#not necessarily pushing for something but wanting to see what happens next

[andromeda3116]

like, i started romantic killer and i was at first like "eh. this is trying too hard to be ouran high school host club" but i started to warm up to it in the second episode and really fell in love with it by the third, so like. *highly* recommend. it really hits all my demisexual feels, and my opinion toward the burgeoning love triangle is "both. both is good."

[5-htagonist]

i dont know how to connect these pieces together, except for something regarding how the characterization is done, but venture bros, homestuck, utena, house, some others i cant think of rn... something about the way the characters interact and build in these captivates me. the complexities, the almost... impromptu way these characters develop so naturally, and i think it comes from different places in most of these though homestuck and venture bros probably holds the most similarity in terms of expertly utilizing retroactive foreshadowing to create beautiful and complex character relationships. house feels like it moreso... accidentally happens upon great and logical character development lol. i usually wonder if im reading too far into it when i watch particularly great moments. and utena's characters feel so 3d because they really are-- the sheer amount of different utena stories that adds and expands and also contracts on different aspects of each character ends up building a very 3d and symbolic picture in the mind.

[flanaganfilm]

The Midnight Club - Season Two

I'm very disappointed that Netflix has decided not to pursue a second season of THE MIDNIGHT CLUB.

My biggest disappointment is that we left so many story threads open, holding them back for the hypothetical second season, which is always a gamble.

So I'm writing this blog as our official second season, so you can know what might have been, learn the fates of your favorite characters, and know the answers to those dangling story threads from the first season.

So for those of you who want to know what we were planning to do, here's a look at what would have been season 2!

AMESH Season 2 would open with Amesh, his glioblastoma advancing quickly. He would tell the first story of the season, but would be struggling to make it through. We'd focus on his love story with Natsuki for those first few episodes as it becomes clear that Amesh's death is imminent.

Meanwhile, Ilonka is trying to reconcile how she was fooled by Julia Jayne, all while falling further in love with Kevin, and she realizes he may be fading faster than he lets on.

Ilonka begins a serialized story in an effort to encourage him to "stay alive a little longer," like he did in season one. And the story she tells is... REMEMBER ME.

This was the thing I was most excited about for this season.

REMEMBER ME is one of my all-time favorite Pike books - it tells the story of a teenage girl who is pushed off a balcony, and awakens as a ghost. She has to navigate being a spirit while trying to solve her own murder. We would have stretched this story out over 5 episodes. We were going to use it as a vehicle for Ilonka to try to come to terms with the fact that she is going to die, and to begin to trying to wrap her head around being a ghost... but this is the coolest part... the lead character of Ilonka's story wouldn't be played by Ilonka. She'd be played by...

Anya.

Because this is how we live on, isn't it? In the minds of those we leave behind. And Ilonka would use REMEMBER ME as a way to imagine her dear friend Anya, waking up as a ghost, navigating the afterlife. And this sets up one of the best mechanisms of the show - even if a character dies, as long as they're remembered by members of the club, they live on in their stories.

As the story starts to pick up steam, though, the group will have to deal with the death of Amesh, which he greets with grace and bravery.

In his final moments, he sees someone in his room - the Janitor from the first season, as played by Robert Longstreet, who says comforting things to Amesh even though he can't respond.

In his final, final moments, the SHADOW descends upon Amesh, and he is engulfed into it, which reinforces the idea that the Shadow is DEATH...

With Amesh's death comes something that upends the entire thing: a NEW PATIENT. We didn't work out too much about who this would be, but it would be a new roommate for Ilonka. Someone taking Anya's old bed. Ilonka would find herself being initially cold to her - just as Anya was when Ilonka arrived. Even feeling like this new girl shouldn't necessarily be ushered into the Club. But of course they would develop a beautiful friendship over the course of the season. The new girl joins the club, where something else exciting is happening - Cheri is telling a story. We hadn't decided which one, but I think it might have been MONSTER.

Natsuki would be the next to die, which would be heartbreaking. And again, she would talk to the janitor just before it happened... and again, the Shadow would come in the final moments.

For Spence, though, things would take a different turn.

The advancements in HIV treatment in the late 90's would come into play, and we'd see his prognosis change. The HIV cocktail came out in Dec 1995, and we really wanted to explore that.

Spence would ride the swell of antiviral advancements, and by the end of the season, he'd no longer be classified as terminal. In the finale of season 2, Spence would leave Brightcliffe just like Sandra did in Season 1, heading off to manage his disease and live the rest of his life.

But onto the BIG MYSTERIES of the season one... here are some answers: What is up with Dr. Stanton's tattoo and bald head? Well, a few things. First, Dr. Stanton is actually the daughter of the original Paragon cult leader, Aceso. Her nickname was Athena, she wrote the Paragon journal that Ilonka found in S1. She turned on her mother and helped the kids escape, but because she was part of the cult in her teenage years, she had the tattoo.

It was her initials that Ilonka found carved into the tree in season 1 (her maiden name was Georgina Ballard, hence the G.B. that Ilonka finds carved in the tree).

She hated what her mother became, and the atrocities of the cult. She reclaimed the property after her mom was gone, and wanted to change it into a place that celebrated life. She was trying to undo her mother's legacy and leave something behind that was beautiful. She is wearing a wig at the end of S1 not because of a sinister reason, but because she is undergoing chemo. Dr. Stanton has cancer. Having helped so many people deal with disease, she now has to deal with it herself.

Her treatment would be successful, and she'd go into remission, but having to face that - while caring for the terminal kids at Brightcliffe - was going to be a very introspective arc for Stanton.

What about the Living Shadow? It's Death, right? Well... no.

At the end of the season, Kevin will die... followed shortly by Ilonka. And as she is dying, two things will happen. First, she'll find herself talking to the Janitor, played by Robert Longstreet... and she'll make a discovery.

HE is Death. And nothing to be afraid of. It turns out no one else ever saw this character. Stanton has a cleaning service, and the Nurse practitioners make up the rooms - the only people who ever saw this mysterious Janitor were the patients. He is Death, and offers them kind words before they die. Then what was the Shadow?

This is an idea we take directly from the book REMEMBER ME, and we'll see it play out in the final moments of Ilona's final tale. In Pike's book, Shari is pursued by a dark entity called The Shadow. When it finally catches her, though, it turns out it is not a bad thing at all.

The Shadow is THEMSELVES. It's the Unknown. As it engulfs someone, in the last moment of their life, it takes them through a place of understanding and catharsis, preparing them for the next step.

THIS is what happened to Anya in S1 when the Shadow finally reached her - that's why she fantasized a life beyond Brightcliffe, which ultimately let her find acceptance of her death. It looks different for everybody, depending on their mind-set - because it is simply an extension of themselves.

The Shadow is just the final catharsis, a return to our original form - it is a moment of true understanding, and once we experience it, we move on to the next place.

We see the Shadow in full effect when it finally comes for Kevin. KEVIN DIES with Ilonka at his side, and it leads to the biggest reveal of the season:

Who were the Mirror Man and the Cataract Woman?

They were Stanley Oscar Freelan and his wife, who built Brightcliffe (fun trivia, he is named after the real-life Freelan Oscar Stanley, who built my favorite hotel in America - the Stanley Hotel. The Stanley is also the inspiration for THE SHINING!).

But more than that... there's a reason that Ilonka only sees Stanley in the mirror, and sees the Cataract Woman whenever she looked at Kevin. This is something else we took from Pike's original book... these aren't ghosts, but glimpses of PAST LIVES.

Ilonka WAS Stanley Oscar Freelan, and Kevin WAS his wife. They've lived many lives this way, and are true SOUL MATES - they always find each other, and they always fall in love. In this life, they knew it would be a short one, so they agreed to find each other in the house they built. They've been "remembering" who they are, and glimpsing their former selves in reflections, and sometimes when they look at each other. This is also why Ilonka's very first words to Kevin in S1 were "Do I know you?" and why Kevin thought she was familiar as well. They are two souls who always find each other, again and again.

The story is this: Stanley was dying, and built this cliffside home hoping that the seaside air would help him. It did, and he far outlived his prognosis (this is also true of the real-life Freelan Stanley). However, his wife began to succumb to dementia.

She would wander the halls, looking for him ("Darling!") and would even forget to feed herself ("I'm starving...") and she eventually refused to leave the basement. Heartbroken for her, Stanley painted the walls to resemble the woodland view, and the ceiling to resemble the night sky, so that it would be a little more beautiful for her.

He also painted a labyrinth on the floor, which was a technique used to try to curb the effects of dementia. She'd walk the pattern of the maze and it was believed it could help her cognition. Eventually, she developed frightening cataracts, but Stanley loved her through it all.

They were soul mates.

So while they seemed scary in season 1, that was just how Ilonka and Kevin's mind were trying to remember their pasts. We even had their faces distorting in ways consistent with how memories degrade over time. When the Shadow comes for Ilonka, and gives her this understanding - this "remembering" - she realizes she has nothing to fear. She and Kevin will shed these personas and be reborn, and have the joy of finding each other another way. The Shadow comes for her, Death takes her gently, and Ilonka goes off with Kevin back into the cosmos, ready for their next incarnation. The series would end with Cheri telling this story to a whole new table of patients, including our new series leads. Most of our original cast now would exist as stories, a story told to the next "class" of storytellers at the table, all of whom we will have met by the end of the season. A story called "The Midnight Club."

Well, that's it... that was what we had in mind. It's a shame we won't get to make it, but it would be a bigger shame if you guys simply had to live with the unanswered questions and the cliffhanger ending. I loved making this show, and I am so proud of the cast and crew. Particularly our cast, who attacked this story with incredible spirit and bravery each and every day.

But for now, we'll put the fire out, and leave the library dark and quiet. To those before, and to those after. To us now, and to those beyond.

Seen or unseen, here but not here.

I'll always be grateful that I got to be part of this Club.

[hotpinkstars]

How about blind!reader with genshin men (you can choose) and she accidentally slipped and somehow managed to mess up genshin man’s important work and he ends up blowing up on her? Angst please and I don’t mind if you do comfort or no comfort!!

Have a great day🌚

-> blinded mistakes

synopsis -> you're blind, and you accidentally knock over a months worth of your husbands work, and it gets ruined.

warnings -> super angsty!!! brief mentions of ayato putting his hands on reader (no hitting or anything) might do a part 2 for comfort part cus i wanted to focus on the main argument w this one...

a/n -> ooooooomg i'm a sucker for these tropes i love angst so much. thx for ur request, this was sm fun to write! 💗💗

w/c -> 1.1k

-> ayato

ayato knew you were blind, and he was as understanding of it as he possibly could be.

but in times like these, where all of this work was to be turned in for city matters by next week, he had no patience for anyone.

he had been cooped up in his office for a while at a time over the past month. these documents were incredibly important to him and how the words written on the paper could impact how festivities were held to be a much easier way for himself and the city. 

basically, his papers were pretty damn important. and you knew that.

you walked in his office one day with thoma helping you through the hallways. you didn’t want to trip, especially with a mug of tea in your hand, and you didn’t want to bring a cane with you. 

but, thoma may have made a big mistake of leaving you in ayatos care as soon as you walked through the door. because you knew ayato was in no way shape or form able to draw himself from his work at the moment.

you were not able to use your cane to feel around the room, so without knowing where the rug was, you tripped.

and the tea you held in your hands went all over his desk, soaking his documents. the ink was splotchy and obviously ruined. you weren’t able to see what happened, but by the way ayato gasped and grabbed your wrist you knew you fucked up pretty bad.

“what the hell were you thinking???” he pulls you up forcefully and pushes you down on his couch, where you started tearing up. you weren’t necessarily used to him yelling at you, for arguments, especially over such as this, were very minimal. he always found a way to come to an understanding with you, no matter what you may have ruined. 

“i’m sorry! i didn’t think thoma was just going to leave-” you were cut off by an angry voice.

“this isn’t thomas issue, y/n. it’s yours. how clueless can you be?” he brings his hands to his face, rubbing the bridge of his nose before groaning loudly. 

“i’m sorry that i can’t fucking see, ayato!” you yelled back, slamming your hands on the couch and leaning back. “is that what you wanted to hear?”

he shook his head, but you didn’t know that. he lays his hands on your thighs, squeezing them, before getting close to your face. you could smell his hair, the sakura shampoo he uses being evident. 

“i don’t want a fucking apology, y/n. if these documents are not in by friday, there is no change for inazuma. the change you’ve been awaiting, the change i’ve been awaiting, and the change everyone of the city has been awaiting. you took that away from all of them. because you decided you weren’t going to bring your cane to make sure you don’t fucking fall!” he yells to your face, making the tears spill out.

“i’m sorry! i just wanted to bring you something to drink because i was told you were overworking yourself. gosh, how bad of me for caring for my husband,” you yelled, hands shaking in both fear and rage. you knew talking back to him this way wouldn’t lead to anything good, but you tested your luck anyways.

“remove yourself from my office. i don’t care how the fuck you do it, but i demand you leave,” he said with a low, threatening tone. you knew he was enraged, and you stumbled through the door to the hallway, where ayaka was waiting to take you back to your room.

-> wriothesley

you always felt grateful for wriothesley, and the last thing you wanted to do was to upset him. he was one of the only people to look past your disability and see your heart, see your kindness and purity. 

so when you come up his office stairs very, very slowly with a cup of tea and trip on an uneven plate in the ground, ruining his documents that were incredibly important to him and the palais mermonia, especially to neuvillette, you knew you were screwed.

normally, this didn’t happen. he’d meet you down by his office door after a guard or sigewinne escorted you through the fortress, and help you walk up the stairs with the support of his arm.

he immediately slams his hands down on his table, walking over to where you were. 

you felt his presence looming over you, though unable to see it, you slowly and carefully sit up. he lifts up your chin before speaking.

“why. why would you do that,” he starts in a low tone, something similar he’d use to speaking to misbehaved criminals. “i told you not to visit me today. and what do you do? the complete fucking opposite!” 

you rub your eyes, trying to show no signs of weakness. you stand up, and he grabs your hands, making you feel the mess you made. ripped papers, bleeding ink. a month of progress is officially gone. 

“you feel what you did? that has taken me months! and it’s ruined! if i lose my job because of this-” he starts, dropping your hands as you turn around, your bottom leaning against the desk. 

“i’m sorry! i should’ve either stayed home or have a guard escort me up, i didn’t mean to ruin your progress!” you wipe more tears away, hearing him give an annoyed sigh. 

“you’re right. you shouldn’t have come at all. this would never have happened if you didn’t come. do you understand how much trouble i could be in? if you didn’t visit me at all, i wouldn’t have to go through the embarrassment of asking for new documents, and i wouldn’t have to do hundreds of papers in three damned days!” he says, obviously distressed.

“look, i’m sorry, okay?! you can tell neuvillette and all of fontaine that i was the one who ruined everything if you want to! i’m sorry about the hassle and i’m sorry for putting more stress on you! all i wanted to do was bring you a cup of tea because you left the house stressed this morning!” you yelled back, crying at this point. “if you don’t want the embarrassment, then you can embarrass me. it seems like i’ve done enough to deserve it, so do it! tell the whole world what i did wrong, and how horrible of a wife i was!”

you called a guard in to escort you out, and that was the last wriothesley had seen of you that day.

[jeoncopi]

[2] EAGER DAYS | JJK

are you ready to witness what's like to have a very yearning, domestically soft, vulnerable, silly yet playful and hot military boyfriend?

welcome to military jungkook's episodes!

—this entire series are based during jungkook's current state. as I'll be writing with each irl update. so this series might last until jungkook's finally free (Imao).

IMPORTANT: each episode won't be necessarily correlated to one another but some episodes could have light references to previous actions, feelings or situations.

BE AWARE OF: 18+ CONTENT.

pair: jungkook x reader

word count: 2.1k

what's in here?: a little bit of inside of their relationship, memories and flashbacks (jungkook’s pov). cute and a little bit of tension if you really squint lol.

[more episodes]

EPISODE 2. “short hair..”

freshly cut.

trimming his hair little by little has been jungkook’s plan for a while now. something about not wanting to get shocked or insecure if he ever looked bad being bald. ‘it’s best to get used to it like this, right?’ checking himself out at the salon, ‘I don’t look too bad.’ he mutters to himself.

‘I wonder what does y/n think..’ crosses his mind next.

—.•*•.—

“ta-da~”

boy-ish smile. you’re met with a brand new jungkook as soon as you open the door. a soft gasp escapes your lips when you scan his new haircut and you can’t help but drag his body inside your apartment just to glance at him in better lightning.

“oh my god.”

jungkook’s tone is playful when he chuckles and playfully asks with a semi smirk on his lips. “what? what?” walking you backwards as both of his hands are placed on your shoulders.

your hands gently resting on his firm chest. “why do you look so good?”

jungkook’s eyes already glistening with your answer. ‘that’s a relief’.

“so you like it?” he genuinely asks.

“are you serious?” you answer in complete bewilderment.

jungkook immediately nods his head many times. very cutely. “yes.” and so serious.

