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greengoblinswifey · 1 day ago

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Nanny Knows Best

pairing— nicholas chavez x bimbo!nanny!reader

summary— Since the first kiss you shared with Nicholas, he’d been avoiding you, so to combat, you teased him relentlessly, having him at your mercy until he snapped.

warnings— age gap(reader is 19, nicholas is aged up to be 40), infidelity, lots of flirting, fluff, strip tease, possessive!nicholas, spanking, finger sucking, fingering, praising, mentions of virginity.

Introduction

Nicholas had been avoiding you.

It started right after the kiss—that slow, intoxicating moment when his hands were on your waist, and his lips molded against yours like he’d been waiting for it forever. But instead of pulling you into his arms again, he pulled away completely. Suddenly, he wasn’t around as much. He wasn’t in the kitchen late at night when you tiptoed in for a snack. He wasn’t watching you from across the playroom, trying and failing to pretend he wasn’t staring.

Instead, he was with Victoria.

You noticed how he started making more of an effort—taking her out, staying in conversation, touching her more. You tried not to care. But when you walked past their bedroom one night, the sound of hushed arguing made you stop in your tracks.

“What is this, Nicholas?” Victoria’s voice was sharp, accusing. “You’re not even into it. You’re thinking about her, aren’t you?”

“Jesus, Victoria, are you serious?” He sounded exhausted, frustrated. “I’m trying here. I’m literally trying, and you’re making up shit in your head.”

Silence.

Your heart pounded.

You shouldn’t have been listening. You should’ve walked away. But the lump in your throat wouldn’t go down.

The next morning, you found Nicholas alone in the living room before the kids woke up, scrolling through his phone, brows furrowed. He barely looked up when you walked in.

It made your stomach twist.

“Mr. Chavez,” you called, your voice was soft. He finally glanced at you, and you shifted on your feet, fingers curling around the hem of your pink crop top. “Are you mad at me?”

His expression softened immediately. He sighed, setting his phone down before leaning forward, elbows on his knees.

“No, honey,” he murmured.

You blinked up at him, lip quivering slightly. “Then why are you acting all weird?”

He ran a hand over his face before reaching for you, big hands cupping your cheeks, his thumb stroking your skin gently. “Because I put you in a position I never should have.” His voice was so low, so careful, and his lips were right there. “That was my fault. Not yours.”

“But I liked it,” you said instantly, eyes wide.

He let out a shaky breath, and for a second, it looked like he was struggling. Like he wanted to kiss you again. Like he needed to.

“It can’t happen again,” he whispered.

Your pout deepened, but you nodded, trying to look like you understood. “Okay. You’re right.”

Before he could say anything else, you wrapped your arms around him, pressing yourself against his broad frame. He stiffened for just a moment before his hands found your back, hesitating—then holding you tight.

Your voice was soft and sultry as you whispered, “Thank you, Mr. Chavez.”

Then you pulled away, giving him one last doe-eyed glance before disappearing down the hall. And Nicholas was left sitting there, dick hard, jaw tight, knowing damn well this wasn’t over.

The next few days, you had Nicholas in a chokehold, and you knew it.

You weren’t doing anything explicitly wrong—just being yourself. A little giggle here, a casual brush against his arm there. The way your fingers smoothed over his shoulder when you walked past him, staying just a little too long. How you bent over a little too slowly when picking up the kids’ toys, or pouted at him like you had no clue why his gaze always dropped right to your boobs.

You played dumb.

And it drove him insane.

One evening, after you’d walked past him wearing a skimpy pajama set, soft pink lace that left little to the imagination—he finally snapped.

“Sweetheart,” he called after you, voice rough.

You turned, blinking up at him innocently. “Yes, Mr. Chavez?”

His jaw clenched. His eyes flickered down your body before meeting yours again. “What are you doing to me?”

“Nothing. What do you mean?” you asked, brows furrowed in feigned confusion.

Nicholas huffed out a laugh, shaking his head. So that’s how you wanted to play it.

“You,” he murmured, voice lower now. “Are trouble.”

You just smiled sweetly. “You’re the one that said it can’t happen again.”

His chuckle was quiet, deep, as he ran a hand over his face. You were messing with him. And worst of all? It was working.

One morning, you sat cross-legged in front of your vanity, doing your makeup while Madison and Alexander sat beside you, watching in awe.

“Pretty,” Madison sighed dreamily. “Want that.” She pointed to the lipgloss you held in your right hand.

You giggled. “Thank you, baby. Wanna try some lip gloss?”

Her eyes lit up. You dabbed a bit of clear gloss on her lips, and she smacked them together excitedly, grinning at her reflection in your pink handheld mirror.

And then Victoria walked by.

Her sharp gasp made you freeze.

“What the hell are you doing?” she snapped.

Madison shrunk back. You blinked up at Victoria, confused. “She asked me to—”

“And you just did it?” She scoffed. “She’s a child! She doesn’t need that cheap lip gloss all over her face!”

You exhaled, trying to keep your cool. “Victoria, you know would’ve cried if I didn’t—”

“And why are you even putting on makeup right now?” Her voice rose, cutting you off. “Who are you trying to impress, huh? My husband?”

Your stomach dropped.

Before you could respond, a deeper voice cut through the tension.

“Victoria,” Nicholas warned.

You both turned. He stood in the doorway, arms crossed, eyes dark.

“Stop it.” His tone left no room for argument.

She scoffed. “The nanny is putting her cheap lip gloss on my daughter—”

Your jaw clenched, ready to fire back. But instead, you did what you did best.

Your lips quivered. Your eyes all big and filled with tears. Your chin dipped, and you pouted like you were seconds away from crying.

Nicholas melted.

He let out a quiet sigh, stepping forward to cup the back of your head and pull you into his chest.

“Hey,” he cooed, his voice warm, “it’s okay, sweetheart.”

Victoria stiffened. “Are you serious?”

Nicholas barely looked at her. “Take the kids downstairs.”

She clenched her jaw, eyes flickering between the two of you. But she didn’t argue. She just rolled her eyes, huffed, and yanked Madison and Alexander’s hands, pulling them toward the stairs.

The moment she was gone, Nicholas pulled back slightly, tilting your chin up.

“Are you okay?”

Your lips curled into a tiny smile. “I am now that you’re hugging me with your big arms.”

His expression flickered, something passing through his dark gaze. Then you wrapped your arms around him again, pressing yourself against him, your soft hands sliding up his arms and back.

“Mm, you’re so manly,” you moaned, “so big and strong.”

Nicholas tensed.

You felt it—how his muscles tightened, how his chest rose with a slow, deep inhale. How something else pressed against you, solid.

Your lashes fluttered as you tilted your head up, lips hovering just over his chest. “Mr. Chavez,” you murmured.

His hands flexed on your waist.

And you knew you had him.

Nicholas’ grip on your waist tightened. He shouldn’t. But with you pressed so close, warm and soft against him, your scent sweet and intoxicating, his self-control was slipping.

His lips hovered just above your hair as he inhaled deeply, letting your perfume settle in his lungs like a drug. You were ruining him. His fingers flexed at your waist, gripping just a little harder, his pulse pounding in his ears.

He wanted to take you right then and there—right against the vanity, where his wife could walk in at any moment. He wanted to press you against the mirror, tilt your head back, and claim those glossy lips. Claim that pussy he knew was tight and ready for him.

You shifted slightly, your body brushing against him, and Nicholas swore under his breath. His jaw clenched. His resolve was cracking.

Then, just as his head dipped lower to kiss you, as if drawn by some invisible force—you stepped away.

“Well, I’m gonna finish getting ready!” you said brightly, completely unbothered, as if you hadn’t just had him on the verge of losing himself.

Nicholas exhaled sharply, shaking his head, watching as you hopped back to the mirror.

You hummed to yourself as you dusted on a final touch of highlighter, your hips swaying slightly, utterly oblivious to what you’d just done to him.

He let out a rough chuckle, rubbing his hand over his face. “Jesus Christ.”

You turned, blinking up at him. “What?”

“Nothing, sweetheart,” he muttered, forcing himself to look away.

A bit of silence passed before he cleared his throat. “I, uh—” He hesitated. “I’m sorry about Victoria.”

You turned back to your reflection, carefully applying another layer of your lipliner. “What for?”

“For how she acted,” he said, watching you. “She’s not usually like that.”

You shot him a skeptical look through the mirror. “I find that hard to believe.”

Nicholas sighed, but he didn’t argue.

Victoria left the house in a fury, slamming the door behind her. So it was just you, Nicholas, and the kids.

With Madison on your hip and Alexander perched on the kitchen counter, you set about making your famous baked mac and cheese.

“Okay, little chefs,” you cooed, handing them both a handful of shredded cheese. “Sprinkle it all over, just like this.”

Madison giggled as she clumsily dropped her handful onto the tray, while Alexander, ever the perfectionist, focused like a professional chef.

“You guys are naturals!” you gushed, pressing a dramatic kiss to Alexander’s forehead. He blushed, ducking his head.

“You forgot mine!” Madison pouted.

You gasped playfully. “Oh no, my princess needs a kiss too!” You smothered her chubby cheek in kisses, making her squeal.

As you turned to slide the tray into the oven, you suddenly felt a presence.

Your breath hitched as you spun around—and there was Nicholas, watching.

You placed a hand over your heart. “Mr. Chavez, you scared me!”

“Did I?” he smirked.

“You so were staring at me,” you accused, your other hand holding Madison close.

“I wasn’t,” he said as he cleared his throat, shifting slightly.

“You so were,” Alexander piped up, all too happy to sell his dad out.

Nicholas shot him a look. “Whose side are you on?”

“Y/N’s,” Alexander said proudly, throwing his arms around you.

“Good answer, baby,” you giggled, ruffling his brown hair.

Nicholas exhaled a laugh, but his eyes lingered on you for a bit too long. Because as you stood there, effortlessly balancing his daughter, doting on his son, moving around his kitchen like you belonged—he found himself thinking you’d make a great mother.

A great mother to his children.

And maybe even—more of his children.

Nicholas shook the thought away as Alexander pulled back, still grinning.

“Y/N kissed me and Madison,” he mused. “But what about you, daddy?”

Nicholas raised a brow, amused. “Yeah,” he murmured, tilting his head. “Where’s mine?”

“Yours?” you asked, letting out a giggle.

He turned to Alexander. “Shouldn’t I get a kiss too, buddy?”

Alexander nodded happily. “Yeah! Give daddy a kiss!”

Nicholas smirked, shifting closer. “Yeah, sweetheart," he murmured, his voice dropping. “Give daddy a kiss.”

Your breath caught. For a second, you froze, heart thudding loudly in your chest. Then, before you could second guess yourself, you leaned up on your toes and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek.

Nicholas inhaled sharply. You pulled away, all doe-eyed innocence, like you hadn’t just ruined him in a single second.

Then, as if you hadn’t just branded him, you turned back to the oven and chirped, “I hope you’re hungry, Mr. Chavez!”

Nicholas let out a slow, shaky breath, running a hand over his jaw.

Oh, sweetheart.

You had no idea.

Evening settled over the mansion, the warm scent of baked mac and cheese filling the air as you finished plating everyone’s share. Alexander kicked his feet excitedly under the table while Madison clung to your side, eager for her portion.

You scooped up a bite for Alexander, holding the spoon to his lips. “Open up, baby.”

He grinned, taking the bite before giggling. “Mmm! So good!”

Nicholas smirked, ruffling his son’s hair before turning to Madison, gently offering her a spoonful. “Your turn, sweetheart.”

She happily opened her mouth, chewing with delight before clapping her hands. “Yummy!”

“See? Told you guys I make the best mac and cheese.” you beamed.

Nicholas raised a brow, amused. “You sound pretty confident.”

“I am confident.” you said as you twirled your spoon playfully. “Now, Mr. Chavez, your turn.”

Nicholas leaned back slightly. “Oh? Am I getting special treatment too?”

You giggled. “Open up.”

He chuckled under his breath but obeyed, parting his lips as you fed him a spoonful. The moment the cheesy flavor hit his tongue, his brows lifted in surprise.

“This is the best thing I’ve ever tasted,” he admitted, shaking his head.

You giggled, twirling a strand of hair around your finger. “Told you.”

The evening passed with full bellies and when it was time for bed, you bathed the kids, their tired giggles filling the air, and helped tuck them in. Nicholas offered to put Alexander down while you took Madison, pressing a soft kiss to his son’s forehead before slipping out of the room.

And then he saw you.

Sitting on the edge of Madison’s bed, brushing back her soft hair as you read to her in a soothing tone. She was barely awake, blinking up at you sleepily as you leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead. “Goodnight, princess,” you whispered.

Nicholas stood frozen in the doorway, something unfamiliar tightening in his chest. He found himself thinking once again, you’d be a great mother. The thought was dangerous, but it was there. Then you turned, catching him watching.

You smirked. “You’re staring again, Mr. Chavez.”

Nicholas exhaled a quiet chuckle, shaking his head. “Can’t help myself.”

Your giggle was soft as you brushed past him, padding into your room. As you walked into your room, Nicholas trailed behind like a lost puppy, unable to tear his eyes away from you. The way your hips swayed, the soft curve of your waist—everything about you was intoxicating and you had him completely wrapped around your finger. And then he saw just beneath the waistband of your shorts, your tramp stamp tattoo peeking out, a delicate mark sitting low on your back.

Nicholas clenched his jaw.

He’d love to have you bent over, his fingers tracing slow circles over that ink, feeling you tremble beneath his touch. The thought alone made his grip tighten at his sides.

And just when he thought you couldn’t test him any further, you reached for the hem of your top.

Without a second thought, you lifted it over your head, letting the fabric drop to the floor.

Nicholas’ breath hitched. A leopard print lace bra.

Of course, you were wearing something bold, something so you. And you weren’t done.

Hooking your fingers into the waistband of your shorts, you wiggled out of them, bending just enough to give him a full view of your clothed pussy before stepping out of them completely.

Nicholas was practically heaving at this point. You peeked over your shoulder, eyes twinkling with amusement.

“Close your mouth, Mr. Chavez.”

His lips parted, ready to say something, anything—but nothing came out. You only giggled, climbing onto your bed like nothing had happened, flipping through your phone, legs swinging idly.

Nicholas dragged a hand down his face.

You were toying with him. You had him at your mercy.

And worst of all? It was working.

Nicholas tried to act unaffected. He cleared his throat, shifting his stance like he was preparing to leave. “I- I should head to bed,” he mumbled, though he didn’t move.

You pouted, tilting your head. “Stay,” you said softly. “Just to talk.”

“Talking, huh?”

You nodded, all wide eyed and innocent, stretching your arms over your head in a way that had his gaze flickering lower before he caught himself.

With a sigh, he sat at the edge of your bed while you casually chatted, kicking your feet and twirling your hair around your finger. Your eyes sparkled with mischief.

“Do you think I’m a bad girl, Mr. Chavez?” you asked, voice between playful innocence and sultriness.

Nicholas swallowed hard, his fingers tracing idle patterns on the sheet. “You’re playing a dangerous game, sweetheart,” he murmured.

“Am I?” you whispered, inching closer.

His jaw clenched, every muscle in his body tense. He reached out, tilting your chin up with gentle fingers, his thumb brushing your lower lip. Your breath hitched, the air crackling between you. His thumb parted your lips and in and act of boldness, it slipped pass, finding the wetness in your mouth. With your gaze locked on his, you sucked on his thumb, wrapping your lips around it and swirling your tongue.

His breath hitched. “Fuck.”

He pulled his thumb out and put it into his mouth, sucking the remnants of your saliva.

Just as his lips hovered inches from yours, the sound of the front door downstairs opening made him jolt back. Victoria’s heels clacked against the floor, her sour mood obvious. Catching Nicholas slipping out of your room, his face flushed, she raised a brow, her gaze darting between the two of you.

“Really, Nicholas?” she spat in suspicion and jealousy.

You played innocent, clutching the blanket to your chest. “We were just talking,” you offered sweetly, biting back a grin at how her eyes narrowed further.

Victoria scoffed, crossing her arms. “Is that right? Because it doesn’t seem like that.”

Nicholas stiffened, trying to maintain his composure. “You’re being ridiculous,” he deflected.

Her glare lingered before she finally turned on her heel, muttering something under her breath as she retreated down the hall.

You stretched out on the bed, arching your back, letting the blanket slip just enough to tease. “Goodnight, Mr. Chavez,” you purred.

He gripped the doorknob tightly, caught in the web you had woven. The hallway stretched before him—the master bedroom he shared with his wife on one end, your tantalizing presence on the other.

You glanced at him, eyes sparkling. “Unless, you wanna stay?”

His breath hitched, eyes roaming over you one last time before he finally tore himself away, muttering a strained, “G-goodnight, sweetheart,” as he pulled the door shut behind him.

Left alone, you hugged your pillow, a mischievous smile playing on your lips. If he thought this was over, he was sorely mistaken.

The next morning, you woke up early, making breakfast for Nicholas and the kids. Pancakes, bacon, fresh fruit—you wanted everything to be just right. Madison sat on the counter, swinging her legs while Alexander set the table, and Nicholas leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, just watching you.

“You always cook like this?” he asked, voice still rough from sleep.

You flashed him a playful smile. “Only when I feel like being appreciated.”

After breakfast, you got the kids ready for school, hair brushed, backpacks packed and finally took a moment to get yourself dressed. A crop top, a denim mini skirt, platform sandals, light makeup. When you walked back into the living room, Nicholas was already standing by the door, keys in hand, but his eyes trailed over you slowly, his grip tightening on the keyring.

You smirked, adjusting your skirt. “Too much?”

He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “No, you look beautiful.” But deep down, he wanted to say yes—only because he didn’t want anyone looking at you the way he did.

You dropped the kids off at their private school, earning a mix of disapproving side eyes and whispered admiration from the teachers. Nicholas barely looked at anyone, his hand hovering protectively over your lower back as he led you out.

“Want to come with me to set?” he offered once you were back in the car.

“Why not? Not like I have anything better to do.”

The moment you arrived, heads turned. Nicholas had always been the center of attention, but today, all eyes were on you. His hand remained firm on your back as he guided you inside, like he needed everyone to know you were with him.

The team got to work dressing him for the press interview and photoshoot, buttoning a crisp white shirt over his broad chest, rolling the sleeves up just enough to show off his muscular forearms. His jawline looked even sharper under the bright studio lights, his dark hair tousled in that perfect way you loved to see it.

“Wow,” you murmured under your breath, watching as the stylist fussed over his collar.

“Something on your mind, sweetheart?” Nicholas turned to you, amused.

“Just that you look like—really, really good,” you said, titling your head and smiling.

His smirk deepened. Before you could react, he leaned down and pressed a quick kiss to your forehead. The unexpected gesture made warmth bloom in your chest, and you knew he saw the way you grew flustered.

You rolled your eyes but still clapped for him when the cameras started flashing, watching as he moved effortlessly through the shoot. He was a natural and you bit your lip seeing him in his element.

While he was busy, a younger guy, one of the interns, maybe, made his way over to you. He was all easy smiles and smooth compliments, obviously flirting. You laughed, twirling a strand of hair around your finger as he asked for your number.

Nicholas noticed. His expression darkened, his fists clenched. In seconds, he was striding over, his muscular frame practically blocking the guy from view.

“She’s busy,” Nicholas snapped, his voice dangerously low.

The intern blinked, startled. “Oh—I was just—”

“Leaving,” Nicholas finished for him.

“You didn’t have to be mean,” you huffed, crossing your arms.

Nicholas didn’t look away from the guy. “Yeah, I did.”

Smirking, you turned back. “Wait, what was your number again?”

Nicholas turned to you, his voice firm. “Y/N. Let’s go. Now.”

Your expression dropped, irritation creeping in. “Why? Because some guy talked to me?”

“Because I said so,” Nicholas said with a clenched his jaw, grabbing your wrist—not rough, just enough to make you follow.

The ride home was tense. You stared out the window, arms folded, before finally snapping, “It’s not fair.”

He exhaled. “What’s not?”

You turned to him. “You’re married. Am I supposed to just sit around and be sad and lonely while you go home to your wife?”

His grip on the steering wheel tightened. “Y/N, stop.”

“No.”

He glanced at you, his eyes dark. “You’re being a brat.”

You scoffed. “What are you gonna do? Exactly.”

Nicholas exhaled slowly, trying to keep his composure. “I’ll take you over my knee when we get home. Don’t test me.”

You rolled your eyes stifling a gasp. “You’re too pussy for that.”

Nicholas was silent for a moment, but his knuckles went white around the steering wheel.

The second you got home, he yanked the car door open, pulling you out and leading you straight inside.

“Hey—” you protested, but he didn’t stop, not until you were in your room, door shut behind you.

He was fuming, eyes locked onto yours, and you could feel the heat of his frustration in the air.

“What now, Mr. Chavez?” you swallowed, tilting your chin up defiantly.

“Keep pushing and find out.”

You rolled your eyes, pushing at his chest in an attempt to shove him toward the door. “I think I’ll find that cute guy’s Instagram,” you said, just to test him, just to see how far you could push.

Something in Nicholas snapped. Before you could react, he grabbed your wrist, sat down on the edge of your bed, and pulled you over his knee with surprising ease. Your breath hitched as you found yourself sprawled across his legs, your hands pressing into the mattress for balance.

