ‘’What a lovely surprise, I hope you quarters to your liking.’’ Y/N bowed in courtesy, ‘’Thank you my Baron, you are the most generous.’’ She had to control her anger and she was doing a good job, keeping things formal. She had to be respectful to the family otherwise her position let alone her life would be at stake, she remembered Feyd’s words; ‘’Try to humiliate me again and see what happens, little dove.’’ The room was barren with only a long marble table and chairs, the curtains were closed and white glowglobes lighting the room, no carpets, no ornaments. ‘’What do we owe the pleasure of your visit?’’ he asked, she could see he was trying to understand her moves. ‘’I must speak with Na-Baron. It is urgent.’’ Finally she turned to face him, even though he was standing far away she could see his body reacting to her words, he was alert and an animalistic shine on his eyes. ‘’Feyd, please escort your wife-to-be to a more secluded area and discuss.’’ His uncle said and Feyd bowed to him quickly, ‘’Yes uncle.’’ And then he turned to her, marching like a soldier, he held her arm and escorted her out of the room, his grip was tight, he made her follow him. Since there were guards and servants everywhere she didn’t dare to utter a word.

Y/N had no idea where they were going, the fortress was a maze and every corridor looked similar. They reached a door, Feyd dismissed the guards and opened the heavy black door. Quite frankly he threw her inside, before she got a chance to look around she spit her venom. ‘’What is wrong with you?!’’ Feyd looked puzzled, ‘’Did you really beheaded that girl just because I refused to dine with you?!’’ she could feel her whole body shake in anger, being in his presence disturbed her equilibrium. ‘’Oh, that.’’ He remembered, his behavior made it worse for her. ‘’Yes, that!’’ He didn’t close the space between them, his hands behind his back. ‘’Did I upset you, little dove?’’ was he mocking her? ‘’Upset?!’’ Y/N couldn’t believe her ears, what happened to that sweet boy she met years ago?

He started to move towards her like a predator, he was much taller than her, towering above her she had to look up to meet his icy blue orbits. Years had turned him into a killing machine, what a shame. She hoped to see remorse in those beautiful eyes but found nothing. Back of his hand found her heated cheek, touching ever so gently, it made one wonder how could he behead an innocent girl and then touch his wife-to-be like a tender lover. ‘’This is what happens when you reject my orders.’’ His voice calm and collective. ‘’I hate you!’’ and she pushed his chest but had no impact so she moved away from his aura. That’s when she noticed that they were in his quarters of the fortress, she remembered the fact that he dismissed the guards, no one to help her if things were to took a turn. ‘’You hate me?’’ he asked, still calm. ‘’What else… do you also fear me?’’

‘’No.’’ she simply answered. His none existent eyebrows rose, his pupils dilated ever so slightly, she noticed how still he was, like a statue. His nostrils flared with a passion she could not placed.

‘’No? So you don’t fear me.’’ He repeated back, folding his arms, he wasn’t angry, only curious. ‘’Not at all?’’

‘’You aren’t allowed to hurt me.’’ Her voice higher than his.

‘’Not allowed?’’ he tilted his head, his voice low and husky, ‘’and how can you be so certain of such?’’ a slight smile pulled at his plump lips, ‘’What makes you so confident in that?’’ he knew his own intentions but he was curios of what went on within her pretty head. There was a certain aura about Y/N that intrigued Feyd, he was watching, listening and studying her.

‘’Let me go back to my home.’’ She whispered, even she didn’t believe herself but that was her intention, to go back and ride her horse, walk in the lush gardens, laugh with her other Bene Gesserit friends. ‘’You assume you have the final word where you go.’’ He chuckled, his voice lower than before. ‘’I decide where you go.’’ His gaze grew sharp like an animal, ‘’I decide what you do. And what I decide..’’ Feyd laughed again, ‘’You’re going to obey.’’

‘’I had a life before you took me, I had a family and friends and, and..’’ she could feel her eyes getting blurry, ‘’And?’’ he insisted, ‘’I had a partner, a lover, and you scared him away!’’ she was practically yelling at this point, female rage taking over her body. ‘’A lover? Don’t make me laugh little girl. If he was so in love with you-‘’ he opened his arms looking around, ‘’where is he? Why isn’t he here defending your honor and saving you from me?!’’ with the mention of Y/N’a former partner Pyramus, Feyd-Rautha wasn’t so calm anymore, he could feel rage rising in his body.  

‘’Because of you! You scared him and he ran! Otherwise he would be here-‘’

‘’Don’t be that stupid Y/N! He wasn’t so scared when I offered him a deal.’’

And with that Y/N was confused, ‘’What deal?’’

Feyd-Rautha was pacing in the room in anger, he couldn’t believe she was still ‘’in love’’ with that low life, waste of space. ‘’I offered him a supply of spice which will outlive him and his children and his children’s children. A generation wealth so to speak.’’

Y/N was shaking her head in rejection, her gaze focused on the floor, ‘’No, no,’’ she whispered, not believing what Feyd was suggesting. ‘’Yes Y/N! Your lover didn’t hesitate a second and took the deal.’’

‘’Then why did he try to escape with me?!’’ she yelled in pain, her heart was torn into pieces, ‘’I wanted you to see how pathetic he was and I staged it.’’ Feyd’s chest heaving with anger and he was so passionate to prove her he was right, he turned to go to the next room and brought back a metal device, he opened it, ‘’Here, he signed the deal.’’ She took it and saw the spice deal written on it, millions of gallons.. and Pyramus’ signature at the bottom…

Feyd grabbed the metal device and threw it on the couch near him, ‘’Not going to lie, you weren’t cheap.’’ And she slapped him.

Feyd-Rautha was slapped by a woman for the first time in his life, he froze for a second, shocked to see how bold she could be. He was even turned on a bit. With both of his hands he grabbed her delicate shoulders tightly, he was much stronger than her. ‘’LET GO OF ME-‘’

Feyd-Rautha didn’t care what she wanted, ‘’I might hurt you physically Y/N, but I would never do that to you. I would never sell what’s mine for something else. Do you hear me?!’’ his voice was rough and irritated her ears, her body was in shock and her shoulders hurting her. ‘’I would never leave what’s mine behind and walk away, I am a man, see me as a man not that little boy you met years ago!’’

Was that a love confession, no it couldn’t be.. someone like Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen couldn’t possibly feel something so pure and innocent, or was it just being possessive and showing her that her life was in his hands till death do them apart. The stress overcame her body, her vision was getting darker and the last thing she saw was Feyd’s pretty eyes.