“I ffucking love it.” you emphasize the F which makes jungkook laugh very softly.

feeling extremely relaxed now knowing that his girl is totally into him all over again. — not that you weren’t before, but he just enjoys showing you new sides of him since for jungkook, to be able to maintain such a good and healthy relationship is to be able to keep things alive by doing new, different things.

you see, jungkook is a super active boyfriend. yeah, he does get tremendously lazy, because he is. and sometimes is very hard for him to even start something, but he also pushes himself and tries his best in moving around..

once he finds things that he likes, he just want to share it all with you and it’s been like that since the first day he met you. up to when you two became friends at eunwoo’s house, then the moment he acknowledged his feelings for you.. down to when he couldn’t resist it anymore, admitting to himself how badly he really wanted you.

for his good luck, you were also having quite a hurricane of unanswered questions and feelings on your mind around that time..

each time he thinks about it he can’t help but internally smile, if not physically.

— memory —

it had already passed two years since you two met and there you were, standing there with a cup of glass on your hands.. looking all pretty talking with a group of friends.

when jungkook really thinks about it, it all seems to always happen at his best friend’s events..

he’s walking towards you, making his mind to excuse you from them. you softly placed your empty cup at the side near to where you were standing.

“yes?” walking towards him.

jungkook swears he can feel everyone’s eyes on you both. but as always, all of it didn’t mattered as soon as his eyes met yours.

you were so pretty that night. wearing one of his favorite things ever..

a mini skirt.

he liked to imagine it was because of him each time you wore that.. and it’s all because of a past conversation you all were having between friends one day.

he even recalls the topic so well.

‘what’s an item someone can wear that you’ll say is definitely hot?’

— flashback —

jaeun asked, and it was already jungkook’s time to answer.

“yeah, I like when girls wear mini skirts. that definitely will do it for me.” he chuckles when everyone laughs and some others agree with him.

“oh.. so that’s something that turns you on?“ y/n sort of teases him. a cheeky smirk to her lips.

jungkook tries to humorously not roll his eyes. “eung.” answering with a nod towards you. “but not just with anybody though..” manspreading back into his seat. “..if they want to turn me on, I really do have to like them first.” and his gaze is so intense towards you.

hopefully nobody notices in the room.

eunwoo is the first to respond, “ahh, I get what you mean.”

“me too. actually,”

jungkook can sense some sort of intensity back on your gaze towards him when you respond,

“I’m the complete same. I can’t get turned on with a total stranger, you know?” with a smile on her face, also chuckling about it. “but now, if there’s someone I already know and I’m actually into them.. then that’s a whole different story.”

and there’s something about the way you act that it’s quite intriguing to jungkook. making him wanting to know if what you said was lowkey directed to him..

— end flashback —

..so it isn’t that wrong for him to think about it that way, right?

ever since that day.. he swears you started using more mini skirts from time to time.

or was it that it’s always whenever there’s a meeting with him?

just like a little pattern, he can be one hundred percent sure that you just knew where and when you needed to wear one at the right time and places.

as if you knew whenever he could attend an event or not, how come each time he saw you in pictures of dates he couldn’t make it, at all times, you were just as pretty but using those nice jeans or loose clothes he also loved so much.

never a mini skirt.

he can even picture the first time he saw you wearing one so perfectly. like a brand new painting being freshly made before his eyes,

he specifically remembers you going down the stairs, slowly but surely, still haven’t finished getting ready with the way you were fixing your earrings but he swears he has never seen someone to be so effortlessly stunning before.

his heart almost dropping, pushing and breaking out of his chest.. he didn’t even noticed how he wasn’t even breathing. holding his breath the entire time with that little sequence.

it’s not so much different from how you were feeling now, standing in front of her. “can you come upstairs with me for a sec?” he wished to not sound too creepy.

“um, sure.” even when he can tell you’re a bit confused, you still give him a comfort smile. you know she trusted you and you’re very glad that she does, because you definitely wouldn’t want her to do things she won’t like or even feel uncomfortable with.

—.•*•.—

“there’s something going on?” y/n asked when I slowly guided her to the currently empty, second living room.

“no—yes, actually.” I correct myself as nervous as I try not sound and my fingers slowly fidget with each other.

your face is rather more of concern when you notices my strange behavior. “..what’s wrong?”

but I chuckle a little when I glance at your reaction. “it’s nothing bad or sad, I promise. you can chill a little.”

making you chuckle back, “oh, was my face looking too worried?” cupping your own face as you speak. and I thought that was so cute.

I try to hide my face as I feel my cheeks burn in red, sort of looking down at the floor. engaging to the thought that I was lucky enough that you actually could not see it given to the poor lightning.

“mm just a little.” I paused. “actually? yes.” my tone still shy as I joke around and you laugh about it. but then I start rubbing one hand through the back of my neck when silence arrives and you start to speak,

“so..” taking one step near me. “um,” you stop. “I can’t see you very well from here.. do you mind if I get closer to you?”

and my heart jumped. “mm-yeah.. I mean, yeah. it’s fine.” trying to act cool, I only lean back on what it seems to be like a marbled table.

you chuckle when you get comfortable beside me.

“you’re very cute sometimes,” y/n mutters with a smile in between her teeth, almost as if you were admitting that more to yourself than me.

and you playfully push my shoulder with your upper body when you ask, “so, why are we here?”

with a smile too, I feel my heart beating hard when my face that it’s now facing yours, is very heed of how close you are.

“I.. I wanted to make you a question..”

“sure, what is it?” your eyes so attentive.

I gain courage to stand in front of you. sighing to myself when both of my hands are at each side of your body resting at the table instead of actually touching you. but you’re oh, so close that it’s almost as If I was trapping you against me.

still.. as careful as I am, you don’t show any sign of discomfort more than just give him glistening eyes that seem to be full of curiosity.

must be a great sign, right?

“I want to know..” I paused. “what do you think about me?”

and there’s a couple seconds of silence.

“..a-about you?” your voice rather feathery.

“romantic wise.” and I don’t even think of playing. it was now or never.

“romanticall-“

“yes, y/n.” interrupting her softly, “I want to know what’d you think of me.” I’m determined.

“why?” you genuinely ask.

“isn’t it obvious why i’m asking?”

you softly nod your head to the sides and I can’t help but tsk as I lower my head with a grin before directly pierce my eyes into yours.

“I think it’s very much clear that i’m interested, y/n. I’m interested in you.” I confess. pausing with a soft and shy smile. “I like you and I think I’ve been doing it for quite some time now.”

your expression, rather surprised. “s-since.. when?”

“I think it’s been over two years now.”

you slightly rise your eyebrows, shocked. “that’s literally the time we’ve been knowing each other-“

“exactly.” and my lips are slightly pouting when I answer.

you don’t say nothing else other than just stare at him with a shocked expression.

given to your silence, all I can think about is how this is such a bad sign. so I take a step back or at least try, since you grabbed my right arm when you say,

“wait.”

so I stand there, only staring at you.

“I’ve been hiding my feelings towards you for way too long.”

I blink several times, feeling my heart rise up all over again.

maybe there might be hope.

“aren’t you saying this to make me feel good?” I really wanted you to be more direct.

“do I seem like someone who’ll play with your feelings, jungkook?” and you sort of tease me, but I don’t mind.

“not really.. but again, you’ll never know.” joking back at you when you punch my shoulder. “ouch!”

“I do like you.” you pause. “a lot, actually.” playing with my fingers when you give me a shy smile. “maybe no longer than you but..” sigh. “it’s been a while.”

…that night, despite you two being incredibly happy of mutually liking each other, you really didn’t kiss or did anything else rather than still being friends during a few days.

reason why?

simply because we wanted to make things right. I wanted to ask her out properly, have a few official dates here and there and then.. get to it. didn’t lasted too long when I was already asking her to be mine though. being too way into her.. it was pretty clear I wasn’t gonna keep counting down days after all this years.

— end memory —

“I’m glad you like it, baby.” jungkook smiles, embracing your body into a hug. “I was so nervous you’ll tease me about it..”

“hey!” you softly punch his shoulders. “why would I do that?” cupping his cheeks. yes, it was your favorite thing to do. “I know how you feel about it babe, I could never.” kissing his pouty lips.

“but if l didn’t feel this way, would you think about it?” he raises an eyebrow.

it makes you laugh. “no, silly.”

“why?”

“because you’ll look handsome anyways.”

but then jungkook furrowed his eyebrows into a fake angry face. “just handsome?”

making you roll your eyes as you laugh. “and sexy..” leaving a kiss on his lips with each word.

“and pretty..”

kiss,

“and cute..”

kiss,

“and hot..”

kiss,

and all jungkook does is smile and blush as you do so.

“that’s what I wanted to hear..”

a/n: hope you liked this one! just wanted to add a little bit more to how their relationship was born ^^. to give you a hint of how things will go.. episode 3, it’s fun to read imo, ep. 4 is when the real thing really starts ;)

as always, let me know what you think about these series so far !! I love talking to you and reading your thoughts 🫶🏼.

— TAGLIST: @purplebtsmagic @looneybleus @eyesforjungkook @leah-rose03 @jungkooks21 @kookiescutie

[sehnsuchts-trunken]

Pinch Me

Gally x reader summary: Gally isn't dead after all. In fact, he's very much alive. And so is that weird feeling in your stomach whenever you look at him.

a/n: god the lack of maze runner fics on my blog is unbelievable!!! needed to change that desperately

maze runner masterlist | main masterlist

You eye Gally carefully from the side as you wait. There's only one telescope and it's not like you're gonna line up behind Thomas to use it - no, you take the time to sit down on the ground and narrow your eyes at the newly un-dead glader next to you instead.

He's taller than when you'd last seen him. You'd noticed how much he'd grown the very first second you'd lain eyes on him. But he's got broader, too. He looks older, much older. More like an adult now. And that hoodie suits him. A little too well, actually.

"You're staring", Gally says, pulling you from your silent assessment of him. He doesn't even turn to look back at you. Some voice in the back of your head pipes up, tells you that you should probably feel embarrassed that he's caught you - but you don't, somehow. Instead, you hum in agreement. Yeah, you had been staring. You are staring.

"Are you trying to check if I'm real or what?", he asks with a chuckle, one that's surely supposed to cover up the fact that he sounds quite a bit nervous underneath. It doesn't really help. You hear the shake in his voice anyway.

It has you grinning just a little.

"Honestly?", you smile, trailing your eyes along him once more. "I kind of am."

He looks back at you then, finally, turns his head to yours and meets your eyes.

"You wanna pinch me to make sure?", he asks, seemingly serious with his eyebrows raised, but with a twinkle in his eyes that you've rarely seen in them. Your grin widens even further.

Without another word, you lean forward and pinch his arm. Just like that.

He doesn't even flinch.

He's warm under your fingertips, warm despite that thick, woolen hoodie he's wearing that looks so comfortable you honestly want to steal it from him. You pull back with a satisfied grin.

"Very much real", you approve, and then the corners of his lips tug up and you almost black out. Your heart really skips a beat. Just because he's smiling back at you. Oh, lord.

You settle a little further back and let out a breath.

"I'm glad you're not dead, Gally", you mutter, trying to keep your voice down so Newt and Thomas won't necessarily hear you. It's not that you want to keep it a secret, you just want to keep it private. It doesn't concern them. This is something between you and Gally. Something personal. Something that tugs at you and pulls you to him.

You don't know what it is exactly.

Maybe just relief, relief that at least one other glader is alive after you've already lost so many others. Maybe it's happiness, happiness to see an old friend. Or an old acquiantance? An old.... God, you don't even know what you and Gally were back then. Two people who threw glances at each other, who smiled at each other, who... Did barely anything else for the three months you'd spent there before Thomas had come up the box. Two people, three months and absolutely nothing that happened.

Ever.

But now he's back. And that something that never happened? That's back now, too.

...

You're nowhere near safe, really. You're anything but safe. You're the absolute, complete opposite of safe. You're running through a city on fire, your legs burning, burning, burning with the strain of carrying yourself- Fuck, fuck, fuck!

You can see the aircraft already. It's right there, you just need to run a little faster. If you had any oxygen left in your lungs, you'd shout for Minho and Gally to check if they're still right behind you - but you don't have the oxygen and you don't have the time either, so you push on, on and on until you're close, closer and closer and then, finally, inside the aircraft. You collapse onto the floor and gulp down what feels like a litre of air.

"Serum", you wheeze. "Serum. Newt."

You hear a body collapsing close to you, then another. You force your eyes open and turn your head to one side - Gally, his chest heaving and his eyes squeezed shut as he tries to calm down.

You're safe.

He's safe.

And you're both still alive.

Your ears ring so loudly that you barely hear how Jorge starts the aircraft. You don't care, either.

You're safe. And alive.

For the moment.

And that's all that matters.

So you steady a palm against the floor, heave yourself up and reach over him. Your hand comes down next to his head just as he opens his eyes.

Fuck.

Your heart is racing. You don't know if it's him or the adrenaline. You're not really bothered to think about it either, to be honest. He's too close to think. So close. Closer than ever before.

And you truly are drunk on adrenaline. Which is definitely the only goddamn reason for why you lean down, just like that, and press your lips to his.

You catch him off guard. You catch yourself off guard, too.

He tastes like sweat and blood, bitter and metallic and absolutely perfect considering you're still very much in a life-threatening situation, blood rushing in your ears and minds reeling with the heaviness of everything that's happening.

You shouldn't be kissing him. You shouldn't be planted half on top of him, with your hands shaking and your body so heavy you almost collapse. And then his fingers close around your waist and you do collapse, right on top of him.

He's broad and tall and most definitely more comfortable than the floor. Fuck, his hands on you feel so good. They're so wide and big and he's such a good kisser, his lips against yours so perfect.

God, how have you never done this before? He's always been right there, you've always felt that tug. And now that you've given into it, you never ever want to stop again.

He's heavenly. And he's holding you so firmly, so easily on top of him. He's so broad and tall and comfortable and firm and perfect and-

"Shit!"

Jorge's voice startles you so hard you flinch away from Gally, your head jerking up, your eyes searching the inside of the aircraft -

Everyone's staring at you.

Absolutely everyone.

Oh, god.

Oh, lord.

Oh, fucking hell.

Heat rushes to your cheeks. With a start, you push off of Gally and turn onto your back again. Your eyes squeeze shut as your breath evens out. Slowly, but steadily. Ever so steadily.

You can't think.

You're exhausted. Simply and just exhausted. This entire day has been too goddamn exhausting. And it's not even over yet. It's nowhere near over.

But as Gally reaches out for you, as he slips his hand into yours and interlocks your fingers... Yeah, you'll be fine. You'll be just fine.

[azrielsdove]

The Night the High Lord Fell: Rhysand x Reader

Warnings: Angst, Lots of tears, Suggestive, 18+

***

Something was wrong. Something was very, very wrong. You ran from your room, darting through the halls and down the stairs of the townhouse. Dread settled over you as you ran, heading towards the darkness pooling in the living room.

Your heart broke at the sight in front of you. Rhys was kneeling in the middle of the room, his head buried in his hands. Shadows twirled around him, the floor a mass of darkest night. You hurried to his side, slamming your knees into the ground as you slid next to him. You wrapped your arms tightly around his shaking body, holding your oldest friend as close as you could.

“I’m here, i’m here. I’m here, Rhys.” You murmured over and over, one hand coming to stroke his hair. He sunk into your hold, the only sign that he even knew you were there. You continued to whisper that you were with him, that he was safe. This was a routine the two of had done since you were young. One comforting the other, grounding them and reminding them that they weren’t alone.

Though you had never seen him this bad.

You replayed the events leading up to today in your head, trying to figure out what could have upset him like this. He hadn’t been the same since he came back from Under the Mountain, but no one expected him to be. Not after all he had endured down there, ending with finding his mate-

Her wedding.

Feyre was to be married today. Realization shuddered through you, hot and fast. She married Tamlin.

She rejected Rhys.

You knew that was her own choice, that a mating bond didn’t necessarily have to be followed. You just never expected her to not be called to it. Rhys had gone to the wedding, intent on “rescuing” her. Clearly, she had not wanted to be rescued.

You saw movement out of the corner of your eye, turning slightly to see Cassian and Azriel standing in the entry. You shook your head slightly, a sign to let them know he needed to be alone. Well, aside from you. The two Illyrians nodded and retreated back, presumably to pass the information on to Amren and Mor. Something had happened with Rhys, but you had it under control. You would debrief them later.

You lost track of how long you sat there, holding your friend and whispering familiar securities. Eventually the swirling darkness around you began shrinking, called back in to its master. You stayed with Rhys until late in the night, never moving from his side. As the early rays of dawn began peaking over the horizon, he finally raised his head from his hands and looked at you.

Your heart ached at the pain on his face.

“She was happy.” He said, voice hoarse from hours of silence. “She is thriving down there. I expected to find her still struggling, I expected Tamlin to have ignored her needs, I-I-I.” He took a deep, shuddering breath. “I was wrong.” You said nothing, simply tucking his head against your shoulder and resuming the stroking of his hair. Wet tears slid onto your neck, the only warning you got before his body started shaking with sobs. You held him tighter, rocking slightly. You thought about Tamlin, about how Under the Mountain must have changed him as well. You were there when he and Rhys were friends, and you were there when it was all torn apart. You didn’t think he was inherently bad, but his upbringing had certainly been no help. You still struggled to see how anyone could choose him over Rhys.

