#penultimate part. just one more.

[cloudbattrolls]

Front Step

This drabble is preceded by Back Step and followed by Last Dance.

Guardian Artifice & Róisín Perkin | Castle of Roses | Present Night

A few hours later, Arty finished dosing the wine, dropped its invisibility and disguise tech setup, and went off to find Róisín.

It knocked on her door, half hoping she’d answer, half hoping -

“Oh, hey.” Yawned the kelpie, rubbing his eyes. “What’re ya doin’ here so late in the day?”

It bonked its head against his shoulder and he blinked rapidly with shock.

“I…don’t want to be alone.” It admitted, then scowled. “Don’t take this the wrong way. I’m not here to sleep with you. I just…”

It hugged itself.

“I don’t like to be alone for too long.”

It said in a distant voice.

“Uh, sure. C’mon in then.” Said the fae in a baffled voice, stepping back to let the artifice walk inside their room.

Arty looked around at the roses painted all over the walls, the rich tapestries of hunts and gardens hanging down, ones that must be preserved by magic given how old they looked. 

The colored thread still gleamed in the low torchlight, and beautifully carved wooden furniture with various objects and clothes scattered around it filled the space around the giant, luxurious bed.

“M’not home much, but s’always nice when I am.” Róisín said as the construct looked around. 

“Yes.” It murmured. “Your staff seem very loyal.”

“Shit, I gotta be good to ‘em, who else is gonna keep this place goin’?” She said with a chuckle. “Had most of ‘em fer as long as I’ve been alive, before the age of iron.”

“Right. It’s gold that doesn’t bother you, isn’t it?”

“Nawp.” He confirmed. “Why d’ya think leprechauns have it in stories? Gran’ed, those’re mostly bunk, that rainbow an’pot shit - but they got one thing right.”

“Every fae has an aspect, or so it seems.” Arty said, walking further in, hands clasped behind its back.

“A lot of us.” Róisín agreed. “Nobles do, an’ some lower folk.”

It looked at her, so piercingly the kelpie’s tail flicked in mild discomfort.

“An aspect determined when you’re hatched, isn’t it? Or born. Grown. I admit I’m not an expert on fae biology.”

“Could be any.” They said honestly. “We ain’t all alike, you know that. The disease folk are the oldest of us all, they come into bein’ when new diseases do. M’told I had parents, but I don’t remember ‘em. Prob’ly died fighting trolls, or some other race.”

The casualness in the fae’s voice surprised the artifice, and its eyebrows rose curiously.

“Eh, I never met ‘em, s’no big deal to me.” They said with a shrug. “My attendants raised me, an’ they’re all I ever needed.”

“So you don’t hate trolls for that?”

Róisín chuckled.

“Trolls do a lotta dumb shit. But I ain’t one of those idjits who thinks the planet’s better off without ‘em. Even if we could get rid of ‘em all and resettle, the fleet would just crush us. Things would be a lot more borin’ anyway.”

“And you’d have fewer easy dinners.” It drawled.

The kelpie’s tail flicked.

“Well, ya.” They said, puzzled. “I know you don’ like it, but that’s how things are sometimes. Some of us eat ‘em. Hell, sometimes they eat each other. You don’ eat, you wouldn’ get it.”

It hissed in displeasure, ears flattening as its hair fluffed out.

“You don’t have to eat them! You’re not undead. At least they have an excuse. You do it because you can’t be bothered to plan your life so you don’t have to resort to murder to feed yourself!”

Róisín scratched her neck, clearly unbothered by its words as it clenched its freckled fists.

“C’n we agree to disagree? Cause this ain’t goin’ nowhere.”

“No.” It said tightly. “We can’t.”

It turned to leave.

The kelpie stretched out an arm, clearly intending to put a hand on the artifice’s shoulder, then dropped it.

Arty paused.

“What would it take for you to never eat a troll again?”

Róisín blinked.

“Uh. I dunno. T’always have enough free food around? Most of it belongs to ‘em and ya gotta pay. Can’ even take sheep and stuff no more without someone shootin’ ya. Can’t eat someone’s lusus without pissin’ em off so bad they wanna kill ya for it. Then the monster hunters come, an’ th’empire, an -“

It sighed deeply, two fingers pressed to its forehead.

“All right, I get it. I suppose those are fair points. And a commentary on how much the imperials have messed things up.” It mutters. “No matter what I do, I can’t fix what they’ve done…not that I was ever supposed to. I was only meant to protect one city.”

It sighed deeply and wearily. “Never mind. I can see this is more complex than I realized. But can’t fae raise your own food? You have realms of your own, yes?”

“Well, ya.” Róisín said, still puzzled. “But I spend most of m’time on Alternia, an’ I can’t just hop back and forth like a flea. I gotta find a gate, and s’gotta be for the right court. Why d’ya think we had to come all this way? S’not as easy as it used t’be. We gotta be careful, of trolls an’ of other courts. We ain’t all buddies, y’know, any more than every troll gets along.”

It shut its eyes for a moment.

It didn’t regret preparing its plan. Something had to be done.

But if it had known all this before…

“Why spend time on Alternia, then?” It said shortly. 

Róisín snorted. “Cause the fae realms are only so big…? Even workin’ together, we ain’t powerful enough to make anythin’ like a whole region. Shit, I’d be bored to death if I stayed there. Wanderin’ is way better.”

Its ears flicked up and down.

“Why should we hafta be cooped up when trolls get a whole planet an’ more, huh?” They continued, shaking their head. “Tha’s not fair.”

“Neither is eating them.” It muttered. “How would you like it if trolls came and started eating fae?”

Róisín laughed.

“Shit, they’ve done it before. They used t’hunt us, y’know. Y’think no one’s ever wondered what kelpie meat tastes like? C’n hardly blame ‘em, I look delicious.” She said, hands on her hips as she chuckled.

Arty shook its head.

“You sound almost proud of that.”

“Why not? I’sa compliment.”

“I wouldn’t want anyone to think of consuming me in any way.” It said with a sniff.

There was a pause.

“Then why d’ya look like a pretty twink as a troll?” Róisín said, genuinely puzzled.

It put both hands over its face.

“It wasn’t intentional…” It groaned, voice muffled by its fingers as Róisín cracked up.

“Yer so innocent.” He remarked, deeply amused. “Or d’ya really not see things like we do?”

It blinked, dropping its hands and putting a finger to its chin as it tilted its head.

“Of course I don’t.” It retorted, tone more puzzled than annoyed. “A lot of your faces look alike to me. In your case, your size and way of speaking help me distinguish you. And your hair and ears.”

“Hehe.” Said the kelpie, clearly pleased by the list of traits. “Like what ya see?”

“I don’t care.” Stated Arty bluntly as Róisín pouted.

“Ya don’t always not care, though. I bet ya’d get real flustered if yer crush got up close to ya.”

It paused.

“Knew it.” Said the fae with a smug smirk.

“You’re not right for the reasons you think.” It retorted, arms crossed.

The kelpie sat down on her big bed and patted the spot next to her.

“Come explain t’me, then.”

It took a few steps toward the bed, then stopped.

“I…” it said, then paused. “It’s not how trolls or fae or other fully organic beings feel attracted to one another. At least, not quite the same…”

It clasped its hands in front of it, ears lowered.

“I am light, here, in my most basic form.” It murmured. “Before I was this, I was connected to everything. Now it’s so much dimmer…so much weaker, unless I sacrifice myself for someone else, for a brief moment…but I can still see it, somewhat, the rest of my light. It runs through everything.”

It sighed with longing.

“She shines, you know. The leaping electricity in her body, her connections to other trolls, to her hive, her lusus, her magic…she’s so full of possibilities. She’s so herself…so beautiful in her myriad of what she has been, is, and could be…”

It shook its head, laughing a little helplessly.

“I shouldn’t love! I should never love. It shouldn’t be possible. It doesn’t make sense. But I can’t - stop. I can only hope it fades…that I never offend or disturb her…”

The artifice trailed off, shaking its head.

“I look away. I ignore things for their privacy, I make myself forget, and I try not to stare at them. I know they wouldn’t like it if I looked at them too much, no one would.”

It hugged itself, ears flattened.

“Maybe that will be enough. Maybe she won’t hate me if she ever finds out.”

It shut its eyes.

“But I wouldn’t blame her if she did.”

It heard Róisín get off the bed and walk toward it. It didn’t move. It smelled and felt him stand near it, very close.

“Do y’want a hug?” She asked, very gently.

Arty leaned forward into the kelpie’s soft, wide belly and went limp, allowing him to support it with his thick, hairy arms around its body.

It felt…nice.

It shouldn’t. The artifice knew it shouldn’t indulge itself. The rest of the plan was working; this didn’t need to be a part of it.

On the other hand, maybe it could turn this to its advantage.

It withdrew, and Róisín let it go, and it drew the domino they’d given it out of its sylladex.

The kelpie looked at it blankly.

“What’re ya holdin’ there? Yer hand is shaped like ya got somethin’ pinched in it, but I can’ see shit.”

Its eyebrows raised.

“Huh. So even though you gave this to me, you can’t see it now? Is that the enchantment?”

“Oh, th’domino.” Róisín laughed, realizing what was happening. “Ya, I’m not great with magic, but I c’n do little spells. That one’s not visible to anyone ‘cept the person who has it til they point it out. Great fer winnin’ games.”

“Interesting.” Arty mused, and put it away again.

It walked back a few steps, ears flicking.

“I’ll let you get back to sleep.”

Róisín waved at it, watching the artifice leave and close the door behind it.

He sighed as soon as he was sure it was gone.

“Now I gotta deliver you to them…well, no fixin’ that, but I’m not gonna do what they said otherwise. They’re on their damn own.” She said with a chuckle. 

Then her expression fell again.

Sure, it was dangerous. Dangerous as hell and twice as strange, but shit, hardly the only thing out there like that.

It wasn’t right, what they wanted to do to it. She wished she hadn’t told them a damn thing.

She wished she hadn’t followed their damn orders like she always damn did even though she’d left to get away from that shit.

It was in their blood, that was the thing. They’d always followed their kings, queens, and lieges, just as the lesser nobility’s attendants had always followed them. 

There was no harder thing for a fae than ignoring that hierarchy completely. 

They were already coming to take it away.

Róisín hung her head.

It was too late. She’d made her choice.

Hadn’t she?

[nereidprinc3ss]

do you believe me now? | 7

in which spencer reid and inexperienced!fem reader sleep together for the first time

series masterlist

18+ (smut) warnings/tags: loss of virginity, oral f/m receiving, so much praise, pain during sex, unprotected sex, cr**mp**, bit of overstim, soft dom spence, if u don't like that freak shit (love and intimacy) this is not for u, spencer is a nerd, they're both nerds actually and that factors in heavily, you may get more from this part by FIRST reading how they met in this bonus chapter a/n: thank you all for being patient, ilysm, this was the most laborious thing i've ever done for no reason and also this part changed so many times and is not what i expected it to be so pls go in with tempered expectations and keep in mind that this story is more about the characters and their specific relationship dynamic than just being porn. i truly have no idea how you guys will react to this but i sincerely hope you love it and them like i do<3 also it's twice as long as the other parts so feedback would be very very appreciated! again i love u all and enjoy the penultimate part!

Spencer’s lips are on yours, and you weren’t expecting it—hell, you weren’t expecting him to be in your apartment. After all, he’d wished you goodnight and walked out only a moment ago.

“Spencer—wh—” 

But he’s insistent with his lips, kissing you bruisingly over and over like there’s nectar on your tongue and he’s parched for you. Still, he has enough decency to not completely ignore you, exhaling a quick excuse over your flushed lips. 

“I missed you.”

This time, though, you dodge his hungry kiss. Part of you thinks, as he watches you, eyes alight and breathing heavily, that he sort of likes your playing hard to get. It’s not something you do very often, admittedly. 

“We’ve been apart for like, maybe a minute.”

“I didn’t even make it to the parking lot.”

Your face heats.  

“Well you can’t just—you can’t just walk in like that! And I thought you said we weren’t supposed to mix fighting with pleasure.”

“Then start locking your door. And I thought you said we weren’t fighting.”

You roll your eyes in response, though your heart is still pittering in your chest. 

At least his hands move to your arms, stroking up and down relatively chastely—although he has this way of making everything seem intimate. Especially when paired with those amber eyes of his—glowing like a candlelight beacon in the window guiding you home. He speaks in low, appeasing tones and darts his tongue over his lips. 

“I originally said it’s a bad idea for couples to sleep together after an argument. But you know—makeup sex is ubiquitous across culture and time because it works. Anger and arousal trigger a lot of the same hormones, specifically norepinephrine which is involved in feelings of longing and—”

“Spencer.”

“You know what else?” He mutters in a way that feels dangerous. “It tends to feel better than regular sex.”

That earns a shaky exhale from you. Whether from irritation or arousal is anyone’s guess—probably a combination of both. 

“So you came back to fuck me?”

It’s probably evident to Spencer from your choice of language that this already isn’t going exactly as he’d planned. He doesn’t answer right away—just regards you, gaze bouncing between your two eyes like he’s trying to calculate your level of anger. 

“Is that what we’re calling it now?”

You push him away and move to walk down the hall. 

“Maybe your window of opportunity has passed.”

A warm hand wraps around your wrist in the dark of the hallway and he pulls you back until you’re falling against something tall and warm and lean. The smell of polished amber and sandalwood overwhelms your senses. 

“What’s wrong, angel? What happened in the minute I was gone to change your mind?” His voice is scratchy like a favorite record. It’s the voice he could hold you captive with. The one you have a very difficult time saying no to. 

“I don’t know,” you mutter, unintentionally leaning back against him. “What happened to change yours?”

His response comes pressed against your ear, half-lost in your hair. 

“You’re upset that I changed my mind. I thought you wanted this, honey.”

“I do,” you admit, letting your head fall back against his shoulder and bringing his arm to wrap around you. “And if you hadn’t walked out earlier I would’ve done it. But… I’m tired of us doing everything on your timeline. You just… you expect me to be amenable to what you want, constantly.” His nose and lips press into your shoulder. 

“What do you mean?”

“Like… I’ve been begging you to sleep with me for I don’t even know how long. And you keep changing your mind, and I feel like you’re being really confusing about it. Obviously you don’t have to sleep with me, you never did, but I just feel kind of… jerked around. And you did it again tonight.”

A beat of silence. 

“I understand your frustration,” he appeases, securing both his arms around you. You cling weakly to his wrist, to his warmth, like he’s a tether in a storm. “Would you prefer to wait until you initiate it?”

“No. Yes! I don’t know,” you huff, disentangling yourself from his arms and continuing toward your bedroom. “Now I’m annoyed at you again.”

He follows you right through the door. 

“Just tell me what to do! I don’t want to be annoying.”

“I can’t. I’m being unreasonable.” You flick on your adjoining bathroom light and examine yourself in the mirror. Yeesh. The eye makeup situation is abysmal after all the crying that has taken place over the course of the evening. 

“So choose to be reasonable and tell me what you want from me. I’ll give it to you.”

You frown at your reflection, pushing your hair back and rubbing at some excess mascara. 

“No, you’re not understanding me. I’m not choosing to be unreasonable. My thought process regarding the situation is inherently unreasonable and there’s nothing I can do about it because it’s just the way I feel.”

“The feeling being that I’ve been too domineering over how our sexual relationship has unfolded?”

Spencer watches you in the bathroom mirror, leaning against the door frame with his arms crossed as you tip some makeup remover onto a reusable cotton pad. You try not to check him out as you nod, but it’s impossible—with his sleeves rolled up to show defined forearms cradled in capable hands, and his hair all messy. 

When he pushes off the wall you freeze, unsure of his next move—until he’s gently spinning you around and taking the bottle and cloth from your hands. 

“Maybe it would help,” he begins, soft as he focuses on the new task, carefully bringing the round to your right eye so he can remove the bleeding mascara. You allow your eyes to flutter shut. “If I remind you why I’ve been so hesitant.”

“Because you hate giving me joy.”

He laughs, nothing more than one huff from his nose. 

“You’re spoiled and we both know it.”

Point taken, as he gently wipes your makeup away for you. Your silence is his cue to continue. 

“Everything I said about worrying that you would regret choosing me is true. It was especially true when I thought you felt lukewarm toward me. And all of that confusing stuff I said in the phone is true too—having sex for the first time is incredibly intimate and weird and sometimes scary. If you’re not 100% sure about your partner, or if you think your feelings are unrequited, it’s hard to be completely comfortable in such a vulnerable situation and your likelihood of getting hurt or having regrets skyrockets. I know that from experience. I wanted better for you than what I got. Still, I know it was wrong to project my feelings about the significance of sex onto you. In that regard, you’re right. I was being domineering, and I guess… I guess to an extent I’m still deflecting. I shouldn’t be trying to pretend like it’s about you when in reality I mostly just didn’t want to get hurt again. I didn’t want to go through that again, and that’s okay, but I shouldn’t have made you feel like it was something you could have changed.”

You try to process that. 

“Go through what?” You whisper hoarsely. Something about having him at such close range while he takes such care with you feels whisper-y. 

“Sleeping with someone who didn’t love me back.”

Your reply is small. 

“Oh. Right.”

How could anyone not love him back?

Spencer’s reply is simple and kind, without a hint of, obviously you dumb bitch—which is pretty much what you’re thinking to yourself. 

“Does that make sense, lovely? Do you understand why I wanted to wait?”

He lets you ponder for a while in comfortable-enough silence as he finishes removing your eye makeup with a characteristically gentle hand. When you open your eyes, he looks genuinely content, screwing the lid back on the bottle as if he’s got an eternity to wait for your answer. 

“Yeah. That part makes sense. But why did you seem so… I don’t know, like, wishy-washy about it?”

Spencer’s eyes dart up to meet yours, brows slightly raised. Then a small laugh bubbles up from somewhere inside him. 

“Because I’m obsessed with you. I thought about you like that constantly. I still do.”

Your breath catches at the casual admission. 

“Oh.”

Spencer hums, setting the bottle down before tenderly thumbing away some excess mascara that he must have missed from under your eye. 

“You didn’t think it was easy for me, did you?”

“Well… kind of,” you admit, tracking his eyes until they meet yours. 

“Not sleeping with you has been among the hardest things I’ve ever done. Especially when you started begging me. That first time, when I picked you up from Penelope’s and you asked me why we hadn’t had sex yet…”

He trails off, still rubbing at your cheek as he loses himself in thought. 

Eventually, you grow impatient, prompting, “what?”

“It’s not a nice thought.”

“Well, you have to tell me now,” you insist. 

He half smiles, thumb straying to your lips. 

“It was just… you had no idea what you were talking about, and you were ready to throw a tantrum in my living room until I gave you what you thought you wanted. Part of me was imagining bending you over the couch right then, since you thought you were so ready.”

It feels like someone has snipped the pulley that keeps your stomach in place. 

“Spencer,” you splutter, convinced your cheek is tangibly heating under his touch as your head reels at the revelation that he could have such a deeply dirty and mildly sinister mind. 

“I told you it wasn’t nice.”

You swallow. 

“Is that… is that still what you want?”

His brows flicker again and he tucks hair behind your ear. 

“To bend you over my couch? No.”

Your face warms even more and you turn to leave the bathroom, sick of his teasing. 

“Okay, goodni—”

“Hold on.” Spencer catches you by your waist and pulls you back into him for the second time tonight. A dangerous smile pulls at the corners of his mouth. “I know what you meant. And no, I don’t want to bend you over my couch.” He laughs, slipping a hand under your shirt to rub your back. “You know what I want. I’m more interested in learning what you want.”

“I want…” Your eyes dance between his, and your heart flutters against the confines of your chest as you realize what you’ve wanted for so long is finally yours for the taking. “I want to stop talking about it.”

His expression neutralizes and you know it’s probably intentional to stop whatever feelings you assume him to be having color your decision. 

“Oh?”

“I just think we’ve talked about it enough.”

Before he can say another word, or ask you another question, you kiss him with such passion there’s no way he can doubt how much you want this. 

Only a moment passes before he allows himself to lean into it, cupping your face between reverent hands and taking control of the pace of the kiss, slowing it down until you can hardly breathe. Your little noise of want has him quickening the process, pressing against you until you’re walking backward out of the bathroom. It’s like the first crack in a dam. After that, everything becomes inevitable. 

Your knees hit the back of the bed and you sit down hard on the mattress, smiling up at him. You skim the front of his thighs with your palms as he smooths your hair.

Spencer groans, leaning down and kissing you til you’re on your back. 

“Don’t make that face.”

An affronted huff from you breaks the kiss up and he pulls back to study your expression. 

“What do you mean don’t make that face? I was just smiling at you.”

“I know you were. And you have such a pretty smile it makes me feel guilty about… defiling you.”

Your brows flicker up and your mouth drops open with an affronted scoff.

“Watch yourself. I’ll defile you.”

“You already have,” he admits with a half-laugh as he kisses you again. “My mind was never this dirty before we met.”

“Hm. Tell me you like my smile.”

He pauses and then chuckles dryly against your mouth. 

“I love your smile. You’re gorgeous. Any more demands?”

Pleased, you shake your head and pull him closer, wrapping your legs around his waist. 

“Not currently.”

“Really?” he murmurs, trailing kisses over your cheek and down your jaw, “I’d do just about anything you asked me right now. You don’t want to take advantage of that?”

The sensation of his lips just below your ear threatens all rational thought in your brain, but you manage a reply with only a slight delay and a hint of a waver coloring your tone. 

“I shouldn’t have to demand things. You should just know to do them.”

His kisses drag lower, warm and unhurried and you’re trying not to let your hyper-sensitivity from going a week completely untouched show—but you doubt he misses the way your breath catches, or the barely audible squeaks, or the arch of your back or the tightening grip on his shirt. 

“Well, for future reference—” he nips at a sensitive spot and you gasp quietly, even as you tilt your head to offer him more access. More room to bite, if he so chooses. “—I happen to enjoy it when you make demands of me. Especially when those demands entail letting me call you pretty.”

“I’ve never not let you call me pretty before,” you huff. It’s a touchy subject, and Spencer can probably sense your hackles rising, but he has you right where he wants you and so he pushes anyway. 

“No. But you never believe me. We’ve had this conversation. You always act like I’m walking you to the gallows when I compliment you.” 

It’s hard to make a defense when he’s leaning his weight onto one arm so he can unbutton your jeans, when he’s looking down at you with sparkling onyx and scorched-earth eyes like you’re something to be consumed. But not violently, no—ardently. Like fruit heavy on the vine. Like you’re a religious rite to the devout and deluded. A sacrament.

But it’s not a blind passion. Spencer knows you; every inch of you and every loose thread on your soul begging to be pulled. He knows you and he still wants you like this. To be perfectly honest, you’d never thought you’d feel comfortable handing yourself over to someone like this—vulnerable and all your layers of armor shed. Never in your life would you have thought you could trust a person so implicitly that you’d hand them a knife and show them exactly where to press, that you’d say, I know once you open me and you see me you’ll not want to change a thing.

You adore him. Cosmically. Enormously. In every dimension. He’s lodged so deep in your heart you have no choice but to love him eternally. 

It’s deep in the midst of all these very profound revelations that you realize Spencer has stalled with your zipper undone. His hand has strayed to your hip, to sweetly push your shirt up and trace love letters into warmed and downy skin with his thumb. 

“I just wish you could see yourself how I see you,” he says softly, the weight of the truth a strain on his vocal cords. 

Sometimes, he is so kind it’s like a punch to your stomach. You’ve never been quite as kind as him. And nobody’s ever been as kind to you as he is. You’ve done nothing to deserve his kindness, but you know he needs a place for it, and you’re here with open arms. 

He studies you a moment longer, swallowing as his eyes trail over your face and lower. You want to reach out and brush strands of caramel hair out of his face, but he seems to be thinking so hard you’re hesitant to distract him. 

“I’ve never told you this, because I know you’d just shoot it down, but… you are genuinely the most beautiful girl I’ve ever met in my life.”

Something twinges in the depths of your stomach—the darker shades who live there and exist solely to whisper not enough not enough not enough to you every minute of every day. 

But they’re simply not a match for the softness you find when you do reach out for his hair, or the way he looks at you. Spencer loosely wraps his fingers around your wrist—not a cuff, but an affectionate hold. 

“Do you believe me?”

There’s so much earnest hope in his voice it almost jars you. He so badly wants you to understand how feels about you—he’s been trying to tell you for months and all you know how to do is refute his praise and insist on your worthlessness. 

Ever since Spencer, you don’t see the faces on magazine covers or in superhero movies, no matter how mathematically flawless they are. Nobody gets close to being as beautiful as he is in your eyes. He’s in an entirely different echelon, and despite how you feel about yourself, you have to accept that he might feel the same about you. 

“I do,” you say, equally soft, and 100% honest. You believe that he believes it, and that’s enough. It’s all that matters. 

The shallow knit of his brow loosens. His lips ease into a suggestion of a smile. But it’s most visible in his eyes—the way smoldering coals reignite, melting the amber glass of his irises until they’re molten. 

The way he kisses you then, you’d think you’d lassoed the moon and pulled it down from the sky for him. But apparently all it takes to make him incandescently, contagiously happy, is to accept a compliment.

There’s a renewed sense of urgency on his breath as he kisses you deeply and quick enough your heart is racing. It only goes faster when he remembers his previous task and begins tugging your jeans down, but he doesn’t even bother to pull them past your knees before his hand is creeping up your thigh. Goosebumps race each other across your body as you try to remember what it feels like—what he feels like. But you can’t, even as his thumb fans over your inner thigh and pushes it open, gently encouraging you to give him more access to you. 

“You’re not wasting any time,” you breathe against him while he traces the edge of your underwear.

“Do you want me to slow down?”

Judging by the way the tips of his fingers only barely shy away from the fabric, he really wants the answer to be no. But you know in his searching gaze that he’d never push you. 

“No, it’s fine. As long as we… don’t go this fast the whole time.”

“We won’t.” The hasty words are of lower priority than the next kiss he plants to your swollen lips. “We won’t. I just missed you so much.”

“Yeah?” You giggle airily as he drags his fingers over your clit through the material, trying to ignore the way it makes your head spin. 

“Yes. Yeah.”

You’re not sure you’ve ever seen him like this, so… desperate for you, as he drops his lips to your neck and presses barely-there kisses everywhere he knows you’re sensitive. Just the feeling of his breath against your skin has you shivering. His hand between your legs only brushes your most nerve-dense spot, but a few touches in and you’re already wound up, like if Spencer doesn’t give you more soon you’ll burst. And not in the good way. 

When he finally commits to actually kissing your neck, you squeak, warmth emanating from that spot just below your jaw all the way to your toes. The frantic energy of earlier is slowly melting away, and he loses focus with his hand, as it begins straying wider, stroking your hip, your inner thigh, your stomach. It’s like your nerve endings are on overdrive, delivering twice as much feedback to your brain as they normally would. Each touch feels like he’s conducting electricity over your body, like you’re a plasma ball. He’d probably like that analogy—you, a core of alternating voltage, and him, the conductor, tracing a path and giving all those electrons an easy release. If you weren’t so distracted, you’d tell Spencer you found a way to work Nikola Tesla into your mutual sex life, and he’d probably propose on the spot. 

