#so when you guys are kind to me and stuff and or send an ask in my inbox I’m genuinely shocked and happy that you came to talk to me yk?

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~Never Feeling Like I’ve Been Loved~

Part 3: Nothing Can Set Me Free

You don't know what to believe. You don't know who to believe. Your new realization destroyed any semblance of normalcy you had. But then, you finally get your answers. It tells you the so-called truth and you trust it more than you should. And, of course, you make mistakes. Who doesn't?

<< Part 1 ||| < Part 2

~~~ ...im just gonna leave this here. 11.6k words its my biggest one yet !!!! this is now a 200 follower special lol so thank u guys for 200 followers :)) <33 hope u guys enjoy !!!! i know i didnt !!!!

~~~

You can’t sleep. 

To be fair, you’ve never truly had a good night’s rest. Now, you don’t think you’ll ever sleep again. 

The soul isn’t Kris. That part you’ve figured out. But what part of Kris is the soul?

You get it now. The extrovert nature, the forwardness, the second voice. You’ve been talking to the soul for the past who knows how long? That must be why it’s so comfortable around you; why it acts like you truly are friends. Maybe you are, in some messed up way.

The soul’s been controlling Kris. But why now? What makes now so important? Is it all the time? Only when the soul’s inside them? Yeah, yeah. That explains the cage. Okay.

You rummage through your jumbled memories, trying to differentiate between the two Kris’. You thought something was wrong, but you can’t believe you had to be straight up told to recognize it.

What kind of friend are you? ~*•*~ You got a call yesterday. After you got home. After your little rendezvous. 

It was Kris. Because of course it was.

Or was it? Was it actually the soul calling you? How many times have you called Kris while they’ve been possessed?

Not a lot, a comforting thought pushes its way to the front. It’s why you always call after midnight.

You were too stressed to even consider picking up. The idea didn’t register to you. 

You let it ring. And ring. A text followed shortly after:

found it

You stare at it for an hour. Another comes in. 

gnight

You sent a thumbs up.

~*•*~

It’s been a few days. You’ve been making up for the lack of social interaction you’ve been missing. You pretty much show up out of the blue, asking your friends if they all want to go out for dinner. They agree. They don’t bring it up your deep eyebags. They don’t bring up how fake you’ve become. You’re plastic at this point.

…

You understand what it means to truly ghost someone now. 

You’re sure they’ve both noticed. You ignore almost every text Kris sends you, which yeah, isn’t a lot, but it’s more than they usually send.

Is it the soul? Is it forcing them to text you? This is unusual for them. They don’t send texts like this. 

You’ve developed a failsafe: Assume soul unless proven otherwise.

And so, you completely avoid them at school. When you hear them speak, just a sliver, you hear that grueling second voice. You’re spitting excuses to bolt before they can stop you.

You feel guilty. Kris hasn’t done anything. They don’t deserve this.

…but does the soul deserve this, either?

Of course it does. It tricked you into thinking–

Yeah, okay. But it didn’t really do anything wrong. 

It possesses your best friend!

What if it didn’t mean to?

That’s a dangerous assumption to make. 

…

What if it really does need you?

Be quiet. You just want to feel needed.

~*•*~

Kris keeps texting. You’ve never seen them text this much. 

There’s no questioning the stability of your mental health from them. It’s mostly just normal things. Random gifs. Stuff they probably thought you’d find funny. 

It must be the soul, right? What if it’s picked up Kris’ mannerisms by now? It must be worrying that you’re ignoring it.

…Unless Kris really is worried about you.

You can’t wait. The anticipation is killing you. The call button looks very enticing. So you dial. 

They pick up on the first ring.

Silence.

You hold your breath. You’re almost sure they do too.

You don’t dare to speak. You need to hear their voice. You need to make sure it’s them.

More silence. It’s like you’re both expecting the other to break first.

You hate this.

You pull the phone away from your ear to stare at the contact. You almost debate hanging up, when–

“Hi.”

…

You can’t believe they actually folded.

But no voice. You don’t hear it.

Okay. This is okay. They’re okay.

You’re okay.

~*•*~

‘Because you’re the only one who can help me stop it.’

Is it bad you’re even considering this statement to be true?

You’ve heard it all– seen it all. Everything this town has to offer. Nothing changes. But you’ve never seen anything like the soul before. A separate entity living inside a human through its life force. That makes it mystical. Special. It really is neither human nor monster. That in itself is safe to assume.