“You won’t have to handle this alone, Rhys. I’m here,” you soothed, trying to think of anything that would help. You did not know the pain of a broken mating bond, but you knew it would take a long time for him to recover from this.

And you would be by his side every step of the way.

***

Morning had fully come by the time you convinced Rhys to stand up, helping him up to his room. You drew him a bath and pushed him into it, forcing him to wash away the physical reminders of the day. You washed his hair carefully, fingers moving delicately across his scalp. You remembered his mother doing this to you when you were young, how calm you would feel when she did.

You dried him off and helped him out of the bath, handing him the towel before moving to prepare his bed. You kept the drapes drawn tight, all light blocked from the room. This was not the first time you had taken care of Rhys like this, but it was certainly the worst. You knew something in his soul had been torn out, a pain you couldn’t even begin to imagine.

You guided him into bed, not bothering to try to get him to dress. You knew him too well to waste your time on that. You tucked the covers gently around him, brushing a few strands of hair out of his face. His eyes were empty, staring unblinkingly at the ceiling. You felt a pang in your heart at the shell of your friend, seeing him in such a state. You grabbed the sleeping draught you had requested Madja bring, tilting it down his throat. He gave no protest at the sweet-tasting liquid.

You waited by his side until the draught took, watching his eyes close and his body finally relax into sleep. You sat there for a while longer after, holding his hand and observing him. Only when you had convinced yourself he was peacefully asleep and would stay that way did you stand and leave. You closed the door gently behind you, not at all surprised to find Mor waiting on the other side.

“How is he?” She asked, biting the tip of a nail in worry. You shook your head, the tears that you had been holding back escaping.

“I’ve never seen him in such a state,” you cried, wrapping your arms around yourself. Mor tugged you close, running her hand through your hair the same way you had done to Rhys. She walked you to your room, only a door down from his.

“We will get him through this. You don’t have to handle his pain on your own,” she said, making you sit on your bed.

“I don’t see how to get him out of this. He’s completely broken, Mor. The combination of all that he went through Under the Mountain and this, back to back?” A shudder ran through you. “How does one survive all that?” You felt sick even thinking about all Rhys had endured.

Mor brought you a change of clothes, gathering your hands into hers. “We have to figure out a way, don’t we? We can’t allow him to suffer in this forever.” She pressed a kiss to your forehead, giving your hands a squeeze. “If anyone can do it, it’s you.”

You watched as she left the room, insisting that you try to rest. She was off to have the kitchen prepare your favorite meal and deliver it, a subtle nudge that you should eat. You looked down at the clothes she had brought you, her words playing over and over in your mind.

“If anyone can do it, it’s you.”

“If anyone can do it, it’s you.”

“if anyone can do it, it’s you.”

But what if you can’t?

***

The next day wasn’t much better. Nor was the next. Or the one after. Certainly not the one after that.

Weeks had gone by of you trying everything you could to get through to Rhys. He barely left his bed, survived off a liquid diet that you spooned into his mouth, and never spoke a word. He was wasting away in front of your eyes, both physically and mentally.

You weren’t doing much better.

You spent all your time attempting to get through to him. After you had given him his now-nightly sleeping draught you collapsed into your bed, crying until your face was raw. The tears had begun to slow, your body losing even the energy for that. You were becoming your own shell in your desperate attempt to heal Rhys.

A knock sounded at your door. You weren’t even sure you had said “Come in,” but the door opened and Mor entered. She tsked at the state of you, carrying over a tray of food and sitting on the edge of your bed.

“Now this won’t do,” she mused, observing the rumpled sheets and your dirty hair. “You can’t help him if you’re working yourself to death!” You turned your head and bleakly opened one eye.

“I don’t know how to help him.”

“You have to help yourself first. Here, let me draw you a bath and get you cleaned up. Then we will eat and devise a new plan. Staying in that stuffy room with him all day isn’t doing either of you any good.”

You couldn’t argue with her, or maybe you just didn’t have the energy to try, so you allowed her to pull you to the bathroom and force you into the large tub. She only left after you insisted that you were able to wash yourself, dropping the sponge into the water with a huff.

When you had finished she had a warm towel ready for you, along with clean pajamas. “I will not have my two closest family members waste away into nothingness.” She stated as you got dressed, pushing the tray of food towards you. You knew better than to argue, sitting on your bed and reaching for a bread roll. You hummed at the taste, suddenly realizing how long it had been since you had a hot meal.

“Now, let’s talk,” Mor began, clapping her hands together. “Tomorrow you have to get him up and moving. He needs to go outside.” You nodded in agreement, already feeling better from bathing and eating. Gods knew getting outside would be good for you too.

“Outside. I can do that,” you agreed, grabbing another roll as you thought of how to get him out of bed tomorrow.

***

“Outside” was not as easy as it had seemed.

You strode into Rhys’ room that morning full of renewed purpose, flinging the drapes open wide and letting in the sun. You had expected him to protest in some way, to grumble at you or pull the blankets over his head.

Instead he just lay there, as unmoving as ever.

You sighed, walking over to the edge of his bed. “Come on, Rhys. We are going to go outside. Get some fresh air. Doesn’t that sound nice?” You should be used to his lack of response by now, no better than talking to a corpse. You pulled the blankets from his body, grabbing onto his hands. You tugged him up to sit, sliding his legs off the edge of the bed. “Okay Rhys, you have to help me here,” you groaned, hoisting him up to stand.

Before immediately dropping him to floor.

You gave a shout of alarm, quickly bending down to make sure he was okay. After ensuring there was no damage down, you stood up and walked for the door, telling him you’d be back shortly. You knew Cassian and Azriel had been staying at the townhouse ever since Rhys came back, too worried to reside elsewhere. You knocked on Azriel’s door, pacing while you waited for him to answer.

“Is everything okay?” He asked when he did, taking in your agitated form.

“Yes! Well, no. I mean, he’s okay, but, uh, I..” You looked down at the ground. “I may have dropped him on the floor.” Silence came from the Shadowsinger.

Followed by a sharp laugh. “You dropped him?” You looked up at him, crossing your arms defensively in front of you.

“I was trying to get him to go outside. I need your help. He can’t stay in that bed forever.” Any ounce of humor fell from Azriel’s face as he gave a nod of agreement.

“Take me to him.”

He followed you back down to Rhys’ room, taking a look at the crumpled form of his High Lord on the ground. He sighed, picking him up with ease. “Where do you want him?”

“In the bath, for now. We will battle dressing him and getting him out later.” Azriel abided, taking Rhys into the large bathing room. You followed closely behind, grabbing a set of clothes for him as you went. Between the two of you, you got Rhys into the tub and washed. Getting him out was a bit more difficult, his body slippery from the water. Azriel ended up using his shadows to haul him out, using them to keep him standing as well. You dried and dressed him quickly, unsure how much of this he was even noticing.

You looked over him with a frown. Clearly a walk would not be happening today, but you still needed to get him out. You sighed, sidling up next to him and throwing his arm around your shoulders. “Call your shadows,” you instructed Azriel, bracing yourself to take the weight of Rhys. Azriel looked half-inclined to argue before thinking better of it, pulling his shadows back from Rhys. You groaned under the dead weight, but managed to hold the two of you up. “Come on, Rhys. Walk with me to the balcony. Can you do that?” You weren’t sure he even heard you anymore, or if he had completely sunk into himself. You nudged him in the direction of the doors, taking a step.

He didn’t react.

Azriel silently took up the spot on his other side, helping you half-carry Rhys out to the balcony. You set him down on a chair, making sure he was steady before letting go. You gave Azriel a small smile, appreciative of his help. “I’ll call for you if I need your assistance again, okay?” He nodded once at the dismissal before slipping from the room, leaving you and Rhys alone on the balcony.

You pulled a second chair over to his, sitting facing him. You tucked one of his hands in yours, thumbs running over the soft skin there. “I was thinking about your mother the other day,” you began, focusing on the once strong hand in yours. “Remember when she caught us preparing that sugar trap for your sister?” You gave a small laugh, recalling how amused she had been, trying to put on an angry front. She had found the two of you covered head to toe in powdered sugar, sugar that was supposed to explode all over his sister. “She was always too nice to us, don’t you think? Washing us up in the bath after we coating her house in that powder. Making us sugar cookies once we were all clean, our only punishment that we had to share with your sister.” You shook your head, tears pricking at your eyes. “I miss them, Rhys.” Emotion clogged your throat, chest becoming tight. You continued rubbing your thumbs in soothing circles on his hand, still focused on it. “I miss you,” you whispered out, your voice not strong enough for anything louder.

Gods, you missed him.

“I know what happened to you has been horrible. I can’t even begin to imagine all you went through Under the Mountain, only to have it followed up with a broken mating bond.” Tears slid down your cheeks. “You deserve all the time to heal that you need, I know that. It’s selfish of me, I know, to wish that you were okay again. You need time to recover from it all.” You sniffed, tears coming faster. “I just miss you so much, Rhys. I don’t know what to do anymore. You were gone for fifty years, disappearing right under our noses. We barely got a goodbye.” Sobs were shaking your body now, the memory of Rhys’ warning flooding your head before all communication was lost. “Then you come back, mated to the girl who saved you. A true match, some would say. None of us thought she’d find happiness elsewhere, you know that. You go to rescue her, your fairytale romance, only to find that she didn’t need rescued.” You gave a cold laugh, shaking your head in disbelief. “You found her thriving and happy in the arms of another, in the arms of your enemy. Your mate, who couldn’t be bothered with you. How cruel is that?” Hot anger flared through you at the injustice of it all. You knew Feyre deserved to be happy just as much as Rhys did, but you couldn’t help to wish that she hadn’t found happiness like that. “You come back here, a shell of yourself. Don’t you see, Rhys?” Your voice grew quiet. “You came back to me. You’ve always come back to me.” You paused the massaging of his hand, going silent for a moment.

“My heart is yours. I would give it up a thousand times over for you to live happily with the one your soul was mated to, if she had wanted that. Maybe…maybe there’s a reason she didn’t want it. More than just her love for Tamlin.” Tears fell onto his hand, one thumb moving to swipe them away. “Maybe the cauldron realized it made a mistake,” you muttered, refusing to look up at him. Not that he would react to anything you said, you weren’t even sure he could hear you. Perhaps that’s why you now felt able to tell him the truth, to tell him how you truly feel. “I love you, Rhys. I’ve loved you for a long time now. I know you wanted a mate, that you held out for the soul cauldron-bound to yours. When you found her, I accepted that was it. I would move to the side, no longer your Second both in court and in your life. And that was okay. Anything to see you happy was worth it.” Your tears slowed, as if putting the truth out there was healing the brokenness inside of you. “But what now, Rhys? You are wasting away into nothingness, and I don’t know what to do. I need you to come back. Please. Come back to me, one last time.” You slowly raised his hand to your lips, pressing a gentle kiss to it before letting go.

Except the hand did not drop.

Instead, it curled around one of yours.

Your head shot up in alarm, eyes wide as you saw Rhys looking at you. Truly looking at you. His eyes were shiny with tears of his own, his hand locked tight around yours. As if he was scared that if he let go you’d bolt and never be seen again.

“Is it true?” He asked, voice hoarse. “You love me?” You bit your lip nervously, nodding slowly. Was it too much? You hadn’t realized he was listening, you should’ve looked up sooner, how could you dump all that on hi-

Your thoughts were interrupted by him pulling you forcefully into his lap, wrapping his arms tight around you. “Oh, sweet angel,” he murmured into your hair, arms strong around you. You slowly moved to twine your arms around his neck, holding him just as tight. “I never thought you’d feel the same.”

Your head shot up and you looked at him, narrowing your eyes. “What?” Rhys laughed, a sound so joyful you couldn’t help the smile the ticked at the corners of your mouth. He raised one hand to brush a strand of hair behind your ear, cupping your face lovingly.

“I’ve been in love with you for ages. I assumed you didn’t feel the same, and I didn’t wish to ruin what we had. While I did want a mate, I used that excuse as more of a front than a real reason. It was never about who my mate was.” He smiled at you. “It was always about you.”

You continued to stare at him in shock, your mind unable to believe what he was saying. All this time, all this time, you both wanted each other. You didn’t realize you were crying again until his eyes widened in alarm, brushing the tears away from your cheeks with his hands. “Hey, don’t cry, don’t cry. I’m so sorry. I should’ve told you long ago, shouldn’t I?” You couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled up through you, pure disbelief at the situation.

“We have been fools,” you said, smiling at him. “Sad, poor fools.” He laughed with you, pressing his forehead to yours.

“Perhaps we have been. I’m willing to forgive our past mistakes if you promise to stand by my side until the end of our days. If you will have me.” You nodded against him, tears of joy falling from your eyes. He smiled, before dropping his voice ever so slightly. “May I kiss you?”

You gave an answering smile, curling your fingers into the hair on the back of his head. “You may.”

Rhys’ lips met yours a little uncertainly, as if he was scared to come on too strong. You flattened one palm against the back of his neck, pushing him closer to you. He took that as a sign to abandon all caution, one hand wrapping tight around your waist while the other held your face to his. He kissed you with a passion you had never experienced, the feeling of a thousand suns bursting inside of you. You moaned slightly against his kiss, his fingers digging into your waist at the sound. This was where you were meant to be, this was what it had all been for.

Rhys’ hand trailed down your body, stopping on the curve of your thigh. He hoisted your legs up and over him, making you straddle his body. You gasped at the feeling of him under you, his hips coming up to roll against yours. His fingers played with the hem of your shirt, teasing the skin there. You were seconds away from abandoning all rational thought and allowing him to take you right here when a low cough sounded from the doorway. You shot back from Rhys, eyes darting to the intruder. Rhys only chuckled, hand trailing up and down your body.

Azriel.

“I just came to check everything was okay, but I see you’ve got it under control.” He said, eyes sparkling with a million plans to tease you for this. You glared at him, thoughts muddled by Rhys pressing soft kisses to your neck.

“Yes, Azriel, everything is under control. Now if you’d leave us, I have some rather important matters to attend to,” Rhys said, biting your skin in between words. Azriel nodded, a smile ghosting his lips as he disappeared from view.

And attend to those matters he did.

***

Happy Mother’s Day to any moms I have following me!! 🫶🏻 And Happy Sunday to everyone else haha. I hope you guys liked this one!!

[rafedaddy01]

Ok but imagine meeting rafe but having a bf that is really boring in bad.

So when your drunk you confess that to him and he makes it his mission to show you all the sex positions so that you can pick your favorite

(dont worry about your ex he is dead, probably 🤗)

I Can Treat You Better

Summary: you confess to rafe that your boyfriend doesn’t treat you right and he takes matters into his own hands

Warnings: p in v

A/N: thank you so much for the request

-

“And he doesn’t even know how to make me cum” Rafes eyes widen at my confession. “Is that so?” He sit straighter in his seat, manspreading his legs.

“Yes! It’s so frustrating” I heave a deep sigh as I take a sip of my drink and lean back into the couch, frustrated.

I admit I had to much to drink tonight and when that happens I tend to have loose lips. I shouldn’t have said that about my boyfriend, especially to rafe, but what’s done is done.

“Well.. I can teach you some new positions. You know, just so you can get some experience” rafe sits closer to me on the couch, his hand trailing up my thigh as the other curls a loose strand of my hair around his finger.

“Really?” I turn my head to him, desperate for something. Anything. My boyfriend doesn’t satisfy me enough and I crave being touched by someone who knows what they’re doing.

It wouldn’t necessarily be cheating, no, I’d be doing it for my boyfriend’s benefit. Learning some new moves and positions, he won’t know what hit him. “Let’s do it”

-

Me and rafe walked up the staircase and entered his room, getting right down to business.

His hands cup my face as he pulls me in for a kiss, his tongue slipping since my mouth and tangling with my own.

I moan into the kiss and he excepts it with an open mouth.

We move closer and closer to the bed until he pushes me down on it, I watch as he strips his clothes until he’s just in his boxers and I can see the outline of his cock. “Th-that’s not gonna fit” I nod towards his member and he smirks. “Don’t worry, we’ll make it fit” he grins as he comes in for another kiss, this time trailing his lips down the column of my neck and making me whine in pleasure.

“Let’s get these clothes off you” he pulls at the hem of my shirt and yanks it off, unbuttoning my pants next and throwing them to the side as I lay in my undergarments.

Rafe takes a moment to look and me and I swear I hear him mutter “fucking perfect” under his breath, but before I have the chance to ask him he’s tearing into my panties and unclipping my bra and I lay completely naked before him.

He pulls his boxers off and my mouth drops, how could it have gotten bigger. “Don’t worry, it’ll fit” he says before wrapping his big arms around my thighs and pulling me closer to him.

I’m already dripping wet, the idea of having someone who knows what they’re doing taking care of my body has me leaking with arousal. “Damn baby, who you this wet for” rafe takes his cock in hand and runs the tip down my slit and back up to my clit. My back arches as I try to get closer.

“Easy doll face, I’ll give you what you want in just a second.”

I’m whining and thrashing at this point, desperate for something, anything he’ll give me. And just as I’m about to beg, rafe impales me with his cock. My breath catching in my throat and my eyes roll back in pleasure. “There we go..” rafe grunts as he pulls his hips back and swings forward, setting an even tempo of thrusts.