“What are you doing, Mr Chavez?” you asked, all innocent.

He let out a slow breath, his palm resting on the small of your back. “What you’ve been needing these past few months,” he murmured, his voice low.

You swallowed, but refused to let him win so easily. “You’re not gonna do it,” you taunted, tilting your head to glance at him from the corner of your eye. “You’re still a—”

The sharp sound of his palm meeting denim cut you off. A gasp left your lips before you could stop it.

“Count,” Nicholas instructed, his voice firm but not unkind.

You hesitated, then exhaled. “One.”

“Good girl,” he praised, his fingers brushing over the fabric of your skirt before hiking it up then delivering another. You squirmed, but counted again.

By the time he reached ten, warmth spread across your ass. His hand lingered, soothing over where he’d struck, his fingers tracing patterns as if to calm the sting. Then, without thinking, he pressed a kiss, the contact sending a shiver down your spine.

You shifted in his lap, your hands pressing against his chest as you straddled him, legs on either side of his thighs. Nicholas stilled, his breathing uneven as you settled against him. His hands instinctively found your waist, gripping you like he wasn’t sure if he wanted to push you away or pull you closer.

His gaze flickered down, something dark and unreadable crossing his face. His fingers trailed lower, finding their way into your underwear and when he realized just how wet you were, a low chuckle rumbled from his chest.

“You’re such a dirty girl,” he murmured, shaking his head in amusement. “Getting all worked up from being spanked.”

Your whole body warmed. “Shut up,” you muttered, but your breath hitched when, without warning, he hooked his fingers into the waistband of your underwear and pulled—hard enough to tear the delicate fabric.

“Hey!” you gasped, eyes wide. “That was Victoria’s Secret!”

Nicholas smirked, tossing the ruined fabric aside like it meant nothing. “I’ll take you to the store tomorrow,” he promised, his voice low and smooth. “You can pick out as many as you want.”

His eyes searched yours, his expression shifting into something more serious, more intense. His gaze dropped to your lips, and you could feel the heat radiating between you. Without thinking, you wrapped your arms around his neck, and then—your lips crashed together.

It was wild, needy, weeks—months of tension snapping all at once. Nicholas groaned against your mouth, his hands roaming your back, your waist, your ass, gripping, exploring, like he was trying to memorize the feel of you. You kissed him just as desperately, fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him closer, not wanting to let go.

When you finally broke apart for air, both of you were breathless, your foreheads pressed together.

Then, before you could react, Nicholas shifted, turning you in one swift movement so that your back was against his chest, your legs draped over his knees. His arms wrapped around you, holding you close, keeping you exactly where he wanted you.

“You drive me insane,” he murmured, his lips brushing against your neck. A shiver ran through you as he trailed slow, lingering kisses along your skin, his breath warm against your shoulder.

You swallowed, eyes flickering to the standing mirror in front of you. The sight made your stomach flip—Nicholas behind you, his dark eyes hooded with something dangerous, desperate and needy. His lips pressed just beneath your jaw, on your collarbone, your neck, your cheeks, all over, his hands gripping your waist like he never wanted to let go.

His breath was unsteady as he buried his face in your hair, inhaling deeply, like he was trying to commit your scent to memory.

“You have no idea what you do to me,” he whispered against your skin, voice rough with restraint. Your hands curled over his arms, your heart pounding. “Maybe,” you murmured, tilting your head slightly, allowing him more access. “But I think I’m starting to.”

Nicholas let out a quiet chuckle, his grip on you tightening just slightly. “You’re a tease.”

You smirked. “But you totally love it.”

He sighed, pressing one last lingering kiss to your shoulder. “Yeah,” he admitted, voice barely above a whisper. “I really do.”

With a smirk playing on your lips, you took his hand and placed it right on your pussy, the heat and wetness making him gasp.

“Sweetheart, what are you doing?” he asked, his voice faltering.

“Something that I know we both want to do,” you answered.

As you stared at his reflection in the mirror, his eyes darkened and you couldn’t help the tiny moan that left your lips as his fingers pressed against your bundle of nerves. The air was charged, both of your breaths heavy as he slowly rubbed your clit.

“Fuck, your moans are just pretty as I imagined,” he whispered in your ear.

As he rubbed your clit slowly, his gaze was laser focused on you in the mirror. He slipped a finger inside you, a gasp leaving your lips, nothing had ever been inside you besides your fingers and his eyebrows furrowed in the mirror before he used his free hand to tilt your head.

“Sweetheart, are you a virgin?” he asked.

You nodded slowly, a bit of embarrassment evident on your face. “Is that like, bad?

“No, no it isn’t, sweetheart. I just didn’t know.” He’d have to think about that and discuss it later, the revelation had definitely surprised him.

All rational thoughts however, had been slapped out of your head when he curled his finger inside you while he rubbed your clit. The pleasure was beyond anything you had ever felt and you squirmed in his lap. He pumped his finger carefully, gradually increasing his pace as he pressed kisses against your neck.

“So fucking tight for me sweetheart,” he said, between kisses.

“Well duh, I’m a v—” Your snarky remark was cut short when he slipped another finger inside your pussy, the sound of squelching filling the room. You could see the cocky smirk on his face in the mirror and your pussy clenched at how hot he looked. Hair tousled, face chiseled, your hot boss was finger fucking you. Your hot married boss at that. And you were enjoying it thoroughly.

“Mr. Chavez,” you gasped, your back arching off his chest, “I’m gonna cum.”

His movements increased and you began squirming away but he held you close, his fingers relentless and he fell back on the bed. You were pressed against his chest on top of him, your moans so loud, it echoed throughout that wing of the mansion.

“Cum for me. Cum all over my fingers sweetheart.”

Your release washed over you, hitting you like a truck and you squirted all over his fingers. He didn’t stop though, Nicholas continued pumping his fingers until he drew every last moan and liquid from you, leaving you utterly spent and a breathless mess in his arms.

He placed you beside him and you watched as he licked his finger clean of your juices. “You taste delicious,” he hummed in delight.

Your cheeks heated and you hid your face in the crook of his neck. He wasn’t having it and he cupped your cheeks so that you were looking at him.

“Are you gonna act like weird again like when we kissed?” you asked, a small pout on your lips.

“I won’t, I promise. And now you have to promise me you’ll keep this a secret.”

“Totally, I promise,” you beamed.

And the affair began.

︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿

Tags: @blackynsupremacy @hoffmansgirl @emluvsuxo @hopefully-saturn

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kingkat12 · 1 day ago

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prom night (roman godfrey x reader)

WARNINGS: 18+, angst, mature/dark themes, Roman adores reader so much aghhhh<33, fluff, Roman is bad with words lol, blood, mentions of death, attempted kidnapping, amnesia, Dr. Pryce is scary omg, dead dove do not eat tbh, silly bf Roman because why tf not

summary: going to prom with Roman Godfrey had been a dream of yours for longer than you could remember-- but suddenly, that was the only thing you could remember. seriously. what the fuck happened last weekend, and why is Roman keeping you in the dark about it?

word count: 16,708 (oh my fucking god)

PART 1, PART 2, PART 3, PART 4, PART 5, PART 6, PART 7, PART 8, PART 9, PART 10, PART 11, PART 12

a/n: celebrating 900 followers (??? WHAT) with the biggest chapter yet!!! I've spent a month preparing it, and this has been the chapter I've been building up to ever since I started this series... I suggest you read it in one sitting because I intended it to be read that way, (although I know that is a lot to ask!!! not necessary boo), and I'm sorry about everything in advance aghhh😭 I would also like to give special thanks to @mentallyscreamingsincebirth for being such a great support and for guiding my brain through this enormous chapter, THANK YOU LYNDI<3 much much love, ENJOY, and read at ur own risk!!!<333 MWAH

Have you ever thought about death? Of course you have, everyone has-- but have you ever felt it?

Have you felt it lingering in your forearms, like you're pressing them up against a flaming stove? Have you felt it pressing at the sides of your head, waiting for it to cave in on itself? I always thought it would feel like going to sleep; that no matter how you pass, you reach a point where your mind flips over into delirium, and then you feel drowsy until it's over. Yet somehow, I was suddenly convinced it was nothing like that. I was sure that it felt like nothing but pure panic, accompanied by a crippling fear unlike any other. Because it hurt, everything hurt, and I was sure I'd be stuck in an endless loop of hell where I would forever be semi-conscious and in excruciating pain.

And why?

Because right now, I was sure I was dead.

That I was done. Deceased. Expired. I was so, so sure, and I had no idea why everything was black, why I couldn't move, or why I felt my lungs freeze over with the inability to breathe.

It lasted for too long. Way too long. An eternity.

Up until it felt like a scream was being dragged out of me by force, like someone had grabbed hold of my tongue and tugged me forward-- a bright light shone through my lids before they sprung open in pure panic, and I arched off the bed with a shriek. It felt like I was taking my first breaths again, and I clawed at my chest as my nails dug into the fabric of my shirt, suffocating, suffocating, dying, tearing, tearing, panic, panic, why, where, how?--

"Pryce, do something!"

"Mr. Godfrey, sit down!--"

"Do something!"

I was still screaming when my hands were pried off my skin with an annoyed groan, still heaving for air as a man in a white coat now hovered over me. He forced my left eye to open wider with his cold, bony fingers, shining the light directly at my pupil. He was searching for any lack of reaction as I emptied my lungs, crying out in fear; it wasn't until I felt the scent of a familiar cologne fill my body that I started to fight my screams of panic.

I was sure it was Roman who was now pinning my hands down to the bed-- his indexes were pressing against my wrists, checking my pulse, the classic Godfrey move. He usually only did that when he was trying to make a point about him making my heart race, and that's how I was certain it was him.

Once the doctor finished, my cries had largely quieted down. All that was left was a series of whimpers and shaky breaths. "What's happening?" I struggled to ask, my voice cracking. I saw the doctor scowl at Roman, clearly frustrated by something. My lower lip quivered; why was I here? What was happening?

Why couldn't I remember anything?

When the doctor spoke, he was still not looking at me; "You're at the Godfrey Institute, getting what is considerably the best care in the world," He moved away, tutting as he sat down on the chair opposite the bed I was lying on. Coming to my senses, my eyes traced the room. The walls were painted an uncomfortably bright hue of white, and I was afraid I'd go blind looking at them for too long. However, the doctor's voice caught my attention once more; "You don't seem to be concussed, but I'll check your reflexes. Have you exhausted your lungs, or must I put you under as well? If you keep screaming and resisting, you will only make things harder for yourself."

"She'll be fine!" Roman barked, letting go of my hands. With swift, nervous steps, he now stood by my side as he stroked through my hair. I could sense his anxiety through the slight tremble in his fingers, and he squeezed my shoulder with his free hand as he spoke to the doctor with a lowered voice, as though I wouldn't hear him if he softened his tone; "She will be, right? Pryce?"

Doctor Pryce rolled his eyes as he looked over at the metal tray beside him, scanning the neat display of medical instruments. "Did you bring this girl to me to question my care, or because you trust that I'm the best?"

"I'm!--"

"I was the one that delivered you into the world, Roman, don't forget that. Your mother trusted me with your life, so you have all the reason to exert some patience and trust me with this very simple task," Pryce picked out his preferred instrument and leaned forward, pressing on a button that made the back of my bed raise.

I yelped, still trying to catch my breath; "What's happening?" I breathed, hoping to contain the wave of tears threatening to spill down my cheeks. It felt like I had died and come back to earth. "Please, why-- why am I here?"

With one final anxious glance at Pryce, Roman finally looked down at me. It was the first time I had been properly acknowledged. "Hey, you," he said, gently running his fingers through my hair. "We were in a car crash, and you passed out. This is Doctor Pryce, and he's just making sure you didn't faint because of anything serious. You could've also lost consciousness because of shock, fear... Many factors. This is just a precaution."

"Car crash?" I echoed. "What-- Why can't I remember?-- Ow!"

A panicked cry escaped me, and I looked down to see Pryce with what looked like a hammer, striking the supple area beneath my knee socket. My leg jumped up automatically, and the doctor let out a satisfied hum before he moved on to my other leg. "Miss, do you get enough sleep?" he asked. "On the regular, that is?"

I had never been this disoriented in my life. "I don't-- I don't know?"

With an exasperated sigh, Pryce muttered a simple alright. He sat back down in his chair, now gazing at me with a blank, neutral look. Something told me he had practiced that exact expression for his patients. "You seem to have experienced what is called a situational syncope. You must've gone into a deep state of shock, which caused your blood pressure to drop, ultimately knocking you out. Based on the tests we got done on you when you were unconscious, there seems to be nothing wrong with you,"

I forced down a sob as I squeezed my eyes shut. My body was still frozen with panic. Despite my efforts, I couldn't conjure the memory of the supposed car crash; what was happening to me? "There has to be something wrong!" I cried. "I can't-- I can't remember anything!"

Sighing, Pryce got up, but not without glaring at Roman once more. "You might have a minor case of amnesia. It's most likely short-term and will resolve in twenty-four hours, or it might not," He moved to a nearby table, writing down something on a computer. "It might be time to lay off the nocturnal activities, Roman. It's important that she sleeps."

My face had never been redder. Never. To be told to lay off sex in front of your boyfriend's family doctor? Awful. Not something I recommend anyone else go through.

However, in true Godfrey fashion, Roman didn't seem to care about that part. "Thank fuck," he said, letting out a relieved breath as he bent down to kiss my forehead. I could sense the ease settling in his body, and it made me wonder when it could transmit to mine as well. "So she's completely fine?"

"Yes," Pryce grumbled, absentmindedly tapping away on his keyboard.

"No internal bleeding, no injuries?--"

"She's fine,"

Roman nodded, and I thought that would be the end of it until he spoke again; "Will she remember... everything?"

My blood ran cold. Something about the way he said those words made me feel like it was ominous. I blinked, staring up at Roman as my heart beat hard in my chest.

Pryce's clacking stilled. He turned, moving sharply, as his eyes narrowed; "For your sake, I hope not,"

It only took me a second to reach for Roman's hand, grabbing it as fear ran through my veins. "Rome," I echoed, begging him to look at me. I needed to know. It didn't feel like a simple car crash; why was I still shaking? Was this normal? I was terrified that I wouldn't remember anything. "Please, you have to-- you have to tell me what!--"

"Shh, it's okay," Roman cooed, wiping that terrified look off his face in an instant. "Everything is fine, see? The nice doctor says you just need to sleep, so what do you say I drop you off at your place and make sure you sleep well tonight?"

I could hear Pryce snicker as he got up, gathering what he needed from the room. "The nice doctor," he echoed, shaking his head. Everything he did felt oddly sterile. Everything from the smile to the polite tilt of his head. "Sleep would be the best remedy, yes. And maybe some shopping."

Roman scrunched his nose-- "Shopping?"

Pryce nodded, pointing to my shirt which I had partially clawed up. "Shopping,"

I couldn't imagine I would ever get any redder than this. Why couldn't amnesia take this memory too? I wanted to disappear-- however, when I thought about the black void I had been thrust into before I awoke, I changed my mind. I was happier than ever to be alive. When Pryce left the room, I let out a shaky breath as I locked eyes with Roman; "Rome, please tell me how the fuck we ended up in a!--"

My words were stolen as two large hands grabbed my face, and my favorite pair of lips came crashing down onto mine. Roman was now partially on my bed, rushing his kisses as he pulled me close in sheer desperation. "You had me so scared," he breathed. "So, so--"

Grabbing onto Roman's hair for support, I could only yelp as he practically toppled me, kissing me with urgency. "You can't do that," he begged. "You can't, you-- you can't--"

I was beyond overwhelmed. Exhausted. Still, I could sense that Roman had almost been as scared as me. "Please, Rome!--"

"What would I have done if you got hurt?" He grabbed my face harder, forcing me to look into his teary eyes when he relented his attack on my lips. "It would've killed me. It would've killed me." The desperation, the panic, was evident in his big, green eyes as they searched mine.

When would this be over? "I don't even know what happened!" I cried. "I don't remember, and it scares me! What if I won't-- won't remember it?"

I hoped he would tell me. I hoped Roman would sit me down and tell me in excruciating detail. However, his brows came together and drew upwards in a look of pure pity; "It doesn't matter. Look at it like it's mercy,"

"Mercy?"

"I'm glad you don't remember," Roman breathed, pressing a passionate kiss to my lips before he leaned his forehead against mine. "I don't want you to remember it... I'm kinda glad you don't. You don't need to remember the bad stuff, right? I only want you to be happy. Happy, safe, and with me. Forever."

Forever.

I let out a shaky breath which fell against Roman's lips, defeated. It still lingered in my body-- death. Like something really, really bad had happened.

... Had it?

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

The air smelled like freshly mown grass although it was growing freely all around us, untamed. The long branches of the willow tree kneeling above us swayed with the breeze, and the leaves rustled with a gentle buzz; it was beautiful to look up at, even in the dark of the night.

Roman was lying next to me, eyes shut in peace that had only recently settled in his body. His chest rose and fell in slow, calm motions as his brown hair wove into the long strands of the grass. I had an inkling that he was getting comfortable with it now-- with the idea of forever. That I was his for as long as he'd have me. That he had someone to go through life with, after all this time finding solace in fleeting moments of intimacy with the girls that were lucky to be near him at the right moment.

Roman was unbelievably beautiful. Unreal.

I still had no idea what happened that day I woke up at the Godfrey Institute a week ago, convinced I had died. It was hard not to think about it, but sleep had done me good-- Doctor Pryce had been right. My memory of the incident hadn't returned, and I had a feeling it never would. Every so often, I would get specs of it when I heard a particularly loud car, or whenever the smell of diesel got very strong from Roman's red jag, but that was the end of it.

However, the whole car crash incident had set Roman off into a weird state of possessiveness. Not one night had passed without him sneaking in through my bedroom window, lying next to me to make sure I wasn't on my phone until three a.m., and that I was getting enough sleep. I had watched Roman doze off into slumber countless times, both next to me and on top of me, and I had loved to stroke his hair and watch him sleep every time. It was the only time I felt he ever got to rest properly. Never ever during the day. Which is why, now that Roman was doing the same for me, I started to feel more at peace with what had happened. With the crash. With what I didn't know. As long as I had Roman, I would be fine, right? I was sure of it now.

Not only had the car crash left Roman and I in a weird state, but my parents as well. They were wary of me needing to get enough sleep and rest, so they had given me a rather strict curfew up until prom night. This curfew also involved not having Roman over as much, meaning we had to get creative-- so here we were, lying next to each other in the grass at his secret hiding place around midnight, where we had previously exchanged our blood.

"Rome," I whispered, watching the swaying willow branch above me. "You put on an alarm, right? I can't be out for too long, I'm scared my parents will find the pillow concoction we put on my bed and know I'm not home..."

He hummed, his eyes remaining closed-- "We have about thirty minutes until I have to take you back. I'm keeping track of it,"

"You don't seem to be keeping track of anything right now,"

"Nonsense,"

"... You look like you're sleeping,"

"But I'm not, am I?" Roman's eyes met mine, his lashes hanging heavy over the green color of his irises. With a tug at the corners of his lips, he sung a short, mocking line; "I don't want to close my eyes!--"

Oh no. "Rome, don't!--"

"-- I don't want to fall asleep, 'cause I miss you, baby!" His laugh was as melodious as his half-assed attempt at serenading me.

I snorted, no longer sleepy. This was beyond cringe. "You're an idiot,"

"And yet you're crazy about me," Roman purred, moving closer to me on the grass. The tips of his fingers, which had barely grazed mine a minute ago, were now running along the back of my hand in soft motions. "That says more about you than it says about me."

I turned my hand as I smiled to myself, feeling my chest burn with the warmth I got from being near him. If only he knew I was more than crazy about him. If only he knew. "Yeah, you're right," I mumbled, intertwining our fingers with a content sigh. "I don't know what I'd do without you."

I didn't deem my words to be as heavy as Roman suddenly made them seem-- it was as though the leaves stopped rustling. As though the air no longer smelled like grass, and the only thing I could smell was suddenly only Roman's heavy, expensive perfume. Something stilled. Was it the waves of the water nearby? His eyes softened with his next exhale, pupils rounding out. It was almost as though I could see the pounding of his heart as his chest fell. "I don't know how I ever lived without you in the first place," he confessed. "It kills me that you were so close all this time, and... I didn't notice."

Thinking back at the time when Roman would barely look my way was excruciating, even now. "It doesn't matter--"

"We had chemistry together," he breathed. "You were so close." Roman no longer looked at me, and instead turned his gaze to the hanging branches of the willow tree we were lying beneath. "I used to think I was the center of the universe, y'know? That the world was mine, along with everyone living in it. I thought I was everything I ever needed, that no one else truly mattered except for me, but then..." He cleared his throat, an empty look in his eyes. "This is getting cheesy, isn't it?"

Silly, silly boy. "You were literally singing at me a minute ago, I think I can take you being sweet,"

The small upward tug of Roman's lips lifted an ache in my heart. "The past doesn't matter. But the future does, as long as you're in it with me,"

I love you, I love you, I love you. It was echoing in my head. "Grow old with me, Roman?" I hoped it would come off as a joke. I hoped he'd sense the smile in my words, the lightness in which I proposed the hypothetical.

