#maybe this who she is and shed finally have something for herself!

[wormedrabidnerd]

I'm ngl i think people in the fandom are romanticizing Betty's sacrifice as "badass sexy wife saves the day" instead of "young woman with identity and self esteem issues gives up on everything for a man she just met"

I know y'all like the ship, but some of y'all are ignoring what the series is trying to tell us.

[p0orbaby]

Silver Linings

summary: you’ve had a baby and you’ve had enough, you want your wife, goddammit!

warnings: SMUT 18+, just sex alright, im too lazy to read back and see what there is

a/n: thanks for the request !

word count: 1.2k

-

You’re lying in bed, counting the new cracks in the ceiling. You’re convinced they’ve multiplied since the baby was born. Or maybe it’s just that you’re always staring up these days, wishing for sleep. You read somewhere that the Spanish government once paid people to make babies. But they don’t mention how they don’t pay enough for someone to come and take the baby off your hands every now and then.

But who’s counting?

Alexia’s beside you, scrolling through her phone like it owes her money. She’s wearing that ridiculous sleep shirt with Messi’s face on it—some joke you don’t quite understand but one that involves a poorly executed bet, a late-night purchase, and more tequila than you’d care to remember. You’re not sure what makes you more irritated: the shirt or the fact that she looks hot in it. Even with the dark circles under her eyes.

You clear your throat, trying to get her attention. It’s like trying to wake a bear from hibernation. She just grunts and scrolls faster.

“Hey, Messi’s number one fan,” you say, nudging her with your foot. “Put the phone down before you sprain your thumb”

She glances over at you, her eyes half-lidded with exhaustion, but there’s a flicker of interest there. “What? You wanna talk about our feelings now?”

“No, I want to talk about the state of our sex life,” you reply, deadpan. “Which is currently on life support”

Alexia raises an eyebrow, finally putting her phone down on the nightstand. “Oh? You wanna do something about that?”

You shrug, trying to play it cool, but the truth is, you’ve been thinking about this all day. Well, between the nappy changes, the feedings, and trying to remember when the last time you showered was.

“I mean, we probably should. Before the baby wakes up and finds out we’re trying to have fun”

Alexia grins, a little too wickedly for someone who’s supposed to be sleep-deprived. “You know, I’ve been waiting for you to say something. It’s like you read my mind”

“Oh yeah? Was it before or after you ordered that new strap?”

She laughs, the sound low and throaty. “Before. Definitely before. The new strap was just… insurance”

“Insurance?” you snort. “You mean like how some people buy a fire extinguisher for their kitchen?”

“Exactly. You never know when you’re going to need it”

You’re laughing now, genuinely, and it feels good. It feels like the first real laugh you’ve had in weeks. Maybe months. The kind that shakes off the dust that’s settled between the two of you, the kind that makes you remember why you fell for her in the first place.

She’s already moving, shedding the Messi shirt in one smooth move. There’s something almost ceremonial about the way she does it, as if she’s readying herself for battle. You swallow hard, the familiar heat building in your belly. It’s been so long since you’ve felt anything but tired, anything but stretched too thin.

When she climbs back into bed, she’s got that glint in her eye that says she’s up to no good. “You ready for this?”

You raise an eyebrow. “For you to pretend you know what you’re doing?”

She rolls her eyes, but she’s smiling as she kisses you, hard and possessive. It’s all teeth and tongue, a little desperate, a little sloppy, but it’s enough to make your toes curl. You gasp into her mouth when her hands start to roam, fingers grazing over your still-sensitive skin. Everything’s too much and not enough, and you can’t help the little whimper that escapes your lips.

“Easy,” she murmurs against your mouth. “We’ve got all night”

“Yeah, until the baby wakes up and decides to serenade us with her cries,” you mutter, but you’re already arching into her touch.

“You’re right,” she says, her voice dropping an octave, sending shivers down your spine. “We better make this quick”

You laugh, but it quickly turns into a moan as she kisses her way down your body, her hands gripping your thighs like she’s afraid you’ll disappear if she doesn’t hold on tight. You’ve missed this, missed her. Not just the sex, but the connection, the way she makes you feel like you’re the only two people in the world, even when you’re surrounded by chaos.

When she finally reaches into her bedside table and pulls out the strap, the new one, and you can’t help but roll your eyes. “You’ve been waiting for this, haven’t you?”

She just smirks. “I told you. Insurance”

“Right,” you say, but your breath catches in your throat when she presses the tip against you, the cool silicone a stark contrast to your overheated skin. You’re sensitive, achingly so, and the stretch of it has you chaining air, your fingers digging into the sheets.

“Too much?” she asks, her voice softening for the first time tonight.

You shake your head, biting your lip as you try to focus on the sensation, the delicious burn that’s equal parts pleasure and pain. “No, it’s… it’s good. Really good”

She moves slowly, deliberately, and you can tell she’s trying to be gentle, trying not to overwhelm you. But there’s a tension in her body, a barely contained need that mirrors your own, and it’s not long before she’s thrusting harder, her hands gripping your hips, tethering you to the earth.

It’s overwhelming, the way she fills you up, the way she looks at you like you’re the only thing that matters. You can feel the coil tightening in your belly, the pressure building to a breaking point. It’s almost too much, too intense, but you can’t stop yourself from chasing that high, from wanting more.

“Fuck,” you breathe, your nails raking down her back. “I’m gonna—”

But before you can finish, she shifts her angle, hitting that perfect spot inside you, and it’s like a dam breaking. You come apart with a strangled cry, your body trembling with the force of it, and she’s right there with you, whispering filthy praise into your ear, her voice raw with desire.

When it’s over, you’re both a mess, caught in the sheets, your bodies slick with sweat. You can barely catch your breath, but there’s a satisfied smile on your face, one that mirrors hers. It’s not perfect, it’s not the earth-shattering, movie-ending kind of sex, but it’s real. And that’s enough.

As you lie there, trying to remember how to form coherent thoughts, she pulls you close, her arm draped over your waist. “We should do this more often,” she says, her voice sleepy but content.

“Yeah,” you murmur, already half-asleep. “If we ever get the chance”

But for now, you’re content to just lie here, basking in the afterglow, knowing that you’ve still got each other. And maybe, just maybe, that’s enough to get you through the sleepless nights and endless nappy changes.

As you start to drift off, you hear the faint sound of the baby stirring in the next room. You groan, burying your face in Alexia’s neck. “Your turn”

She laughs softly, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Fine, but only because you did all the hard work”

You snort, but you can’t help but smile as she slips out of bed, pulling on the Messi shirt once more. As she heads out to tend to the baby, you close your eyes, feeling more at peace than you have in weeks. Maybe even months.

[hazbinwhoree]

Hey! I was wondering if you could do Adam/Reader where its post-one night stand with a girl who comes to his shows? Like he hooked up with her a couple times and it meant nothing but its starting to mean something to him and he asks to hookup more just so they can hang out? Like he'll ask, she'll come over and he just wants to watch a movie lol. Tysmm

(Repost of my request from a couple days ago)

Hangout or Hookup?

“And what’s your name, babe?” Adam asked, leaning over the smaller angel in front of him. She was pretty, exactly Adam’s type, and didn’t give off the desperate energy that his groupies gave off.

“(Name).” Adam took (Name)’s hand and mockingly kissed it. “Beautiful name for a beautiful bitch.” (Name) raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. Adam liked that.

She played hard to get but Adam knew he would take her home that night. She was dedicated, coming to all his shows. He always spotted her in the crowd.

Sure enough, his flirting and charisma had (Name) agreeing when Adam finally suggested they go back to his place.

Adam was pretty sure it was the best sex he’d had in his life. Shit was so good it made him want to cuddle after. But (Name) was already redressing, ready to head out the door. “You don’t have to rush out,” Adam told her. “It’s okay,” she replied. “I know how this works.”

And she was gone.

(Name) was supposed to be a one time treat for Adam. But she kept coming to all of his shows and Adam found himself seeking her out after each one, and inevitably, she was who he would take home every night.

They were just supposed to be fuck buddies, at least that’s what Adam told himself. But he soon found himself enjoying her company even more than he enjoyed the sex.

He could never get her to stay the night, she seemed convinced that the sex was purely physical and nothing else. It kind of bothered Adam, but he supposed he dug his own grave there with his reputation.

One night, after a show, Adam invited (Name) to his place as usual. Usually, as soon as they were in the door, Adam was on top of (Name), but tonight he just walked past her. Confused, (Name) followed him into his bedroom. Maybe he was mad at her?

“I was thinking,” Adam said as he began to shed his concert clothes. “We should watch a movie tonight.”

“Like, put a movie on while we fuck?” (Name) asked.

Adam rolled his eyes. “Shit, (Name), I just want to watch a fucking movie with you. Is that so crazy?”

(Name) shrugged. “Kind of.”

“Why?”

This was certainly not the direction (Name) had thought this night was going.

“Because… we’re fuck buddies? Fuck buddies don’t just hang out and watch movies.”

“Well maybe I don’t want to be just fuck buddies,” Adam said, throwing one of his t-shirts at her. “Get comfortable.”

Slightly apprehensive, (Name) stripped her concert attire and put on Adam’s shirt. She didn’t have pants, but his shirt was large enough that it didn’t matter. It fell down right above her knees. She climbed onto Adam’s bed where Adam was already sitting with the TV remote.

She’d never been in his bed doing anything but fucking before. It was kind of nice. But she wouldn’t allow herself to get too comfortable. She couldn’t. Adam wasn’t the kind of guy she trusted with her heart.

Adam picked a movie and got up to turn off the lights. He discarded the remote on the bedside table and climbed back onto his bed, leaning back against his pillows.

(Name) sat stiffly on the other side.

“Come here.”

(Name) turned to look at Adam, who had his arms open.

“What are you so scared of? Come here.”

(Name) was scared that the feelings for him she had bottled up would be let loose if they fucking cuddled. Still, she found she could never say no to Adam, and reluctantly scooted up the bed and into his arms.

She wanted nothing more than to cuddle into his side, but she remained frigid. Adam noticed.

“Would you relax?”

(Name) couldn’t, not internally at least. But she relaxed her body, letting herself melt into Adam’s side. Adam smiled, content. He wrapped a wing around her like a blanket and (Name)’s heart skipped a beat.

The movie played on, and as it did, (Name) grew more and more restless. About halfway through the movie, she snapped.

She pushed away from Adam like he’d burned her. “Okay, what the fuck?”

Adam blinked in surprise. “Sorry?”

“What’s your fucking game?” (Name) was fuming. “I understand inviting me back again after the first time we fucked, I understand being fuck buddies, but I don’t understand your motives behind…” she made a sweeping gesture with her hand. “This.”

“Did it ever occur to you that maybe I want to do more than fuck because I genuinely fucking like you?”

Tears welled in (Name)’s eyes. “Don’t. Don’t say things like that. It’s not like you’re going to get into a relationship with me. The great Adam could never settle with just one girl. What about your groupies?”

Adam was getting frustrated. “Did you know that I haven’t fucked another bitch since the very first time we fucked?”

The question hung heavy in the air.

Adam continued. “Because after we fucked that first time, the best sex I’ve ever had by the way, I kept coming back to you. Night after night. And the more we hooked up, the more I realised I didn’t want anyone else. I wanted more with you.”

The confession left (Name) stunned.

“But you’d always leave after we’d fuck, I could never get you to stay and cuddle or talk. I tried, damnit, I fucking did. You’re an impossible bitch, you know that?”

(Name) should be offended, but she was still hung up on the confession. “So what, you’re telling me that you want me to be your girlfriend or some shit?”

“I didn’t plan on asking you like this, but yes, fuck, I’d love to have you as my girl.”

“You’re not joking?”

Adam sighed. “Babe, I know what my reputation is, okay? But everyone seems to forget that I’ve been married twice and I was not the one to end either marriage. I might sleep around when I’m unattached but I’m perfectly capable of committing to the right person.”

(Name) sniffed, a tear running down her cheek.

“Oh don’t start crying, you pussy.”

(Name) laughed through her tears.

“So?” Adam asked.

“So?”

“Will you be my fucking girl?”

(Name) nodded and Adam grinned. “Great, now get your ass over here.” He opened his arms again and (Name) practically dove into them. Adam held her, wrapping his wings around her like extra security. “Girls are so dramatic,” he muttered into her hair.

“Shut up, fuck boy.”

“Slut.”

“Whore.”

Adam kissed her forehead.

“Your whore.”

[seattlesellie]

not about love: part three ♡

ೃ⁀➷ read part one | part two | part four

pairing: college loser!ellie williams x fem!reader

synopsis: you go to a frat party, ellie is a dumbass.

warnings: heavy sexual themes, alcohol, weed, JEALOUSY (both ellie and reader but reader goes through it)

You stirred from your nap, your eyelids fluttering open as you gradually became aware of your surroundings. It was hot, too hot, and the AC wasn’t working. Neither was the fan. So much for one of the “Best colleges in the world!” as they liked to boast on their little website page. A faint buzz emanated from your phone.

You groaned. Dina's persistence was relentless, and she refused to accept no for an answer. The thought of going to a Kappa party was one thing. Sweaty bodies, lame college boys who thought they were hot shit because their daddy was the CEO of toaster strudel or whatever, cheap liquor that burned inside the pits of your stomach even three days after the party was over…

That was the least of your problems.

The problem was, you guessed it — Ellie.

Wherever Jesse and Dina went, Ellie was always there, tagging along like a lost little puppy. They never turned her away; they actually seemed to enjoy her company. And who could blame them? Ellie had a wicked sense of humor, and some might even say she had a sweet side. Plus, she always had a fat joint tucked away in her pocket, ready to be shared. The thing was, Dina and Jesse were a fucking couple, and Ellie somehow managed to squeeze herself into their most intimate moments too.

You asked Dina about it once, and she just shrugged — “She’s a little lonely sometimes, so why not?”

Dina was right. Ellie was… a little lonely. When she wasn’t with you, shed lock herself inside her dorm room (which she thankfully shared with no one), solemnly strung on her guitar, broody and quiet. She’d blast metal when she was upset, and draw till her arm hurt. It was “by choice” she always told, shrugging off your attempts to convince her to socialize, enjoy the college life, have some fun. She wanted to tell you that you were enough. That she didn’t need those random hookups, that parties were the last thing that interested her, when you were around. Her cheeks would blush a soft, dusty pink whenever she entertained the thought of confessing her feelings to you. The uncertainty of your response weighed on her mind like a pesky little irritant. What would you think then?

None of it mattered, anyways, because you and Ellie hadn’t talked in a week. That was the longest time without contact since 10th grade. Granted, you did fight that Christmas night, just a year ago — but you never went completely cold. Not like this. Ever since that day in her room, something shifted. You saw her in the cafeteria, Sitting alone with white string earphones in her ears, she bopped her head to the rhythmic tunes of Bob Dylan. Pretending not to see you, she shifted her gaze towards the window, fixating on the birds' nest nestled within the tree nearby.

She thought you knew.

She thought her secret was out.

“You’re not” Was the last thing that left her mouth that day.

Ellie was delusional, Because you didn’t fucking know.

“I cant see her EVER again” she scribbled in her journal with dark ink, pressing down on the pen until her thumb turned white.

When NASA released the stunning images of millions of galaxies, your thoughts inevitably gravitated towards her. She was a constant presence in your mind, after all. You sent her a message, a sweet one. “thought of u” it said, with a picture attached.

It was radio silence. No response, no call, nothing. Cold.

This is why you didn’t want to go to the party today. And maybe, this is why you did go — regardless. Stand up to her, ask her what was wrong. Did you do something? did you hurt her feelings? did you finally fucking break her?

It was 9PM, and there you stood, butt naked, facing your closet.

“fuck you Dina” you whispered sotto voce, as the weight of blame rested squarely on her shoulders. She’s the reason you’re here, your mind completely blank, staring at a pile of unfolded clothes, Your makeup sprawled open on the table, the powders and the colors creating an accidental artwork. You had a half empty bottle of boxed wine in your hand. Definitely Dina’s fault.

“Nothing!" you exclaimed, flinging a delicate light pink tank-top onto the floor in frustration. “To fucking wear!” you groaned, tossing a black pair of jeans of across the room. It was your turn to throw a tantrum now.

You dialed Dina on the phone, more than ready to complain to her over your lack of clothes, her stupid kappa party, maybe even over the pumping headache you had three days ago, maybe that was her fault too.

She picked up.

“Heyyyy pretty” Her words slurred, and the scent of vodka almost wafted through the screen. Oh god, she was drunk already. Just great.

“You pregamed without me?!” You yelled, perplexed.

“Wh— I called you like five times! So did Jesse, you didnt pick up the phoneeee”

“Pick up the phoneeeee” you heard Jesse mock Dina, his laughter echoing in the background.

“Fine, whatever. I have nothing to wear, I’m gonna look like shit, my ass hurts because I slipped AND I think this white wine’s poisoned. Plus I need something that makes my tits look good and all i have—“

You grabbed a crumpled white corset top from the floor, its fabric wrinkled from being discarded.

“Is a stupid corset! and you still didn’t give me back my dress!” You whined, pacing around the room, still naked, still chugging on some “poisonous” white wine.

“You’re on speaker, babe”

“I dont care. Hey Jesse, you sound wasted too” You tried on the white corset, surprised at how good it fit around your body. Huh. Maybe you didn’t need to iron clothes like, ever.

“Heyyyy” his voice came through muffled, mixed with fits of laughter as Dina had apparently spilled vodka on herself.

“D, I’m sending you a picture of my fit, I have no pants on so don’t save it, weirdo”

She coughed.

“On speaker” she repeated.

“Jesse doesn’t care” You rolled your eyes, as you struggled to zip the corset top up.

“Ellie’s here”

Oh.

“Oh” you froze. Of course she’s here.

“Say” Dina's voice descended to a hushed tone, as if her words were no longer intended for your ears.

“Say hi” it was quiet, but you could hear.

"I don't—" Ellie's voice emerged, subdued and suppressed, barely audible.

Dina shoved the phone to Ellie’s hand.

“Hey”

You gazed at your complexion, transfixed as if you were trapped in a moment suspended in time.

“Hi” you quietly said.

“Okay— whatever you two have going on… figure it out, be there in twenty. And send me that pic!”