But that electricity is building fast—even more so when he drags his lips down just above your collarbone. Your breath hitches, simultaneously trying to crane your neck to give him more room, and curl into him so as to escape the stimulation. Finally he pulls away, and losing the softness of his mouth while the air feels so cold against the places he’d kissed almost hurts. 

“You’re a mess,” he chuckles affectionately, raising his hand to brush hair away from your face before stroking the heated high point of your cheek. “What am I going to do with you?”

It’s teasing, but so low and gentle and honeyed it swirls your stomach. 

“Whatever you want,” you admit quietly. It’s a shy confession more than it is a salacious flirtation because he already has you. And you want nothing more than for him to act on that in any way he so pleases. Whatever he does, it will be careful, and kind, and because he loves you. You know that no matter how he takes you apart—he’ll put you back together again. 

“I don’t know if I can. You’re all jumpy.”

God, he has the prettiest smile—even when it’s twisted with sarcasm and a thin veneer of guilt, like he knows he shouldn’t be teasing and just can’t help himself. 

“I’m not,” you defend, face heating further. “I’m not nervous. I don’t know what it is.”

That sticky sweet tone is back, pooling in his eyes and dripping all over you like nectar as he languidly looks you over. 

“I didn’t say you were nervous. Just a little bit jumpy.”

It’s not accusatory—he’s simply stating a fact. Easy, gentle, designed to soothe. 

You shrug helplessly and chew on your lip, unsure of how he wants you to respond. It’s definitely true that excited as you are, you’re slightly on edge. You feel taut as a string on a guitar, tense and waiting to be yanked at any second. 

His expression is serene, and his thoughts inscrutable as he continues lavishing you with his eyes, down to where he’s lying over you and back up. His lips part, but he doesn’t speak for a moment as he formulates his words. 

“Can we try something? There’s this tantric exercise that might help you relax.”

Your brows draw earnestly and you nod up at him, not requiring any convincing even though you have no idea what he’s talking about. 

Spencer directs you to sit up, and you do—kicking your jeans all the way off so you can sit criss-cross with your hands braced on your ankles. 

He’s next to you on the bed, at a slight angle, one of your knees in his lap. You blink at him. 

“Now what?”

“Now you give me one of your hands,” he says, tone tinted with a hint of an amused smile, as if your impatience is funny to him. Of course it probably is. 

Frowning only a little, you unlock your left arm and hold it out for him, watching curiously as he takes your one hand between his and flips it palm-up. 

“Did you know,” Spencer begins, voice low and confidential, “that the fingertips are the second most sensitive part of the human body?”

“What’s the first?”

“Lips,” he murmurs, eyes fixed on your hand where he’s brushing the tips of your fingers light enough it almost tickles. “They’re both incredibly important for keeping you alive, which is why they’re one and two. But you’ll be particularly sensitive anywhere you’re vulnerable.” His words are trailing off as he brushes his thumb over your palm and to the delicate skin of your wrist. “Like here.”

His knuckles skim up your forearm, to the crook of your elbow. 

“And especially here.”

You’re fascinated as he traces back down the length of your arm and over your inner-wrist, feather light. Then up once more, with the blunted edges of his nails, and your breath catches. You’ve never noticed how sensitive such an innocuous part of your body could be, but it has your stomach flipping—more so when he looses a breathy laugh. “You know, some people are actually able to reach orgasm just by light stimulation to this area.”

Your response is just as airy—you don’t recognize your voice when it comes out like that, hanging in the pitch black between you. 

“Really?” 

An affirmative hum from him, as he lifts your hand and places an intentional kiss over your pulse at the bend of your wrist. Your chest aches and heat is pooling in your stomach as his gently trails them up the delicate skin of your arm. Maybe you should be embarrassed by the reaction you’re having—after all, it’s just your arm. But he treats every part of you like it warrants love and attention and intimacy. Even the parts you typically ignore. Certainly parts you never considered to be sexually or romantically relevant. It’s dizzying. It’s like magic. 

“Arms up,” Spencer finally directs, just as sweetly as he’s doing everything else, and helps you tug your shirt over your head. Every brush of fabric, every seam against your skin registers more than it normally would. Everything is heightened, and despite your state of undress you’re still warm. “Your neck is really sensitive, too. It’s the most commonly acknowledged erogenous zone.”

Erogenous zone. Of course this all comes back to biology. 

“Tilt your head for me, honey.”

Utterly entranced and useless to not abide by him, you do so. Spencer brushes your hair over your shoulder, and if the slip of it down your back weren’t enough, the graze of his fingertips against the nape of your neck has you shivering. 

The warmth of him at your throat feels completely brand new, despite having already had his lips there only minutes before. But now they ghost over your skin with a kind of novelty, and your own lips part in silent pleasure, head lolling to allow him greater access.

“Lie back.”

Without hesitation (but perhaps a bit sluggishly in your stupor) you obey, sliding down until you’re propped up only by pillows once more. Spencer takes his place propped above you once more, thighs slotted with yours as he quickly picks up where he left off. 

The sweet kisses are perfect and feel so much better than you’d ever thought to notice before—but at the same time your core aches and there’s that pressure building again that’s starting to get to you. 

“Spencer,” you try, and it comes out hoarse but you don’t care at all. “More.”

“You want me to leave marks?” 

And the offer is so tempting you’ll wait a few more minutes to ask for what you really need, nodding semi-frantically and ‘mhm’-ing desperately. 

As he gently latches onto a spot that will require concealer later but feels fantastic for now, one of his hands slips down your side, just barely letting his nails skim, and your back actually arches. It’s a shocking amount of stimulation for being nowhere near any sexual hotspots. That tiny caught breath dissolves as his fingers continue down just as lightly over your hip and thigh. Your muscles tense as you chase and run away from the feeling. It’s ridiculous.

There’s no point in trying to keep your eyes open now—they grow heavy and you let them fall shut as he sucks another love bite to your throat. 

“Feels good, doesn’t it? It’s kind of weird.” He says, voicing your thoughts as he eventually decides the mark will be sufficiently dark. 

“Yeah,” you agree, lacking all eloquence as he caresses every sensitive place you didn’t know you had and your hips writhe minutely in a little desperate dance of your own creation. 

“Most people aren’t aware of the potential of the erogenous zones that aren’t actual sex organs. They don’t pay attention to them. You know what else is an interesting function of erotic stimulation to areas that aren’t directly involved in reproduction?”

“Hm,” you hum as his hand skims to your back. You lean into it and he promptly undoes your bra with a single hand—a skill you’re not even sure you have. 

“It releases not quite as much oxytocin as an orgasm but more than sexual pleasure alone. So you’re less tense before sex than you usually would be, and you’re primed to build more trust and feel more connected with your partner during.”

God, he’s a nerd. And it’s so, so hot. 

You roll over on your back again and look up at him through half-lidded eyes. The corner of his mouth flickers as he takes in your expression, before trailing downward, following the path his fingertips make over your skin as they tug the straps over your shoulders. Trying to stop him, to be shy, would be a pointless venture. He’s seen you like this and you want him to see you again. 

A shaky exhale of his own brings a little smile to your face as he pulls your bra away and observes the newly bared skin with a hunger that you can feel. 

“I missed you,” he murmurs, eyes cast pointedly down and thumb brushing over the side of your right breast. 

“You mentioned.”

“I’m not allowed to say it again?” He teases, leaning down to kiss you soft. Your lips curve against his. 

“You can say it as many times as you want.”

Spencer hums, finally thumbing over your breast’s sensitive peak. It sends a chill down your back and seeing as you’re already worked up to the point of near insanity, the pleasure from such a simple touch is much stronger than it would be otherwise. 

“Good. Because I missed you a lot.”

After that, he doesn’t waste much time—only toying with your flesh for another minute as he kisses you before his hand is skimming down your abdomen and dipping below the waistband of your underwear. 

“Please,” you whisper, tilting your hips toward him when he doesn’t move to touch you anymore. 

“Please what?”

“Spencer, don’t.”

He smiles at this, pressing another kiss to the corner of your mouth as his hand travels lower. Fingers slip between wet folds and he begins making the lightest of circles over your clit. 

“You’ve probably been waiting long enough, huh? I should be nicer.”

Your answer is a breathy almost-whine as you seek more friction against his hand. 

“Yeah.”

“Yeah,” he agrees, pressing down harder. The sensation sends sparks down to your toes and you attempt to clamp your legs shut around his wrist. “These need to stay open,” Spencer chuckles, “or else I can’t help you.”

“Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize.” The words are a sweet sing-song against your cheek as he kisses you there, before hooking his fingers into the fabric of your underwear and pulling down. You try to help wiggle out of them as best you can, gasping when he tosses them away and immediately returns his hand between your legs. He dips his head down, tongue lathing over your breast, and teases you with the tip of one finger circling around your entrance. 

“I need—”

“Shh. Let me worry about it.”

With that, he’s dipping his ring and middle fingers just barely inside of you to the first knuckle, then back out, before pushing a bit deeper, and repeating the cycle until they’re as far as they’ll go. When he slowly starts fucking you with them, still mouthing sweetly at your breast, you’re ready to melt. 

The room is quiet except for your breathy mewls, the lewd, wet sound of his fingers inside of you, and the blood rushing in your ears. Soon your breast pops from between his lips and he finds somewhere else to leave his mark. Spencer is turning you into a work of art, with his fingers, with his mouth. You don’t mind at all. You’d let him sign his name, if he could—but you doubt he’d let you get his name tattooed. 

Soon you stop fighting the perpetual tug of your lids down and let them flutter shut, loosing a freer moan as he brushes over that sweet spot inside you. Even when he’d told you how to find it over the phone, it wasn’t the same. It wasn’t like this—maddening enough to have your hips twisting again and that hot bed of coals in your tummy sparking. 

“Spencer,” you warn, leg twitching as he stokes the fire beyond the point where you can passively enjoy it. Either he’s got to slow down or he’s got to let you burn all the way up. You practically jump when you feel his tongue flick over your clit—you hadn’t even been aware of his shifting positions. Maybe you’re more out of it than you’d previously thought. Your eyes shoot open and he does it again. “Oh, fuck.”

The words are simple, quiet, and apparently that’s not enough. Before you can even process the sensation of the tip of his tongue on you he’s latching onto your clit, suckling in a way that has your vision momentarily going out. You cry out and kick involuntarily, hips jumping up, but he captures your leg and presses you down into the mattress so no matter how much you squirm and squeak you can’t get away. 

“Fuckfuckfuck, Spencer I wa—ah—sn’t ready—oh my god.”

He remembers his fingers deep inside you and begins rutting them and you hiss, inhaling sharply through your teeth before letting it all out in a tremulous moan. The orgasm is building up so quickly it almost feels like an attack on your poor body as you try to process it all to no avail. Every sound you make is a vulnerable mess of pleasure and pain, a clear fear of surrendering to something inevitable. Of course, it doesn’t really hurt at all. As usual, he’s blindsided you. Found you unprepared. You rake your fingers through Spencer’s hair, continuing on with your shaky moans that sound half-worried. 

“Oh, please.” Really, you’re just pleading to be put out of your misery. It’s in moments like this, as the black is creeping in around the edges of your vision and your thoughts become threads in the tangle of an existence knotting in on itself with no discernible end or beginning in your mind until everything is completely abstract, that you’re reminded why the French refer to orgasm as the little death.  

Your fingers lace tight enough in the wilds of his hair to pull, and he groans against you, and those vibrations are your undoing. You succumb to the dark momentarily but he continues a loving assault of gentle kisses to your clit—careful enough so as to be inoffensive even after the euphoria abates and you’re hypersensitive, still relishing soft strands of hair between your knuckles. 

You’re breathing hard as you blink your vision back, looking down at him as he looks up at you from his place between your legs and rubs the top of your thigh.

“I wasn’t ready,” you pant, lips flashing into a tired smile that doesn’t hold a candle to his own livelier one. 

“Took it like a champ.”

If you weren’t already so warm his sarcastic comment would inspire more heat in the apples of your cheeks. 

“Dr. Spencer Reid using sports idioms?” You smile as he climbs back up your body. 

“It’s unreasonably sexy that you said idiom and not simile.” He kisses you, grin mirroring yours, and you don’t complain about the slick still on his lips. “And look at that. Not afraid to kiss me when I taste like you anymore.”

“I remember what you said,” you whisper, eyes bouncing between his, glowing amber pools in the low light. The words echo in your head from the first time he’d gone down on you and you’d been hesitant to taste yourself. 

One day, I’ll make you come just like that again, and then I’m going to fuck you, and you’re really going to want me to kiss you then, angel.

“So do I,” he points out needlessly. “Eerily prophetic, hm?”

“I think you just like going down on me,” you laugh. 

Without the light on, his smile is just as brilliant as usual.  

“You might be right about that.”

Another interlude of quiet begins, but you don’t mind it. Taking this slow, as desperate as you’ve been for it, feels nice. Easy. Waves of burning need ebb and flow, but for now, it feels nice to be bathed in his candlelight gaze, know you’re loved, and nothing else. 

“What next?” You whisper after a long moment, lifting your hand to trace the line of his jaw. He leans into it slightly, lips brushing your palm. 

“That’s up to you, angel. What’s going to make you feel most comfortable?” 

Your bottom lip rolls between your teeth as you think and he tracks the movement, corner of his mouth twitching fondly. 

“It might help if you weren’t fully clothed.”

“I think we could probably do something about that.”

He pecks the tip of your nose playfully and then he’s pushing off the bed. Your brow wrinkles as you follow suit only partially, sitting up with your legs folded under you and pulling the sheets over your body to combat the chill and the vulnerability of being completely naked. 

“Oh, my god. You had your shoes on that whole time?”

“I got distracted,” Spencer defends, almost tripping over himself in his hurry to slip the loafers off. 

You clutch the sheet to your chest, watching the adorable way he pushes his hair out of his face as he rushes. He’s so clearly excited—it shows in the flush of his cheek and his even worse than usual coordination. 

“But on my bed?”

“I’m sorry,” he says without seeming very apologetic, leaning down to catch your chin between his thumb and forefinger and pressing his lips to yours. “I’ll pay to have your comforter dry cleaned. I’ll buy you a new one. I don’t care.”

“How chivalrous.”

“I am,” he insists against your lips, shaped by what is surely a boyish smirk. 

Unsurprisingly, you get lost in the kiss, dropping the sheet to hang onto his shoulders. Spencer takes advantage of the once-more revealed skin, rubbing your thigh with slow passes in a way that has you all lit up again already. It doesn’t help that his tie is skimming right over the recess between your folded thighs as he leans over your seated form, kissing you deeper as the moments pass. 

“You’re distracting me now,” you scold, but your voice is quiet and smiley as your noses brush. 

“Do you want to help me with my clothes?”

You nod, heart hatching like a cocoon and already slipping a finger into the knot of his tie so you can tug perhaps not gently enough. He chuckles, bracing himself with his fists on either side of your lap as you pull and yank until the fabric comes loose and you slip it from around his neck, flinging it blindly for dramatic effect. Then he slowly draws back to his full height, until you’re about eye-level with his chest. His gaze fixes on you, feverish and intent as he finds the buckle of his belt without looking. The slide of leather on leather, the jingle of the metal has the hairs on the back of your neck rising and you fight a chill as he pins you with his stare—feeling rather powerless as he towers over you, still essentially fully clothed while you’re completely naked. 

You probably shouldn’t be as thrilled by it as you are. 

Spencer tosses the belt on the floor and watches on, utterly charmed as you rise to your knees. His hands find your waist, steadying you as you begin unbuttoning his shirt with slow, careful fingers. 

“See?” You murmur bashfully. “Helping.”

His voice is equally as soft. 

“Very helpful. Thank you.”

The tension in the quiet room gets to be too much and you have to focus hard on the task at hand, failing to bite back a twisty smile. For once, he keeps his stupid perfect mouth shut and lets you push the fabric of his open shirt from his shoulders in humid silence. 

Your fingers skate down his torso and you watch the muscles tense. You wonder if he notices the way he pulls you slightly closer or if it’s subconscious as you both track the path of your hands. 

“Your button is on the wrong side,” you note, voice wavering slightly, once your fingers stall at the waistband of his pants.

Spencer chuckles. You feel silly. 

“Men and women’s clothing tend to have the buttons on different sides, if that’s what you mean.”

“Oh.” A beat of silence, before the words come pouring out. “I’m sorry, I don’t know why I said that. I’m still a little bit nervous, I think.”

“That’s okay,” Spencer assures you, hands gliding up and down the soft lines of your waist. “It’s okay that you’re nervous. But I’m going to take really good care of you, okay?”

You nod, not looking away from the exposed skin of his torso. 

“And if at any point you need to take a break or stop, you’ll tell me.”

“I will, but… I don’t need to stop right now.”

“Then you can go as slow as you want.”

You swallow and take a moment to gather yourself before continuing on undoing his pants. With his assistance, you pull them down, and with them his boxers tug an inch or two lower, exposing a subtle v-shape before it disappears beneath the waistband. The fabric is obviously tented. A ball of nervous anticipation spins faster in your stomach, drawing all the heat in your body down between your legs. He’s pretty everywhere. You’d nearly forgotten. 

Spencer’s stomach tenses under your light touch as you drag your fingers down, down, just to the waistband. It’s then that you look up at him for permission to continue, and find his eyes already on you, heated and intense. 

“Go ahead, honey.”

Again you find yourself quite excited to touch him, but you start cautiously, simply letting your hand fall over the shape of him through the fabric. Even that has his chest rising and falling at a slightly quickened rate, and one of his hands finds your unoccupied one, twining them together. That small gesture inspires you to bolden your explorations, becoming more insistent in the way you palm at him. He feels big, which is a concern of yours. But you try not to let that intimidate you.  

Already he’s quite hard, you suspect from going down on you earlier (which is flattering as much as it embarrasses you) and your fingers graze a small wet patch of fabric. You fixate on the shaky little breath he releases as you push down his boxers with new fervor, and his cock springs up. 

He’s still perfect. 

You smear beads of precum down his tip, and he sighs, letting his head fall against yours as you both watch. A few coquettish pumps and he’s humming, kissing your face and dragging his lips down your neck where he makes a home for himself. Apparently the sight of your hand wrapped around him had been too much to bear. 

“So good. Missed this.”

“It’s just my hand,” you whisper, a little insecure that he’s maybe playing it up for your benefit. 

“It’s you.”

His voice is so breathy, you sort of have to believe him. 

“Can I…?”

Too nervous to voice what you really mean, you trail off, but it apparently doesn’t matter to Spencer. He lifts his head like he’s in a stupor but you’ve said something urgent. 

“Anything you want. You can do whatever you want.”

“Okay. Um…”

You let go of his hand (and his dick). Spencer automatically rotates to accommodate you as you end up on your knees on the wooden floor in front of him. 

“This is what you want?” He breathes, already pushing his fingers through your hair and gathering it back as you look up at him and nod. 

Very quickly you have him back in your hand, trying to remember what you learned from the few times you’ve done this. You start perhaps a bit softer, less eager to prove yourself than you have in the past—simply dragging him over your tongue before enveloping his tip in your mouth, and releasing with a pop. Despite being overtly, explicitly, and undeniably sexual, there’s something almost chaste about the way you handle him. It’s a (dirty) expression of love, and you think he understands that as he rubs at your cheek affectionately. 

Eventually, however, you get too excited, and you take him into your mouth in earnest, bobbing your head slowly and seeing how much of him you can take without gagging. 

Spencer makes the prettiest noises—they’re breathy, and not ostentatious, but he’s got such a nice speaking voice it’s like his gasps are bars in a song. You whine around him, wriggling your hips in a rather pathetic display, and then all too quickly he’s tugging your hair so you can’t keep him in your mouth. 

“What?” You ask, closer to pouting than you’d care to admit and voice slightly hoarse. “You said I could do anything I want.”

“Not if you’re that good at it. Come here.”

He helps you up and catches you in a deep, messy kiss before you’ve fully regained your footing, swaying against him, but he holds you fast, pulling away slow like strings of honey trail between your mouths. 

Spencer’s eyes are fixed on yours, lips parted in a sort of wonder before he glances down to your own mouth, wiping the shine from your bottom lip. Any moment you’re expecting him to say something, to tell you you’re beautiful or perfect or that he’s in love with you—but instead he just meets your eyes again, that same wonder-struck look on his pretty face. A tiny, breathy laugh forces itself from his chest like you’re a genuine miracle. 

You feel so observed—seen in a way you’ve never been seen, looked at closer than anyone has ever looked at you before. And he still looks at you like you’re the human embodiment of love, the closest mortal manifestation of the divine, Galatea come down from her marble pedestal. The way he looks at you has your heart pounding and your breathing hastened. Adoration has never been something so physical, so tangible, ever before in your life. Your blood hums at the frequency of his electromagnetic field—an energetic aura that surrounds each person and can be detected from several feet away, as he’d explained it to you. It originates from the heart and if you spend enough time close to  someone, syncs up the beating of your most vital organ with theirs until it’s a perfect match. Maybe that’s why, almost as quickly as your heart had begun to pound, it slows again, and you feel any reservation flush from your body like a fever. 

“Okay,” you breathe, cataloguing every angle and curve of his face to store with all the rest, all the moments that feel important. Of course, you’ll never remember them like he does yours. But you’ll be damned if you don’t try your hardest. 

“Okay?” Spencer asks. He understands the confirmation for what it is, and searches for signs of hesitation on your face while rubbing reassuring circles into your hip. You nod resolutely. 

As he lays you down on your bed, it feels like you’re entering some kind of altered state. Everything is muted and glowing with a watercolor aura in the dark and you really only care about the man on top of you and the way moonlight dances on his skin and the way he smells like smoky amber and rain. He makes sure the pillows are fluffed under you, before sweeping your hair from beneath your shoulders into a corona around your head. All the while his eyes are so soft on you, just like his hands, and his lips when he leans down to touch them to yours. 

One of said hands finds its way to your jaw, trailing down over your neck and collarbone, before settling over your breast where he swipes a thumb over your nipple, lightly, slowly, several times. 

Once again you’re struck with the odd feeling, even with his hand on you like this, that the situation isn’t sexual in the way you’d anticipated. It’s not pornographic, or even very dirty. Everything Spencer does, even as his hand sneaks down between your legs, he does because he loves you. 

“One more like this,” he mutters against your jaw after a moment. 

“Why?”

Your impatience yields a smile you can only feel against your skin. 

“Just want you relaxed and feeling good. That’s all.”

When you assent, his fingers are already slowly pushing inside you. 

It seems you’ve entered some sort of time warp as well, because you reach a gentle peak in what feels like record time, aided by his easy murmurings and saccharine praise.

“Perfect. That was perfect,” Spencer says with a kiss to your shoulder as he slides his fingers from you and you feel yourself literally dripping onto the sheets. “Can I ask you something before we get carried away?”

“Mhm,” you hum, sweet and compliant as pleasure dulls your inhibitions for the second time tonight and your head lolls into the pillows. 

“Baby,” he croons, voice soft as worn paper as your lids flutter and lashes brush febrile cheeks, thumbing over the heated skin. “Need you a little more alert, sweet girl.”

“’M trying,” you whine, though it’s half self-effacing laugh. Spencer chuckles too as you shake your head and take a deep breath, trying to reinvigorate yourself. “Okay. Go.”

“Well… we don’t have any protection.” Before you can groan, loudly, he hurries on. “And that’s… I’m okay with that, if it’s what you still want. I trust you. But there will come… a moment of reckoning. And I need to know where I should… reckon. So you don’t end up surprised.”

Now you’re really laughing—a giggly mess beneath him as your arms loop over his shoulders. 

“Stop it,” he whines, pressing his nose to your cheek as you turn your head in an effort to not snort at your boyfriend to his face. “That was for your benefit, you know. You get squeamish.”

“I’m sorry, I just can’t take you seriously when you refer to it as reckoning.”

“Fine. I’ll rephrase. When I come, you essentially have two options. Inside, or on your stomach. Tell me where you want it.”

Your breath catches and your stomach does that tripping-over-itself thing again. 

“Um…”

Another fond half laugh, at your expense, is pressed against your skin. It’s enough to prompt you into answering—he doesn’t have to say anything to make his point about your being squeamish. 

“Inside,” you mutter, shy as you attempt to bring him closer so he won’t be able to look at you quite so closely. You wonder if he’s remembering the conversation you’d had over the phone last week—before he’d accidentally kind of broken up with you—about this very subject. You certainly are. 

“Okay. I want you to have everything that you want.” A few kisses to your neck later, between nips, he speaks again. “Just need to hear that you want this one more time.”

“I want this,” you repeat, obedient and honest, plain and simple. “Now, please.”

Spencer responds by first kissing you, firm and loving. It soothes you, and he punctuates it with a kiss to your cheek, before he’s reaching down and guiding himself between your legs. You feel surprisingly calm, more overcome with love and the light pleasure rolling down your back as he drags himself over your clit than you are by nerves. Still, you pointedly hold his gaze, not looking down in case you psych yourself out. He slots himself in place, tip resting against your entrance. 

“Remember, if you need to stop at any point—”

“I remember,” you cut him off hurriedly. 

Okay. So perhaps you’re still slightly nervous. 

He watches you, sympathetic though you’re not sure what for. 

“I need you as relaxed as possible, okay? I want this to be easy on you.”

You take a moment, scanning your whole body for tense muscles. When you feel sufficiently relaxed, you offer Spencer a small nod, and at that, he begins pushing into you ever so slightly. 

At first, it just feels foreign. He’s going so slowly, so carefully, you’re not sure he’s moving at all—until he finds resistance and the odd full feeling changes to a hint of burning stretch. Your hips jump and your breath catches, and Spencer stops immediately, relieving the pressure with a tiny shift in position. 

“It’s gonna hurt,” you realize, eyes darting between his like he might be able to tell you otherwise. You’d always been aware of the possibility, but you were holding out hope that you’d be one of those people who didn’t experience any pain their first time. 

“Just for a minute. Then it’ll feel good, angel.”

You swallow and nod. At the end of the day, you trust him completely. You trust him enough to let him hurt you. 

“Super deep breaths for me.”

He watches intently as you follow his directions, taking several deep breaths in succession, before he begins pushing into you once more. The pressure builds and builds until he pushes past that point of resistance, and it’s like he’s breaking you in two. 

“Ah,” you gasp, abs twisting as your body tries to escape the sensation without any input from you. 

“I know. I know, baby, that was the hardest part. Breathe.”

He drops his thumb to your clit, rubbing circles with light pressure to distract from the pain.

You nod, lips pressed together tight as the deep ache muddles your brain. It’s an insistent pressure against something does not seem to want to budge. It burns and stretches and is laced with sour, flirtatious pleasure so that you can hardly tell what it is you’re feeling. Mostly, you’re dizzy and hot.