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Thank you for reading. :)

[m1ckeyb3rry]

Hello,

I have a writing prompt for Michael Kaiser (Blue Lock): Kaiser gets into a pr relationship with an actress and they eventually bond and fall in love.

I think he would have a hard time because of his feelings of worthlessness, but this guy has so much potential, I swear, I love him so much.

If you want to go for a "dark side of Hollywood" type of concept, imagine: a young girl who was raised under the pressure of becoming "the perfect star" and surrounded by the chaos of the industry (Idk, the movie Black Swan comes to mind, or the typical representation of Marilyn's life, something along the lines). I think he could bond with someone who is in a similar mind space as him, but who externalizes it differently, remaining kind and such. He definitely needs someone who is empathetic and can see through his insecurities, and I really like the concept of two characters who are hurt helping each other heal.

If you don't want that much drama, scratch the idea of a hurt oc. Think about someone with an "entrepreneur" mindset: someone ambitious, confident, and level headed, who (again) is empathetic and would call him out and help him grow (I'm thinking about sae, but emotionally competent lol).

You don't really have to go for any of this though, it's just meant to get you inspired to write something for my boy Kaiser. I hope it's not too much. Also, there's no rush at all!!

Thank you in advance. I hope you have a good day 🩷

── THE INSTRUMENT

Synopsis: Michael Kaiser is like a rose, and you are the songbird he cannot bear to lose.

Event Masterlist

Pairing: Kaiser x Reader

Chapter Word Count: 6.8k

Content Warnings: fake dating trope, implied/referenced abuse, call me tabito karasu the way i assassinate kaiser’s character in this, open ending, relationship dynamics many would consider…interesting…

A/N: hiiii anon ty for requesting!! i hope that i wrote kaiser in a somewhat satisfactory way 😫 this is my first time writing for him so idk if i got him right 😓 also i have NO idea why but for some reason i decided to write this in the present tense which i literally have never done?? so if it sounds off that’s why 💔 i’m so sorry i really don’t know what possessed me SKDJFSHKL

Additional: part of my 500 follower event! see the event description and rules to make a request of your own.

It’s hot and like a bruise, your first phone call with Michael Kaiser. He’s that brand of aggravating and just shy of painful to speak with; morbidly, you wish for the conversation to manifest as some kind of actual injury, perhaps on your upper arm, so you can poke at it until it is tender and blooming. But of course, that sort of thing isn’t possible, so you amuse yourself by tapping your fingers against the counter and considering what you might eat for dinner.

“Did you hear me?” he snaps when you do not respond to his proposition immediately. He speaks with an accent, clipped and short, lending severity to his words even when he’s saying nothing of note. “Miss L/N. It’s in both of our best interests to cooperate.”

He’s not wrong about this. It’s the only reason you’ve stayed on the call for as long as you have — it’s in your best interest. It’s the same for him, too, and the thought almost makes you laugh, because who would’ve expected your interests and his to ever align?

“Of course I heard you,” you say, twisting open your bottle of water, taking a sip and idly wondering if he can hear an accent when you speak, too. It’s difficult for you to notice your own, but maybe to him, you sound as odd as he does to you. “You should learn patience, Mr. Kaiser. Such a heavy request you’re making of me, and yet you demand my answer immediately?”

He huffs. “It’s not something you need to dwell on.”

“It might be,” you say, though it’s not at all. Your mind was made up the moment he asked; everything after that has been nothing more than a ploy to irritate him. You’re good at that, at irritating people. Michael Kaiser is not an exception.

“Miss L/N,” he says again, something like a darker version of pleading creeping into his tone. “Your answer. Now.”

“Well, you already knew before you asked, didn’t you? Naturally, I’ll do it,” you say. “It’s a mutually beneficial partnership. Though I expect you to really try your best, Mr. Kaiser, or else it’ll all be for naught.”

“I could say the same to you,” he says.

“Between the two of us, who is the actress?” you say, chuckling when he is silent. “I am sure that I will be convincing. It’s you who I worry for. Hiding your true feelings has never been one of your strengths, has it? Or you wouldn’t be speaking to me at all.”

“Shut up,” he says after a moment has passed. “I doubt your acting skills are anything to brag about.”

“I know you’ve watched my movies,” you say, and when he doesn’t refute this, you beam. “Have you really?”

“Only because someone I know suggested I should,” he says. “If I want to love you, then I have to understand you. That’s what he told me.”

“And what did you think?” you say.

“I thought that I don’t plan to love you at all, and then I told him as much,” he says, the force of his eye roll transmitting even over the phone. You’re not sure if he’s acting deliberately obtuse or if he really thinks you care about this inane conversation he’s describing, but either way you sigh, because his answer is so telling of his personality.

“I was talking about my movies,” you say.

“I don’t prefer the genre,” he says, and then he’s hanging up with a promise to call you later, if he is so inclined. He doesn’t tell you not to call him, but you feel like he implies it, so you vow to set your phone aside and pay him no mind for the rest of your evening.

I’m dating Michael Kaiser, you type in the body of your email to your manager, who you are certain will be so delighted by this news that he will combust spontaneously upon hearing it. You want to type it again, this unbelievable turn of events, so you do. I’m dating Michael Kaiser. Then you delete the repetition, reverting it once again into a formal email, instead of a giddy celebration over an event which should not prompt giddiness or anything resembling it.

It’s a relationship meant to salvage his ruined reputation and boost your career in one fell swoop, and so it’s a relationship that can only work if it’s formed between you two in particular. He, who is a foul-mouthed soccer prodigy, known better for his crass treatment of others than any actual skills he may possess, and you, a rising star who will do anything to be famous and are already of a serviceable status to be seen with him.

Despite your burst of excitement, the prospect of dating Michael Kaiser isn’t actually a thrilling one. The rumors of his horrid demeanor aren’t rumors, and you know this well, albeit through secondhand accounts. Cruelty is the way that he operates, his so-to-speak basal mode, and because it is so intrinsic to his being, you do not fancy that he will deviate from that malicious rule, even for you.

But you are accustomed to a false existence. Donning a facade and masquerading as a person who you are not is the only thing you are good at, are good for, and this time is no different than every other. You will put on the mask of a woman who is loved by Michael Kaiser, who has tamed that mad emperor and turned him into her sweet pet, and you will once again fool the world into believing you.  