But he was so serious. So, so serious, as he turned to meet my eyes. And just for a second, I was scared he'd open his mouth and tell me he couldn't get old-- I had read too much of that upir book. "I don't want to get old," he mumbled. "Old people don't have a lot of sex."

It was impossible not to laugh. "They probably do,"

"... Gross,"

Rolling my eyes, I gave his hand a squeeze. "I'd have sex with you. You'd still be the Roman I lo--"

Fuck.

Oh, fuck.

I choked my words with a cough; "This damn grass," I cursed. "I might be allergic..." Gathering courage, I glanced over at Roman as I held my breath.

He seemed to be holding his too.

It took longer than expected for any of us to say anything. With small movements, Roman slid his hand up to my wrist, pressing his index against my pulse.

I cleared my throat, breaking out into a nervous laugh. "Okay, let me clear that up. The coughing made it sound like I was saying something that I wasn't saying."

"Oh?"

"Yeah," Why was my throat so dry? "I was gonna say that you'd still be the same Roman I long for."

"Oh..." He seemed both relieved and disappointed. I couldn't read him. It was too dark. "Okay. I'll hold you to it when we're eighty, then."

My heart was still racing. Had I gotten away with that or was he letting me? "So you're basically saying you won't be jumping me when we're old? I'm disappointed. And on top of that, I think you'd still be yourself at eighty, no? Or will you no longer be so nympho when you reach a certain age?"

"... You have a point," Roman's classic smirk was back-- I had never been happier to see it. "I'll always want you, I'm afraid."

"No matter what?"

"No matter what,"

"Are you a hundred percent sure about that, Rome?"

"I'll do you one better. Hundred and one,"

It was impossible not to smile. I loved him so much it hurt; I needed to mend it. "... Even if I turn into a worm?"

The groan he let out blended in with the ringing of the alarm he had put on.

As Roman pulled me up from the grass, I realized how much I loved everything about this night. I loved that he wanted to see me so bad that he was sneaking me out of my room. I loved the feeling of my hand in his, loved the sight of his smile, loved every inch of him. I only wished we could stay this happy for an eternity-- an eternity with him would be so unbelievably nice.

And if Roman loved me too, I'd let him love me forever.

I'd love him till the day I died, tirelessly, endlessly.

... Even if he was a worm.

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

There was a lingering warmth in my body, yet I waited for the other thing to leave. The feeling. The doom. The terror I didn't remember.

And while I waited, prom was a wonderful distraction.

My parents were out of town for the weekend, which allowed us to skip the awkward photos in the hallway that were usually customary for prom. I was sure Roman would've rather died than go through that.

Actually, I was half convinced someone else had told Roman to man up and ask me to go with him, because it seemed like I was getting too much of the good thing recently. It didn't make sense to me that he wanted anything to do with something like this. And for a second, I was convinced I had been right about it all along; when I walked down the stairs of my porch, it was impossible not to smile from ear to ear at the sight of Roman in his tux. He was sitting on the bonnet of his car, smoking a cigarette as always--

... Without so much as a reaction to me in my dress?

It felt like my whole body was on fire, like I was one of Roman's cigarettes. My smile faltered as I approached, not saying a word. I held my breath, watching the green of his eyes pierce mine. He didn't blink. He didn't budge. He simply held his cigarette to his lips, exhaling the smoke through his nose.

Something felt off. I should've known Roman Godfrey wasn't the classic prom-man. "Do you not like it?" I breathed, feeling my confidence collapse as I toyed with the fabric of my dress.

Roman's eyes immediately darted down to my fingers-- "Don't tear at it. I know you like doing that," He held out his cigarette as he scanned me. It took a few seconds too long. With quick steps, he got off of his car; "Get in."

What? "No,"

Roman turned to me, cocking a brow. "No?"

"No," This was nerve-wracking. "You're being weird. Tell me what's wrong, or I turn around and go right back in again."

Visibly taken aback, Roman let his cigarette fall to the ground before he pressed his heel to it. In our moments of intense eye-contact and silence, I could see the way he had styled his hair differently tonight. It wasn't slicked back or messy, which were the two alternatives he always alternated between-- no, it looked like he had put effort into giving it a bit more volume, like something out of an old Hollywood film with James Dean as the lead. I couldn't understand him, where he stood in front of me in his ridiculously expensive tuxedo; it was obvious that he cared about this, so what was happening here?

"Nothing is wrong," Roman finally answered. "I just don't have the words."

"Words for what? What's going on?"

"Nothing is going on," he muttered under his breath. "It just makes me feel stupid."

"What does, Rome?"

"I... have never been good at finding the right words. I always screw these things up," Frustrated, Roman put his hands in his pockets as he no longer met my gaze. "Saying you look good doesn't feel like enough... and telling you that you look beautiful feels weird, because I don't use that word for anything and that makes it sound rehearsed, so... I'm screwed. I'm looking at you, and I'm blanking. My heart is beating too fast."

Oh.

"Take your time," was all I managed to say. I love you regardless was the thing I would have loved to add.

Roman chewed on his lip, sitting down on the bonnet of his car again. He dared to meet my eyes as he reached for my hand; I took it, ready to take a step forward, before I caught Roman shaking his head. "You'd help me if you did a twirl," he said, a smirk nudging at the corners of his mouth. "Come on, now."

My heart lightened with the giggle that escaped me, and I could only blush as I did as told.

"There you go," Roman cooed, warmth dotting his cheeks when I faced him again. "I like your dress. You kinda look like a cupcake."

"What? I do not! This is a-line!"

"A what line?"

"No, it's!-- Oh, forget it," Men.

Roman laughed, reaching for my waist to pull me in between his long legs. Softening his grin, he glanced down at my dress; had I not been watching him so intently, I wouldn't have caught the way his eyes subtly rounded out when they met mine. "I never realized how unfair it is,"

I frowned; "What's unfair?"

"You. Looking like this. Making every other girl on the planet look like an afterthought," Roman paused, his smirk softening with something genuine; "And it's not just tonight, y'know? It's everything about you. It's the way you laugh, it's the way you think, it's all that is you, along with how you look at me like I'm not completely messed up. You're just perfect." Roman stilled, his thumbs rubbing circles into the fabric around my waist as his smile turned self-conscious. "Sorry, that probably sounds cheesy as hell... What the fuck is up with me these days?"

If only he knew. If only he saw that I was fighting the welling of tears in my eyes. I love you, I love you, I love you. "As long as you don't start singing again, I'll be fine,"

Roman's smile was soft, and so was the kiss he gently pressed to my collarbone. Everything about the way he was holding me made me blush. "Come on," Roman cooed, a mischievous look shimmering in his eyes. "I can't wait to arrive with the prettiest girl in town. Everyone's gonna hate us even more than they already do, and I need the fuel of their spite and fear to survive."

I rolled my eyes, muffling my laugh against the following kiss. "Okay, Pennywise. Just keep the carnage to a minimum tonight, alright?"

"Deal,"

Just as Roman was about to lean in to kiss me, I remembered something important-- I grabbed his shoulders, watching his eyes widen as I pinned him to his place. "And we need to keep you far away from Brooke Bluebell tonight, by the way,"

"Uh, not that she was on the agenda, but... why?"

"Rumour says she's bought a needle. For revenge, and all,"

Roman let out a laugh of disbelief before it dawned on him that I wasn't joking. "Oh," he breathed, frowning. "Seems like there might be some carnage after all, then."

"No, that's not funny!--"

"Come on, it kinda is!"

"Roman-- ugh, fuck it, let's just go!" I placed a soft kiss to his lips; "Don't say I didn't warn you."

After more back and forth banter, it was finally time to get going. However, as Roman opened the car door for me and I sat down in the seat, I was hit with a major deja vu when he started checking out his hair in the rearview mirror. I knew that he did that every time before starting the car, this wasn't something out of the ordinary-- but for the first time since the incident, I remembered something clearly.

I remembered just a fragment. A feeling. I had been upset the day of the crash, and so had Roman. Had we fought?

It was at the tip of my tongue, there was a faint taste of exactly what had happened, and I was about to roll right into the memory when Roman put his hand on my thigh. I looked over at him, my breath high in my chest; he noticed it immediately. "You okay?" he tried.

It was lingering in my forearms, like I was pressing them up against a flaming stove. It pressed at the sides of my head, waiting for it to cave in on itself; death. It felt like a countdown.

Counting down.

Tick.

Tick tick.

I will know soon.

I put my burning hand over Roman's, forcing a smile;

"Never been better," ｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

Walking around at prom, hand in hand with Roman Godfrey as he talked to a couple of his friends, was only something I had imagined in my wildest dreams. I used to bury my face in my pillow and blush just at the thought of him even looking at me.

Back in those days, I had a specific image in my mind; since I hadn't ever thought I would go to prom with Roman, I imagined I'd be there with someone like Daniel. Someone I didn't like. I don't know, it wasn't too important. However, my date would be the type to not want to dance, and I would be left sitting with him by some table while everyone danced. And this would (of course) be the point where I'd imagine Roman walking up to me, charming, cocky, and high on his sky-high self-esteem, to reach for my hand. He'd ask if I'd like to dance, and I would glare at my date before giving Roman an affirmative yes.

Then we'd dance. Slow. Close.

And in my dreams, Roman would look me in the eyes and tell me that he had loved me all along, that he would love me and only me for the rest of his life, that he had secretly been pining for me since the day he first saw me, that he was actually planning to propose right now actually, and then the whole prom would stop and gasp in jealousy as he got down on one knee, and then!--

I bit down on my lip, suppressing a laugh at the memory. It seemed so childish, now more than ever. I told myself to excuse my old, stupid daydreams; the mind wanders when you're crazy about someone.

Roman squeezed my hand; "What are you laughing about?"

Fuck. "Oh, just..." I glanced up at him, smiling uncontrollably. Alas, now that Roman was my boyfriend, I didn't need all of that ridiculous stuff. I only needed him by my side, and that'd be enough for me forever. "I just remembered something stupid."

Roman cocked a brow, the green of his eyes shining down on me despite the darkness of the room. "Keen on sharing?"

"Not so much,"

"Alright," he said, tsking. "Pervert."

"Hey!" My cheeks turned a peculiar shade of pink which I hoped wasn't visible beneath the dim lights. Why did he have to say stuff like that while standing next to his friends? Not that they were listening, anyway. Nonetheless, the cheeky look on Roman's face told me everything I needed to know about it. "It's nothing like that!" I tried. "It was actually kind of sweet..."

"Oh, yeah?" Nodding, Roman's hand went to the small of my back, excusing us before he started leading us away from his circle of friends. "Tell me, then."

"It's stupid!" I giggled, my blush deepening with the kiss he pressed to the top of my head as we walked. Giant man.

Roman rolled his eyes; "Tell me before I spike the punch and get us kicked out," We had now reached the other side of the room, and he turned me around to press my back against the wall. Like this, he was towering over me as always. Just the sight of it made my heart beat harder.

"It should be illegal," I muttered under my breath, reaching for his tie. Sweet-talking him would hopefully be distraction enough. "You in a suit--"

"Tux,"

"Tux," I didn't want to tell him about my childish dreams about prom. I was aware how stupid it sounded, anyway. I didn't need to give Roman more things to tease me about, did I? "You're very, very handsome."

"Aha," he hummed, unimpressed. "How long would my sentence to be, then?"

"If it was illegal?"

"If it was illegal,"

"Hmm... I was thinking six years and nine months."

Roman bit down on a grin. "Do I spot a subtle sixty-nine reference?"

Yes. "Pervert,"

We shared a laugh as my hands slid down his tie, but my brows drew together when I felt something hard between the top and second button of his shirt. My mind flared red lights-- "Is this what I think it is?" I asked, gazing up at Roman as my eyes rounded out.

He didn't seem to understand my reaction. "I always wear it," he said, shrugging. "Didn't want to take it off."

"Ah," I suppose it was sweet. That's all it was. It most certainly didn't remind me of my least favorite passage from The Avoidable Vampirism - The Upir;

There are even some upirs that are so assimilated, they can do experiments with blood or carry vials of it with them wherever they go— which is an inclination that should not be encouraged.

Should not be encouraged.

... Certainly not.

"I like feeling you close," Roman murmured, his long fingers now running past my waist as the sound of his voice pulled me back into the moment. "I don't like being apart from you, and having your blood with me at all times... feels like I'm carrying a piece of you, which I technically am." He bent down, his soft lips brushing against my ear-- it made my breath hitch. "What do you say we get as close as we can later tonight?" he whispered, a small kiss to my ear following. "Just you and me... And me in you?"

I could only smile. Especially as I spotted Brooke Bluebell and her cheerleader friends by the punch a little further away from us. I was sure my smile started to look rather sinister as my hand went into Roman's hair, pulling him closer as my eyes locked on Brooke's.

Fucking cheerleader whore. I hated her. I hated everything she represented. And honestly? I couldn't quite remember why. All I knew, was that seeing the jealous look on her face made my heart race with pride and joy.

... Something told me that Roman and I deserved each other. We were both evil in our own ways.

"That sounds perfect," I purred, leaning my head against the wall as Roman pressed soft kisses to my neck. "My parents aren't home, so..." I could feel him smiling against my skin at the reminder. It was such an exhilarating feeling. Especially when I knew Brooke was watching.

"Great," Roman murmured, pulling away to look down at me with a mischievous look shimmering in his green eyes. "Can't wait to fold you and hear you whimper."

My blush deepened in record time; "Pervert,"

Roman only grinned. I was sure he was gonna say something much, much worse, something that would've made my toes curl on the spot if they weren't currently pressed against the front of my slightly uncomfortable heels, if one of the prom chaperones hadn't started walking towards us with hasty steps and a grumpy look on his face. It hit me that we were probably standing too close for his liking, and that he was there to make sure the students were being appropriate, which... let's face it, we weren't.

I shook my head with panic as Roman opened his mouth to speak, and he seemed to catch onto what was happening rather quickly. With a quick nod, he took a long step away from me and held his hands up with a cheeky grin as the strict-looking chaperone approached. "Yes, officer?"

The chaperone sighed, passing fed-up glances between the two of us. I wondered where I had seen this man before. He was certainly someone's father who I had seen around drop-off hours. "I'm not the police," he grumbled. "You can put your hands down, Godfrey--"

"I invoke the fourth amendment!" Roman chimed in, winking at me. It was impossible not to smile.

The chaperone proceeded to groan, shaking his head; "Just-- no touching, okay?"

"Of... anything?"

"You can hold her hand, Godfrey, but anything else--"

"Oh, so it applies to things like... if I touch the wall?" Comically slow, Roman pressed his finger to the wall, hissing as though he was being burned by the law. "I'm a man of many crimes, as you see, officer!" He lowered his voice to a whisper; "I even touched the punch earlier! Actually, now that I think about it, I think I deserve to be kicked out... Can't believe I have allowed myself to commit such atrocities." With one last pout, Roman held his hands out to the chaperone, bowing his head in defeat. "Take me, oh, lead me away, kind sir! I will serve my time, and I will do my due diligence!--"

"Enough!" The chaperone barked. "As long as you didn't spike the goddamn punch, you're free to go!"

And with that, Roman's gig was up. He bit down hard on his lip to suppress his smirk, not to great success. "I wouldn't dare to, officer," he cooed, reaching for my hand in the smoothest manner known to man.

The chaperone rolled his eyes, probably rethinking all his life choices, as Roman led me away with the both of us trying not to topple over from the laughter we were suppressing.

"You're crazy," I said, squeezing his hand. I was worried my eyes had formed hearts.

Roman shrugged, glancing down at me with a knowing smile. "And you're crazy about me," he murmured. "But, speaking of crazy..." He raised our hands, making me do a little twirl as I giggled. When I faced him again, Roman wrapped his arms around me as he glanced over at the punch not too far away from us; "What do you say actually spike it?"

"... What?"

"It could be smart," he purred, swaying with me a little on the dance floor. "Brooke and her girls have been drinking it all night, and they just walked away... Maybe if they all get drunk off their asses when they come back, they won't be able to take their needle-revenge on me?"

Roman was right. We had kept a bit of an eye on them all night, just to make sure they were at a safe distance at all times. It was a fun game, if I were to be honest, but... Roman was right. It was an unusual occurrence that he was, so I couldn't help but smile as I felt myself get convinced.

"Fuck it,"

What ensued, were three nerve-wracking minutes at the table with the large punch-bowl. I stood in front of Roman, blocking the view of any possible chaperones as he skillfully got a silver flask out of the pocket of his jacket, and we spent a good amount of time positioning ourselves to make it all look casual, as though we weren't pouring straight vodka into the punch. Why Roman had any on him in the first place was a conversation for another time.

The second we saw Brooke and the cheerleaders approaching again, I felt my breath hitch-- had we made it or were we about to get caught?

However, Roman's timing was impeccable. With a smooth slither of his hand down to mine, he pulled me back to the dance floor, as though it was the most natural thing in the world to be escaping the scene of the crime at this pace.

And suddenly, it felt like I had entered that silly dream of mine. Cause now, we were dancing. Slow. Close. The remnants of our silly escapade were visible across our lips, corners pulling up into knowing smiles as we held each other close. Roman's cologne was alluring as always, and so were his big, green eyes; I could see everything now. The scar on his right cheek, the way his pupils practically pulsated at the sight of me, the way he was drinking me in, the beautiful upturn of his nose, all to the way his warm breath fell against my cheek.

Roman's long, slender fingers intertwined with mine as his other hand rested at the small of my back; it was perfect. Better than I could've ever imagined it. It was intoxicating. Deadly, in the best of ways.

If I were to say anything, now would be the moment. If I were to say the words that I had longed to say, now was the time. All I could hear was the sweet sound of Roman's breath, the dimmed shuffling of the tulle of my dress, and the mellow remnants of the slow song playing in the background. "Rome," I breathed. "There's something I need to tell you." My heart had never beat harder in my life, I was sure of it now.

I was sure of it.

Roman let out a short hum, lovingly nudging his nose against mine. "I need to tell you something too,"

The more I thought about the beating of my heart, the more I was sure it was going to beat its way up my throat. "Yeah?" I tried. Breathless. Breathless.

"Yeah," Roman closed his eyes, gently pulling me closer. "But this might not be the place to tell you."

"I beg to differ," Something told me all my dreams were coming true in one go. If he was gonna say what I thought he was gonna say-- "There might never be a better moment than right here, right now." Please. Please. I wanted to beg him to say it first, if he wanted to say those three words at all.

It felt like the air was a tissue. A tissue falling into me, which was pulled out with Roman's next intake of air. Every breath felt sharp, yet exhilarating, yet draining, yet filling, yet emptying.

"Not here," he whispered. "You'd have a heart attack."

It felt like I was about to have one anyway. "I doubt it," God, I was about to spill, wasn't I? "What if I go first?"

Roman's brows drew together as he pulled away just a centimeter or two, looking more confused than ever. "What?"

My mouth pulled into a line. Was I reading this wrong or was this one of those situations where I just had to grow a pair of balls on the spot and walk on the burning charcoal? "Like... if you're saying what I think you want to say?"

"And what do you think I want to say?"

"... Uhm," It hit me that my mouth had never been drier. Could I do this? Should I do this? "The... thing?"

"What thing?"

"That you, y'know... That you--"

"That I what?" Roman's words were insistent, rushed. It almost scared me into silence. "Baby?"

My lower lip trembled as I gathered the courage to let out a breathy laugh, shaking my head. This was my sign to retreat. With a defeated sigh, my eyes shied away from his as my cheeks burned. "Forget it,"

"But..." Roman looked beyond lost. "Okay, I feel like I'm messing things up here. Let's start again."

"Start again?--"

"Start again," he insisted, his green eyes burning into mine as I dared to meet them again. "You were gonna tell me something."

Fuck no. Now, I was sure that'd be a fate worse than death. "I-- I don't know, I'm a little lost now, could we just forget?--"

My nervous ramble was interrupted by a loud groan from Roman. At first, my eyes widened at his weird reaction to me stumbling over my words, all until I realized his phone was vibrating in his pocket. Thankfully, the song in the background wasn't so quiet and slow anymore, and nobody around us seemed to mind. "I'm so sorry," he breathed, letting go of my hand to fish out his phone. "This is fucking ridiculous, who in their right mind is calling at this time of night?!--"

Roman's anger came to a halt as he saw who was calling him. I was praying to all the Gods I could think of at the moment that it wasn't Letha.

"It's Peter," he said, eyes rounding out. "I haven't gotten a hold of him in a while, I-- will you kill me if I take this?"

I let out a sigh. Typical. I suppose some things simply remain a dream. "No problem," My ass.

"I'm sorry," Roman tried, placing two fingers beneath my chin to tilt my head up, placing an apologetic kiss to my lips. It was quick, hurried-- something told me I'd remember it. "I will be right back, and then you're gonna tell me that thing, okay? I'm dying to know. Dying."