“Relax, just like that,” he strains, looking down. “My good girl. We’re almost there, baby.”

Cries spill unbidden from your mouth and your eyes shut as he continues to open you up deeper, until finally, finally, his hips settle into the cradle of yours. 

Spencer sighs a curse under his breath, so quiet you don’t think it was meant for you. 

He’s inside of you. It’s bizarre. 

You whimper, and he snaps out of whatever revery he’d been in. 

“You okay? How does that feel?”

You take a shuddering breath, closing your eyes and trying to clear your head to no avail—your thoughts are like TV static. 

“I’m good. I need… I need a minute.”

“You can have as much time as you need. It’s a lot, huh?”

“Yeah,” you admit, voice small and weak. 

“I bet,” he agrees, peppering soft kisses all over your face. “But you’re doing so well. Proud of you, brave girl. You’re doing so well and we’re gonna make sure it feels good soon, okay? Whenever you’re ready.”

“Will you please kiss me again?” you whisper, and Spencer’s brow knits with concern. 

“Of course, angel. Of course I’ll kiss you,” he says, and makes good on his promise with his lips on yours. It sweetens the ache. “I’ll do whatever you want. You can have anything. You’re so perfect.”

He kisses you again, just as lovingly, and soft, like you’re delicate. All the praise is only contributing to your lightheadedness, but you don’t mind at all. It feels good. 

“You can… you can move.”

“Okay. We’ll go really slow, yeah?”

He waits for your nod before his hips are pulling back and you arch at the odd sensation. When he pushes back in, eyes carefully locked on yours the whole time, you keen slightly, frowning and brain shorting out as it tries and fails to process this new feeling. 

“Uh-huh. You’re okay, I promise.”

At first it doesn’t feel good. It mostly hurts. But slowly, the pain begins to abate as you acclimate to having him inside of you, and he’s careful the whole time. 

“Spence?” 

“Hm?”

He sounds concentrated on the task at hand—you’re entranced by the sight of him above you, the parted lips, the unkempt hair over the brow furrowed in pleasure and focus. But he’s never too busy for you. 

“Does it… um—” you pause to hold back a whine—“what does it feel like for you?”

At this, he slows even further and chuckles—it’s a strained, slightly breathy sound. 

“For me?”

“Mhm.”

“You feel perfect, baby. You feel so fucking good.”

The slight fry in Spencer’s voice as he curses, which is a rare event in and of itself, flips your stomach, turns you on immensely. The idea that you’re giving him pleasure too—it’s almost overwhelming. That’s when it starts feeling good. 

“Oh—” you squeak, jaw dropping and bucking your hips inadvertently as the first bolt of true pleasure shocks deep in your core. He hums. 

“Yeah, is that it, sweet girl?”

But you can’t answer for a long moment. Your brain is melting as your legs lock around him. 

“Mm—it’s—it feels…”

“I know it does,” Spencer murmurs.

You whine and press your face into the curve of his shoulder as each thrust gently rocks your body. As the pace picks up bit by bit, you feel yourself clenching hard around him. His hips stutter and he hisses. 

“Ah. Can’t do that, lovely.”

“What? Did I hurt you?”

He laughs breathily. 

“No, you didn’t hurt me. You almost pushed me out. You have to relax.”

“Sorry,” you whisper. “’M trying.”

“You don’t need to be sorry. I know you’re trying, baby, you’re being so good for me.”

Your nails skim his back—a small expression of a much larger desperation. Once he’s sure you’re relaxed around him, begins going faster. 

Your gasps and soft moans come more often now as he finds a steady rhythm and it feels so different when he’s actually fucking you. It feels like he’s everywhere. Every time your hips meet you feel the sweet shock of it in your teeth, your toes, the back of your neck. In the best way, you feel consumed by him. It’s not at all like you’d imagined, and it’s perfect. 

“Wait, Spencer,” you breathe, struggling to form the words. Immediately he stops again, lifting his head from your shoulder to examine your face. 

“What is it?”

He sounds just as wrecked as you feel, panting and strained and it feels good to hear. 

“I wanna watch.”

For a moment his eyes dart between yours like he’s trying to determine what you really mean—but you said exactly what you meant. Then he laughs, a huff of air from his nose as he presses his head to yours and gives you a quick kiss.

Your toes curl as he readjusts his position, holding himself a little higher and resting your heads together so you can both look between your bodies. 

“There,” he murmurs as he slowly begins to withdraw again. “Like that?”

But you can’t answer, because you’re too busy whimpering at the sight of him pushing into you. The feeling seems to increase tenfold as you watch it happen. Distantly you wonder how the fuck it fits. 

“Yeah,” you whisper. “Like that.”

Spencer takes this as a blessing to find a pace again, slower now as he seems to be just as enthralled by the sight as you are. 

“Give me your leg,” he rasps after a few moments like that, and you don’t know what he means exactly but you lift your right leg slightly only for him to press his hand to the back of your knee and push toward your chest, effectively opening you up and giving him more range of motion. It also enables him to fuck you even deeper. Again he slows, apparently savoring the feel of you yielding around him all the way down to the hilt. 

Black spots dance in your eyes as he settles at your deepest point—not pain, necessarily, just overwhelming sensation. Your jaw drops and you choke out a moan as he presses into recesses you didn’t know you had, as he shows you a part that you might have gone the rest of your life without knowing existed. He stops there, like that. Everything stops there, like that. If the cars on the road below ceased to drive, if the airplanes froze in the sky, you’d not be the least bit surprised. Somehow, you’ve unlocked a small eternity. There’s no sound but your joint heavy breathing and your heart pounding in your ears. The words just come bubbling up out of you in a little whine. 

“I love you.”

Spencer’s breath pauses for a moment before he’s letting it all out at once, brushing his lips up the ridge of your nose before they settle on your forehead in what seems like a permanent kiss. A few breaths in, you allow your eyes to flutter shut. Your heart rate slows down a touch, and you settle into the moment, never having been quite so content as you are like this—never having felt quite so adored and safe. 

“I love you,” he finally echoes, voice rasping, lips still pressed to your skin, still breathing against your hair. When he starts to move again, drawing back ever so slowly, you hiss softly. He raises his head from yours, and you look away from where he’s pulling out, meeting his eyes just in time for him to push back in, just as deep. They shine in the mostly-dark room and you moan unabashedly. It’s a high-pitched, sweet thing, nothing that will have the neighbors complaining—but so clearly true, from the depths of your soul, an expression of everything you’re feeling—not just the pleasure. 

Although that’s good, too, as Spencer shapes you to him again and again, the head of his cock kissing places nobody’s ever been and places you hope nobody else will ever venture to. This is all you need. Him. 

“Jesus,” Spencer groans, eyes fixed on your face as he fucks you slowly. But you can’t bring yourself to talk, too new to this kind of pleasure to find it anything other than mind-boggling and world altering. Your lips are still parted, allowing each sound to pass without filter. “Listen to you, beautiful.”

When he stops again, just to look down and marvel at you, you’re conflicted. On the one hand, you can taste the pleasure on the back of your tongue and he keeps taking it away when it’s so close. But on the other—you’re just as overwhelmed as he said you’d be. Your body has never had to process this kind of sensory information before, and you’re exhausted, but it’s so good. 

“Spencer,” you manage. He looks up, pupils blown and eyes lidded where they’d normally be wide. “Please don’t stop.”

He swallows, spurred into action again as soon as you say it. 

“Good?”

You nod and whine again as he picks up the pace bit by bit, remembering to push your leg back once more so he can get as deep as you need him. 

“So good,” you exhale at the top pitch of your voice. Your brows pinch and you release a fuller moan as Spencer finds a speed that’s fast enough to constantly feel good no matter where he is. You’re gasping for breath, back arching—and he finds a new angle, catching against the spot inside you that renders all those years of human evolution that gave you sentience and intelligence a waste. He chuckles airily at your series of series of affronted moans and halted gasps. 

“Right there? That's a good spot, isn’t it?”

“Oh, go—fuck, fuck!”

It feels so good it almost hurts, and your eyes are stinging to prove it. Your legs clamp tighter around him and you realize there’s a very lewd wet sound and you can’t believe that’s you. 

“Spencer, you’re—oh my god, I love you,” you whine, and it sounds like you’re pleading for your life. At this makes his own sound of pleasure, and hastens his messy circles on your clit as if in reward. 

But it’s too much all combined. 

Your hand claps to your mouth to obscure the loud, licentious moan that comes out—but Spencer immediately moves his hand from between your legs to grab your wrist and pin it gently to the bed, intertwining your fingers. 

“Don’t do that. Let me hear.”

You nod, and he lets go of your hand to return his fingers to your clit. If possible you get wetter around his cock—you can feel yourself gushing. 

“Fuck, I’m gonna cum,” you whine as if pained. 

“Yeah? Gonna finally let me feel you cumming, angel?”

He has a filthy mouth when he wants to. The words hit like high voltage to your core and the very pit of your stomach. You can’t even respond beyond a desperate sob. 

“Show me, baby. I’m right here. Let go.”

You cum around his cock with a broken cry and it’s like a purge of every drop of angst you’d felt over the past week or so—hell, it’s a purge of all the insecurities that had bubbled to the surface since you started dating him. None of it matters anymore. How could it matter when you have him? When you have this?

The orgasm washes you out like a tidal wave, taking everything with it. It’s strong, and it’s so good, so intense, your body is overwrought with sensation and it’s too much even though it’s perfect. Your brain is drawing a blank as it tries to react to the feeling, and it’s like every button on the damn panel has been hit. 

“Fuck, I’m close,” Spencer grits, and you feel it in the way he adjusts his position, shifting as he grips at the edge of the mattress for leverage and the thrusts become messier, needier. You gasp as his other hand tangles in your hair, turning your head to ghost your lips over his forearm. It’s not entirely surprising when his own lips find your shoulder—but the feeling of him finding his release just as his teeth sink into your skin does come as quite a shock. It doesn’t hurt, and you’re sure there’s no skin broken, but it’s an undeniable fact that he has grounded himself in the throes of passion by biting down on you.

Inside you, he feels hot. Searing, almost, as his spend tries to fill space that doesn’t exist. There is absolutely no room for anything else inside of you. Stars dance in your eyes at the overstimulation, but long after he’s finished he’s still fucking into you—albeit much slower and with far less technique. Spencer moans like a two bit whore, like he’s reached pain to a point of ecstasy, and to you it’s as good, as special as the singing of the planets. If he’s as sensitive as you are now, it’s no small feat for him to keep going on like this. It’s a testament to how much he doesn’t want it to be over. The pleasure is carrying him away, but you’re beginning to feel how soft you must be and how if he continues on like this you may bruise like an overripe peach. 

“Spencer,” you manage, skating your hand up and down his back in what you hope are soothing lines. “Baby.”

He whines as his lips detach from your shoulder, but his hips finally slow to a stop, nestled inside you. 

“Jesus, fuck, I'm sorry,” he breathes, opting now to bury his face in your neck (with significantly less biting this time).

You’re still reeling, toes still curled, still struggling to breathe as your head spins and spins and spins. His chest pushes against yours with every heaving breath, hot and heavy on your skin, and that’s the only sign he’s still alive until his hand eventually reanimates in your hair, scratching your head tenderly. 

For a span of minutes, you stay like that—silent, twined together like caducean serpents. His weight on top of you is perfect. This, the lack of differentiation between your body and his, is perfect. You don’t know where he ends and you begin and you don’t need to. It’s a blissful moment. 

“Hey.”

Spencer’s voice is hoarse when he finally speaks, lifting his head to look at you with flushed cheeks and messy hair and sparkly eyes. 

“Hi.”

He smiles. 

“You’re so pretty.”

“You too,” you murmur, moving your hand from his back and pressing your thumb into the hollow of his cheek. His eyes map the curves of your face as he pushes your surely askew hair back. 

“How do you feel?”

It takes you a moment to seriously consider his question, scanning your body for any undue pains, but for the moment, you find none, beyond a dull aching throb that you can manage. 

“Good. Tired.”

You wince at the uncomfortable feeling of him pulling out. Spencer hums sympathetically and presses a sticky kiss to your lips which makes it a little better, though you can’t ignore how uncomfortable all the previously pleasant wetness has become between your legs. 

“Here—stay here, I’ll get a wash cloth and—”

“It’s fine,” you insist, holding on even as he tries to roll off of you. “I just need… will you stay here for a little bit?”

“Of course,” he promises, now pressed close to your side and propped up on an elbow, “whatever you want.”

You lavish in his gaze, warm like a spotlight, as he strokes your cheek and plays with your hair. Very quickly you’re lulled into a doze, eyes fluttering shut. Minutes stretch. You feel drunk on waking dreams, and perfectly at peace. Safe. 

“Angel girl,” he christens you fondly. More than anything, it’s an observation, so lovely it sinks into your skin like a balm, soothing every tired muscle and little mark he’d made. Even half-asleep, it makes you smile. 

“You’re an angel,” you slur, reaching blindly for him, and he chuckles, catching your wrist and helpfully settling your hand on his cheek. 

“I thought you were asleep.”

You hum, “mm-mm,” looking up at him with just as much adoration as he has for you. Those cuddle hormones must be kicking in because soon you’re attempting to pull him back on top of you. He doesn’t quite comply, probably for fear of crushing you—rather he settles next to you, gathering you in his arms. 

Silence blankets the two of you, but it’s not unpleasant as you just watch each other with barely-there smiles curling your mouths. This kind of intimacy still manages to give you butterflies, even after everything else you’ve done. This kind of satisfaction, reverie in the sound of each other’s blood flowing and lungs filling. Setting aside words because you don’t need conversation as a pretense for wanting to be around each other anymore. You don’t need an excuse to look at him like this. You don’t need words any more than you need clothes. It’s enough to just be. 

“I love you,” he says, a soft reminder, and entirely redundant with the way he’d already been looking at you, touching you. 

“I know. I love you too.”

The smile flickers brighter on his face. 

“And thank you.”

Your eyes narrow minutely as you consider what he could possibly be thanking you for. 

“For what?”

“For loving me. And trusting me. It’s…” your heart squeezes as you realizes tears are pooling in his eyes. He takes a moment and clears his throat. It’s incredibly endearing. “It means a lot to me. You mean a lot to me.”

You look down, thumbing at the sheets where you’ve hoisted them over your bodies. 

“You do realize how lame we are if we have sex and both immediately start crying, right?”

At this he laughs loudly but not loud enough to pop the little bubble you’re in, and you look up just in time to catch the brilliance of his smile, the way it changes his whole face and he becomes superhuman in his beauty, the lines that form by his eyes and the way they narrow and crystalline tears bead his lashes like precious gems. 

“Don’t cry,” he requests gently, hypocritically as your own eyes sting. The way his smile fades is like the sun setting. Gorgeous, like everything else he does. “You’ve cried so much, honey. Please don’t cry.”

You sniffle, gathering yourself. 

“I’m not. That would be pathetic.”

Spender leans forward to kiss you tenderly a few more times. Ordinarily you’d worry about coming across as clingy when you hold onto him so closely and so insistently like this, but for now you don’t care. Neither does he, it seems, as he seems unable to get you close enough. Eventually, you end up curled against him, head tucked under his chin and dozing on and off as he traces shapes into your skin. 

“What are you writing?” You mumble some time later, cheek smushed against his shoulder. He only responds with a soft hm, like he was lost deep in thought. You clarify, “it feels like you were writing something.”

“She Walks in Beauty.”

Your lips pull into a sleepy smile. 

“The Lord Byron poem?”

The first time you’d met Spencer, he’d inadvertently caused your painstakingly annotated copy of Lord Byron’s works to go flying all over a cafe, and then kindly helped clean up the pages and reorder them for you in record time. Among the poems had been She Walks in Beauty. 

“Yeah. I was trying to figure out when exactly I fell in love with you, and as someone who is deeply skeptical about love at first sight, I’m a little embarrassed to admit that I keep coming back to our first conversation. I mean, I believe in genetic compatibility, and how that contributes to attraction and what we think of as chemistry, but—”

“Wait, what about our first conversation did it?” Your cheeks ache from smiling as you speak. “As I recall I was being a bitch and I was covered in coffee.”

He laughs dreamily, still tracing letters over the small of your back. You wonder what part of the poem he’s at now. 

“Yeah, mean to me and covered in coffee is pretty much exactly my type. But I think it was actually the annotations on that copy of Lord Byron’s works. They were so insightful, and personal, I—it kind of took my breath away, and I know I shouldn’t have read them all but I couldn’t stop. You were compelling, and charming, and funny and wildly intelligent and beautiful and… and I didn’t stand a chance.”

Everything aches. It’s a good ache. Despite being seconds from tearing up all over again, you snort. He never told you about that first day.

“You thought me writing ‘sister fucker’ in all caps every time he mentioned Augusta was charming?”

“Oh, obscenely so. But now that I’m looking back, I feel like… I feel like I can’t remember not being in love with you. I mean, I remember when I realized I was, and that was later. But it was like I met you, and then I was just… waiting for you to catch up.”

You grab his hand and interlace your fingers, watching the way the ambient nighttime light from the window and the bathroom dips them half in color. 

“We were pretty much on the same page. I was debating courthouse versus small intimate ceremony as soon as you left.”

You watch him watching your joined hands, features soft and relaxed, fiddling with your fingers absentmindedly as he speaks. 

“Definitely small intimate ceremony. I have too many friends who would kill me if they weren’t invited to the wedding.”

You giggle and pretend the thought doesn’t give you butterflies. You imagine a ring on your finger, the one he’s got between his own. Marriage had never been something you’d considered. Not when you had no reason to. It seemed like something for other people. But maybe one day, it will be for you, too. 

“Did you know Lord Byron had a daughter who is regarded by many as the first computer programmer? She wrote the first algorithm for a theoretical machine that was so complex it couldn’t be built with the technology available at the time. It was called an Analytical Engine.”

He sounds almost wistful as he gives you the utterly unprompted, but still welcome, abridged version of her life. The description is ringing a bell—but you can’t quite place her, sleepy as you are.  

“What was her name?”

“Ada Lovelace. She was exceptionally gifted. The odds of parent and child being so extraordinary in their respective fields are incalculable, but from a purely theoretical perspective, negligible. I mean, they’re both massive historical figureheads. That’s extremely uncommon.”

You adore it when he goes off on these tangents—the passion that stains his voice, the ardor that grips him until he has no choice but to tell you exactly what’s got him so excited. You could listen to him talk for hours. It means he’s here with you, and he wants you to love what he loves. 

Since he met you, that’s all Spencer has wanted—for you to love what he loves. 

You want the same. 

“Pretty name,” you murmur, eyes fluttering shut. “Tell me more.” 

-

part eight

[britneyshakespeare]

A few weeks ago at Savers I bought secondhand Signet Classics editions of Henry IV, Part I and Henry V.

I own all of Shakespeare's plays in my 1972 Riverside Shakespeare that I inherited from my aunt who used it as a text in college for her Shakespeare class; I've had that for five years. I usually read Shakespeare plays in there but since it's a big ass tome it has its drawbacks, and also sometimes I'm just curious about the supplementary material that come in other editions of Shakespeare. Last year I read The Winter's Tale from Modern Library Classics (made in collaboration with the Royal Shakespeare Company) and I really loved their presentation of the text, so I wanted to branch out more to other editions as I continue on reading the plays. They were only 2 bucks each so like, fuck it why not, right?

It was also kind of a perfect coincidence because I had just finished reading Richard II, the first play in the Henriad tetralogy, so the next play I was going to read was gonna be 1 Henry IV anyway. And then I could read part two in the Riverside, and then Signet Henry V which concludes that historical series. Kind of serendipitous too because my Savers has heavily, heavily downsized its book section (the selection is just pitiful now) and these were two of the only plays they had at all, let alone by Shakespeare.

I finished the book I was reading that I was waiting on before starting 1 Henry IV, and until now I hadn't even really opened the new Signets. But the first thing I noticed when I flipped to the script was that there was writing; someone had annotated the pages. That's cool; I like finding that in secondhand books. I feel connected to the previous owners that way. That happens a lot w Savers books too. So then I opened Henry V, to see if it might have something. There's not much writing on the pages themselves from my brief skim but there is one small pink sticky note, with not much writing on it but just enough to the point where I think I can identify it belonged to, and must've been donated by, the same person who annotated 1 Henry IV.

But I do find it odd then, that 2 Henry IV wasn't there. I *doubt* someone would've bought that separately from part one or that the owner would've kept that, but donated its prequel and sequel. I guess I don't know for certain, but it seems unlikely. Oh well, I won't be able to verify that.

Idk. It makes me just wonder about the secondhand book market. I know most used booksellers don't rely solely on donations directly from their communities; there are tons of ways that people in the business buy up lots of used books. But I'm not in the business and I don't know about the logistics of how things are separated and organized, and why some things end up where.

Where is Henriad Donor's copy of Henry IV, Part II??? Who is this enigmatic Henriad Donor??? How did their books end up separated in a Greater Boston Savers???

I don't know.

[nebulaafterdark]

Sooner Or Late (Part 2)

Summary: Y/N flees to the north before the start of the war. When it is over, Aegon will stop at nothing to get her back.

18+ ONLY targcest, implied dubcon, mental illness & violence

Part 1

Y/N wakes without Aegon’s warmth, something she has grown accustomed to in these past years. She craves his touch, like air to breathe. Pacing through their chambers, until voices can be heard just beyond the door.

“I love her, mother.” Aegon says, in a hushed tone.

“This is perverse, Aegon.” Alicent hisses, “she scarcely recalls her own name. Or what befell her mother, let alone her husband-”

“I am her husband!” Aegon shouts, “I am.”

“Because you slaughtered the first.”

“She needs me,” Aegon whispers.

“That is not her.” Alicent insists. “She wants nothing but what you impose upon her to want.”

“If you speak such slanders again, I will have your tongue removed.”

The cruel nature of his tone sends a chill down Y/N’s spine. Unlocking something within her she’s long since forgotten. The first��her first husband. She collapses to the floor, digging the heels of her hands into her eye sockets. Conjuring the memory of him.

Jonathan.

The man who loved her, truly. The man she now betrays, growing Aegon’s children in her womb. And her mother…her mother hasn’t come to see her because-

The door swings open and Aegon storms in, finding his wife curled around herself on the floor. “Oh, my dearest love.” He coos, sinking down to join her. “Come here, darling.” He pulls her into his lap. “Are you alright?”

“I could not find you.” She tells him, clutching his tunic in her fist. “I was frightened.” Y/N is making a show of it, surely. She does not need Aegon. She can’t.

“There, there, my love.” Aegon tuts, “I am so terribly sorry.”

“I fear something has happened to me.”

“How do you mean?”

“I have been here too long and I’ve changed.”

“That is what you were meant to do.” Aegon assures her. “This is where you’re meant to be, that’s all. Nothing to fear.”

Y/N forces herself to nod. Knowing now more than ever she must leave, before it’s too late.

————————————————————————

Her son, Jon, is the only one made privy to her plans. The younger children she will leave to Aegon. Despite it all, she’s come to care for him but she cannot stay.

“There is a ship leaving port tonight.” Y/N says, holding her son’s hand as she breaks the news. “I should like for us to be on it.”

“And father?” Jonathan asks.

Gods no…they have been here too long. “Just us. This will be our secret.”

He nods, though he doesn’t understand.

“Go now, enjoy your toys. I must ready for the journey.”

————————————————————————

It is nearly time, Y/N makes for her son’s rooms, with nothing more than the clothes on her back. She knows the guard’s schedule well…and Aegon’s. There will be plenty of time to board the ship.”

“And where do you think you’re going?” Aegon.

Her blood runs cold, turning to him with a forced smile, “to find you, my love.”

“Mmm,” he hums closing the distance between them. “Were you now?”

“The babe is restless,” Y/N takes his hand, resting it on her belly.

Aegon smiles, feeling the child stir beneath his palm, “missing their father, I’d wager.”

“Mayhaps.”

He leans in closer, until his lips brush her ear. “Imagine how terribly they’d miss me, had you gotten away with it.”

No, she shrinks away from him.

“Ah, ah, ah.” Aegon drapes both arms around her waist, holding her close, their child pressed between them. “It’s over. These fantasies you have of leaving me.” He spits the penultimate word like venom.

Y/N whimpers.

“It was our boy who warned me of your plotting. I have never been more proud. He will be rewarded handsomely.” Aegon muses, “I hope this helps you to understand, you can never leave.”

“What more do you want of me?” Y/N sobs, shifting between feet, in the small space between them.

“Everything.” Aegon takes her face between his hands.

“You have taken everything!”

“Your life should be miserable. One tragedy after another, until you learn that only my hand can spare you. But I do not wish to torture you to death.” He scoffs. “I want a life with you, why won’t you give me that?”

“You filled my head with lies. You seek to carve out all that I am, to make way for who you want me to be. Docile and subservient. If you truly love me, how could you?”

“That is the only way you’ll stay with me.” Aegon strokes his thumb over her tear stained cheek. “It is such a shame that I’ll have to break you all over again.”

Y/N shoves at him. “To the seven hells with you.”

His mouth traps hers, in a searing kiss. “There she is.” His tongue traces the seam of her lips, only to be met by her teeth. “My fiery girl.” He chuckles, “it is a pleasure to see you again.”

Aegon taglist:

@oh-you-mean-me @niyahnotnia

[zarla-s]

We move forward, 'cause we can't go back...

It's the EIGHTH anniversary of Handplates, and the first one after I finished the comic back in July! I decided to dig up a very old wip that I never finished and finally do it. I've always loved WeMoveForward by The Midnight, and I think it applies not only to the comic itself but also this period after it... there's no way to go back to when I was doing it, only moving forward after it's done.

Even more appropriately, since I did this wip, these characters all moved forward even further... even as this sat in my files, they moved forward, in a sense. I don't know, the song gives me a sort of plaintive, longing, bittersweet feeling... it's hard to explain.

I had a very insistent voice in my head that always made me do a Handplates page over the years I was working on it, no matter what happened. I wasn't sure if that voice would ever stop, even when it's done, but it has! It's gotten quieter now, mostly only nagging me about other projects I should be working on (Defrag, the Ace Attorney/Frozen fic, web design, fic ideas, art ideas...) whenever I'm doing something, much like it did before I started the comic.

How I feel about Handplates finishing though is strange. At times it doesn't feel like it's over, even if I don't feel like I need to do another page. At other times I get sad thinking about it and I miss it, and other times I look back on it with amazement that I was able to do it. Sometimes I look back on it and think about what was happening in my life at that time, and sometimes when I look at it it's unreal and it's hard to believe I even did it, like someone else did the whole thing. It's like it's there but it's not, it's present but it isn't. It's a very strange feeling, it's hard to describe or pin down. I know it'll always be with me in some way, but it is strange to be able to focus so much attention on other things without that feeling of having to set aside a few days to do a page every two weeks... not bad or anything, but I'm not used to it still.