He’s doing an interview today. You’re only aware because he texts you right before and tells you to turn on the TV to a channel you’d never choose if you had a say in the matter. But you’re intrigued and he refuses to explain further, so you do as he commands and find yourself watching as he reclines back in a leather armchair and smirks at the host, who’s clearly nervous.

She’s pretty, her hands shaking but her expression serious. You’ve never seen her before, which means she’s new. Of course, that’s not a surprise; only someone very inexperienced or very stupid would invite Michael Kaiser to their show, and she does not seem to be particularly stupid, so her affliction is the first. 

“Um, Mr. Kaiser, it’s a pleasure to have you with us,” she says, like she cannot quite believe that he is actually there, or like she is afraid of what he might take offense at, or some combination of the two.

“It’s a pleasure to be here,” he says, all roguish and self-assured, which is such a contrast to his typically surly demeanor that you have to commend the girl for keeping her composure.

They speak at length about his soccer career, throwing around words you do not understand and do not care to. It’s so boring you almost power down the television and tell him you think as much, but then the girl clears her throat, her face turning a comical shade of red as her fists clench the paper she’s been reading off of.

“This last question is from our viewers, but it’s personal, so if you don’t want to answer, then it’s not a problem,” she says, squirming in her chair, probably hoping he does not humiliate her. It will be bad for her career if he does, even if by now everyone knows what kind of person he is.

“Go on, then. I feel like we’ve built a rapport here, so I don’t mind it as much if it’s from you,” he says. It’s a perfectly packaged sentiment. His PR team must have tortured him into this new persona. You try to imagine it — it’s definitely a humorous thought, picturing the Bastard München representative slamming Michael Kaiser’s face into a bowl of water for every snarky comment he makes. Unrealistic, though. They would never risk compromising his performance like that.

“There’s rumors that you’re seeing Y/N L/N, the actress. A source who claims to be close to you both mentioned it online, and people can’t stop talking about the possibility. Neither you nor Miss L/N have addressed it, though, and our viewers were hoping you might…?” She cringes back, already preparing for one of his tirades, but he only smiles genially and winks at the camera. You remind yourself to tell him later that he’s laying it on too thick, even if you are enjoying this new character that he’s playing up for the sake of it.

“Y/N L/N? I’m shocked that you think I’m handsome enough to date someone like her,” he says. Your phone buzzes — it’s your manager, crowing about how impressed he is with your ‘boyfriend’ and his presence of mind. 

“So it’s a no?” the interviewer says, almost hopefully. He’s mysterious when he shrugs, mysterious and more than a little coy, as if she’s flattering him and he’s too shy to accept the praise.

“If Miss L/N ever deems me to be worthy of her, then it’s a yes in a heartbeat,” he says. It’s an excellent setup for his redemption, and the girl plays into it so beautifully that you tell your manager to send her flowers or some chocolate at the earliest possible opportunity.

“I think that you’ve shown yourself to be an excellent candidate today,” she says.

“Have I? I’ve really been trying to prove myself,” he says. Dreamy sighs ripple through the live studio audience. Someone whistles. It’s all very romantic and fairy-tale-esque, although he is far from being any kind of prince.

“You’re doing great,” the girl assures him. “I’m sure that, if Miss L/N is watching, she’ll have no choice but to be smitten.”

“If she’s watching? Oh, the thought didn’t even cross my mind,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck. You shouldn’t have doubted him and his audacity; he’s fallen into the role as if he were born to play it. “How embarrassing. I’ve just confessed to her on live television without even knowing if she’s interested…”

He’s actually blushing. You are doubly awed — he’s a natural-born talent. It’s a shame that he’s devoted to soccer; he could make it out like a bandit in the acting industry.

“No, no, don’t be embarrassed. How could she ever reject someone like you?” she assures him. How, indeed! At the moment, you are so pleased that you could kiss him. He’s better than any co-star you’ve ever had to work with, in that he is making your job exponentially easier instead of exponentially more difficult.

“If she really is watching, then I can only pray she heard you say that part,” he says, waving in greeting, presumably at you. “Hello, Miss L/N. I really admire you, so if you find me at all agreeable, then I would quite like it if you would say yes to the date I’m going to ask you on.”

He’s made the world swoon and your social media mentions triple. People are begging you to say yes, to give him a chance, to see how he has changed. They want to live through you, and you will let them.

When he calls you, you tell him you were thrilled by his performance. This causes him to shoot back that he finds you insufferable and condescending, to which you say that it’s what makes you and him such a perfect pair. Then you recite an address, and he asks you what you’re going on about. You answer that it is the place where you will have your first date, and then you hang up before he can respond, just so that you can deny him the chance to do it to you first. 

Cameras flash in your faces as you enter the restaurant your manager has booked a reservation at. Michael Kaiser’s arm is wrapped around your waist, and it’s nauseatingly domestic, the kind of scene that would be the cover for one of those coming-of-age movies your agent loves booking for you. You wait for the frantic sound of camera shutters to slow, and then you tug on his sleeve.

“What is it?” he says. It’s quiet enough that no one else can hear, which is why it’s devoid of any warmth, but you are unruffled.

“Your tie,” you say. “It’s not crooked, but we will pretend that it is, and I’ll fix it so that there is something sweet to accompany the tabloid articles that will come out tomorrow.”

Your hands reach for his neck, and he does something you do not comprehend — flinching back, he shakes his head. When he realizes he’s done this, he grits his teeth, like the anger can make up for the temporary weakness. You do not press the issue, merely furrowing your brow and gazing up at him, doing your best to ensure that your eyes remain soft, so that the exchange is not misinterpreted by the parasites around you.

“No,” he says. “Do something else, but leave my tie alone.”

“Alright,” you say. It’s not sensible for you to argue, and anyways it doesn’t matter much what you are doing, as long as you are doing something. Humming to yourself, you adjust the lapels of his jacket. The cameras go off again. You pretend like you do not notice, like the world consists of only you two, and then you interlace your fingers with his, allowing him to drag you into the restaurant behind him.

It’s your turn to be interviewed. You’re wearing a dress, your legs crossed at the ankles — it’s demure and practical and prevents anyone from leering at you, so it’s been a habit of yours for quite a while. The interviewer is female, though, which calms you a bit. She’s older, around your mother’s age, and the wrinkles on her forehead remind you that you should call your parents and arrange for them to meet your doting boyfriend.

“Miss L/N, I can’t begin to tell you how excited I am to finally meet you!” the woman says. You think her name may be Anne, but she hasn’t introduced herself to you yet, so you’re not certain.