"Sure,"

"Just-- meet me by the door leading to the hallway, okay? Not the exit, not the one leading outside, but the--"

"Hallway, yeah. I got it,"

The look on Roman's face told me he was genuinely sorry. That was a consolation, at least. "We're gonna talk, I promise. I really need to tell you what I wanted to say,"

I swear, if he ended up telling me he was getting a new car instead of telling me he was in love with me, I'd wack him with the first heavy purse I'd find. "Go, Rome,"

Roman disappeared from the crowd rather quickly, making his way outside with hurried steps, leaving me alone and frustrated on the dance floor. Muttering curse words under my breath, I waddled to the door leading to the hallway, leaning against the wall next to it with a disappointed sigh. The momentum of that whole conversation had left me a bit of a panting mess, and my heart had yet to slow down. I wondered how I was supposed to get out of telling him that I loved him. Stupid, stupid, stupid girl!

However, as I scoured my brain for something else to say, I felt the familiar smell of overly-sweet perfume fill my nostrils.

I stiffened in fear.

Oh no.

My mouth dried in record time as Daniel approached me, his stride calm and calculated. It was odd to see him out of his blue varsity jacket, yet he hadn't disappointed; his tux was blue too. The more I kept thinking about the color blue, the more I thought about the ocean, and the more I thought about the ocean, the more clearly I saw myself holding Daniel's head underwater until he drowned.

Daniel's smirk was nastier than ever. I couldn't believe I ever thought it was cute. "There you are," he purred, getting too close for my comfort. "You look like you're having the time of your life, as always."

I snorted. "Well, what do you expect of a brainless slut, as you so poetically called me? You've always had a way with words,"

"Damn," Daniel mumbled, pulling his hands into his pockets as he chuckled. "Did I really say that?"

"Yep," Asshole.

He nodded; "Ah... It seems you remember that night more than I do, then," Daniel's perfume had now infiltrated both my nose and my will to live. If only I could melt into a puddle on the floor and become immaterial-- that would've been mercy enough.

"I bet you haven't come here to apologize, am I correct?" I asked.

Daniel shrugged, amused. "I was actually coming here to ask you for an apology,"

"Me?! For what?" He never failed to say outrageous things, I could give him credit for that much.

However, Daniel seemed taken aback by my response. "Are you really going to act like nothing happened?"

"What?! Are you talking about you and I those thousands of years ago?--"

"No," Daniel's face fell. "I'm talking about what happened last weekend."

Something was awfully wrong. My intuition made the hair at the back of my neck stand up to the sky, and I realized I was pressing myself up against the wall. "Last weekend?" I mumbled. What did I do last weekend? I couldn't remember. All I could remember from last weekend was waking up at the Godfrey Institute because of the car crash--

Wait.

Daniel took a step forward; "I've been waiting for you to get away from that boyfriend of yours for a while," he said, his words low and threatening. "Cause you and I are gonna go have a little talk, aren't we?"

"About what?" My voice came out frail, scared, as my breath continued to catch in my throat. For a second, my attention darted to the person coming out through the door to the hallway, and it reminded me that I was in a room filled with people. Roman was coming back any time now, too. Nothing could happen to me. "I don't know what you're--"

And then it happened. Daniel stepped forward with speed I didn't know he had in him, and he jammed his foot between the door as he grabbed me with strength I couldn't fight. He clasped his hand over my mouth as I tried to fight him off, yet to no avail-- it didn't take many seconds before he managed to get me through the door, dragging me down the hallway and away from the party.

I let out a cry against Daniel's palm as my heart raced. Biting him didn't work, as my teeth barely grazed his skin-- I tried to dig my nails into him, yet I didn't manage to reach any exposed skin. The grip he had around me was crushing, and I knew my ribs would ache for days to come.

"We're gonna have a real nice talk," Daniel hissed into my ear. It was disgusting to have him so near, repulsing. His breath was unsteady as he spat his words, yet there was an exhilarated tone to his voice, like he was getting the biggest kick in the world out of this. "And I'm gonna let you go in one piece if you stop-- stop resisting!"

Daniel managed to drag me down the hall and around the corner before he threw me down. I hit the ground with a hard thud, wincing as I tried to get up with my heart threatening to beat out of my ears. However, Daniel bent down and grabbed a fistful of my hair, twisting me to look at him as I cried out in pain, eyes watery with tears as I met his angry blue eyes. I tried to drive my nails into his hand, yet he only tightened his fist in my hair-- the pain was blinding.

"Your spoiled brat of a boyfriend won't even pay for the damages," Daniel hissed in my face. His breath was warm, but in the most unpleasant way; it made me squirm as a tear spilled down my cheek. "Not a cent! The fucking Godfrey lawyers are blocking everything my family could've ever gotten as a compensation!"

I didn't manage to kick him away, no matter how hard I tried. "For a car?!" I yelled. "For a fucking car, Daniel?! Let me go!--"

"It's not about the car!" Daniel shouted, a few drops of spit landing on my face as I grimaced. "It's about the person driving it, you psycho!"

"I don't-- Fuck!" It was impossible not to curse at the agony. It didn't help that he was now dragging my head backwards, making me wonder whether he'd snap my neck. Would he? Would he actually? "I don't remember anything! I don't-- I don't fucking know! Were you in it?!"

This only seemed to anger him further, and Daniel proceeded to bend down next to me to properly get up in my face. I wondered whether he saw how clumpy my mascara was getting from the heavy tears weighing down on my lashes. I wondered whether he perhaps was hard right now from staring at the terrified look on my face. I wondered if he'd be sadistic enough to shove his dick down my throat if he was. These thoughts only made me panic more, yet I felt my body going limp from the pain; my hands were still fighting. I was still trying. There was no way I'd give up, but it also felt like there was no way for me to win.

"Not a single thing?" Daniel hissed, fury burning in his eyes. "You don't remember how you and your prick boyfriend left my father bleeding in his car? You don't remember how he swerved off the road and got the front of his car completely smashed in?!"

The more I tried to conjure the image, the more the feeling of all-taking panic and dread infiltrated my veins. I tried to claw his hands out of my hair, my nails digging into his skin, suffocating, suffocating, dying, tearing, tearing, panic, panic, why, where, how?--

My current state unlocked the one I had been in on the day of the crash.

And with the panic, I remembered everything.

Tick.

Tick tick.

I could almost hear Roman's voice.

Tick tick tick.

Right now, I was there.

I was living through it again.

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

The sun was blinding, although the air was cold. I hurried down the steps of the school that day, running to Roman.

"Where were you?"

I was confused. "I was just!--"

"I've been waiting here for, like, ten minutes!" Roman hissed, getting up from the bonnet of his car. He was in the middle of what I could only call a fit of fury, and his hands were flying as he marched towards me with heavy, angry steps; "Get in the fucking car!" He grabbed a hold of my arm, forcefully pulling me toward him.

I let out a squeal of shock, yet I didn't resist. It was impossible not to jump when he put me in the passenger seat and slammed the door behind me. "What the hell, Roman? What's gotten into you today?!"

When he got in the driver's seat, he didn't waste any time turning the engine on. "I don't like you lingering in math class," he grumbled, fixing his hair in the rearview mirror. Typical. If Roman had been a woman, he'd have been the type to get extensions and acrylic nails; I was sure of it, with how obsessed he was with his looks. "I don't need you fraternizing any more with the enemy than you already have."

"The enemy?-- Are we talking about Letha?!"

"Yes!" he barked, driving out of the school parking lot with a little too much speed. Had he not been the son of Olivia Godfrey, I was convinced he'd have about a dozen parking tickets for this type of driving.

"Roman, are you serious right now?!"

"Dead serious,"

"You're being crazy!"

That was it for Roman, who immediately started yelling; "Don't fucking talk to me about crazy! You wanna see real crazy?! Let me crash the car and laugh as we bleed out on the side of the road, then you'll see that I'm acting more than reasonably!"

Instinctively, I reached for the handle of the car door. My breath was stuck in a loop in my chest, too thick to pass my trachea. "Please stop shouting," I echoed. "You're scaring me."

Roman's ears were red with anger. I used to think it was a cute trait of his, all until he threatened to kill us both in this vehicle. However, at the frail sound of my voice, he glanced at me for a second or two as he leaned one arm on the rolled-down car window; his big, green eyes rounded out with the realization, with the weight of his words. "I'm not--" He cleared his throat, returning his gaze to the road. "I'm not being serious. I wouldn't actually do that, you know me."

I could see the guilt settling in the lines of his brows coming together, yet my breath had yet to escape me; it was hard to think while being suffocated. "Stop the car,"

"Baby, I'm about to get on the highway!--"

"-- Stop the fucking car!"

Roman's anger returned as he struck the steering wheel, ignoring the way I jumped; "Fine!" With the speed he was driving at, it didn't take long before he managed to park by the road. He turned to me with a fed-up look in his eyes, one that brought my blood to a boil. It only got worse with the next words rolling off his tongue; "Christ, woman, what is it?"

For the first time in my life, I hoped I'd get superpowers and lazer-blast his stupid head off. Watch it blow and fly away in chunks, with his blood splattering all over the car. I bet it was the same dark-red color as his beloved Jaguar. Without saying a word, knowing I'd only spew profanities at him if I stayed, I made my way out of the car despite there not being a walkable road in sight.

"Hey-- Come on!" Roman yelled, watching as I started walking away on the side of the road. "Where the fuck do you think you're going?"

I shivered with the incoming breeze. "Far away from you!" Pissed out of my mind, I wrapped myself tightly in my jacket and ignored the sight of a car passing by me at full speed.

Roman got out of the car with haste, following me with urgency in his steps. "I'm not gonna drive us into a tree, I was just trying to make a point!" he yelled, dragging his hands through his hair to make sure his hairstyle was preserved in the wind. "Baby, please, come back here!--"

"It's not about that!" I yelled back, turning around to face him. Now, there were only a couple of meters between us as we gazed at each other, one with remorse, one with fury. "You say that you trust me, and then you explode when I come back a few minutes late from my class with Letha!"

"Well, of course I'm!--"

"No!" I barked, clenching my fists. "You've been acting so damn weird ever since the day we exchanged the ancient blood capsules, or whatever the fuck they are! You're being erratic! Are you still on cocaine, maybe? Have you relapsed?"

Roman's mouth opened and closed, offended. "I'm not on drugs!" he shouted, flailing his hands to make his point. "I'm not crazy!"

"Rome, you can tell me!" It felt as though my heart was beating out of my chest, and I pressed my hands to the thumping motions of it. I could feel the tears welling in my eyes; this whole week with Roman had been so weird, intense, and it had all come down to this. All this pain, all these emotions. "I'm your girlfriend, I care about you more than anything else in the world, you can tell me if you're back to!--"

"I'm not on drugs! I'm not crazy!" He was chanting it to himself now.

"I can get you the help you need, Rome, please!--"

"I'm not!" With the last boom of his voice, Roman seemed to grow taller on the spot. I was sure I was imagining the way his pupils dilated, the way his jaw twitched, and how he genuinely seemed to be growing an inch or two on the spot, as though he was about to pounce on me.

Was I maybe tired? That had to be it. After math class, my brain was always fried, anyway. Nonetheless, my breath hitched in my chest as I took a step back in blinding fear-- yet what I thought was a step back, was more of a step to the left. I didn't have much control over my body as my hands trembled, paralyzed at the sight before me. Roman didn't look like himself. It was him, I was sure it was the man I loved, yet something was so terribly off.

I hadn't realized I was standing in the road.

I was frozen to my spot.

I couldn't move.

And as the sound of a car honking repeatedly hit my ears, I saw nothing but the way Roman's pupils shrunk in an instant. Sheer panic filled his eyes. I barely registered how he got to me, but it took him less than a second when it should've taken him at least three.

Roman was too late, yet exactly on time-- it felt like a breeze wrapped itself around me with the swiftness of light, and before I knew it, I screamed as I was lifted off the ground and swept up in his arms. Too scared to register where we were, I only felt the prickling of grass in my hair as I soon heard a crash, a bang, and an alarm going off.

I held onto Roman's strong body for dear life as my high-pitched screams refused to subside, and tears welled up in my eyes which were squeezed shut in fear. He had wrapped himself around me in a protective hold and made sure I had landed on top of him in the grass by the road, a little too far from where we should've naturally landed, and Roman clutched onto the fabric of my jacket as he tried to shake me out of my shock.

It didn't work. My throat was getting sore, and I was trembling like a wet, abandoned kitten.

"Are you hurt?" Roman called out. "Hey, are you hurt?!"

With my next sob, the words came rushing out; "N-No!"

He let out a sigh of relief as he pressed me tighter to his chest, now stroking the back of my head and kissing my teary cheeks. "You're alright. It's okay, I'm here, you're alright," he cooed, gently rolling me down to the grass beside him.

I didn't want to let him go. I held onto his hair like a newborn, sobbing. "I'm sorry! I-I'm so, so-- so sorry!--"

"Shh, it's okay," Roman kissed my lips which were salty with tears. "It's not your fault, it's okay. Try to breathe, alright?"

I would've stayed like that, horrified and shell-shocked at our near meet with death, had I not heard pained groans in the distance. I dared to open my eyes, and immediately saw the cloud of smoke coming from the car with the peeping noise. There was a man groaning in pain, and his body was splayed over the steering wheel. And just as I didn't think it could get any worse, I saw the indent of a footprint in the car door--

My shaking subsided as I rose from the grass, sitting up in a zombie-like state. My eyes refused to leave the image before me.

Had Roman... kicked the car away?

Had he kicked a car coming our way at about a hundred kilometers an hour?

Before I could ponder it any longer, Roman grabbed my chin with the gentlest touch known to man and turned me to him. He didn't have a single scratch on him. Shouldn't he be gasping in pain at the blow of landing on his back with me on top of him? His eyes were round, worried, as he scanned me for any injuries. "How does your head feel? Are you dizzy? You didn't hit your head, did you?"

"No," I breathed. "Roman, the car--"

"Fuck that for a second, do I need to take you to a hospital?" The look in his eyes quickly went from worried to crazed, like he was angry that I was choosing to have sympathy for the person in the car instead of caring about myself first.

I blinked. Once. Twice. "Roman?"

"Yes?"

"The guy in there might be dead. Or dying,"

"I know," he echoed. "But he might also be bleeding."

"Exactly," With shaky steps, I tried to raise myself to the ground. The beeping of the car was driving me mad with guilt and worry. "He might be bleeding, so we need to--"

"Call an ambulance, I know,"

"No, we need to check if he's!--"

"Bleeding? Dying? Yeah, I can't," Roman grabbed my hand, forcing me to look into his eyes. They were round with a look I hadn't seen before, like he was trying to convey something I'd hopefully understand. "I shouldn't go near it when it's that much fresh blood." He squeezed my fingers before he brought them to his lips, kissing my knuckles. "And you're about to faint."

"... What?"

"You have about five seconds,"

"How do you?--"

"I'm not crazy," Roman said, an end statement. "I'll make sure you won't remember most of this, but trust me. I'll take care of it."

The worst thing was that he was right. I couldn't do anything to stop it when I started seeing white spots, and I let out a panicked yell. It felt like my head was caving into itself; that was a feeling that would stay with me. I covered my ears before I realized I couldn't feel my toes, and just as I went down, Roman went up to catch me in his arms.

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

And as I faded out of the memory, it took longer than expected to snap out of it.

I was done.

Done.

I was so, so sure, and I had no idea why everything was black, why I couldn't move, why I felt my lungs freeze over with the inability to breathe.

It lasted for too long. Way too long. An eternity.

Again.

Up until it felt like a scream was being dragged out of me by force, again, like someone had grabbed a hold of my tongue and tugged me forward, again-- the bright lights of the school hallway shone through my lids before they sprung open in pure panic, and I arched off the ground with a gasp for air.

It felt like I was taking my first breaths again, or like I had been drowning, all over again. I clawed at my hands, my nails digging into the fabric of my dress, suffocating, suffocating, dying, tearing, tearing, panic, panic, why, where, how, again?—

There was a release. I no longer felt like my neck was about to snap, and there was no longer pressure on my scalp as I was released from Daniel's grip on my hair. My body fell limp against the floor as I heard a loud thud to my right along with a shrill cry of pain.

As I slowly came back to my senses, I realized that Daniel was being repeatedly punched against the lockers by none other than Roman Godfrey. There was no way for him to fight off the repeated attacks, no way at all, as Roman's fist landed blow after blow with no mercy.

"Rome," I wheezed, coughing and wincing as I tried to get up from the floor. I barely had any power in my body anymore-- it didn't work.

The sound of his nickname had Roman letting go of Daniel in an instant, who fell limp to the floor with a cry of pain. Roman looked completely out of it; his green eyes were wild with fury, worry, and an untameable thirst for revenge. I hadn't seen him like this before, so possessed.

He opened his mouth to say something, yet Daniel let out a wail; "He can't even walk anymore, Godfrey! You fuckers left my father in a coma, and when he woke up, he was fucking paralyzed from the neck down!"

My head was pounding. This couldn't be true. This was a nightmare.

"You ruined his life!" Daniel yelled, tears spilling down his cheeks as he tried to get up. "And you ruined mine! You took my father from me, and he will never be the same again!"

Roman took several deep breaths. It was clear that he wanted to beat Daniel to a pulp, yet he was holding back. "You think I wanted any of that?" he tried, balling his fists. "Accidents happen all the fucking time!--"

"He says you kicked the car!" Daniel shouted. His voice was shaking. Profusely. It dawned on me how scared he truly looked. "That you-- you kicked it off the road!"

Roman's fists remained clenched. "Did you maybe have too much of the punch?" he asked, attempting to incorporate a calm tone. "You can't possibly be hearing yourself now, Goldman. Explain how I'm supposed to have kicked away a car coming at me at full speed?"

Daniel's lower lip trembled as it caught a few of his tears. "Everyone knows something's wrong with you, Godfrey. It's just a matter of time until someone figures out your secret," A beat. A snarl. "You're a freak."

There was a long pause. Roman was so furious that he could only glare. I could see the way his jaw clenched and how his hands were now balled so tightly they were shaking.

Daniel caught onto it. Despite looking scared out of his mind, tears still staining his cheeks, he conjured a victorious smile which only confused me further. "You gonna hit me again? You gonna beat me to a pulp in front of your girl?" He nodded towards me, a mocking laugh following as his eyes shone with evil glee.

Roman's eye twitched. I held my breath.

"You think she'll stay with you once she knows what you're capable of? You think she'll still be yours?" Daniel wiped his nose, staring up at Roman through his brows with his vicious eyes. "You and I are one and the same. The way she looks at me, the hate, the disgust? You're going to know exactly how I feel."

"No," Roman hissed, breathless. "I'm nothing like you,"

"Oh yeah? Do you really believe that?"

"You're scum!--"

"And you're a fucking sadist, just like me!" Daniel didn't even try to wipe the grin off his beaten face. He simply sighed as he rested his head against the lockers, closing his eyes as though he was reliving his best day; "Bet you would've killed to see the look she had in her eyes when I nearly snapped her neck in half, just before you came... The tears, the fear. She has these pretty whimpers when she's in pain, y'know?" Daniel opened his eyes, staring up at Roman through his brows. "Are you going to let me get away with that?"

I couldn't stay quiet anymore; the panicked cry I let out was unlike anything I ever had before. "No, don't listen to him!--"

"I would've left her here for you to find, just like what you two did to my father!" Daniel chanted. "I would've ruined her, and it would've been all your fault, Godfrey!"

That was it. It was over. I knew it the second those words filled the hallway. His fault.

Roman snapped. He yelled out in fury, and his hands flew to Daniel's neck where he was on the floor, crushing his windpipes along with any hope for breaths or protests. The look in Roman's eyes was too wild, too uncontrolled, too unstable for my liking-- he looked like he was two seconds away from snapping his neck like a twig, just like what Daniel would've done to me.

"Stop it!" I screamed, terror freezing me to my spot. "Stop it, Roman, stop!--"

"Do-- it!" Daniel wheezed, grinning. "Show her-- what a monster you are!"

My heart was pounding in my ears. No, no, no!

Roman's voice boomed throughout the hallway; "I will break your fucking hands if you touch her again, do you hear me?!"

The amusement in Daniel's eyes quickly disintegrated into abject horror. It was the lack of air. This was the moment he realized one very crucial detail; that all his taunting, all his encouragement, could actually get him very, very badly hurt. "W-Wait--"

"Do you hear me?!"

"Y-Yes!--"

"I will tear you apart!" Roman yelled, tightening his grip. "Is that what you want?!"

Daniel's face was turning a peculiar shade of purple as panic settled in his body. His hands went to Roman's, clawing at them, but to no avail. It was essentially a match he couldn't ever hope to win. It would've been impossible. Roman was too strong, too quick, too sharp-- Daniel didn't stand a chance.

I didn't think it could yet worse, yet somehow it did. In a moment which shouldn't have been possible, not so easily, Roman dragged Daniel's sputtering body up along the locker, lifting him from the ground with no exertion or effort. It made me gasp as I propped myself up from the floor, tears rushing down my cheeks as I watched the scene before me, scared into silence.

When Daniel's legs were dangling off the floor, I knew he had a few seconds before he was out. It was clear in the way his eyes started bulging and how his hands fell limp by his sides.

Roman's last words were chilling; "Let me show you how much of a monster I can be,"

Daniel let out a short, defeated wheeze. Had he not been choking, it would've been a laugh. He had won, but now he had to pay the price. He squeezed his eyes shut with his last efforts, ready for the beating of his life, all until--

"No, that's enough!" I cried, exhausted by the terror. "Roman, enough!"