What if it does know more than you? The end of the world? The ROARING?

What does any of it mean? Why’s it telling you?

‘I’m going to cause it.’

It wouldn’t admit that if it was true. It seemed so adamant on opposing this catastrophic event at the time. So– why’d it say that?

You want to go back. So bad. Ask the questions pounding in your head.

But you’re scared. It can read your mind.

You can’t slip up. Not once.

~*•*~

It’s pouring. You’re entranced by the patter on your window.

You can’t sleep again. You’re not as used to it as you thought you were. Not when there’s so many things on your mind.

There was a thump on your roof about an hour ago. You knew exactly who it was as soon as it happened. A part of you was glad to hear it. Another part of you was nervous. 

But they haven’t moved since. They’re just sitting out there. On your roof. In the rain.

Your window’s open. You don’t know why they aren’t coming in.

Your mind starts to spiral into ‘is this the soul? Has it come to kidnap you? Force you to help it?’

But the tiny doubt that whispers ‘it’s Kris’ makes you push your window open yourself.

You stick your head out, finding them to your right. They’re melted against the brick, no doubt trying to shield themself under the small overhang. They might’ve given up at some point. They’re soaked.

Their sweater is drenched a deep, dark green and their damp hair sticks to their face when they spot you.

The sight makes you want to cry.

God, you feel so selfish. You’re worried about the soul trying to be your ‘friend’? What about Kris?

Constantly being puppeteered by something they don’t understand. Or maybe they do, to some degree. You sure as hell don’t.

You recognize it now; the restraint they have when the soul speaks for them. You couldn’t imagine being forced to say something you don’t want to. Constantly being dragged around to places they don’t want to go. They’ve completely lost their autonomy.

It’s horrifying.

“Hey,” they mumble after a solid minute. They cringe when their voice cracks. “I was gonna– but I… wasn’t sure you’d–”

You’re dragging them inside before they can finish.

The fabric is squishy and unpleasant under your fingers, but you don’t care. Once they’ve found stable footing, you’re swiftly wrapping your arms around their middle. You squeeze, and squeeze, and you’re sure you’re cutting off their oxygen, but you’re too afraid of letting go. 

You can feel them stiffen as you bury your head into their neck. 

But eventually, you feel their arms rest over your shoulders. 

“I’m sorry,” you sigh pitifully, muffled as your lips move against their skin. “I’ve been– I should’ve…”

Their fingers dig into your back as they grip you harder.

Then, you feel it. Those stupid unnamed boundaries you’ve had for as long as you can remember – you feel them crumble. Just a bit. Just enough.

You want to sit down with them. Right now. Confess to everything that’s been going on. Confess that you’d listen to anything and everything they’d be willing to tell you. Confess all you’ve ever wanted is them and they’re all you need. 

And you’ve never been more grateful for their soaked figure. It makes your silent tears blend right in.

It takes a while, but you eventually pull away. Not a lot; just enough to face them. Just enough for your foreheads to skim.

You can tell they want to question it. All of it. But they don’t. You’re grateful. They’re not ready to ask and you’re not ready to talk. 

The thought makes you disappointed. You can’t let this opportunity slip away.

Screw it.

“I really care about you, y’know,” you whisper, immediately feeling more vulnerable than you should. “You know you can tell me anything, right?”

Their grip falters, just slightly. You can tell they don’t expect it. To be honest, you didn’t either.

“Yeah.”

They pause.

“You can too. You know that?”

You smile. Warm and sincere. “Yeah.”

And that demolishes any sort of hope you have. You’re both still keeping secrets.

…

You feel something wet splash onto your forehead. They’re squeezing their hair over you like a drenched towel. 

You slap them away. “Kris!”

…

But that’s okay. Pretending just makes things easier.

~*•*~

You’ve been feeling better. Turns out comfort from someone you actually care about does wonders on the psyche. Who would’ve guessed?

And you’ve become blindly confident into giving into your deepest impulses. You haven’t been thinking much lately, either. But it doesn’t matter. You want answers. You need answers.

Your hands quiver with more and more deja vu. The window beckons to you, just as it does every other time.

Okay. Gameplan go.

You stick your head inside. Kris is just as exhausted as every other time. You’re certain they’re asleep. You made sure to wait til two in the morning to ensure your greatest success rate–

“You’re back.”

Shit.

Berdly Berdly Berdly Berdly Berdly Berdly Berdly Berdly–

“What’re you doing?”