“Oh, fuck” my body goes limp, my mind blank. I dig my nails into the bed and crumple up the sheets in my palms, desperately trying to control myself as rafe speeds up.

“Lift your hips a little, let’s me get deeper” I do as he says and I feel him in my guts, his tip nudging my cervix over and over again. I’ve never had someone be this deep inside me before.

“Oh, shit, rafe!” I moan and scream as he lifts my legs higher, setting them on his shoulder and snapping his hips harder. “That feel good? Huh? Tell me who owns this pussy, whose fucking you this good, baby”

“Y-you are, rafe, you are” my eyes shut as I feel my orgasm getting closer and closer. “Fuck I’m close” I open my eyes and look at him, his hair is a mess, skin glistening in sweat and his breathing is rapid as he continues demolishing my pussy. “Go ahead baby, cum.” Before he even gets a chance to finish his sentence I’m squeezing around him and letting go, creaming all over his cock and milking him dry. “Oh, fuck” rafe groans as I feel his warm liquid heat me up from the inside.

“Shit” rafe laughs breathlessly as he slowly pulls out and watches his cum drip out of me.

“Next position”

Taglist

@f4ll-for-you @v21sstuff-deactivated20240415 @rafeysworldim19 @baby19sthings @sevenwivesofrafecameron @rxfecameronsslut @findapenny @r1vrsefx @spencerreidsrealgf @rafescokenostril @thievin-stealing @rafemotherfuckingcameron @dilvcv

[cvtyvvitch]

✨☁️💧💤✨Pick-A-Card: Who’s Dreaming About You?✨☁️💧💤✨

💐 Pick an image (1, 2, 3, or 4) for a message about who’s been seeing you in dreams, and maybe visiting you in the astral realm. 💐

✨Focus your intention and remain open — if none of the images light up for you, there may not be a message for you in this reading! Alternatively, more than one image might connect with you. As always, trust your intuition and take what resonates, leaving the rest.

Onto the readings!

#1: 🫧 Bubbles 🫧

The person dreaming of you might be a sister or close girl/feminine in your life. I get the image of a girl with tears in her eyes, with the feeling that they wish they could talk to you/are upset about something that has happened between you. There’s an energy of youth and feeling sorry for their action(s), and wishing to make things right but not knowing how. Literally bursting bubbles, tears spilling down cheeks.

If this resonates with you, there’s no specific path for you to take with this person — what you do with this information is up to you. That being said, the advice I’m feeling is for you to deeply consider the situation and if there can be a way forward for you, maybe with a level-headed conversation about boundaries and how to work together. I do get the feeling that the person dreaming of you is trying their best, and if they apologize they really do mean it, even if they still make the same mistakes repeatedly. There’s a sense of emotional dysregulation here or immaturity on their side, which feels hard because they struggle against it. Definitely a specific message for maybe only a few people, but I hope that at least gives some insight!

Keywords: sister, red-faced, tears/snot, roses, skinned knees, tantrum, car/car keys, drinking

PS Feel free to let me know if it resonates with you and if you have any feedback!

#2: 🌿🌞 Sunbeam + Water + Branch 🌞🌿

This is a very dreamy energy (lol), and feels very nostalgic, very different from the first group message. Maybe a school friend or someone from uni. I get the image of them looking down a bit absently, tracing their fingers over an open hardback book with a red cover. This is someone you may have not seen for a little while, or perhaps won’t see for the summer (if you’re in Northern hemisphere). I get the image of stolen glances and them looking at you while you’re with a group of people/friends, and then wishing they could tell you how they feel. It’s possible they’ve been a bit unconscious in their feelings for you in the past, but I feel they’re aware of them now. Curious, maybe pining a bit. I get the image of a 90s boy haircut, like Leonardo DiCaprio in Titanic. Wants to say something but feels like there’s some kind of emotional distance to cross. Unlikely they will say anything about how they feel at this time, or even the next time you see each other if you’re away for a bit. Feeling it out for sure.

Keywords: summer, Coca Cola, red, red nail polish, sea swimming, shy, magazines, bicycles

PS Feel free to let me know if it resonates with you and if you have any feedback!

#3: 🌊 Waves 🌊

Lot more angst in this group. Someone feeling very angry with themselves over how things were left between you if you’re not talking, or how they’ve been unable to communicate well if you are in contact. This has a stronger emotional/spiritual connection than like #2, and feels more like a partner/former partner. There’s a volatility here and the image of someone frustratedly punching into their hand. The anger feels directed at themselves, and there’s the awareness of their own emotional blockage(s). For some of you, they may be trying to come up with ways to approach you or talk about how they feel/what’s going on, but it feels like they’re coming at it from a pretty rigid headspace. Trying to “fix” things and pushing against harder emotions. They don’t feel necessarily toxic or cruel, but maybe create a lot of their own problems through trying to “tough it out” or use their head to mend things instead of allowing themselves to soften and feel things through. I don’t get the feeling either way that you are in contact or not, but in either case they are trying to muscle through their frustration right now which feels hard. I don’t feel any advice for you, beyond that it’s good to remind yourself you can’t do the work for someone. Sometimes you have to let someone struggle through the hard bits on their own time and terms.

Keywords: rock, wrestle(r), tea tree, masculine, hands, thick eyebrows, clenched jaw

PS Feel free to let me know if it resonates with you and if you have any feedback!

#4 🌱🌾Sunny Meadow 🌾🌱

This energy feels very peaceful, and I get that this is either a past life connection you haven’t met yet or you have, but have not been in contact for a long, long time (potentially many years). You could also have met this person recently or briefly, but don’t know them very well yet. There’s a patient energy to it, earthy and contant. Like the way a tree experiences life and seasons, this love for you feels eternal. It’s a semi-conscious tether to you, like regardless of what this person is doing in their day-to-day life, you are on the back burner of their mind. It’s a constant, soul-deep love. I’d go so far to say it’s so deeply rooted that it connects to the cosmic river. So eternal, so ethereal while also completely in Gaia/Earth energy. Hard to put into words but if you resonate with this, you’ll know the feeling I talk about. Like so chilled out and in bliss, completely straddling human time and the eternal present.

Keywords: green, earthy, moss, stone face, wooden idol, old gods, river of stars. eternity.

PS Feel free to let me know if it resonates with you and if you have any feedback!

[1d1195]

Neighbors Extra VI

Read Neighbors here | ~2.2 k words

From me: based on this ask. Not sure when it takes place exactly--but I'm thinking early on once they are officially a couple. But I don't think it's necessarily relevant to their timeline

Warnings: talking about periods and blood (a little), mostly fluffy

Summary: Rory has never had someone to ask why Mumma gets a little grumpy every month. Or why she needs to carry sticks in her purse. Harry had never thought about how his mum would have to continue life while grumpy, tired, and uncomfortable when he was young until he watched her do it.

Harry was working at the desk set up in the living room that she had kindly insisted he use for his work. When Harry was at work, they were allowed to watch TV quietly, unless Harry had a client in which case she and Rory would either go run errands or play in his room quietly or Harry would go into the spare room and set up a more private session for his client. But the times in which they were all home while Harry was working were far and few between.

But today was designated to mainly paperwork and going over his schedule for the coming week. She was lying on the couch watching something for the last hour. Rory was off in his room playing with his toys. The weather was crummy so there wasn’t much to do to be entertained other than what they were currently doing. “Mumma?” Rory called.

Harry happened to glance up in the mirror above him. It was shaped like a windowpane and caught the reflection of most of the room—including her lounging on the couch. Harry liked the spot because he got to admire how pretty she looked lazed along the sofa. He wanted to snuggle up to her immediately and gave him motivation to get through his work faster with the thought of doing so.

She loved being a mum. It was evident on her face. Harry thought that there weren’t many people who would be more fit to be a mum than her. But right then she looked utterly exhausted. In fact, Harry realized at that moment she was a bit flushed, her cheeks pink for seemingly no reason. “Yeah, love bug?” She called back quietly.

“Can you come here?!” He called back. Harry watched her in the mirror as she closed her eyes, sighed, and pushed herself off the comfy couch.

“Y’alright, kitten?” He asked. She nodded, barely acknowledging that he had spoken, and headed for Rory’s room. Frowning, Harry turned in the chair and watched her leave. She could hear her and Rory chatting a bit. Her voice was warm as always but missing the enthusiasm she usually had when playing with her son. Harry wondered if she was getting sick.

“...in a few minutes, baby. I’m sorry.”

Harry’s frown deepened and he waited for her to return. Instead, the bathroom door down the hall closed with a thud. Since Harry was waiting for the sounds of her being sick, he was attuned to the sound of her second massive sigh and the sound of the cabinet below the sink slamming. It was surreal that Harry knew all the sounds in the house after only being there a short time. The way he knew whose footfalls were on the stairs (admittedly it was easy to tell between her and Rory given he was still little). “Rory, we gotta run to the store!” She said coming out to the main room grabbing her keys off the side table next to the stairs.

“But Mumma, I’m in the middle of—”

“Rory, I’m not in the mood. We are going now. It’ll be ten minutes.”

“But—”

“Kitten,” Harry murmured standing from the desk and putting a hand on her arm. “Are y’sure y’alright?”

She nodded and looked away from his face, embarrassed it seemed. For what he didn’t know. “Sorry,” she mumbled. “Rory!” She called again.

“Mumma I’m—”

“Rory,” Harry called quietly as she inhaled to call for him again. Frustration coated her face. Her cheeks seemed to be getting pinker by the second and Harry could practically see the pain in her eyes, her head...

And her stomach.

“Listen t’Mummy and come here for a minute, please.”

Rory left his room immediately; his steps audible on the carpet upstairs. She rolled her eyes. “Course he listens to you,” a bitter tone in her voice. Harry frowned and turned to Rory as he entered the main room.

“I was in the middle of—”

“I know, but we have a mission,” Harry said and took the purse off her shoulder and guided her to the couch. “Mumma needs us t’get a few things for her,” he told him. He put a blanket around her and put the remote in her hand. Her lips parted slightly as she watched him and didn’t even allow her a moment to speak. “We can finish your stuff when we get back.”

“But—”

“No buts,” he shook his head firmly.

Pouting, Rory sighed and went to the door to put on his shoes.

“Harry,” she was looking at Harry like she had seen a ghost. “You’re working,” she reminded him.

“Working from home, kitten. It has some perks. S’fine. Think y’need a minute or two t’yourself, yeah?” He asked. “Will y’send me a picture of the kind of products y’like?” He smiled and kissed her forehead. “Y’can take a bath if y’want,” he suggested and headed toward the door and helped Rory to his feet and ushered him into his raincoat.

“But—” She started to stand again.

“Kitten, no buts,” he said and closed the door behind him.

*

As the tub filled and water heated up, she tried to figure out if there was gift that was significant enough to award him as the best boyfriend ever in existence. Amazon was useless and she was completely at a loss since Harry was annoying and bought anything he wanted or needed for himself. She gave up after a bit of browsing and the tub was filled to an appropriate level.

She took Harry’s suggestion as soon as they left. She headed to the master bathroom and made herself a bubble bath. She desperately wished she had one of those fancy tubs that was basically an indoor jacuzzi. Because she would have killed for a jet on her sore back. But it was okay because the water was hotter than she could almost feasibly stand. Harry would say it was liquid lava. For her birthday, Harry got her a speaker to play her music while she was showering. So she played music quietly and grabbed the book she had started earlier and put it on the ledge of the tub. Sinking into the water felt like heaven on her body and skin. She sighed, content with relief. The book could wait, she would consider sleeping in the tub.

*

“Mumma was mean,” Harry could see Rory in the rearview mirror. He was pouting and looked out the window. His jacket was littered with raindrops, and he looked annoyed. “I was playing my game.”

“I know y’were,” Harry nodded. “S’jus’...Mummy wasn’t really feeling well. So, she wasn’t mean on purpose.” He sighed dramatically. In the way a child with no bills, no car troubles, and no job could sigh as if the world was on his shoulders. “I’ve seen y’give Mummy some attitude, lad,” he reminded him pointedly glancing at him in the mirror once more. Rory pursed his lips. Harry was good at calling Rory out for being a bit of a diva. It kept him from being spoiled when he was certain that she was definitely going to continue spoiling her son. He couldn’t blame her. His own mum was guilty of treating Harry as the baby (and Gemma loved to remind them both of such).

He couldn’t wait to tell Gemma about the predicament he was now in.

“Is Mumma sick?” Rory pulled him from his thoughts.

Harry shook his head. He wondered if she had ever mentioned it to Rory before. Probably not. What did a six-year-old boy need to know about a period? “No, she’s jus’ a little...grumpy because she’s in pain,” he explained.

“Why’s she in pain?”

Harry took a deep breath. “Her tummy hurts.”

“We didn’t get any ginger ale or popsicles! Mumma always gets ginger ale and popsicles when my tummy hurts. We have to go back, Harry!”

He smiled. “It’s not her tummy. It just looks like her tummy. Do you remember how Mummy had you in her belly?”

He nodded. “Does Mumma have another baby in there?”

Harry coughed. His cheeks reddened even though Rory hadn’t a clue what he insinuated. “No,” he shook his head. “No, but s’an organ that women have holds the baby,” he explained. “When it doesn’t have a baby in it though, it makes Mummy bleed so that next month if she wanted t’try t’have a baby she—”

“Is Mumma gonna die!?” He asked his voice breaking hysterically.

“No, no,” he chuckled. “No,” he pulled off to the side of the road. “No, she’s fine.”

“But you said she’s bleeding! We have to get bandaids!”

“S’not that kind of cut, Rory,” he smirked and turned in his seat. He grabbed Rory’s leg and gave it a squeeze. “Mummy is fine. Do y’think I’d be this calm if Mummy was hurt?”

The little one released a breath once more like he just got news that he wasn’t laid off this quarter. Or that his test results came back negative. “How can Mumma bleed and be okay without a bandaid?”

“S’hard t’explain. Has t’do with getting older and—”

“Am I going to bleed?!”

Harry snorted. “No, lad. S’something only women have t’deal with.”

“Oh,” he thought for a second. “That’s not really fair to Mumma.”

Harry chuckled. “Make sure y’tell her that. She’ll appreciate your thought.”

“How come Mumma isn’t getting blood everywhere?” He asked.

Harry felt a little out of his depth now. It wasn’t like telling Rory he would teach him how to pee standing up if he needed the help. Or that if he had questions about penises, he would do his best to answer. Harry wasn’t an expert on periods, nor did he feel qualified to answer lots of questions about them. Especially to her girlfriend’s son. “Mummy has products that we bought that help her manage the bleeding,” he answered truthfully.

He glanced at the bag on the seat beside him and his little forehead wrinkled in concentration. It was an expression he most definitely inherited from his mum. It was adorable. “Oh...Mumma carries those sticks in her purse!”

Harry smiled. “Exactly.”

“Does ginger ale make it better?”

“Not exactly. There’s medicine,” he told him. “Mumma just needs t’rest and watch movies. She’ll feel better tomorrow...ice cream might help too.”

He nodded. “Can we make her a snuggle spot on the couch?”

“I think that would be perfect, Rory.”

*

She was already in the TV-watching, resting position on the couch when they returned. Her hair was still damp, and she felt marginally better. “Hey boys,” she smiled sweetly.

Rory was kicking his shoes off and across the room before Harry had shut the door. “Mumma, Harry said that you’re bleeding so we have to give you ice cream and snuggle.”

She smirked at Harry who was full-on blushing as he shrugged out of his wet jacket. “That would help.”

Rory hopped onto the couch and cozied up in front of her. Harry dropped the stuff beside the coffee table and sat next to her legs. He pulled them into her lap and leaned over to gently massage her lower back. “Mumma?” Rory asked.

“Yes, love bug?”

“I don’t think it’s fair you have to bleed, and Harry doesn’t.”

She giggled. “Me either,” she winked at Harry.

*

Harry took care of bedtime and snuggled into bed behind her. His hand may as well have found a direct path to her uterus as he massaged the cramps. “Was I really mean?” She asked.

“No, love. Course not,” he assured her and kissed the back of her head. “S’not your fault y’don’t feel well.”

“Did you teach Rory about periods, Dr. Styles?” She giggled.

He smirked. “Yeah, but I think y’need t’double check m’work,” he admitted. “Nearly convinced him y’were dying.”

She laughed again. “That was...really sweet,” she whispered. “Never...never had someone know what I needed and just go get it,” he pulled her closer. His face tucked into her neck, and he pressed a line of kisses along the curve down to her shoulder.

“Anytime, kitten. Y’jus’ have t’ask,” he reminded her. “Want t’do everything for you,” he squeezed her gently. She rotated in his arms, and she couldn’t see him in the dark, but it didn’t matter. With both hands, she held his face and the back of his head and brought her face closer to his so she could kiss him.

He chuckled against her mouth and returned the kiss. It felt so nice to kiss her every single time. It was warm, gentle, and so filled with love it made him woozy. She sighed softly against his mouth and Harry wanted to be closer, kiss her harder somehow. But settled for the lazy make-out session instead. “I love you so much, kitten,” he rested his forehead against hers.

“I love you so much.”