“You are too kind. If anything, it’s an honor for me to be here,” you say. The audience really likes that, when you are humble and shy and so darling. It’s palatable and easy for them to digest, or that’s what your manager tells you. 

“Tell us about your upcoming projects,” she says after giving you the appropriate amount of praise for your charming personality.

“I’m currently shooting a new romantic comedy, but I’m afraid it’s all very hush-hush, so I can’t say too much about it. I think you all will really enjoy it, though, and I’m looking forward to the day that we can discuss it at length,” you say. 

The conversation goes on like that for a bit, but you know she’s going through the motions because she has to, not because she wants to. There’s only one question she cares to ask, but if she just talks to you about your boyfriend and not your own accomplishments, then she’ll be blasted online as an anti-feminist. You hear quite frequently that this is akin to suicide in the world of marketing, so you can’t blame her.

That doesn’t stop you from having some fun. When she’s exhausted every possible avenue of questioning you about your future plans and past successes, you make as if you’re going to stand up and leave. Panic leaps across her face, and you snicker.

“We’ve spoken at such length about my acting career. You can’t possibly have any more questions about it, hm? You probably know more than my manager does!” Your attitude is balanced out by the joke. The audience laughs. It’s a fine line that you walk, but if you do not have the chance to act sharper every now and again, you believe you will die — internally if not externally — so you take such risks when you can justify them to yourself.

“You’re dating Michael Kaiser now, aren’t you?” she says. It’s a rancid curiosity she hides with a motherly type of concern. You brush off your legs, recross them, and tuck a piece of hair behind your ear.

“I am,” you say. You don’t have to play the games that he did; you both are established now. Official. A bona-fide couple. Anyways, it’s more appealing if you are outright with it.

“How has that been? You’ve really made a difference in that young man’s life, it seems,” she says.

The best way to lie is to tell the truth. “Yes, I suppose I have, but he has made an equal difference in mine. He is as good for me as I am for him; truly, I never understood what it meant when my parents called each other their ‘better halves’ until we met.”

In an hour, there will be thousands of posts online about this. If Y/N and Michael break up, then I don’t believe in love anymore! Maybe soulmates are real! Couple goals! These are the kinds of captions you are anticipating. The two of you will send screenshots to one another and laugh about how gullible the world is, and then you will strategically plan which comments to like and posts to favorite so that your message goes through. That’s the extent of your relationship with him, really, at least when the two of you are alone. The detachedness makes things much easier than they otherwise would be.

“There’s a popular theory going around that the two of you have had a secret wedding already. Is it true? Am I speaking to Mrs. Kaiser at the moment?” she says, eyes glittering like a vulture’s. She’s ready to pounce on any hesitation, any brief indecision that you might show, but you have spent more time in the spotlight than in your own parents’ home, so you don’t even waver.

“Marriage! I think we’re a bit too early in our relationship to be considering such things, and a bit too early in our lives to be rushing into major decisions like that,” you say. “If and when the time comes, you’ll be the first to know, but it won’t be for a while.”

It won’t be at all, actually. This relationship is not going to last for more than another month. Once the buzz surrounding you two dies, you and he will quietly split. It’ll be as if you never met in the first place.

Your phone rings as you’re leaving the studio. The caller ID says that it is Michael Kaiser, and the thought that he was watching your interview in the same way you watched his makes you feel odd.

“Hello?” you say.

“I’m not gonna marry you. Never-fucking-ever. If you’re expecting a ring, then put it out of your mind.”

“I wasn’t,” you say. “How else would you have liked me to answer that question?”

“Fuck if I know.”

Neither of you hang up on the other — you don’t think you can summon the wherewithal to, which is out of character for him but typical for you — though you both also don’t speak any further. He stays on the line while you drive home, breathing softly like he is sleeping, but you are sure that he is not. The point of it is lost on you, but then you drive into a tunnel and the call ends on its own, so it’s moot anyways. 

Your parents are excited to meet Michael Kaiser. They’ve read up on him extensively, watched all his interviews and even his game highlights. Your mother calls you the night before just so she can gush to you about how handsome he is, how you’ve really done well for yourself this time around. Her approval is nice to have, though superfluous, like a luxury soap or perfume. 

Your father is the one who suggests you all go golfing. You don’t know how to play, and neither does your mother, but you recognize it’s his attempt at connecting with who he thinks is your boyfriend, so you accept. You’re not sure if Michael Kaiser knows how to play golf, or really anything besides soccer, but he is game enough to come that you suppose he must.

It’s warm out, the sun beating down on your father’s brow as he lines up the ball with his club. Michael Kaiser stands on his left, and you think he’s somehow beautiful in this lighting. Not beautiful how your many attractive coworkers are, but in a manner which is distinctly him and therefore utterly irreproducible. His body is lean and graceful, his hair shaggy and gold, though he’s dyed the tips blue in what you’re sure is a statement. The shade matches his eyes, and also the inked roses on his neck. You have long ago come to the conclusion that the flowers are also a part of that same statement, but you have yet to discover what that statement might be. 

“He’s an improvement from that last boyfriend of yours,” your mother says, leaning back so that she can pour the last few drops of soda from her empty can into her throat. You and her are sitting together in the golf cart, seeking refuge in the shade of its plastic roof, sharing the drinks that your father had bought for himself and forgotten about the instant he stepped onto the golf course.

“He is,” you say. That’s not an exaggeration, nor is it something incredible. Your last boyfriend was an old classmate of yours who loved your celebrity more than he loved you. Michael Kaiser doesn’t love you, either, but he is honest about it, and you do not love him back, so there is no resentment between you and him.

“I like the way he looks at you,” your mother says. There’s a hiss as she opens a new can of soda. It’s a vice, but whenever you remind her of it, she dismisses you. She wants to have fun while she’s on this earth, apparently. Maybe drinking five cans of soda in one sitting means her life will be shorter, but life without soda isn’t worth living anyways, or something like that. The reasoning is stupid, but you know she is loyal to it, so you have to accept it. “It’s refreshing. So gentle. You’ll be talking to someone else, and he’ll just be staring at you like he can’t quite believe you’re his.”

“I hadn’t noticed,” you say. 

Your mother is about to say something else, but she is interrupted by a loud whoop. Michael Kaiser has hit a hole-in-one, and before you can tell him to stop embarrassing himself, your father is cheering, throwing his arms around him and calling him son.

“Your father likes him, too,” your mother said. 