It was as though something changed in Roman at the sound of my voice, and the veins were no longer bulging from his hands as he realized the weight of what he had been about to do. With that, he let go of Daniel, who collapsed down along the lockers for the second time tonight; air rushed to his lungs with massive gulps, and his face was no longer purple from the blood rushing to his face.

Now that I remembered everything from the day of the crash, I saw the similarities. The way Roman seemed somewhat taller, how unnaturally wide his pupils dilated, and the way his jaw twitched.

For the first time, I was seeing him for what he truly might be.

For what he... was.

Upirism lives beneath their skin, scratches at their teeth, and corrupts their minds through dark urges in constant attempts to drive them to the edge of genesis. Do you suspect you are a upir, or do you recognize a darkness in your loved ones?

I do.

Gulping, I finally found the courage and strength to get off the floor. My hands were shaking, and so were my knees-- I was sure my mascara had stained my cheeks at this point, and I felt more breathless than ever as I faced the man I loved.

What made everything worse, was that Roman looked more beautiful than ever. Hair disheveled, broad shoulders raising with every shaky breath, lips parted. The tux only added to the sight-- he was perfect. Despite the sleeves of his jacket being rolled up, and a part of his shirt being untucked from his pants, he was perfect, and he always would be. His round, green eyes were barely green with how big his pupils were, pulsing with adrenaline; "Are you okay?" he asked, taking a step forward and away from Daniel. "Are you hurt? You were practically unconscious when I came--"

Roman's words came to a halt when he saw how quickly I took a step back.

My breath was stuck in my chest. I couldn't speak.

"You look scared. Don't be," he tried. "He's fine, see?" Roman turned around to face Daniel's body, where he lay limp and barely conscious, and proceeded to shortly kick him.

It made me gasp, clasping my hand over my mouth as Daniel let out a pained whimper. My stomach felt uneasy-- I really didn't want to throw up here.

When Roman saw my horror, he immediately took a step away from Daniel. It hadn't yet dawned on him why I was so scared. "I'm so sorry about this," he said. "I'm sorry I stepped away. I should've never left your side."

I tried to speak, yet nothing would come out. Only tears rushed from my system, peaking at my chin before dripping down to the floor.

Suddenly, there was a loud cheer from down the hall, a reminder of the prom going on just a door away. It made me jump, frozen in fear.

It was clear that Roman found it to be ironic, and he alternated between glancing down the hall and looking at me. "You still look good," he mumbled, a trying smile tugging at the corners of his perfect lips. Those perfect, plush lips that used to softly press against mine. Was he hoping we could go back inside and act like nothing had happened? "I have a comb you can use, if you want? The mascara is easy to wipe away, I think, and I bet there'll be no one in the restroom, so we can both go and fix ourselves and--"

When he took another step forward, I took another step back.

Roman stilled. His eyes softened with hurt. "Baby,"

I shook my head. That was the only thing I could do.

"Didn't you hear what he was saying? He wanted to-- wanted to do all these awful things to you, I had to do this,"

I couldn't breathe.

Roman insisted; "I was just protecting you," Despite his calm tone, I spotted the slight shake he had to his hands. "Don't think about all that bullshit he said, okay? He's not in his right mind, he's clearly insane!--"

"His dad, Roman!" My ability to speak returned to me with my growing frustration.

"-- Was a very sad, tragic thing, yes! I'm not denying it!" With the next step Roman took, I stayed in place. He let out a string of controlled, short breaths, trying to calm himself down. "But he didn't have to come after you. I would've given him the money he needed, but it's my mom who controls the assets. All our dear Daniel had to do, was to talk to me. No one had to get hurt."

I squeezed my eyes shut, yet my tears still fell past my lashes.

Roman let out a sigh which resembled a soft hum. "All that matters is that you're okay. That's all that matters. To me, you're all that matters,"

As his big hands framed my face, holding me when he finally got close enough, I still didn't open my eyes. I couldn't. I was scared out of my mind. Roman's touch was no longer a comfort-- it was chilling to know that they were choking someone less than a minute ago.

"Are you scared?" he whispered, worry coating his deep voice. "You don't have to be scared of me, I'm not-- I'm not some monster."

I couldn't believe him. His words echoed in my head. Let me show you how much of a monster I can be.

Let me show you.

"I'm not," Roman insisted. He didn't sound like he believed it much himself. "I'm all yours, only yours. That's all I am, and that's all that I ever will be. You need to know that."

Let me show you.

"Please look at me,"

Let me show you.

"Please," he begged. "I-- I've made some mistakes, but I'm still your Roman. Can't you stomach it anymore? Is me wanting to protect you repulsive to you?"

I shook my head; not at all. My hands found his chest, feeling it raise against my palms. I used to lay there. Fall asleep there, listening to his beating heart.

"What did you want me to do, then?" Roman whispered. "You're my everything. You're everything. I couldn't let him get away with doing all of that, I-- I couldn't. I'm sorry if it scared you, I'm sorry you had to see me like that, and I'm so sorry I ever left... I should've stayed with you. I'm a fool. I should've stayed and heard what you wanted to tell me."

I didn't need to look at him to know he was crying, now. His voice was breaking. Actively. It shattered me.

"Cause... you still want to tell me, right?"

Something told me he knew what I had wanted to tell him.

My hand crept further up Roman's broad chest as I quietly sobbed, my whole body shaking. My fingers were at his neck, tracing his soft skin.

Roman's grip on my face tightened in desperation, yet his voice came out in a frail, low murmur; "Please-- Please tell me,"

I love you. I love you. If only Roman could read minds. I couldn't conjure the words, not in this state.

My silence only broke him further. Hopeless, he pressed his tear-stained lips to mine in a sheer cry for mercy. "Please," he whispered between repeated kisses I couldn't reciprocate. "Please-- Please--"

My fingers had managed to slip between the two top buttons of his shirt, and they now grazed the vial of my blood around his neck. As Roman continued to kiss me, desperately pressing my body up against his, I let out a sob as I twisted the capsule, just like I had once practiced; his breath hitched as I wrapped my hand around the vial, clutching it as I pulled it away from him without a word.

Roman's hold on my face disappeared as his hands floated an inch away from my face, his big eyes watery with hurt and confusion.

I told myself it was for the best. The blood had poisoned his thoughts for too long.

My first step away was slow, trying.

Tick.

Tick tick.

My second was quickly followed by a sprint down the hallway, away from Roman, away from Daniel, away from everything.

Tick tick tick.

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

Have you ever thought about death? Of course you have, everyone has-- but have you ever felt it?

It felt like I was dying for the hundredth time this week. The agony was pressing at the sides of my head, and it made me hope it would finally cave in on itself just to spare me the torture of being awake.

It was the fear that brought me to Letha's doorstep. The thing I didn't want to be true. Everything had balled up into a ginormous travesty of a boulder, and I could no longer try to push it over the side of the mountain-- I was no Sisyphus.

I couldn't begin to comprehend how shocked Letha must've been when she opened the door. She opened and closed her mouth, scanning the mascara which had stained my cheeks, and the state of the top of my hair. "What the fuck?" she cursed under her breath, grabbing my hand to pull me inside. "What are you doing here? What happened?"

I felt like a shell of the person I used to be. Like I had been cracked open like a lobster, with someone actively scooping out my insides. Letha's house smelled of expensive fragrance sticks you'd buy from Rituals-- I recognized the one she had in her house at the moment, the ritual of hammam. It was her favorite, I remembered that much. I felt at home. It was an odd feeling.

"Your dress," Unsure what to do, Letha bent down to fix the way my dress fell. "Seriously, what happened?--"

"A while ago, you said you wanted to tell me the truth about Roman," My voice was sharp, hollow, as I stared at the girl who was once my best friend. I had cried into her shoulder before, we had shared countless laughs-- what had I done? "What was it?"

Letha stilled with shock when she straightened up, meeting my troubled gaze. "Shouldn't you be at prom?"

"Letha, I need!--"

"Where even is, Roman, actually?"

"You need to tell me!" I cried. "You need-- I need to know, I need to hear it from you, because I need someone to tell me that I've gone crazy!"

With slow motions, Letha stretched out her hands to place them gently on my shoulders. "Let's take some deep breaths, okay? Whatever this is, I bet you and Roman will get through this. Did you have a fight? It can be painful to argue with your boyfriend, and it really can feel like you're going crazy. I get it, and--"

"-- I have this book," I interrupted, feeling my tears press up against my lashes once more. "It's really long and dreadful, but I've read the whole thing over and over about five times now."

The worry streaking across Letha's face turned into a look of confusion. "Okay...? As long as it's not Fifty Shades again, I'm listening,"

It was odd to speak to someone that knew me so well. She knew I had read that stupid book several times, despite how ridiculous it could be at times. It almost threw me off. "The more I read the book, the more I saw the... similarities with Roman,"

Letha grimaced; "Fifty Shades?"

"No! The other one!"

"Oh, alright. Phew,"

I groaned, rubbing my temples. I was exhausted. "You said I deserved to know the truth about him, so I'm begging you, Letha, to put everything aside," My breath struggled to steady. "What was it?"

Her palms lifted from my shoulders. "I-- I don't know how to say it, or whether I should tell you at all. I only ever mentioned it because I thought you were in danger, but--" Letha stilled. It was clear on her face that she knew she had said too much.

"Danger?" I echoed. "Letha?"

With a quick hitch of her breath, Letha made her way past me with hasty steps and disappeared into the living room.

"Please!" I followed her, watching as she paced back and forth in the big room, anxiously biting her nails. "Letha, I need to hear it from you, I need to know that I'm wrong, I need to hear that it's something else than what I think it is!"

"I-- I don't, I can't!--"

"Tell me!" I needed to hear it out loud. I burned to hear it from someone else than the voice in my head.

"N-No, I!--"

"Letha!"

"It's too-- I can't!--"

"Say it!"

Letha stilled with the boom of my voice. She stared back at me from across the room, no longer pacing as she finally dared to face the crazed look in my eyes. There was a long pause, a silence that laid itself over us like a cold blanket-- "What book was it?" she breathed.

"The--" I hated this title. "The avoidable vampirism, the--" I couldn't say the word. I couldn't.

Letha nodded. It was barely noticeable, and it resembled an involuntary tic. "Yes,"

Yes?

"Yes, he is,"

"Say it," I whispered. "Please."

Letha closed her eyes, resigning;

"Roman's a upir,"

The house was dead silent. You could've heard a pin drop. There were faint remnants of the wind brushing past the large tree outside the property, with the rustling of the leaves filling the sonic void. Letha wasn't moving. Neither was I. How does one process such news? It was a peculiar feeling-- I felt like I had already known for a long time. There was no shockwave, as I had expected there to be.

"Ah," was all I said. It left Letha to raise a brow, visibly off-put by my reaction.

I nodded to myself a couple times, glancing around the living room I used to know better than the back of my hand. A small huff escaped me, similarly to a laugh; I wondered whether my brain was melting. It surely felt like it.

For a second, I thought that was it. That there would be no blow to the reveal. That I was handling it surprisingly well, and that it'd be the end of it. However, the more breaths I took, the less I felt like I was breathing. The less I felt I was breathing, the more I could feel the painful thumping of my heart against my ribs, every beat serving as a reminder that I was still alive, still in this moment, still processing.

My breath got stuck in my throat with the next heave-- my hands flew to my necklace, trying to find the clasp. It was too tight, too tight. With shaking fingers, I tried to get it off, needed it off, right now. It didn't work, no matter how hard I tried, and my eyes welled with tears as I ripped my necklace off with a gasp, hoping I'd finally be able to breathe. The beads rolled along the hardwood floors as I clutched at my chest, hitting my chest in hopes that air would fill it.

Letha's big, green eyes were filled with worry as she rushed to me, unsure how to help. "Hey, hey, breathe, okay?--"

The corset of my dress was suddenly an agonizing pressure around my waist, and my fingers went to the ribbons at the back to slacken it. It didn't work, no matter what I tried, and the sob I let out was followed by a broken plea; "Help-- H-Help!--"

Letha hurried to get behind me as I slowly sank to the floor, choking on my tears as she untied the ribbons at full speed. My hands were tearing at my dress, choking with my last breaths as I descended into the heap of tulle around me-- I tried to scream, yet no sound would come.

In a last attempt, Letha grabbed the ribbons with full force and pulled them apart, ripping the fabric in half as my corset finally came apart.

What followed was a mix of a sob and a heave, a choked sound filling the room as I leaned forward into the tulle, taking sharp breaths of release. I could finally breathe. I was breathing again. I wept into my hands as Letha's soft hands stroked my exposed back, sitting down on the floor next to me as she brought my body as close to hers as she could.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, pressing a kiss to the top of my head. "I'm so, so sorry."

I shook in her arms, drowning in tears. It was true. Roman was a upir. I had been right all along, yet I had also been stupid enough to suppress it. The sadness, the heartbreak, that hit me felt like a death-sentence, and I held onto Letha as my whole body trembled with the realization; "I love him," I cried. "I love-- I love him!"

"I know," Letha stroked my hair, sighing. "I tried to get to you before you got that far, but there always comes a point when you can no longer do anything. I've learned that the hard way, now."

This was worse than death. "What do I do?" I breathed. "I don't-- I don't know what to do!"

"... You know what you have to do,"

It only made me clutch onto her harder, and I squeezed my eyes shut in hopes of stopping the stream of tears. I wondered how I had any more of them in my system. "I don't-- think I can!"

"I only want what's best for you," Letha cooed, patting away my fallen tears. "And I know that Roman can be charming, and he can be very nice when he wants to be, but... now that you know what he is, how are you going to believe him ever again? He's lied to you all this time, and he would've never told you himself. You're aware that he's putting you in danger every time he's near you?"

I shook my head; "N-No, Roman would never!--"

"If you read a whole book about upirs, you probably know what he's capable of?"

"He'd never-- never hurt me!--"

"Maybe he wouldn't hurt you, but you know he can control people, right?" Letha sighed once more, tilting my head upwards so that I would meet her eyes. "He did that to me our whole childhood. His favorite thing to do in the winter was to make me stick my tongue on metal poles and watch me cry when I couldn't detach it."

What? "But!--"

"How can you ever be sure that your actions are yours?" Letha's eyes were so intense, so desperate to get her point across. "How can you ever trust him again?"

How many times hadn't I thought he was mesmerizing me? I could count them on my fingers, but the thought was still unsettling. "I... don't know,"

Letha shifted to sit on her knees, watching my mascara paint my cheeks with long, black streaks. "I'm glad you came to me," she murmured, softening her look. "I'm glad you see that I'm the only one that can help you. We should put everything behind us and stick together again, and we have to. I'm all you have now. Roman... he's dangerous. You're safe with me."

I was so, so tired. I didn't have the energy to fight the free help coming my way, yet... something felt off. "He's not dangerous," I tried, in denial. "He's--"

"He's what?" Letha insisted, hardening her gaze. This was giving me whiplash. "Seriously! He could snap any day, can't you see?! And who would be closest to him the day he's overcome with thirst?"

"No!--"

"It'd be you!" Letha grabbed my face, and it only made my tears flow faster, hanging from my quivering chin. "It'd be you, and I can't lose you again, not in that way!"

The more my vision blurred, the weaker I felt. "I love him,"

"I know,"

"I-- I love him,"

"But you need to love yourself more," she whispered. Letha let go of my face, wrapping her arms around me in a warm embrace. She smelled just like she did all those months ago. My best friend, Letha. I missed her more than anything.

How could I ever love anything or anyone more than I loved Roman? I didn't have space for that in my body. I didn't have the capacity.

"Do it for your life," Letha pleaded, her voice smooth as honey. It felt like she was talking me to sleep. "Please."

A life without Roman? I couldn't imagine it. Not when we had promised each other forever.

But... forever for him probably meant forever.

Roman is a upir.

I let out another cry into Letha's shoulder; this was a nightmare I wouldn't ever wake up from.

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

When you get devastating news, you never think of what happens afterward. It's similar to when someone dies-- you get the news, in comes the shock, and then you get handed the papers on what to do with the body. No one ever thinks about having to design the flyer for the funeral, right?

There is a certain weight in your body as you go through the motions you know you have to go through. Your hands feel heavy as you hold your next meal before your mouth, realizing that life moves on, whether you want it to or not. You still need to drink water, eat, wake up, and function.

And just as I opened the door to my empty home, I felt all of that at once. I wanted to freak out and sob in despair to the end of my days, yet I had to get back home. I had to get out of the clothes Letha had given me after I ruined my dress, I had to eat something to fill my rumbling stomach, and I had to sleep. How was I supposed to do any of that when it felt like my world was crashing down on me?

It felt like someone had pressed a button at the top of my head, putting me on auto-pilot. I didn't even notice that I was still wearing my jacket as I made my way to the kitchen with heavy steps, mindlessly opening the fridge and taking a... cucumber?

Why was I holding a cucumber?

Fuck it.

I couldn't think. I didn't even close the fridge. My mind was empty as I put it down on the kitchen island, not even bothering to find a cutting board. I didn't want to think. The more I thought, the more I thought about Roman. Roman and his perfect lips, Roman and his beautiful laugh, Roman and his green, green, green eyes. Roman, the man I loved. Roman, the upir.

Involuntary tears rushed down my cheeks as my face remained stoic. I was exhausted. I had no idea how I was still moving. My hands were mindlessly tapping the kitchen surfaces around me, hoping I'd somehow find a knife that way. Not that I'd be particularly successful, but maybe I didn't want to be? I wasn't even planning on washing the cucumber. Maybe I hoped the germs would kill me. Could you die from an unwashed cucumber? I had no idea. There was probably a higher possibility that Roman would kill me first.

... I hated that thought.

I wish I didn't have to have it.

However, as my hands found the selection of knives, I heard a sound coming from behind me. It came from the other side of the kitchen island, the one I had my back turned to. I didn't think much of it first; houses creak all the time, surely. But then came the scrape-- a deliberate, jarring screech of a chair being pulled out from the kitchen island.

My parents were out of town.

Someone was in my house.

Someone was pulling out a chair.

I froze, every muscle in my body locking up, my breath catching in my throat. The sound of slow, deliberate footsteps sent a chill crawling down my spine. They weren’t hurried or hesitant-- they were purposeful, unhurried, as though whoever was there wanted me to hear.

I gripped the counter with trembling fingers, my pulse hammering in my ears. I didn’t dare look back, but every inch of me screamed to run. My fingers brushed the cold handle of the biggest knife I could find, finally. The familiar fight-or-flight surged through me, but I couldn’t choose. All I could do was grip the knife and hold it as though it were a lifeline.

When the footsteps stopped, I thought for a moment that maybe, just maybe, I had imagined it.

But then-- the breath.

A low, soft exhale just inches behind me.

Now or never. I spun around with a panicked yell, the knife held high, ready to plunge it into whoever had invaded my home-- My scream got stuck in my throat when the blade pointed at the chest of a tall figure standing in the dark, his face barely illuminated by the faint glow of the refrigerator light.

Roman.

Roman didn't even bother to stop me, didn't jump away, nothing. The tip of my knife was barely dipping into his solar plexus, yet I was sure it would've been enough to draw blood on any other person; it didn't even pierce his skin.

I couldn't believe what was happening. He somehow didn't look like himself-- it was Roman like I’d never seen him before. His expression was blank, too blank, the kind of blank that made my stomach churn. He didn’t flinch at the blade hovering just below his sternum. His green eyes locked onto mine with a kind of detachment, as though I wasn’t holding a weapon to his chest at all.

“You done?” he said, his voice carrying an eerie stillness.

I couldn’t speak, couldn’t move. My knuckles whitened around the handle.

Roman’s eyes flickered down to the blade, then back to me. “Put it down,” he said, his tone measured but firm.

“No,” I whispered, my voice trembling.

Roman took a quiet step back, glancing down at the large knife I was holding at him with an unreadable emotion shimmering in his big, green eyes. "Right..." he huffed, sucking in a sharp breath. His gaze darted up to meet mine in the dark of the kitchen. "Is that how you want to do this?"

I didn't answer. I couldn't. There was no other way, not when I knew the truth.

Roman’s lips parted, and the breath that escaped wasn’t human—it was low, steady, and calculating, like a predator sizing up its prey. His gaze locked onto the knife, then slowly dragged up to meet mine. His pupils were darker now, swallowing the green of his eyes, and the silence between us stretched too long.

“If you’re gonna do it, don't hesitate,” Roman's voice was soft, yet laced with something cold and merciless. He took a single step forward, the tip of the knife now pressing harder against his chest. “You won’t get another chance.”

I gasped, stumbling back, but Roman didn’t follow. He stayed in the shadows, his figure looming over me like some unholy force. “Fine. This is how it's gonna go,” he continued, his tone so calm it made my blood run cold. “You’re going to put that down and listen. No running, no screaming. I deserve that much."

I tightened my grip on the knife, my chest heaving. “Why should I listen to you?"

A huff-- Roman was pissed. "Cause I'm really not in the mood for chasing you. It'd be over in less than three seconds, and that's never fun," Roman's voice dropped to a near whisper; "You wanna fight me, or do you want to be smart about this?"

I didn't lower my knife. I couldn't. "Alright," I breathed. "Talk, then."