“Do y’want me t’rub your back again?” He asked quietly.

“I love you more than anything in this world.”

--

general taglist: @justlemmeadoreyou @daydreamingofmatilda @sunshinemoonsposts @loving-hazz @likeapplejuicenpeach

@straightontilmornin @freedomfireflies @littlenatilda @kathb59 @babegoals

@angel-upon @lilfreakjez @mleestiles @ameliaalvarez06 @canyonmoondreams

@summertime-pills @daphnesutton @l4rrysh0use @perfectywrong @foreverxholland

@lovrave @st-ev-ie @pandeebearstyles @toosarcastic03 @luvonstyles

@tenaciousperfectionunknown @classychalamet @love-letters-to-uranus @emmaawbr @crossyourpeter

@kissinthekitchen @kittenhere @stylesfever @indierockgirrl @michellekstyles

@just-another-reader1098 @hermionelove @tiredinwinter @whimsy-willows @hannah9921

@fangirl7060 @triski73

neighbors taglist: @claimingharrystigertattoo @mopeymousey @vmpellie

I'm sorry if I missed anyone in the taglist. Please let me know if you'd like to join, if it didn't work, if you no longer want to be included, etc. :)

If you like this, check out my masterlist here

[neversetyoufree]

The way Noé Archiviste is written is so good. I'm so obsessed with him.

He's such a protagonist—endlessly hopeful against adversity and filled with kindness and attempted understanding toward everyone he meets. He's a good person! He wants to save everyone! He is genuinely and utterly without any sort of cruelty or unfair bias.

Yet, the more the series goes on, the more he's written as a very obvious parallel to our antagonists.

The most blatant example of this is the Ruthven parallel. Ruthven once happily said that he liked vampires, and in the same way, he liked humans. Noé repeats this exact same line when he has tea with Ruthven.

This parallel doesn't reflect too poorly on Noé, since it's pretty clear that something Happened to Ruthven to change him between his speaking that line and him becoming our antagonist, but it is an interesting way to tie the two of them together. It raises certain questions in readers' minds. In what other ways are Noé and Ruthven still similar, and how might Noé change to become more like him?

Then there's Noé's toxic optimism. The "you should be a little bothered, actually" aspect of him. Noé is the mirror to Vanitas's toxic pessimism. He latches onto the good in the world to a fault, and in this way he detaches from reality and endures an endless series of abuses to his person without even understanding they're abuses.

That is also one of the defining traits of Mikhail. Misha is unsettling in part because he is completely detached from any understanding of severity. Misha happily recounts being abused and watching his mother die not because he's cruel or hateful, but because he doesn't understand what's happened to him or why those things are bad. Misha wants to bring Luna back to life because he's in denial of the reality of their death. He believes he can just resurrect them and everything will be fine, and he'll get to play happy family again.

If Noé went just a little bit more extreme with the over-optimism, he could disconnect from reality just as badly as Misha has.

Finally there's my favorite parallel—the tie between Noé and his Teacher. Noé Archiviste has a tendency to watch others in fascination, trying to figure them out from the sidelines while he fails to understand his own impact on them, and he absolutely loves the Blue Moon. He thinks the Blue Moon is beautiful. Teacher spends his time collecting interestingly damaged children in putting them in awful situations, apparently just for the fun of watching what they'll do next, and he calls The Vampire of the Blue Moon "the most beautiful creature in the world."

Noé's curiosity-driven fascination with Vanitas's trauma and his love of the blue moon—neither of these are necessarily a problem on their own, but when written in direct parallel with The Count of Saint Germain, they become somewhat alarming.

In the same way that Misha is "worse" than Noé because his obliviousness to his trauma leads him to harm others, Noé's teacher is surely a worse person than him because he lets himself harm others in pursuit of his interests. Noé doesn't do that. But what would it take for that to change? He's pushed boundaries before. He learned to hurt Astolfo and Misha in the name of protecting those he cares about. What other strange places could his headstrong nature lead?

What might Noé do when his fascination and his obliviousness intersect? When the parts of him that are Teacher and the parts of him that are Misha overlap? What would he do to see Vanitas again? What might he do without letting himself realize how terrible it was?

Noé is a good person. He's one of the best people. But in his attentiveness and his optimism and his love, there's the seeds of something that could lead him down a very dark road. Each of the above antagonists is a little bit a part of who he is.

Misha wants to bring Luna back to life. Ruthven is working toward some mysterious aim with the dead or dying Faustina. And given how he talks in mémoire 55, I wouldn't be surprised if Teacher also had an interest in bringing back The Vampire of the Blue moon in one form or another.

In all his fascination and love and hope, would/will Noé be able to let Vanitas die when death is preferable to the alternative? This is a story about the inevitability of death, and the denial of that inevitability creates nothing but horror and perversion. Noé is growing and learning to understand both Vanitas and the moral complexities of the world, and we can only hope that he learns enough. We can see through his many reflections in other characters what he might become if he can't accept painful reality.

[papaya-twinks]

just an assistant - l.n

Warnings: Angst, ghosting, swearing

Pairing: Lando Norris x fem!reader

A/N - y’all are gonna hate me tehe 🤭

Lando was starting to see you as more than ‘just an assistant

And it was well and truly bugging him. You woke up, from your bed, and decided to change into your outfit, a simply, tight white sleeved top and grey joggers, along with some white trainers. The thoughts and sound of Lando from last night, the sound of your name on his lips….you couldn’t forget it.

You’d be psycho not to. You were distracted as you made his toast, the bread coming out a lot darker than you’d hoped, not burnt, but definitely over cooked. Shit. You spread the butter anyways, silently hoping Lando wouldn’t notice as you put the plate down on the table beside him. He noticed, obviously.

Lando was a picky eater, you knew that, but surprisingly, he said nothing, eating the toast anyways, and trying not to spit it out. Your next mistake was when he asked you to the clean his simulator rig, and you’d accidentally knocked over your bucket of soapy water, and it had flooded onto the bottom, luckily not getting any wires.

“Y/N, what the hell?!” Lando exclaimed when he walked in, seeing the little puddle under his face seat. “I-,” you started, but he interrupted this. “God…just try not to mess everything up,” he snapped. This wasn’t like you. This wasn’t like you at all, you never made mistakes.

What had happened to the Y/N he knew? And then the thoughts started flooding in for Lando. Had you…maybe heard him last night? Had he been caught red handed? Did you hear the way he groaned your name? Or how his mind went into overdrive when the sweet, sweet sound of your name left his lips?

He had to talk to you. Lando just had to. To make sure, that his worst fears were not confirmed, and you were having an off day, or something. You tried to avoid him as much as possible, every time you saw his face, images of him between your legs, pressing kisses to your stomach, his lips trailing down past your hips, down your legs, his lips pressing right to your-

“Y/N,”. You were snapped out of your thoughts by the sound of your own name, not a moan this time, but a colder, sterner tone, as you looked up from the floor you were scrubbing, your hand wrapped tightly round the sponge. You’d look pretty holding something else. Lando mentally scolded himself for the dirty thought, shaking it away as he stared down at you.

Look great on your knees. Enough! This was getting out of hand, and way too far. Lando couldn’t be thinking these things about you, you were supposed to be just an assistant. You were nothing more and meant nothing more to Lando than the person who cleaned up after him and did work and shit. That was your purpose.

“Get up,” he said, his voice commanding yet showing no emotion. You did what he said, trying to push the images out your mind as you looked to him, cheeks tinged slightly pink. “I have a question,” he said, trying to hide the waver in his voice as he looked anywhere but your face, his eyes roving from the floor, to your hands, to your chest, to the wall, to your chest, to the floor, to your chest, to your shoes, to your chest.

Ah. This was getting a bit repetitive. “When did you go to bed?” Lando said, choosing his words carefully. Well shit. “10pm,” you responded simply. It was the time you had GONE to bed, but not necessarily slept…

“Don’t give me that,” Lando said, his voice raising to a snarl. “When did you go to sleep?” he asked, immediately becoming defensive. “Around 11,” you said. You had fallen asleep at 11, but you had just woken up a few times during the night. “Did you wake up during the night?” Lando said, leaning forwards. “A bit,” you saw, cheeks red, as his eyes widened.

“Why’d you ask?” you added, a sudden burst of confidence in your voice. “No reason,” he said quickly, “just wanted to see why you were slacking,”. So you had heard. Shit. Lando ignored you the rest of the day, leaving you to your tasks, and not bringing any girls home that night, instead dealing with himself in the bathroom.

finish the jobs on the list, y/n, I’m out for the day.

That was what the note on the kitchen counter read when you came downstairs, Lando nowhere in sight. He’d gone out, that was reasonable, but he’d usually told you before, at least the day before he’d leave. The list was long enough to keep you preoccupied and you did the work, well enough, when your phone dinged, a message from your friend, Eryn, flashing on the screen.

Eryn: heyyyyy, isn’t that dude u work for’s name Lando Norris or something

You frowned at the sudden message, you’d told her you had a job and mention Lando a few times, but didn’t say anything more. You responded with a 👍 as the three bubbles appeared once more, before she sent you a link. ‘Lando Norris spotted with mystery girl on at a restaurant - could it be his assistant, Y/N Y/L/N?’

You stared at the image of the article. She looked very much like you - incredibly beautiful, of course, and quite similar, but not enough to be as pretty as you. But thanks to the blurry photo, she happened to look exactly like you. There were loads of articles about you and Lando supposedly at some restaurant together, your eyes wide.

Ah shit.

A/N - meow

[joelscruff]

feelings on fire (joel miller x f!reader) 18+ PART FOUR

previous chapters | kofi | ok babes, lemme preface this chapter by saying i'm not exactly sure how i feel about it. i wanted it to be longer and i wanted more things to happen but this week has simply been a clusterfuck for me and i wanted to at least get something out to you guys cause you deserve it. i hope yall like sexting and phone sex cause that's all this part really consists of, so if that's not your thing i'm sorry and i hope the next part will be more enjoyable for you. thanks for bearing with me 💕 chapter summary: joel is busy with work but that doesn't mean there aren't other things you can do without being in the same room. rating: 18+ explicit warnings: age difference (reader is in her 20s, joel in his 50s), innocent/inexperienced reader, corruption, praise kink (joel calls reader babygirl, sweetheart, etc), dirty talk, mentions of religion (reader’s family are very catholic), sexting, phone sex, mutual masturbation word count: 4.2k ao3

Now that you have Joel's phone number, it's ridiculously difficult not to text him constantly, especially considering he hasn't reached out since his first initial response. You'd replied to his first message with a heart emoji, something you'd almost immediately regretted but have had to come to peace with. You manage to keep yourself busy for most of the day, reminding yourself that he's at work and probably doesn't have time to be texting some shy and inexperienced college girl. It's not like you're in a relationship or anything; you've known the man for three days.

"Three days," you whisper to yourself, settled in your favorite spot in the backyard, near the pool. Three days and he already has his claim on you, the ghost of his touch still peppered all over your skin. You'd put on a bathing suit in case you decided to go for a swim, but also because you wanted an excuse to look at your body again, look at where his hands had been.

It's been so rare for you to ever look at yourself the way you do now, the way Joel has taught you to. You were almost ashamed of having a body to begin with, embarrassed by your legs, your breasts, and especially what lay inside your underwear. You'd been raised to view them all as taboo, despite them all literally being a part of you. The swimsuit you wear now isn't necessarily the sexiest thing, just a black one-piece you'd bought at the beginning of the summer with modesty in mind, but you find yourself feeling different in it, more confident. Mr. Miller likes this body. I like this body.

Your phone buzzes near your head and you scramble to reach for it, pushing your sunglasses down your nose and peering down at the screen. Disappointment floods you when you see it's just from your mom, but your eyebrows raise in curiosity when you read the contents of the message:

Will be home after your father. Don't tell him about Mr. Miller.

Your mother? Asking you to keep a secret? It's probably one of the most uncharacteristic things she's ever done; you have to read the message a second time to make sure you're understanding correctly. Why doesn't she want your dad to know? He was the one who'd attempted to defend Joel in the first place, wasn't he?

Almost like she knows you're going to question her logic, another messages comes in a few seconds later:

I will tell him on my own.

Interesting.

You swipe back to your "conversation" with Joel and feel your heart flutter at his one-word reply. God, you really are insatiable. You wonder what he's doing right now; lifting heavy things? Ordering people around? You certainly know that he's good at telling people what to do...

Your skin warms at the thought and you quickly shake it away, tossing your phone back into the grass and taking a few steps toward the pool. You plunge into the cold water just to soothe the hot ache you already feel between your legs.

--

Dinner is normal, although the secret hanging in the air between you and your mother isn't lost on you by any means. You definitely didn't get your ability at keeping secrets from her; she's flustered, quiet as she chews her meatloaf and awkwardly questions your father about his day. He doesn't notice anything is amiss though, just scarfs down his food and mutters something about paperwork before disappearing into his office.

"Why don't you want me to tell Dad?" you whisper as you help her do the dishes, watching as she scrubs a plate unnecessarily hard.

"Because," she hisses, eyes darting to his closed office door in the hallway, "Your father will want to ask him over for dinner again and I am not having a repeat of what happened last time." She makes a face at the thought of Joel's previous insult, "If we're going to help this man find his faith we have to take things slow, just like you said. I'll tell your father when the time is right."

You're at a loss for words at the way your lie has somehow already wormed itself into your mother's brain without a shadow of a doubt. She's genuinely convinced you're trying to do the right thing, turn Joel Miller into a God fearing Catholic. It makes you uncomfortable to think about how your lie has already gotten this deep; for a moment you briefly consider calling the whole thing off, changing the story, maybe even telling the truth.

And then your phone buzzes in your pocket.

"Whatever you say," you reply quickly, drying the last plate and backing away, "Um, I'm gonna go read in my room for a bit."

--

How was your day?

The text makes your heart positively soar as you flop onto your bed again like you had this morning, bringing your phone to your face and grinning like an idiot. He didn't forget about you.

boring. i missed you.

You don't care if you come across as clingy; it's how you feel. Your heart does stutter a bit when you hit send but all nervousness fades when he responds just as quickly:

Missed you too, angel.

You swallow around the sudden lump in your throat, heart pounding when his little speech bubble appears again to show that he's typing something else:

What did you do?

went swimming

What an image to put in my head.

You smile, feeling your cheeks warm. Your face falls however at his next message:

What did you wear?

You grimace, eyeing the ridiculously modest swimsuit hanging off your desk chair, still damp from earlier. Should you be honest or come up with a white lie, put a different image in his head? No, you've already lied enough for one day.

a one piece but i don't like it. it's not very me.

I'll buy you a new one. Tell me what you like.

He'd really do that? You bite your lip and weigh the options in your mind, thinking about the lingerie on those mannequins this morning, the things your roommates back at college wear. You want something you'll feel different in, something that makes you feel more like this sexy version of yourself Joel is helping you discover.

bikini. maybe pink or blue?

You got it. Maybe you can give me another fashion show.

You feel a surge of excitement, of intrigue. You'd wondered at the mall what kind of clothes Joel would want to see you in... he'd loved the dresses this morning - especially the white one - so you can't help but wonder what kind of swimsuit he'll choose for you. You're not completely sheltered; you know there are different types of bikinis. One of your friends had worn a micro sling bikini for Halloween last year as a part of her costume for a party she was attending - you'd taken one look and decided you weren't going.

Would Joel pick a bikini like that for you? The thought makes you feel a bit queasy, suddenly unsure if you'd even want to wear something like that. You want to look good for him but you don't want to sacrifice everything about yourself to do it. You stare at his message, wishing he wasn't just words on a screen right now.

where are you?

At a bar with my crew. But I'd much rather be wherever you are right now, babygirl.

You relax a bit into your sheets at the pet name; the word hasn't even come directly from his mouth but it has you acting like it has. Your body goes loose, that familiar throbbing starting up again in your underwear. You cross your legs and duck underneath the covers to type your reply:

i'm in my bed. i wish you were here

And what do you wish I was doing?

You stare at the text for a moment, biting down hard on your lip and trying to think of exactly how to articulate your thoughts in the best way. You've never done this before, never said or typed dirty things to somebody else. You figure texting is as good a medium as any to finally practice.

i wish you were playing with my pussy

The throbbing gets worse as you type the words. You cross your legs a bit tighter when you hit send, already nervous about what he'll say back. He doesn't waste much time.

You like when I play with your pussy, don't you?

Your cheeks warm as you sink even further beneath your blankets, legs parting slowly. You reach down to pop the button on your jeans, slowly typing out a response with one hand:

yes

The zipper of your jeans is down within seconds, your right hand carefully slipping past the open material and sliding down to cup where you're aching over your underwear. Your phone vibrates again and you hear a small whimper slip past your lips.

And you liked having those big fingers deep in there huh?

yes. it felt so good.

So full, right baby?

You circle your clit slowly with your index finger, mouth popping open at his words. The memory of the way his fingers felt inside of you, the way they'd pushed and prodded you so deep...

really full.

I'll do it again real soon, angel. Promise.

You whimper again, still tracing your pussy through your panties. Your brow furrows when the next message comes in a few seconds later:

I gotta head back now but I'll call you later. Stay up for me, don't fall asleep.