Dina hung up.

Be there in twenty. Okay, you got this. You looked at yourself in the mirror, half naked, your hair a mess, your heart beating out of your chest. Maybe you don’t got this.

Frantically, you swiftly gathered yourself. You hastily slid into a sleek black skirt, styled your hair, generously applied a thick layer of lip gloss, and quickly slipped into the tallest heels you could lay your hands on.

“Skirts too long” you whispered to yourself.

It wasn’t too long, the plush of your ass was almost peaking out of it.

It was borderline comedic, how you fast you shifted when you heard her voice. How quickly you went from not giving a shit, whining quietly about the sweaty bodies you’re going to bump into, and the thick smell of cigarette smoke and cheap alcohol you were going to have to breathe through, to caring so heavily, and so deeply, about something completely different. You put the shiniest pair of hoop earrings you could find in your drawer, spritzed a thick layer of sweet, vanilla and almonds perfume, and took another glance in the mirror.

This is how she was going to see you. She’ll smell your perfume, you were sure of it. Perhaps she’d even glance at your legs if she got close. you see, Ellie had a habit of… looking up and down. She thought she was sleek, she thought she knew what she was doing. She thought she was hiding it, and hiding it well, but she never did. You always noticed how her eyes would flicker up and down, how a rosy pink would grace her cheeks.

This isn’t about Ellie, though — right?

There was a loud thud that echoed across the room, originating from the big window above your bed.

Dina and Jesse were here. Oh, and her.

“fuckfuckfuck” you frantically whispered to yourself as you went to grab your purse. You glanced at your reflection again. You looked good, and you knew it. Hell — everyone would know it, but not everyone mattered.

You took a deep breath, and with that, you were out of your room.

Click-clack—the sound of your high heels grazing the ground filled the air.

“oh sh—“

you almost slipped.

Right as you exited the building, your eyes landed on them.

Three, slightly inhibited, babbling adults standing besides each other.

You moved closer, the sparkling keychain attached to your purse swaying and jingling with every contact against your figure, a touch of girlish charm to your stride.

“Holy shitttt” Dina gasped, her eyes widening in awe.

You didn’t even glace at Ellie. Non existent.

“Jesse” she nudged his arm. “I’m leaving you for a girl”

She wrapped you in a tight embrace, her sweet but subtly spicy perfume filling your nostrils. The moment your eyes met hers, any lingering anger you had towards her completely melted away. The Dina effect.

“You look so hot” she teased, flashing you a sly smile.

“Hey idiot” Jesse chimed in, embracing you tightly, looking dapper with a tight, black t-shirt adorning his body.

“Look at those muscles” you said, punching his arm lightly.

And there she was.

a black leather jacket, a white button-up shirt with the top buttons left undone, a tight pair of jeans and her trusty old Chuck’s.

She dressed up. She never dresses up.

Her eyes were glued to the ground. What was she hyper-focusing on now? The ant crawling on the ground? a dry, crumpled leaf? Perhaps on your high heels, and the thought of you keeping them on while your legs are resting on her shoulders?

Her throat closed up at the thought.

“Hey” she said, her voice low.

You could tell she had been drinking, based on the dazed look she had on her face. Maybe she smoked some too.

“Hi” you said, and flashed her a small, awkward smile.

“Start walking idiots” Dina exclaimed, and grabbed your hand in her palm.

The walk to the party was not quiet. It was anything but. Filled with aimless giggles, and Jesse almost walking in to a pole. Ellie dragged by quietly, chuckling to herself at a funny anecdote someone had made. She never was quite like this. Of course, she was broody, some would say somber, but she was not a “quiet” person. Not when she was with her friends. Tonight was different. Tonight, Ellie had something else in mind. The way you swayed side to side, giggling loudly and boasting into a Britney melody made her heart swell in her chest. She couldn’t stop replaying the events of that day in her mind. The way she got close, the way you whispered that you weren’t like Dina and Jesse, and the way she agreed. The way she had never come so hard in her life, with her hand between her thighs and her phone in her hand.

Tonight was going to be fucking difficult.

You finally arrived to the party.

As anticipated, the scene unfolded before you— a pulsating mass of sweaty bodies, shirtless college guys, and scantily clad girls grinding against each other, moving rhythmically to the beats of a 2013 Jason Derulo song.

“Shots?” Dina questioned, her eyes scanning the crowded house.

“Shots” you responded, a slight panicked look on your face.

“Sure, yeah” Ellie quietly said, her hands stuffed inside her pockets.

Dina was out of your sight at the speed of light.

You were left alone with her.

It was suddenly harder to breathe, and it wasn’t the lack of oxygen from the dozens of people breathing it in.

“So…” you said, trying to be as loud as you could — so she could hear you, amidst the loud music and the occasional screams.

She was standing in front of you. God, was she beautiful. She didn’t even try, was the frustrating part. The way her hair rested half down, the rest of it tied in a bun, the way a small strand of hair framed her face — she was flawless. Her freckled cheeks were glowing, a red hue caressing them, and as her hand came to scratch her face, presumably a nervous reaction, it flexed slightly. You always stared. Just like she stared at your tits — you always stared at her hands. It was a silent agreement, tit for tat.

“So many people” you chuckled.

“Listen, I-“

“Tequila for you” Dina’s voice startled you from behind, making you flinch.

“And… a shot of whiskey for the lady” She handed Ellie the short glass.

“3, 2–“

It was warm inside your throat, and it slid so uncomfortably, you had have a reaction. Your face twitched, tongue peeking out of your mouth.

Ellie couldn't help but crack a smile, stifling the urge to burst into laughter.

Ellie never made a face when she drank. Swallow it in, Joel taught her. Hold your breath — and let it slide.

“EVERYBODY!”

the loud voice of a college frat-boy echoed through the room. Did he have a fucking microphone?

“SPIN THE BOTTLE IN KEVIN’S ROOM TO THE LEFT!”

You rolled your eyes.

“What are we, thirteen?” you sighed.

“No…” Dina responded, her gaze shifting between you and Ellie.

“But you need to get some” she nudged your arm.

“And so do you” She whispered to Ellie.

Ellie could feel her heart beat fasten up. Funnily enough, it wasn’t because she was embarrassed to play. It wasn’t because she cared about it, or wanted to “get some” — It was the thought of you. The thought of you, getting some. How could Dina even dare to suggest such a thing? Of course, Dina didn’t know about Ellie’s… situation. Still, how could she say that? How could she endure the thought of you with somebody else? What if you end up meeting somebody? What if you, god forbid, end up kissing somebody? Ellie felt it in her stomach. It was that same rage she felt when you had your first girlfriend, Emily, in 10th grade. When she caught you kissing behind the bleachers. She remembers how her mind went blank for a second, fully white. A moment after, she saw red. She punched a fucking wall, and promised herself that if she ever gets the chance — the actual chance, she’d beat Emily up so bad it would leave her bleeding. Of course, she never got the fucking chance. Emily was nice to Ellie, hell, Emily loved Ellie, and Ellie never had the guts to do it, so she punched her pillow instead, every goddamn night.

“Let’s go, c’mon” Dina exclaimed, taking hold of both your hands and skillfully maneuvering through the bustling crowd.

—

At first, the bottle landed on a sweet cheerleader named Amy, and a dumb jock named Steve.

“I dare you to make out shirtless in front of everybody” Kyle, a blond frat guy said, gaining himself a couple of “Oooo” sounds from the people gathered around the room.

“It’s not truth or dare Kyle—“ A loud voice popped off from the background.

“My house, my rules” He shrugged as he responded.

“I should be paid to watch this” You said in a whiny, slightly bitchy tone, Ellie and Dina chuckled in response.

They went at it, shirtless and sloppy. Tongues clashing in an unsynchronized dance, slurping each other up like animals.

“Okay, okay — next round” Kyle exclaimed, burping into the mic.

“Ew” you gagged.

The bottle spun.

You were standing besides Ellie, her shoe nudging yours. At one point, she accidentally touched your thigh, followed by a breathy “Shit — sorry”.

There was absolutely no way it would spin pointing at her, and then point at you. But she fucking hoped. Maybe, if it was a dare, shed have the balls to do it. Maybe she’d be too embarrassed to say no in front of all these people, who might think she was even a bigger weirdo for turning a game down, so she’d have to kiss you. Maybe her lips could touch yours like she desperately desired. Maybe shed manage to put her hands on your waist, and hold you still. Maybe you’ll feel it, finally, and give into her.

Slip a tongue in, who knows?

It landed on her.

“Fuck” she hissed under her breath.

“Oh” Kyle said into the mic.

“Who are you?”

“Ellie” she said quietly, internally punching herself in the gut.

“Cant hear”

She cleared her throat, feeling her face heat up.

“Ellie” she said, louder.

You felt your throat close up. This can’t possibly be happening. Dina was ecstatic.

“Okay… Ellie, never seen you around here… Spin”

“I don’t—“ she quietly said, looking at you from the corner of her eye.

Something was wrong. Your body tensed up.

“Cmon, El” Dina nudged her arm.

She spun the bottle, the sound of the glass grazing the floor filling up the room.

It landed on a ginger named Alison. You recognized her from one of your classes. Alison was a nice girl, popular, but kept to herself. She was pretty, a sweet pair of big brown eyes, and a cleavage that left no room for the imagination. Alison smirked at Ellie, tilting her head.

You weren’t exactly a firm believer, but you prayed to god louder than anyone has ever did.

Please don’t kiss. Please don’t kiss.

“Ellie… Alison… Who else thinks those names go fucking along?” Kyle exclaimed into the mic.

The crowd whood, the crowd of people cheering this… Obscenity — as you’d call it.

Ellie shifted uncomfortably, digging her short fingernails into her palms.

You lifted your chin up. Shit.

“Ellie and Alison,” Kyle whispered dramatically.

“Kiss.”

Dina squeezed your hand.

“Ellies gonna get some…” She melodically hummed in your ear.

Your face twitched.

“Alison — take your shirt off. Ellie, gotta give us a show”

Ellie went bright red. She didn’t want to do this. She didn’t want to fucking do this. It buzzed in her ears, echoing inside her brain.

It was almost as if a comically bright light bulb appeared on top of her head.

What if this was payback.

She could never have you, couldn’t she?

What if this one hurt.

What if you realized.

Ellie didn’t dare to look at you, but she felt it. She felt you shift, she felt the harsh breath that escaped your mouth.

Alison crawled closer. So did Ellie. Her shoe grazed your knee as she moved.

You swallowed deeply.

Alison’s eyes twinkled amidst the dim lights.

Ellie felt her toes curl inside her Chuck’s. Her breathing got heavier, and her heartbeat fastened up. It wasn’t because of Alison, or Andrea, whatever her name was. It was beating because you were watching.

Alison initiated it. It was a small peck, at first.

Your hand was trembling.

“Go Ellie!” Dina cheered.

Ellie took it as a green light.

She parted her lips slowly, and sucked Alison in for a kiss. A hungry one, slow and steady, a wet tongue slipping in, gently swirling inside the shirtless ginger’s mouth. When Alison whimpered silently, Ellie brought her hand up to squeeze her breast. The crowd was cheering her on.

You felt like a monster took over your body. Your throat closed up, eyes growing moist. Oh shit. You were about to fucking cry.

Ellie grabbed Alison’s neck, and held her firmly.

It felt like it was going on for hours.

And then it stopped. Alison was panting, and Ellie was too.

There it was. The first tear that crawled down your right cheek.

“I’m going to the bathroom” you whispered to Dina.

Ellie looked across her shoulder.

You weren’t there anymore.

“Where’d she go?” She wiped her wet mouth on a black leather covered shoulder.

“Bathroom” Dina said, absentmindedly with a smile.

“Fuck”

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

♡ part four ♡

[rhiannonsknife]

could i maybe request a blurb where everyone finds out what shauna was doing with jackie in the meatshed, and you’re the only one that sides with/ doesn’t turn against her? like sure she’s a little freak but look at her! she’s so sad! who could possibly be mean to her???

- 🦔

shaunaaaaaa!! :( why do you guys love to see her suffer on this blog? (also, mind you, i just wrote this on my phone while watching a movie and i didn’t beta read…)

the freezing cold bites at your cheeks as you stand outside the cabin. the tension hangs heavier than it ever did before, a new low you didn’t think was possible. shauna stands before you in the snow, arms wrapped tightly around herself, her face pale and blanker than you’ve seen it so far.

“she’s been in there talking to jackie!” tai’s voice is sharp, almost disgusted but mostly confused. “holding her hand, doing her make up! do you realize how insane that is?” she gestures wildly toward the meat shed. “she’s been braid-“ tai chokes on the word. “braiding her hair. jesus, shauna”

shauna flinches, just barely, but you catch it. her lip trembles for half a second before she tightens her jaw, locking down any vulnerability.

“she’s gone, shauna,” tai presses, stepping closer, the anger in her voice rising. “jackie’s dead. and whatever you’re doing in that shed? it’s it’s not normal!”

the others linger nearby, silent but visibly uneasy: nat leans against the side of the cabin with her arms crossed over her chest, lottie stands a little further back, watching the scene unfold, whereas van fidgets awkwardly, her gaze darting between tai and shauna as if she’s unsure whether to intervene or stay out of it.

in the end, it’s you who steps up. “that’s enough!”

tai turns on you instantly, her eyes narrowing. “what?”

“i said, that’s enough,” you repeat firmly, stepping closer to shauna. you purposefully place yourself between her and tai, shielding shauna from her angry glare.

“oh, so you’re fine with this?” tai snaps, her arms flying up in disbelief. “with her acting like jackie’s still alive? do you even get how screwed up that is?”

“she’s grieving” you reason, refusing to back down. “i get that this…whatever she’s doing, probably isn’t healthy, but yelling at her isn’t going to help!”

tai lets out a sharp laugh, though it lacks any humor. “unbelievable. you’re actually defending this? her?”

“yes, tai. i am” thankfully, your voice doesn’t waver. you glance back at shauna, who’s staring at you with wide, tear-filled eyes. “she’s sad. she lost her best friend. yeah, maybe she’s handling it in a way we don’t understand, but that doesn’t mean we get to tear her down for it!”

tai’s mouth opens like she’s about to argue, but for the first time, she seems at a loss for words.

“jesus fucking christ,” nat mutters, breaking the silence. she rubs her temples, breath puffing in the cold air. “this is such a shitshow”

you ignore her, focusing on shauna instead, whose shoulders are beginning to shake. gently, you reach out and take her arm, tugging her away from the center of the group. “come on,” you tell her softly. “you don’t need to deal with this right now”

shauna lets you guide her back towards the warmth of the cabin, her steps slow and hesitant at first.

behind you, tai lets out an exasperated noise, but she doesn’t follow yet. you hear van mutter something under her breath, but it’s muffled by the wind, and you don’t care enough to turn back and ask.

you lead shauna back and inside, the noise of the others fading into the background. “i-” she starts, her voice barely above a whisper. then she shakes her head, squeezing her eyes shut.

“you don’t have to explain, not to me”

her lip trembles again, and this time, the tears finally come. they roll silently down her cheeks as she stands there, shoulders hunched, her entire body shaking with the effort to hold herself together. you step closer, pulling her into a hug without hesitation. for a moment, shauna stiffens, but then she crumples against you, burying her face in your shoulder as the sobs finally break free.

“i’ve got you,” you murmur, your hand gently running up and down her back. “It’s okay, shauna. i’ve got you”

[formyloveoflove]

The Bear S3 and the Choices We Make

Ok. After a second watch of S3, I'm feeling a little bit more optimistic about the future. Trust - it's a sad ending. It's my worst nightmare for Sydney. But there's still hope, and that all lies in what Carmen and Syd decide to do next. Season 3 Spoilers - read at your own risk :)

In S3 E10 Forever, we see our two mains go through a breakthrough. Starting with Carmen, he finally confronts his former boss (who has a name, i think, but fuck him, I ain't using it). It's the first (and only time) that we see Carmen proactively voice his resentment. He avoids his mom (rightfully so imo). He never got the chance with Mikey. But he approaches him, expects the man to have repent (maybe), or at the very least, have a little remorse.

He doesn't. He regrets nothing. In fact, he takes credit for Carmen's success: his hard work, his skills, and his talent. He tells Carmen that he should be thanking him, and that's not even the worst of it. No, for me, it is when he says

Carmen: My life stopped. Chef: That's the point, right? [...] You wanted to be great. You wanted to be excellent. So you got rid of all the bullshit, and you concentrated, and you got focused, and you got great. You got excellent. It worked. You're here. Look at all this

Sound familiar? It should. It's the same sentiment that Carmen said in the Season 2 finale. Remember, he said,

I wasn't here. Right? What the fuck was I thinking? Like I was going to be in a relationship? I'm a fuckin' pyscho. That's why I'm good at what I do. That's how I operate. I am the best because I didn't have any of this fuckin' bullshit, right? I could focus, and I could concentrate.

Carmen's thoughts about himself aren't even his own. They were drilled into him by a man who wouldn't piss on him if he was on fire. He was emulating the abusive behaviors and patterns that crushed him, that gave him "uclers, panic attacks, and nightmares" on the people that he cares about. On his sister, on Richie, on Tina and Marcus. and especially on Sydney, who is the only one who knows exactly how bad it can get. He's hurt those closest to him. He hurts them daily. And for what? And for why? For his own ego.

And this realization leads us to Carmen's first cry.

For three whole seasons, we see this man lose his idolized brother to suicide, witness his alcoholic mother physically, emotionally, and mentally abuse him, and experience mental degradation to the point where it affects his physical health. Not once did he shed a tear. This is the first time Carmen Berzatto lets himself cry. And I think this is the best thing for him. If he chooses to acknowledge the err of his ways, turn back course, and begin again, I think The Bear could be what he wanted it to be. He needs to decide to stop running, stop fighting himself and everybody around him. He needs to let go. Let it rip, right?

However, if this is what he decides to do, the cards ultimately fall into Sydney's hands.

If anybody's been through hell and back, it's Ms. Sydney Adamu. All season she's been forced to work in a volatile environment, putting herself between Carmen and whoever's the victim of his anger. She has her ideas shut down, her skills demeaned, and her credit is outright non-existent. Staff keeps quitting; they're not making any money; and Cicero and Co. is doing some shady background shit.