I don't know! When I read the comments on the last page a lot of them made me cry, especially those talking about how the comic had been their childhood, and now their childhood is over. It was sad to think that I had a part in something like that ending... but it ends for everyone, no matter what you do. We, you and me, everyone... we move forward, 'cause we can't go back. That line was so evocative for me that I even used it as a chapter title for the penultimate chapter on Comicfury.

I don't know, just nostalgic thoughts! I don't know if that's the right word for it... but thank you to all of you who read it and enjoyed it. Even now I hear from new people coming to it and reading through it again now that it's done. Even if it's finished, it's still new to people just finding it. It's still "living" in a sense. And thanks to those of you who stuck around even though it's done, I appreciate it. |D

(As a note, the Gaster ukagaka has a surprise if you boot him on the anniversary after seeing the brothers, if you haven't done that)

[index] [patreon]

[kira-dofc]

Bodyguard! Gojo x K-pop Idol Male reader

Part 1

Part 2

Notes: Sorry I was inactive for so long 😔 the Kuroo x male reader is killing me idk what to write so I js thought to myself what if I'd just made one for Gojo? Well anyways yes there's going to be a part 2 of this and yes I'm working on Kuroo 💖

Word count: 2400

Warnings: none 💖

-

Oh, to live a life like yours. You’re successful beyond measure, with a voice that can mesmerize, moves that can captivate, and a bank account that reflects your hard-earned fortune. But more than all of this, you are stunningly attractive. Fans fall to their knees at the mere sight of you, screaming your name with fervent adoration. Every world tour you embark on with your group sees you receiving the loudest chants, the most impassioned cries. You are undeniably the favorite, the center of attention in every sense.

Your popularity knows no bounds, transcending borders and cultures. Men and women alike would go to extraordinary lengths just to catch a glimpse of your perfect figure. Who wouldn’t? Perfection seems to be synonymous with your name. Every time your group makes a comeback, it is you who shines the brightest. The camera adores you, the spotlight gravitates towards you, and almost all of the lines in your songs seem to be crafted just for your voice. You are, without a doubt, the nucleus of your group’s immense success.

The world is in awe of you. Fanboys and fangirls from every corner of the globe idolize you, dream about you, and dedicate their lives to following your every move. Yet, amidst this whirlwind of fame and admiration, one thing perplexes everyone. Why, with all your perfection, are you still single? Any idol would be ecstatic to be with you, regardless of gender. Your charm knows no boundaries, and your appeal is universal. It’s a mystery that keeps fans up at night, fantasizing about the possibility of one day being the one to capture your heart.

Speculation runs rampant. Fans weave intricate fantasies where they imagine themselves by your side, filling the role of your perfect partner. Despite their daydreams, no one can figure out why you remain unattached. It's a paradox that adds to your allure, making you even more enigmatic and desirable. They imagine a million scenarios, all the while hoping that perhaps, just perhaps, they might be the one to break your spell of solitude.

But what the world doesn't know, what they couldn't possibly fathom, is that you've been in a relationship for almost two months now. The very day your group made its most recent comeback, you found yourself entangled in a romance that has brought a new kind of light into your life. The secrecy surrounding your relationship only adds to its intensity. It’s a connection built on mutual understanding, shared dreams, and a love that transcends the superficial adoration you receive from the masses.

The reveal of your significant other will be nothing short of earth-shattering for your fans. They’ve spent countless hours speculating about who could possibly be worthy of your affections. When the truth comes out, it will send shockwaves through your fanbase. The person you've chosen isn't just any idol; they are someone who matches your perfection, complements your strengths, and fills your heart in a way that no one else could.

In the end, the world will see that behind your flawless exterior, behind the spotlight and the chants, there is a person capable of deep, profound love. Your fans will be surprised, yes, but they will also come to understand that even someone as perfect as you deserves to experience the joy and intimacy of a genuine relationship. And as they daydream about marrying you, they'll have to come to terms with the fact that your heart already belongs to someone extraordinary.

-

4:00 a.m. The plane touched down, marking the penultimate stop of your extensive world tour. Just one more show remained before you could finally indulge in a well-deserved rest. You gathered your handheld bag, stepping off the aircraft with a sense of weariness and anticipation.

As you approached the "Arrivals" section of the quiet airport, you noticed the stark contrast between the calm you expected and the frenzy that awaited you. Despite the ungodly hour, paparazzi had gathered in droves, their cameras flashing incessantly, almost blinding you with their intensity. The cries of “Y/N! Over here! Y/N! Y/N!” pierced the early morning silence, mingling with the shouts of enthusiastic fans who seemed undeterred by the time.

You sighed, mustering a smile for the cameras. It was an experience you had grown accustomed to, yet it never ceased to astonish you how dedicated your fans were, even at such an hour. As you continued to navigate through the cacophony of lights and voices, your mind drifted to the comfort of the hotel room awaiting you.

Suddenly, the chaotic crowd shifted, and out of nowhere, a fan broke through, sprinting towards you with an intensity that caught you off guard. Your heart raced, but before you could react, your personal bodyguard, Gojo, intervened. He stepped in front of the fan with a menacing presence, his cold stare stopping them in their tracks. "I wouldn't do that if I were you," he said, his voice low and threatening.

The fan recoiled, visibly shaken by Gojo’s imposing figure, and quickly retreated back into the crowd. Gojo turned to you, concern etched on his face. "You okay, sir?" he asked, his voice softening as he etched a reassuring smile.

"Y-yes, thank you!" you stammered, bowing slightly as you felt a blush creep up your cheeks. You were grateful for his protection, though his proximity always seemed to make your heart flutter in a way you couldn’t quite explain.

A van soon arrived to transport you and your group to the hotel. The bodyguards formed a protective circle around you all, ensuring your safe passage into the vehicle. The drive was mercifully short, a brief 30-minute journey that allowed you a moment of respite from the relentless pace of your tour.

Upon reaching the hotel, the sense of exhaustion weighed heavily upon you. The events of the day had drained you more than usual, and all you could think about was the comfort of a bed. The receptionist greeted you with a polite smile, handing over the keycard to your personal room.

You thanked them and made your way to the elevator, your body moving on autopilot. The elevator doors closed, and you leaned against the wall, letting out a deep breath. The journey to your designated floor felt like an eternity, each second dragging as your mind wandered to thoughts of sleep.

Finally, the doors opened, and you stepped out, navigating the corridor to your room. You swiped the keycard, the door unlocking with a soft click. As you entered, you took in the serene ambiance of the room, a stark contrast to the chaos outside. The bed looked inviting, and you could almost feel the soft sheets against your skin.

You set your bag down and took a moment to appreciate the solitude. The tour had been exhilarating, but it had also taken its toll. As you prepared for bed, your thoughts drifted to Gojo’s protective presence and the fleeting moment of connection you felt with him. It was a small comfort amidst the whirlwind of your life, a reminder that even in the chaos, there were moments of genuine human connection.

Finally, you slipped under the covers, letting the exhaustion wash over you. The last thought before you succumbed to sleep was of the final show tomorrow and the promise of rest that lay just beyond it. The world outside could wait; for now, you were content to let the quiet embrace of sleep take you away.

'

You woke up with a sudden woozy feeling, your eyes reluctantly opening to the glow of the afternoon sun filtering through the curtains. "3:00 p.m.," you groaned, checking your phone for the time. You stretched, blinked, and smacked your lips as you stared at the blank wall in front of you, trying to shake off the remnants of sleep.

"Woof woof!" Your dog, Cherry, whom you managed to bring along despite the hectic schedule of your world tour, barked enthusiastically at you. He wagged his tail back and forth, jumping onto your lap with a joyful energy that brought a smile to your face. You patted his head, feeling the softness of his fur beneath your fingers. "Good morning, Cherry," you murmured, though it was well past noon. "Let's go. I'm so hungry..." You squeezed his cheeks affectionately before getting up and heading out of your room.

Before thinking about food, you decided to freshen up with a shower. Grabbing a towel from the neatly arranged drawer, you made your way to the bathroom. The hot water cascading down your body felt rejuvenating, washing away the exhaustion from your travels and performances. You stood there for a while, letting the steam envelop you, a rare moment of peace in your otherwise hectic life.

Once you were done, you dried off and rummaged through your luggage, looking for something comfortable to wear. Settling on a plain shirt and a pair of black jogging pants, you felt a sense of relief. The casual attire was a stark contrast to the elaborate costumes you wore on stage, and it felt good to just be yourself for a while.

With two days until your next concert, you decided to take it easy and rest. You picked up your phone and thought about how to pass the time. An idea struck you—why not do a livestream on Instagram? It had been a while since you connected with your fans in such a direct way, and it seemed like a good way to unwind.

Setting up the livestream, you watched as the viewer count quickly climbed, reaching 15,000 and still rising. "How's your day?" you read aloud from one of the comments. "Nothing much really, I'm just soooo tired," you chuckled, scrolling through more questions. The familiar 'will you marry me Y/N' and 'are you dating anyone' questions popped up, causing you to smile wryly. It was flattering, but also a bit overwhelming.

"Y/N, what do you think of Kim Chaewon?" another question asked. You raised an eyebrow, smirking slightly. "Hmm, she's nice, I guess. Also, if this is one of your guys' traps, I'm not falling for those anymore." You stared into the camera, your fans admiring you through their screens.

As you continued to interact with your fans, you suddenly heard the sound of your door opening. A wave of panic washed over you. Had someone broken in? How could they have gotten past security? You had sworn you locked the door. Your mind raced with possibilities.

The door opened wider, and you saw a white-haired man kneeling, putting his shoes away. "Babeeee, what do you want to eat? Do you want to get it delivered, or do you wanna go out?" His voice was casual, but it sent a shock through you. You gasped, trying to quickly turn off the livestream, but it was too late.

The comments exploded in a frenzy:

"BABE?????"

"WHO IS THAT 😭😭"

"HE'S DATING SOMEONE!?!?!?!?"

"IT SOUNDS LIKE A GUY"

"OMGGGGGGGGGGGGG"

"WHAT THE HELL DOES THAT BABE MEAN???"

You panicked, letting out a little squeal as you finally managed to turn off the livestream and shut your phone. "GOJO!" you screamed, your heart pounding in your chest.

"What?" he replied, looking at you with a mix of confusion and amusement.

-

"What do I do? What do I do? What do I do..." You paced back and forth, muttering the same words over and over, your mind racing. Gojo watched you, a smirk playing on his lips.

"You know, it's not half as bad," he said finally. "People will know that you're my property from now on."

"Still! I never wanted them to find out this way..." you sighed, collapsing onto the couch beside him. The weight of the situation settled over you, a mix of anxiety and resignation.

"It'll be okay. No matter what, I'm always with you." He reached out, touching your chin gently before pulling you into a hug. You hugged him back tightly, the comfort of his embrace grounding you.

"Thanks..." you whispered, feeling a sense of calm wash over you despite the chaos that had just erupted.

After a moment, you pulled back, determination in your eyes. "I need to do this right," you said. "I'll post a confession about us dating. It's better than letting rumors spiral out of control."

Gojo nodded, his expression serious. "Whatever you decide, I'm here for you."

Taking a deep breath, you picked up your phone, opening your Instagram app once more. You composed a heartfelt post, explaining how you had been dating your bodyguard, Gojo, for a while and how much he meant to you. You acknowledged that the livestream slip-up wasn't how you wanted to reveal your relationship, but you hoped your fans would understand and support you.

As you hit 'post', a sense of relief washed over you. It was out there now, and there was no turning back. You and Gojo sat together, waiting for the inevitable reactions. Notifications started flooding in almost immediately, a mix of shock, support, and a few inevitable negative comments. But overall, the response was more positive than you had expected.

Your fans, though surprised, expressed their happiness for you, many of them emphasizing their continued support no matter what. It was a heartwarming realization that even in your highly publicized life, there were people who genuinely cared about your happiness.

You turned to Gojo, a smile playing on your lips. "Looks like we're officially out in the open now," you said.

He grinned back, squeezing your hand. "About time," he replied. "Now, about that food—I'm starving."

You laughed, the tension easing from your shoulders. "Let's get something delivered. I think we've had enough excitement for one day."

As you placed the order, you felt a sense of peace. The world knew about your relationship, and while it wasn't how you planned, it felt good to no longer hide. With Gojo by your side, you knew you could face whatever challenges came your way. And with a concert in two days, you had plenty to focus on. But for now, you were content to enjoy a quiet evening together, knowing that no matter what, you had each other.

[covetyou]

digital

ao3 ⋆ main masterlist ⋆ series masterlist

pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader  rating: Explicit (18+ only!)  warnings: sex toys (like the wevibe jive or lovense lush/vulse), masturbation, phone sex, fluff, mild angst and serious yearning, novelty hats, Joel doesn't forget the balls, reader has a mom (inc. vague mentions of other family), no use of y/n word count: 4k  summary: You're exhausted. The special kind. The kind that only comes with visiting your family for Thanksgiving. Still, the exhaustion can't keep that yearning ache at bay, the ache you've been fending off all day. So, in the dark of the night, you reach out to Joel in the only way you can.

A/N: we're ignoring that this is well over 2 weeks later than I planned. we're not ignoring that this is the penultimate fic in this accidental series. the final installment will be coming to you all sometime in the coming weeks, and I hope you can join me in seeing off these two lovebirds right where it all began. see you soon 💛

follow @covetedfics and turn notifications on for updates on future fics

It's late when you fall into bed, sinking into the shape of yourself indented into a mattress you'd long left behind.

You're exhausted. The special kind. The kind that only comes with visiting your family for Thanksgiving.

It was stupid to have expected anything else really. Between the travelling, over indulgence, and endless socializing and catching up with family, there wasn't a chance you'd be anything other than bone tired and irritable. Wasn't that how these things always went?

In fact, from the moment you'd been welcomed by your mom with open arms and an it's good to have you home, you'd been annoyed. You couldn't even quite put your finger on why until Joel had sent his first message that morning; a picture of him and Sarah in matching holiday t-shirts, wearing matching squinting eyed grins, with a message that read wish you were here, and you wished you were too.

It wasn't until the fifth welcome home that day that you realized home hadn't been this place in a long time. Home, instead, was a million miles away, in Austin, Texas.

Home was sat on his couch, sharing a bag of chips with his daughter.

Home was chatting shit with his brother, cracking open a cold one on the patio.

Home was probably curled up in bed, holding a pillow close to himself to fill the empty space left by you.

Home was Joel Miller.

And home wasn't here.

At dinner, you'd made a decent effort to fill the Joel shaped void in your chest with mashed potatoes and stuffing, eating until your stomach ached so much that any other part of you couldn't possibly ache for any other reason. By the time dessert rolled around, the longing was back, clawing at you and pulling you toward a family that could be yours, if only you'd let it, until you filled that aching void again with too much pie and wine.

It was back now, that ache. Softer and gentler now that you were alone. More creeping than clawing as it worked its way back up your spine, latching at your throat with a squeeze rather than the bruising grip from earlier in the day.

It was that very same ache - that longing - that made you send maybe the most pathetic text you'd ever sent in your life.

you up?

He shouldn't be, you don't think. If it's late here it's even later there. He has a kid. Responsibilities you have been reminded over and over by "well meaning" family members that you don't have. At any rate, he had better things to do than to keep you company in the middle of the night, when the longing got too much to bear alone. Because you are alone, in this house filled with people - people you love - and you think that maybe you've never been more alone than now because, suddenly, alone feels a lot like lonely and -

The shrill ring of your phone stops your spiralling thoughts and, in a panic, you slap at the screen just to shut it up, rolling over until the brightness of it blinds you, and then you hear him.

His familiar drawl is softer than usual. He sounds tired, but content, almost like you can hear the smile in his voice and the crinkle in his eyes.

"Was hopin' I'd hear from you."

Your brain has stuttered to a stop. You're not breathing, not blinking, barely moving where you lie on your front, propped on your elbows, staring down at the too-bright screen of your phone where Joel stares back. It's just a picture - one you'd taken some weeks ago as you sat next to him on his couch and had looked at every day since. It was a good picture. He looked beautiful - soft and comfortable in his own home, looking right at you. Fuck, do you miss him.

"Hello? Y'ain't fallen asleep on me that quick, have you?"

You blink, shake yourself, and curse under your breath, catching Joel's raspy laugh as you fumble with your phone and smack it to the side of your head much harder than you meant to.

"Fuck, fuck, ow, yes, sorry. Hello," you garble, before taking a deep breath. "Hello. Hi."

"Hey there, darlin'," he says back, that smile so evident on his voice you're grinning right back at him in the dark. "You okay? Doze off for a little there?"

"Sorry it's - it's just your voice. Sounds better than I remember," you laugh softly. "Wasn't expecting it."

"Only been a couple days," he teases, and the familiar, comfortable ease of being with Joel blankets you. From what feels like so very far away he's managed to crawl back into your chest and illuminate the dark, empty cavern inside of it in a matter of moments. You never stood a chance.

"I know," you sigh as you roll over and flick on a bedside lamp to keep the creeping dark at bay. "I've missed you. Today was... not fun."

"Wanna talk about it?"

"Not really."

By this point you knew him well enough to know he was running his tongue across his teeth, nodding in that gentle, understanding way he did whenever you'd complain about work, or how you'd kicked the kitchen cabinet by accident yet again. For as much as he'd barrelled into your life, he was always so very gentle with the parts you gave, and even gentler with the parts that you weren't yet ready for him to see. Fuck, do you love him.

He hums then, in just the way you'd expect, and you listen to the delicate sounds of each others breaths for a beat before he breaks the silence.

"Wanna tell me what that surprise you were teasin' me was instead?"

Shit. You'd forgotten about that. Sort of.

This morning you'd almost pulled it out, plan set to tease Joel with it all day. One look at the thing in your hand, and the idea of your cunt pulsing away while you tried to have a conversation with your mother turned you off from that idea entirely.

Now, it sat back in your bag, tucked away and hidden in the closet, away from the prying eyes of your family, and almost forgotten entirely by you.

"It can wait," you say hastily, flapping a hand in the air as if there was any chance he could see you.

"Now hold on a sec. You were teasin' me with that all week. Told me I couldn't have it at home, it was best to show me from all the way over there. Now, I don't know what you're plannin', but you got two days to show me what mischief you been makin', sweetheart, or all that fuss before was for nothin'."

You don't answer, instead eyeing the closet and weighing up your chances of waking anyone in the house if you did show Joel the little surprise you'd been planning on giving him for weeks.

"Think I can make a few guesses, don't you?"

"You could try," you scoff, knowing Joel's eyebrows are making a valiant attempt to meet his hairline right now.

"Try?" he asks, all too innocently. "Just tell me somethin', then. You doin' that thing where you touch yourself without even realizin' it?"

Your hand stops just at it's about to make another loop across your chest and down the softness of your stomach. "No."

He tuts down the line, and you can see the tick of his head behind your eyes, pinched shut as if he'd just caught you in the act in person.

"And you're gonna tell me your little surprise got nothin' to do with that."

That happened to be the way you always found yourself touching yourself in some way whenever you spoke to Joel, from whatever distance you found yourself from him. Not always in a sexy way either, though more often than not it was. Sometimes it was just soothing, you supposed. Listening to him talk while your hands played idly on your skin calmed you better than just about anything else, and here you were, soothing yourself with his voice from across the miles, your hands tracing the patterns you wished his could. It was nice - a connection to him even through the distance that wasn't just audible, but physical too.

Which was the exact point of your little surprise - a way to be with Joel without actually being with Joel.

"It might."

Joel's stubborn silence is about all you need to know the man isn't about to back down and let you off the hook any time soon. "Fine, but you've got to give me a second to grab it."

You huff in faux annoyance and haul your ass out of bed, tired bones creaking, but the weariness you'd felt all day slowly fading away as excitement creeps in to replace it.

"Can hear you movin' around."

You're glad for it. You hope he can hear every single thing - the soft click of the closet door, the thud of pillows propped up on the bed you spent years of your life sleeping in, the creak of springs as you settle yourself back into the unfamiliar sheets covering it, how you pull up your shirt just so and rest the surprise you'd stashed away across the miles right between your bare breasts. You hope he hears you fumble and tap at your phone as you take picture after picture, until you get one just right, and scramble to hit send.

It's a hope that's realized when you hear his breath hitch and the words get lost in his throat.

"Well," he says with a cough. "Don't quite know what the surprise for me is. Never hid those beauties from me before though, so I'm gonna have to say it's the pretty thing between 'em. Think I can guess where it goes. You gonna let me listen in?"

"Maybe," you say just as you hit send on another message to Joel. "Was kinda hoping you'd give me a hand though."

"What -"

He sounds muffled, but you can hear him mumbling to himself as his thick fingers tap away at his phone screen. And then, exactly as you hoped, the toy sitting on your chest rumbles to life and you could almost cry at the feeling. You grasp it in your fist, just as the other motor hums into action and starts gently thrusting against your palm. For a moment, the intensity gets so much your skin starts to tingle, until it dies down and then finally rumbles to a stop.

"This what I think it is? You really get this so I can play with you like this?" he asks, voice laced in disbelief.

"Yeah," you say, the toy in your hand purring into action again.

"You ain't put it in yet, have you?"

"Not yet," you murmur. "But I can feel you."

"Yeah?" he says, and a moment later the vibrations strengthen and weaken against your hand, like a wave coming in strong before pulling back out to sea. "Y'feel that?"

"Mhm."

The toy buzzes to life and quickly shuts off over and over, short stacatto bursts of vibrations tickling your hand, and you laugh at the silliness of it. "Joel. That's not gonna get anyone off. You're just gonna break it."

"What? It ain't nice like that?" he jokes.

"Feeling you is always nice."

"Know what'd be even nicer?" he asks. "Takin' off them panties and lettin' me really put this thing to use. Feel me where you really need it. Know you gotta be wet down there - your brain don't shut off like that when I'm talking to you if you ain't."

Your panties are flung across the room barely a moment later, your fingers skating gently along the edges of them before you yanked them down your legs. You are wet, panties soaked through in the middle, cunt sensitive and ready for a cock that isn't coming. Despite the obvious emptiness, and even more painfully obvious lack of Joel in the room, you know you're about to come quicker than you have in some time. You can barely swipe your own fingers through your slick folds, gathering your own wetness to smear it over the toy, without holding back a moan.

"That's it. Can hear you. Think we oughta start off nice 'n' gentle, huh?"

The air hitches in your lungs as the toy thrums to life. You guide the gentle buzz down your front, leaving a slick trail of your own wetness over the softness of your belly, before teasing down and down, between your legs and across already twitching thighs.

You circle your cunt with it, teasing with its vibrating tip, eyes pinched shut while Joel keeps it soft and steady for you as you slip it across slick coated skin and up to your clit.

"That good?"

He sounds so soft, almost breathless. You hope he's touching himself too, but you don't have the words to ask. If you open your mouth you're going to let out the moan you're so desperately holding back, your bottom lip sore with it, and the idea of anyone waking up, of ruining this for you now when it's just begun, is enough to keep your lips sealed tight.

"Mhm."

"S'good. Think you're playin' with that clit now, huh?"

You nod. Stupidly. Yet somehow he knows. He always knows. And the toy buzzes harder, intensity sliding up so gently as you were swirling it around yourself you almost didn't notice until the vibrations dancing past your clit forced the moan out of you, face turned into the pillow to stifle it.

"Gotta keep quiet," he says then. "Y'aint alone over there, darlin'. But I ain't with you to put that mouth to use either."

You groan again. You can't control it. It comes out low and strong, the phone you were grasping so tightly left forgotten against the pillow by your ear so you can clutch the plush pillow to your face instead, biting it.

"Too good," you say around a mouthful of pillow. "I need to put it in, Joel, it's gonna make me come too fast - shit - just knowing - knowing you're there, doing that and I - fuck..."

"Put it in. Slip it in that wet little hole for me. You feel that? Feel me in there?"

It's easy, sliding it into you. It's only small - you certainly have bigger - but so very powerful. Not the motor, no, but the way it, and Joel's control over it, have you a sopping mess already.

"I feel you," you say, Joel turning sliding on the other setting - the thrust you felt in your palm minutes ago - setting the toy wiggling and buzzing inside you. "Fuck, I feel you."

You dig your nails into your thighs, letting them bite into the soft, sensitive flesh to pull you back, to pull you down from whatever high you were going toward. It's too much and it's not enough all at once. You want him - need him - desperately, but he's so damn far away and somehow that makes this all the sweeter and all the more bitter, all in one.

"Wish I could be fuckin' you for real, feel you twitchin' on my cock. You twitchin'?" he asks, that breathlessness back in his voice again, and you just know he's joining you. You can see his hand gripped tight around his cock, his head slick and ruddy, squeezing more than stroking, holding back just like you were desperately trying to.

"Don't want to yet. Want this to last - ah - won't have you for days."

"Look at you," he mutters, the vibrations inside you kicking up a notch. "Can't go a few days without me."

And you never want to again.

"Touch that clit for me. Wish I could do it for you. Know how much y'need it."

At his guidance, your grip on your thighs releases. You stroke one quivering hand across your mound. You're so tense. From the day, sure, but from holding back too. All damn day you've held back. Held back looking at your phone in front of anyone. Held back saying Joel's name, mentioning the man who had you so distracted even from so far away. Held back talking about his amazing daughter, and the little family you'd accidentally and gladly fallen into. Held back telling everyone about the life you'd carved for yourself a million miles away from here, so different from the one you left behind. Held back, held back, held back.

Even now you're holding back, but fuck, are you ready to fly.

"Need to see you," you beg, a little too loudly, but you can't bring yourself to care. The combination of him working away in your cunt and your fingers stroking against your swollen clit are too much. You need to see him. "Please. I'm close. I'm -"

There's a shuffle and then the screen illuminates against your face just as the pulsing throb in your cunt gets stronger. You fumble, grabbing it just before it slips beneath your shoulder, and squint against the brightness, eyes adjusting until you see the beautiful face of Joel.

He's smiling. Face as flushed as you imagine yours is.

"Fuck -" you gasp. He looks better than you remember. Even at this terrible angle, the extreme close up of his face. He's shirtless. You can see his bare, tanned collarbones, the slope of his traps into his shoulders. "Fuck."

"You really that close?" you watch him say, your eyes fixated on the way his mouth moves around each word. So fixated, you barely notice him pull back the camera, or shift it upwards, until his full head is in view.

Including the turkey hat perched on top of it.

You almost stop swiping your fingers across your clit.

Almost.

"You asshole," you moan, as Joel's face lights up. He frowns then too, a look of concentration flicking over his face, tukey legs flapping by his ears, until you feel the damned thing rumbling inside you thrust wilder, wiggling against that very spot usually reserved for Joel's fingers. "Fu-uck. You - you just put that hat on. I heard you."

"This old thing?" he says with wobble of his head that sends the turkey flopping from side to side.