“Oh, he needs to stop that! I can’t believe he’s making things so awkward,” you say, getting up to reprimand him before realizing that there is an entirely foreign sheen to Michael Kaiser’s eyes as he rests his chin on your father’s shoulder. He is not quite smiling, but it is a close approximation of the expression, and when your father ruffles his hair and says that it may have been beginner’s luck but he’s proud regardless, the curve of his lips becomes deeper.

You don’t understand, but you don’t need to. You may have facilitated it, but the moment belongs to him, and your presence is as unwanted as it is unnecessary.

You sit back down and take a sip of your mother’s soda. She grins knowingly and says that you look like you are in love, too. You don’t have the heart to tell her the truth, so you hum noncommittally and say that you might be.

You are growing fond of Michael Kaiser. It isn’t a slow realization — actually, it hits you very suddenly one day. He hands you a bouquet of flowers before opening the passenger door of his car for you. You ask him why he’s brought you peonies instead of roses, and he says it’s because he despises roses. It’s such an absurd answer and he says it with such a straight face that you have to cough in order to disguise your choked laughter. 

“Those must be some other kind of flower, then,” you say, pointing at but not touching his tattoos, at the delicate petals which fold over his pulse, azure and bright and silky. 

“No, those are roses,” he says, his knuckles growing white on the steering wheel. Normally, you wouldn’t ask further, but today you want to prod at his bruise of an existence, so you turn the music down and hug the peonies to your chest.

“But you despise roses,” you say.

“It’s a good reminder,” he says. “No flower lies quite as well as a rose does.”

That is when you are certain that you are partial to him. It is an unavoidable fact and also a treacherous one, but true notwithstanding. 

You put the peonies in a vase of water when you get home that night and hope they never die, although you know that they will be gone within the week. It’s how time works. The peonies will die and you two will break up and you’ll have nothing but a bare kitchen counter and thoughts of his intricacies to remember him by. 

There are no paparazzi around on the night when he wraps your hands around his throat. You are alone with him, sequestered away in the living room of his mansion, a bowl of popcorn shoved between the two of you while a movie plays in the background. This seclusion defeats the original purpose of the relationship entirely, but you sense that that original purpose is no longer fully applicable, so you do not refuse when he calls you and demands you come.

There’s a blanket tossed over your legs, the brilliant colors of his soccer club’s emblem faded from repeated washes. It’s warm, and if you were not busily eating most of the popcorn, you’d pull it up around your shoulders. As for Michael Kaiser, he’s facing the screen, his hair tied back in a knot, a pair of glasses resting on the bridge of his nose and reflecting the visage of the lead actress as she laughs. You observe him as you snack. You’ve seen this movie before and didn’t really like it, so you’re not missing much. He’s more interesting by far.

“I know that woman,” you say, so that he has to acknowledge you.

“Hm,” he says.

“She’s a jerk,” you say. 

“Sounds like your kind of company,” he says. You scoff, because he’s not wrong. He keeps watching the movie, and you keep watching him, until a thought occurs to you.

“Can I call you Michael? Even when it’s just us two,” you ask. He purses his lips. The actress screams. Her character has just died, but the scene is poorly shot and even more poorly acted, so it’s not as heart-wrenching as it should be. You would’ve done better, but your agent doesn’t want you taking any gory roles, and your manager agrees. In his professional opinion, it’ll ruin the doll-like persona you’ve spent so long cultivating. He’s probably right. It’s hard to adore a doll once you’ve watched it die so gruesomely.

“You can do whatever you want,” he says.

“Okay,” you say, swallowing another mouthful of popcorn, the salt lingering on your tongue long after the popcorn itself is gone. “Michael.”

“Yes?” he says.

“Nothing,” you say. “I just wanted to say your name.”

“Okay,” he says. “Y/N?”

He’s never called you that in private. Of course, when you’re out and about, he must refer to you with such familiarity, but in private you’ve never been anything but Miss L/N. It’s a change but a good one. You don’t want to ever be Miss L/N again. Not to him.

“Yes?” you say.

“I’m trying to watch this movie,” he says. “It has high ratings, so be quiet and allow me to finish.”

“It’s shitty,” you say, yawning and leaning back against the mountain of pillows you’ve created for yourself. “Overly gratuitous with its use of fake blood.”

“Right, because that’s a cardinal sin,” he says dryly.

“Sorry, but it’s hard to enjoy films when you know how they’re made,” you say. He picks up the remote and pauses the movie. You blink, because that’s about the last thing you expected from him. Then he turns the TV off entirely and you realize you’ll probably never be able to predict what he does next, so you should stop trying already.

“I know how movies are made,” he says.

“Did you have a secret acting career you never told me about?” you say. It’s a joke, but you also wouldn’t be surprised if it’s true. He’s taken to performing like a fish takes to water, and every day you tell him he should quit soccer and devote his life to cinema because of this uncanny skill.

“Not me, but my mother was an actress, and my father was a director,” he says. 

“Was?” you say.

“Maybe they still are,” he says. “I don’t know. We’re not on speaking terms.”

“Why not?” you say. He takes your hands in between his, and you can make out immediately that his instinct is to hurt you, to press his fingertips into your wrists so hard that they leave marks. It’s to his credit that he fights back the urge, fights it back and arranges your palms against his carotid arteries. His jaw clenches and his pupils dilate as he waits for you to realize; when you do, you rip your hands away for fear of wounding him further.

“Don’t pity me,” he instructs you, unpausing the movie like nothing happened. “And don’t ever bring it up again.” 

Now that you have his permission to refer to him only by his name, you develop a strange fascination with saying it. He’s amused by your new fixation, answering you in a lilting tone every time you call for him.

According to him, you are like a small nightingale, always warbling, always happy, fluttering around beside him and changing his mood for the better. Well, if you are like a nightingale, then he is like a dog, and you tell him as much when you are sitting across from him at a coffee shop.

“A dog?” he repeats, his face pinching. He’s just taken a swig of the black coffee he always orders, but you know his disgusted expression isn’t a symptom of the beverage’s bitterness. “Take that back.”

“Not in a bad way,” you say. Your own drink is sweet, so you sip on it slowly to prevent a stomach ache. “I’m not calling you pathetic. I just mean that you are amiable and lively. It’s a compliment.”

“It’s not who I really am,” he says. “Have I deceived even you? Amiable? Lively? Remember why this entire scam began in the first place — because I am neither of those things.”

“Right,” you say. “A peacock, then. Terribly vain and entirely alluring.”

He relaxes and raises his cup to his mouth again. He’ll be up late tonight, he always is when he has coffee, but it never stops him from drinking it. “That’s better.”