Roman tilted his head, studying me, his lips curving into the faintest ghost of a smirk-- it didn't reach his eyes. "There you go," he said.

"Good girl."

(a/n: ... are u still breathing? cause I'm not!!!! AGHHH😭 thank you for reading this if you got this far, this is so so much lore so if your brain is overheating pls pls go grab an icecream, you deserve it, and I LOVE YOUUU MWAHHH CAN'T WAIT TO SHOW Y'ALL THE REST OF THIS STORY!!)

here are all the chapters!<3: PART 1, PART 2, PART 3, PART 4, PART 5, PART 6, PART 7, PART 8, PART 9, PART 10, PART 11, PART 12

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@mentallyscreamingsincebirth @putherup @corawithfanfiction @vladsgirlxx

@iamaslytherin0 @sexualparkour @the-universe-is-complicated @heavenly-bratt

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hotgeniusreid · 1 day ago

Text

Do you really wanna be my friend?

Spencer Reid x F! Reader

!!!NSFW/ MINORS DNI!!!

Mentions of: oral (m and f receiving), fingering, p in v (don’t be like these two, wrap it before you tap it pls), stomach bulge (size kink go brr), Dom!Spence

Authors note: I have never written for Criminal Minds and I am certainly not a great writer, but I had a thought and I put this together in less than an hour, I’m opening requests for Criminal Minds, please feel free to request blurbs or fics! ❤️🖤

Based off of this song!!

Girl, do you really wanna be my friend?

Or do you really wanna be my lover?

Moans and heavy panting were all that could be heard inside Spencer’s apartment, the sight before him was nothing short of angelic despite how wrong it was. His coworker who he had been secretly hooking up with, was on her knees, his fat cock in down her throat as she looked up at him with teary and lidded eyes. Spencer was not a lustful man by any means, but after the first time they slept together he became addicted, addicted to her.

Tangling his fingers in her hair, he threw his head back, a groan leaving his mouth at the feeling of her taking more of his cock down her throat, she let go of a moan around him, the vibrations making him hiss at the feeling. “Fuck Y/N, taking my cock so well.” Spencer pulled her off of him, ducking his head down to press his lips to hers, a whimper leaving her at the feeling of his tongue in her mouth. Pulling away she panted breathlessly. “Spence, we gotta stop doing this.” She mumbled.

I just don’t know what it is

That makes me so insane, girl

“Let’s not worry about that now pretty girl, gotta take care of you now yeah?” Spencer said, changing the subject. They had been friends for three years, ever since she joined the BAU, the hookups started one night a few months back, she had showed up to his apartment after a bad date, rambling on about how the sex was boring and the guy couldn’t make her cum. That night he ended up taking her to his room and making her cum on his cock.

Laying Y/N on the bed, he looked at her, splayed out on the bed, he planted himself in between her legs, and looking down he saw just how wet she was, her slick dripping down onto the bed, she was breathtaking. He leaned down, trailing kisses from her jaw, down to her breasts, pressing a kiss in the middle of them before cupping her breast and swirling his tongue around her already hard nipple. A meal escaped her as he teased her. He continued kissing down her body, laying down in between her legs, he pressed a soft kiss to her inner thighs. “Your so beautiful honey, so wet from just sucking my cock.” He said before pressing a kiss to her clit, Y/N gasped at the feeling, his name coming out of her mouth, he took it as a sign to continue, he licked one broad stripe up her folds, letting out a groan at the taste of her slick. This time it was her turn to tangle her fingers through his hair, her hips bucking up at the sensation of Spencer eating her pussy.

Maybe you should have my kids

‘Cause then I’d see you forever

Spencer looked up from his place between her thighs, her eyes were closed, her face contorted in pleasure and her eyebrow furrowed. Her mouth was open in the shape of an ‘o’. Spencer brought his mouth back to her clit, sucking on her bud, and bringing a finger to her entrance. Pushing in he groaned at how tight she was around his finger. He brought his finger out and added a second, a choked moan escaping her as he stuffed her cunt with his two fingers. Y/N had confessed to him once that she liked his hands and how long his fingers were, she had also confessed that when he was skimming through pages and reading, she would become so hypnotized by his fingers moving down the pages.

“Spence feels so good, so close.” She babbled, the telltale signs of her impending orgasm coming, she felt the coil in her stomach tightening. Spencer continued fingering her, hitting that special spot that had Y/N seeing stars, she let out a gasp as he suckled on her clit once more, his fingers increasing their speed but never relenting on that spot. “A-Ah Spence please, fuck your tongue feels so good!” She whimpered, a few more thrusts of his fingers and she was cumming, clenching around Spencer’s fingers and gushing, slick dripping down his fingers and onto the bed, a wet patch forming on his white sheets.

If we depart tonight

Then please just hold me tight

Spencer rose from the position he was to his knees, parting her legs to make room for him, his cock slipping through her folds and bumping her already sensitive clit, a whine escaped her, and she bucked her hips at the feeling, he leaned down, pressing a kiss to her lips, “You got one more in you, right baby? Gonna let me fuck you now?” Y/N nodded, “Yes, fuck me please, need your cock.” She slurred, her eyes glassy and lidded. Grabbing her legs, and pushing them to her chest, he slipped his cock into her hole. A moan escaped both of them at the feeling. As he continued to push his cock in, Spencer moaned at the feeling, he could never get used to how tight her pussy was. He continued pushing forward until his hips were flush against hers, she released a mewl at the feeling of how deep he was, Spencer looked down, relishing in the sight of a bulge from how deep he was. “Look at that baby, so deep inside you, your tummy’s bulging.” He pressed down on the bulge, a moan fought its way out of her mouth at the feeling of him pressing down, “S-Spencer please.” She pleaded.

He pulled out and slammed back in, watching her breasts bounce at the force of his thrust, he set a fast pace, watching her face contort in pleasure, knowing she was still sensitive from her earlier orgasm from him eating her cunt. The position had Spencer hitting her g-spot perfectly, loud moans and mewls coming from her, “Gimme kiss please, wanna kiss you.” She gasped, he brought his head down, pressing his lips to hers, slipping his tongue in, the feeling of being so deep in her cunt had him spiraling.

I hope you know I feel a way about you

I can’t doubt you no

Spencer brought his hand down to her clit, rubbing tight circles on it, Y/N clenched down on his cock at the stimulation on her clit, she was close and he could tell, she was getting louder, and it only spurred him on more, his thrusts became more frenzied, sloppier, chasing his high which was coming closer, he felt his cock stiffening inside of her tight wet cunt. “I-I’m gonna cum again, a-ah Spencer please make me cum!” She moaned, the coil once again winding up tightly in her stomach. “Yea? Are you gonna come for me, pretty girl? Be a good girl a come for me.” He said as he continued thrusting into her while simultaneously rubbing her clit, the coil snapping as her orgasm washed over her once more, clenching tightly around his cock, triggering his release, spurts of hot cum painting her insides white, he slowed down, both of them panting heavily as they came down from their highs, he pressed soft kisses to her face, small murmurs of “you did so well” and “such a good girl for me” as he pulled out, Y/N let out a whine at the feeling of Spencer pulling out.

Spencer pulled Y/N into an embrace, a sigh leaving his lips, that’s when he heard it, a small broken whimper and a sniffle, he placed his hand under Y/N’s chin, tilting her head to make her look at him. Tears were flowing, and her lips were in a pout. He wiped her tears, “What’s wrong pretty girl? Was I too rough?” She shook her head, “No Spencer, it’s not that, it felt good. But I-I don’t think we should do this anymore, I can’t keep doing this.” She explained he looked at her confused, “What do you mean Y/N? Talk to me, what’s going on?” She sighed, “Spencer, we agreed that we would do this no strings attached, how am I supposed to continue like this, pretending like I’m not in love with you?”

Her confession had shocked him, truth be told, he had suppressed his feelings for her since they agreed to keep it strictly ‘no strings attached’, but he couldn’t deny how he was attracted to her, how smart she was, how kind, and how dedicated she was to her job at the BAU, Spencer couldn’t help but let out a chuckle, “Here I was thinking I was the only one struggling here, sweet girl I am so in love with you, but I couldn’t bring myself to tell you because I didn’t want this to end.” At his confession, a fresh set of tears trickled down Y/N’s face, the heavy weight lifted off her shoulders at the fact that Spencer ‘pretty boy’ Reid had been in love with her, she pressed her lips to his, relishing in the fact that her feelings were reciprocated.

“No more hiding around the others?” She asked, he laughed softly, “No I suppose not, though I think Morgan might know we’ve been sneaking around behind their backs.” She giggled softly. Later on, the next day, when Spencer announced their relationship to the team, everyone congratulated you two, Morgan slipped a twenty dollar bill to Hotch, “I can’t believe you were right Hotch.” Hotch smirked, “I know my team, besides, Spencer can’t keep his eyes off of her for more than 2 minutes, he’s got it bad.”

Yeah, Spencer Reid was in love with Y/N, and she was just as in love with him.

#criminal minds smut #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #aaron hotchner #aaron hotch x reader #Luna is back to writing #Spotify

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cupidbedsy · 23 hours ago

Text

𝜗𝜚 LUKE AND Y/N

𝜗𝜚 HOW THEY GET TOGETHER

➪ they met in late august of their sophomore year

➪ it’s when she’s on her way to class and she physically runs into him, stumbling backward before he catches her

➪ they briefly exchange some words and the only thing she knows leaving that conversation is that his name is luke and that he’s in a frat

➪ she spends the next month dragging her friends to different frat parties in hopes she’ll see him

➪ they see him at every party they go to and at every party the two always have some sort of interaction with each other

➪ it’s early october when the two finally have a ‘real’ date

➪ the two end up going to get ice cream in his truck and she admits that she thinks about him alot

➪ full blurb kind of thing can be found here !

➪ their friends with benefits situation starts at the end of winter break/the start of their second semester of sophomore year

➪ at first the two of them take it slow and are just trying to get into it without causing too much tension between them

➪ but by the end of january and beginning of february, it falls into a steady rhythm

𝜗𝜚 THEIR RELATIONSHIP

➪ the two could not be more protective of one another

➪ two songs i relate with them are into you by ariana grande and uptown girl by billy joel

➪ luke’s nicknames for y/n: pretty girl, baby, sweetheart, gorgeous

➪ y/n’s nicknames for luke: lu, lukey, pretty boy, baby, handsome

➪ luke’s love language is physical touch and words of affirmation

➪ everyone thinks their a couple though most of their friends do know that they are just ‘friends-with-benefits’

➪ they’re always hanging out at one or the other’s rooms

➪ luke picks out her outfits whenever he stays over at hers

➪ they love going on late night drives together in his truck

➪ luke loves when y/n gets drunk because she gets so clingy and needy which is one of his favorite things in the world

➪ between the two of them, i could not tell you who is the more clingier one

➪ luke will always have his arm wrapped around her at parties unless she wanders off

➪ and he’s always making her sit in his lap when she does her homework

➪ another one of his favorite things is when she wears one of his button-downs especially if it’s unbuttoned

➪ but he’ll put her in them after they have sex so there’s been plenty of times where he wakes up to her making breakfast for them in his shirt and a pair of socks

➪ y/n attends all of the frat parties that she is able to, especially when she knows it’ll be the first time seeing him in a while

➪ she takes every opportunity just to ogle him, whether they’re sitting in his truck or he’s walking her to her class

➪ they are best friends, so they’re also just pure chaos together

➪ they go out to target and just goof around all the time

➪ they do a lot of tiktok trends and challenges together (buying each other things, ‘jacked-and-kind’, etc.)

➪ luke definitely will get her a shirt that says ‘luke’s girl’ on the front or ‘property of luke hughes’ on the back, either way it’s a white shirt and has pink lettering

➪ she plays with his bracelets when she’s anxious or just needs something to do with her hands

➪ if luke doesn’t have his hand on her thigh then something is seriously wrong

➪ they rarely fight but when/if they do it’s usually very messy and since the two can hold grudges forever, they could go weeks without speaking to the other

➪ very competitive

➪ luke will occasionally ‘try’ to help her with her homework but it always ends with them making out

#𝜗𝜚 into you au !#𝜗𝜚 luke and y/n !#luke hughes #lh43 #luke hughes x reader

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cloverapple · 3 days ago

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do you have anymore advice? your post helped me so much pls I need more

The Restaurant Analogy For Reality Shifting

Aghhh I told myself I wasn’t going to post anything else, yet here I am XD. Hopefully this is helpful.

You already know how to shift. “Oh, but I—” nope. Nope. You already know how to shift. How do I know that? Because shifting is simply the act of becoming aware of your desired reality. And how do you become aware? By focusing, by choosing what you want to become aware of. When your focus and intention are aligned with your DR, you’re already shifting.

“But the symptoms—“

Oh to grab and politely shake you until you realize that “becoming aware of XYZ” is merely focusing on that thing, becoming aware of it. Are you laying there focusing on your DR? Congratulations, you’ve become aware of your DR.

(There’s a very popular post on here (that I can’t find rn bc I’m rushing as I type this) that states your awareness shifts first and then your senses follow. I cannot stress enough how true that is.)

When you lay down to shift, you don’t need to overcomplicate it. Just focus on your DR and allow it to come to you. Let yourself shift. Sure, allowing it might involve slipping into an altered state of consciousness, using methods, counting or affirming—if that feels natural to you in the moment. But ultimately, it comes down to self-trust. Your mind already knows how to shift. Maybe your issue is that you just need to step out of your own way and let it happen. Which in that case:

Deciding to shift is like deciding to go to a restaurant and sitting down.

Choosing your DR is like selecting a meal from the menu.

Letting your subconscious do the work is like trusting the chef in the kitchen to cook your meal.

What happens next? Inevitably, the chef brings out your meal—you become aware of your DR.

Now, what NOT to do:

You don’t march into the kitchen and grab the ingredients from the chef. You don’t argue with them about how they’re making your meal. Your chef, your mind, knows how to cook. You don’t pace back and forth from the kitchen to your table, spiraling in doubt, wallowing in self-pity, or crying to everyone in the restaurant about how you’ll never get your food and how you’re doomed to starve. You don’t leave the restaurant altogether. You sit down, relax, and trust the process.

“But what if my meal takes a year, or two, or even more?”

Well, think about it—what have you been doing during that time? Have you been running into the kitchen? Losing faith in the chef? Accusing him of not knowing how to cook? Your beliefs shape your reality. What you believe—what you truly believe—is what manifests.

This even applies to the “restaurant.” If you believe your meal will take forever, it will. If you believe the chef isn’t cooking, they won’t be. If you believe you’ll never get your meal, then you probably won’t.

But that’s the beauty of going to the restaurant. No matter how much you doubt, the meal comes eventually. Why else would you have sat down at the restaurant?

And there’s another thing: some meals may take longer, and that’s completely fine. Even if you’ve been patiently sitting here waiting for it and it’s been taking forever in your mind, that’s completely fine. Let go of this atattchment you have to time.

So what if the meal took a year to reach your table? 2 years? 3 years? 4 years? 5 years? Has all that time passed since you’re reading this? Awesome! So why are you still focused on it?

All the time you’ve spent shifting, you will get back and more once you start shifting. 2 years? You gain it back. 3 years? Back into your hand it goes. 4 years? There it is again. 5 years? You got it back.

Focus on the now; sit at the restaurant, enjoy the live music, talk to other patrons, flip through the menu and browse because maybe you want to change your meal or try an appetiser.

“Changing the meal (my DR) means it’s going to take even longer!”

Who told you that? I don’t know what kind of cooking you guys are doing IRL, but afaik, if the stove is already on and the pan is warm, searing that stake is going to be just as quick.

“Clover, but you just implied that arguing with the chef messes with your meal!”

Arguing with the chef (your subconscious) is very different from politely poking your head through the kitchen doors and informing him that you want a different meal.

“But how do I focus on my DR?”

I love this question! When you’re sitting at the table, expecting your meal, what are you doing? You’re probably thinking about your food—imagining the flavors, the texture, the sensations of eating it, the satisfaction of finally having it. That’s how you focus on your DR.

When you’re laying there doing your shifting process, think about what it feels like to be in your DR. Use your senses. Imagine the smells, the sounds, the things you’d touch, the things you’d hear. Visualize, ground yourself, and do what feels natural for you. There’s no right or wrong way to focus—just let yourself become immersed in the idea of your DR and trust it’s coming to you.

What you need to do is simple: select your meal, sit down, and know that it’s coming. I’m not even telling you to wait for it—just know that it’s already on its way. The moment you ordered, it became yours. That’s all there is to it.

#reality shifting #shifting #shifting community #shifting blog #shifting motivation #shifting reality #permashifting #shifting methods #shifting success #shiftblr #shifting antis dni #shifters #shifting storytime #shifting tips #respawning

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majestyeverlasting · 1 day ago

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Hello! If you are willing I would like to request a Frankie morales x reader oneshot? 🙃🙃 im obsessed with Frankie x wife reader lately and I was thinking maybe you could write somethin where the reader is pregnant and having cramps / contractions while Frankie is out with his friends and calls him all freaked out but even though it’s just false labour he still rushes home anyway?🥰🥰

(I love your writing btw I hope you accept this request thank you <3)

𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐥𝐚𝐲 | 𝐟𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐤𝐢𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐬

Pairing Frankie Morales x Female Reader

Summary A night of laughter, love, and quiet devotion reminds you and Frankie how much your world has grown—especially with your baby on the way.

A/N Thank you so much for this request and your patience, anon! This is my first time writing for Frankie, so let me know what you guys think.

⠂⠁⠈⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂

Across the living room, the evening news drones so low, the TV might as well not be on at all. Ten minutes ago, Frankie left you alone on the couch to go get ready for a night out. You’d looked up from your book long enough to catch the wink he shot you before disappearing up the staircase.

As easy as it would be for him to stay in, you insisted he go out and enjoy himself. The two of you had finally settled into your new home. Soon enough, the guys were starting to rib him about falling off the face of the earth.

He's getting better at striking a balance these days.

“Alright, hermosa,” he announces as he descends the stairs. “Here’s what I’m working with...”

Frankie walks back into the living room in dark-wash jeans and a sage button down. As you set your book aside, he offers a goofy spin in a lighthearted mockery of what you oftentimes do. You try to restrain your smile, but it shines through anyways. Frankie grins like he’s won a prize, teeth glinting along with the sparkle in his dark eyes.

Everyone said he was trouble when you first met. It didn’t take long to realize they meant the intoxicating kind that disarms a room, draws people in, makes them feel seen. The kind you’d never recover from losing if you let slip away.

A year ago, he got down on one knee and asked you for forever. That was the moment you realized that, in turn, you were the trouble he couldn’t bear to lose.

Before you have the chance to stand, he stalks over to you and leans down to capture your lips in a brief, tender kiss.

You smile when he pulls away to stand back up to his full height, all six feet and broad shoulders. Looking up at him from your seated position feels a little funny, but you can't bring yourself to mind. If for no other reason than the gentle way he pinches your upturned chin between his thumb and forefinger.

“Have fun,” you murmur as you blink up at him.

“I will.”

“And be safe.”

“Yes ma’am.” Frankie’s touch falls away, and you stand to wrap your arms around his neck.

You tuck your nose into his shirt as his strong arms encircle your waist. He smooths a large hand up your back before stilling at the nape of your neck to deliver a firm but gentle squeeze. As he starts to pull away, you slip your fingers into his hair to scratch his scalp with your nails. It’s been a while since his last haircut, and now the dark strands curl beneath his ears.

Frankie hums a low note of satisfaction. “Not fair.”

“Completely fair,” you lilt.

He chuckles and pulls back enough to meet your gaze. His eyes are soft as he says, “Should be back in a couple hours.”

“I’ll wait up.”

"You don't have to," he says.

"Don't I always?"

He thinks back over the times he's gone out without you, and yeah. You always do.

•••

It's quiet when he arrives back home.

He kicks his boots off at the door and notices a pink sticky note on the wall above the key holder. There's a smiley face and heart drawn on it along with "welcome back!!!" Frankie feels himself smiling as he plucks it off the wall and saunters further into the house.

In the living room, one lamp remains on so he can navigate his way through the otherwise dark space. You've folded the throw blanket. Fluffed and arranged the pillows like you do every night before bed. It’s the little things like that, little signs of life, that he’ll never tire of coming back home to.

When Frankie finally enters the bedroom, he sees your smile in the warm, dim lamplight. You're kneeling on the bed wearing the cutesy black pajama set he likes on you. A breathy chuckle escapes him as he takes you in before his eyes find yours.

He plays off the warmth in his cheeks by holding up the sticky note you had left for him.

You tilt your head with innocent, furrowed brows. “Where’d that come from?”

“Beats me," he plays along as you slide off the bed.

He sets the note on the dresser so he can rest his hands on your waist when you approach. The scent of vanilla evades his senses in the gentlest way.

“Did you have fun?” It’s a genuine question, but his mind goes fuzzy when you smooth your hands from his stomach up to his pecs.

With a distracted nod, his thumbs slip beneath your satin tank top to brush your skin. All he can think about is the gentleness of your touch. The way you begin to toy with the button at the top of his shirt without actually unbuttoning it.

“But not too much fun, right?” you ask. “You’re not too tired, are you?”

You finally pop the first button undone, then the next one, then the next. Revealing more and more of the dusting of hair across his tanned chest.