"Take it off. I'm close Joel, I-"

He shrugs. You watch him fucking shrug as you speed up the movement of your fingers, teasing yourself as he teases you in every sense of the word and, somehow, it does nothing but get you wetter, sends your legs quivering and your brain desperately trying to hold on for a little bit longer. "Don't think it's enough to stop you. Never had a problem comin' before. Think you can come no matter what I'm wearin'."

"Fuck," you say again, because it's true. And he smirks, because he knows it is too.

"You can do it. Keep rubbin' that thing for me, can tell you're so fuckin' close."

"Are you hard? Please. I need to know, I can't, I'm - I -"

"Where the fuck do you think my other hand is, huh? You wanna see 'im? Know you said you missed me but I bet you're really fuckin' missin' him right now, ain't you?"

"Please."

You're loud. You know you are. Even as you beg, you know it's too loud, and you know these walls are too damn thin for this. The only thing saving your ass right now is holiday exhaustion and too much pie.

When Joel flips his camera, you damn near come immediately. He's cupping his balls, massaging them while his solid cock desperately leaks. He's holding himself back for you - fuck, you love him - he's waited for you all this time, hoping to hear from you, thinking of you as he played with himself alone, so far away from you and your helping hands.

"Oh my god, I swear, I swear I've never wanted it more. I need it."

"I believe you," he breathes, jerking his cock in his massive hand. "You're gonna get it, darlin'. Second you're back here, gonna bend you over your kitchen counter and fuck you right there. Keep makin' them pretty noises for me now. That's it. Need more fuckin' hands..."

"I'm gonna, I'm gonna -"

And you do. Joel makes one last flick across his phone screen, the intensity rumbling in you reaching a peak, your fingers rub, rub, rubbing at your clit as you watch his heavy cock throb in his hand, and you come, clenching and fluttering around the unrelenting toy as you swear and moan right down the phoneline.

Joel isn't far behind. Even fucked out and exhausted, you somehow keep your eyes open, keep the toy lodged in you, buzzing away, pulling aftershocks out of you as you watch Joel work his cock until he's spilling all over his fist and thigh with a shakey groan.

"Shit."

You yank the toy from you when it becomes too much to bear, leaving it wet and rumbling on the sheets. Joel cleans up - a softly murmurred be right back, leaving you face down on his bed as you become a boneless sack filled with too much pie and longing in your own bed, so very far from his.

"You made me come in a turkey hat," you say sleepily when his face reappears on your phone screen, that very same hat still pulled tight on his head. You can see his own exhaustion now, each line and shadow on his face exacerbated by the late hour and low light.

"Think we both know you came with me wearin' weirder before. You like the weird."

"You like the weird."

"I love the weird."

He yawns. His massive hand covering his mouth, eyes closing in on themselves, rolling his head - and that stupid turkey hat - on his neck, and he's maybe never looked better. Silly, sleepy, content. Yours.

"I love you."

You don't know why you say it, exactly. You suppose you think it so loud it just slipped out. Fuck knows you'd toyed with it enough. Started saying how much you love his laugh or love his hair in the morning. Text him it. You love him. It should be easy. But it wasn't, even if he said it to you a thousand times over, a thousand different ways, without the many miles between you.

Joel doesn't hesitate, not even for a second. "Come say that to my face."

"I will," you say. "I promise, I will."

There's four days between you, and as many phonecalls. As many I love you's too. Practice makes perfect, they say. And you have a promise to keep.

You say another I love you to your mother when she pulls you in for one last hug, and you mean that just as much, even though that's never been easy either. Practice makes perfect.

She pulls away, pushing you toward something else, when you load your bags into the car, welcome home turned to safe journey home. From where home was to where home is. You know she sees it too.

Soft smiles, a kiss to your head. Whispers of I'm so happy for you, I can't wait to meet him, and you're off, away, longing for where love is.

She sees it too.

When you land in Austin that evening, you drive past the door with the lock that started it all, the key sat forgotten at the bottom of your bag. One knock is all it takes, and he's there.

"I love you."

next part

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[acciofictionalmen]

fallout in the snowfall ❆ part 3

james potter x female!reader

summary: when james kisses you on an adrenaline high, your friendship is in shambles as the true meaning of "just friends" becomes irreparably warped. you both desperately try to restore the platonic bond that you once shared, but at what cost...

warnings: strong language, sexual references

word count: 3.1k

series masterlist

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4

Excited chatter filled the room as people crowded around the centre, eager to hear their name called. You stood with your group of friends, chatting with Sirius and Remus whilst James talked to Lily. Mary was busy reassuring Peter, who looked disconcertingly pale.

Christmas break was quickly approaching and, much to the students’ chagrin, teachers began to set end-of-term tests. As it was your penultimate year at Hogwarts all tests were treated seriously. However, there was a different atmosphere surrounding the DADA test: a duel utilising the most advanced spells you’d been taught so far. It was assessed based on who disarmed their opponent first, the length of the duel and the range of spells used; everyone was anticipating it. Some were excited and had disarmed multiple first years that morning for practice, others (namely Peter), had vomited during breakfast.

You weren’t sure into which category you fell. Sure, you were confident in your knowledge, but duelling was different to scribbling information down on a piece of parchment: it was impulsive.

Not only that, your DADA teacher – Professor Halloway – had a reputation for being as harsh as she was skilled. Approaching her one hundredth birthday, she was wise, experienced and beautiful in a sharp manner, with thick black hair she kept stuffed beneath a black, pointed hat. Her face was drawn, tight, her brown eyes always critical. It wasn’t easy to score high grades in Halloway’s classes.

“You’ll do fine.” Remus smiled by your side, noticing your growing discomfort, “I’ve seen you practice. You’ve got this.”

“Yeah (Y/n),” Sirius squeezed your arm, “Just pretend they’re Snape.” Sirius’ eyes darkened as he spied the Slytherin on the opposite end of the room, speaking with the Professor, “I know I will be.”

“Thanks guys.” Your head tilted teasingly, “Try not to accidentally murder Snape then.”

Sirius gave you a concerningly non-committal look.

Whilst waiting, you noticed Remus clenching his fists- anxious to do well. An idea sprang to your mind.

“Wanna be my duelling partner?” You abruptly asked Remus, “Sirius will be desperate to duel Snape, unless James beats him to it.”

Remus gave you a thankful smile, “Yeah, thanks (Y/n). We’ll do that.”

“Of cour-“

“Potter. James Potter.”

The room went silent as all eyes flew to James.

In a manner that oozed confidence, he rolled his shoulders back and stepped into the centre of the room.

Professor Halloway looked disinterested, “Partner?”

On instinct, you turned to Snape. His sneer was more pronounced than usual, and you knew he was also waiting for his name to be called.

“Prewett.”

Your heart dropped. The impact of his name seemed to surge through the room as people turned around in surprise. In a few seconds, Gideon had pushed through the crowd until he stood directly in front of James. Both boys silently assessed each other, both the picture of self-assurance. There was one stark difference between them- James appeared unbothered, his posture relaxed. Gideon, on the other hand, was visibly tense; lacked the ease that had always come naturally to James.

Your heartbeat sped up as you held your breath, trying to ignore the pounding in your chest as the tension in the room mounted.

“Take your positions.” Professor Halloway dictated. The class fell silent once more to witness the interaction. Even Snape was unable to hide the shock from his face.

James stood on the left, closest to you, whilst Gideon stood opposite on the right.

Professor Halloway spoke cautiously, “Remember- this is solely to disarm. No other spells are to be used.” Both boys nodded. “Now, draw your wands and bow… Bow, Potter…”

The irritation on James’ face was almost comical as he sunk into a deeper bow, but you couldn’t laugh. You held your breath as both boys stepped away from each other.

“One… Two…”

You stared, unable to look away.

“Three.”

Lights flashed across the room as both cast spells at an alarmingly fast rate.

It quickly became clear who was faster.

Gideon’s casting visibly began to slow as his spells started to miss their target, his wand movements becoming sloppier against the onslaught of James’.

It wasn’t long before Gideon was on the floor, panting for air. But James wasn’t finished.

“FLIPENDO.” The word rung throughout the room and Gideon was flung backwards. He slammed into the wall with a sickening thud, dropping to the floor.

A hand flew to your mouth. The room erupted into shouts.

People were running over to Gideon, checking he was okay and attempting to lift him off the ground. Professor Halloway was viciously scolding James, his loyal best friends immediately supporting him and by his side. You stood there in the centre of it all, horrified, as people bustled around.

You couldn’t process what had just happened as you watched a Hufflepuff girl shaking Gideon frantically. There were too many people surrounding him to see if he had opened his eyes.

Your shock and confusion at James for taking it too far was quickly replaced by anger. He had recently seemed a little hostile towards Gideon, but you chalked it down to James’ anxiety for the Gryffindor team to do well. This- this was something else.

“He’s okay!” Someone declared. Gideon had stood up, somewhat off-balance, but seemed to be fine. You exhaled in relief, mentally noting to check on him later.

After giving Gideon a quick once-over and deeming him fit to stay in class, Professor Halloway continued her berating. “You got lucky, Potter. If this happens again you will not be welcome in this class. From today, you have a fortnight of detention and will automatically fail this test.”

There were some shouts of indignation from Sirius and some opposing yells that James’ punishment wasn’t enough, but Professor Halloway silenced them with a lethal look as she turned to face the rest of the class.

“Any more of this behaviour in my lessons, and you’ll find that you have no free time for a month.”

That shut everyone up.

She picked up her list and proceeded to call people up. Snape, much to James and Sirius’ horror, called Remus up. But they needn’t have feared: Remus won a decisive victory with a spurt of well-rehearsed spell combinations. You were slightly disappointed Remus wouldn’t be able to duel again now, but you knew Mary would be more than happy to partner up.

Following James’ scolding no more dangerous incidents occurred, and the duels blended seamlessly together. Before you knew it, Professor Halloway had called your name and you were stood by her side.

“Partner?” She asked curtly.

“Mary.” You said, grinning as your best friend made eye contact with you, already making her way up to the front.

“You must think me blind, Miss (L/n), if you think I haven’t noticed how close the two of you are. Duelling is about spontaneity, and I have no doubt you’ve practiced with Miss MacDonald many times.”

Mary froze, and you knew your face mirrored the disappointment on her own.

Professor Halloway continued, “Mulciber, please come up.”

Sirius swore loudly as you froze, feet glued to the floor. Your eyes went to your friends, who all looked worried. But it was James who made his indignation known.

“You can’t have him duel-”

“Silence!” Professor Halloway hissed, “Another disruption from you, Potter, and I’ll see your expulsion through personally.”

You shook your head at James as he fell silent, a frown etched into his face as he watched Mulciber approach you.

Your duelling partner took his place opposite, a sickening grin on his face as his lips curled wickedly.

Mulciber was a Slytherin notorious for his cruel, unforgiving nature, and a friend of Snape’s. He’d once had a brawl in the courtyard with Sirius, and both had left with considerable injuries that even Madam Pomfrey couldn’t heal overnight. He hated the Marauders, and their friends.

All eyes were on you as you bowed, your eyes narrowing at Mulciber as you assessed him. The look in his eyes was wild, one of unmistakeable hostility.

For a moment everyone seemed to hold their breath. You knew your duelling was strong enough to best Mulciber- you just had to stay collected.

“One.”

Your fingers tightened around your wand as you got into a duelling stance. Mulciber did the same.

“Two.”

Your arms went rigid to stop them shaking from the anticipation, the first spell already dancing on the tip of your tongue.

“Th-”

Mulciber blasted a spell your way.

People were already shouting, but you couldn’t listen.

Though he’d taken you by surprise, your blocks were precise. Mulciber’s voice rose in anger, but his spells still were unable to scrape past your unyielding shield.

You smirked as he snarled, spells bouncing off your shield and rebounding across the room as people ducked to avoid his wrath. He neared you, his movements vaguely reminding you of a lion stalking its prey. Your determination intensified; between the two of you there was only one Gryffindor.

But the impact of his spells slamming relentlessly into your shield was beginning to drain your energy, and you knew that in order to win you had to go onto the offensive.

Within a second you dropped your shield and flung a spell at your opponent. He staggered back, surprised, his look of shock morphing into anger. You readied your wand but he was already hurling spells your way. You deflected them too late, stumbling slightly as you struggled to regain your balance.

Panic began to overwhelm your thoughts as your wand slipped in your hand. Your palms were slick with sweat; every time you had an opening to fire a spell Mulciber would easily deflect it, then hurl ten back. You were struggling to find an opening and feeling wearier by the second.

Mulciber’s face was red as you dodged spell after spell, and you faintly registered the loud yells around you. Whatever was said had him gritting his teeth, when he suddenly slammed you with a spell so vicious that you almost fell backwards.

A spell as violent as that can’t have been for disarming. The shouting in the room got louder.

You heard Professor Halloway reprimanding Mulciber, but you barely processed it as he continued to attack you with an onslaught of magic. By now you were clenching your wand tightly, your hands shaking from the strain.

Within seconds his spells seemed to gain a new intensity. You had to cast one final spell and end this. There was a moment, a millisecond, where Mulciber was preparing to attack again, and you momentarily let down your shield to hit him with the disarming charm.

He beat you to it.

The spell slammed into your chest as you choked on air, the impact making your lungs constrict painfully. Before you could properly register it, you were flying backwards. A blinding pain shot up your arm as you slammed onto the ground, a strangled sound escaping your throat.

There were screams, people rushing around you as you sat up quickly, vision slightly hazy. Cradling your arm, the tears in your eyes were a mixture of pain and sheer embarrassment. You felt so humiliated, hating the attention as people repeatedly asked if you were okay. Suddenly Professor Halloway’s pointed face appeared into view as she hauled you up and towards the exit of the room.

Within an instant a familiar voice was speaking up, rough and panicked, “Professor, let me take her to Madam Pomfrey, please.”

You realised with a start that it was James as he shoved people aside to get to you, his eyes wild.

Anger flooded your senses and, combined with not only the pain in your wrist but the humiliation of your defeat, it became rage, “Not him.” You spat, “Anyone but him.” You turned to Professor Halloway, ignoring James as she stared at you thoughtfully.

“Lupin!” She called, and Remus was instantly by your side.

Before you knew it you’d left the classroom. The door slammed shut on James, and the chaos inside.

──── ୨୧ ────

After a gruelling day, lessons were finally over. Curled up by the fire, you basked in the warmth and soft crackles that filled the common room. It was late, so most people had vacated the space to get ready for bed.

You chose to stay behind, in deep thought as you moved your now fully healed wrist.

The quiet didn’t last long as the Fat Lady portrait abruptly swung open. In came James, accompanied by Remus. You screwed your eyes shut, in disbelief that this was happening now of all times.

James hesitated at the sight of you, alone, and nodded to Remus, “I’ll be just a minute mate, go up without me.”

Remus lingered at the foot of the stairs, appearing uncertain, but headed up at the sound of the resolution in James’ voice. You didn’t speak, didn’t bother to face him as you continued to stare into the fire, orange floating in front of your eyes whenever you blinked.

James stood behind you.

“How are you feeling?” He asked, the words sliding out casually.

“Fine.” You didn’t bother to look up at him; your cold tone making it clear that you wanted to be left alone.

James shook his head in frustration. Turning to the staircase, his hand settled on the railing as the first step creaked. But then he stepped back down, turning around suddenly, “What’s the problem? Between us?” His words had a confrontational edge, prompting you to turn and face him as your brows furrowed.

“What?”

James took a step towards you, that stubbornness burning in his eyes as he stared you down, “What’s wrong with you? Why have you been acting like this?”

You stood up, unable to bear the way he was talking down to you and how vulnerable it made you feel. “How I’ve been acting? Did you not almost kill Gideon Prewett earlier after slamming him into a wall for no reason?”

“He would’ve survived worse. He’s annoyingly persistent like that.” His eyes were dark.

“He didn’t deserve it.”

His irritated expression suggested otherwise. James clenched his jaw, crossing his arms. His biceps bulged, briefly pulling your eyes away from his face.

“You’re unreasonable.” You spat; tone accusatory as you moved towards him.

James scoffed, the fire reflecting in his glasses, “And you aren’t? Are you going to tell me what’s wrong or am I expected to grovel at your feet and beg for an answer?”

You rolled your eyes, refusing to take the bait. This had to stop. “Don’t turn this on me, James.” You shook your head, laughing in disbelief, “You don’t get to do that.”

James stared you down, unspeaking. You hated the way he just stood there. You needed a reaction from him, needed to know your words hurt him as much as he had you.

You didn’t know when the conversation had turned away from Gideon, but it just did.

You maintained his gaze, refusing to look away. “Our friendship is ruined because you used me to satiate your- whatever- and then didn’t know what to do with me afterwards.” You swallowed harshly, stifling any emotion as you struggled to conceal how deeply affected you were by him.

His jaw clenched, “That’s what you think of me, is it?” His laugh was joyless as he took one final step, asserting himself over you. The height difference was pronounced as he looked down to speak, “You’re the one who made it awkward. You’re the one who made things different when they were just fine.”

“Maybe I didn’t want ‘just fine’.”

He hesitated.

“Merlin, James, do you ever think about what others want for a change?” You struck where you knew it would hurt.

James stopped you before you could get another hurtful word in. “Don’t act as though you didn’t pull away first, (Y/n). Don’t pretend this is all on me. It’s not my fault that my friendship wasn’t enough for you, that you weren’t satisfied. You don’t get to blame that on me.” His voice got louder as he rubbed his temples, “And what are you mad at me for, exactly? Kissing you?” He paused, waiting for you to respond. You didn’t. “Because if you didn’t like that, you’d be the first.” His voice was harsh, that familiar cockiness slipping out.

You froze, his words smacking you in the face.

Anger shone in the tears that pooled in your eyes. You shoved a hand against his chest, “Fuck you-”

James opened his mouth to speak. You didn’t let him. “-and your fucked up idea of friendship.”

You tried to turn away but his hand flew to your wrist, keeping your palm splayed against him.

You were close now, so close. The red glow of the flames danced on the rim of James’ glasses as you stood your ground, refusing to look away.

His eyes dropped to your lips, and your eyes begged to do the same. You couldn't do it. Wouldn't allow yourself to.

“Don’t you dare.” Your voice cracked, finally yielding under the tension. James’ eyes flicked up to yours again, his breathing heavy. The look he gave you was one of hurt and anger, and something else. “Don’t you dare look at me like that.”

Your words came out harsher than intended and James instantly dropped your wrist, stepping away. Your hand dropped to your side, fingers tingling.

The gap between you seemed to roar with everything unspoken.

“We’ve ruined this.”

James’ response was low, spiteful. “Then stop chasing it.”

“Stop, both of you!” A voice sliced through the tension, causing you to whip around. Mary stood at the foot of the stairs in pink pyjamas, arms crossed as she glared at James.

“We’re going to bed.” She went up to you and took your arm, dragging you away.

“You’ve got a date tomorrow (Y/n), focus on that.” Mary soothed as you disappeared up the stairs, her words intentionally loud so that James would hear.

Mary was James’ friend, sure- and maybe what she’d said was petty, but she could live with that. In Mary’s eyes you came first, and James had hurt you. Badly. He deserved to know that he was no longer a priority in your life.

James stood there; hands clenching and unclenching as his anger began to ebb away. Eventually, the lack of your presence caused the buzzing in his mind to settle.

He cursed, sinking into the armchair closest to the fire. So close, that he had to move his legs away from the flames- the heat bordering on painful. His head fell back, cushioned by the plush material. He hadn’t known why he’d done it, had lost control with his classmate. His teammate. Why he had seen him as a threat.

James watched the logs burn, until they were swallowed by the flames and the fire died out. He sat there, contemplating in the darkness, until the cinders were cool to the touch.

A/N

i really enjoyed writing this part! let me know what you thought i love to read your comments :)

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thank you for reading, lots of love ♡

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[mariacallous]

Jean-Marie Le Pen, the far-right French leader who espoused racist and antisemitic rhetoric and was convicted of Holocaust denial, has died at 96.

His death was announced on social media by Jordan Bardella, a leader of the party Le Pen founded. “Enlisted in the uniform of the French army in Indochina and Algeria, tribune of the people in the National Assembly and the European Parliament, he always served France, defended its identity and its sovereignty,” Bardella wrote.

Le Pen was born in 1928 in Brittany, France, and entered politics following activism as a student. In 1972, he founded the National Front party, a coalition of extremist groups that steadily accumulated support with its anti-immigrant agenda. Another co-founder had served in the Nazi Waffen-SS.

Le Pen ran unsuccessfully for president five times. In 2002, his penultimate campaign, he came in second to Jacques Chirac, advancing to a runoff but received less than one-fifth of the vote as the French mainstream united behind Chirac.

Through it all, Le Pen espoused racist and antisemitic rhetoric that landed him in legal trouble in France, where Holocaust denial is illegal. In 1987, he was convicted of denying the Holocaust after saying — and refusing to disavow saying — that the Nazi gas chambers were “just a detail” in history.

It was his first conviction but not his last, which came after he was charged in 2017 with inciting hatred over having said about a Jewish singer who criticized the National Front party, “Next time we willl put him in the oven.”

His daughter, Marine Le Pen, was elected the party’s leader in 2011, directly succeeding her father. She sought to moderate the image of the party, renamed National Rally, and denounced her father’s antisemitism.

Jean-Marie Le Pen was ejected from the party he founded in 2015 following the oven comments, sparking a divide among its supporters between those who favored his extremist rhetoric and those who preferred a more temperate approach.

Though he left the party, he did not exit the national stage, continuing to amass fines over his comments and ignite new controversies In 2018, he praised France’s World War II collaborationist government in a memoir. The Vichy government worked with the Nazis to round up Jews and send them to be murdered — the fate of more than 75,000 Jews living in France at the start of the war.

Under Marine Le Pen, who also ignited controversy by saying the French people should not be blamed for their part in the Holocaust, the party has continued to rise in influence. Last year, carried by a tide of anti-immigrant sentiment across Europe, it received a third of the vote in the first round of national elections. The younger Le Pen has focused on opposing immigration and the European Union, and has herself been charged with hate speech against Muslims.

[eu-nicola]

the finish line part 3

summary: you are the girlfriend of Lando Norris, Max Verstappen's rival with whom the tension between the two is undeniable.

warnings: nothing

word counter: 6122

author's note: english is not my first language, penultimate part

tags: @ferakillia @bunnies-p1tst0p @maluzets55

Determined to work things out, you called Lando and asked to speak in person. Even though deep down you already knew it would be a difficult and probably painful conversation, you also knew you couldn’t keep running away from your problems. Lando agreed to meet you at the hotel cafeteria, though his tone on the phone sounded tense and distant.

As you got ready, your stomach was turning. You thought back to the pictures and messages you’d received, the missed calls Lando had made to you after being discovered, and everything that had happened between you and Max. You took a breath, trying to calm the whirlwind of thoughts. You looked at yourself in the mirror one last time, wanting to feel safe, and walked out to Lando’s hotel.

When you got to the cafeteria, you found him already waiting for you at a table in the back. He had a stiff posture, his hands folded in front of him on the table and his gaze fixed on the coffee in front of him. His eyes lifted slightly when he saw you arrive, and you noticed the mix of discomfort and guilt he was trying to hide under a calm facade.

You sat in silence, watching him carefully. After a few seconds, he broke the silence.

“Look, I don’t want… this conversation to get out of hand,” Lando began, his voice wavering. “I know you’re upset, and I’m clear on why. I just want you to know that… it wasn’t what it seemed.”

You looked at him, eyes narrowing. His words sounded forced, as if he was trying to convince himself of what he was saying. It hurt you to see him like this, so changed, so full of insecurity.

“It wasn’t what it seemed, Lando?” you asked, keeping your tone firm. “I saw the photos. Everyone has seen them.”

He frowned, clearly upset.

“You don’t have to make this any harder,” he replied in a defensive tone. “It was a mistake. I was just… I needed to distract myself.” But that doesn't change how I feel about you.

A mixture of anger and disappointment ran through you. You had expected a sincere apology, something more than excuses and empty promises. You tried to remain calm, but your words came out with the coldness of truth.

"How I feel has changed too, Lando," you said quietly. "All of this... I don't know if it makes sense."

Lando lowered his gaze, but you noticed that he still maintained that defensive air. It was clear that he wasn't fully assuming his responsibility; he didn't seem willing to face the consequences of his decisions.

"So this is it?" he asked in a bitter tone. "For a mistake? You weren't even there to support me like you always do. And what was I supposed to do?" His words sounded reproachful, as if he were trying to transfer part of the blame to you.

You bit your lip, holding back your fury. You knew it had been difficult for him not to have you around, but that didn't justify his attitude. Finally, you gathered your courage and faced the issue once and for all.

“This isn’t just about what happened, Lando. There’s something bigger going on here,” you told him firmly. “I need some time to think, to get clear on what I really want. I can’t stay in a relationship where I constantly have to worry about whether or not you’ll do the right thing when I’m gone.”

He gulped, and for a moment, you saw a flash of genuine pain in his eyes. But instead of acknowledging the problem, he chose to back away once again.

“Do what you want then,” he said, letting out a frustrated sigh and looking away. “If you need time, go ahead. I’m not going to stop you.”

Those words were confirmation of everything you had felt during this last stage of your relationship. Without further ado, you stood up, leaving one last glance at the one you had considered your partner for so long. There was a moment of silence between the two of you, and then you turned around and walked out of the coffee shop without looking back.

As you walked away, you felt a strange mix of relief and sadness. You had hoped that this conversation would bring you some sort of peace, a reconciliation, or at least a heartfelt explanation. But instead, it only confirmed what you already feared: perhaps it was time to put an end to it.

Back in your hotel room, you took a seat on the bed and looked around, trying to process everything that had happened. The room was silent, and the weight of your decision began to settle in, bringing with it a wave of conflicting emotions. You pulled out your phone and, almost without thinking, opened the message Max had sent you hours ago, wondering how your conversation with Lando had gone.

Without much hesitation, you wrote him a short reply.

You: “We just talked… and I think I need some time to sort out my feelings.”

After a few minutes, the phone vibrated. Max had replied:

Max: “Do whatever you need. Just remember that if you decide to move on, I’m here for you. You don’t have to face it alone.”

Reading his words, you felt a small spark of calm, as if the weight of everything that had happened had lightened a little. You knew that this time away would be necessary to understand what it was that you really wanted, but there was one thing clear in all of this: you needed to feel authentic again, without the shadows of a relationship that had begun to consume more than it offered.

Even though you wanted to take some time off, the last race of the year was being held in Abu Dhabi, and you had to attend. For you, the trip had a professional purpose: the promotion of Rolex. Despite having distanced yourself from Lando and having spent a few days trying to find clarity about your feelings, you knew that this race would also be the closing of an intense and emotional season.

Dressed elegantly, you wore a shiny Rolex watch that caught the light with every movement. As you walked through the paddock, you felt the gazes of some acquaintances and other members of the industry; everyone knew that you had been a constant figure in Lando's team, and now it seemed strange to see you in an independent context.