The reminder that whatever you have with him is not real stings more than it should. You throw away your drink almost untouched, which does cause him to raise an eyebrow, but thankfully he refrains from commenting. It’s a relief, because you don’t even know how to explain it to yourself, let alone him.

He walks you to your front porch and waits with crossed arms as you fish for the key in your purse, shoving it in the lock once you have it in your grasp. His farewell when you open the door is stilted and abnormal, so you stop him with a hand on his arm before he can go.

“Michael,” you say. You’ve never said his name like this before. It comes from a place raw and deep within you, a place that you are certain is purple and black like a wound. You say it like you love him, and you think it must be because you do.

“Yes?” he says. It’s the way he always responds to you, his voice like a song, a small smile on his ordinarily strict face — though today, he is not smiling. Instead, he is frowning, like he has come to an understanding that he would have rather not reached.

“Never mind,” you say. “Goodbye.”

“Goodbye,” he says. He drives away, his car disappearing around the corner, leaving you standing alone in the still-open doorway and wondering how you will survive the day when he disappears permanently. 

You’re not sure what it is about him that makes pretending difficult, but suddenly, it’s a struggle for you to maintain your aloof front. You find it disconcerting, that he has taken this aspect of your identity and rendered it entirely null and void; it’s even more disconcerting that he has done it unwittingly and unsympathetically. If you loved him any less, you would hate him, because he has stolen who you are and left you blind and fumbling, but you fell for him, and the way you landed broke something fundamental, so that it is impossible for you to get back up. 

“I think that I love you,” you say. You are on his couch again, and there is a movie playing again, which is all too similar to a past scenario that you think about when you are lonely. Tonight, it’s some soccer documentary that you find so tedious you are driven to irrationality. 

He drops the glass of water in his hands; you reach out and catch it before it can spill, setting it on the table in front of you. 

“What?” he says. You shrug.

“I love you,” you say again, and you’re flippant about it because you’re not telling him in the hopes he loves you, too. In fact, you know that he does not, so you are using him as a confessional; after all, the minimum he owes you is sharing the burden of this sin.

“There’s no one around,” he says. “You don’t have to lie. It won’t gain us anything.”

“It hasn’t gained us anything in a long while,” you say. It’s true — your relationship isn’t trending anymore, and most of your dates are in locations where you will not be recognized. 

He stands up. The documentary continues as he paces, and a referee blows a whistle while he tangles his fingers in his hair and pulls. You stay on the couch, your eyes following his erratic movements, your hands folded in your lap.

“No, you don’t,” he says.

“I don’t what?” you say.

“You don’t love me,” he says. He wants to sound callous, you are sure of it, but the effect is lost on you. He sounds more lost than anything.

“But I do,” you respond. “Who are you to tell me I don’t?”

“Don’t,” he says. “Stop it. This instant.”

You laugh incredulously. “Do you think it’s that easy? I wouldn’t feel like this in the first place if it was.”

“Why?” he says. He’s still pacing. It’s like watching a tiger in a zoo. You want to study him, but he demands your attention in a different way. “Y/N. Why me? Why at all?”

“The reasons don’t matter, do they? I can tell you, but they won’t change anything,” you say, shrugging. “If you find yourself in the kitchen, bring water back for me. I’m thirsty.”

“Drink mine,” he says, pointing at the cup you had narrowly saved from disaster. “And quit your avoidance. Tell it to me plainly. Why?”

“Because you are you,” you say once you have drained half of his glass and your tongue is not quite as papery. “It’s a series of things; there’s not just one concrete reason. You hate roses and only drink black coffee. My mother thinks you’re handsome and my father is convinced you’re a golfing genius. You are a dog but also a peacock and then again an emperor. Don’t ask ridiculous questions and expect me to answer them when I cannot.”

“I’ll hurt you,” he says. “I’ll hurt you, Y/N, and I don’t — I don’t want to. You’re the only one who I don’t want to hurt, so just give up. It’s for the better if you do.”

“You won’t,” you say. “I don’t think you can.”

“Of course I can,” he says. “It’s the one thing I’m capable of. The only way I know how to love someone is by hurting them. I’ll do the same to you if you let me, and if you’re telling the truth, then you will let me.”

“Because I love you?” you say. “You think I’ll let you hurt me because I love you? For shame, Michael. I thought you knew me better than that.”

“Please,” he says. It’s a word he’s never said, not to you and not in his life. Its weight hangs before you, pulsating in the air like it’s tangible. “If I love you, I’ll destroy you. And then you’ll leave, and it’ll destroy me.”

It’s a selfless desire that he’s disguising as a selfish one. You’re good at pretending, but you’re not good at telling when others are. That much is obvious, because if you had any talent at the latter then you would’ve seen that he’s loved you for as long as you have loved him, maybe longer. He loves you and so he’s urging you to flee, to destroy him before he can do it to you first.

“Damned if I do and damned if I don’t, huh?” you say, exhaling and finishing off the rest of his water. “Listen to me.”

“No,” he says. His obstinance is endearing, but you throw a pillow at him instead of cooing like you want to. He catches it and tosses it back. It lands beside you with a thump. You pat it for emphasis.

“Yes,” you say. “I love you.”

He plugs his ears with his fingers. “Nope.”

“I love you, I love you — hey, I know you can hear me!” you say.

“La la la,” he shouts over your voice, sticking his tongue out petulantly. “I can’t hear you, I can’t hear you!”

“You’re cruel,” you say. “I won’t deny it. I know who you really are, Michael Kaiser. You possess cruelty in spades, but it’s in the way that a rose does. You have grown malice like thorns so that no one may come near your heart, and you think these thorns will tear me apart when I extend my hand past them. What you aren’t accounting for is that I have done so already. I have reached your heart and still I am intact. Now, what is there to cause me harm — a mere flower? But a flower can’t cause anyone harm, least of all a person such as myself. You can’t, or more importantly you won’t. I believe that you won’t.”

He stares at you. The soccer team in the documentary still playing behind him scores, and the crowd roars in approval. You stare back at him and wait.

“I hate roses,” he finally says. “I hate them a lot. They’re the worst kind of flower.”

“I don’t know about that,” you say. “I quite fancy them.”

“They prick your fingers,” he says.

“Not if you are gentle,” you say. “Not if you understand them.”

He buries his face in his hands. “Go home, Y/N.”

You do as you are told, flagging a taxi and shivering while you wait for it. You wish for things to be different, but the amount of unfulfilled wishes you’ve made outnumber the stars in the sky, so you add this one to the list and vow to move on.