She's trapped, but not really. Not until she signs that Partnership Agreement. But like she told her dad in S2 E9 Omelette, she doesn't think she has another one in her. She can't have The Bear fail like Sheridan Road. She doesn't want to make the same mistakes she did last time. She wants to grow and learn and make her mark on the industry - prove she's not a failure.

She's waiting for Carmen to make good on his promises from The Table Scene, but he's not.

"You deserve my full focus." But his focus is not on her. Remember the Carmen that noticed when something was off with her? Remember the "say more?" or the "what's up with you?" Remember when they worked together, when the menu was truly theirs? Where was Sydney's "margin" moment? What did Carmen do this scene that signaled to Sydney that he was there and present.

"I couldn't do this without you." He does everything without her. Don't even get me started. From the menu to the list of nonnegotiables. Syd gets to make no decisions after being forced to make ALL the decisions. What is she there for? To be Carm's wrangler, his doormat? What has he does to convince her that she is invaluable?

He's egotistical. He's verbally abusive. He's the exact person that she warned him not to be. That he assured her that he wouldn't be in S1 E3 Brigade. She said,

You know I think this place could be so different from all the other places we've been at. But, in order for that to be true, we need to run things different. [...] But you just didn't really listen, and if this is going to work the way I think we both want it to work, I think we should probably try to listen to each other. The reason why I'm here, and not somewhere else or for someone else, is because I think I can stand out here. I can make a difference here. We could share ideas. I could implement things that make this place better. And I don’t wanna be wasting my time, working on another line or tweezing herbs on a dish that I don’t care about.

He didn't follow through the first time, so she left. But now, it's different. She's put her blood, sweat, and tears into this place. She's made a place (a home even) at The Bear. Leaving is not as simple anymore.

S1 Syd would've taken that CDC offer in a heartbeat. But building something and it failing (like The Bear. like Sheridan Road.) is terrifying. Slowly but surely, Carmen has been chipping away at her confidence and her fire. So much so that good things, like The Offer or the review of her risotto from The Beef, don't feel like good things.

Sydney's Panic Attack is HUGE for her character. We see Sydney at her lowest: her most frightening and vulnerable. She's uncertain. She's in a constant state of panic. And the person that she trusted with her fears and insecurities facilitated this, drove her to this point. It's heartbreaking. I cried when I saw it. No one would blame her for jumping ship. At this point, I encourage it (but she has to talk about it, acknowledge it. no running).

Now, if Carmen decides to change his ways, he'd have apologized to Sydney twice without changed actions. She'd have to believe him after many, many broken promises. At this time, she doesn't trust him, can't rely on him. But when having to decide between staying or going, will she try to trust him again?

Will she? Should she?

That's where I'm at so far. I have more thoughts, but I'll write those out when I get back from my weekend trip.

[lena-in-a-red-dress]

Beekeeper Movie AU

So, Lena is on the run from her mob-connected brother (maybe because she's turned him in to the cops??), and lives in a house all by herself in the middle of nowhere. She starts going through an old shed, for want of something better to do, and runs into a hive of bees. She calls in a professional, who ends up being Kara.

Kara notices that Lena is nervous around the bees (there's something about the buzzing that puts her on edge okay??) and starts rattling off bee facts. She's so passionate about these facts, and the bees themselves, that when Kara mentions that she wants to keep some hives of her own, just doesn't really have a place to keep them since she's basically living out of her truck, that Lena offers both Kara and the bees a place to stay with her.

(No, it's not the safest idea, but when is Lena ever NOT willing to put herself in danger for want of human connection?)

Anyway, Kara takes up residence in the shed, upon her own insistence, but Lena manages to coax her in for mealtimes, and they develop a bond. Kara is softened by Lena's smiles, and Lena is smitten with the rugged outdoorswoman. They're both glad for the company.

But then, one day when Kara is off at the farmers market selling some of her honey, Lex's men find Lena at the house and manage to wrestle her into a van. Lena, for her part, puts up a pretty good fight, and the mess of blood and debris that Kara finds on her return is considerable.

The thing Lex doesn't realize is that Lena's new roommate Kara is, in fact, a retired Beekeeper.

And unfortunately for him, the signs of struggle that Kara finds sends her back into work mode.

With a single call to a former coworker, Kara learns Lena's true identity and her circumstances, which is enough to point her in the right direction. She starts punching and burning her way through Lex's holdings in search of Lena, and Lex does his best to keep Lena out of her reach, thinking that Kara is the feds trying to recover their key witness.

I'm not sure why Lex doesn't just kill Lena. Maybe Lena sabotaged something, and he needs her alive to fix it? Or perhaps some kind of information she has that he needs.... hmm. I'll ponder that later.

In the meantime, it's just chaos and carnage as Kara does her thing. But when it comes down to it, when she faces off against Lex with Lena between them as his human shield, Kara doesn't take the shot. In the end it's Lena, who pulls a Rizzoli and curls herself around the gun Lex points at Kara-- forcing him to shoot himself through her own chest.

Kara manages to save her life-- I like to think maybe the actual cops have been after Kara the whole time trying to stop her rampage, not realizing until the moment they finally catch up that Kara actually had a purpose and that purpose is currently bleeding out in her arms.

When Lena recovers, they both return to the little house in the middle of nowhere, and resuming the keeping of their bees.

[thewertsearch]

Anonymous asked: youve finally gotten to the section of the comic that makes me tear up everytime i read it! vriska is such a polarizing character but i have nothing but empathy for her. i do think she cares about her friends, even if shes awful at showing it and her attempts do more harm than good. Specifically i DO think she cares about karkat- she shows a begrudging respect for him throughout the comic and even says he maybe is the most human of them, which is something she is starting to admire herself even if she wont admit it. I think if vriska didnt care about the others in her sad, warped-by-child-abuse way, things would be much different. Jack bringing the bodies back and her being visibly enraged by it- i think thats grief. more than that i just find her quest to kill jack so sad. It really reveals to me how fucked up she is- she repeats so many times that she knows survival is unlikely, that she knows her immortality wont save her, but that its something she needs to do anyways. Vriska isnt actively suicidal- but shes passively okay with dying if its in a way where she can accomplish her goals. She wanted to be absolved of all the bad things shed done (even if thats not how it works). And- just as much- she wanted to save her friends. and terezi. The person who wants to not be a killer anymore but goes down the path anyway because the timeline says she must, because her own lack of a future is breathing down her neck. Who was the person vriska cares about most on that meteor, even if she is horrible at showing it. Terezi is the one to kill her. They were best friends! They were both thirteen years old! And its narrated by the man who literally groomed vriska and who she views as being a predator to her!!!! Most heartbreaking death she couldve gotten. Fly high in those dream bubbles queen

Maybe I spoke too soon, when I asserted that Vriska probably didn't give a shit about Karkat. They might not have had many on-panel interactions, but they were co-players for over six hundred hours. We can't say definitively that they didn't bond at all.

I guess the issue here is that the trolls' social group consists of sixty-six unique relationships, and we simply don't have time to explore them all. We know that each troll isn't necessarily buddies with every other troll in the group, and I could list plenty of pairs that almost certainly aren't friends. I can't imagine that Nepeta was particularly pally with Eridan, for example, and I don't think Aradia and Gamzee were hanging out offscreen.

All that said - if any troll is friends with the entire group, it's probably Karkat. His only real conversation with Vriska was that argument about quadrants on LOPAH, but there was a moment in one of the walkarounds where she agreed to put her plans on hold for his sake, which was a surprisingly kind gesture for her. Plus, you're right, she does think he'd cut it better as a human - and that statement hits differently when you remember she's low-key jealous of humanity.

As for Scratch... yeah, his treatment of Vriska, specifically, is nothing short of disturbing. She clearly hated it whenever he showed up to text her...

...and, uh, now that I'm actually thinking about it, the guy only ever seems to manipulate girls. The only male Player he's even spoken to was Karkat, and that was only three sentences. This guy was born from a nightmare - and he certainly acts like it, the creep.

[multiisketch]

SPOILERS FOR SONIC 3 END CREDITS BELOW!

Okay, so... I may have a potential plot for the fourth movie... There's likely some holes in the idea but it's been running through my head since watching the 3rd film's end credits, so... you know enjoy!

It's CD and Heroes inspired.

Imagine, if you will with me, that Amy and Metal Sonic come from a BAD FUTURE.

In the original timeline, sometime after the 3rd film, Sonic meets Amy and they go on an adventure to save her home, Little Planet, from corruption. Only, while there, Sonic gets captured/lost/tragically injured leaving Amy alone. Metal Sonic is created by the evil powers that be on Little Planet (not Eggman; some original entity that wants to turn everything living into machinery) in mock of the hero. Having lost Sonic, Amy gathers up special gems that exist on Little Planet, the time stones, and travels back in time to find Sonic before their adventure, hoping to stop all this before it can begin. Metal Sonic follows her.

Cut to the end credit scene in 3. Amy tells Sonic she has come to help him stop Metal Sonic from conquering his world and her home if not the rest of the galaxy. She's very familiar with him, but doesn't explain why, leaving Sonic uncomfortable and untrusting. This references back to her clinginess in her original depiction, while it being more about the fact that she knew and lost him than a lovesick obsession. Sonic's awkwardness isn't because he finds her annoying. There's something she's not telling him.

The movie follows Amy and Team Sonic attempting to stop this army of Metal Sonic's from conquering the planet by finding their leader. Here, we do a fake-out. It's Eggman! He's somehow back from the dead! Again! He was working with the entity on Little Planet who found him after he was launched into space! Only, no. He's not. This is NEO Metal Sonic, the original Metal Amy encounter and leader of the others whom he created himself. Just like in Heroes he wants Sonic and Shadow's bio-data so he can become Metal Overlord and take over. Shadow would rejoin everyone else through NEO Metal Sonic finding and targeting him just as he did with Sonic. For some reason, NEO seems to have an affinity for Amy. Sonic's suspicions are raised further.

Sometime in the Third Act, Neo Metal Sonic taunts Sonic by asking him if Amy has told him his bleak future. This prompts Sonic to begin drilling Amy about what happened. This is when she explains herself in full. Only there is an element they are both missing. Amy thought Sonic was killed, kidnapped, or worse...

In actuality the evil on Little Planet MADE him into Metal Sonic, corrupting him like it did the planet. NEO Metal is her original Sonic. He's angry for being abandoned, angry at being replaced. Angry that he'll never get to be with his family again. His mind is twisted by the machinery he is made of now, but he is still the REAL SONIC.

The final battle would be against Metal Overlord. They'd beat him bad. He wouldn't be dead and gone at the end. Sonic would want to redeem him. After all, Metal Sonic is a version of him. Back in his base form, the original Metal Sonic would run off. Or, maybe, Tails would power him off and keep him in their tool shed. Maybe hope there would be a way to restore him back to normal, but the chance is slim.

The last step would be to head to Little Planet. Sonic, Amy, and co. would go to the planet's past using the time stones to put the kibosh on the takeover before it can really begin (just like in CD!)

Just when they return to the present, thinking time is fixed, a certain time traveler shows up to tell them it's not!

[dontsh0vethesun]

a bloody affair

kinktober 2023 masterlist

milf!serialkiller!wanda maximoff x reader

18+: reference to blood and murder, smut; blood and knife kink, mommy kink, degradation, car sex, fingering, thigh riding, infidelity

a/n - kind of wanna do a sequel idk, there isn’t enough murder in this :( | wc: 1.8k

If you’d tried to imagine your first official meeting with your older neighbour, this wouldn’t have been it. You’d thought that perhaps - if it were to ever happen outside of your crush-fuelled thoughts - that it’d be something neighbourly. Feigning an excuse to finally knock on her door, maybe to borrow a cup of sugar or to offer to help mow her lawn.

In less than realistic ideas you’d conjured late at night, you’d thought of her knocking on your own front door, hair scraped back, chest on show from a low neckline, and a flirtatious smile on her lips. You’d pictured her with a faux innocence, telling you she’d locked herself out of her house and was oh so thirsty; you’d invite her in until her husband came home and she’d claim you as her own. She’d leave you breathless and yearning for more before heading home to her nuclear family with a peck to your lips and a promise of another visit.

But tonight, walking home from a friend's house through the wooded area not too far from the suburban street you shared, you saw her closer than you ever had before.

Not through her bedroom window, not across the street where she helped her twins out of her car. But right there, in front of you, standing over a lifeless body of a man you didn’t recognise.

Her chest heaved with ragged breaths as the back of her hand swiped at the sweat on her forehead whilst the other had the hilt of a kitchen cleaver in its grasp. You froze - of course - how else was one to react to such a sight? The perfectly pristine facade of the woman you harboured lusting feelings for had been blanched with red, it was an impossible scene to imagine bumping into.

Her head whipped in your direction at the unfortunate snapping of a twig beneath your shoe and the smirk that upturned the corner of her lips made your heartbeat pick up even more. Somehow, all thoughts of the immorality of the situation were pushed to the back confines of your mind and were overtaken by the sight of the woman walking towards you.

Her face was splattered with drying streaks of blood and her t-shirt was soiled all the same. You’d barely spared a glance towards the blood-soaked man lying nearby before she’d grabbed your arm harshly and dragged you to the car shed parked across the street.

You were silent with the stumbling steps you took as she dragged you behind her, opening the back car door to push you onto the leather seats. She climbed in after you and the proximity of the macabre woman made your stomach flip in anticipation; the dirtied blade of the cleaver ghosted the side of your neck while her dark eyes stared at you.

“You’ll keep your fucking mouth shut,” she muttered through gritted teeth. “Am I clear?”

“Yes,” you breathed with a nod, fearful and lusting all at once. To your surprise, as well as her own, you held little regard for the fact she’d just murdered somebody.

“Good girl.”

“What - who was he? Did he - have you done this before?” your words were embarrassingly stuttered and frankly you had little clue what to ask her. The casual air about her indicated this wasn’t the first time and somehow that only made her more attractive; the idea that this innocent housewife held such a dark and callous secret that only you are party to made the hairs on the back of your neck stand upright.

“I don’t know him,” she shrugged. “I’ve just seen him around, and no, this isn’t the first time.”

Her voice held little emotion. As though this were something completely ordinary. She was an enigma to you, ethereal, and somehow you needed her more than ever.

“So those missing men - those articles in the papers - it’s all you,” you stated, it was all adding up. You know you’ve seen her arriving home at odd hours isn’t the night - you thought, perhaps, she was having an affair, and though you were jealous of the mystery companion, you didn’t blame her. Anyone would stray from such a boring life, and it turns out, she’s chosen a much more extreme extracurricular hobby.

“Mhm,” Wanda nodded. “But you won’t say anything, will you baby? You don’t wanna get mommy in any trouble.”

You’d not noticed the bag of tools she kept in the footwell beside you. Not until you felt the knife she’d reached for brush across your cheek as she spoke; whether you were to agree with her or not, it didn’t seem you had much of a choice. With the edge of a blade pushed against you, disobeying the wants of the wielder doesn’t seem wise

You merely nodded in earnest. Your head swam in an unfamiliar way at what she’d called herself, at the metal on your warm skin, the hand that had found your waist, and your back that had somehow found the solidness of the car seats. You’re not sure when she’d got you laying beneath her with her knees trapping you but the heat of her body this close was more sublime than any late-night imaginings.

“I won’t say anything, mommy,” you whispered, you could hardly get your voice to be any louder what with every lusting emotion coursing through you.

“I knew you were a good girl,” she smiled, inching your shirt upwards until the knife stroked over your belly. “But I also knew that the good girl I see in her bedroom is less than innocent.”

You could hear the thump of your heartbeat as she spoke and you hissed slightly at the sting of a small cut she left on your rib.

“I’ve seen you bringing people home,” she muttered with a hint of jealous venom on her tongue as she watched the blood form on your skin. “I see you come back at night. I see you after a shower, undressing yourself for anyone to see. I know that you’re a little slut, y/n.”

The angered tone of her voice uttered your name like velvet, each syllable was made for her lips.

“I’ve just been waiting to finally put you in your place.”

You sighed out at the feel of her tongue licking at the cuts she’d left behind, each one slowly placed with a musing pressure and an entertained glint in her eye. And to know that she’d been wanting you as much as you’d craved her only made the kiss she pushed against your lips that much sweeter. You could taste your own blood; metallic and blanched with a heated tension.

You accepted the dominating push of her tongue and held the softness of her hips in your hands with your thumbs nudged beneath her shirt to feel her skin. You could feel the warmth of her body and each exhale of breath caused by fervent kisses; you felt the smile she let out at the way your body tensed at the painful touch she lay to your rib, melding it together with the pleasure of her teeth ghosting the line of your jaw.

The hand that made its way into your underwear was confident and Wanda was pleased, yet unsurprised, with the wetness of your cunt. She knew her pretty neighbour was worth the wait, that each time she’d thought of you as the only means to get her through a lacklustre night with her husband, was going to pay off eventually. She’d been waiting to sink her teeth into you.

“I’ve noticed you watching me, sweet girl,” she murmured as her fingers pushed into you. “I know you’ve been aching for me to fuck you, haven’t you?”

“Yes, mommy,” you nodded abashedly, feeling your cheeks burn with the teasingly slow movement of her digit’s curlings. “I’ve wanted this so badly.”

She merely offered a hum in return, deep and guttural with her fingers burying into your sex and her hips absentmindedly rutting into yours. Everything was hot and sensual, bodies heated, and the feel of drying blood you felt on her cheek only added to the flusteringly wanton situation.

Wanda reveled in the small sounds at the back of your throat as her thumb rubbed over your sensitive clit, responding perfectly to each touch and maneuver she gave you. The ridge of the seam of her jeans hit against her with each glide of her core against your thigh, stimulating her senses just enough to pull the coil in her stomach tighter and tighter.

You aided her movements, fingers in her belt loops whilst lips were still partaking in sloppy, breathless, wanting kisses. The sounds you’d let roam in the secret of your mind could never compare to the ones the woman let out above you; musings hadn’t given them justice and the way they fell onto your ears made your cunt clench around her digits. The stuttered moans and scattered mutterings of your name, peppered with murmurs of praise, made your heartbeat pick up tenfold.