While you were fulfilling your promotional tasks, you crossed paths with Max. He wore his usual determined expression, but this time there was something different in his gaze. When he saw you, his eyes lit up slightly, as if something in him had made up his mind. You noticed that, despite the crowd, his steps were heading straight towards you, with a confidence that made your pulse race.

"Hey," he said, smiling slightly. "I didn't think I'd find you here so early. How have you been?" His tone was warm, close, something different from the previous times.

“I'm… fine, I guess” you answered, trying to sound casual, although the closeness made you feel a mix of nervousness and curiosity. “I had to be here for Rolex. You know what this sponsorship thing is like.”

He nodded, and for a moment they remained silent, watching the hustle and bustle of preparations around them.

“I know things have been complicated for you lately” Max said, with a more serious tone than usual. “And I don't want to seem nosy, but… I haven't stopped thinking about what we talked about last time.”

The sincerity in his words threw you off a little. You had tried to stay distant, focus on yourself, and not think about everything you had experienced. But there was Max, with his penetrating gaze and his usual confidence, willing to open up in a way that you hadn't seen in him until now.

“I'm not here to pressure you” he continued, looking into your eyes. “I just wanted you to know that… I’m willing to fight for you, if you just give me a chance.”

His confession resonated with you, breaking the barrier you had built up over the past few weeks. You felt like it wasn’t just a passing statement; there was a depth to his words that made you doubt everything you had tried to rationalize. Deep down, something in you had been waiting to hear this, though you refused to admit it.

“Max…” you began, not knowing exactly how to express what you felt. “I don’t know if this is the right thing to do. After everything that’s happened, I’m not sure that getting more involved is the best thing for either of us.”

He nodded, listening to each word patiently.

“I know,” he replied. “But there’s something I’ve learned this season, and that is that important opportunities aren’t always the easiest ones. I’ve been avoiding speaking clearly to you because I didn’t want to make things more complicated for you. But if I’m honest, I can’t pretend that I don’t care about you.”

The seriousness in his eyes left you speechless. He wasn’t the usual Max, arrogant and competitive; he was someone vulnerable, showing a part of him that was rarely seen. And although a part of you wanted to keep putting up barriers, another, deeper part of you was starting to give in to his words and his sincerity.

You took a deep breath, trying to gather your thoughts.

“What happened with Lando was difficult… and I don’t want you to be just a distraction, Max.” It wouldn't be fair to either of you.

He took a step closer, not invading your personal space, but enough for you to feel his presence more intensely.

"I'm not someone who'll settle for being a distraction," he said with a slight smile, but his tone was firm. "What I feel for you is real. And if you give me the chance, I'm willing to show you that I'm someone you can trust."

His words enveloped you, making you feel a warmth and security that you hadn't experienced in a long time. The hardness of the breakup with Lando was still present, but Max's presence offered you an alternative, a chance to rediscover what you really wanted and, perhaps, to be happy in a fuller sense.

After a few seconds of silence, you took a breath, letting your own emotions take control.

"I don't know what will happen after all this..." you murmured, looking at the floor for a moment before looking up and meeting his gaze. "But I think I'm willing to see where this takes us."

The smile on his face was almost imperceptible, but his eyes shone with a mix of determination and tenderness.

“Then I’ll start showing it from now on,” he said, taking your hand gently. “I don’t want you to feel pressured, I just want you to know that I’m here for you. No matter how long it takes.”

After that brief exchange with Max, he said goodbye with a wink and walked away, leaving behind a feeling of anticipation that you couldn’t shake. You watched as he walked towards the Red Bull paddock, surrounded by his team, while you stood still for a moment, trying to clear your thoughts.

You decided it was time to move as well. You walked through the paddock area, the hustle and bustle around you. Drivers, engineers and journalists came and went, all focused on their own roles.

Suddenly, you saw him. Lando was up ahead, briefly chatting with one of the McLaren mechanics. He turned slightly, and for a moment, his eyes met yours. It was an instant, there was no smile, no nod of recognition, just eye contact that spoke of everything beneath the surface. He seemed distant, almost cold, and before you could say anything, he looked away and kept walking.

You stood still, feeling a knot form in your stomach. That small gesture, or lack thereof, hit you harder than you expected. You knew Lando was in his zone of concentration, but you couldn’t ignore the growing emotional distance that seemed to exist between you since you arrived in Qatar.

You took a deep breath and forced yourself to keep walking, telling yourself that you couldn’t read too much into a simple glance. But the awkwardness remained.

As you left the paddock area you went straight to the VIP area to watch the race. The race was certainly a spectacle from the start. Max started from pole, while Lando started from second position.

From the first lap, Max took the lead, controlling the pace with ruthless precision. Behind him, Lando followed closely, pushing at every opportunity. But as the laps progressed, it became clear that Red Bull had fine-tuned their car to perfection. Max seemed untouchable.

Lando, however, was not giving up. He kept fighting, looking for every millimetre of advantage, every opportunity to close the gap. Until lap 38 came around. It all happened in the blink of an eye. In the fast corner before the main straight, Lando's car lost grip. Perhaps a miscalculation or just bad luck, but the McLaren hit the wall with a sharp impact. The yellow flag waved immediately, and your heart skipped a beat.

From your spot, your eyes were fixed on the giant screen, watching anxiously. Lando got out of the car quickly, waving his hands to indicate that he was okay, but you could see the frustration in his every move. He was furious.

As the McLaren team scrambled to pick up the remains of the car, the race continued. Max continued to dominate, and with each lap, his victory became more inevitable. Finally, he crossed the finish line in first place, securing the race win. Fireworks lit up the sky, and the Red Bull team erupted in celebrations.

When it was all over, you headed towards the McLaren paddock, where you saw him surrounded by his team, his face grim and his brow furrowed. There was no trace of the carefree smile he normally wore.

As he spoke to his engineers, you locked eyes with him for a brief second. He looked exhausted, not just physically, but emotionally. But he didn't say anything, and neither did you. Without exchanging words, you turned around and began walking towards the exit.

The day had been intense, and you needed time to process it all. You took a cab back to your hotel, watching the city lights flicker through the window as you sank into your thoughts. Lando was fine physically, and that was the most important thing.

Once in your room, you kicked off your shoes and dropped into bed. The day had been a whirlwind of emotions: worry about Lando, what you had talked about with Max, and a growing confusion within yourself. You picked up your phone and left it on the nightstand. You didn't know whether to expect a text from Lando or Max. Or maybe neither.

You sighed and closed your eyes.

You had barely laid down when the glow of your phone illuminated the darkness of the room. For a moment, you thought it might be Lando, perhaps to talk about what happened at the race, but when you saw Max’s name on the screen, your heart skipped a little.

Max: “I hope you’re okay after all the drama today. Listen, I was thinking… I’m going home to Monaco to rest before the next season. How about you come with me? It’d be great to have you here.”

The message was direct and blunt, typical of Max. You stared at the screen, your fingers trembling slightly on the keyboard. The proposal took you by surprise, but at the same time, there was a part of you that had anticipated it.

You knew that accepting that invitation would involve much more than a simple vacation. It wasn't just the getaway to Monaco, it was everything that it meant: getting away from Lando once and for all from your own doubts, and facing the growing attraction you felt for Max.

You bit your lip, thinking of all the possible consequences. But then, your fingers began to move almost of their own volition.

You: "I don't know if it's a good idea, Max. This is all complicated."

It wasn't long before he responded.

Max: “Complicated? Maybe. But sometimes the complicated is the most exciting. You don't have to decide now. Think about it. I promise it will be an unforgettable trip."

You closed your eyes, trying to calm your heartbeat. The silence of the room surrounded you, but your thoughts were chaos. You could imagine Max in his suite, confident and relaxed, waiting for your answer as if he already knew what it would be.

Several hours passed, with the conversation on hold. Finally, you found yourself typing something you didn't think would come out of you.

You: "Okay. I'll go. But only because I need a break, and Monaco sounds like a good place to clear my mind."

His reply came almost instantly.

Max: "Yeah, sure, just for that, but perfect. You won't regret it. Let me know when you get there and I'll take care of everything.”

You stared at your phone after reading those words, feeling a mix of excitement and nervousness. You had made a decision that could change everything, and while a part of you was scared, another couldn't wait to see what that vacation would bring.

The day of your flight to Monaco came faster than you expected. You had been tossing and turning in bed all night, thinking about what this new stage meant. Max had been clear in his invitation, and although you were hesitant at first, you couldn't help but feel excited about the trip. What started as a simple getaway to relax had turned into an opportunity to get to know a different side of Max. A side that until now you had only seen from afar.

You took an early morning flight, without looking back. As the plane flew through the sky, you immersed yourself in thoughts about everything you had left behind.

You arrived in Monaco around afternoon, and the airport was full of tourists, celebrities, and important figures. The warm, salty Mediterranean air mixed with the hustle and bustle of the people, and you could feel the vibrant energy emanating from the city streets.

You picked up your suitcase and quickly headed to the car Max had arranged for you. You knew you couldn't miss a second of this glamorous city, and you felt a little nervous. What did Max expect from you? How would all this change after a few days in his company?

The car drove through the narrow, elegant streets of Monaco, passing by the famous casinos, luxury yachts, and hills overlooking the sea. The scenery was stunning, as always, but even more impressive was what you felt when you thought of Max waiting for you.

When you arrived at Max's residence, a luxurious apartment overlooking the port, a butler greeted you with a smile and led you to the door. The suite was everything you had imagined: modern, spacious, and with a stunning view of the sea and yachts. The decor was elegant but warm, with touches of wood and soft colors. It wasn't just any place; it was a place designed for someone like him, someone accustomed to perfection.

You left your suitcase on the bed and looked at the clock. You knew Max had to be nearby. Not even ten minutes had passed when you heard the door open. You turned around and there he was, Max, with his characteristic air of confidence, but with something different in his gaze. It was as if, for a moment, everything was just for the two of them.

"Do you like the place?" he asked, approaching with a smile on his face.

“It’s… amazing,” I replied, looking around, trying to hide how nervous I felt.

Max took a step towards you, his gaze locked on yours, and although he seemed relaxed, there was something about his posture that gave away his interest. There was a spark in his eyes, something that made your heart beat a little faster. He moved even closer, and before you could react, his hands rested on your waist.

“I wasn’t sure if you wanted to come, but I’m glad you agreed,” he said quietly, almost as if he was reading your thoughts.

You were in the heart of Monaco, and although the surroundings were luxurious and surrounded by powerful people, all that really mattered at that moment was the silent connection you shared with Max.

“What do we do now?” you asked, the nervousness starting to dissipate a little.

“Whatever you want,” Max replied, with a mischievous smile. “But, if you ask me, I think we could start with dinner.”

Before you could say anything else, he took you by the hand and led you through the apartment, into the open kitchen.

Max’s kitchen was just as modern as the rest of the place, with white marble surfaces that reflected the warm light from the lamps. Max began pulling fresh ingredients out of the fridge, inviting you to join him without thinking twice. At first, you were hesitant, but something in his eyes invited you to stay.

“Do you know how to cook?” you asked as you watched him pull out tomatoes, basil, and olive oil.

Max smiled mischievously, a glint in his blue eyes. “I know a little. But only if you don’t mind getting your hands a little dirty.”

You laughed at the idea. “I’m not a chef, but I can try.”

And so, between laughs and small jokes, they began to prepare dinner together. Max had decided to make fresh pasta with homemade pesto, one of his favorite dishes. While he was busy with the pasta, you took care of the salad, chopping vegetables and arranging the ingredients carefully. It was a simple, but shared moment, and the dynamic between the two of you felt natural, as if you had been doing this for years.

As the preparation progressed, the distance between you disappeared. Max gently guided you, giving you instructions on how to handle the ingredients, his hands sometimes brushing yours as you passed utensils or adjusted something in the pot. The conversation flowed easily, and you realized that, without thinking about it, you felt more comfortable with him than you had ever imagined.

When the pasta was ready, Max served it elegantly on two large plates, and together you sat at the table, enjoying the view offered by the balcony as the sun began to set behind the hills. The golden light illuminated the room and reflected off the glass, creating a warm and welcoming atmosphere. The table was well set, but the conversation and proximity made everything seem much more intimate than it actually was.

“This is amazing,” you said, taking a bite of the pasta and nodding. “You surprise me.”

Max smiled, with a hint of pride. “I told you, I knew you’d appreciate it.”

The evening continued with laughter and anecdotes, talking about other things, about travel and what you liked to do in your free time. Max seemed genuinely interested in you, in your opinions, in what you thought about the small details of life. There was something so real and accessible about him at that moment, that you completely forgot the fact that, hours before, you had arrived in Monaco with a host of mixed emotions. Now, all that mattered was the present moment.

At the end of dinner, as the plates were empty and the wine glasses were slowly emptying, Max leaned slightly towards you, his gaze locked on yours. The room was quiet, the sound of the distant city, and for a second, it seemed like there were only the two of you left, sharing that space.

“You know?” he said, his voice soft, “I think this has been much better than any dinner I could have planned. I’m happy you came.”

You, without thinking too much about it, smiled and nodded. “I’m happy too. I didn’t imagine it would end like this.”

Max smiled again, and this time, the expression on his face was different. Softer, more approachable. It wasn’t just the confident, competitive Max from racing, but a version of him that seemed more vulnerable, more willing to share something more personal.

The chemistry between you was clear, and for the first time, you realized it wasn't just a superficial attraction. There was something much deeper, something you didn't know if it could be defined with words. But at that moment, there was no need. Being there, with Max, cooking, laughing, and sharing such a simple moment, was all you needed to know.

As the days passed in Monaco, the connection between you and Max became more and more evident.

Mornings were quiet, usually spent touring the city or relaxing on the terrace of his apartment while the sun slowly slipped over the horizon, tinting the sky in golden colors. Max was always around, whether it was to share a coffee in silence or to talk about what he was thinking for the next race. Often, their conversations were light, but there were times when, without warning, Max would drop a phrase or a confession that showed you a side of him you had never seen before.

One day, after lunch together, Max drove you through the mountains surrounding Monaco. As they drove along the winding roads, he began to talk, unprompted, about his life, about what it had taken to become who he was.

“My career isn’t just the podium, you know,” he said, looking out the window as the car moved down the road. “It’s everything I’ve had to leave behind: the parties, the relationships, the sacrifices… There are so many things people don’t see, so many difficult decisions.”

You looked at him with a mix of surprise and admiration. Max had never been a person who opened up easily, always so focused on his goal, so focused on winning and perfection. But now, he was speaking to you with brutal honesty, as if somehow, he had decided to share the deepest part of himself with you.

“I know,” you answered calmly, not knowing what else to say, but you looked at him with genuine understanding. “You’ve been at the center of all this since you were so young.” It’s not easy, and people often don’t understand what it entails.

Max nodded slowly, his eyes fixed on the landscape as the car continued on its way.

“That’s why it’s hard to trust people sometimes, you know?” he said, his voice laced with subtle melancholy. “Everyone expects something from you, and sometimes you don’t even know if people like you for who you are, or for what you represent.”

A wave of empathy washed over you. Max had lived a life full of expectations, external pressures, pain, and it wasn’t hard to see how all of that had made him close some emotional doors. But in that moment, it seemed like you had somehow entered his inner circle. You had gotten him to open up, to share something so personal.

What surprised you the most was the way he understood you. It wasn’t just that Max listened to you; he understood you. In every conversation, in every gesture, there was something about him that seemed to sense what you felt, what you needed without you having to explain it with words. He wasn’t like Lando, who, although he had always been affectionate, had never shown that level of deep understanding. Lando had his own way of seeing things, but in his words there was never a place for your dreams or your insecurities. With Max, everything was different.

Max also began to talk about his long-term ambitions, about what he wanted outside of the race track, things that weren’t just achievements, medals or trophies. He told you about his love for family, his desire to form one.

Sometimes, you found yourself watching him as he spoke, unable to help but feel drawn not only to his appearance, but to the vulnerability he had begun to show. This was a different Max, a Max who asked for your opinion and valued what you said, and although he could be competitive and stubborn at times, there was something in his gaze that made you feel important.

And you, of course, couldn't help but share your own thoughts with him. At first, you thought it would be hard for you to open up so much to someone, but with him, everything flowed. You felt free to talk about your goals, about fashion, about your own fears, about your insecurities. Max supported you at all times, without judging or pressuring you, just giving you his unconditional support. The way he looked at you while you talked made you feel like, for the first time, someone really understood you.

That connection was getting stronger, getting more and more impossible to ignore. And you knew, even though you tried to stay rational, that something was changing between the two of you. It wasn't just the chemistry, it wasn't just the shared smiles or the jokes, it was something deeper. Max was becoming someone more than just the Formula 1 driver you admired from afar. And you... you were starting to have feelings for him.

As the days went by and you shared more moments together, from impromptu dinners to walks around the harbor, you realized that Max was showing you a side of him that few knew about, and that side was winning you over in a way you couldn't control. It was such a stark contrast to the relationship you had with Lando, because with him, everything had always been more superficial, more loaded with expectations of what a relationship should be.

With Max, things seemed more real, more natural. And even though you didn't know how he felt exactly, you couldn't help but feel that this moment you shared was something unique.

The air in Monaco felt heavier that day, as if the sun was shining brighter as you walked through the city with Max by your side, enjoying the scenery, but at the same time with a feeling of unease in your chest. Max, noticing your change in mood, looked at you with slight concern.

“Everything okay?” he asked, his voice soft, but with the clarity of someone who knew something wasn’t right.

You nodded, trying not to give too much importance to the whirlwind of thoughts forming in your head. You had been dealing with this silently for days, but now, while you were with Max, the doubts and feelings couldn’t be left behind. You decided it was time to face it, even though you didn’t know how he would react.

Just a few minutes later, your phone vibrated in your pocket, interrupting the peaceful walk. Looking at the screen, you saw Lando’s name and felt a pang in your stomach. With your pulse racing, you decided to open the message.

Lando: “I miss you. “I want to go back, I want things to be okay between us.”

A lump formed in your throat as you read the words. You knew he had been trying to reach you, that he still held out hope that things could be like they were before, but something inside you told you it was time to let him go. You knew you couldn’t keep fooling yourself, or Lando, or Max. Everyone’s paths had changed, and even though you had loved Lando at one time, everything seemed different now. The connection with Max was something you couldn’t ignore, a truth that had been growing between you and you could no longer deny it.

With shaking hands, you began typing out your reply. You didn’t want to do it over text, but at the same time, you knew it was the most direct and honest thing to do.

You: “Lando, I appreciate you so much, but we both know our lives are taking different paths. I don’t feel the same way I used to anymore. I’m spending time with Max now… things have changed, and I can’t move on with us. You know what you did and I did it to him.”

The phone stayed in your hands for a second, your heart pounding, and before you could regret it, you hit “send.” The relief was immediate, but it was also accompanied by a soft pain, like a wound that had been slowly closing, but was still bleeding.

It wasn’t even ten minutes before Lando replied to you. The tone of his text was clear: he was hurt, frustrated, and angry.

Lando: “So you’re with Max now, huh? I can’t believe it. I knew something was going on between you two, but this… This doesn’t just hurt me, it’s going to affect our image too. You’re breaking everything we built, everything we had.”

You read those words, and even though they hurt, you knew it was the right thing to do. You knew you couldn’t continue in something that no longer had a foundation, something that had worn away inside. But Lando’s words pierced you like an arrow, and in that moment, you knew it wasn’t going to be easy. Breaking up with him didn’t just mean letting go of a relationship, but also dealing with the consequences of the decisions you had made.

You took a deep breath, trying to stay calm, and with a firm voice, you answered, knowing that there could be no turning back.

You: “Don't blame me, you were the one who slept with another woman and let the paparazzi catch you. This is the best for both of us, we no longer love each other like we once did.”

As soon as you sent the message, the tension in the air increased. Max, who had been by your side all this time, watched your face with an expression that seemed to understand what had just happened, although without saying a word.

Lando quickly responded, this time with more anger and resentment.

Lando: “You're going to see what's going to happen now. You know that this relationship has given us both so much, but it seems that it means nothing to you. You've left me in the lurch, and now I'm forced to deal with the public image of all this, with everything we've built, just because of one bad decision. Don't call me ever again.”

His final message hit you harder than you expected. It was final closure, and even though deep down you knew you had done the right thing, a part of you felt the weight of the words he had just written. You couldn’t deny that things between you and Lando had changed, but the fury in his message made it clear to you that, at that moment, he couldn’t understand your decision.

Max, seeing that you were tense from the answer, put a hand on your shoulder, trying to comfort you.

“I’m sorry,” he said softly, “but you had no other choice. You deserve to be happy, and if that means moving on, then that’s what you have to do.”

You turned to him, grateful for his words. His understanding, his calm, was in complete contrast to the intensity of what you had just been through. Deep down in your heart you prayed that Lando wouldn’t do anything but you knew him, you knew how he got when he was angry and you were prepared to read your name and Max’s on the internet the next morning.

[alicenthighstower]

TILE TRANSITION TUTORIAL

a couple of people have asked me for a tutorial on how I did the penultimate gif in this set, so here goes! this is my first tutorial, so please feel free to reach out with further questions if anything's unclear.

note: this tutorial assumes you know the basics of gifmaking, can create the base gifs, and are familiar with timeline mode.

STEP ONE: create the base gifs! I'd recommend staying between 25-40 frames for each gif, since the transitions we'll use later tend to increase gif sizes. these are the ones I'll be using for this tutorial:

STEP TWO: create the guide layouts for both base gifs. for this panel, I chose a 4x4 grid — I would recommend keeping the number of "tiles" low because it can get tedious, but have a minimum of 9 (3x3 grid).

now your canvas should look like this:

STEP THREE: create the tiles. this is where the going gets rough; there might be easier ways to do this that I couldn't think of 😭 if there are any please send me an ask!

essentially, in this step we'll cut up the base gifs into smaller squares so that each tile can be manipulated separately when we put both gifs together. to do this, first create a square using the rectangle tool and the guides. then duplicate the base gif, move it above the square, apply a clipping mask, and then convert the clipped gif and square (selected in the image below) into one smart object.

ALTERNATELY: you could duplicate the original base gif and use layer masks to isolate tiles. create a layer mask for the duplicated gif layer and, with the layer mask selected, drag your mouse over a square (using the guide layout) and press delete. then press ctrl/cmd + i to invert the layer mask so that the gif only shows in the square of your choosing.

now repeat until you've got the entire gif in tiles, and do the same for the other gif!

since the transition effect is achieved by staggering the crossfades for each tile of the final gif, you can cheat by having multiple tiles "flip" at a time, ideally no more than four. this means you need to cut the base gif up into fewer pieces. to do this, simply draw multiple squares instead of one and then merge the shapes, before duplicating and clipping the gif onto them.

if you do this, it's essential to remember that you have to divide both gifs up in the exact same way. each piece of the b/w gif has to correspond to a piece of the purple gif!

this is what the layers look like for each gif once I'm done:

I have them lettered so that it'll be easier to match them up in the next step.

STEP FOUR: this is the complicated bit that took me two days to figure out. I'll do my best to explain but don't hesitate to reach out if something isn't clear!

to begin, open up a new psd and import both base gifs into it. (remember to click "create video timeline" and ensure that your gifs are all in order before proceeding.)

now, the trickiest part about this transition is ensuring that all the little tiles sync up so that the larger gif is coherent. so first we'll create some markers (just empty layers) to ensure that everything lines up as it should. — marker 1: at about halfway through the first gif (b/w in this case) — marker 2: at about a quarter of the gif length — marker 3: close to the end of the gifs

at this point we're ready to start bringing in the tiles. I'm going to delete the base gifs from this new psd just to keep things cleaner!

first thing to do is import my b/w tile. move the timeline slider over to marker 1 and split the first gif. (if it helps, rename the split gifs and add (start) and (end) to the two halves.) then, move the (end) half to the beginning of the timeline, and the (start) half to line up with marker 3.

the purple tile is easier to manage. simply import it into the psd and line it up with marker 2.

your timeline should now look like this:

notice the overlap between the gifs at their beginnings and ends — this is where you'll be able to cascade the tiles flipping, so it helps to have a significant amount of overlap.

crop the three gifs for this tile as you see fit! since this is the first tile I want to flip from b/w to purple, I'll crop gif 1a (end) all the way to the current position of the timeline slider (red line with blue tip) and leave the beginning of gif 2a uncropped. for the flip from purple to b/w, I'll crop both gifs a bit.

once that's done, drag all three gifs onto the same level in timeline so they form a video group. your timeline should look something like this:

now you just repeat the process for all the other tiles! as long as you made sure that all the tiles in one gif correspond with tiles in the other gif in step three, this should be a fairly painless process. make sure to crop the starts/ends of the gifs separately so that they don't all flip together.

this is what my layers look once I've done all the tiles:

and the gif!

STEP FIVE: transitions! click on the half-white square (top right of the left column in the timeline, beside the scissors) and select the crossfade transition, then drag it between two gifs in a video group. it should create a two-triangle symbol and shorten the overall length of the video group.

apply the transition to all the tile flips, ensuring that the duration of all transitions is constant. this can sometimes be tricky because ps likes to change the duration of each transition, so right click on the transition symbol and manually change all your transition durations to be the same.

your layers should now look something like this:

STEP SIX: draw the grid. bring back the guide layout from step two and using the line tool (I like 2px thickness), trace the grid. adjust opacity as you see fit (50-80% is usually a good idea), so that the canvas looks like this:

STEP SEVEN: export and celebrate! you're done!

I hope this tutorial made sense and was easy to follow, and happy giffing! my inbox is always open for any questions <3

[ladykailitha]

Paper Hearts Part 7

Hello and welcome to the penultimate chapter. There is literally only one more chapter after this.

Steve enjoys the weekend for a change, and Eddie is sneaky.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6

****

Dustin had called to hang out Saturday afternoon and Steve really couldn’t say no to that kid even if he tried. And he had. It never worked. The big eyes with chubby cheeks and gap-toothed smile, Steve would give in every fucking time.

It was annoying.

Of course the kid went on and on about the AV club and D&D and how cool it was going to be to join the D&D club his freshman year.

Steve thought hard on that last one. He wasn’t sure if they accepted freshmen. Or even what the club was called. Dustin couldn’t remember. Only that he had heard some older kids talking about it once while he was at the library.

Steve scoffed and rolled his eyes. “Then how do you know it was even about D&D?”

“Because, Steve,” Dustin said rolling his eyes right back, “they were talking about THaC0.”

Steve tilted his head to the side in confusion. “What’s thayco?”

“‘To Hit Armor Class Zero’, it means what you have to roll to hit a monster or for the monster to hit you,” he explained cheerfully.

“Then why isn’t it pronounced thaycz?”

Dustin reared his head back in disgust. “Because it’s too hard to say?”

Steve looked up with raised eyebrows and then nodded. “Yeah, that makes sense.”

And then the conversation moved on from there.

Steve stayed for dinner as Claudia, like her son, never took no for answer.