You have no desire to leave your bed the next morning, but you are also hungry, and your hunger wins out over your despair. You muster up the energy to roll out of your sheets and trudge downstairs, but you are miserable as you do so. You are utterly miserable, and the fact that you are only worsens the feeling, trapping you in an endless kind of loop.

When you enter your kitchen, you are surprised to see a pot of flowers sitting innocently on your counter. You didn’t put them there, so you should feel afraid, but they’re roses, and they’re the same arresting shade as the sky, so you don’t. You only grin, slowly and then all at once as you begin to giggle helplessly.

There isn’t a card or an explanation provided, but you don’t need either. You already know who they are from.

[monzamash]

ruin the friendship — charles leclerc

summary – maybe you were a little more than friends but that was between you, charles and god. nobody else. and you refused to be the one to break the pact. pairing – charles leclerc x you (female reader) rating – 18+ (smut, language, sexual references, probably bad french/italian) word count – 2.5k a/n – “we passed being friends like 20 fucks ago” requested by anon. thank you! masterlist

“Everybody get changed for dinner and we will meet downstairs at the restaurant in an hour. Le Bein?”

The group of nearly a dozen of Charles’ co-workers, employees and friends all nodded in agreement and went their separate ways in the foyer, buzzing about how beautiful the resort was. And it was truly magnificent. Extravagance fortified every wall, even the ceilings. Chandeliers dangling from the rafters above, sparkling and flaunting the huge amount of wealth that was stashed away in the Italian Alps. Eye-watering amounts of wealth.

You weren’t enamoured like the rest because simplicity was more your taste, minimalist living was the way of the future and you weren’t afraid to voice that to Charles as he walked up beside you, eyes trained on your rolling ones. His hand was dangerously hovering above your lower back, the large puffy jacket the only thing keeping his hot touch barricaded from your cool skin – he couldn’t help himself.

“It’s over the top but Ferrari is paying for all of it,” He whispered into your ear, too close for your comfort, especially around his brothers who were no doubt watching your every move – adamantly sceptical that you and Charles were just friends.

“I should report you for misuse of company funds, sir. And if anyone from work asks why I was here when we get back next week – it was a coincidence. Purely happenstance.”

“Si,” Charles drawlled, toggling between his native tongue and Italian, which always threw you off, “You coming up to my room after dinner will just be some luck too, yes?”

You could hear the smirk on his face before you let your eyes glance his way, breath tickling the hairs on the back of your neck and again, standing way too close for a pair of colleagues who, by chance, had accidentally found themselves in the same place, at the same time. That was the story and you were sticking with it. Unfortunately Charles was a horrible actor – that much was obvious since the moment he sparked up this unlikely romance with you but in his defence, his impulses were intensified after weeks of being away from you. And you felt the same.

The relationship wasn't exclusive by any stretch of the imagination in the beginning, but as time went on, you became loyal to each other. The friends with benefits label was a facade for the public and for your employment but deep down, you both knew there was more to your relationship than just sex. You knew each other so intimately and spent hours staying up ‘til dawn, sharing your deepest, darkest secrets. He made you feel safe, like you were more than just a girl who happened to work for the same company he worked for. It was easy to get swept up in the lavish lifestyle and reap the benefits that came with it but Charles saw you differently – saw life differently. And to him, you were the missing piece to his puzzle.

You were friends’ first – great friends but he was charming and by far the most attractive man you’d ever laid your two eyes on. And by some miracle, he felt the same way about you. But all of that meant your friendship had been compromised, your working relationship was hanging in the balance because if either of you caught feelings and made them public, then you’d have to report it to HR and you didn’t want to lose what you had.

Because sneaking around was kind of hot. Or really hot if you asked Charles and you didn’t want to burst his bubble. You weren’t that selfish and truth be told, you enjoyed the thrill of it. The secret glances from across a table when you were supposed to be taking notes, subtle touches whenever he complimented your suggestions in a meeting and riskiest of all, the quick fucks in his drivers’ room between qualifying blocks. That had unabashedly become a perk of your job and a scandal waiting to be blown wide open but you loved it.

“I think it might just be your lucky day, Leclerc,” You replied and looked away from the man who was seconds away from exposing your secret, calling off dinner and dragging you up to his room for dessert. But he was better than that and obviously he could control himself for a couple more hours. Surely. 

“See you soon then.”

He looked like a man tortured when you walked into the restaurant, all of your glorious curves swaying side to side, eyes on everyone but him. Since simplicity was your style, you’d gone classic – long, black satin skirt hiding the stilettos you wished you didn’t have to wear, paired with a black blazer and a white, lacy bustier top underneath. It was a fancy establishment, which meant everyone was done up to the nines, their best attire on display and you were pleasantly surprised that Charles hadn't caved to the pressure of appearances, marching to the beat of his own drum in a basic black tee. He still looked as delicious as the aperitini he’d already ordered for you, eagerly awaiting your arrival.

“For me?” You asked him politely, feigning surprise even though these were the little things he would do for you in place of physical touch.

“Of course.” He smiled, delighted that you took the seat directly across from him and not the one being offered to you by his annoying younger brother.

You are beautiful, he mouthed once everyone returned to their 'round the table small talk. You are. Charles had you blushing and fidgeting with your thin gold chain, as if it was first time he'd ever said that to you. It wasn't but it still had you squirming in your seat, grinning like a lunatic.

The 3-course dinner was sensational, and more than satisfied the hunger you’d conjured up during your long day on the slopes and Charles agreed wholeheartedly. He had also worked up quite the appetite retrieving you from the snow every time you stacked it, brushing the ice from your suit and cheeks, lingering longer than he should have. It was great fun but famishing once you all made it back to the resort.

“All my training has gone down the drain after that meal – my god.” Charles groaned and patted Andrea on the back with a mischievous smile, taunting his trainer and closest confidante. Andrea simply shook his head and muttered something to the effect of vaffanculo before disappearing into the bar with the others, sick of Charles' shit after being stuck with him in the Dolomites for the last 3 weeks.

You and Charles hung back from the group, both waiting for the other to send up the bat signal, or in your case, holding up the three-finger salute. Your first solo hang out – not a date – with Charles was watching the Hunger Games together, snuggled up with a glass of wine. Ever since, your signal to abort mission had been the sign used in that film and more recently it’d become your gesture for sex. Would you have liked it to be a little more sexy? Sure but it did the job.