Her free hand held up the weight of her body leaning against the window, handprint smudging a cleared space in the steamed-up glass; you’re sure it’d be somewhat of an alarming sight from the other side. But, with her lips ghosting your skin with kisses that grew less precise with each step closer to her release, it was nowhere near the forefront of your mind.

You knew there’d be marks where her teeth had harshly dug into your neck; where she’d painfully sucked at your flesh as you mewled beneath her. You knew you’d look at them fondly, remembering this night vividly until they fade. And Wanda knew she’d leave more soon, she was nowhere near through with you.

“Cum for your mommy, sweetheart,” she rasped above you, keeping her eyes on your glossed-over ones with merely the dim light of the moon to show the lust-blown hue that had taken over the sea glass of her own.

It took little more to pull you over the edge with a moan of her name at the sublime feeling; the way your back arched into her chest and the slick arousal that coated her fingers had the same pleasure washing over her too. She rode out her high with her clothed pussy pushing along your thigh and she could feel the way her underwear had dampened, making a mental note to have you taste her as soon as possible.

Wanda blissfully sighed at the taste of your cum on her fingers, sucking them into her mouth with her tongue swiping them clean. You watched as she did so, taking in the surreally beautiful sight on top of you until she kissed you again. This time was less desperate, slower, a translation of crushes long kept.

“I’d like for us to do this again,” she spoke, looking at you questioningly and almost with a hint of nervousness.

“I’d like that, Wanda,” you nodded.

“Come over tomorrow,” she stated. “Maybe you could accompany me with my nighttime hobby.”

[pennyellee]

𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐞𝐰 𝐨𝐟 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐗 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐨𝐧𝐞

LACRIMOSA | MYG MAFIA YANDERE AU

pairings: mafia leader!yoongi x f!reader

genre: mafia!au, yandere au, historical au

summary: Their interlocking gaze served as a butterfly effect on his heart, stirring it to the core. She, in turn, only dreams to find a way to escape. But perchance, over time she might forcefully learn to love the man who has taken so much from her.

Thus unfolds a twisted tale of love and loss, of hope and despair, of life and death. The music reverberated through the dimly-lit streets. Tears of sorrow, weeping symphony - reflects the hurt, the scars that linger deep within and the wounds that never healed. Lacrimosa.

chapter warnings (preview only): minors dni 18+ | mafia au, dark!yoongi, mafia!yoongi, yandere, implied age gap, hoseok-sshi being tired of yoongi, …

beta read by @chaoticpuff17

word count: 646

release date: 7/12/24

disclaimer: this story is purely fictional, it does not depict real-life events or involve any actual members of BTS. This story will contain depictions of violence, blood shed, death, mentions of abuse, smoking, alcohol drinking, illegal activities, old social norms and traditions, which we do not condone.

author’s note: WELL AT LAST INNIT? Y'all I swear I’m as impatient to put this out but also so nervous. This is the longest chapter of Lacrimosa to this date and there is a reason. A lot is going to happen here and in part two. That’s why I decided to split this into two parts, and perhaps if this would be only one part I would have to write “the end” which I’m still not contemptuous with soooo yeah. But this has been such a long ride and looking at the almost 300 pages long document I’m sitting here like damn. The first draft of Lacrimosa can be traced back to 2021 and I can’t believe we are almost at the end of it all.

ANYWAY - for those who asked a lot about Y/N’s and Yoongi’s age gap, kudos for your patience. Also, I have another fic that is setted in the world of champagne confetti [now i’ll know if you’re actually reading these notes hihi] of which preview will come, probably this week too, or maybe the next one, again, very excited to push it out finally AND, yes to all of you if you’re still reading this note - CHAMPAGNE CONFETTI [now you just looked up to see what i’m talking about right] will come around as soon as i’m finished with UNI this year. If yall be good I can pull out a preview out of my sleeve for Christmas. SO, see you all on 7/12/24, the usual time :))))

previous NEXT

….

“You don’t just do that without having something bigger planned.”

Seokjin’s eyes flickered to observe Yoongi’s reaction to their brother’s words. “He is right, Yoongi. She has always been emotional, and driven by her heart. But this—" He shook his head. “It’s different.”

Jimin shifted in his seat, looking between the men, the concern in his eyes growing.

Hoseok stood straighter, his expression softening as he spoke with conviction. “She had a choice. She could have walked away or stayed neutral, but instead, she chose to act. And what she did, Yoongi, was not just for herself. It was for all of us. For you. Do not dare to doubt her loyalty, when she worked hard to finally be contemptuous here!”

Jungkook, his voice quieter than usual, spoke up listening to Hoseok’s words. “She did what she had to do. And whatever her reasons are, I trust her.” His gaze met Yoongi’s. “You should, too.”

Yoongi’s expression hardened, trying to keep his emotions in check. His mind raced, the weight of everything that had happened in the past hours pressing down on him.

Taehyung’s voice broke through the silence once again, more serious than usual.

“She has changed—” Yoongi exhaled sharply, his mind still reeling. “I just need to understand why. Why now? Why this?” His voice dropped to a near whisper, the vulnerability slipping through despite his best efforts to hide it. His heart... his heart wanted to believe in her, wanted to believe she was doing this out of devotion, not manipulation.

“Of course, she has changed!” Hoseok’s frustration was bubbling at this point. "You were nine when she was born," he continued the quiet force in his voice, not backing down.

“Nine years, Yoongi. You have had that much more time to figure things out. To live your life, to become who you are now. She did not have that—” Yoongi’s jaw clenched, and for a moment, he didn’t know how to respond. The truth was there, raw and unfiltered, and it stung.

“She had three pathetic years to enjoy what life can be and then she went to be your wife.” He took a breath, trying to steady himself. Y/N had spent so much of her life suffocated by the things that had shaped her, by the violence and manipulation that had plagued her existence long before she ever crossed paths with him.

The silence that followed was thick, the air heavy with unspoken emotions.

His voice was quieter than it had been, softer, as he spoke the words he wasn’t sure he was ready to say. “I just… I need to—”

“Even if she is plotting some grand escape, we will stop her, Yoongi.” Yoongi’s head snapped up at the interruption, his eyes narrowing at Hoseok’s words. For a moment, Yoongi’s chest tightened, the idea of Y/N plotting against him threatening to undo everything he’d been trying to hold together.

He stepped forward, his hand resting gently on Yoongi’s shoulder, an attempt to ground him in the present. “You all are too busy doubting her, instead of trusting her.” Yoongi flinched slightly at the rawness in Hoseok’s tone. He had been too caught up in his own doubts to truly see the bigger picture.

“Maybe you are right,” Yoongi muttered, his voice low, almost to himself. He ran a hand through his hair, frustration bubbling back to the surface.

“She is not running, Yoongi. She is not playing you. What is happening now is what happens when you have been given enough time to think.” Hoseok’s gaze softened, his expression becoming more contemplative.

For the first time in a long time, Yoongi allowed himself to take a breath, to breathe out the doubt, and let himself hold onto the belief that maybe, just maybe she was done fighting him for good.

“I genuinely hope that you are right, Hoseok-sshi.”

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coming soon

©pennyellee. please do not repost

Don't be a silent reader, comment, re-blog, heart, asks are more than welcome ♥

PS: Taehyung and Xiaoli 🤭🤫❤️

keep in mind - I'm not expert on chinese, korean and japanese culture, but I tried to research everything realistic I wanted to add to the story. Nonetheless, take it as a fiction.

tag list: @beautifulcloudfestival - @honsoolgloss - @jingerbreadoutofstock - @moscow778 - @januara26 - @dinosolecito - @yoongislatinagff - @xyahrinx - @hi12345567 - @nochuel - @deltamoon666 - @bbkissme99 - @darkuni63 - @nansasa - @sazsazsaz - @strxwbloody - @royallyjjk - @jaiuneamesolitaiire - @shadowyjellyfishfest - @bbgniecyy - @elayne321 - @seojunandsoju - @bun-27 - @whipwhoops - @wobblewobble822 - @whofan88 - @haneyyyyyy - @lostgirlinthewoodss - @secfir - @btspurplesky - @elleflying07 - @pamzn - @megseungmin - @selenophileforlife - @idkjustlovingbts - @seonghwaexile - @catlove83

[ellswritings]

Love and War

Finnick Odair x reader

TW: Reader and Finnick are both villains in this, Finnick cheats on Annie with reader, terrible timing, idiots in love, angsty, this one’s kinda heavy with the infidelity so read at your own risk.

︶︶︶︶༉‧₊˚. ︶︶︶︶༉‧₊˚. ︶︶︶︶༉‧₊˚. ︶︶︶︶

No one ever honestly talks about the cruel heartbreak love creates. It’s portrayed as this life-altering, amazing feeling, but for Y/N, that could not have been further from the truth. Everyday since the fateful morning she realized she was in love with him, all that love brought to her was agonizing pain.

She would never let it show, of course. That would ruin the image. The image of her being Finnick Odair’s best friend.

Friend.

How that word vexes her very being. In the beginning, she truly thought it was some silly school girl crush she developed on the Prince of Panem. Something that she would easily get over. Unfortunately for her, that was not the case.

With each passing day, her feelings for him grew. And it only worsened with the silly side glances, the inside jokes, the way he would always know when something was wrong by the simplest quirk of her lip. Or even the way he would pull her aside for a dance as a way to cheer her up, to celebrate, or even just to cure a simple bored spell. He knew Y/N better than she knew herself, and she knew him.

That’s why she’s kept every single feeling besides friendship bottled up within herself. Because she knew he would never be hers.

Tears brim at the corner of her eyes as she watches Annie Cresta walk down the aisle to the altar where her future husband awaits. Where Finnick awaits.

President Coin was kind enough in all her strict glory to permit Annie and Finnick’s wedding as a way to show the people in District Thirteen thriving. When Y/N had heard, she could physically feel her heart falling out of her chest. It only shattered further when he asked her to stand beside him as his Best Woman.

And how could she ever say no to him?

That’s why she’s here now, choking back the sob that threatens to escape her lips as Finnick stares at Annie in the way Y/N has always desired. Perhaps if she had been honest about her feelings. Only she knows the amount of opportunities she could have told him. They’re countless, but she could never seem to decide when the perfect moment would be.

But that’s her fault for thinking that there never would be that special moment. If only her naive mind would have known at that time that the thing that makes moments special is the people, then maybe she would have found a way to tell him.

However, as she watches one singular tear fall from his eyes as Annie says her vows, she realizes that there’s no use of dwelling on the past. This is happening. She missed her chance and Finnick found his happy ending with someone else. Someone better. Who would never wait to tell him how now she loves him. Who wouldn’t hesitate in confessing her true feelings because that’s what he deserves. A life full of love.

Y/N is happy for him. She always will be. All she has ever wanted was for Finnick to have a future with someone that he cherishes and who admires him just as much… even if it’s not her.

But despite her joy for him, she can’t help but look away as the officiant pronounces them husband and wife. The way Finnick plants his lips on hers, with an undying flame of passion, it makes Y/N’s stomach twist and turn in ways that would send anyone to the infirmary.

When she finally finds the courage to look back, she notices him already staring at her. The bright smile on his face drops slightly when he analyzes her expression. He knows her fake smile anywhere. It’s accompanied by yet to be shed tears and a crease between her eyebrows. He’s mastered the art of reading the closed off book that is Y/N L/N.

He wants to reach out to her, pull her into his arms and ask what terrible thing could be plaguing her thoughts. But the feel of his newly wedded wife pulling on his arm distracts him. Annie pulls him down the aisle of cheering people as they clap and cheer for them. It’s not like they’re going far, just over to the clear area where the reception is. But his eyes never leave Y/N’s form as he’s rushed away. He watches as Johanna and Katniss walk up to his best friend before Y/N quickly brushes them off, walking in the opposite direction.

There’s something very wrong.

It’s only confirmed when five songs have already passed and Y/N still hasn’t shown up. He and Annie have been mingling as much as she’s comfortable with, dancing, and talking quietly to their close friends. His eyes constantly search the floor in hopes of seeing her. He doesn’t even realize how checked out he’s been until Johanna walks up to him, a glass of water in her hands since no one feels morally ambiguous enough to give her champagne.

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were trying to escape your own wedding,” she chimes sarcastically, sipping from her glass as she pretends there’s some kind of alcohol in it.

“What?” Finnick glances at her, his eyebrows furrowed. Annie is off talking to Haymitch and Beetee, two of the very few people she’s comfortable with. Hence why Finnick is now standing on his own at Johanna Mason’s mercy.

“Don’t try to play dumb, Odair,” she scoffs. “I’ve been watching you all night. You look like you’re trying to find a way to bust out of here without being caught. Constantly looking around, kind of shady if you ask me.” Her scrawny finger points over to Annie who has a happy smile on her face, “Especially when your betrothed is over there.”

“I’m not trying to find a way to bust out of here,” he shrugs off her accusation. “Just… keeping my head on a swivel is all.”

“Yeah, right.” Johanna nods mockingly. “You sure it’s not because you’re looking for a certain (h/c) haired girl with big (e/c) eyes who hasn’t been seen since you tied the knot?”

Finnick tenses, the muscle in his jaw ticking as he looks away from Johanna. She doesn’t need much more of a reaction to know she’s right. An obnoxious chuckle leaves her lips, “I knew it.” She shakes her head, “You’re unbelievable you know that? Both of you are, actually. I mean, the fact she ran off in the first place, and you’ve spent more than half of your wedding night looking for her… it’s pathetic, really.”

Finnick pauses as he takes in her words. Ran off sticks out in his mind because it implicates she’s choosing not to be here. “Do you know why she hasn’t showed up?” He asks quietly, a part of him pained that he hasn’t gotten to share a dance with her.

Johanna has never wanted to smack someone more. But instead of giving into her physical impulses, she settles for a verbal one instead. “Why don’t you go ask her yourself?” She quirks an eyebrow. “She went back up to her room, said she was feeling sick. Probably cooped up with one of the books she’s already read a million times.”

He feels himself become internally torn. His wife, the woman he just swore to love for the rest of his life, through sickness and in health is standing just a mere few feet away. He could forget all about this conversation and enjoy his night with his wife. He could dance his worries away and live one night in joy before this rebellion really hits the ground running.

But the tug on his heart is pulling him in the exact opposite direction.

And that’s how he ends up running through the emptied out corridors of District Thirteen, most of the residents downstairs at the party. His footsteps echo loudly in the silence, a hand running through his already messy hair. His once out together tie is now completely undone, the black cloth just dangling loosely around his neck. He feels his breath hitch when he reaches Y/N’s door. He raises a fist up to knock, but hesitates. What if she doesn’t want to see him? Or slams the door in his face once she sees it’s him. He doesn’t quite understand what he did to make her leave his wedding, but he can’t bear the thought of the woman he’s become so dependent on these last few years being mad at him.

Knock, knock.

Y/N brings her head out from in between her knees. Her eyes are red and puffy, the tears she shed long since dried. Her eyebrows furrow, not knowing who would be knocking at her door. She was positive that no one saw her leave besides Johanna and Katniss. A small part of her hopes it’s just a soldier doing rounds, checking in on residents, but something inside of her tells her it can’t be that simple.

She stands up from her rickety bed, her Best Woman dress now a wrinkled mess. She cringes at her appearance, not having seen the whole thing, but she knows she must look like a total wreck. She runs a hand over her face in hopes of making the swelling go down.

Y/N opens the door just a crack so no one could see the disaster she’s made herself. Her eyes widen when she sees a disheveled Finnick Odair standing on the other side. Alarm bells go off in her head, her cheeks flushing from pure embarrassment. The very person she’s been breaking down over for the past hour is standing outside her door.

“Can I come in?”

Her lips part slightly, looking more and more like a warm invitation than Finnick would like to admit. He gazes at her face and immediately knows she’s just got done crying. Her cheeks are puffy, eyes bloodshot, lips are a bright pink, and yet she still looks absolutely beautiful.

Y/N doesn’t realize how long they’ve been standing like that before answering. She blinks slowly, still processing his presence, “Yeah…” She winces at the weak sound of her voice. It’s rubbed completely raw, cracking at just one simple word.

She steps to the side, allowing Finnick to walk into her sanctuary. He nervously runs a hand through his blonde waves again as she closes the door behind them with a sniffle. He takes in her full appearance, noting she hadn’t even taken off her dress. Her bedsheets are in complete disarray, showing it must have been an emotional hour for her.

“What are you doing here, Finnick?” She manages to croak out, folding her arms over her chest. Not in a defensive manner, but almost as a way of protecting herself. Protecting herself from him. It makes his heart ache at the thought.

His mouth runs dry as he tries to find the right words. His tongue darts out over his lips in an attempt to come up with something, anything. “Um, I… I saw you leave earlier,” he admits breathily, the slight dent in his cheek from his dimple still there. How she loves his dimples. “I knew there was something wrong. You had your crying eyes, and not the fake ones you used in the Capitol, or the ones you would use to manipulate someone, but your real ones.” Her breath hitches as he takes a step towards her, concern the only expression on his face. “The ones that have only been reserved for me,” the last sentence comes out as a whisper. He towers over her, neck craning downwards just so he can look at her face. Not that she’s making any effort to make eye contact. In fact, she’s making it a point to stare anywhere else but at him.

He places his finger under her chin to force her to look at him, but she flinches. A part of him dies inside at the sight of her deliberately trying to get away from him. Like he had hurt her in some unimaginable way. He couldn’t. He could never hurt her.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she mumbles, tears brimming at her waterline once more as she takes a step back from him. Y/N curses herself in her mind for letting her vulnerability show. She’s never been a crier, and what makes it worse is that he’s right. He’s the only one who’s ever seen her real cry.

Finnick’s face falls, his own eyes glossing over. He takes another small step forward. He reaches out, lightly grabbing her hand. He can see she wants to pull away, but he silently pleads with her not to pull away. And once again, how could she say no to him?

So she lets him take her palms in his. “Yes, you do,” he insists. “Y/N, I know you. I know when you’re sad, angry, happy, passionate,” he lists off. “I don’t know what I did to make you so upset, but please talk to me.” Y/N squeezes her eyes shut tightly as the tears begin to fall again. He thinks it’s his fault that she’s like this. He sounds so desperate, so broken. “I’ve been waiting all night to see you, to dance with you, to just be with you–”

“Stop,” her voice cracks as a son wracks her body. “Please, stop,” she begs him.