As he drove home he thought about his afternoon with Dustin. Yeah, it sucked that he didn’t have people his own age to hang out with these days, he could always count on that little twerp to make him feel better.

When he got home there was a single pink heart stuck to one of his front doors. Steve pulled it off with a smile. It was from Kas again.

-Stevie You’re a great friend. I wish more people knew that. Kas

He slipped it in next to the others in his wallet and then opened the door. He slipped off his shoes and jacket, leaving both by the front door. He thudded up the stairs to his room and tossed his wallet and keys on the small dish he kept on his desk.

It was a deformed ceramic little lily pad with its leaves bent slightly to form the dish with a misshapen frog in the middle. There was a chip on one of the leaves and the frog was missing an eye. It was supposed to be an ashtray for his mom for Mother’s Day. But that was the year she ‘quit’ smoking that year and had thrown it in the trash. That night he had dug it out and hid it way for years until he got his license. His mom never commented on it, so he assumed she didn’t remember what it was originally for.

Like most of his childhood, if he was honest.

He sat down in his chair and looked over at his wallet a moment. He sighed and picked it, opening it to take out the pink hearts.

Steve laid them out on his desk and made a little discovery. When he laid them out in order he received them the paper had gone from really pale pink to a lighter pink. He wondered what that was about.

With a sigh, he decided to go for a run again. To clear his head. Only this time he was going to bring water and properly stretch. His coach had been decidedly unimpressed when he explained why he was so sluggish on Monday.

Secretly Steve was with him on that one. It had been stupid, but his mom yelling at him had set him off and he ended up paying for it.

He had been grateful for Eddie’s rescue. Hell, he had been grateful for Eddie just being around the last few days. He was always hanging out at Steve’s locker between classes or waiting for him by his car after school.

It was... nice.

****

Eddie had successfully delivered the Saturday heart out of sheer dumb luck. He had pulled onto the street when he saw Steve’s BMW pull out of the driveway and turn the other direction further up the street.

Eddie had hurriedly taped the heart to the door and booked it before any of Steve’s neighbors could even peek out of their windows.

What was worse was that he knew he couldn’t capture lightning in a bottle twice. He couldn’t bet on Steve leaving twice. But he didn’t know how to get it to Steve without the gig being up.

He chewed on his nail until he bit the bullet.

He pulled out the White Pages and went looking for the right Harringtons. Sure enough about half way down the list was Harrington, Clint and the right address.

He picked up the phone and called.

“The Harrington residence, this is Steve,” the warm voice greeted. “How can I help you?”

Eddie let out a little snort. “Your parents make you answer the phone like that, Stevie?”

“Eddie?” Steve asked.

“One and the same, darlin’,” he replied. “I got the number from the White Pages if that’s all right?”

“That’s fine!” Steve hurried to reassure. “I’m glad you called!”

Eddie preened in the comfort of his kitchen where only Wayne would laugh at him and considering the man was sleeping because he worked the night shift, couldn’t.

“Hey, did you want to hang out today?”

There was silence on the line for a beat or two. Long enough that Eddie feared the line had gone dead.

“I–I’d like that,” Steve finally stammered out. “Do you want to hang out at my place or yours?”

Eddie hummed like he was thinking about it, but secretly he was doing a happy dance. “Is yours okay? My uncle Wayne is sleeping right now because he has to work.”

“Are you going to feel comfortable coming over in your van?” Steve asked, a little hesitant and shy.

Eddie frowned for a moment before he realized what Steve meant. “I’m borrowing Wayne’s truck, it’s newer and in better condition. As long as I get back before he goes into work, I’ll be fine.”

“Yeah,” Steve said. “Come on over whenever you want. I’ll be here all day.”

Eddie fist pumped. Seriously the D&D gods must really be in favor of him hanging out with Steve if everything kept lining up so fucking perfectly.

“I’ll be there in an hour.”

They said their goodbyes and Eddie hung up. He went into the front of the trailer and gently shook Wayne awake.

Wayne rubbed his eye a moment. “You heading out?”

He nodded. “I’m taking your truck, but I’ll be back before you have to go.”

Wayne waved him off. “Go have fun. I’ll just borrow your van. It won’t kill me if I take it this once.”

Eddie kissed his forehead and told him he was the best. Wayne buried under covers grumbling about having his image ruined, to Eddie’s cackling glee.

****

Wayne’s truck was a bronze 1973 Ford F150 with a white camper shell. It was hideous as fuck, but respectable and serviceable and the damn thing ran like a dream. Best part was that it wouldn’t stick out in neighborhood like Steve’s.

Eddie pulled up to the curb and parked, hopping out of the truck. He locked it up tight and came up to the door.

He stuck the little heart on the door and then knocked. While he waited he pulled the paper off the door.

Steve threw open the door and smiled. Then he looked down at the heart in Eddie’s hand, eyes wide.

“I found it on your door just now,” Eddie replied with a grin. “Good thing I came over, huh? Otherwise it might have been hanging there for awhile and you would have never have known.”

Steve blinked and then his smile grew. “Yeah, triple bonus because it’s supposed to rain tonight.”

Eddie beamed at him and followed him inside.

“My parents are gone until the weekend so make yourself at home,” Steve said, indicating the room to his right.

Eddie frowned and tilted his head to the side. “Isn’t already the weekend?”

He flopped on the large beige sofa and looked up at Steve expectantly. Steve padded over to sit down next to him.

“My dad is taking my mom to Paris for Valentine’s day so they won’t be home until late Friday early Saturday if they come home at all.”

“That sucks, man.”

Steve shrugged. He plucked the heart from Eddie’s grasp.

“Oh, it’s another Kas one,” he said with a soft smile. “These aren’t as awkward as the others I’ve gotten.”

Eddie huffed a laugh. “You get some pretty awkward hearts there, Stevie?”

“These are high school students and very few of them have any kind of social skill,” he said with a snort. “They’re almost all awkward as fuck, dude.”

“You get any red hearts?” Eddie asked, far more curious than sane.

Steve shook his head. “They aren’t handing those out until Thursday. And to be honest, I’m not expecting any.”

Eddie tilted his head to the side. “You don’t think that the female masses at our great school aren’t going to give Steve Harrington a single red heart? There must be some that see past the bullshit social mores.”

He just shrugged. He set the heart down on the coffee table and then picked up Eddie’s hand. It took every ounce of will power that Eddie had not to read into that.

“I always wondered about this ring,” he said softly. “It’s so unlike the other rings you have. It isn’t big or flashy, it’s not over the top. The others are a pig, a skull, and a coffin but this is just a simple gemstone. So beautiful.”

Christ! If Eddie had been a cartoon steam would have been coming out of his ears.

“It was my mama’s,” he said just as soft. “My Uncle Wayne hid from my dad so he couldn’t sell it for drugs. He gave it to me for my eighteenth birthday. It was supposed to be a graduation present.”

“It’s exquisite, Eds,” Steve breathed. “My mom has a lot of jewelry, but nothing like this. It’s all over the top and gaudy. I’m glad your uncle was able to keep it safe for you.”

If Eddie could have turned any redder, he’d be a tomato. “Thanks.”

They were silent for a moment and then Steve cleared his throat and sat against the arm of the sofa. Still nearby by but no longer pressed to Eddie’s side. His poor frazzled brain wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not.

“We could watch movies,” Steve suggested. “Or I’ve got some board games around here somewhere.”

Eddie straightened up. “I’ll tell you what. I pick the movie and you pick the game and we can do both at the same time.”

Steve brightened. “I like that idea. Pick one you’ve seen so we don’t have to pay attention to it if we don’t want to and I’ll grab the game.”

Eddie agreed and wandered over to the cabinet that held the Harrington family VHS tapes. They had a lot of sports movies and family friendly stuff. A bit of Disney but nothing since Steve turned twelve. A couple of westerns, too.

He picked a western that he could tolerate and slipped into in the player. He turned on the TV and let it play through the trailers at the beginning.

Steve came out with Life. “Whatcha pick?”

Eddie told him as they both set up the game. Steve nodded approvingly. Westerns weren’t his thing either, but “The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly” had a good plot.

Eddie won. Steve kept landing on all the children places and had to grab a second car just to hold all of them.

Steve laughed. “Now there’s the dream, a good paying job, six kids, and Winnebago.”

“No mention of a wife there, Stevie,” Eddie said, nudging his shoulder with his own.

“I’m waiting to see if my partner is male or female,” Steve said with a shrug.

Eddie put the now boxed up game on the coffee table and sat back up on the sofa. “I know I’m shit at school, but I’m pretty sure two dudes can’t make babies.”

“I’d adopt all the ones like me,” Steve said. “The ones with shit parents who only care about how a child makes them look good and not about raising someone with love.”

“Sounds good, Stevie.”

Soon it as time for Eddie to leave and Steve went back to put the game away. When he picked up the box, the little pink heart fluttered to the ground.

-Stevie Watching you make the best of out shit situation, inspires me to be a better person. Kas

Steve smiled down at the paper with a wistful sigh. He looked up out the window to where Eddie was pulling out of his driveway.

And not for the first time he wished it was Eddie giving him the Kas hearts.

****

Part 8

1- @mira-jadeamethyst @rozzieroos @itsall-taken @redfreckledwolf @spectrum-spectre

2- @slv-333 @zerokrox-blog @gregre369 ​@a-little-unsteddie @chaosgremlinmunson

3- @messrs-weasley @maya-custodios-dionach @goodolefashionedloverboi @val-from-lawrence @carlyv

4- @wonderland-girl143-blog @vecnuthy @irregular-child @bookbinderbitch @bookworm0690

5- @anne-bennett-cosplayer @yikes-a-bee @awkwardgravity1 @littlewildflowerkitten @genderless-spoon

6- @dragonmama76 @ellietheasexylibrarian @thedragonsaunt @useless-nb-bisexual @fullpoetrybread

7- @disrespectedgoatman @counting-dollars-counting-stars @tinyplanet95 @moonshadows-13

8- @skyewaytohell @swimmingbirdrunningrock @croatoan-like-its-hot @lolawonsstuff @lololol-1234

9- @dotdot-wierdlife @ravenfrog @dauntlessdiva @thelittleclare @steddieyourself

10- @dam28lh

[minkdelovely]

love and power

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧     ✧     ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

chapter nine

“i’d leave if you’d let me.”

Alastor x Fem!Reader ; MDNI 18+ ; [y/n] used sparingly ; Alias in Hell is Sylvie

tags/warnings: descriptions of pain, alcohol consumption, more smut (cuz i couldn’t help myself apparently lol): dry humping; quickie; cream pie, undressing a bandage, bite wounds, the morning after talk, return of the chain…

word count: 3.9k

author’s note: y’all i really can’t believe it… the penultimate chapter is here 🥲 i really can’t express how much it means to have you join me on this little journey here. whether you’ve been reading from the beginning or just found it, i just want to convey my sincerest thanks 💖 no alastor pov this time (a first! i shocked even myself) but don’t fret — we will get a peek into his mind before this is all over. sorry if this one’s a little dialogue heavy but they had a lot to say 🙈✨ also please go listen to 1121 by halsey 🙏🏻❤️‍🔥

prelude ; chapter one ; chapter two ; chapter three ; chapter four ; chapter five ; chapter six ; chapter seven ; chapter eight ; chapter nine ; chapter ten: part one ; chapter ten: part two

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧     ✧     ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

You stirred, eyebrows furrowing as a sleepy whine rose in your throat; a pulsing ache effectively kicking you out of unconsciousness. There was movement next to you on the bed followed by the sound of a book closing and the clinking of glass, rounded out with the soothing melody of liquid pouring. 

As your eyes finally cracked open, still blurry with sleep, you took a deep waking breath through your nose. Spending so much time here, you recognized Alastor’s room by scent alone. Something that didn’t fully resonate with you until another realization came to mind — the bed you were in right now was his. Tucked into the very sheets you so diligently made nice every morning.

“I was wondering when you’d be waking up… I have medicine for you.” 

Alastor’s voice was mellow as his fingers swept the hair back from your face, and you blinked a few times to clear your vision. He was bending over you, backlit against the warm light coming from the lamp on the nightstand, looking disarming as ever in his pajamas. But the softly amused look on his face made you doubt that you were really awake.

Another unpleasant throb in your shoulder was a reminder that you most definitely were. Which also brought attention to the fact that you had been dressed as well. Underneath the clothing you took note of the confined, consoling feeling around your shoulder and chest, not dissimilar from a seatbelt. A bandage? 

When had all this happened? And what time was it? Clearly late enough to constitute the need for lamplight…

You weren’t able to dwell on anything more before a sharp jolt of pain shot straight up your neck, causing you to wince with a hiss. Alastor tutted and nudged the glass at you with one hand and helped you sit up with the other. When you reached out you recognized the pattern on the sleeve adorning your arm, a lump forming in your throat. Alastor’s housecoat. Though you were just as quickly distracted from that fact when you realized what he had shoved in your hand.

“This is medicine?” you sulked, frowning over the glass of whiskey stinging your nostrils. “You don’t just have—”

“Don’t get me started on those wretched pills, if that’s what you’re referring you,” he scoffed, face pinched with offense. His voice softened a bit but was still assertive when he continued. “This is natural. It will help. Promise.”

You looked at him with a dubiousness that didn’t reach your eyes, slowly lifting the glass to your lips. He saw right through it of course, judging by the smoldering look of satisfaction he was giving you. There was another ache… this time not in your shoulder. You weren’t exactly thrilled with how easily you melted under his gaze. Not with all backtracking the two of you still had to do regarding the afternoon. Maybe it’s just a post-sex aftershock…

So you sipped the drink, actually appreciating the distracting burn in your throat that trickled into your chest. You didn’t even have to say it, glowering at him and his haughty I told you so smile over the glass as you finished it off. He took the empty glass from you, refilled it with double the amount, and handed it back.

“No more after this, right?” you said after downing more than half of it with a grimace. Whiskey was never a favorite of yours and the taste was starting to overpower the burn.

“Promise,” he goaded, face turned up with his familiar taunt.

Thankfully the blush on your face could be dismissed by the alcohol, but you weren’t able to stop the scoffing laugh that escaped you; covering your mouth with your free hand when you remembered yourself. God forbid he thought you were making fun of him — which you obviously weren’t — but it would be just your luck to spoil the mood. He surprised you, taking your hand from your mouth as he leaned in, a mischievous leer glimmering in his eyes. 

“Goodness! You know, I was really beginning to think you didn’t know how to laugh,” he said, voice low, his hand coming up to rest under your chin. A mutual favorite place for him to touch. “Is this a new development, or have I always been so amusing?”

“Sometimes,” you answered mildly, grateful you managed to keep the tremble out of your voice but failed to maintain eye contact as your heart picked up. The way his thumb was lazily petting your jaw wasn’t helping. “I’m just normally better at holding back.”

Alastor’s face was in front of you now, noses almost touching as his eyes focused on you. He took the drink out of your hand and finished what was left before setting it down to resume his close proximity. “Hmm… I think that’s the habit of yours I dislike the most.”

The kiss that followed was esurient, his long fingers now splayed across the expanse of your neck to hold you in place as his tongue wasted no time finding comfort in your mouth. The whine you couldn’t hold back earned you a lusty hum in return, followed by a testing bite to your bottom lip as your fingers tangled in his hair. It was only too easy to slip back into this; openly moaning into him as he took you by the waist and easily maneuvered you to straddle his lap. His wicked mouth never leaving yours for a moment.

Time slipped away, its intangibility and irrelevance in the afterlife never more apparent as your mind and body honed in on the present. God, he was just so warm; the comfort it gave you was concerning, leaving you worried over how you would fare without it. It wasn’t the only thing you were troubled over — equally relishing the gift of every sound and touch he gave. His lithe, statuesque frame still providing so much security even while underneath you being the most generous of all.

“I think I like this too much,” you whispered against his lips, out of breath. Unsure if the confession was one of shame, regret, or pride.   

“I know,” he murmured, giving your lips a final kiss before leaving a trail of them to your neck. Wantonly indulging himself there as if it could kiss back.

It was hard to discern the ambiguity you heard in his voice. Not quite pity, not quite indifference. And despite the fire that threatened to envelop you whole, the thought that crept up in the back of your mind was one you couldn’t ignore.

Was he regretting this already?

The thought was abruptly whisked away as Alastor’s hips rolled against you, the feeling of his arousal pulling a heady sigh from your chest. He let out a soft grunt in return, the sensation of his open mouth and hot breath against your skin making you feel faint. The graze of his teeth as his hands guided you to slowly grind on him made you cry out in earnest; a sound you repeated from his responding moan. You stayed this way for a while, rocking and moaning against each other as he covered the right side of your neck with more hickies and bites and kisses until the pressure building in your loins was too much to bear.

“Alastor, please,” you pleaded softly, your need hanging heavy in the air of the otherwise silent room.

He gasped into your skin and lifted you off him, reaching underneath the night coat to pull your underwear down, then doing the same with his own pants. Propped up against some pillows, he was at an angle somewhere between lying down and sitting up, and he brought his knees up behind you for support. You gasped as he ran his length against your slick arousal, walls already twitching just from the memory of how he had felt inside you earlier. The two of you shared a loud, wanton moan of relief as you took him to the hilt, panting as you both adjusted.

Definitely like this too much… 

Exhilarated by the very real aspect of not lasting long, you reflexively clenched around him; drawing a hiss from between his teeth that in turn left his mouth hanging open in such a salacious way you couldn’t stop yourself from whining his name.

“Hahhh…! A warning next time, sweetheart,” he gasped, his hands on your waist tightening with a pleasantly firm grip. 

Perhaps as retribution, the sharp thrust he gave you made you scream from pleasure and shock. Afterward, he set a deep and steady pace, the angle quickly proving to be a new favorite with the way your clit rubbed against him; his swollen head mercilessly stimulating your spongy core as he bounced you on and off his cock. The slapping of your skin meeting between your combined gasps of rapture only fueling your lust.

“Hmmnnn Alastor…!” you mewled, feeling a wave of your arousal coat him as you cried out. Barely able to keep your eyes open from the way your eyebrows were drawn together. “Alastor!”

“Haahh, fuck — Ahhh…!” he moaned, throwing his head back as he began bucking into you in earnest. Your hands gripping his shoulders to try and keep steady as you eagerly accepted his new rhythm.

The tightness in your belly made itself known then with a scorching ache. Coiling tighter and tighter as you took in his licentious expression and heaving chest until you couldn’t take it anymore. Too intoxicated by the erotic scene and feeling of him to hold on.

“Alastor — mmm! You’re gonna — hahh — gonna make me cum,” you practically sobbed, unable to stop the words as a blush burned your cheeks.

He let out a loud, drawn out grunt as his head shot up, eyes looking straight into yours; his florid face, clenched teeth, and intense crimson gaze the last thing you saw before your vision went white. Unabashedly moaning as your orgasm crashed through you with an exquisite relief you didn’t know was possible. Alastor cursed as you spasmed and tightened around him, his fingers punishing on your waist as he quickly followed suit and came inside you; that hot, familiar feeling of his release nearly making you climax again as the two of you sloppily rocked against each other until the high was finally sated.

You collapsed against his chest, his rapid heartbeat a lovely companion to the sounds of you both trying to catch your breath. He pressed a kiss to the top of your head as he pulled out, the emptiness that followed causing you to whimper which he responded to with a tired, satisfied chuckle that rumbled in your ears. The warmth you felt in your chest from the sound provided both comfort and alarm as an accompanying question bloomed in your mind.

How will we ever go back to normal…?

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

When you awoke again you were in your own bed, noticeably alone. The morning light piercing your curtains bright enough to indicate that you might be pushing early afternoon. You stretched and rolled onto your back, taking in the sight of your shredded canopy. So that had been the sound you heard…

After lying there for a few minutes, you groaned as you forced yourself out of bed, driven mostly by your need to take a shower. Something that presented somewhat of a problem when you remembered the bandage Alastor had dressed you with. Would it be too soon to remove? And what was hiding underneath? A pang of anxiety shot through you, wishing he was here to provide the answers.

But he’s not.

You weren’t sure what you were expecting to find in the mirror, but you had definitely underestimated the state of your neck. There didn’t seem to be an inch of it that wasn’t touched by a violet bruise or scarlet bite, save for your throat, which presented a contrast so stark it almost made you dizzy. How the hell will I cover this up?

The only thing you owned with a collar high enough was the dress that Alastor had ruined in a fit of passion with no replacement in sight. You took a deep breath and shed the housecoat, taking in the bandage that wrapped around your left shoulder and chest, unsure of where to start in terms of unwrapping it — he had done a very good job. A fact that weighed on your heart like a stone.

You managed to find the loose end as the shower warmed up, easily unwinding the gauze from your chest until you gingerly began the task of peeling it off your shoulder. Worried that parts of it might have stuck to each mark of his fangs; a painful fate you weren’t able to completely avoid, but on the whole, you considered yourself lucky that the gauze had only latched to a few of the punctures. An incredulous huff of a laugh escaped you when you realized that the huge bite would actually be easier to hide than the hickies.

As was typically the case, you felt a lot better once you were out of the shower. It was a serenity that was quickly pulled out from under you when you opened your bathroom door and saw Alastor sitting on the edge of your bed.

“Fuck! You scared me,” you gasped, hand over your heart. It was mostly true, though you found yourself more relieved at the sight of him than anything.

“Ha, ha! Yes, I’ve been known to do that,” he said, his eyes narrowing with a smug mirth as he patted the empty space next to him. “Come sit. I thought you might need some help.”

You sighed, doing your best to keep your heartbeat steady as you crossed the room and sat down on the bed with your back to him at his direction with a silent spin of his finger. He had brought a little kit of supplies consisting of a couple tins, tape, and gauze. The items laid out near him on the bed with a meticulousness you couldn’t help but find endearing. Was there anything he set out to do without poise and purpose?

He quickly got to work, humming aimlessly to himself as he applied one of the tinctures to each puncture of his bite. Whatever it was, the subtle sting it provided was a nice distraction from the overwhelming herbal smell it gave off. It wasn’t exactly unpleasant, but you would be glad to have it covered up all the same. Alastor had to lean over you to attend to the wounds on your collarbone, and you let yourself get lost in the look of concentration on his face.

“You’re in a good mood today,” you said quietly as his hand fanned over the medicine to dry.

He huffed a small laugh, lips curling into a pleasant smile. “Well I certainly never set out to be in a bad mood, my dear.” He let out a melodramatic sigh before adding, “It’s just thrust upon me.”

“Aww, what a victim you are,” you pouted sarcastically, laughing when he flicked your arm. 

“You’re in quite the good mood yourself, all things considered,” he mused, applying the balm from his second tin. 

The careful but firm application from his fingers made you hum with content and the two of you locked eyes then, but the look in his was torn; fighting between fondness and pity. He didn’t have to say it, you already knew.

“We need to talk about yesterday,” you said, resigned, pleased to hear that you sounded stronger than you felt. 

He nodded with a sigh, the soft smile on his lips threatening to make your eyes well with sudden tears. “That we do, my dear. But let me finish with your bandage first, hm?”

You did your best not to overthink the conversation ahead of you while he finished applying the balm before wrapping you up, knowing it wouldn’t do you any good. There were only so many things to say, after all. So many ways it could go…

What exactly did you want from all of this? It was hard enough to rectify the blossoming feelings you had for Alastor despite the short amount of time you had known him. But you had discovered so much about him in spite of that, the sex just made it more complicated. It wasn’t that you regretted it — how could you? You wouldn’t deny that it had been the best sex of your existence. Even with the bite. Still, you were typically much more cautious when it came to giving your heart away to someone. What was it about Alastor that made you throw your rules to the wayside? 

When you racked your brain for an answer, all it did was conjure his image. Silly, considering he was right behind you. Methodically dressing your wound with the same amount of care he had displayed after giving it to you. How many times had those hands provided you with his brand of reassurance? That mix of tenderness and strength that he gave to you at his whim, effectively catching you in his push-and-pull game. Whether your feelings for him in the aftermath had been his intent or not, well. They were there.

The playing ground was tipped in his favor, but you understood that. Even in the middle of your tryst, you knew that it could very well be the only time. Maybe he just needed to let off some steam. Yesterday you had felt resolved enough to be of use to him in whichever way he needed, more than willing to let him have his prize (so to speak). It would be naive to think that the dynamic between you wouldn’t change. Either for better or worse, that was inevitable but… that didn’t explain why you felt so dejected.

What do I want?

Could you be satisfied with being used as a plaything, if that’s what he wanted? The thought of him never touching you again made that an easier pill to swallow, bitter as it was. But you weren’t a fool. It’s not as if you were expecting a marriage proposal.

Suddenly Alastor's hand was cupping your face so that you were looking up at him, a relaxed but almost somber expression waiting for you. 

“You’re worried. I can smell it, you know.”

You sighed, resenting the blush you felt creeping across your face. “Of course you can. I don’t think there’s anything that’s only mine anymore beyond my own thoughts.”

The words came out sharper than you had meant them to, but you didn’t apologize. Surprisingly, he didn’t seem to mind, staying silent as if waiting for you to continue. So you did.

“Do you regret it? And be honest with me… please.”

It was his turn to sigh now, taking a moment before responding calmly. “Not all of it.”

I knew it.

Really, you did. But the knowledge wasn’t helping as much as you hoped it would. In fact, it was only serving to make you feel worse.

“Which parts?”

He said your name with a warning. One you should have heeded, given how long it had been since he had spoken your real name. But you didn’t look away from him. You refused to beg with your mouth, so you pleaded with your eyes. Just tell me.

Alastor exhaled, a deep and exasperated sound. 

“The circumstance doesn't sit right with me. I’m sure you didn’t notice, but Valentino left his pheromones on you — and they were especially potent… I have a hard time believing his intention was for you to make it out with just a bite.” He looked down at your shoulder then, an unreadable expression on his face. “I don’t enjoy being played for a fool.”

A flash of anger shot through you, but you did your best to quell it. Letting it get the better of you right now would only be to your detriment. Did he not realize what a cruel, selfish thing that was to say? He wasn’t the only one who had been toyed with.

“Okay, so what about last night? The second time. Were the pheromones still working then, too?” you pressed. The embarrassment you felt fueling the frustration in your voice. 

Alastor stood up then, the strain of impatience beginning to show on his face as he towered over you. “I suggest you watch your tone, child. And remember that I don’t owe you an explanation for anything. You are beholden to me. Not the other way around.”

The simmering anger you had managed to keep down boiled over at that, and you jumped to your feet to glare up at him. Since any kind of autonomy was out of the question, then an explanation was the least he could give you. And even then, it was something you could no longer be satisfied with if it was coming from some twisted form of benevolence on his part. 

Valentino had his part to play, but it’s not like he had forced Alastor to kiss you when you offered him your help. You couldn’t reconcile the words he was saying now, so contradictory to his actions. Every kind word and touch… Did they all come from some weird obligation he felt to play the part until the pheromones wore off? The bandage he had just applied with such attentiveness felt like a mockery. How did you let yourself get so carried away by it all? Stupid, stupid, stupid!