“People are going to miss you, ma belle,” Charles whispered between the soft kisses he was sloppily pressing to your trembling lips, backing you against the only blank wall in the room.

“Don’t care.” You rasped, moans caught in your dry throat as you felt a pair of cold hands unzipping the long silk skirt you’d worn to dinner and gliding it down your shaky legs like it was as light as a feather.

A small gasp slipped from your lips as you caught Charles’ dark eyes again, his soft laugh fanning warmth across your face, "All I've been able to think about tonight is this..." He stammered off with a smirk before running his hands down your sides, pushing the thin blazer off your shoulders and gaining full access to the length of your neck.

You moaned quietly and brushed your dainty fingers through his soft, dark brown locks, "It's all I've wanted since we got here," You whispered and rested your head back against the wall, enjoying the feeling of his hands smoothing down your to your ass.

"You're so fucking beautiful," Charles growled against the tops of your breasts that were being pushed up by the tight bustier top, leaving you breathless and shaky under his touch. He got off on having complete control over your body, especially like this – desperate and panting for him in the darkness.

Charles dropped down to his knees and pushed his hands up under the hem of your top so he could access the waistband of your panties. You were spellbound now with your eyes closed and heart thumping in your chest, head dizzy and skin sizzling as he trailed his hands down your thighs, gliding your flimsy underwear down far enough that you could step out of them without needing to look.

"So sexy." Charles groaned at the sight of the dark red lace that had been hidden by your skirt, his hot breath now fanning over your shaky legs that were now completely bare and exposed to the cool air, even though your were burning up, "Le rouge n'a jamais été aussi beau." Red never looked so good.

His large hands gripped you thighs and roughly separated them in front of his mouth, every single little movement riling you up even more. Charles was ravenous, hungry to devour your after hours of deprivation – starved of your taste, of his name falling from your lips. He needed it, needed you to sing his praises, beg him for more and you never disappointed.

Your fingers brushed back up the side of his head as he hooked your leg over his shoulder and buried his tongue between your thighs, sending you into overdrive and taking your breath away. Your hands instantaneously gripped the tuft of brown waves on top of his head, trying to control the moans that were threatening to escape your chapped lips, his fingers doing the work of a maestro, orchestrating your body like a symphony.

"Feels so good," You whined as Charles grunted, mouth still attached to your cunt as he readjusted your leg on his strong, muscular shoulder, deepening the achingly perfect angle even further and making your already shaky legs start to tremble with pleasure.

Charles took your sensitive clit between his teeth, gently and pressed his free hand that wasn't clutching your thigh to your stomach, balancing you as best he could as you uncontrollably bucked your hips, riding his perfectly flat tongue. You placed your smaller hand over his and arched into his face, trying to alleviate the knot building in the pit of your stomach. He felt so fucking good and looked even better when you did dare open your eyes, peering down into his sinful ones.

The small smirk that appeared on Charles’ dimpled cheeks when your gaze met his was enough to send you spiralling into a whimpering mess, unable to stop the loud moan that ripped from your constricted throat – you were getting closer with every single teasing stoke he gave you, his thick fingers fucking you into a blackout and you were losing it. He muffled a laugh and didn't relent one bit as you white knuckled his wrist, attempting to hold in the noises that were so close to escaping, jaw clenched.

"I wanna hear you, bella – let me hear you," Charles panted as he glanced up and continued to taunt you, “I want to hear you moaning for me like this for the rest of my fucking life.”

Even in your orgasmic haze, you furrowed your already rutted brows at his comment, head throw back, still whimpering, “Friends don’t say that to each other, Charles.” You breathed, gliding on his unrelenting fingers, his pace slowing as he processed your words.

Charles scoffed and pulled back from your pulsing core, eyes trained on yours as he pressed a sweet kiss to your thigh, voice hoarse. “I think we passed “just friends” about 20 fucks ago, baby. You don’t have to pretend when it’s just you and me.”

It took you a second until you nodded silently, agreeing that you didn’t need to keep the act up with him. You brushed your fingers that had been knotted in his thick, beautiful hair, down the sides of his glistening face, lips raw and looking like a mirage.

“I like it when it’s just you and me.”

If you blinked, you thought he may disappear from your vision but he made sure you knew he was real, kitten licking your sensitive bud and reassuring you that he wasn’t just a figment of your imagination.

“Me too.” He whispered.

It didn’t take long for Charles to resume his toe-curling assault, sending every nerve in your system into lockdown as he pushed you closer and closer to the edge. He’d put both of your feet on the ground, thighs spread as far as they go so you could ride his face, insisting that you came like that for him. The feeling of having every breath suppressed from his lungs while you let yourself go on his tongue, fingernails clawing at the skin on your thighs was worth the rush of blood to his brain. His face was beet-red, pupils blown out and he was achingly hard, scared he was going to blow in his pants like a prepubescent teen.

"Oh my fucking god, Charles," You moaned loudly as he reached up and pressed his palm firmly on your flushed chest, needing to feel your heart thumping under your skin, making him feel alive.

"I've got you."

"I'm – baby, I’m right there!" You cried out, head thrown back against the wall again as Charles eased you through your earth shattering high, panting and sweltering under his touch.

Loud moans echoed through the hotel room as he lapped up everything you had to give, holding you in place and making sure you were completely satisfied before removing his shaky fingers and pressing a couple of pecks to your reddening thighs – no doubt leaving bruises from his tight grip. You couldn’t wait to feel those small reminders of his touch in the morning. It took a good couple of seconds for your mind and body to float back down from the clouds above and god, it was a gorgeous sight when you did come to.

"You are so good at that," You breathed as Charles used your hips to drag himself up off the carpeted floor, hands still clutching your waist to also keep your knees from buckling. He knew you too well.

The sensation of his swollen lips kissing yours brought you back and without hesitation, you hooked your arms over his shoulders and deepened the kiss. His hands snaked around your lower back, bodies flush and you could finally feel how hard he was underneath his trousers.

Knowing Charles was that turned on from making you feel ethereal triggered a proud smirk to sweep across your flushed face, “Would you like some help with this, friend?” You teased, reaching down for the button on his pants, flicking it open with ease.

“It’s what friends are for, no?” He cockily replied before you clutched his stiff cock in your palm, causing him to gasp at the sensation.

“Absolutely would love your help – thank you very much,” Charles quickly added, desperate for your attention as he captured your lips in a rough kiss and nudged your body towards his messy bed.

“That’s what I thought,” You chuckled into the kiss, letting him cash in every single benefit he could imagine. All night long.

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