Finnick’s entire world stops spinning as he realizes something. She’s not crying to him. She’s crying because of him. A surge of panic rises in his chest, confusion taking over his body. “Stop what?” He asks quietly, his shoulder visibly deflating.

“You can’t say things like that,” she whimpers softly, shaking her head. “You can’t do that.”

“Do what?” He asks her desperately, not understanding what’s going on. He tries to wrap his head around what she could mean. “Y/N, tell me what’s going on, please,” he pleads. “I just want to help you. I want to make you happy.”

“You can’t!” She finally exclaims, the floodgates opening as she pulls away from him. Her hands are clenched tightly into fists as she internally beats herself up. “You can’t help me. You shouldn't be here. You shouldn’t be telling me that you’ve been looking for me all night when your wife is downstairs. You shouldn’t be wanting to dance with me or to just be with me. And you shouldn’t be wanting to make me happy,” she rants out breathlessly.

Finnick’s at a loss for words, “Y/N, I–”

“No, Finnick!” She stops him, moving past him as she begins gathering all the stuff he’s given to her over the years from her bedside table. She’s kept every single little seashell he’s brought to her from the beaches of District Four, every little pebble, bracelet, photo, drawing, all of it. They’re some of her most prized possessions. But she can’t keep them anymore. Not when they simply serve as a reminder of her failed attempt at love. “You can’t do this. I can’t do this,” she sobs, putting all of the keepsakes in a small box before walking over to him and shoving them into his chest.

“You need to leave,” she commands. “Now.”

Finnick looks down at the box, every memory they’ve shared together playing in his head. He remembers everything in this box. Every reason why he picked a certain shell, why he thought a certain drawing reminded him of her, even the matching bracelet he still wears to this day. If only she knew it was hidden delicately under the cuff link of his suit.

“You need to go back downstairs,” Y/N continues. “Go enjoy your party. It’s your wedding night. Go be with your wife and the people who are there for the right reasons. Go be with Annie and just leave me alone, please.” She begs desperately. “Live your life with her and just please leave me out of it.”

His eyes snap upward, “What?”

“Leave me out of your life,” she repeats as if it was nothing. Like it wasn’t a serrated knife she just plunged deeply into his chest.

“What the hell do you mean ‘leave you out of my life?’” Finnick raises his voice. It’s not in an angry way, but in an emotional one. He’s normally levelheaded, but hearing that makes it feel like his entire heart is being torn to shreds. “What does that even mean Y/N?”

“It means I can’t keep doing this, Finnick!” She responds with just as much vulnerability. “I can’t live the rest of my life watching you be happy with her. I can’t do it!”

“You can’t watch me be happy?” He scoffs. “Really?” He deliberately walks forward, the box still in his hands, knuckles turning white from how hard he’s gripping it.

Y/N looks for an escape route, but it seems he’s managed to trap her between her bedside table, the wall, and her bed. The only way out would be to jump over one of the furniture pieces and there is no way she can do that in this dress.

“I–I– that’s–” she groans loudly, trying to keep herself from screaming out of pure frustration. “That’s not what I meant!”

“Then what do you mean?!” He shouts, practically tossing the box onto her table with a loud thud. “Because I don’t understand! You’re not making any sense. You’re running away from my wedding, giving me back all the things that make me think of you, and now telling me you don’t want to be a part of my life anymore?” He shakes his head exasperatedly. “I don’t know what’s going on with you Y/N, but you need to tell me.”

“I want you to be happy, Finnick!” She screams. “I do, okay? I really do! But I can’t keep pretending that it doesn’t kill me inside whenever I see you two together,” she cries and all he wants to do is pull her in his arms and tell her it’s all going to be okay. “I’ve tried for so long to swallow my selfishness, but it’s becoming too hard. But I can’t ruin your wedding. I can’t stand the thought of getting in the way of your happiness, so the only way we both can move on from this unscathed is if I remove myself from your life,” she explains, wiping the snot from underneath her nose. “It’ll be better that way.”

“No offense, but that is the most idiotic thing I’ve ever heard you say,” he snaps, his face turning red. Y/N’s eyebrows shoot up into her hairline out of shock. “How dense do you have to be to think that my life will be better without you in it?” He lets out a laugh but there is absolutely no humor behind it. “Y/N I would be an absolute mess if I didn’t have you around. The only way you would be standing in the way of my happiness is if you left me.”

“Finnick…” her bottom lip quivers as she shakes her head. “I just can’t anymore. It’s too hard. You’ll get over missing me eventually. You’ll have Annie to help you.”

“I don’t want you out of my life!” Finnick practically rips his own hair out. How is she not understanding how much she means to him? “What do you not get about the fact that I would fall apart without you, huh?!” He has to pull back slightly to try and calm himself. “I don’t want to get over missing you. I want to have you. I want to be able to see you, to hug you, to tell you about my day, to go to you for anything and everything.”

“That’s why you have Annie!” Y/N points towards the door, not caring if any people passing by hear them.

“I DON’T WANT ANNIE!”

Just like that it’s like all the air has been sucked out of the room. Finnick’s chest heaves up and down with every heavy breath he takes. Y/N’s brain buffers as she tries to register what he just confessed. It doesn’t even look like he realizes what he said. He exhales shakily, “I– I don’t… I don’t want her,” he says almost like it’s a realization.

“Finn…” Y/N says sympathetically, “You don’t know what you’re saying.” She tries to find a logical explanation. “You’re upset and–”

“Yeah, yeah, I am,” he scoffs with a definite nod. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t know what I’m saying.” He moves in closer to the point where Y/N can feel his breath fanning her face. Her mind is screaming at her to move away, but the rest of her forces her to remain in her place. In fact, her face draws nearer, getting lost in his seafoam eyes. “She’s not you, Y/N…”

Y/N nods slowly, “You’re right, she’s not.” Her throat bobs notably as she swallows. “But she is your wife,” she reminds him, her voice becoming softer as he continues leaning in. “Your wife who is patiently waiting for you to go back to her. To your wedding reception.”

“I’m busy,” he justifies like Annie is nothing but an afterthought. “I have more important things to take care of right now…”

“I don’t need to be taken care of,” she says against his lips.

He reaches up, gently caressing her cheek with his thumb as he wipes away her tears. “When will you realize Y/N/N? I’m always gonna feel the need to take care of you.”

“You shouldn’t,” she counters. “You can’t feel that way about me… Not when she’s waiting downstairs for you.”

“Do you always have to be this stubborn?” His eyes bore into hers, making a shiver run down her spine. His voice is dangerously low, it manages to scare and excite her at the same time. “Don’t you think I would be with Annie right now if that was my priority?”

Y/N can feel the air between them sizzling. If anyone were to walk in they’d be found in a very compromising position. Y/N tries to force herself to think of Annie, to think of how she would feel finding her husband here with his best friend like this. But the way Finnick’s scent fills her nose completely clouds her judgement. Or her will to care about anything else other than how badly she wants to completely close the distance between them.

“Finnick, you can’t throw away what you’ve built with her this soon,” Y/N still tries to maintain the moral high ground. “I’ve watched the way you look at her for years. She’s your entire world,” her eyes fall to the floor as she recalls the painful memories.

“Is that the truth? Or is that what you’ve convinced yourself so that you didn’t have to tell me what you actually felt?”

Y/N’s heart stutters in her chest, her pulse quickening as the walls she’s built around herself begin to crack. He can’t be serious, can he? She can’t—she won’t—let herself believe it. But the way he’s looking at her, the way his words settle in the space between them… it’s undeniable.

"Finnick, you’re married," she protests weakly, though it sounds more like a plea than an argument. “I can’t—”

“I’ve been waiting for you,” he interrupts, his voice steady and firm. “Waiting for you to admit that you feel the same way. I know you do.”

Y/N feels the air between them thicken. Her thoughts race, but they can’t keep up with what’s happening right in front of her. Finnick, this man she’s loved for so long, is standing here, his eyes filled with something she can’t quite name—but it’s the same thing that’s always been there.

“I’ve waited for you to tell me you love me,” he adds, his voice rougher now, the teasing tone fading into something deeper, more intense. “I’ve been waiting for you to say it.”

Y/N’s stomach twists. She wants to run. She wants to tell him how wrong this is, how much she’s tried to bury her feelings for him because she knows she can’t have him. But as she looks up at him, she sees it—the same longing she’s felt, the same unspoken desire. And it’s too much. Too strong.

"I..." She doesn’t know what to say. How to explain the years of silence, of holding back. She swallows hard, struggling to find the right words.

“Say it,” his eyes darken as he commands her to do as he asks, yet there’s still a sense of pleading. Like he’s begging to hear it. “Enough excuses. There is no right time. I wanna hear you say it.”

“Finnick–” She tries to protest.

“Don’t make me force it out of you,” he says with a bit of playfulness. She knows he would never do anything to force her, but with the mischievous glint in his eyes, she’s not sure what his plan would be.

She opens her mouth, but no words come out. The room feels impossibly small, the space between them closing in with every breath. Finnick watches her, his dazzling smile never fading, but there’s something else in his gaze now—something raw and primal.

“You know, I could be wrong,” he says, his voice soft, as if coaxing her, trying to break that last string of restraint she’s holding onto. “Maybe you don’t feel that way. Maybe I’m just... imagining things.”

Y/N looks at him, her chest tightening as she fights the truth she’s kept hidden for so long. “You know you’re not imagining things…," she says, almost choking on the words. “But this is wrong, Finn. We can’t just—”

“I don’t care,” he interrupts, his voice fierce, his hands gripping her hips as he pulls her closer. “I’ve been waiting for you, Y/N. You think I don’t care about Annie? Of course I do. But I told you, she’s never going to be you.” He leans in, his breath hot against her lips. “I’m not asking you to fix this for me. I just need you to admit what we both already know.”

Her pulse is racing, her head spinning. She’s so close to losing herself, to giving in to everything she’s been holding back. And then something magical happens, “I… I love you,” if Finnick wasn’t so close to her lips, he never would’ve heard the sacred sentence he’s been longing for. Her words echo in his mind like a mantra he wants to keep on repeat for the rest of his life. It pushes him closer to the precipice and when she opens her mouth to say something, Finnick stops her, his lips crashing down on hers before she can get a single syllable out.

It’s not gentle. It’s raw and desperate, a release of everything they’ve both been holding inside. Y/N’s hands fist in the fabric of his shirt as she kisses him back, all the years of unspoken feelings flooding to the surface. She doesn’t care about the guilt anymore. Doesn’t care about what’s right or wrong. She only cares about the way his mouth moves against hers, the way his touch makes her feel like she’s finally home.

When they pull apart, breathless, both of them are lost in the realization of what just happened. Y/N’s head is spinning, her heart racing in her chest, but Finnick doesn’t let go. He’s looking at her with a softness she’s never seen before.

“I’ve been waiting for you to say that,” he whispers, his forehead resting against hers. “I’ve been waiting for you to admit it. I just... I just needed to hear you say it.”

“I... Oh my gosh,” her mind floods with guilt once again. “What did we just do?” She goes to hide her face but Finnick’s grip on her arms stops her. “We can’t do this,” Y/N admits, her voice barely a whisper. “You’re married, Finnick. I can’t—”

“Don’t. Care,” he repeats, his hands sliding to the bottom of her thighs as he wraps her legs around his waist. He can’t help but smirk cockily as she doesn’t fight it. It’s finally his time to show her what they’ve been missing playing this little game of cat and mouse. “I don’t care about that right now. All I care about is this.” His lips find hers again, more gentle this time, as if they’re both trying to savor this moment, this long-awaited release.

The kiss deepens, slow and steady, as if the weight of everything they’ve both been holding in is finally being released. It’s messy and complicated and full of years of longing.

And then, with a soft moan, Finnick pulls away just enough to catch his breath. “I’ve wanted to show you how much I love you for so long” he murmurs, his voice hoarse. Without waiting for an answer, he scoops her up, carrying her to the bed.

Y/N’s heart is still pounding, the reality of the moment not quite sinking in yet. She’s still processing everything—his kiss, his words, the weight of what they’ve just done. But none of it matters right now. Not when he’s here, with her.

He lays her down gently, his hands caressing her face as he looks down at her, eyes filled with an emotion that almost feels too much for this moment. “You’re my everything,” he whispers, his voice breaking with the weight of his admission.

She reaches up, cupping his face with her hands, her fingers tracing the lines of his jaw. “And you’re mine.”

And with that, they kiss again—more tender this time, but no less intense. The world outside doesn’t exist anymore. There’s only the two of them, finally letting go of everything that’s held them apart.

The night stretches on as they lose themselves in each other, every touch, every kiss, a promise that no matter what happens next, they’ve finally found what they were both waiting for.

[ravenwind-75]

If @heylorrain subjected me to pain and angst songs and said to go with the ideas I was given, I listened, hard. And so I have something for you. Sorry in advance.