You frown. Oh well, you've gotten off without him a few times so far, what's one more time? You watch as the bubble indicating he's typing again pops up.

And don't touch that pretty pussy until I tell you.

Your hand freezes and you feel your lips turn into a pout despite the fact that he can't even see you.

:(

XO

"Meanie." you murmur at your phone, taking your hand out of your pants and tilting your head back to stare at your ceiling. You look down at the message again and can't help but feel your lips upturn; he's going to call you later... maybe meanie is too strong a word.

--

You prepare a little too much for your late-night phone call with Joel.

You take a long bath, soothing and relaxing with some lit candles and quiet music, all the while returning to your previous mental state of pretending you don't have anything between your legs. You're just a barbie doll down there, you tell yourself dubiously, there's nothing to touch or feel. That wishful thinking doesn't last very long however when you find yourself re-reading Joel's texts and feeling your pussy begin to pulse again under the water.

After your bath you comb carefully through your hair, counting each stroke to pass the time. You apply more lotion to your skin than you could ever need and then change into a pair of pajamas, just some simple sleep shorts and a t-shirt. You wonder what Joel would think of your old nightdresses, the ones you used to wear when you were a kid, still folded away in your dresser but probably much shorter and more revealing now. You take a quick peek at an old yellow one, lacy and faded; it practically smells of innocence and the bright eyed Jesus loving girl you once were, and you find yourself feeling sad. You shut it away again.

By the time you're freshly bathed and in bed your parents have already said goodnight and are settled in their bedroom down the hall. All you can do is lay back against your pillows and wait for Joel to call.

Nine o'clock passes; you decide to read for a little bit.

Ten o'clock; no big deal, you turn on the TV and quietly watch the beginning of a movie.

Eleven o'clock; you're about halfway into the movie now, feeling sleepy but still checking your phone every few minutes.

Twelve o'clock; the movie ends but you don't pay much attention to the conclusion, staring anxiously at your phone and waiting for it to light up. But still nothing.

It's almost one when you finally begin to face the reality of the situation. He never gave you a specific time, just said he'd call later, but how much later did he mean? Maybe he's already home now, in bed and asleep. He's probably forgotten that he even said he'd call. You're not that important. You're just some kid.

Tears well in your eyes when you finally turn off your bedside lamp and shuffle further beneath the covers, still staring at your phone. Please call, you think pathetically to yourself, or even text. Just do something.

You fall asleep with your phone gripped tightly in your hand.

--

You wake up to a light buzzing sound and sensation, your eyes squeezing together in confusion. You open them blearily and find yourself facing your bedside clock; 2:23am. It takes a few seconds for you to register that the buzzing is coming from your phone, and when you look down at the screen and see the name Mr. Miller, your eyes go wide. You answer it immediately.

"Hello?" you whisper, burying yourself under the covers again and trying to be as quiet as possible.

"Hey, babygirl," he says softly on the other side, his southern drawl melting smoothly into your ear, "I wake you up?"

"Y-yeah," you mumble, still blinking your eyes and trying to get some alertness back, "Sorry, I know you told me not to fall asleep."

He chuckles and it's the most beautiful sound, charming and gentle, "That's okay, sweetheart. I got back much later than I thought I would, it's my fault," you hear him grunt a little bit, like he's settling onto his couch (or his bed?), "You stay up long waitin' for me?"

You bite your lip, "Um, maybe."

"Aw, baby, I'm sorry," he murmurs, "Poor thing, you must be so sleepy."

"M'not," you say, but your voice betrays you.

"Shh," he whispers, "You go back to sleep, we'll try this again tomorrow."

You try to sit up but you're still half asleep and the blankets are so warm and inviting, "No," you say quickly, "No, I wanna talk to you. I've been waiting."

You can hear the smile in his voice when he replies, "God, you're so fuckin' sweet," he inhales deeply, "What I wouldn't give to have you in my bed right now, angel... all curled up and comfy in my arms."

You smile, eyes closing again as you settle back into the blankets and listen to his voice, "I want that." you murmur.

"I know you do," his voice is so soft and soothing in your ear, almost like a lullaby, "You want so many things with me, don't you?"

"Mm hm," you agree softly, "All of it."

"All of it." he repeats thoughtfully.

The line goes quiet for a moment, both of you just listening to each other breathe evenly. You know you should say something else, try and wake yourself up, but the longer you lie there with the phone to your ear the more tired you seem to be getting.

"Did you touch your pussy, babygirl?" he finally asks, voice still barely a whisper.

Your heart stutters, "No," you reply just as quietly.

"Good girl."

You hum at his praise, melting further into your pillow. You listen as he breathes slowly on the other end. You're starting to drift off again, you can feel it.

"I've got an early start tomorrow," he says softly, "But how 'bout I call you around seven or so, before I leave?"

"Yes," you whisper, "Please."

He laughs quietly, "Okay, sweetheart, you go back to sleep now," he exhales and seems to settle into his bed, just like you, "Sweet dreams."

"'Night," you mumble softly, leaving him to end the call as you fade quickly back to sleep.

--

You don't make the same mistake you made last night; you wake up promptly at six thirty and make sure you stay awake, washing your face and getting dressed for the day. You hear the shower going in your parents room and hope that miraculously both of them will have already left by the time Joel calls you.

No such luck. You can hear them both bustling around in the kitchen when your phone starts to buzz, and you quietly tiptoe back to bed and yank the covers up over yourself, hoping it'll muffle your conversation.

"Hi," you whisper.

"Mornin'", Joel replies; you can hear a smile in his voice, "Why are you whisperin'?"

You grimace, "My parents are still here."

"Ahh, the same parents who think I'm your guitar teacher, right?"

You bring a hand up to your face in embarrassment, "Oh my god, I forgot I told you that."

He chuckles, "So we're sneakin' around, huh? That what's happenin'? Is this gonna end with me gettin' shot?"

Your eyes widen, "I hope not!"

He laughs again, louder this time, "I'm kiddin', babygirl, don't worry. But you're an adult, you don't need their permission to see me."

"I know that, but as long as I'm under their roof they have rules, and I gotta follow them. Plus..." you make a face, "My mom doesn't like you."

He snorts, "Yeah, I figured."

"I kind of told her that um... that I'm... well..."

"What?"

"That I'm teaching you about God," you close your eyes, feeling your skin burn, "That you borrowed my hymn book and you're gonna help me learn how to play some of them."

There's complete silence on the line after you speak and for a moment you're scared he's hung up. You pull the phone away from your ear and look down at the screen; the call is still active. You bring it back up and he finally says something.

"Jesus, you're naughty," he mutters, voice suddenly dark, rough, "Lyin' about all that, just to see me?"

You swallow, "Y-yeah."

"Naughty," he repeats, "Naughty girl."

Another beat of silence. Then-

"Are you in bed?"

"Yes."

"Take off your panties."

You don't need telling twice, you're already throbbing just from hearing his voice change. You hold your phone against your ear with your shoulder and make quick work of hiking up your dress and tugging your panties down your legs.

"They're off," you whisper, voice shaky.

"Rub your clit," he says immediately, and you hear the unmistakable sound of his belt jangling on the other end, "'Til your pussy's all wet."

Is he...? He must be. You swallow tightly and do as he says, trying to focus on the task at hand and not on the fact that he's most certainly touching his cock right now while he talks to you. Getting wet isn't much of a challenge; as soon as your finger touches your clit you can already feel yourself start to drip.

"I'm wet." you whimper, rubbing your clit slowly.

"Already?" his voice is almost pained.

"Is it...is it weird that I get wet so easily?"

"No," he says immediately and you can almost visualize him shaking his head, "No, it's good. It's just 'cause you're so new to all of it," he groans, low and husky, "Fuck, I can't get enough of you."

You whimper again at his words, rubbing yourself a bit quicker and biting down on your lip. You can still hear the dull sounds of your parents from the kitchen below; you have to be quiet.

"Put a finger inside," Joel murmurs on the other end of the line, rough and scratchy, "Deep as you can go."

You bite down on your lip harder as you carefully push your index finger inside yourself, brow furrowing at the sensation. It's certainly nothing like having Joel's fingers in there and you immediately want to add another one, get that full feeling back.

"Push it in and out," he continues, "With me now, in..." you hear a dull slap, "And out," you follow along, eyes becoming hooded as you listen to what is most certainly Joel jacking himself off, "In....and out..."

He's pretending he's inside you. The thought alone is enough to make you moan, and you have to bring your other hand up to cover your mouth as you fuck yourself along to his pace. You add a second without being asked, whimpering pitifully into the phone and spreading your legs wider.

"Oh, babygirl," he whispers, "Those sounds you make..." he groans, low and deep, "Two fingers now, sweetheart."

"I'm already using two," you admit, still pumping them in and out; he groans again, even louder.

"Jesus Christ," he mutters, "Three then, baby. Add your third, that's it." You hear another slap of skin and the sound is enough to make your orgasm begin to build in your belly. You wish he was here with you, holding you, touching you.

"I wish you were inside me," you find yourself whispering, voice shaky and pathetic.

He groans again, "Which part of me, sweetheart? My fingers?"

You shake your head, "No."

"Say it."

"Your cock," you whimper, chest heaving as you feel yourself getting closer and closer, "I want your cock inside me."

"Fuck," his voice is even deeper in your ear, almost like he's right there next to you, "I know you do, angel. Want it so fucking deep, don't you?"

You nod ferociously despite the fact that he can't see you, plunging your three fingers in and out steadily and feeling your legs begin to shake, "Yes, Mr. Miller," you whimper, "I need it."

"You do need it," he groans, "You need this cock, babygirl. Can't believe you never had one before, can't stop thinkin' about it," the slapping is getting faster, louder.

"I wanted it so bad last night," you keen, eyebrows scrunching together in pleasure, "And when you didn't call, I thought maybe-"

"Oh, babygirl," he groans, "Don't think like that, don't ever-" he lets out a deep grunt, almost like a whimper, "Don't think for one second that I don't think about you, about that pussy. Can't wait to be inside you. Gonna fuck you so good, so right," he grunts, his voice becoming more and more strained, "Gonna be so deep inside that sweet little hole, you're gonna feel it in your fuckin' stomach."

Holy fuck. He's never talked this much before, never said things this filthy or graphic. It's too much for you to handle all at once, pussy tightening around your fingers as his words bring you over the edge.

"I'm coming," you manage to squeak out, then slap your hand back down on your mouth as you shake and writhe under the blankets, moaning pitifully into your hand and praying your parents don't hear you.

Joel doesn't tell you he's coming but the slapping sound suddenly comes to a complete stop, and the next thing you know he's groaning loudly in your ear, breathy and rough. You listen to him, closing your eyes and letting his sounds invade your whole body as you come, wrapping around you like another warm blanket. You've never heard him make sounds like this, depraved and guttural and loud. You can only imagine what he looks like right now, what his cock looks like. You know what happens when men come, you know about ejaculation, but the thought of Joel doing that... right now...

"Mmmhmmm," you moan into your hand and feel your eyes roll back, picturing Joel laying in his bed, hand around his cock, "Oh...fuck..." you fuck yourself with your fingers until it's too much, until the sensations are borderline painful. You move your hand away from your pussy and squeeze down on your thigh, trying to get your legs to stop shaking.

There's a few moments of heavy breathing where neither of you speak, both of you coming down from your orgasms and trying to catch your breaths. You open your legs wider and lay there like a starfish, eyes closed, chest heaving. You hear the door slam downstairs, followed by the sound of your father getting in his police car and your mother getting in her SUV.

"My parents just left." you mutter, still breathless.

Joel chuckles softly, "Think they heard you?"

You shake your head, "No way, they'd have already broken down my door if they had any idea what's going on up here."

He laughs again, "Hold on a sec, let me clean myself up here a bit."

You can't help but smile at the image of Joel being vulnerable like that, having to clean up his own mess instead of yours. You shiver at the thought and slowly sit up in bed, body heavy and sated.

"That was... a lot," you say softly, still trying to even out your breaths, "All that... that stuff you said."

You hear the concern in his voice immediately, "Was it too much?"

"No," you say immediately, shaking your head, "No, not at all. I just..." you feel your cheeks burn, "I wasn't expecting....I didn't realize how much you thought about doing that."

"Doin' what?" you can almost hear his smirk.

"...Fucking me," you whisper it, even though your parents are gone, "Putting your...putting your cock in me."

He groans again, softer this time, "I'll be honest, darlin'. It was all I thought about yesterday at work. And it's all I'm gonna be thinkin' about today."

You shiver, lips turning up in a pleased smile, "Really?"

"Really, sweetheart. And I know we're takin' it slow, and that's okay, but fuck if I don't think about how that pussy's gonna feel around me..." he groans again and you feel the undeniable sensation of yourself getting wet again; insatiable.

"What if...what if it doesn't fit?" you ask quietly, unsure just like yesterday, "I know you said we'll make it fit but..."

"It'll fit," he reassures you tenderly, "Don't worry, sweetheart. We'll go real slow, I'll be real gentle, and you just take it," he takes a breath, slow and steady, "You were made to take it, babygirl."

You hear yourself whimper softly, closing your eyes and turning your head into your pillow. God, you could listen to him talk to you like this for hours, just telling you everything he wants to do to you, everything he wants to teach you...

"When can I see you again?" you whisper.

"Well, that's what we need to figure out now, isn't it?" you can hear the hint of a smile in his voice, "When are these guitar lessons gonna take place?"

You wince, sitting up a bit in bed and leaning back against your pillows, "So you're okay with that? With me lying, I mean?"

"If that's what you feel you need to do, then it's okay," he says, and you can tell he means it, "I will probably have to actually teach you some guitar, though."

"I don't mind," you reply with a smile, remembering the way his hands had felt on yours when he'd first shown you those chords, the way you'd settled between his legs and he'd held you so close to him, "...As long as you teach me in your bed."

"Fuck," he murmurs, voice going dark again, "You are a naughty girl, aren't you?"

You can't help but smirk, "It's starting to seem that way, yeah."

[foli-vora]

run to you: chapter seven

marcus pike x f!reader

A/N: This has been such a long time coming, and I want to thank you for being so patient and still loving this story despite the time since its last update. Your frequent comments, asks & dm's regarding RTY have honestly pushed me and motivated me to sit in front of my laptop and get this out. So thank you endlessly. I hope you enjoy angels!

Summary: Following on from ‘Traitor’ and ‘You’re Somebody Else’. An unexpected visitor throws you right back into the life you thought you left behind. Working beside the man that put you behind bars is one thing, pretending like you never loved him is another.

Word count: 6k-ish (I honestly didn't bother checking after a while lmao)

Warnings: angst, coz naturally. Mentions of the past case and being arrested, Marcus being undercover and tastes of what he was dealing with work-wise. Jane being Jane (aka a fuckhead). The slightest shine of something resembling friendliness between the two idiots before I smash it with a sledgehammer in a true ‘one step forward, two steps back’ fashion. Drama, swearing, it's honestly been so long I don't even know - tell me if I've missed anything!

main masterlist | series masterlist

This story will have explicit sexual scenes in the future so 18+ only.

You can tell by the knock that it’s not Jacob. His knocks were playful, drumming out a tune against your door that sometimes you had to finish from the other side, but this knock was tentative, simple—professional.

Can knocks be professional? Can you know someone just by their knock? Regardless, you seem to know who it is immediately, and for the first time in a while you find yourself not having to brace for his company.

There’s no shake in your hand when you reach for the door; there’s no nausea building in the pit of your stomach, swirling with the uncomfortable tightening of anxiety. There’s nothing, and it takes you slightly by surprise. When did that stop? 

Marcus is standing just shy of your welcome mat, looking slightly uncomfortable as he shifts in his simple dark suit, but still gives you a small smile in greeting when you open the door. You manage to return it without a hint of a grimace.

That surprises you, too.

“Good morning.”

“Hi,” you murmur quietly.

“Can we talk?”

He must see the slight edge of defensiveness creeping into your features, because he hurries to spit out that it’s about the case. The case? Is it over?

A frown starts to pull at your brows, and you give a simple nod before stepping aside and allowing him entry. You don’t miss the way he takes it slow, stepping over the threshold to your apartment carefully, as if giving you the chance to change your mind and revoke his invitation.

It’s... awkward.

For a moment, he hovers only a few steps away, unsure of where to go next without your direction. You watch the internal struggle, and clear your throat quietly before waving a hand to your couch as a gesture for him to take a seat. He does so without a word.

You falter, fingers brushing against your suddenly hot palms as you fidget, “Do you want anything to drink? Water? Coffee?”

“Uh, yeah—yes. Water, please.”

Silence crawls along the edges of the room as you fuss in the kitchen, filling a glass full of chilled water from the fridge. It’s only slightly uncomfortable, neither of you necessarily feeling the need to fill the quiet with small talk, or maybe you both just don’t know what to say.

He takes the glass with a smile when you eventually patter over to him, thanking you quietly and taking a small sip while you seat yourself on the armchair to the left of him.

“So…” you murmur, “what’s going on? Has something happened?”

He suddenly can’t speak, his thoughts too much in a whirl. He doesn’t want to entertain Jane’s idea, he doesn’t want to offer you anything about getting more involved in the case. You already do enough, you’re fine with doing what you’re doing, he can’t risk it.  