Rather than answering, he scoops you over his shoulder as you squeak his name.

Eight Months Later

It’s been a while since Frankie laughed this hard. When he’s finally on the verge of catching his breath, Santiago picks up from where Will left off in the story, and that pleasant side ache returns. If he weren't too busy swiping the tear from his eye, he reckons he’d see every head in the bar turned to gawk at the four cackling hyenas. A live country rock band plays as their soundtrack.

Luckily, that isn’t the case. Like them, everybody is lost in their own little worlds. With their own inside jokes and old stories that endure no matter how many times they're told.

“And that’s what your ass gets for trying to show off,” Will concludes. It earns him a prompt elbow to the side from his younger brother, whose cheeks are either flushed from the whiskey or embarrassment.

It had been the story about Benny getting told off by a group of older women during a group trip to Panama. Not in English, but in Spanish. The icing on the cake was that they had been pausing every few words so Santiago could translate for them in real time.

As their amusement begins to settle, they look around at each other and shake their heads. It’s been too long since they’ve gotten together like this. Frankie takes a small swig from his beer and lets his head rest against the wall behind him.

Under the dim lights, with drinks on the table, and surrounded by strangers, it feels as though no time has passed at all.

Benny’s eyes rove over to the recreation room, where people shoot pool and throw darts.

“I don’t know about y’all, but I’m ready to kick some ass in a game of 501,” he says.

William folds his hands on the table. “We puttin' money up?”

“Hell yeah, we are,” Benny scoffs and pulls a face. “I’m leaving here with something.”

“Twenty-five each and the winning team splits the pot?” Santiago proposes. “I call Fish on my team.” He gives Frankie's shoulder a squeeze.

Benny drums a beat on the table. “Let’s do it.”

They’re in the middle of scooting past other patrons when Frankie’s phone begins buzzing in his pocket. He doesn’t expect to see a picture of your face light up the screen. Santiago is the only one in the group who notices.

“Gotta take this,” Frankie tells him, and answers the call as he turns away.

“Hang on one second, honey, I’m getting someplace quiet.”

To make it to the front of the establishment, he shuffles between a small sea of tables filled with people with loose smiles and glowy faces. He holds the door open for a group of young ladies filing inside, which earns him a series of chirpy thank-yous. The giddy energy of the night fades once he’s outside, as if it was all stuffed within the walls of Dave's Bar and Grill. With the patio being around back, only a few people stand smoking out front.

The air is warm. A couple of the parking lot lights flicker. Frankie heads toward one of the benches as he says, “Alright, sweetheart, I’m here.”

A heavy breath is the first thing that greets him from the other end of the line.

“Frankie,” your voice is shaky, and his brow furrows as he takes a seat.

“Talk to me,” he coaxes, his voice even softer.

“I’m cramping pretty bad right now.” You take another deep breath. “I think it’s the Braxton Hicks the nurse was telling us about. They’re finally happening.”

He stands from the bench and begins pacing along the curb. “You sure they're the false ones?” he asks. “You know you’re body better than anybody else…”

“I’m ninety-nine percent sure.” Another sharp ache pulses low in your stomach, and makes you bite back a small whine.

Frankie releases his lower lip from between his teeth as guilt tugs at his chest. “Go lay down, okay?” he says as he fishes his truck keys out of his pocket. “Or run yourself a bath if you can manage. Nurse said that’s supposed to help.”

Shuffling arises on your end. “Okay,” you murmur.

“I’m on my way.”

Tonight, you can’t muster the willpower to tell him to stay out with his friends. Ever since you hit the thirty-four-week mark, you’ve been hyper-aware of every pang, flutter, and gurgle. Even if you were the one feeling the heat, it was easier to walk through the flames with him.

“Drive safe, okay?” you say. “Go the speed limit.”

“I’m always safe.” It’s a white lie, but he was getting much better. Especially now that he was about to have two people looking forward to him arriving home in one piece at the end of the day.

Life is a delicate, fragile, remarkable thing. It’s a fact that solidified all the more the first time you showed him a black-and-white ultrasound and pointed out your little girl.

“I’ll be there soon,” he promises.

Santiago steps outside as he's hanging up, immediately scoping out Frankie.

“Everything alright, man?” He searches Frankie’s gaze. He’s always analyzing and piecing together. People, places, things. Frankie doesn’t have to say anything. “Your wife and baby okay?”

Frankie nods, but there’s worry etched across his face. “Gonna head home to be on the safe side.”

“I’ll let the guys know.” Santiago pulls Frankie into a hug and gives him a few pats on the back. “It was good seeing you tonight.”

“Likewise.”

“Guess it’ll have to be a playdate next time,” Santiago teases.

Frankie cracks a smile.

•••

With the bathroom door cracked, you can hear the familiar shuffling of Frankie entering the house. His keys clink into the bowl shortly before the steps begin to creak under his weight. One purposeful footstep after the next, until he’s filling the doorway with a hand on his hip. But you sit in the bathtub with your eyes closed and your head tipped back. The subtle scent of lavender fills the humid air. You’re only visible from your collarbones up, and your pregnant stomach rises above the bubbly water.

Rather than speaking, he stands there and takes you in with those soft, dark eyes. You’re beautiful where you lay. His gaze is palpable, and opening your eyes to meet it solidifies for him that you’re okay. It's a silent assurance. These moments when you don't need words have only grown in number. Every trace of worry that once existed has dwindled away.

As he takes a small step inside, he tosses his baseball cap onto the sink counter and runs a hand through his hair. Tension melts from his shoulders in real time. Makes him look even taller where he stands.

“Hey,” he breathes.

“Hi,” you say, then note, "Your shoes."

The teasing undertone to your words makes him chuckle. At himself, at the fact that he’d rushed home, despite your warning, with a head full of clamoring thoughts. Thoughts of arriving to you in labor and having to deliver his own child. Or packing you into his truck and needing to pull over and do the very same. There was no middle ground.

He’d dedicated years of his life to working under the most intense pressure, but it was his pregnant wife who’d finally thrown that composure off course.

Yet here you were pointing out the fact that he had tracked his shoes upstairs.

Frankie crouches to untie his boots before kicking them off his feet. He stumbles in the process and has to brace himself on the sink. The smile already budding on your face blooms into a fuller one when he huffs and peeks over at you. When you straighten up, the water sloshes and reveals more of you chest.

A long sigh escapes him as he sits alongside the tub and stretches his long legs out in front of him. That’s when a laugh bubbles up your throat. Despite his best efforts to retrain his own amusement, he can’t help but join in. The two of you sit there laughing in a mix of relief and acceptance of the fact that your worlds have only just begun to change.

A comfortable silence soon settles in the space between you. Frankie gets an almost wistful look about him as he stares straight ahead.

“What are you thinking about?” you ask after a while.

He rests his arm on the side of the tub. “Us,” he answers. “Being parents.”

There’s an understated sense of anticipation in his tone that he still hasn’t been able to put into words. A small hint of apprehension lingers too, but the type that propels as opposed to paralyzes.

You hum as you run a wet hand over your glistening stomach.

“I love you,” he continues softly. “I love her.”

He reaches out to splay his large hand over your stomach. You smile as he continues talking, “Love that I get to do this with you.”

Fondness swells in your chest all the more. Like a third lung set on sustaining you too.

“I’d kiss you right now, but I don’t know how,” you admit.

Without hesitating, Frankie shifts so he’s able to steady your chin and press his lips to yours. You lift a hand to rest the tips of your fingers against his scruffy cheek. Frankie hums when you ghost your tongue along his lower lip, only to pull away like you have something to say. Before you can speak, he presses back in for one more soft peck, then touches his forehead to yours.

You feel yourself smiling. “What I was trying to say,” you start, but Frankie kisses you again because you’re right there, and because he can.

Butterflies erupt all throughout your stomach.

“Go ahead,” he finally coaxes with a small smile, lips brushing yours. “What were you gonna say, hermosa?” There’s a gruff, honeyed quality to his voice that you’re certain is intentional.

“That I love you too,” you whisper.

Thanks for reading! Likes, comments, and reblogs are always appreciated. I promise I see them all!

FRANKIE MASTERLIST

ALL MASTERLISTS

#frankie morales #catfish morales #frankie morales fanfic #frankie morales fanfiction #frankie morales fic #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales x female reader #frankie morales x pregnant reader #frankie morales x you #frankie morales x y/n #triple frontier #pedro pascal #frankie morales smut

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aesthetictarlos · 1 day ago

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Hold my hand, hold my heart as well

Rated G | 525 words | tooth rotting fluff

Written for @bucktommyfluffebruary day one prompt: non sexual intimacy.

I didn't plan to join Fluffebruary since I'm the one running the event but I can't stay away from my beloved fluff so here we go, just a ficlet I wrote in half an hour to celebrate our boys.

Read below or on AO3

Buck's never been a movie enthusiast but he enjoys movie nights with Tommy. His boyfriend is a bit nerdy when it comes to movies and Buck is more than happy to indulge him as they go through a list Tommy made because “there are movies you absolutely have to watch, babe.”

Most of all, he adores seeing Tommy so relaxed and comfortable as they snuggle up on the couch, bodies pressed together and a giant bowl of popcorn balanced precariously between them.

Tonight they're watching Notting Hill and he’s enjoying it - the plot and a young Hugh Grant - but it doesn't matter if he actually likes the movie they're watching or not, at some point he starts to get restless, unable to sit still.

They're halfway through the first part of the movie when he starts fidgeting with one of his hoodie strings, rolling it between his fingers.

Tommy, oh-so sweet Tommy, obviously notices and subtly moves his hand, resting it on top of his thigh and squeezing, a silent invitation that Buck doesn't miss because it's a habit, an established routine by now. When he gets restless, he holds Tommy's hand and plays with his fingers instead of torturing his own or the poor loose thread on his sweatpants.

Turning his head, he presses a soft kiss to Tommy's neck and then traces the veins on the back of his hand, reverently, one by one.

Buck loves Tommy’s big, warm, capable hands. He loves having them on his body, gentle fingers skimming across his skin, leaving goosebumps in their wake. He loves how perfectly their fingers fit together, loves how gentle Tommy is with his touch.

When they shook hands for the first time, Buck appreciated his firm but soft squeeze and the feeling of his callouses against his own but he had no idea that it was only the beginning. He had no idea that holding hands with Tommy would make him feel so safe, so loved, so complete, like two puzzle pieces finally sliding into place.

It's been a while since that first time, but the feeling is still the same and holding Tommy’s hand always calms him down instantly, especially when he's feeling restless.

He knows the palm and the back of Tommy's hand better than his own by now, so even if his eyes are fixed on the screen, he traces the tiny scars on Tommy's skin, the adorable mole on his third knuckle, the lines on his palm. He grazes every inch of his smooth skin, committing Tommy's hand to memory all over again.

When he's done with his gentle touching, he lets his lips take over, pressing them against Tommy's pulse point, along the thick veins on his wrist. He presses a kiss to his palm and then turns his hand so he can graze every knuckle, lingering on his ring finger, a promise of forever floating around them.

“I love you,” Buck whispers, still clutching Tommy's hand, pressing it against his chest as he settles back down, feeling warm all over as Tommy holds him close, brushing a kiss on his birthmark.

“I love you too, Evan.”

#bucktommy #tommy kinard #evan buckley #tevan #kinley #bucktommy ficlet #my fic #my writing #allie writes #bucktommyfluffebruary #buck and tommy

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lizziiszs · 20 hours ago

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tw; nsfw, sh

so i was thinking about how fucking weird but cool hiori's fractured girl fetish then i just started thinking right, bear with me,,

i think being overstimulation would be a massive turn on for hiori because it would be one of the very few things that feels validating to him. as a child, pushing himself physically would have earnt him praise and recognition from his team mates, coaches and most importantly, his parents. even upon realising that his parents are using him as a means to an end, hiori still feels somewhat validated. overexerting himself to near injury, the thought of working so hard for the benefit of those who are using him makes him feel sick, he hates it. yet he gets off to it because it's the only thing he's ever known, its a familiar feeling that felt good for a while. and he's afraid that it forever will.

this MIGHT be a stretch but i've written about hiori having a sexual liking for self-harm on his s/o. i think as someone who's always had to maintain his physical condition, he's never been able to take his frustration and grief out on himself in such a way. he thinks it'd be relieving and freeing but can't ever go so far. everything he has is on the shoulders of his body and it's capabilities, including every chance of leaving home so he cannot even THINK of committing such a thing.

don't get me wrong though he hates the fact that his s/o who means the entire fucking world to him has ever endured such suffering and it breaks his heart yet it doesn't stop him from feeling somewhat attracted to the idea. the idea of them feeling a similar way, how it's comforting to know someone else has also been treated so unfairly by circumstance. and he can't help but to feel so and in a sexual light and the feeling of guilt he has as a result of it gets him off even more.

the same goes for his fractured girl fetish, the guilt he experiences has him so fucking horny because it feels so good in the sense that its so immoral and straight up fucking weird. the thought of having a girl reliant on him drives him insane. he wants to, for once, be the person who isn't dependent on someone else in order to get by (his parents' validation, other team mates to pass to etc.).

although the sadist part comes from the realisation that his parents are actually dependent on HIM. their entire relationship and careers have collided for HIM to exist,, what happens as a result of that is the work of hiori and his somewhat extraordinary capabilities. sometimes, he feels really fucking good about himself. like even saying the words 'i wanna quit' or 'i don't wanna go pro' would fling his parents into such a rage or total breakdown- he has yet to try it though.

he also will not accommodate to those who cannot keep up with him on the pitch, humiliating those who cannot even play alongside him. and obviously its a huge turn on because it feels good and hold onnnn everything that feels good to him crosses over with sexuality.

(this is a massive personal confession but) as someone who has no idea what his feelings are, doesn't care and doesn't know how to distinguish them,, everything that feels remotely good crosses over into sexual pleasure. its a stupid and really fucking weird thing but i feel as, since he was very emotionally deprived as a child, its a possible idea.

i'm gonna back this up by saying that he is chronically online and a bitch gamer boy. he totally would.

don't tell me you read all that.

i now aspire to look like erika toda in spec: birth

hiori i want you

(he lets me project)

#lizzietalksfornogoodreason #im losing my mind #hiori yo hcs #i love hiori yo #hiori yo #bllk #blue lock

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bambi-kinos · 2 days ago

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Thank you for your refreshingly honest comments about Yoko Ono. I find people’s sycophancy towards her and refusal to examine her behaviour a bit sickening, to be honest. There’s clearly an unspoken rule that Yoko is off limits, which is very strange, given that no other person or subject is. Anyway, what I would like to ask you is this: to what extent, if any, do you think Yoko was herself a victim? Did she simply find herself surrounded by bad people who manipulated her (the Sams, John Green, Fred Seaman, etc), or did she seek those people out to do her bidding? From what we know of the plan she made at the start with Tony and the fact that Dan Richter (a very unsettling character in the whole sordid tale) was an old friend who she brought in as part of that plan, I think the latter. But most people on here think she’s great and that she couldn’t help being mentally ill, so hey, maybe it’s just me and my cynicism that says she’s every bit as wicked as her ex-employees claim. What do you think?

When it comes to how Yoko is treated, there's genuinely a lot of nasty history there so fans on tumblr try to tread carefully. It's not an exaggeration that Yoko faced a lot of horrible racism when she was with John and there were even moments when John had to shield her from physical harm. And she was a lightning rod of criticism for lots of other reasons. Once John died she was essentially put in the role of "grieving widow" and boy howdy she milked that forever but it also meant that people were suddenly less willing to criticize her because they didn't want to add to her troubles.

Not to mention John and Yoko worked very hard to network with up and comers once they realized old hands like Ray Connelly wasn't going to play ball with them since they were too experienced. They created a lot of journalistic careers by making the right friends in the 1970s. Many media personalities feel indebted to them and would happily throw themselves in front of a car if Mommy Yoko and Daddy John don't suffer even a whiff of a papercut. When you read Eliot Mintz's book you realize that John and Yoko very deliberately targeted emotionally vulnerable people with empty lives and no strong parental figures so that they could become a quasi-family to them. That's what happened to poor Mintz, John would scream racial slurs at him (because Mintz is Jewish) and Mintz would just kind of. Stand there and take it while John screeched and squalled trying to pretend he was still a bigshot and not a drunkard in his 30s abusing his personal assistant. So much of the public bubble you've noticed is a result of John and Yoko's recruiting tactics. Celebrities usually get a level of protection but John and Yoko cynically courted and elevated the right people to wrap themselves in adamantium.

Fans try too hard to handle her lightly as a result of all the heat she took after marrying John, especially since a bit more is now known about her life and how she grew up and how her dad didn't treat her very well. I also think that there's an element of disbelief, like Yoko's crimes are insane and outlandish, no one wants to believe that they are true. And I know from personal experience that if you try to bring outlandish but true things to someone's attention about their favorite celebrity, you immediately get screaming and hysterics. Cult think is strong.

I don't think Beatle fans on tumblr necessarily buy in to excuses about mental illness and trauma but I do think that they're scared of being criticized or being accused of racism if they're too hard on Yoko. Tumblr users are uniquely vulnerable to that sort of thing because of this website's history and demographics so they take the easy route. I don't really blame them tbh, you never know when something is going to blow up in your face and who wants to court that trouble? There's no benefit to talking about Yoko's problems and abuse of John and Sean in depth since most people are just here for the fanart.

But to move on to your question: I think Yoko was an experienced con artist and manipulator with a genuine artistic vision but I also think she got in way over her head. Yoko's thing appears to have been that she and Tony would scam John with art pieces and that's why they did insane shit like making a contract to split the earnings they got from John 50/50. Get him to buy some plastic crap (that was quite literally all the rage in the 60s "zomg plastic!!!!") and then take the money and run. But I think Yoko sensed early that John was an easy mark and that he was someone she could pump and dump. I think that Yoko started seeing dollar signs and pursued John to get a bigger and bigger payday, she was chasing that dragon.

When it comes to the people Yoko was surrounded by, it's another case of her walking in with her eyes wide open but not realizing how completely in over her head she was. She very deliberately surrounded herself with con artists just like her because she thought it would be easier to control John and fortify her power over him. There were outliers like John Green/Charlie Swan where she believed his bullshit (the man is a masterful con artist) but she was convinced that she was much smarter and savvier than she really was and that she would see through any scams. She was blinded by her pride and never realized just how many rides she was taken for. Like IIRC Charlie Swan helped someone fence a fake painting to her that she paid millions for lol. They realized that she was an easy mark specifically because of her conviction that she was a worldly and experience player. Reader, she is not.

You can see this mindset during her life with John, they were hiring people off the street to work for them and never noticed they were being robbed blind. Like she and John were hoarders to the Nth degree, they bought all those extra condos in the Dakota specifically so that had storage units for all the useless shit they bought. Hundreds maybe thousands of shirts, pants, dresses, coats, scarves, jewelry, never worn and never catalogued, never looked after. Paintings and ancient artifacts stolen from Egypt on the black market, Yoko may have purchased as many as two different Egyptian mummies. Those people that they brought in from the street learned quickly that they could steal whatever they wanted and John and Yoko would never notice. A few of them were caught but there was one case where someone lifted 5 Hermès scarves from Yoko and she didn't notice for over a month and then dragged her heels on filing the police report. Because the Hermès scarves were not actually important since she had dozens of them in the storage apartments. I imagine the staff that stayed on learned quickly that they could steal freely so long as they were smart about it. God knows that's what I would do lmao.

But the point is that Yoko knowingly took in people who were willing to steal from her because she thought she could outsmart or control them, she had no idea how to defend against complicated tactics like "I'll put this in my bag and walk out with it at the end of my shift." I have the feeling John took the theft a lot more seriously than she did. Not that he was willing to do his bit and look after their collection of high end junk, I can't imagine what all their expensive clothes looked like after 10 years in that storage unit since neither of them protected them from pests.

Yoko willingly took these people on and invited them into her home. She and John thought they could use the likes of Charlie Swan and Fred Seaman and the Sams the same way they used journalists like Jann Wenner. What John and Yoko did not realize is that journalism is Hollywood for ugly people, that journalists are uniquely deficient in character or backbone and that journalists are always on the look out for a new Daddy and Mommy to pat them on the head and say "good job son!" Journalists and Hollywood actors are the same, they have holes in their chests were Mom's love and Dad's pride should be.

The problem for Yoko is that the scam artists she hired were extremely skilled, experienced, and ice cold. I love Charlie Swan's book Dakota Days and I believe every word of it (I can repost my review of it if you like) but especially because he coldly shows how childish and self absorbed John and Yoko really were. While they were faffing around doing rich people shit like flying around to random cities based on one guy's bespoke numerology, Charlie Swan grew up having to work for a living before getting into the astrology business. He knew what it was like to work difficult jobs for little money and even attended university and earned a degree in a time before universities became diploma mills. He was savvy and educated and lived an entire life before meeting John and Yoko, got spiritual fulfillment and assurance from his magickal practice. Charlie Swan did not have a hole in his chest where Mom's love and Dad's pride should be. Which meant he simply could not be manipulated the way a journalist can be manipulated. And Yoko Ono could not comprehend this and could do nothing about it. Nothing she said or did had any power over Charlie. She couldn't do anything to him and he frequently scammed her out of millions all while laughing up his sleeve. She thought she could control him but the truth is he had her completely under his thumb. Kind of amazing actually.