Indigo:

~~~~~~

He was worried about her. She knew that. That she shouldn’t be here still. That she’d lose her way to the next place. Yet she lied to herself each day that she could find her way back to him. That this time her path would lead to life not death. She never should have left him, she never should have gone there when he asked her to leave his family to him.

Yet she did.

She wondered if her aura had changed. He used to say it was bright and brilliant. She used to feel it herself, the thrumming of life and power, of love. Now she felt colder, and lonely. It was so dark here in the in between. She didn’t know how the other ghosts did it. How they moved past it. The guilt.

Maybe it was time she finally went home, but she didn’t want to leave him here by himself. It wasn’t fair, why did they have to say goodbye? Why did she have to be dead and alone, leaving someone who needed her just as much and even more so?

…..

He gave her a piece of his heart and then tried to run from it. Run from her love. And when he finally accepted it he was so lost in the clouds of fear, he’d never seen that the sun would risk her light for him. Now he couldn’t feel her closeness, warmth at all.

When he heard the news his light had left him, his face paled. When her hand evaporated in his the clouds of his soul shed tears, bitter rain of sorrow.

Yet her death had given him some hope and faith that he could be free of them. That he’d be saved.

But at what cost? What kind of lesson was this?

Her death is my fault…

He’d lost his color. He lost his light. He lost his love.

….

She was the gold to his silver, the sun to his moon. He had never felt warmer than when he was in her presence. Soft curls wrapped around his fingers, her cradled against his chest, her lips pressed against his. She gave him the joy that he’d shared.

Now he was her warmth yet she couldn’t feel it. Just a wisp of frigid wind that made him shiver that he didn’t have the heart to tell to leave him alone. He wanted her warmth back, to feel her colorful aura.

Yet she begged him as he knelt on the cold stone floor, wand to his head, “Don’t take the life I fought to save. Live for me. You’ll come home to me someday. Patience remember? I can wait. Please!”

“I already feel dead so why can’t I join you?! I don’t want another sun to set without being by your side.”

But he’d stayed when she left. Many tears were shed when they said goodbye, one last brush of her hand on his cheek he felt her fade away, his wand pointed skyward doing nothing to sense her shape.

“Don’t say goodbye I’m right here. Please, I’m not leaving, not ever.” She’d said weeping softly.

He just smiled weakly, “Darling it’s better there. Go.”

It didn’t take long to convince her. Her spirit was tired. And they just kept painting each other darker.

He couldn’t move on with her here. And she got no rest. It was time to part ways with their ghosts.

“Goodbye Ominis.”

“Goodbye, my darling.”

…….

She’d loved the color indigo. She said it was what a twilight sky looked like. Where everything is half-lit and bathed in a hue between reality and a dream.

Maybe this is how indigo felt. Calm, sad and soft. An understanding, the deepest sense of peace yet a slow pain in the quiet isolation of her absence. On the edge of something unspeakable, untouchable.

A longing, a wish for connection out of reach, something impossible. Not a bright sadness but a certain kind of a melancholy that simply fades into the silence of darkness like the light of day.

Like she did.

His favorite color used to be gold, her brightness.

Now it was indigo.

Because In his dreams, when twilight came, she lived.

[almostwisegalaxy]

The Intransigence of Silence

Actor x fem!reader

Reader has a bit of a shy character in this story

Music to listen to for the atmosphere: teacher's pet _Melanie Martinez

Part_1

Part_2. Part_3

Teacher's pet core ?...Ohhh yes ಡ⁠ ͜⁠ ⁠ʖ⁠ ⁠ಡ

..................................................................................

The autumn wind blew gently through the streets, and the subdued atmosphere of the theater conservatory brought an odd sense of calm to an otherwise noisy world. Y/N, a young actress, was one of the newest recruits at one of the country's most prestigious schools. Yet, in this environment where every move seemed scrutinized, every word weighed, she never truly felt at home. Shy and reserved, she struggled to carve out her place, to make herself visible among peers who were often louder, more confident.

The actor was an icon. His career was a jewel of both cinema and television. Behind his ever-brilliant smile and image of a charming prince lay a cold, unyielding man, whose passion for the craft was intertwined with a deep cynicism toward the industry. He had no patience for artists who sought to conform to superficial expectations. Teaching was a new challenge for him: to pass on what he had learned while keeping his distance, desiring only the raw essence of his students without truly letting them into his world.

The day he met Y/N, he had no intention of being impressed by her presence. She was there, among the other students, yet her energy seemed different. Timid, almost invisible. She didn’t have the audacity to stand out, and yet, he saw something in her—a potential she perhaps didn’t even know she had, or maybe one she was running from.

The first class was an ordeal. The actor made no concessions. His remarks were sharp, devoid of compassion. When Y/N stepped onto the stage for her first performance, his gaze bore into her.

— "You’re not here to look pretty. If you want to act, then act. Be present. Don’t aim for perfection; aim for truth."

She froze, unable to respond. She knew she hadn’t yet found her place, that she didn’t have that "something" he was looking for. But what escaped Y/N’s notice was the intensity of his gaze. He was testing her, provoking her—not to break her, but to draw something authentic out of her.

Days passed, and the actor watched Y/N with a frosty intensity. He gave her increasingly difficult tasks but never praised her. On the contrary, his remarks were cutting.

— "Still too timid. You don’t impress me," he would say, almost as if daring her. He pushed her further and further, forcing her to confront her own boundaries. But she couldn’t understand why he was so harsh. Why wouldn’t he just let her be?

One evening, after an especially long rehearsal, when everyone else had left, the actor found her alone in the empty theater. Y/N was still rehearsing, murmuring her lines as if the world around her didn’t exist. He paused at the entrance, silently observing her before finally approaching.

— "You have talent. That’s not the problem," he said at last, his voice cold but firm. "The problem is that you’re hiding that talent behind your fears."

He looked at her for a moment, as though waiting for a reaction, but she gave none.

— "If you want to be a real actress, you need to shed those chains—those little voices telling you you’re not good enough."

Her heart raced. His words hit harder than any critique. He spoke about her as if her doubts were plain to see, as if everyone knew, everyone could tell. But there was no comfort in his voice, only a stark observation, a demand.

She lowered her gaze, unsure of what to say. Yet, despite the harshness of his words, she felt both shattered and motivated. He wasn’t trying to crush her; he wanted her to wake up, to stop hiding. But he remained distant, offering no easy answers. This was a trial, not a helping hand.

In the weeks that followed, Y/N felt his gaze on her more intensely. He kept pushing her, challenging her at every turn. He observed her but never offered a word of comfort. Every comment, every look he gave her seemed to say she still wasn’t doing enough.

— "You need to stop trying to be liked," he told her one day. "That’s not what acting is. Acting is going beyond, into the invisible, into the uncomfortable."

She wrestled with her emotions. On one hand, she felt a certain gratitude toward him. He was right—she couldn’t keep hiding behind her timidity, her fear of falling short. But on the other hand, she found herself inexplicably drawn to him in a way she couldn’t explain. He watched her with an intensity she had never experienced before. But his attention was icy, distant, as if the goal was to push her to surpass herself, not to encourage her success.

One day, after a particularly difficult scene, Y/N broke down in tears. The actor, watching her with a cold expression, approached without a word. He made no attempt to console her.

— "Still too much doubt," he said simply. "Do you think crying makes you more human? It only makes you look weaker."

It wasn’t cruelty; it was raw truth. And it hurt.

But through the pain, something shifted within Y/N. She finally understood. He hadn’t abandoned her; he had forced her to rise. Every comment, every cutting observation, had been meant to push her to a place she never imagined she could reach. He wasn’t a gentle or kind mentor, but a relentless force driving her past her limits.

He never spoke of her progress or offered her compliments. But one evening, as they rehearsed alone in the empty theater, he turned to her, his dark eyes fixed on hers.

— "Do you want to know why I push you so hard?" he asked. "Because I see that you still don’t understand that art isn’t about comfort. It’s a battle."

And for the first time, Y/N felt truly seen, even without comforting words. She had become stronger, but she hadn’t changed who she was. The actor had broken her down to rebuild her, and in a strange way, that brought her closer to him, even if he remained a cold and enigmatic presence.

---

The days passed in a rhythm of endless rehearsals and the actor’s sharp remarks. With every session, Y/N felt more lost yet more determined. She wanted to earn his respect, but she no longer knew how. His critiques, though harsh, pushed her to go beyond her limits. Yet every word, every gesture seemed to push her further away from him, as if an invisible barrier stood between them.

Despite this, she knew that somewhere deep down, he believed in her. But he never let any warmth or support show. There was no comfort, no kind gestures or encouraging words—only expectations that grew heavier with each passing day. And yet, something about him drew her toward him. There was no flirtation, no obvious signs. But whenever they found themselves alone for rehearsals, a silent tension lingered between them—a kind of unspoken challenge, as though she was trying to understand him while he kept her at arm's length.

One day, after a long day of filming, as she was packing up her things in the dressing room, she saw the actor stop in the doorway, as if hesitating. He stepped inside without a word, his imposing figure framed by the shadows of the room.

“Y/N,” he said, his voice low but firm, as always. “I watched your scene again. It’s not enough. You let yourself go. This isn’t a role you play. It’s a life you live.”

She turned slowly, feeling her heart race. He was staring at her without blinking, as if waiting for a reaction. She still addressed him formally, and he seemed to appreciate that sense of distance, as if it shielded him from the emotions she never allowed herself to show.

“I... I understand, sir,” she replied timidly, though with a growing determination. “I’ll work harder.”

He didn’t reply immediately, and for a moment, he didn’t take his eyes off her. The air between them felt charged with a strange intensity. The actor, usually so in control of his emotions, had something undefined in his gaze—an internal conflict he refused to share. Finally, he nodded slowly, a gesture of acknowledgment but without comfort.

“You need to be more than this role,” he said almost in a whisper. “Be more than what you think you are.”

He turned to leave but paused just before stepping out the door. His eyes lingered on her for a moment, as if he’d caught a glimpse of vulnerability in her. But he didn’t dwell on it. “Tomorrow, rehearse thoroughly. I’ll be there to correct you,” he added without emotion.

Y/N watched him leave, her heart heavy. She didn’t know why his words affected her so deeply. Maybe it was because he spoke truths she didn’t want to hear but knew to be real. She wanted to be more than this role. She knew that deep down. But the task felt insurmountable.

The next day, during rehearsal, he was there as promised. The actor watched her enter the room with his piercing gaze. This time, however, there was no harsh speech, no immediate reproach—just a cold, analytical stare.

“Start,” he ordered in a clipped tone.

Y/N, her body tense, moved to the center of the room and began. This time, she gave her all, shedding her hesitations. She wasn’t thinking about him or his relentless critiques but about the scene, about the essence of the character. She wasn’t Y/N anymore—she was the actress, the soul of the role, losing herself in the performance. Yet even in her complete immersion, she couldn’t ignore his presence. He was there, motionless, watching her with an inscrutable expression.

When the scene ended, he didn’t speak for a moment, which made her nervous. Slowly, he walked toward her.

“Much better,” he said at last. But there was something in his tone—a subtle nuance she hadn’t heard before. A mix of satisfaction and restraint.

“But it’s not enough,” he added. “Do it again.”

This time, he didn’t move closer. He stayed at a distance, watching her from afar. A chill ran through her. Was that a veiled compliment? Or just another cold observation? She couldn’t tell.

The rehearsals continued, and a strange dynamic began to take shape between them. She realized that every time he was there, her focus sharpened. There was no room for hesitation, no space for fear. She was becoming the actress he demanded, but at what cost? Sometimes, the line between fear and respect blurred.

One day, while they were alone in the room after yet another grueling rehearsal, the actor suddenly turned to her. “You’re changing,” he said without preamble, as if it were obvious. “But don’t forget why you’re doing this. It’s not just to land a role. It’s for your own truth. Don’t lose yourself.”

Y/N, her breath shallow, lowered her eyes. His words resonated within her with an intensity she couldn’t quite grasp. The actor remained as distant as ever, but with every interaction, she felt there was something more beneath the surface. A kind of interest—not in her as a person, but in what she was becoming because of him. An interest that was unreadable, yet powerful enough to push her further, always further. But never past the silent boundary between mentor and protégé.

She straightened, forcing herself to meet his gaze. “I won’t disappoint you, sir.”

He held her gaze for a moment, his dark eyes gleaming with an emotion he never allowed to surface. Then, without another word, he turned and walked away as always, leaving behind a lingering warmth in the air—a mystery she might never unravel.

---

Weeks had passed, and with each rehearsal, the atmosphere between Y/N and the actor grew denser, almost tangible. Y/N strived to follow every directive with precision, taking note of his every word, but she never truly understood where it all was leading. The actor, for his part, continued to push her, never offering any sign of approval. He shaped her like a sculptor shapes a statue, but without the slightest hint of tenderness. There was something almost inhuman in the way he treated her: on one hand, he gave her relentless attention, but on the other, he kept her at a distance, as if she were merely a tool for achieving a greater purpose—a masterpiece to be perfected.

Y/N no longer knew where she stood. Every time he gave her a role, a scene to rehearse, she threw herself into it without restraint, as if she had something to prove. But deep down, she constantly wondered: why her? Why this relentless effort? At times, she felt closer to him than anyone else, and at others, he seemed like a distant figure—a demanding master she could never fully understand.

One evening, after an especially grueling day of rehearsals, she wandered the corridors of the conservatory, her thoughts in turmoil. She had never seen the actor so silent, so detached, and it troubled her more than she wanted to admit. It felt as if he was ready to abandon her, to let her drown in her own doubts.

As she walked through a dimly lit hallway, she saw him. He stood near the door of the theater room, arms crossed, as though he had been waiting for her. He still had that intense, cold gaze—a gaze with a depth that fascinated her despite herself.

“You’re not satisfied with your performance, are you?” he asked in a calm, almost icy tone.

Y/N stopped a few steps away from him. She lowered her eyes before responding, not wanting to appear more vulnerable than she already felt. “I... I’m not sure, sir. Maybe I’m still making mistakes.”

He nodded slowly. “Mistakes, yes. But necessary ones,” he added, his tone neutral. “You can’t move forward without making them. And you need to accept that.”

A shiver ran down her spine. Why was his tone becoming more distant? She felt as though he was simultaneously pushing her to excel and to lose herself. He scrutinized her as if he could see beyond her timid exterior, as if every move he made was designed to turn her into a stronger, more relentless actress.

“Why... why do you push me so hard?” she finally asked, breaking the silence between them. “Why won’t you just let me express myself?”

He stared at her for a long moment before answering, his gaze piercing like a beam of light cutting through the darkness of the room.

“Because you don’t know yet what you’re capable of,” he said in a low, almost inaudible voice. “Because you’re so desperate to be accepted that you hide behind roles, masks, rehearsed lines. But that’s not what I’m looking for. I’m looking for what makes you vibrate, what burns inside you—what you’re still refusing to show.”

Y/N felt trapped by his words. Each sentence was like a challenge she had to overcome, a mountain she had to climb without the luxury of making mistakes. He seemed to know her better than she knew herself, and that terrified her.

“I... I don’t know if I can do it,” she whispered, her voice breaking with uncertainty.

He didn’t respond immediately but looked at her with a calculating expression, as though waiting for her to find her own truth. After a heavy silence, he stepped slightly closer.

“You don’t need to know if you’ll succeed. That’s the beauty of art. There are no certainties. Only the constant pursuit. And the pain of never being satisfied with yourself,” he said with a cold, almost wise tone. “But trust me—if you stop clinging to what’s comfortable, you’ll eventually find the part of you you’ve always been hiding.”

She didn’t reply. She didn’t know what to say. His words echoed in her mind, both a challenge and an invitation. Why did she feel like he wasn’t just pushing her to become a better actress? There was something more.

“Go rehearse. I’ll be here tomorrow,” the actor said as he turned away, as if he’d just finished a casual conversation. But he didn’t look back. Y/N remained there, frozen, her heart pounding in her chest, as though the weight of his expectations bore down on her shoulders. It wasn’t encouragement, but it had a destabilizing effect on her. He was right. She hadn’t yet found what she was searching for.

The next morning, during rehearsals, she once again felt the invisible pressure emanating from him. With every movement, every line, the actor watched her without blinking. He was still as distant as ever, but every adjustment he made to her performance pushed her further out of her comfort zone. Every minute spent under his unyielding gaze made her stronger—but also more fragile.

After a particularly difficult scene, where Y/N, on the verge of a breakdown, nearly collapsed, the actor paused for a moment and gave her an intense look. She waited, almost silently, for his verdict.

“You did well,” he said, his cold tone contrasting with the effort she had just poured into the scene. But there were no congratulations. No smile. Just a matter-of-fact statement.

She lowered her eyes, barely taking the time to process his words. He still hadn’t told her what he truly thought of her, of her progress. Nothing more than endless challenges and constant expectations.

“I know you expect more from me,” she murmured, almost despairingly.

He looked at her, his eyes seeming to analyze every part of her being. He wasn’t the type to offer comforting words. Yet in the silence that followed, there was a shared truth: he offered no easiness, no emotional support, but he was shaping her. Slowly, she realized he wasn’t pushing her just for the art—but for what she was becoming, for the strength she could build through every trial.

She had no choice but to keep going, to accept his cold and uncompromising methods. This was his truth, and Y/N was ready to search for it—even if she didn’t yet understand everything he expected of her.

---

Y/N was at her limit. Every day spent under the actor’s relentless guidance had pushed her further, eroding every shred of confidence she had in herself. His critiques, though measured, left no room for error. He showed no leniency, no satisfaction—always ready to take her to the edge of the precipice.

She might have been able to endure this pressure if she still believed in something. But she no longer believed in anything—not her talent, not her choices, not even him. And the rumors didn’t help. The whispers, the lingering glances as she passed through the studio, the half-muttered comments: "She’s special to him," "He favors her for some other reason." Y/N heard them, even if no one dared say them to her face.

One evening, alone in her cramped apartment, she broke. Everything seemed to collapse around her. The thought of quitting suddenly seemed appealing. More than that: a release.

The next day, Y/N arrived at the studio, her thoughts heavy but her decision burning in her mind. This would be her last day. She couldn’t take it anymore. During rehearsal, her movements were mechanical, her lines devoid of life. Her gaze remained lowered, as if she wanted to disappear.

The actor, who observed every detail, abruptly stopped the scene.

“Stop,” he said coldly. “Y/N.”

She lifted her head, but her face was closed off, her eyes dull.

“You can continue without me,” she said suddenly. Her voice trembled slightly, but she remained firm. “I’m leaving this project.”

The room collectively held its breath. No one dared intervene. The actor, meanwhile, stared at Y/N, a flash of disbelief crossing his face. But it was his icy tone that sent a chill through the room.

“You think you can just walk away? After everything you’ve invested here?”

Y/N felt a surge of anger. She replied, her voice cracking with emotion:

“Everything I’ve invested? You mean everything you’ve taken from me. You’ve used me, pushed me to my limits, and for what? To satisfy your need for perfection? I’m not your toy, sir!”

The silence that followed was heavy. The other actors exchanged nervous glances. The actor, motionless, seemed to weigh his words. Then, he abruptly turned to the others.

“Leave.”

Once they were alone, the actor slowly approached Y/N. He was calm, but his gaze burned with intensity.

“You think I’m using you?” he said, his voice sharp. “You think everything I do, everything I say, is for my own pleasure?”

Y/N stared at him, silent tears streaming down her cheeks. “Yes,” she whispered. “That’s how it feels. You push me, but you don’t see me. Not really.”

Those words seemed to strike him. He stopped, his shoulders lowering slightly as if an invisible weight had settled on him.

“And you, Y/N,” he finally said, “do you see yourself?”

She remained silent, caught off guard. He continued, his tone softer but still charged with intensity:

“Do you think I’m harsh because I enjoy it? I’m harsh because you have something I can’t ignore. Something you refuse to see. If I push you, it’s because I want you to find it. Not for me. For you.”