You’re out of it all. You got out. Not many people get back onto their feet after something like that—the arrest and the rough fallout, the emotional spiral, the time spent behind bars… but you did. You did. And yet, a very small part of him worries that you’ll go back, that you’ll fall back into old habits for the promise of your old cosy lush life, without a worry for money. Would you?

No. No, he knows you wouldn’t. Somewhere deep inside his heart, he knows you wouldn’t turn back to it all. He saw firsthand how it all crashed down around you—he was the reason it did. He saw you through it all, and yet he still can’t help but ask—

“Do you miss it?”

A frown starts to pull at your features, “Miss what?”

“Your life,” he mutters, almost painfully too quiet.

He doesn’t want to upset you by reopening old wounds, by unintentionally rubbing your face in everything you’ve lost and mourned, but he’s too curious, too scared—he can’t do it all again. He doesn’t have the strength. He’d let you walk. He’d let you get away. He’d lose everything, and he wouldn’t care.

“Before… before this,” he gestures between you silently, watching your eyes flicker down to follow the movement before they roll back up to meet his, irises swirling with confusion, suspicion, a slight shine of pain— “before everything… when it was just you, and what you did—do you miss it?”

There’s a vague feeling of something close to panic building in your chest, but it doesn’t seem to spread out further than the iron cage of your ribs. You feel it sitting there, churning around your heart as its pace starts to quicken.

Is he asking this for a reason? Are you suspected of something? Is whatever answer you give going to be recorded and stored somewhere for future use against you? 

“A little,” you breathe before you can help it, and suddenly your throat feels too thick.

The honesty came out of nowhere. You’re left wondering why the hell you admitted it, especially to him of all people. He's used it all against you before. He’s the reason it all fell apart. And yet, here you are, admitting to a federal agent that you miss a time of your life that ultimately resulted in you left behind bars. What would he think of that?

The worry of what he would think startles you. You don’t care, you haven’t cared, and yet you hurry to explain before he could get the wrong idea. It’s only because he has the power to throw you back into prison. You worry about the fallout, that’s all.

“Make no mistake, I don’t miss the whole crime thing. I just—I miss the peace. I can’t explain it, but I was just content, and I’ve never felt anything like that before. It was just… nice, that’s all. It wasn’t worth it.”

He nods, exhaling quietly before taking a sip of his water.

“Why do you ask?”

You’d been honest, and now it’s his turn.

“Some of the team believe putting you out there, back into your old circles, would result in getting us some further suspects for the investigation, or even limiting our suspect pool,” he explains stiffly, gaze remaining on where his fingers brush against the glass in his hands.

“As you’ve worked with some of these people before, they believe you’ll have no problem fitting back in and getting any information on their jobs or who’s leading this.”

Well that’s not at all what you’d been expecting.

You didn’t think that was even an option, given how they’d firmly kept any and all details of this investigation far away from you. Whether it’s because of your past, or simply because you’re not an agent, you don’t know, but this new direction has you wondering how involved you’d actually be. Is that something you even want?

You’ve reached a point where you’re somewhat comfortable with where you are in life, having dealt with mostly everything that had happened and taken steps to move on both mentally and emotionally.

Accepting the offer from the FBI hadn’t been on the top of your priority list, and this new opportunity didn’t sound any more appealing, but maybe it would give you a chance to do a little more. Maybe if they had you on the inside, this investigation would be wrapped up quicker and you’d be able to leave everything, and everyone, in the past for good.

All of this would be over. 

“So, I’d be undercover or something?”

“Not undercover, obviously there’ll be people who know who you are and what you used to do. You’ll just have to act the part you used to play.” 

There’s a hesitancy hanging in his features, you notice. It’s clear by the tone of his voice and the slight frown working its way along his brows that he’s not the one behind this idea, but he wouldn’t be suggesting it if it wasn’t a good idea, right?

“Do you not want me to do this?”

Finally, he looks at you.

You watch his eyes flitter across your face as you await his answer, wondering what he could possibly be searching for in your expression. Would he even tell you the truth? A part of you is beginning to think so, but you can’t imagine why. He’s been anything but truthful the entire time of knowing him, what would make this time any different?

“I don’t want you to do anything that would jeopardise the life you have, the life that you’ve made.”

Ah. He must think you’ll throw all of your progress away. Because of course he does. Is that why he asked you that question before? Do you miss it? Was he gauging the possibility of you turning your back on him should he let you further into the investigation? He’d probably get into trouble, maybe even lose his comfy little job chasing criminals down.

How comforting to know that he still thinks so damn little of you. 

“Don’t worry, Agent Pike,” you murmur icily, letting your arms cross defensively over your chest. “I’ll be sure to stay out of handcuffs this time. Do you honestly think I’d go back to it all, after everything?”

“I wouldn’t blame you,” he sighs deeply, already expecting and braced for your anger. “And no—I don’t think you would go back.”

You believe him. You don’t know why, because God knows everything in your body repeatedly tells you to never believe another word that comes out of his mouth, but you simply just do with this. You don’t dwell on the why, with your mind now preoccupied with what he’s asking from you exactly.

Are you just finding some old acquaintances and asking some questions? Are you getting involved with jobs? Are you no longer painting for the FBI, if you’re to be involved? How deep would you have to go to give him and his team what they need? And with all the talk of murder, knowing there’s already been quite a few victims, what the hell would happen to you should the potential killer, or killers, find out you’re working with the FBI?

Would you become the next victim?

“Will I be in danger?”

Marcus meets your eyes immediately, answering firmly, “I won’t let anything happen to you.”

That’s not a no.

You fall quiet, teeth nipping and picking at the soft skin of your inner bottom lip in thought. Okay, so you’d probably be safe with Marcus—the FBI—on your side, but is this something you could even do? Physically and mentally yes, you’d already done it all before, but emotionally?

Essentially, you’d be playing the same part Marcus played all that time ago. You’d be the one sneaking around and lying to people, tricking them into a false sense of comfort until they feel safe enough around you to talk. You’d be everything you dislike Marcus for. 

It’s hypocritical.

How could you dwell on and hold anger over your own experiences, when you’d be out there doing the same thing to others? Of course not to the stupidly ridiculous extent Marcus had gone to, but you’d still be lying, you’d still be using them—

“You have the choice here,” he assures you quietly, after watching you work through your thoughts. “I don’t want you to do it if you don’t want to. I want you to feel like you can say no—this is your choice, no one else’s. If you don’t want to, that’s okay.”

Maybe it’s selfish on some sort of level, but the possibility of getting this whole thing over and done and left behind you ultimately wins over any reservations you have, and you exhale quietly. 

“I’ll do it.”

—

The wire, though so thin it would be barely noticeable wherever you decided to hide it, feels particularly weighty between your fingertips. You study the simple black cord, turning it this way and that under the glare of the office lights, wondering how many cases it had been used for, how much it had heard and how many lives it had potentially ruined.

“Nobody will notice it.”

Marcus is half hunched over the table, scribbling away on various bits of paper laid out in front of him, but he briefly stops to give you a small reassuring smile. You simply nod in response, a trickling of anxiety starting to bite away at your mind.

What if nobody approaches you? What if this goes wrong? What if somebody finds out? What if you get hurt? What if you get somebody else hurt? The constant what ifs roll around your head on an endless loop, seemingly getting worse and more horrific with every minute you squirm in the chair.

“Do you know where you’d like to start?”

Your attention falls back on Marcus, and you gently place the wire back onto the surface of the table in fear of breaking it should you fiddle for too long.

He was giving you the freedom of working this next part out yourself. He wanted it to be as natural as possible, letting them come to you instead of having you actively searching them out. It would minimise any suspicion, he had said. 

“Uh, I was thinking of visiting some of the local spots you said they’re targeting. If they’re still scouting pieces and working out security like you say, they're bound to see me eventually... hopefully by people I know?”

It wasn’t meant to, but it comes across like a question, like you’re seeking his approval. Not because you desire it, but because this isn’t what you’re trained in by any means and you feel a little lost being able to make this call on your own. You have no idea how to position yourself, or how to work strategically like they do. The last thing you want to do is mess this whole thing up for anyone.

He nods, seemingly pleased with your choice.

“That’s good, you’ll also be out in the open and that makes it easy for another agent to keep an eye on you from a distance.”

“I know that’s meant to be reassuring, but the mere thought that I need to be watched makes me a little nervous. How dangerous is this?”

“It’s not, it’s all just precautionary,” he soothes, tone calm but undeniably firm. “If anything, I’m probably going overboard, but I’d rather not take any risks.”

It makes sense that he wouldn’t. His job or position would most likely be on the line if someone he’s responsible for gets hurt. His agents, probably not so much—they know what they’re doing and what they’re in for, but you? You’re just an average person, with no knowledge or skills to aid you.

“I’ve been meaning to ask… do any of them know? About… well, everything.”

It hit you as you arrived at the building earlier. You’re walking into your old life, a life that he was once a part of as a completely different person. They—the FBI—didn’t just come for you, they came for everyone, and Marcus was a big part of that. Did he reveal himself to them, as he did you? How much did they know about your situation? What did they think of you and the part you played? 

Marcus stops fussing with the papers, his eyes soon meeting yours from across the table. They flicker over your face, taking in the concern building in your features.

“I was there during most of their arrests so the majority know who, and what, I am.”

He was? He wasn’t there for yours.

Would it have been better, you wonder, if he had been there when they unexpectedly swarmed you that day? No doubt it still would’ve been one hell of a brutal knock to the system, but at least there would’ve been a familiar face in the intimidating crowd of badge carrying strangers.

At least you wouldn’t have felt so alone.

“What about me?”

“What about you?”

“Well, I—I’m part of the reason you got the information you did. Throughout our… relationship, I talked about everything. I told you everything, and during the interrogation… surely they’d know—”

“They know I was undercover, and they know you weren’t aware of that fact. Look, I can’t go into detail, but just know you weren’t the only one to talk. It’s not all on you, alright?"

It doesn’t come as much of a surprise that the others had cracked at some point, it was almost to be expected with the amount of evidence the FBI had against everyone, but at least you don’t feel so guilty for divulging as much as you did back then. 

He waits for you to acknowledge his words with a wordless nod before moving onto business and switching into FBI Agent mode. He stands taller, obviously more confident and comfortable in his element as he begins to rattle off instructions and how to behave. It’s hard to feel unsteady or unsafe when he seems so damn self assured. That’s why he is where he is, you suppose.

“Now it's important that if you’re approached, you refrain from asking any questions about jobs or pry into anything they’re doing. You need to let them bring the subject up—if they don’t, it’s okay.”

“Noted.”

“If at any point you want to stop doing this—tell me, and that’ll be it. If you don’t feel comfortable coming to me, tell Agent Wilson and we’ll go from there. After your visits, you’re to return to your apartment and either Agent Wilson or I will come to collect anything you have.”

“Okay, and where exactly is this meant to go?” You ask, prying the cord from the table.

“Somewhere discreet. Obviously we don’t want it to be hanging out or somewhere someone will notice. Under your jacket will suffice with what you’re wearing. Just always ensure it’s covered completely.”

“How do I…”

He clears his throat, shifting uncomfortably.

“Do you… do you mind if I…?”

“Not much of a choice,” you murmur, glancing around at the empty meeting room. 

“I can get another agent—”

You hear the bustle of the office outside the door, the constant ringing of phones and the hum of constant conversation. There’s plenty of other people to help you work this wire thing out, other than the man you’d rather be miles away from, but the uncertainty of what they know about you, think about you, keeps you from accepting his offer.

The only agent you feel semi-comfortable with is Jacob, and he’s currently out of the office with some other agents doing his job. You could ask for him. You’re fairly certain Marcus would comply if you asked, but that means taking Jacob away from whatever things he needed to do, and you don’t want to cause any issues for him or the other agents working.

Marcus will do. At least you know him. Somewhat.

“No. No, it’s… it’s fine. Just do what you need to.”

You stand and move away from your seat as he steps closer, hands falling awkwardly to your sides after he gently pries the wire away from your hold. He keeps a considerable distance away, the absolute most he could without being unable to reach you, and you appreciate the thought, but the space begins to hinder him as he tries to work.

After a few moments of feeling him fumble beneath your jacket and watching the growing twitches of annoyance briefly break his calm expression with a surprising slight bit of amusement, you relent. 

“You can come closer if you need to.”

His eyes flash up to meet yours, brown irises studying your features before a small smile pulls at the corner of his lips. He moves, still keeping a careful amount of distance between your bodies but close enough to feel the weight of his presence. 

“Are you laughing at me?”

“The big bad FBI agent has butter fingers,” you retort quietly, lips twitching. “They let you hold a gun with those?”

He blinks in surprise at your teasing jab, the curve of his light smile quickly deepening until it causes the dimples in his cheeks to show. You used to love his dimples, often finding yourself compelled to trace them with your fingertips whenever he was close enough to. He’d always welcome it, tilting his face further into your touch or kissing your palm.

Your fingers twitch at your sides.

“Now that’s not fair,” he argues playfully, “I’ve only dropped it a couple of times.”

The smile that spreads across your lips is automatic, and you don’t quite feel like fighting it. At least, not right now. Whether that’s because you don’t have the energy needed to keep up with your recurrent ice saved only for him, or simply because you don’t feel like it, you don’t know.

“Have you really?”

He makes a low noise at the back of his throat, a shine of impish embarrassment spreading throughout his features. “I’m afraid that information is need to know only, ma’am.”

“Of course it is,” you mutter lowly in amusement, his grin briefly stretching into something wider before it fades as he focuses on the task at hand. “Back when you were undercover, did you have to wear one of these?”

There’s no anger in your voice, no betrayal or tone of accusation, just simple curiosity. You just want to know, and not to dwell on the past or overwhelm your mind with what his agents may have potentially heard, because god knows that’s a can of worms you don’t want to open. You feel genuine interest, because surely there would’ve been rules and safety precautions for undercover agents. What were his?

“I did,” he answers, guarded brown eyes briefly meeting yours before falling back to where his fingers pin the wire discreetly to your t-shirt, “but I only wore it for the first few meetings. I stopped when we—when we got closer.”

That was unexpected.

Thinking back on it, you didn’t start to give him any real information to work with until you’d gone on quite a few dates and became more comfortable with him. How did he keep a record of everything you said? You never saw him writing anything down, never had his phone out while you talked, and he never just upped and left once you’d spilled all of your secrets once you became intimate. 

Why wouldn’t the FBI want all of that recorded and documented? Surely that would’ve helped build evidence against you in the grand scheme of things? 

“Why?”

“I didn’t want them to know.”

“Know what?”

How deep he was in over his head.

He wets his lips, finishing his work with a quiet sigh before fixing your jacket and stepping away from you. You watch him take a moment to find his words, wondering what could possibly be so bad he’d want to hide it from his team.

“Some things,” he answers vaguely. “Are you ready?”

—

“You’re off the case.”

He hears the words, feels how they settle in the pit of his stomach, but his mind struggles to comprehend the meaning behind them. He’s one of the god damn leads of this case, how can he be off it? His expression pinches into confusion before he can get a hold of it, the question forming in his features before it even makes it to his lips.

“What?”

He feels the gaze of Jenner beside him, wonders if there’s any judgement lingering alongside the concern. His coworker, his friend, stays quiet, and he’s left to be dragged through the mud alone.

“You’re too close.”

Too close? When has being close to finishing a case ever been an issue? But he knows that’s not what they mean. That’s not what they’re concerned about. It’s you. He’s suspected it for a while, what with the growing questions and raised brows of yet another admittedly unnecessary meeting with one of the major suspects—without a wire or trace. 

“I know what I’m doing,” Marcus argues firmly, the frown deepening between his brows.

Doubt.

It’s not evident in his words, but he feels the stirrings of it somewhere in his body. He doesn’t know anymore, and it’s starting to scare him. He’s always known this job. He knows the rules, likes the rules even, likes playing by a book and not stepping a toe out of line. It’s comfortable, secure. 

This isn’t.

This is dangerous—that’s what it is. The feelings that follow him home after a day of playing another man are anything but a cover. They’re real. The unsteady beat of his heart whenever you cross his mind, the sweat that builds on his palms when he knows he gets to see you, the tingle left across his lips after spending moments pressed against yours—it’s all fucking real.

And it’s terrifying.

“Look, Pike… we see this with undercover work often. It’s not just you, and it’s not a reflection of you, or your work. We know you’re a damn good agent, but relationships can grow, feelings can come into play and lines can become blurred—”

Panic overtakes him, and it takes every bit of control to not let it show on his face. Maybe it’s selfish, but he can’t lose you. Not yet, not when things feel so… so right. It is selfish. You help him forget, you remind him that romance... that love is—God, it’s real.

It’s real, and he has it, or is starting to at least, and he can’t lose it. Just the thought of knowing he’ll lose it all in the end is enough to make bile sit in the back of his throat and a sickly cold tether wind around his heart…

So he scrambles. He fights to keep his cool, to play the good little agent and hide everything away. It goes against everything he’s been taught, everything that he and his coworkers stand for… and he doesn’t care.

“Sir, with all due respect, I’ve put too much time and effort into this case to not see it through to the end. There is no relationship, there are no feelings. I know my job, I know my position in this case, I know where my loyalty lies, and I know what I’m doing.”