“Everything is your way, your pace! All you’ve done since I met you is push me around and play with my feelings — and have I ever done anything than take it? I clean your room the way you want it, I keep up with all the busywork you give me. And now you’ve taken one of the last pieces of me that was still just mine, but that was a game, too!”

“You forget your place!” he roared, his face darkening with fury as the chain appeared around your neck. He pulled the leash taught so that you were standing on your toes as he forced you to look up at him, your hands instinctively holding onto it to balance your weight. “If your existence here is so miserable, perhaps you’d like to join the souls I keep in my radio? I can assure you it’s less than pleasant,” he hissed with vitriol, tugging on the chain so that your faces were nearly touching. Your toes no longer on the floor.

Despite your better judgement, you leaned in. Too ashamed and angry to stay calm; tears flowing freely down your face from the intensity of the loathing you currently felt towards him and yourself.

“You’d be doing me a fucking favor,” you said, choking the words out through your sob-heavy throat. Every bit of it the truth. “And I’m sure you’ll have a great time telling everyone where you sent me.”

“Vicious brat!” he shrilled, face distorted with malicious static that hovered around him like a storm. Then the chain and static disappeared as you collapsed to the floor. But the venom in his red eyes hurt you more than that chain ever could. Or at least that’s how you felt until he spoke next, the chill in his voice piercing you with every word. “Keep your distance from me if you know what’s good for you. If I catch you roaming the hall of my suite, it will be the last thing you ever do.”

Then he was gone, spiriting himself away in shadow. Leaving you to sob on the floor of your room.

Alone.

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧     ✧     ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

tag list: @fairyv-ice, @wat4r, @midorichoco, @raynerrold, @krak-jj, @tremendoushearttaco, @redfoxwritesstuff, @chibistar45, @kaylopolis, @cutiebimbo, @lousypotatoes, @rfox1998, @cosmic-lavender, @stardustandbrimstone, @cherry-cola-100, @wonderlandangelsposts, @phamtasic, @velvette3, @sailorsmouth

[babyangelsky]

My Favorite Expressions in Love Sea Ep. 9

Holy shit I don't think I have ever felt more relieved watching the penultimate episode of a Thai BL than I did this week. I was expecting doom, I was expecting gloom, and while both were absolutely present, we did not linger there.

This is just my opinion but to me that alone is proof of how much Mame has grown as a writer because for a second there I was fearing another Don't Say No situation.

BUT THIS AIN'T ABOUT THAT LET'S YAP ABOUT MICROEXPRESSIONS

I need to start with my baby because after the horrors last week, seeing her smile means everything to me. Gotta hold onto it as long as I can because we all know what's coming.

And speaking of smiles, this situation is TERRIBLE there are delinquents coming at my man with 2x4's but this feral smile from Mahasamut?

This one is purely for Meena's benefit, to comfort and reassure her but it is genuine, Fort's eyes are very sparkly. He switches gears very quickly when the getaway bike arrives for the thugs though so however chill he seems, he absolutely isn't. He just wants to keep the baby (and Vivi and her friend) calm.

It's very disconcerting to see Vivi this serious.

We're 2/2 on smiles for other people's benefit. My poor girly.

*stares at Viviana* You did this.

This look of pure murderous intent may be one of my favorite expressions Mut has had over this whole show, especially because it's paired with that clenched fist. And I'm going to give extra praise to Fort for it because he doesn't clench his fist until after Tongrak apologizes for what happened and he doesn't open his eyes until his hand is practically trembling from holding it so tightly.

This response doesn't come when Rak tries to blame himself for the beating; it happens when he apologizes for it. Mut isn't angry in the abstract and he isn't angry at Rak, he's angry for him.

I don't like this face, Khun Tongrak. I actually had a moment where I thought to myself, "why can't I read your face right now?" and of course it's deliberate on Peat's part. Even without knowing what we know from the preview, this face would have told us that Something was about to happen.

Or maybe that's just me, I don't know. I've been staring very hard at Peat's face for the past two months.

Watching Tongrak desperately try to steel his nerve after entering the snake pit that is his sperm donor's house is heartbreaking.

As much as I hate to subject you (and myself) to more of Jak's face, I'd like to point out that like last week, his face is in shadow while the face of the person he's speaking to, in this case Tongrak, is catching the light. Also worth noting that Rak's back is quite literally against the wall in this scene.

We see this play with light/shadow again when Rak has a flashback of him from his childhood. Jak has always been a vile, psychopathic snake and his true feelings and intentions have always been hidden behind shadow.

It's horrible to say because there's so much anguish behind it but this is such a beautiful expression. There's a split second where he tries to look angry but it just doesn't work.

I think there's a tiny part of Tongrak that truly believed that tearing up the contract would be what made Mahasamut leave and on the flip side of that, a part that was afraid that the contract was truly the only thing making Mut stay.

GODDAMN THIS IS THE SEXIEST THING MAHASAMUT HAS EVER SAID ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME

For people like Tongrak and for people who can relate to Tongrak in the sense that one or more of the parents we pulled in the great gacha of life are horrible and shitty, there comes a moment where you realize that they aren't actually these huge indestructible monsters. They're human.

And when you realize that and look at them, it's like you're seeing for the first time. There's a weird sort of pity and whatever the opposite of awe is that you feel that's hard to describe. It's a feeling of "...Is that really it? Is that all there is to you?"

That is what Peat is portraying so incredibly in this scene.

BLINDING LIGHT OF LOVE LET'S GOOOOOOO

WILD HORSES, YA'LL! WILD FUCKING HORSES!

Pouty Tongrak face, as a treat.

Mook and Mahasamut were talking about Tongrak and what Mut would do if he got rejected when all was said and done, but Mook's face when Mut says he would accept the rejection tells me she's also thinking about herself and Vivi.

I actually really wish she would've talked to Mut about it directly because god knows girly pop needs to talk to someone about Vivi. Or better yet, Vivi herself.

As for the preview next week, do not even sweat it babes because you know what?

THERE ARE COLORFUL PATTERNS ON TONGRAK'S BODY!

I LOVE GETTING EVERYTHING I WANT!

[pia-nor481]

Empty Bed Part Two

Lando Norris x reader smut

3.5k words. Part One

"What's up with you?" Max asked, worried about his friend's pouting. Lando was angry and upset. He knows this is how hook up culture is supposed to be, have sex and leave before anything gets awkward, yet that's not what he wanted. Its sad that he wanted her, even now, weeks after their last encounter. "Nothing serous, just jet lagged." His reply was a bit harsh and also the truth at the same time. It was the penultimate race of the season and the stress was beginning to affect more than usual, he was far too frustrated, not just psychologically but sexually. "If you say so." He felt Max's hand make contact with his shoulder as he walked past, heading to the red bull garage. Lando walked towards his drivers room and put up a rather convincing smile. Free practice wasn't particularly fun for Lando, he liked the thrill of the race, but he couldn't feel that if he was focused on collecting data. He let out a loud sigh as he lent against the closed door, finally alone. It felt good to be in his own presence. 

He pulled the orange shirt over his head to replace it with a black fire proof. "Woah, what animal attacked you?" Daniel laughed out, seeing his friend's shocked face. "You were so happy the morning after, maybe you need to get laid more often." The scratches on Lando's waist were still visible, a reminder for him, a reminder of her. "You're one to talk, that girl in your lap seemed pretty blissed out." He shook his, Lando was shocked that Daniel took the risk of fucking some girl in such a public place. "Well I know how to fuck. By the red on your hip, I can guess you can too." Daniel flashed his signature grin while loosening his suit. "Can I be honest?" Lando paused, looking back at his friend, who's expression changed in the blink of an eye. "Always." Lando let out a relived sigh, he already felt better. "How do you do it? I don't get how you can fuck a girl and move on so quickly, as if nothing happened." Lando looked away mid-sentence, feeling almost ashamed, reaching for the rest of his clothes. "Well, if it makes you feel any better, I can't just forget, unless I'm that drunk. But still, it's not something you should hold onto, especially if you're not going to see her again." Daniel said sincerely, he was stunned that Lando would say such a thing. "Is it really bothering you that much?" 

Lando had to pause, he didn't know what to do. They didn't have the same level of friendship that Daniel had with Max, or Lando with Carlos. Yet he almost felt bashful at the thought of discussing this with anyone else. "I just... Felt so drawn to her. It doesn't make any sense to me. I was just looking to fuck, but everything about her... It just felt more than that. She joked with me, and it was actually funny, she was so gorgeous too; Perfect even. She didn't even know who I was, yet she was in a F1 afterparty. You know how you can tell if they actually know you or not." He said it all in one breath, and so, was practically gasping for air. "I'm guessing she is good in bed too?" Lando's head shifted to the side in a look of disappointment. "Yes, but that's not the important part." He said, zipping up his race suit. "I get how important this is to you, I do, but you can't dwell on it, you need to focus on racing, thinking about a girl, no matter how perfect,  that you're not going to see again, isn't gonna get you on the podium." Daniel grabbed Lando's shoulders, rather firm, and looked in his eyes as he spoke. "Alright." 

While Lando was in the car he didn't dare think of her, but when he was in his new hotel room, she consumed all of his thoughts. So while he was buttoning up a white shirt, he couldn't help but feel down, he was exhausted, not just from the race. Lando practically dragged his feet along the floor to wards the door, wishing he didn't have to go out and celebrate another podium, he had to celebrate someone else's win. As he begun tying his shoes, he could hear the banging of a fist on the hotel door. "Give me a sec." He shouted back, rushing towards the door. "Hey." It was Daniel at the door, adorning his usual smile. "It's only 10, there is no rush." Lando said, looking down at his watch, before reaching for his phone and room card, and slipping them into his pocket. "I know, but I don't know whether or not I should get plastered with you or let you run off with some girl." Daniel said, hooking his arm around the younger's neck. "Too soon man. What if i went off with another girl, You'd stop me?" Lando said with a bit of bite, shifting his gaze towards the other man. "Well no, I'm just trying to look after you man." Guilt immediately ran through his body, Daniel was trying to be helpful, and was more than likely doing the right thing. "Sorry, I'm just all over the place. This season has been hard, and you know the rest." Daniel patted his back before giving a reply, "We'll sort it out, mate, lets just focus on tonight, we can deal with everything tomorrow." Lando cracked a smile, "While we're hung over?" Their pace quickened as the approached the outside of the club. "Absolutely." 

The loud music and lack of air sent a wave of pleasure through Lando's body, it felt so good to be in such an environment. There was always skin to skin contact, and it just felt so amazing. Lando felt a girl lean back, further into him, he was already a few drinks deep, but he was still capable of making good, enough, decisions. His hands quickly found her hips, but she didn't feel the same. However, that didn't stop him. He wanted to feel this close with someone, and she was more than willing; until her friend called her over. He was left on his own again, Daniel was still in the club, most likely in the bathroom. "I'll be back in a bit mate." He made it seem as though he was stepping out for some fresh air, but Lando quickly noticed him gravitating towards a woman, the same one he saw Daniel with last week. He didn't let that ruin his mood as he struggled to make way to the bar. As soon as he reached the table, the volume of the music seemed to fall slightly, he waited for a while, and in doing so he looked around, observing the people around him. Until he saw her hair, her skin, everything about her, it was hard for him to not recognise. "Can I have a vodka with full fat coke and a rum with diet coke please."

He walked over to her as quick as possible, placing his drink on the bar, and began dancing his fingers over her arm, she didn't even flinch "Found any attractive men to chat up?" She could feel his breath against her ear, he was speaking at a normal volume, knowing she could not hear him over the music otherwise. "I have now." Lando was so ecstatic that she was flirting back. He handed her the drink and she opened her mouth to speak, he noticed the glitter in her lip gloss and made a mental note that it needed to be smudged later. "Rum and diet coke." He sated simply and she smiled before taking a sip. "Thank you." He was shocked she was staying so formal, not formal per say, but you wouldn't expect some one you had a one night stand with to be appreciative of a drink. "What are you doing here, Lando?" As she spoke, his eyes travelled over her whole body, first he noticed the white sunglasses atop her head, then the glitter and blush covering her cheeks. "I could ask you the same thing, baby." She leaned closer to him, almost as if she was longing for his presence. "One of my friends... she really like sports and is watching these races, but she hates travelling alone, so I decided to come with her." It took a while for Lando to acknowledge that her friend was a formula one fan. He was too focused on her body, last time he saw her, she was wearing a white mesh top, this time it was a pink bra, covered in gems and glitter, and it just looked so good on her. "Tell me then, why are you here?" He grabbed her hip, feeling the material of her mesh skirt against his skin, he wanted her as close as possible. "Would you believe me if i said, my friend brought me here so he could go looking for a girl he hooked up with?" It wasn't a lie, but wasn't quite the truth. "Are you sure the name of your friend is not 'Lando'?" She laughed lightly, sipping her drink, hiding behind the glass once again. "I promise, only because his name is Daniel, you could ask him, but I don't think we will be seeing him tonight." She placed the empty glass on the bar and slid her hands up his chest, her touch was electrifying. "I'm sorry, I had to take your clothes, I couldn't leave in what I was wearing." His hands travelled over her back and down under her skirt, squeezing her ass lightly. "It's okay, you can keep it." He pulled her into a desperate and deep kiss. It lasted for what felt like hours. The skin on skin, the music, the alcohol, it all felt euphoric. "Come on, before I fuck you right here."

His hands never left her body, a firm grip around her waist, a reminder almost. Just as they made it out of the club their eyes immediately  met, she was looking at him for a direction. "I've not got my hotel key." He almost whispered out. Lando claimed to have left it behind when Daniel knocked on the door; this also gave them an excuse to go back to her room, he knew she wouldn't disappear like last time. "Come on then." it come out more of a moan than a huff of annoyance. She practically pulled him down the road towards her hotel, to say Lando was shocked by the building was understatement. She kept a tight grip on him as they walked up the stairs, Lando was looking shamelessly up her skirt, not that the sheer fabric was hiding much. As soon as she reached the top step she pulled him into a rough kiss and almost moaned into his mouth, just feeling him riled her up. "Please, Lando." Her words were left in the air as he took the key from her hand and opened the door as quickly as possible "Come here, babe, need you so bad." 

She chased his voice to the bed, she needed him just as much, but couldn't verbalise it. So she decided it would be best to swing herself over his lap and cover his neck in glittery red marks. In the process lando slid his hands up her back slowly, teasing not just her, but himself. She began to suck harder and bite slightly, tugging his skin between her teeth. "Fuck, babe." His breath got caught in his throat at the feeling. Lando didn't expect to her to do such a thing, especially with how he was the last time they were together, he was shocked that she was acting more demanding; so he trailed his hand up to her top, his fingers quickly hooked around the clasp of the bra, he pulled it far from her skin, and smiled at the thud of it back against her skin. She let out a loud whine, not anticipating the feeling. "Behave." She nodded quickly, not expecting to get chastised. Lando placed his hand under her ass and hoisted her up, turning around to gently place her on the edge of the bed, hands slowly and softly running his fingers along the outside of her thigh. She reached up and gripped his collar, pulling him lower. "Don't tease me." 

"Or what?" He replied back in a flirty manner. As she felt his fingers against her underwear she gasped, he pushed her skirt up, not before admiring the pink butterflies on the mesh, he'd waited so long for this so he couldn't waste a minute. Lando grabbed her hips harshly and pulled her body closer to his. "I can stop right here, if you want." He pushed her underwear to the side and lowered his head. "No please, Lando please." She would feel him smirk against her skin as soon as she started speaking. He licked up against her cunt before focusing on her clit; he kitten licked at first, ignoring her pleas, then circling quickly, enjoying the noises she let out. He continued to abuse her clit and lightly teased her slit with one hand, the other pressing down lightly on her abdomen. He was paying more attention to her now, really trying to discover what made her feel good. Although it had only been a few weeks since they were together, Lando couldn't stop thinking about her. He felt guilty, he replayed that night in his head over and over, and he felt awful for not paying enough attention to her. When you hook up with someone you are not really there for the other person's pleasure, Lando wanted do change that. He thrusted his fingers slow, not rushing, he wanted to enjoy this, he wanted her to feel good. As he moved his fingers in a 'come here' motion she pushed her hips closer to him desperately, "Harder?" his eyes didn't leave her for a second, he wouldn't forget this, he couldn't miss the look on her face. "Faster." She barely said, out of breath from moaning so much. As soon as the words left her mouth, he was following the instruction, she was quivering slightly as he hands mad a home in his hair, tugging on it lightly, feeling him groan into her, adding to her pleasure. "Be good." Lando began to suck on her clit lightly, he wanted a reaction and that's what he got. She was practically singing a song for him. The hand that was resting on her abdomen travelled back towards her thigh, slipped under her knee. He lifted her leg up higher, her calf now resting against his back, forcing her thighs further apart, giving him more space. Her voiced echoed throughout the room as he sped up the movement of his tongue and fingers. "That's it babe, cum for me." The wave of pleasure that washed over her took her vision temporarily, white covered her vision as she came. She was on cloud nine and Lando didn't stop his attack. 

When he came up from between her thighs he had a satisfied smile on his face, when they made eye contact the smile turned into a grin of joy. She moved back on the bed slightly, a blissed out look on her face still, Lando very quickly noticed the wet patch on the bed as he got up from his knees and got on the bed; unbuttoning his shirt in the process. He kissed up her abdomen slowly, leaving marks across her whole body, biting down in the manner she did prior. "Don't whine, its only fair." He laughed out, opening her legs once again. She gave him a pointed look, yet he just gave her one back, he wanted to be in control, and he got what he wanted. "Please." Her pleas fell upon deaf ears as he just continued to tease; he ran the tip of his cock up and down her cunt, focusing on her clit more often than not. He enjoyed teasing her, he felt as though he deserved it. Lando squeezed his cock lightly, he needed to feel some form of release, the pressure already building up. She took hold of his arm aggressively with a firm grip, knuckles turning white. He pushed in slow, just like before, not wanting to over stimulate her so soon after one orgasm. "That's it." Her eyes rolled back as soon as he started speaking, yet he couldn't look away, she was just so captivating, he wished he could say such a thing, but he could not, not in a situation like this. He began thrusting slowly and softly, more sensual than before. Lando gradually sped up, knowing it was something she liked, his hands wouldn't leave her body for more than a second, his hands would be dancing on her skin as a form of comfort. "Fuck, please." He liked to hear her beg, it felt like an exclusive sound, he didn't think anyone had fucked her, it was just a feeling, until he realised how quickly he made her cum. Lando pulled her legs around his waist, allowing him to her her deeper, "Oh yes." Lando wasn't quiet, she was just beyond loud, and his just got him impossibly harder. "Good girl, be good for me." Once of his hands left her him to slide down to her clit, rubbing fast circles; she could feel his touch all through out her body, every nerve sending signals felt like an overload. Her orgasm hit her hard, pelvis lifting up higher than Lando had already positioned it. She let out a choked whine as she felt Lando pulsating, all he felt was euphoria when he was with her, but this was on another level. Rope after rope of cum left his cock in pleasure, his head fell into the crook of her neck as he groaned, waves of pleasure still washing over him. 

She winced as he pulled out, pushing her underwear back in place, he grabbed her neck softly, pulling her closer to him, he wanted to kiss her, he didn't want to beg, he still needed control, he didn't want to swallow his pride, her hands slid up his back and into the base of his hair, tugging so she could catch her breath. "Careful." He felt the need to remind her. "Promise." She smiled, smirked is a better adjective for the blissed out look on her face. Lando pulled back the cover of the bed, slipping under it with her, he kissed her neck softly as she slowly began to drift off, he inter locked their hands when he slid his arm over her waist. His eyes began to close as her breathing finally regulated. 

When his eyes opened again, it was because of the morning light slipping through the hotel curtains. Lando's mind was still fuzzy. He tried to sit up but quickly realised his pounding headache was from alcohol, then all memories came running through his mind, then a wave of panic. He turned to the side a quickly as possible, noticing no one was in his arms. She was gone. He ran his hand over the mattress  and noticed it was cold, disappointment flooded his whole body, and so he felt lethargic; Until he realised that they had come back to her hotel room last night, a smile crept up on his face as he sat up. The thought of having a long conversation, with out too much flirting, was his first thought. Until he saw his hoodie, the one she stole the first night together. He assumed she would have been wearing it, or at least taken it home before flying out for this trip, but no, it was folded neatly on the counter in front of the bed. Lando, finally, built up the courage to get out o the bed, and saw that her suitcase was gone, so were her shoes, so was she. 

He was, once again, left in an empty bed. 

Masterlist

There was a lot of struggle in trying to finish this (things not saving and paragraphs randomly deleting because reasons) but I seem to repel technology. If I’ve made any spelling mistakes let me know.

[dedeinthewild]

paul aron x reader, more than friends

~ "stand there and look good"

The sun was setting slowly and relentlessly over the asphalt, illuminating them for the final moments as they wrapped up the penultimate track walk of the season, along the curves of the first circuit after the long autumn break.

“That’s so trueeee,” hummed the Estonian, walking and playing with his water bottle, unable to get that song out of his head.

“Paul Aron x Gracie Abrams coming soon,” joked one of his engineers, hands stuffed into the pockets of a pair of shorts.

“Gracie could never,” replied the girl Paul always had with him, as if he couldn’t be without her.

If he was there, then so was she—physically or otherwise.

Paul smiled, turning to look at her with his cap on backward and those ridiculously beautiful blue eyes. She was a few steps behind him, phone in hand, wearing the same shirt he had on, paired with an old pair of sweatpants that had seen more action than Paul had in his lifetime.

“That’s so trueeee,” he sang again, likely the only part of the song he actually knew, a fact that infuriated and amused her to no end.

“You’re an idiot,” she said, speeding up to catch him with a smile on her face. She snatched his cap and placed it on Karl, the Estonian’s trainer.

“Better,” she said, scrunching her nose ever so slightly and glancing toward the other drivers still on the track.

Some were wearing sunglasses, others were poring over notes and analyzing strategies for the circuit’s corners, flanked by their engineers.

The amber light of the sunset made her feel weightless, with her distinctive face, slightly tousled hair from the pleasant breeze, and Paul by her side.

“I bet it will sell out in two minutes,” she said, listening to how Paul and the others were chatting about the imminent drop of his collaboration with Parc Fermé.

“You would seriously buy Paul merch?” the same engineer asked.

The Estonian turned to throw an amused glare at the man behind him as they approached the exit of the track, heading to pit lane and eventually to the F2 paddock.

They ended up sitting on the floor in the garage as Karl rambled on about something nonsensical, and the mechanics tidied up for the following day.

Everyone had a good feeling about the race weekend. Perhaps the break had helped settle some of the doubts the driver had about the next season.

“You really think I’ll sell out?” Paul asked.

“As if you don’t think so too,” she replied, raising her eyebrows slightly, a soft smile on her face as she rested her chin on her knees.

“I mean, I know I have fans, but I’m unsure about what I’ll do,” he shrugged, grabbing the cap Karl had abandoned on the table and turning it over in his hands.

“Oh, come on, don’t get all doubtful now,” she said, moving closer so their sides pressed together against the wall they were leaning on.

Paul rested his head on hers, his gaze lingering on his signature printed on the front of her shirt and the big number seventeen stamped on her back.

“Pizza, pizza, pizza!” Karl shouted, excitedly carrying a stack of pizza boxes and setting them down beside them. They stood up, already savoring the thought of a hot slice.

“We’re being way too chaotic,” the girl laughed, settling onto a stool across from Paul and helping herself to a slice.

Karl perched on the edge of the table while someone had connected a speaker somewhere, and Paul’s playlist was creating a relaxed vibe in the garage.

“I wanna do something,” the Estonian announced, appearing by the cabinet where the girl had left her camera.

“You won’t do anything with my baby,” she teased, seeing him disappear with her camera in hand, the corner of his mouth still stained with pizza.

“Trust me,” he grumbled, grabbing his helmet and heading toward the walkway just outside. “And follow me,” he added with a smile.

She made to set her pizza slice down on the box.

“Keep it,” he said.

Karl and the girl frowned, trailing behind Paul out of the garage that housed his car.

“Stand there and look good,” the Estonian joked, pointing to a spot ahead of him where the last rays of the sun were still visible. Then he handed the camera to Karl and joined her.

“What if I don’t want to?” she asked.

“Shut up,” he laughed, sliding his helmet onto her head, gently tucking her hair inside.

He fastened the straps, leaning slightly to get a better view of the clasp while she looked at him through the open visor, wondering why he wanted to take pictures of her.

He handed her the slice of pizza, smiling as he stepped back to take some shots.

“Remember, I love you,” he said playfully, watching her roll her eyes with mock exasperation.

From behind her, he snapped photo after photo, capturing every fold of the number seventeen on her back as the fallen sun darkened their surroundings, leaving the streetlights reflecting off the pilot’s blue helmet.

The pizza slice, his name across her shoulders, and that friendly air that made her instantly likable to everyone.

“Are you done?” she asked, despairing over the pepperoni cooling atop the cheese.

He handed the camera back to Karl and walked over to her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders for one last photo together, smiling as he looked at her.

Not long after, back inside the garage, the helmet removed and perched on their stools, she opened her laptop to download the photos from the memory card, opening them in her editing software.

“You’re good,” she said as Paul sat beside her, finishing off what Karl had left behind.

“I know,” he replied.

She raised an eyebrow at him, smiling softly as she adjusted a few details in the photos, noticing just how many he’d taken.

Because she, who hated being photographed, was the person who appeared most often in the Estonian’s phone gallery.

“What do you wanna do?”

He grabbed his phone, crossing his arms.

“Soft launch,” he said, looking directly into her eyes.

“You know that’s what couples do, right?”

The driver shrugged, either because that’s exactly what he intended or because he didn’t care.

“You’ll reach more people, and the little guessing game will be fun for them,” he said.

“If you say so,” she replied, opening his Instagram profile and uploading one of the photos where she was alone and one of the two of them together, adding a cryptic “Guess who?” as the caption.

They posted it and sat chatting, avoiding notifications for a while as they laughed and talked about the weekend, both smiling now that Paul had clarity about his future.

By the time Karl had wandered off to find a bathroom, the two of them were sitting on the floor again, as they often did.

She leaned back against his chest, phone in hand, laughing at the comments and story reposts, while Paul rested his chin on her shoulder.

“Do we really have to guess?”

“It was about damn time, Paul.”

“I think his aim was to promote, but hey, why can’t we gossip a bit?”

”_____ will get old and wrinkly before Paulito finally decides to admit he loves her.”

“I think three comments out of five hundred are actually about the merch,” she laughed, shaking her head in amusement.

“Maybe four,” he joked, wrapping his strong arms around her shoulders, pulling her closer.

Soft launch.

But did he really need to “launch” anything?

- not proofread or anything, so there might be a few errors :)

by now you surely have that I only write friends/bfs to lovers with Paulito, but I can't help it lol

It's kinda short and I don't know if I like it, so I'll be really happy to hear your feedbacks on it!

hope you like it🍀