The thing that has always baffled me about Yoko is how easy it is to kick her around and stand up to her. John Lennon too as a matter of fact, I don't understand this handwringing and moaning and fear around his "great wit." I grew up on 4chan, I know people who could turn John inside out with a well placed photoshop. It's genuinely baffling to me that Yoko and John were not savagely and relentlessly bullied. They should have been. It lead John and Yoko to develop inflated egos where they thought they were genuinely intimidating. They never realized how pathetic and easily taken in they were because everyone else found it more useful and lucrative to scam them. It's fascinating that Yoko willingly brought these people into her life with John and never once realized that there was a problem.

#john lennon #yoko ono #anonymous asks #talktalktalk #the beatles #beatles meta #my meta #dakota days

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cherryxbooo · 7 hours ago

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omg i love your mason fic, the angst one. please write more angst i love your writings!!

Lost me forever

Summary: You thought you had finally found 'the one' and that you were the first choice all along, but that was until the truth finally came to light.

Note: Thank you so much lovely! As for the angst request, your wish is my command! I chose to write this for Mason since I found it fitting. Hope you enjoy it!

Reader x Mason Mount

Genre: Angst

Loving Mason Mount felt like the easiest thing in the world.

It was effortless, like breathing, like waking up to golden sunlight streaming through the curtains, warming my skin before his arms ever had the chance.

From the moment we found our way to each other, it felt like the universe had been waiting for it to happen.

Like everything before him had been grayscale, and he was the color I’d been missing.

He made life feel lighter, and softer. It wasn’t just the grand moments, it was the little things.

Like the way his fingers would find mine beneath restaurant tables, absently tracing patterns against my palm as he listened to me talk.

Or how he would pull me back into bed on Sunday mornings, refusing to let me go,

his voice thick with sleep as he mumbled, “Five more minutes, baby. Just five more.”

And we both knew it would never be just five.

It was the way he’d insist on carrying my books when he met me outside my lectures, even though I told him I could handle it.

“I know you can, but I like taking care of you,” he’d say, pressing a kiss to my temple before reaching for my bag anyway.

Late-night drives with the windows down, my feet propped up on the dashboard as he glanced over at me, grinning like I was his favorite sight in the world.

“You know I love you, right?” he'd say out of nowhere, his voice soft but certain.

And every time, my heart would stumble over itself as I whispered back,

“Yeah. I know. I love you too.”

The way he’d tuck me into his chest on the couch, his fingers running lazily through my hair as we half-watched a movie, more focused on each other than whatever was playing.

Or how he’d tease me when I got grumpy, pressing exaggerated kisses all over my face until I was laughing, pushing him away only for him to pull me right back.

He made me feel adored. Cherished.

Like I was his entire world.

And for a while, I truly believed he loved me just as much as I loved him.

But I didn’t realize that, all along, he was still orbiting around someone else.

The change was subtle at first. So subtle that I almost convinced myself it wasn’t happening.

At first, it was little things.

Mason would forget to text me back, not just for a few minutes, but for hours.

I’d send him something funny, something I knew would’ve made him laugh before, and the read receipt would linger, unanswered.

Maybe he’s busy. Maybe he’s just tired. I made excuses, brushing it off like it wasn’t the start of something unraveling.

Then he started canceling plans last minute.

"Sorry, something came up. Training ran late. I’m exhausted, let’s do tomorrow?"

Tomorrow would turn into the next day, then the next, until suddenly, I realized I was the only one trying to reschedule.

Our deep, intimate conversations, the ones where we’d stay up until three in the morning talking about everything and nothing, where he’d tell me about his childhood dreams, his fears, the things he never admitted to anyone else, turned into empty small talk.

"How was your day? Did you eat?"

His words felt distant, mechanical, like he was just going through the motions.

I tried to ignore the way his responses lacked warmth, the way he barely asked about me anymore.

And when we were together, it felt like he wasn’t really there.

He’d sit next to me on the couch, but his body was tense, like he was waiting for an excuse to leave.

He’d hold my hand, but it didn’t feel the same, his grip wasn’t as firm, as reassuring.

His kisses were quick, and absentminded, like they were more of a habit than something he wanted to do.

The worst part? He stopped looking at me like he used to.

The light in his eyes, the way they used to soften when they met mine, it was gone.

Now, when I caught him staring, it felt like he was searching for something that wasn’t there anymore.

I tried not to let it bother me. I told myself it was stress, that he was overwhelmed with training, with matches, with the constant pressure to perform.

It has nothing to do with me. I repeated it like a mantra, like if I said it enough, I’d believe it.

But deep down, I felt it.

The distance. The absence of his warmth.

The quiet way he was slipping away from me, little by little, day by day.

Then came the late nights.

I’d wake up to an empty bed, the sheets cold where he should’ve been.

At first, I thought maybe he couldn’t sleep, maybe he was just restless.

But then I heard it. The hushed whispers from the other room, the way his voice softened in a way it never did with me anymore.

The first time, I told myself I was imagining things.

The second time, I told myself it was probably a teammate.

The third time, I stopped lying to myself.

Because when I walked in too quickly, when I caught him sitting on the edge of the couch, phone pressed to his ear, he snapped his head up so fast it was like he’d been caught doing something he wasn’t supposed to.

His expression shifted, just for a second, before he forced a smile, one that didn’t reach his eyes.

“Couldn’t sleep,” he murmured, shoving his phone into his pocket.

“Didn’t wanna wake you.”

I wanted to believe him. I wanted to trust him like I always had.

But my heart was screaming at me. Telling me something was wrong.

I just didn’t want to ask.

Because I already knew I wouldn’t like the answer.

The night everything fell apart,

I was at Mason’s place, curled up on his couch, wrapped in the blanket he always draped over my shoulders whenever I got cold.

It smelled like him, like the faint traces of his cologne mixed with something unmistakably him, something that once made me feel safe.

I had been waiting for him to get back from training, my phone resting loosely in my hand as I scrolled absentmindedly, not really paying attention to anything on the screen.

The TV hummed softly in the background, playing an episode of a show we had started together but never finished.

He used to insist on waiting for me before watching the next one. Lately, he didn’t wait anymore.

I tried not to think about it too much.

I tried not to think about any of it too much.

The unanswered texts. The canceled plans.

The way his kisses felt like muscle memory instead of something he wanted.

I had spent weeks, months, convincing myself that this was just a rough patch.

That things would go back to normal once the season settled, once the stress faded, once he had time to breathe.

That we would go back to normal.

I wasn’t looking for answers that night.

I wasn’t searching for proof that something was wrong.

But sometimes, the truth doesn’t wait for you to be ready.

Sometimes, it finds you when you least expect it.

And that night, it found me in the form of an unexpected message on Mason’s laptop.

The screen lit up suddenly, casting a soft glow over the coffee table. At first, I barely noticed.

I was too lost in my own head, too focused on distracting myself from the gnawing ache in my chest.

I wasn’t the kind of person to snoop. I had never needed to be.

I trusted Mason.

Or at least, I thought I did.

But then, my eyes flickered to the name at the top of the message.

And my heart stopped.

Her name.

His ex Charlotte.

I stared at it, my breath catching in my throat.

It was just a name. Just a simple notification.

And yet, it felt like the ground beneath me had shifted.

There was no reason for them to be talking. No good reason, at least.

Mason never spoke about her. He had told me, once, that their story was over.

That I was the only one he saw a future with. That she was a part of his past, and that’s where she would stay.

I wanted to believe him. I had believed him.

So then why was she here, on his screen, reaching out like she had never really left?

For a moment, I hesitated.

I wanted to look away, to pretend I hadn’t seen it, to act like it was just some meaningless message.

That would be easier, wouldn’t it? I could go back to the way things were, smiling through the doubt, pushing aside the way he had been slipping away from me piece by piece.

But then I saw the preview of the message.

Just a few words.

But they were enough to send ice through my veins.

I miss you.

My hands shook as I reached for the laptop.

My heart pounded against my ribs, screaming at me, begging me to stop.

But I couldn’t.

I clicked on the message.

Then another. And another.

And with every message I read, my world crumbled around me.

It wasn’t just casual conversation.

It wasn’t Hey, how have you been? or Hope you're doing well.

It was confessions whispered in the dead of night.

It was I think about you all the time.

It was I miss everything about you.

It was Being with her doesn’t feel the same.

It was I still love you.

The air rushed from my lungs.

I blinked. Once. Twice.

Waiting, praying, for the words to change.

For my eyes to be playing tricks on me.

But they didn’t change.

They sat there, staring back at me like undeniable proof that I had been living in a lie.

Every moment Mason and I had shared, every soft I love you, every late-night conversation, every time he had pulled me close and promised me forever, it had all been meaningless.

I had just been something to fill the space she left behind.

A placeholder.

A distraction.

A way for him to forget the girl he really wanted.

And the worst part?

I never even saw it coming.

I had been so sure of him. So sure of us.

I had loved him with everything I had, blind to the fact that his heart had never really been mine to begin with.

Tears blurred my vision, but I couldn’t cry. Not yet.

Not until I heard the sound of keys jingling at the door.

Mason was home.

And I had a choice to make.

Pretend I hadn’t seen anything, pretend I hadn’t fallen apart while reading his betrayal in black and white.

Or look him in the eye and ask the question I already knew the answer to.

When Mason walked through the door, tired and unsuspecting, his duffel bag slung lazily over his shoulder, I felt my entire body lock up.

He ran a hand through his damp hair, his shirt sticking slightly to his skin from the shower he took after training, and for a fleeting second,

I saw the version of him I used to love, the boy who used to make me feel like the center of his world.

But that version of Mason didn’t exist anymore.

He didn’t know it yet, but I had seen everything.

His lips parted slightly when his eyes landed on me, confusion flickering across his face as he took in my stiff posture, the way my arms were crossed tightly over my chest like they were the only thing keeping me together.

His gaze shifted to the coffee table, to where his laptop sat open, the screen still glowing.

He didn’t know yet, but he would.

The air in the room shifted.

"Hey, love." His voice was soft, familiar, too familiar.

Like he hadn’t just shattered me beyond repair.

I didn’t respond.

I reached for the laptop, my movements slow, deliberate, my fingers curling around the edges before I threw it onto the table between us.

The loud smack echoed in the silent apartment.

Mason flinched slightly, his brows knitting together. “What the hell—”

"Tell me the truth." My voice trembled, but there was an edge to it, sharp enough to cut.

His eyes darted between mine, searching, confused. “Y/n, what—”

I lifted a hand and pointed at the screen, my entire body trembling with the weight of what I had just discovered.

"Don’t. Just tell me the truth."

His eyes flickered down.

And in that moment, I saw everything.

The way his entire body tensed.

The way his face lost its color, his jaw tightening as his throat bobbed.

The way his fingers twitched at his sides, his breathing suddenly uneven.

He didn’t have to say anything.

I already knew.

But I wanted him to say it.

I wanted him to look me in the eye and own what he had done.

He let out a slow, shaky breath, his lips pressing together as if he was trying to find the right words.

"It’s not what you think—"

A bitter laugh burst from my lips before I could stop it.

I felt something inside me snap.

"Not what I think?" I repeated, my voice rising, the disbelief dripping from every syllable.

I jabbed a finger toward the screen, toward her name, toward the messages that had destroyed me.

“So you didn’t tell her you missed her? You didn’t tell her being with me wasn’t the same? You didn’t tell her you still love her?”

Mason inhaled sharply, his lips parting like he wanted to deny it,

God, I wanted him to deny it, but no words came.

His silence was louder than any excuse he could’ve made.

My throat tightened, the lump there threatening to choke me, but I refused to let him see me break.

I had already given him too much of me. I wouldn’t give him this too.

"Was I ever anything more than a rebound to you?" I whispered.

His face crumbled.

"Y/n—"

"Answer me!" I snapped, my voice cracking.

His lips pressed into a thin line. His hands curled into fists at his sides.

And then, hesitation.

Just a second. Just the briefest pause.

But that was all I needed.

I let out a sharp breath, my hands trembling as I wiped at my eyes, willing the tears away.

"I hope she was worth it, Mason." The words felt like acid on my tongue.

I turned away, grabbing my bag from the couch with numb fingers, my entire body screaming at me to run, run, run.

"Y/n, wait—" His voice cracked.

I felt his hand wrap around my wrist, not rough, not forceful, just desperate.

For the first time, I looked at him, really looked at him.

His face was drawn, his eyes wide, pleading.

His grip on my wrist tightened slightly, like he was afraid that if he let go, I’d disappear.

"Please." His voice was barely above a whisper.

I swallowed hard, my chest rising and falling in uneven breaths.

"You don’t get to do that," I said, my voice barely steady.

I yanked my wrist free, stepping back.

"You don’t get to break me and then ask me to stay."

Mason exhaled sharply, running a hand over his face, through his hair, looking more panicked now.

“I never meant—” He cut himself off like the words physically hurt to say.

I shook my head. “You never meant for me to find out.”

Silence.

He didn’t argue.

He didn’t fight for me.

Because he knew.

He knew there was nothing left to fight for.

I felt a sob clawing at my throat, but I swallowed it down.

I refused to break in front of him.

I took a shaky step back. Then another.

"Goodbye, Mason."

And then I turned.

I walked to the door, my steps unsteady, my hands trembling as I reached for the handle.

"Y/n." My name was a whisper, a plea.

I didn’t stop.

I didn’t look back.

And Mason didn’t stop me.

Because he knew, he had already lost me. Lost me forever.

Mason stood there,

This is what he wanted right?

Now he could go back to Charlotte without having to hide it.

But if this was what he wanted, why did he feel so guilty? Why does it feel like he has lost something big? Why was he feeling... regret?

Mason shrugged off those feelings before muttering "She was just a rebound, this is what I wanted right?"

And that was all it took for him to move on.

Well at least for now.

Mason got back together with his ex two weeks later.

At first, it felt right.

She was familiar. She was comfortable. She was the girl he had spent so long missing, the one who had haunted his thoughts even when he was with Y/n.

For a brief moment, he convinced himself he had made the right choice.

But then, the cracks started to show.

The first time he noticed it was during dinner.

They sat across from each other at a high-end restaurant she had insisted on, a place where the food was overpriced and the lighting dim enough to make everything look perfect for Instagram.

Mason had been talking about his match earlier that day, how exhausted he was, how he’d nearly scored but missed by inches.

She didn’t even look up from her phone.

"That’s nice, babe," she murmured, her perfectly manicured fingers typing away.

He stared at her, waiting, expecting her to say more.

She didn’t.

Instead, she snapped a photo of their untouched plates, adjusted the lighting, and posted it with a caption that had nothing to do with him.

That was just the beginning.

The thoughtful gestures, the ones Y/n had done so naturally, were gone.

There were no lazy Sunday mornings where she curled into his chest, tracing mindless patterns on his skin.

No soft kisses just because.

No remembering how he liked his tea or sneaking his favorite snacks into the fridge after a long day.

Charlotte wasn’t cruel. She wasn’t awful. She was just… absent.

It was clear she loved the idea of him, the status, the lifestyle, the way people looked at them when they walked into a room together.

But him? The man behind the footballer, the one with worries and insecurities, the one who needed comfort just as much as anyone else?

She didn’t see him.

And suddenly, Mason realized, he had been chasing a ghost.

The woman he had truly loved, the one who had memorized every detail about him, who had supported him through every loss, who had loved him for the man and not the player, was gone.

Y/n had been that woman.

His Y/n.

And he had thrown her away like she was nothing.

One night, after another meaningless fight, this time over why he wasn’t posting her on social media enough, he sat alone in his apartment, scrolling through his camera roll.

The pictures of Y/n were still there.

Her smile, so genuine.

The way she looked at him like he was her entire world.

The little videos she had taken when he wasn’t paying attention, him cooking, him laughing at something dumb, him asleep with his arm wrapped around her waist like he never wanted to let go.

He had been so loved.

And he had destroyed it.

By the time he realized his mistake, it was too late.

Y/n had vanished from his life.

Blocked his number. Deleted their pictures. Disappeared without a trace.

At first, he thought maybe she just needed time.

That eventually, she’d cool down, pick up one of his calls, and answer one of his texts.

She never did.

He tried her best friend.

"She doesn’t want anything to do with you."

He tried her family.

"Mason, you hurt her. Let her go."

Her colleagues, her neighbors, nobody would tell him where she was.

And then, one day, when he came to her house once again he heard one of her neighbors call out for him.

"You should stop trying son. Didn't you hear? She left the country."

His stomach dropped.

"What?" His voice was barely above a whisper.

"Yeah, she moved. Took some big job offer or something. Left everything behind."

Mason’s heart pounded in his chest.

She had left.

His Y/n had left.

Started fresh. Moved somewhere new. Somewhere he could never reach her.

And for the first time in his life, Mason Mount, who had always been able to fix his mistakes, to win people back with a smile or an apology, knew he had lost her forever.

And this time, there was no getting her back.

That night, I made my decision.

I sat in my apartment, staring at the email that had been sitting in my inbox for days.

A job offer.

My dream job. The one I had turned down for him.

For so long, I had let my love for Mason dictate my every move.

I had stayed when I should have gone, let him convince me that we were enough, that we could make a future together.

I had put his dreams, his career, his needs first, and let mine slip into the background.

But that future didn’t exist anymore.

And now? I had nothing left to lose.

So, I took a deep breath, wiped away the last of my tears, tears that had been falling for weeks now, and clicked accept.

The next few weeks passed in a blur of packing, selling off things I didn’t need, and coming to terms with the fact that I was leaving the place that had once felt like home.

It wasn’t easy, but it was necessary.

"Are you sure about this?" my best friend asked, standing in the middle of my now half-empty apartment.

I exhaled slowly, trying to hold it together.

“I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.”

And I meant it.

The morning of my flight, I did one last thing before leaving.

I blocked Mason. Everywhere.

His number. His Instagram. His Twitter. His email.

I erased him the way he had erased me.

And then I left.

As the plane took off and the city shrank beneath me, I finally felt it. The weight lifting from my chest.

The space inside me that had been filled with doubt, uncertainty, and longing, is now empty but... free.

A new country. A new life. A fresh start.

No more waiting for someone to choose me.

This time, I was choosing myself.

And Mason?

He was just a chapter in a book I had already finished reading.

Mason thought he had made the right choice.

He thought that getting back with his ex would fill the emptiness he felt after losing Y/n, but all it did was magnify the hollowness in his chest.

It was then, in the quiet moments of the night when he lay awake in his bed, that it hit him.

Y/n had been the one.

She had been the one who truly understood him.

The one who saw the person behind the jersey, behind the fame, behind the image.

She was the one who had loved him for him, not for the trophies or the spotlight.

And he had thrown it all away.

He had thrown her away.

But now, it was too late.

The more he tried to convince himself that things were fine, the more he realized that nothing felt right.

His ex wasn’t the person he needed.

And he was so damn lonely.

Training started slipping. He missed passes, lost focus, and the frustration was unbearable.

His coach started noticing, and his teammates were starting to get concerned.

He couldn’t even summon the motivation to push himself. Every match felt pointless, every goal out of reach.

He couldn’t concentrate. His heart wasn’t in it anymore.

His head wasn’t in it. His life wasn’t in it.

And the worst part?

He couldn’t stop thinking about her.

Y/n.

The way she would smile at him after a tough day, the way her laugh would fill the room like music.

The way she would hold him close when he was stressed or frustrated, as if just being near her was enough to make everything better.

The way she’d remember the smallest details about him, how she would surprise him with his favorite snacks or take care of him when he was sick.

He had taken it all for granted.

And now, he would never have it again.

One night, after yet another argument with his ex, something about him not being “present enough”

Mason sat on the edge of his bed, staring at his phone.

He had tried calling Y/n again. She didn’t answer.

Of course, she wasn't going to answer.

She had blocked him everywhere, but every day he hoped that for some magical reason, she would've unblocked him everywhere.

He checked his messages, hoping, praying, that maybe, just maybe, she would reach out. But nothing.

It was as if she had vanished from his life completely.

And that’s when the weight of it all crashed down.

He realized that he had let her slip through his fingers, and now, she was gone.

For good.

Days blurred together as Mason sank deeper into his depression. His training was a mess.

His performance on the field was getting worse by the day.

His teammates were starting to notice his lack of focus and his erratic behavior. He didn’t care. He couldn’t care.

And then, it hit him like a slap in the face.

It was Y/n all along, not Charlotte. Y/n was his girl and not that fame-sucking ex of his.

Mason had spent so long taking her love for granted, thinking it would always be there, thinking he could come back when it suited him.

But now? Now he realized the truth: She had been the love of his life.

And he had lost her.

Forever.

He spent days in his apartment, alone with his thoughts, battling the crushing weight of regret.

He would never see her smile again, never hear her voice telling him that everything would be okay.

He had let the one person who truly loved him slip away because he couldn’t appreciate her until it was too late.

And in the silence of his empty apartment, with nothing but his thoughts and his guilt to keep him company,

Mason finally understood what he had lost.

Y/n.

The girl he had taken for granted. The one who had loved him without hesitation.

The one he would never get back.

The end

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