He really doesn’t anymore, but in the end they believe the lies forcing their way through his teeth.

—

You used to sit for hours, studying every little detail of the chosen piece until your eyes started to strain. The corridors of art galleries and museums used to be home—it felt like you spent more time there than your actual apartment, but it doesn’t feel as it used to. Not in a bad way, no… it felt nice. Peaceful, even. You can just enjoy the art now. There’s no anxiety, no pressure to ensure every bit of your work is perfect—it’s just you, and the art.

Like how it was before everything. Before Marcus, before the jobs, before art school—when you were just a little thing, staring up at those frames with nothing but wonder, hope, with dreams of her own styles and gallery. What would she think of what she became?

“You like this one.”

The voice alone sets a roll of irritation over your shoulders. You don’t bother looking at him when you feel him step up beside you, instead wondering if Marcus knew he was here, or if the consultant had come of his own accord. Most likely the latter, if he and Marcus weren’t on the best of terms. 

“What are you doing?” You question quietly, glancing briefly away from the painting and over your shoulder to see if anyone had taken notice of you. This damn wire makes you feel like eyes are everywhere. “Does Marcus know you’re here?”

Jane makes a noncommittal noise, “I was bored.”

He makes no effort to answer your other question, and that tells you what you need to know—Marcus has no idea. Is this something he should know? He’s leading the case, and despite your aversion to it, he’s made it clear he’s responsible for you during your time working for the FBI as well as overseeing who you speak to. He made it extra clear he didn’t like the idea of Patrick talking to you, after what happened at the office. What would he want you to do in this situation?

Get rid of him.

You don’t have time to waste playing some kind of twisted back and forth with the consultant. You came here with a simple task, and you couldn’t have him tagging along behind you and potentially ruining your opportunity to get your foot back into the door of your old life, let alone finding anything out about it. Maybe he already knows, either way you’d rather not have him shadowing and questioning you at every turn.

“I’m not your babysitter, Jane. Go and play your games somewhere else.”

“What games?”

You scoff harshly, unable to stop the scowl you shoot him, “Don’t play dumb. You know what you do, and I don’t care for it. Just leave me alone so I can do what I need to and go home.”

He hums, unbothered by your quip. 

“Is this one of yours?” He asks shamelessly, nodding to the painting hung in its ornate frame.

You startle, blinking in surprise and casting another glance around your surroundings in an utter panic. No one had taken any notice of him thankfully, with the art admirers still milling about at their leisure and passing by without any acknowledgement of either of you, yet your heart can’t seem to calm down from its heavy drum. 

There’s a smirk tugging at his lips when your eyes quickly land back on him, seemingly pleased with or expecting your reaction, and your jaw tightens in response.

The irritation turns to anger. Anger at him, anger at yourself for letting him work his stupid little mind games and getting to you. This is what he does, Marcus had said. You can’t let him get to you like he did before. You won’t. 

“Keep your voice down,” you grind out, rolling your attention back to the painting and ignoring the way he purposefully looks around in vague interest. 

“Why? No one’s here. At least not for you.”

“So then what are you doing here?”

“Chasing my own leads,” he hums thoughtfully, “I haven’t crossed out all of my suspects yet.”

“And your supposed ‘leads’ have bought you here?”

He openly eyes you, gaze critical and borderline taunting. It’s almost enough to make you feel like a complete fucking idiot for not knowing what he’s talking about, or what thoughts are rolling through his head. His 'lead'... he's referring to you.

You sigh impatiently, already sick of him. “What are you saying exactly, Jane?”

He shrugs loosely. “Just that it wouldn’t be the first time a scorned lover created some elaborate scheme to g—”

“I’m sorry—what?” You cut in before you can help it, a frown of confusion pinching your brows as your mind rushes to catch up with his meaning. “‘Scorned lover’? What the hell makes you think I’m some kind of—”

“With everything that happened between you and Agent Pike, you must’ve been angry when you found out he was an undercover agent. How many years did you get in the end? Two? Three? Whatever the time frame, I would imagine it was enough to warrant some kind of revenge scheme.”

A chill creeps along your shoulders at having it thrown at you so blatantly. He knows everything, and is definitely not shy or careful when it comes to addressing it with you. You want to shrink in on yourself, hide away from his obvious scrutinisation of every emotion crossing your face, but you can’t seem to move. Something about fight or flight rings through your mind, and that often forgotten third word—

Freeze.

A man steps up beside him to admire the art. Tall, broad, dressed in jeans and a casual tee, but obviously not a stranger to the consultant when he cuts in with a low, “Jane, that’s enough.”

You don’t recognise him from Marcus’s team, so he must be one of Teresa’s. Was he the agent meant to shadow you? Nothing in your body responds to the internal alarms practically screaming leave.  No, you’re simply frozen where you stand on that glossy hardwood flooring, heart beating in your throat and skin prickling with the overwhelming wash of anxiety.

“I don’t—”

“It’s alright, we already know everything about you,” Jane continues nonchalantly, “don’t we Rigsby?”

The man beside him practically squirms. 

“I don’t know what you think I’m doing, but I have nothing to do with this, other than what Marcus has asked me to do. I’m sure he’ll tell you all about it if you just ask, instead of following me around and accusing me of whatever evil mastermind ploy you think I’m up to.”

Jane openly grins, turning his gaze back to the painting. “No, he won’t.”

“No actually, he probably wouldn’t. Maybe if you weren’t such a dick, and maybe if you just left me alone like he asked, he’d be a little more open with you and his plans.”

“That explains it,” he hums lightly, seemingly to himself but loud enough for you to hear.

The constant verbal and mental back and forth, as well as trying to keep up with whatever crap spills from his mouth next, is enough to give you whiplash and birth an uncomfortable ache along your temples. It’s no wonder Marcus can’t stand him. The urge to guard your expression, and hide any potential clues to your thoughts was beginning to feel exhausting. 

“Explains what?”

“His feelings for you.”

A distinct, uncomfortable silence follows his words. They hit somewhere in your chest. You don’t know where, but you certainly feel the force of it push some air from your lungs.

Feelings? There were no feelings. The man who seemingly had feelings for you didn’t exist, and so those apparent feelings didn’t exist right alongside. It was nothing. It meant nothing. Marcus merely had a job, and that’s all you had been to him—work.

Your stunned gaze meets Rigsby’s, and there’s a slight shine of apology in them, though you’re unsure if it’s because of Jane’s words or simply just for Jane in general.

A lump builds in your throat, even after all this time, and you try to swallow it down, try to dislodge it from where it sits at the back of your tongue threatening to choke you fully.

How? How can it still hurt? 

You’d come so far forward, only to have the consultant knock you right back. Confusion overwhelms you—dread, denial. An ache builds around your heart, agonising and familiar and you loathe it. His words… it’s all bullshit, obviously. It must be some sort of sick test or twisted mind game to push you into confessing for something you’re not doing.

Rigsby shuffles, eyes falling away from yours and towards the floor as he shifts in obvious unease. You shake your head, forcing to keep your expression close to something unbothered as you face Jane again.

It’s hard.

You feel it crack—a twitch of a frown, the firm press of your lips to hide their tremble… you hate that he sees it all so clearly. 

“Marcus doesn’t feel anything towards me, except for maybe guilt. I don’t know what you’re thinking, but you’re wrong, Jane. Wrong. It wasn’t real. None of it was real, especially any feelings he had for me.”

He studies you quietly, no doubt taking note of how you draw away and struggle to compose yourself. He eventually nods, saying nothing more, even when you turn away with watery eyes. You’re vaguely aware of Rigsby speaking lowly to the side, but you don’t bother to pay him any mind. 

“And yes, Jane. This is one of mine, but you already knew that, didn’t you?”

It falls from your lips sharply, mockingly. You turn and leave them both standing in front of the replica you’d completed for the FBI, their eyes on your back as you attempt to stride out of the spacious room with your last shred of dignity.

-

[tigreblvnc]

NSFW BLUE LOCK MATCHUP EXCHANGE — @o-sachi / @chimi-cheese-fries

— Karasu Tabito

✦ What attracts him? Strong-willed individuals who destabilize his judgment and paralyze him on the spot. It means he can’t anticipate your movements or read what you’re thinking.

✦ Typically, any behavior that can send his incisive sarcasm packing.

✦ In fact: the more you push him away, the more you resist… the more he falls under your spell.

✦ And the more he will persist in wanting to learn about you, analyze, understand.

✦ Sometimes, there are things that the mind alone can’t grasp. It requires the physical.

✦ It needs… something that’s not given to everyone.

✦ I swear, the guy has gone to great lengths just to have the right to give you even a caress on the cheek. He’s even become shy, that’s saying something. Him, Karasu, the great assassin on the grass. Reduced to a little bird who doesn’t know anything.

✦ It’s not entirely true. The crow knows what to do once back at the nest.

✦ And in his own particular way, he knows how to take care of someone he loves. It’s just that before you, he didn’t do it often.

✦ But, well. Sarcasm has no impact on you. He’s understood that being sincere is the only way to earn his place by your side.

✦ The fact that you’re particularly difficult and demanding to satisfy represents the greatest challenge in the world for him.

✦ He appears calm in the middle of the grass, but once the door is closed, it’s another story, and you can see how excited the guy is.

✦ Experienced, and it shows, it’s felt. That said, he’s pointed out to you (and it’s almost a privilege given his proud nature) that with you, he feels like he’s losing all his skills. The need to please you above all else sometimes makes him less confident; he takes the time to stop along the way to look up at you and seek your reaction.

✦ He finds comfort in your kisses, your hands in his hair, still full of gel. You enjoy messing up those too-well-styled strands. You savor it because Karasu would never let anyone undo what he spends so much time styling every morning.

✦ Not rough, but in a hurry. And sometimes, in his eagerness, he can forget some manners.

✦ It has happened a few times that he takes you with too little preparation. So he always has to wait for your warm walls to get used to his invasive presence.

✦ Meanwhile, Karasu lies on top of you, breathing frenetically, his sex nestled and impatient. But as long as you don’t give the go-ahead, the assassin won’t move.

✦ And he aims well, this killer. He always knows how to find the most sensitive spot, directing the head of his pleasure there to shake you on the table or against the wall.

✦ He doesn’t care where you do it: as long as you do it.

✦ Quickies between two football sessions.

✦ He loves doing it on the roof against the fence. In the car coming back from the restaurant. The panic of being spotted by passersby, but continuing anyway. In the shower, against the wall.

✦ A fantasy? Doing it quickly in the elevator as the next stop approaches.

✦ A beast at cunnilingus. His precision is incredible, the tip of his tongue: merciless. Just like when he’s on the field, he targets with accuracy and harasses your bud until you’re trembling uncontrollably.

✦ He doesn’t necessarily stop for that. He loves seeing you squirm in every direction and beg him to stop…

✦ And he likes to grab your wrists and throw them over your head, kiss you and penetrate you at the same time, your bodies bumping against the headboard.

✦ "Does it feel good, babe?"

✦ In your moments of ardor, he sometimes scratches the skin of your thighs while holding them. He seems to regret marking you but can’t help feeling a certain satisfaction in marking his territory on your skin when you’re in public. It’s his personal way of letting others know that you belong to him.

✦ He loves when you can’t move and are at his mercy.

✦ His favorite spots to bite? Jugular, thighs, and under your lower abdomen.

✦ He adores your stomach. He often falls asleep there after making love. All your romantic dinners and picnics always end with sensual caresses under the table or under your dress.

✦ He can spend entire hours on foreplay, and in those moments, your good boy likes to disobey all your requests to prolong the pleasure without ever reaching orgasm. Quiet, he tends to stifle all his moans on your skin or in the sheets. And if he knows how to control himself throughout: it’s because he can’t hold back his moans once hit by orgasm. At that point, the whole house hears him.

✦ Sometimes, a window is left open, and the outside world can hear the pleasure that is devouring your insides…

✦ He blushes because he finds his way of climaxing really too loud.

✦ A detail that amazes him: when your thighs close around his cock because his size is always too big for you.

✦ He remains inside you even after he cums. He falls asleep like that because it keeps him warm, he feels at home.

✦ His rare moments of patience are dedicated to accompanying you when you want to try a new position with him. He knows it so well, it’s almost dramatic, and at the same time, the fact that he knows exactly how to position you and use the furniture around you to create the best possible conditions is profoundly seductive.

✦ What he refuses to admit? He fantasizes about seeing you dominate him and ride him. Seeing you lead, impose your rhythm, and prevent him from climaxing. Even forbidding him to do so unless you’ve given the green light. Simply being under your command. After all, Mr. likes strong-willed people. Those who resist, silence him.

✦ He’ll hit the ceiling the day you tell him you want to try more extreme things.

✦ Not that the guy is eager to tie you up everywhere, but… It’s a way for him to regain some control when he’s definitely lost the upper hand with you.

✦ A mix of passionate tenderness and raw honesty. Never mean; he has a principle of refraining from any action that isn’t desired.

✦ Always thinking of you even at Blue Lock.

✦ He has an entire folder of photos of your nudes well hidden on his phone, and damn, he missed them when he was deprived of them upon entering the complex!

✦ The option to "get your phone back" was his first choice when he was finally able to start exchanging his points thanks to scoring goals.

✦ My God, that man jerked off looking at the pictures you left him before you left.

✦ "I missed you so much, baby. Fuck, I came four times in a row."

✦ But the crow still has reserves, and expect him to come looking for you as soon as he gets out of the block.

✦ He’s not the most expressive boyfriend in public, you know, but he furrows his brows as soon as someone gets too close to you.

✦ At that moment, the assassin suddenly becomes very possessive.

✦ He’s the type to make a darkly sarcastic comment when something bothers him because the crow is too proud to say things clearly.

✦ But he always feels guilty about being jealous and apologizes to you.

✦ "What would you like tonight?"

✦ His tactic? Generally, a restaurant and a nighttime stroll by the canal. You know perfectly well that such evenings always end with fireworks in bed.

✦ Incisive on the field and persistent… that’s what others know about him.

✦ But they don’t know that once he’s with you, he turns into someone else.

✦ As I said, he’s not rough but not completely shy either, far from it.

✦ Except that your well-being is of utmost importance to him; he constantly seeks your gaze to check if you’re okay. If he can continue. How you'd like him to do.

✦ For example, on days when you come back exhausted from work. He quickly understands how he can help you unwind.

✦ Silent, he slips behind you to wrap his arms around your waist and nestle his nose into your neck.

✦ He says nothing. He simply lets himself be covered by your scent. It excites him, and after a few caresses on your stomach and breasts, you can feel something pressing against the lower part of your back.

✦ You can’t help but smile. Seeing the desire that consumes your man and the fact that his body can’t lie, especially not to you.

✦ "Were you that jealous when Otoya talked to me?" you murmur, mischief in your eyes.

✦ "Tch. You ask, but you already know. Don’t make me repeat it… I don’t like it when that idiot gets too close to you."

✦ And then your hand glides, seeking the object of his desires that you massage blindly. You know that shape and its contours perfectly. Igniting your man’s fire doesn’t take long.

✦ The crow is receptive but doesn’t have much patience this time, it's been a while (well, one day). His hands go under your thighs, and against the kitchen table, he places you down without hurting you.

✦ And then the dance can start again.

© TIGREBLVNC 2024 | INTERESTED IN A MATCHUP EXCHANGE? CHECK THIS.

[elnathsstar]

Listen, I am aromantic, but it's getting cold and dark and I so desperately want somebody who I can cuddle under my covers with, somebody I can teach to dance, somebody I can drag outside at night when we're supposed to be inside, and it's so cold that it could start snowing any minute, or maybe already be snowing, and then we would go and sit in the dark at the lake with the lights while listening to Taylor Swift and sharing my headphones, and then dancing around outside to mirrorball and not caring who sees us because we are so madly platonically in love with each other that we only care about the other. I want somebody to drag around charity shops while I plan my Halloween costume, and my birthday outfit, and the outfit for the various Christmas parties I will take them too- even the one hosted by the church that I usually end up just sitting in a side room watching whatever Nativity movie they put on for the entire time. The kids would ask if we were dating, and we'd just look at each other and giggle, while my parents and grandparents who are watching us bicker over an Uno game are thinking about how pure our love is. Kisses are always an option, but never pushed for, and even if the other person liked me romantically they would be okay with and understand how I don't feel the exact same way, but I still love them so so much. Like a platonic soulmate. We would share clothes, and I'd save them a piece of my birthday cake, if they weren't already there for it. We would go on walks together, and they would be one of the first people I call when the cold weather is affecting my mood or my health, and then they would come over unprompted with something sweet and a hoodie. We would both chill on my bed, not caring about how cramped it is or the fact that my bed is a high rise so we can't sit up straight, because we don't have any trouble with being close to the other, and on days where it may be hard to be physically close to someone, they would sit back patiently and read me a chapter of whatever book we had picked up, pausing to add their own witty comments and applauding me when I guess what will happen next accurately. We wouldn't even necessarily be 'dating'- and we wouldn't label what we had as romantic, despite the dates and the kisses and the cuddles, and we'd both be fine with it. We would just exist together, in the same space, comfortably.

I want to be wanted.