His words hurt because, deep down, she knew he was right. But it didn’t erase the pain she felt, the loneliness he had allowed to grow inside her.

“And at what cost?” she asked, her voice breaking. “If I have to lose everything to reach what you see, is it worth it?”

He was silent for a moment, his gaze locked on hers. Then, in a quieter, almost vulnerable voice, he replied:

“I won’t let you lose everything. But if you stop now, you’ll never know what you’re capable of. And that, Y/N, is a loss I can’t accept.”

Y/N spent that night thinking. The actor hadn’t tried to hold her back with promises or apologies. He had left the choice to her. And that choice weighed heavily on her.

When she returned to the studio the next day, he was there, as if he knew she would come back. He didn’t say a word to her, but his gaze was different: less harsh, less impenetrable.

Rehearsal resumed, and he pushed her again, but there was a new subtlety in his methods. When she succeeded in a particularly challenging scene, he gave a barely perceptible nod. That simple gesture was worth more than any speech.

Y/N didn’t know if she could continue indefinitely. But for now, she had chosen to stay. Because despite everything, deep down, she wanted to prove to the actor—and to herself—that he was right.

---

Y/N had made a decision in the quiet of her own mind. After weeks under the relentless guidance of the actor, she needed to prove—not to him, but to herself—that she could stand on her own. It was an almost desperate impulse, a vital need to reclaim her identity.

Without telling anyone, she auditioned for a minor role in a low-budget historical drama. It wasn’t much—just a few lines in three scenes. But that role meant so much more to Y/N. It was proof that she could find her place, that she could be seen for her talent and not because she was the favored student of a renowned actor.

When she got the call confirming she had landed the role, a rare feeling of triumph washed over her. For the first time in a long while, she felt free.

The news eventually reached the actor. He heard it from a colleague, a director he frequently collaborated with.

"Your student, Y/N, got a role in The Weight of the Crown. You should be proud of her," the director said casually.

The actor froze. The information hit him like a blow. She hadn’t said anything. She had acted behind his back. His jaw clenched, and a quiet anger rose within him. It wasn’t betrayal—he knew that—but it sparked a frustration he couldn’t name.

When he saw her arrive at the studio that day, he didn’t wait. He approached her quickly, his expression dark.

"You auditioned for a drama," he said without preamble, his tone sharper than he intended.

Y/N looked up, surprised, but she remained calm. "Yes, sir," she said softly. "I wanted to try something on my own."

"On your own?" he repeated, almost mocking. "Do you think you’re ready for that? Do you think appearing in a drama without being fully prepared will help you?" He paused, his voice dropping but growing harsher. "You didn’t even tell me."

"Because I knew you’d react like this," Y/N replied, her voice trembling slightly. "I knew you’d tell me I’m not ready. But it’s not your decision, sir. It’s mine."

This unexpected boldness caught him off guard. But instead of responding, he took a slow breath, trying to regain control of his emotions.

"Cancel the role," he said finally, every word heavy.

Y/N stared at him, incredulous. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me," he replied, his eyes fixed on hers. "You’re not ready. That role could destroy you more than it helps you. You need to withdraw."

Y/N said nothing. She lowered her eyes, holding back her emotions. But deep down, a quiet anger was rising. She was tired of being treated like a child incapable of making her own decisions. Yet, she obeyed.

A few days later, she informed the director that she was withdrawing from the project. Her voice trembled, but she didn’t want to explain her reasons. She hung up, her heart heavy, and felt empty.

That evening, as the studio emptied, Y/N stayed behind to rehearse alone. She needed to keep her mind occupied. As she recited her lines, her voice rose in the silence, rough with emotion. She collapsed onto the stage, unable to continue.

When the actor entered the room, she didn’t notice him at first. He lingered in the shadows for a moment, watching her. Guilt gnawed at him, but he didn’t know how to express it.

"Why are you still here?" he asked abruptly, breaking the silence.

Y/N jumped, looking up. "I... I wanted to practice."

He approached, his steps measured, and sat on the edge of the stage, his gaze fixed on her. "I asked you to withdraw from that project to protect you," he said softly, his voice losing its edge. "Not to break you."

"Then why do I feel like that’s exactly what you’ve done?" Y/N murmured, her eyes glistening with tears. "I just wanted... to try. Even if I failed."

The actor looked at her, and for a moment, he seemed to hesitate. Then, without thinking, he reached out and gently touched her wrist—a rare gesture of tenderness from him.

"Y/N," he murmured, his voice almost hoarse, "I don’t want you to fail. Not because you’re not ready, but because I... I don’t want to see you get lost in this harsh world before you’re strong enough."

That unexpected touch broke something inside her. Y/N gently pulled her hand away, but the weight of his words hung between them.

"And what if I don’t want your protection anymore?" she murmured. "What if I just want... to be seen for who I am?"

He remained silent, unable to respond. The tension between them, usually cold and disciplined, had shifted. It had become palpable, almost suffocating. And this time, it was Y/N who let the boundaries blur.

She straightened, slowly moving closer to him. Her gaze, hesitant but determined, met his. She opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out. Then, in a moment she didn’t fully understand herself, she placed a light hand on his arm.

"Thank you," she finally murmured, before leaving the room, leaving him alone with his own inner turmoil.

The days that followed were marked by a silent tension. The actor was more distant than ever, avoiding any prolonged contact with Y/N. But every interaction, no matter how brief, carried an emotional weight they couldn’t ignore.

For her part, Y/N felt increasingly lost. She continued to work hard, but her mind was haunted by the confrontation, by the moment she had crossed a line she had sworn never to cross.

And the actor… He was conflicted. He knew he had to maintain the distance. But every time he met her gaze, he wondered how much longer he could ignore what he truly felt.

..................................................................................

[harrysdaydreams]

Unsatiated

Summary- Reader finds herself in a low place and has shut out the one person she should know wants to help more than anything. Harry is more than happy to take care of her regardless, which leads to revelations on both parts

Slight angst that ends with fluff that turns suggestive

Or

-Harrys hands gently tug at the hair tie that is somehow still hanging loosely in your hair, letting the tangled strands fall against your back.

He lets out a low whistle, to which you nudge him in the ribs with your elbow causing him to laugh quietly as he tries to separate the matted sections of your hair.

His fingers are soft and careful with your strands, and his use of the brush is even gentler, taking his time to properly ensure every piece of hair is free from knots. The delicate touch of his fingers brushing the back of your neck causes you to let out a gentle sigh, and you unintentionally sink back into his touch.

Word count- 4.3k

Tuesday. Even the word itself sounded mundane and miserable. Throw in some grey skies accompanied by pouring rain, it was a recipe for a shitty day.

Normally you’d crack open a window, light a candle and bask in the fresh sounds of the raindrops hitting the floor of the balcony to your flat.

But it was more than a bad day- the past week you’d been feeling at your lowest, with no real pinpoint as to why. It was hard to find motivation for anything, cooking a nice meal, going outside, reaching out to your friends- several who had messages in your phone left unread- it all just seemed too much.

So here you lay in bed at 1pm, the same place you’d been all day, minus bathroom trips and the tremendous effort it had seemed to have taken to make some instant noodles that still sat on your nightstand uneaten.

You turn over onto your front and sigh into your pillow, having lost count of how many times you’d done the same thing all morning.

Why did everything feel so heavy? This isn’t how you usually responded to feeling low, always opting for surrounding yourself with the people you knew could lift you out of any place, no matter the situation.

Being with people now was the last thing you wanted, especially in your home, with piles of laundry waiting to be washed and dishes to be cleaned.

Uncomfortable on your front, you opt to turn back onto your side, reaching for your phone on the nightstand with the intention of putting on some music to drown out the rain. Hopefully you’d find something that could pull you out of your mood- that or something that further fuelled your angsty state and could maybe push you to finally release the pent-up tears you were too frustrated to shed.

As you scroll through your playlists contemplating what tone to set as you continue rotting in bed for the rest of the day, a text notification pops at the top of your phone.

Harry.

You assume he’s probably double texting you with some sort of snarky message for not replying to your beloved best friend for over two days. Your heart sinks a little as you think of him, his contagious smile and warm personality.

You miss him, and thinking of him is enough to momentarily make you smile as you pull down the notification to read the contents of his message.

Harry- You really gonna leave all four of my messages on delivered? I’m hurt Bitsy, deeply hurt.

You smile at his obvious sarcasm and the stupid nickname he came up with 4 years ago after finding out you were exactly one year, one month and one day apart in age, him being the eldest. He played on the fact that you’re younger than him and ran away with it completely, always making jokes of how small and ‘young’ you are.

 Another text notification brings you back from your reminiscing, a new message directly under the one you’d just read.

Harry- Really though, are you ok? The radio silence isn’t normal for you.

Your heart sinks again and you feel bad for leaving your closest friend worrying about you.

Harry- Usually I have to mute our text thread just for some peace..

For the first time in days, you laugh out loud, a genuine smile spreading on your face that crinkles the corner of your eyes.

You- Uhh, RUDE!

Harry- Ahhh she lives!

Fuck, the way he can change your sour demeanour in just a few short messages. You instantly feel stupid for shutting everyone out, especially him.

You- Alive and kickin’! Specifically, your ass for being so rude. I’m okay though, promise old man. Sorry if I made you worry!

Harry- I’ll await my ass kicking whilst shaking in fear. Miss you though. Want me to come over? We missed pizza night on Sunday because someone... lost her phone? Fell off the face of the earth?

The suggestion of him coming over fills you with dread and takes away all of the momentary relief and lift in mood you’d felt just from texting with him.

You could pretend you were okay to a degree over text, but if he came over, he’d take one look at you, or around your flat and know something was wrong. And you wouldn’t even be able to give him a definitive answer why.

You tap the back of your phone with your nails anxiously trying to come up with an answer that wouldn’t make him worry more, seeing as you rarely turned down an opportunity to hang out together.

You- Miss you too, H. Raincheck? I feel a migraine coming on. Love you!

Harry- Love you too, Bitsy. Feel better

Feeling guilty, you lock your phone and place it back on the nightstand and try to ignore the new ache in your chest.

Despite your efforts, you scrunch your eyes closed and finally feel the hot sting of tears trail slowly down your cheeks.

You feel terrible for lying to your closest friend, the catalyst to finally unleashing the breakdown that had been sitting inside of you for the past few days as nothing but frustration and restlessness.

Now though, full blown sobs wreck your body as you hug your pillow whilst simultaneously burying your face into it, muffling the sound of your whimpering. You lay like that for a while, your chest rising and falling with every whine and sorry moan.  

Finally, you take a series of deep inhales and long exhales to steady your breathing in a vain attempt to calm down.

What the fuck is wrong with me? you think as you wipe the leftover tears from your cheeks, sitting up against the headboard of your bed. 

You take a long sip of water from your nightstand to wash away the disgusting taste left in your mouth from your dramatic sobbing.

The ache in your chest feels duller and somewhat lighter after releasing the supressed tears that had previously left you feeling so suffocated.

Now though, the lesser anguish in your chest brings your attention to a new source of pain in your neck, and you curse yourself mentally for laying in bed all day to the point it resulted in making your body sore.

After giving in to the fact you really should move, you stretch your arms above your head and then lift away the duvet from your body, swinging your legs over the side of the bed to sit up properly before sliding on your slippers sat on the floor beside you.

As you go to stand up, you hear a key in the lock of your door and your heart jumps into your throat. You listen for moment longer as the hairs on the back of your neck stand up before realisation dawns on you.

“That fucker!” you whisper, discarding your slippers and leaping back under the duvet to feign being asleep.

Harry was the only person you’d ever given a spare key, so you could only assume his kind natured, stupid, perfect self, had gone out to buy you supplies to get you through your migraine and come to check on you. You should have known better than to lie to him about being sick.

The sound of the door softly closing tells you he’s now inside the flat, followed by him gently calling out your name. You squeeze your eyes shut tighter as your heart beats fast in your chest, trying helplessly to ignore your panic and relax your body in the hope to pass off as being genuinely asleep.

He knocks lightly on your bedroom door which is already propped open with a doorstop, and you hear the rustling of a bag that must contain the supplies he so thoughtfully brought to you. Your eyes sting with tears again, why does he have to be so good?

“Hey love, I’ve brought you some strong ass painkillers and some anti-sickness tablets. How are you feeling?” he asks in a quiet voice; you can detect concern in his tone and that alone makes you want to cry all over again.

You’re in half a mind to ignore him and pretend you’re in a deep sleep so he’ll leave but with the knowledge that he’s right there... that he’s in reach and he could hold you… maybe he could make it okay.

You breathe a shaky sigh and reluctantly open your eyes and sit up, sliding back against the headboard again as you look at him, a new kind of concern immediately washing over his features.

He rushes over to perch on the bed beside you, his pretty face painted with worry as he brushes a strand of hair behind your ear.

“You’ve been crying... is it that bad? Or...” he trails off, looking between your red, puffy eyes as if doing so would decode what was wrong. “Love, what is it? Talk to me”

He can see through your lie now, something you never do, which fills his own heart with heaviness. Ignoring the sting of knowing you lied to him, he awaits your answer, knowing not to press you if something was so wrong to the point you felt the need to mislead him.

So, he doesn’t prompt and push, instead he rubs your shoulder softly as he waits for a reply, his soft green eyes on yours, hopeful you’ll meet his gaze.

“M’not good, Har” you reply shakily, biting your lip to keep it from quivering because the last thing you wanted was to become a sobbing mess in front of him. You shake your head as you continue to look down, more damned tears dropping into your lap despite you willing them to stay away, your finger now absently trailing the wet droplets they leave on your leg.

“Hey, hey look at me.. look at me” he soothes gently, both of his hands now on your shoulders urging you to lift your head to meet his gaze again. You do so reluctantly, and he lifts one hand to cup your face and brush away the hot tears on your cheek.

He offers you a pained smile, one that clearly shows his care for you, but the warmth in his eyes as he scans over your face pushes you to wrap your arms around him, gentle sobs immediately leaving your body again.

He pulls you gladly into a tight hug as his hand reaches up to the back of your head and moves in soft strokes over your hair as you breathe in the scent that is so Harry, so... home.

His eyebrows knit together in response to the twist in his heart upon hearing you cry, feeling your body shake softly as the tears escape. He continues his soft stroking to the back of your head, wanting so badly to take whatever it is away, to make everything better.

“Shhh, I got you. M’not going anywhere. I got you” he soothes, squeezing his own eyes shut to try pull himself together so he can be there for you how you need him. “Wanna talk about it?” he asks, his voice soft in your ear and his hold on you still tight.

You shake your head as much as you can in his vice like grip.

“Wouldn’t even know what to say. Truly. I don’t know why I’m in such a rut.” you say honestly between sniffles. That was the most frustrating thing about the past week. There was no trigger, no cause.

Foolishly you shut yourself away, the answer to your problem being so obvious now you were in his company- in his arms. Your eyes prick again at the thought, that dull throb in your chest again making itself present.

“Feel better because you’re with me though- I shouldn’t have lied to you- I should’ve let you- shouldn’t have told you- I-” your rambling is cut off by Harry quietly shushing you and resuming his careful stroking of your hair. God, how does he make everything okay?

“Shh, I get it, s’okay… it’s okay. I got you, yeah? M’right here, always right here” he coos in your ear, and you nod your head fervently because of course you know.

Right here felt like the only place on earth. The best place on earth.

You both remain in silence like that for a while longer until Harry slowly pulls himself away from you, leaning back but keeping his hand firmly on your thigh, making a point of keeping some physical contact with you.

At last, you finally look at him properly, smiling awkwardly, a smile that he returns with that boyish, one-sided smirk of his that you’ve grown to love so much.

The comfortable silence between you both is complimented by the rain still hammering down outside.

You turn your head to glance out of the window at the thick droplets bouncing off the glass, then turn back to Harry, who has an amused expression on his face.

He’s the one giving you an awkward smile now, to which you return a puzzled look.

“What?” you ask suspiciously.

He brings his hand up to cover his smile, which is growing bigger by the second. He’s clearly trying not to laugh, but refusing to let you in on the joke, so you poke his ribs to further prompt him to answer.

“S’nothing” he laughs, to which you raise an eyebrow disbelievingly, causing him to laugh again.

You cross your arms whilst feigning an annoyed look, stubbornly waiting for him to kindly share whatever it is that he’s seemingly finding so funny.

“It’s just uhh, when- when was the last time you brushed your hair?” he asks sheepishly, clearly not wanting to embarrass you but finding your lack of effort appearance wise humorous.

Your hand instantly lifts to the messy bun that had initially been propped on the top of your head two days ago. By now it was hanging low at the back of your head, probably a matted mess.

You groan and hit him softly with the pillow behind you, and he raises his arms to defend himself, resuming his laughter as a reluctant smile makes its way onto your face.

“I mean, you look great, but uhh, hairbrushes… great inventions” he taunts, but you can hear his smile so clearly in his voice that it sends warmth through your chest.

“Funny.” you quip, kicking his knee with your socked foot. “please, continue making fun of my misery” you joke, and he holds his hands up in mock surrender.

“Okay, okay, I take it back” he laughs musically, and you purse your lips in a bashful pout, eyeing him fondly as he readjusts his position on the bed to sit cross legged in front of you.

The comfortable silence resumes, Harrys fingers absentmindedly rubbing soothing circles at your ankle.

“Seriously though, want me to brush your hair?” he asks, your heart fluttering at the gesture.

Honestly, the idea of having to brush your hair over the past two days was a task that had seemed entirely overwhelming, hence the state of your bun. And now that it was probably a matted mess, it was a job you were happy to give to someone else- someone who seemed to understand entirely instead of sitting here judging you.

You look down at your hands in your lap, half embarrassed before nodding your head.

“If you don’t mind.. thank you, H” you reply, giving him a grateful smile.

He returns it knowingly, standing to grab the hairbrush from your vanity and sitting back down. He motions with his hand for you to turn around with your back to him, which you do so obediently, feeling pre-emptively better knowing one basic self-care need was being taken care of.

Harrys hands gently tug at the hair tie that is somehow still hanging loosely in your hair, letting the tangled strands fall against your back.

He lets out a low whistle, to which you nudge him in the ribs with your elbow causing him to laugh quietly as he tries to separate the matted sections of your hair.

His fingers are soft and careful with your strands, and his use of the brush is even gentler, taking his time to properly ensure every piece of hair is free from knots. The delicate touch of his fingers brushing the back of your neck causes you to let  out a gentle sigh, and you unintentionally sink back into his touch, contentedly.

By the time Harry has completely detangled your hair you’re pressed flush against his back, not noticing he’d finished as he continues to stroke and run his hands through your hair. He observes you warmly, noting how your eyes have softly closed and your breathing has shallowed.

As much as Harry was loving the entire situation, mainly the fact he’d seemingly managed to calm you down and help you relax, his legs were going numb as hell and he needed to move you from your position that had you practically seated in his lap.

With a small squeeze to your shoulder, he breathes gently in your ear “M’done love. All done.”

You open your eyes, not even realising they’d closed, running your hand through your hair and revelling in how soft the stands now felt. You move away from Harry rather reluctantly, turning back to face him as he stands up from the bed.

“Thank you, Har. I- honestly I feel so much better, really.. thank you” you smile gratefully, your heart warm in your chest and full of such tenderness for your best friend.

You would never get over how truly wonderful he is.

“S’nothing, promise. I like helping you relax. Makes me feel good too” he confesses, a shy smile tugging at his lips.

You both exchange a look of fondness for each other, your eyes locking for an extended period of time. The exchange is warm, with a weight that is full of unsaid things but it’s also a look that needs no words- you both have a profound care for each other, that much has always been clear, but the longer you’re looking at him, the more your own gaze becomes one of longing.

Harry notices it too, his own eyes seeming to look deeper into yours as the warmth in them turns to something more heated.

You see it, you feel it, its thick in the air and you have to look away.

In return, Harry drops his eyes from your face and clears his throat as he fumbles with the hairbrush still in his hand.

He reaches to put it on the nightstand next to your forgotten pot of instant noodles which he picks up with a sigh. The mood instantly shifts back into one of playful friendliness as he holds them out to you with one eyebrow raised.

“This is what you’ve been eating?” he asks. “or not eating I should say. No wonder you’re so depressed” he jokes before walking out of the bedroom and into the open plan kitchen-living room, instant noodles in hand.

With him out of the room you place your head in your hands trying to calm down your thoughts and steady your heart rate. When did it start beating so quickly?

You’re brought out of your thoughts before you can even begin to overthink the look you’d both shared by the sound of the tap running from the bathroom down the hall from your room.

You step out of your bed and walk towards the source of the noise and are greeted by the sight of Harry running you a bath.

He notices you standing in the doorway and gives you a soft smile before walking over to you and gripping the sides of your arms gently.

“I’m gonna go get some real food while you take a bath, okay? I wont be long” he promises, pressing a parting kiss to your cheek before leaving, your heart quickening and heat rushing to your face.

You watch after him mindlessly, your fingers lifting to the spot he’d just kissed so casually, the feeling of his lips still lingering beneath your touch.

Time seemed to stand still for a moment, your hearing dulled, and sense of touch heightened, before a panicked instinct to check the running taps pulls you from your yearning trance.

You turn them off quickly, before removing your clothing and sinking into the soothing warmth of the water and willing it to wash you of these muddled feelings and flustered responses to Harry’s demeanour and affections.

You urge yourself not to overthink his kiss to your cheek, remembering all the times he’d kissed the top of your head whilst hugging you goodbye, usually always followed with some kind of joke about how he can only reach the top of your head so easily because you’re so much smaller than him.

“See ya later Bitsy” you recall his voice and think of how most of those situations ended. Warm but only friendly.

You sink beneath the water to wet your hair, dragging your hands over your face to wash away the grime from your face and along with it any thoughts of Harrys kiss being anything more than a friendly parting.

What you refuse to fully acknowledge is the way your heart leaps at the idea of it being more.

You finish bathing, before wrapping yourself in a towel, feeling so much better for being forced into taking care of yourself.

By the time you’re dressed in a fresh set of pyjama shorts and an oversized t-shirt, you leave your room to see Harry dishing up the food he left to retrieve.

He looks up from portioning a steaming bowl of ramen and gives you a warm, happy smile.

“You look like you’re feeling a little better?” he asks hopefully, to which you nod, returning his smile shyly.

“Much better, thank you. Mmmh, food smells amazing.” You sigh, reaching to grab the bowl he holds out for you before sitting side by side on the sofa.

You eat together in a relaxed silence, one that offers tender glances at each other and periodic laughs as you both try hopelessly to eat ramen noodles gracefully.

Harry finishes first, and you follow not far behind him before setting your bowl on the coffee table in front of you both.

You feel his eyes, on you but can’t force yourself to move your eyes from your hands in your lap. The silence suddenly feels heavy, you don’t even have to look at him to know his stare holds so much weight.

Its impossible to ignore. You feel it.

Your stomach is fluttering under his gaze and your mind is racing.

In an attempt to take the newly tense and awkward edge out of the silence that had now settled, you clear your throat, but it only draws attention to the tension that hangs thick in the air between you both.

You chance a look at him, his green eyes fixed on you with an expression you can’t read.

“Stop it” you whisper, not chancing your voice cracking.

His face is soft, but his brow is tense, his eye contact unwavering.

“Stop what?” he speaks softly.

You inhale slowly, your eyes closing before releasing a shaky exhale.

“Stop looking at me like that. I don’t know what it means” you say.

He leans closer, only slightly, but the growing intimacy of your proximity is enough to quicken your heart rate all over again.

“Looking at you like what, love?” he feigns innocence, his expression still just as achingly warm.

You can barely bring yourself to answer, still trying to convince yourself you must be misreading the entire situation, that he can’t be looking at you with this intense desire, so gently, so.. so..

“Longingly...” you whisper.

His expression softens, his eyes leaving yours to delicately trail over the features of your face, a soft sigh leaving his mouth as his focus stops at your lips before cupping his hand at your cheek.

“I can’t, love. Because I can’t tell you how long I have longed for this.” he whispers.

Your eyes shut tight at his confession, that familiar warmth radiating through your whole chest as the entire world seems to stop spinning again.

When you open your eyes, they threaten to spill over with tears, and Harry knowingly caresses the side of your cheek with his thumb.

You can’t breathe.

“Me too” you utter almost silently.

Your admission sparks the most beautiful, genuine smile you’ve ever seen Harry wear, and he touches his forehead to yours with his hand gently cradling the back of your head.

“Well, thank fuck for that” he jokes, and you laugh breathily before pulling back to finally meet his eyes with a new confidence.

He looks between each of your eyes before refocusing his gaze on your lips. Before you can even acknowledge the excitement blooming in your chest, his mouth is on yours.

And it’s soft. It’s slow. It’s everything you’ve ever wanted.

He pulls you into his lap and deepens the kiss, causing you to whimper into his mouth as your hands fist into his t-shirt, desperately trying to anchor yourself to him, not wanting to lose him now that you finally have him.

His hand moves from the back of your head, trailing down your back to gently cup your ass, your core clenching in utter desire in response.

He pulls away from the kiss breathlessly, his hand gliding softly beneath your t-shirt, caressing the skin of your stomach, up towards your ribs suggestively.

“I know you’ve spent all day in bed, love.” he breathes. “But would you mind if I took you back there?”

Your head dizzies with a new lust. You scan over his face as he pulls you down against his lap almost desperately, his expression showing nothing but his adoration and unsatiated need for you.

And now, you can think of anywhere else you’d rather be.

“..yes please.”

[laviefantasie]

Patience

Pairings: Eren Jaeger x Reader

Summary: It was just a childhood crush, right? If your heart skipped a beat every single time your eyes crossed or if your palms started to sweat with every lingering touch, it was just because of what you used to feel as a kid, right?

| Masterlist |

It was just a childhood crush. Nothing else. That’s what you’d heard all your life. And who could really blame you with how close you two had always been? No one. Truly, everyone around you both had expected one of you to grow a crush sooner or later.

You just wish it hadn’t been you. Everything would’ve been easier then. Cause nothing was worst than having a crush on THE Eren Jaeger.

If only he had never smiled your way maybe your heart would’ve been spared.

Tears started gathering in your eyes as you stared at your best friend dancing with another of your close friends. You couldn’t even find it in your heart to be mad. How could you when you knew how sweet and kind Historia was? You couldn’t blame Eren for choosing her, if there was ever really a choice to make.

You try to move your gaze away but all your strength was gone. It was as if your brain was unwilling to hide the truth from your heart, as if it had finally been enough.

A comforting arm settles itself across your shoulders and a body soon finds itself in front of you, shielding you from the heartbreaking scene.

“Don’t look, Y/N” you hear Armin say, he’s the one holding you safe under his arm.

“Let’s go home” says Mikasa, who’s shielding your view.

You can’t find your voice so you just nod weakly. Your best friends seem to understand though, and soon both are guiding you to the doors of your school gymnasium where the homecoming dance is being held.

Honestly, you knew this would happen someday. Eren had never shown any sign of reciprocating your feelings.

It still hurt though.

Armin and Mikasa keep quiet throughout the drive home, both allowing you to feel safe in their silence; neither asking you to voice how you’re feeling at the moment. You’re thankful for them, without them you’re not sure you’d even think about the possibility of mending your broken heart.

“You sure you don’t want us to stay with you tonight?”

You stare at them with a blank gaze, slowly shaking your head.

Mikasa and Armin share a look before nodding in understanding, promising to come check on you tomorrow. Waiting until you’re inside your home before even moving towards their car.

Only once you’re sure you’re safe inside your house and that they have left the driveway is that you allow yourself to crumble.

“Mom” you whimper “Mom! MOM!”

Your body is shaking and your voice is a dead giveaway that something is wrong, which makes your mother wake up alarmed and run downstairs.

The sight she is greeted with is one that breaks her heart in a way not even your father’s death could.

Your knees are wobbling and your whole body is trembling, it’s a miracle she reaches you in time before you fall down, gathering you safely in her arms as you allow yourself to break down for the first time that night.

“Shhh, sweetheart. It’s okay. Whatever happened it’s okay”

You sob, gut wrenching sobs that make your mother want to shed a few tears herself.

You spend the night in your mother’s arms, crying until sleep finally catches up to you. It’s your mother who greets Armin and Mikasa the next day, whispering how you need more time before you’re ready to see them. Both quietly explain the situation to your mom and she promises to let them know as soon as you’re ready to see them.

“Honey”

You hug your blanket tighter around your body.

“It’s gonna be okay, sweetheart” she tries again, hugging you from behind “It was just a crush, it’ll be okay”

“It wasn’t a crush” you choke “Mom, I—I love him. I love him, mom”

Her eyes widen without your knowledge and she curses herself for not seeing it sooner. Of course it wasn’t a crush, at least not anymore.

The way you’d always cling to him since you were kids, the way you’d follow him everywhere, how you always helped him study so that he’d never fall behind, how you were at each of his basketball games screaming at the top of your lungs.

It may have started as a crush but you both had grown up, your feelings had grown too.

She should’ve seen it. You wouldn’t spend a whole night baking his favorite cake for his birthday when you could buy it just for a crush. You wouldn’t leave everything behind just to answer his call just for a crush. You wouldn’t be the first to clean his wounds after another of his stupid fights just for a crush.

You had fallen in love with him. With every part of him. Even the ones he, or anyone around him, was not proud of.

“Oh, honey” she soothes “It’ll be okay. You may not believe me, but you’ll be okay”

She sighs, holding you tighter.

“You’ll fall in love again” she promises “And it’ll be just as great and as painful as this time. But you’ll fall in love again”

“I don’t want this to hurt, mommy” you sob “Why does it have to hurt?”

“Because every feeling that made you go up has to come down sooner or later. Sweetie, the greater the love, the greater the pain. That’s the rule” she sighs “But it’ll be okay. You’re strong, you’ll get through this. You’re just one heartbreak closer to happily ever after, just have a little patience”

The next day, although still hurting, you get out of bed and answer Armin and Mikasa’s texts, asking them to come for a movie night. You ignored Eren’s.

JaegerBomb: Y/N you left homecoming early?? What happened?

JaegerBomb: You probably fell asleep. Text me when you wake up, doofus, got a lot to tell you.

JaegerBomb: Morning, sleeping beauty!!

JaegerBomb: Hey, I’m getting a little worried. U okay?

JaegerBomb; Y/N what’s going on?? Answer your phone.

JaegerBomb: I’m gonna file a missing person’s report!!

You hesitated before locking your phone. You weren’t going to answer. You couldn’t. Not because you were mad at him, you had no reason to be mad. You weren’t answering because you needed to move on. You couldn’t be there every time he texted anymore.

You had to stop being his person, cause you weren’t his.

Armin and Mikasa came to your house as planned and it was honestly what you had needed all that time. Having their shoulders to cry on was enough to mend your broken heart, at least a little. They made you laugh and smile in a way you didn’t think possible to do with the pain you felt.

You sometimes forgot that your life didn’t revolve around Eren. Being so used to always being at his side, to always call him whenever you were upset or happy, you’d sometimes forget that Mikasa and Armin always stood beside you through the path. Never once abandoning you. It was nice to be reminded of how much you still have, with how much your heart felt was losing.

Eren, meanwhile, was confused and worried. Carla, his mom, watched with a curious gaze as he paced back and forth in front of her, trying to argue with her about going to the police cause it wasn’t normal that you weren’t answering him.

“Eren, honey, she could be busy”

“No, mom, she always answers!” He almost screams “This is not normal! What if something happened to her? Mom, we have to go!”

It was truly an interesting sight. Eren who had grown up to hide his feelings behind a blank space was openly expressing his worry. Somehow you were always the one to let her catch a glimpse of her old sweet boy.

Carla sighs, “Can I at least call Y/M/N first? Just before you jump to conclusions?”

Eren grunts but nods. Carla sighs once more before grabbing her phone, dialing your mother’s number. Eren waits anxiously by her side, making her worry he’d run to the door any second with how fidgety he was.

“Hello. Carla?”

“Y/M/N! Hi! How are you?”

“Mom” Eren whines in a whisper, urging her to get to the point.

“Sorry to call, I just wanted to—”

A crash sounds through the phone, making both Jaeger’s jump.

“Y/N! What are you guys doing?” They hear your mom scream.

“Sorry, mom! I got scared and my bowl fell!”

Eren visibly relaxes in his place once your voice sounds through the phone. Carla eyes him with curiosity. He had his hand over his chest as if the relief of you not being in trouble was finally allowing him to breathe.

“Sorry, Carla. Y/N is watching some scary movie with Mikasa and Armin” she laughs “You know them, can never leave them unsupervised”

Eren straightens in his seat. Mikasa and Armin? You were with them?

He stopped listening to the conversation after that. Why weren’t you answering him? Since when did you text them before you texted him? Didn’t you know he’d worry? Even better, why didn’t you invite him? Didn’t you want him there?

That couldn’t be it. You never left his side. You were even more annoying than Mikasa when you were kids, always glued to his side. Although not as protective as the dark haired beauty, your presence was always clinging to his. That hadn’t changed throughout the years. You clung to him every step of the way. Always making sure to be at his side no matter what. Even when your grades were good enough to take higher classes, you stuck by him. Never going too fast, never going too slow; you always stood by him.

And he never pushed you away, not like he did with Mikasa. He never could.

He tries texting you again, thinking that maybe the texts hadn’t gone through. But he knows better. He just doesn’t want to know better.

When the weekend ends, Eren, for the first time ever, gets to school in time. Honestly, he just wanted to be there when you got there, not wanting to miss you by chance.

“Eren!” He hears Historia before she sees her “How was your weekend? I haven’t heard from you since the dance?”

“Huh?” Historia hugs him, but he’s too distracted scanning the hallway for you.

“Thank you so much” she smiles “I had a lot of fun. I was really sad Ymir couldn’t make it, but you help it be a fun night”

“Yeah. No problem”

Historia frowns confused, “You okay?”

“Have you seen Y/N?”

Historia tilts her head, “Yeah, she was by Calculus with Jea—woah! Where are you going?”

He’s out of her sight before she can even finish her sentence. All he could think about was seeing you.

He just didn’t expect to see you with Jean.

He stopped midway. His heart tightens as he sees you laugh happily because of something Jean just said. His fist clenches when he sees the way Jean is smiling at you.

He didn’t like the way Jean was looking at you.

The bell rings and he moves fast, scared to lose you from his sight, as you walk to your class. Imagine his surprise when he goes in to find you sitting with Jean. He frozed for a second. Was he still dreaming? You always sat with him. Always had. What was going on?

“Y/N?”

You look up from your notebook to see Eren looking like kicked puppy in front of you. He looked lost. Which was weird. Never had you ever seen that expression on his face.

Jean, who’s at you side, frowns in bewilderment. He didn’t remember the last time Eren had shown so much emotion.

“Eren” you whisper before smiling faintly “H-hi, I didn’t see you come in”

“What are you doing?”

“What do you mean?”

Your teacher comes in before he can open his mouth again and he soon is obligated to sit behind you with Marco.

His jaw clenches. He didn’t understand. Had he done something wrong? Why were you not sitting with him? Why even though you smiled at him did he feel you so distant? Why did it hurt him so much to see you smiling and whispering with Jean when he knows he is your friend?

He didn’t really pay attention to anything their teacher said, too lost in his own thoughts to even bother caring.

The bell rings and he jumps off his seat, but before he can catch you someone grabs his arm.

“Mikasa” he moves his arm but she doesn’t let him go “Mikasa, let go”

“Leave her alone, Eren”

He looks at her with no expression, though the girl for a second could see how his eyebrow twitched.

“I need to talk to her”

“Her world doesn’t revolve around you” she scoffs “So don’t act like it does”

“What do you mean?”

“Weren’t you just about to go ask her why she didn’t sit with you?” She raises a brow “She doesn’t have to be at your side 24/7”

He hates that she knows him so well. Hates even more that she is right. You don’t owe him anything, you can sit with whoever you want. So why did he felt the need for one?

He jerks his arm off Mikasa’s grip and scoffs. Maybe you just wanted to talk to Jean, things would go back to normal soon enough.

At lunch you didn’t say by him either, you sat in between Sasha and Mikasa. Laughing loudly while sharing your lunch with Braus. He naively waited for you to hand him the chocolate chip cookie you always made for him, yet this time you didn’t.

And it went on for two months.

He couldn’t handle it anymore. 62 days of agony waiting for you to turn to look at him first, just to never do it. 62 days of waiting hours before you text him back. 62 days of seeing you sit with everyone but him. 62 days of wondering if you’ll show up or not at his game. 62 days of being invited to movie nights at your house by Mikasa or Armin, never by you.

He couldn’t bare it anymore and it didn’t take long for his friends to notice. Emotionless and unbothered Eren Jaeger jumping out of his seat every single time you entered the room. Eren Jaeger who cannot stop clenching his fist and moving his leg when you haven’t made an appearance. Eren Jaeger who looks like a lost child every single time you don’t give him his attention.

They honestly grew tired of it.

“You need to talk to him”

You blink, confused, at Armin, “what?”

“It’s been two months, Y/N, and he looks like a kicked puppy. You need to talk to him”

“What am I supposed to say?”

“Just let him know you’re still friends. That you’re not mad at him” he sighs “Things don’t have to go back to how they were, but he deserves to know he did nothing wrong. He can’t stop pouting and, honestly, I feel kinda sorry for him”

You sigh. Armin is right, as always. It wasn’t fair for Eren, who is your best friend, to feel like he has done something wrong when he truly hasn’t. You needed to make things right. You needed to salvage your friendship with him.

That’s why you come to school the next day with a box of the homemade chocolate cupcakes he loves so much.

That’s why you stand in front of your school’s doors waiting for him to arrive.

Your heart clenches with how defeated he looks once he does. And when your eyes find one another, you can physically see the hope and relief that he feels.

“Y/N” he sighs.

“Eren” you smile “I, uh… I wanted to apologize. I know I’ve been a little distant lately and—”

“Why?” He begs “Why have you been distant?”

You open and close your mouth, your finger tightening around the box in your hands. You had to be honest. You had to voice what you had silenced for so long. That way you would be able to move on, that way he’d understand why you needed to keep him at arm’s length.

“I, uh, um… I sa-saw you and His-Historia at the dance” you clear your throat “It wasn’t your fault! I swear I’m not mad and I never was! It’s just—it just hurt… that’s why I needed space. I liked you and it hurt”

You sigh, and extend the box towards him before slightly bowing your head.

“I’m sorry!”

You stay with your head down for a few seconds. He doesn’t move nor answers and it makes you wonder if he is mad you didn’t just tell him sooner, if he thinks you’re immature for not talking to him before so he could understand.

You feel the box being taken from your hands and before you can react you feel him lower his body, making you stand straight. Yet his face still falls on your shoulder. You feel his body relax as soon as it comes in contact with yours, and you feel him breathe in relief once he can feel your lavender scent. You don’t move, you don’t know exactly what to do in that moment. Does this mean he understands? Does it mean he is not mad? Are you both okay?

“I missed you” he whispers “I missed you so much”

“I—I missed you too, Eren”

“Never do that again” he begs softly “Please. Never leave me again”

“I, uh—I won’t”

“It’s you, Y/N” he continues “It’s always been you”

Your heart beats loudly in your chest at the declaration, yet confusion follows.

“But Histo—?”

“Historia was just sad Ymir couldn’t make it to the dance” he explains softly “I went to help her forget about it for a while”

“Oh”

“It’s you, Y/N. Always has been, always will be” he continues “Promise not to give up on me? Please. I just—please, don’t leave me”

You find yourself wrapping your arms around him, and he hides his face on your neck with content and relief.

“I promise”

The next time your friends see you both, you’re no longer clinging to him. Instead, Eren has his arm around your shoulders, holding you close to him. And, for the first time in a long time, he is smiling. That boyish smile they had all missed.

Your mom had been right. It was just one heartbreak before your happily ever after. She just didn’t know it would be the same person who’d mend it.

You just had to have a little patience.