You chant Berdly’s name in your mind as you nearly sprint to the cage. There’s a new lock on it, but the key sits peacefully on the floor, next to the wagon. You snatch it mindlessly.

Berdly Berdly Berdly Berdly Berdly Berdly Berdly Berdly–

“Why’re you?–”

Shut the fuck up.

…

And you’re graced in silence. 

You jam the key into the lock, snatch the soul, and stuff it in your pocket. Just as you did days ago. It doesn’t get a chance to physically interject. 

Berdly’s the only thing you dare to think of as you hop gracefully onto the concrete of their driveway. You find yourself drawn to the only place you think you’ll feel peace.

The river.

You’re hoping that the close proximity to their house will help you prevent almost getting caught like last time. Maybe you’ll even hear them sneak out their window – depends how loud they decide to be.

You pull it from your sweats. This time, you don’t dare to loosen your grip as you eye it like a deadly predator.

“You’re lucky I came back. Do you hear me?”

The voice quiets. “Yes.”

“You should be grateful.”

“I am. More than you could imagine.”

You approach the sounds of the water splashing gently against the rocks in its way. It all flows the same, ever unchanging. You can just slightly feel the mist of the river sprinkle on your arms.

“So you better not lie to me this time.”

“I won’t.”

You decide to choose the annoying accusatory method. “Who the hell are you and why are you in Kris?”

It squirms in your hand. Guilt complex!

“I’m not guilty.”

Crap. Berdly Berdly Berdly–

“I am Kris–”

You roll your eyes despite the severity of the situation. “Okay bud. I don’t know how stupid you think I am, but I’m frankly offended.”

“I’m not lying.”

“Yeah, you are.”

There’s a moment of absolute stillness. It doesn’t matter what dumb ideas it’s formulating; you won’t believe a single one. There’s only one answer and one answer alone that you’ll believe.

If it could sigh, you’re sure it would. “Fine. I’m not Kris.”

You’re ecstatic from the confession. This makes things easier. Now you don’t need to hold back.

“So… why’re you controlling them?”

“I’m their soul.”

“No, you’re not. You don’t think I would’ve noticed you years ago if you were? You’re probably just– I dunno, in the soul. Or controlling it.”

“Controlling it.”

“Okay…” you quirk your head. “Then… stop?”

“I can’t.”

“Yes, you can,” you spit back as if your argument had any merit.

“I didn’t want Kris as a vessel.”

…

You have no clue what that means.

“I had my own vessel. It’s gone. I didn’t choose Kris.”

Still no idea.

“Someone chose to put me in Kris.”

“Then tell them to change it! You know more than me, man!”

“I can’t. I don’t know how to contact them.”

“Surely you can find a way! You’re like, what, an extraterrestrial god or something?”

“Something like that.”

“No, not ‘something like that’. I want details.”

“I don’t think you do.”

“Who’re you to tell me what I want?”

It totally knows what you want. It can read your mind, for god’s sake.

“There. You proved my point.”

“No, I didn’t!”

“I don’t want to fight you.”

“We aren’t fighting. We’re talking aggressively.”

“Why don’t you trust me?”

Your mouth flies open in disbelief. “Oh, come on. You’re a flying, telepathic parasite in my friend’s body.”

“Your best friend?”

“I– yeah. Whatever.”

“I wasn’t trying to take over their life.”

Your eyes narrow. “Well, you kinda did.”

“I was trying to fill in the gaps that Kris couldn’t anymore. Keep up with school, keep up with you.”

“You thought Kris cares about school? Wow, you do know nothing.”

“But they care about you, don’t they?”

You freeze.

“If I just stop commanding them, they can’t do anything. It’s like a puppet with no strings. It can’t move on its own. I wanted to help.”

Well, it didn’t do a great job at it.

��I see that now.”

You massage your temple with your free hand. Of course Kris needs their soul to live. They would’ve kicked it to the gutter by now if they didn’t. But, they can’t control themself when the soul’s inside them. That’s why they take it out. That part’s a given. 

But that’s the issue. Yeah, the soul knows absolutely nothing about Kris, but it’s… trying. That you don’t want to admit. Yet you don’t really sense anything untruthful in what it’s confessed so far.

It’s harder to decipher what’s right vs wrong when the supposed wrong side is more morally grey than you thought.

Your hold slackens. “You suck, y’know that?”

Your arm drops to your side, releasing the soul. It hesitantly hovers where your hand was. 

The rocks crunch under your steps. You find yourself pulled to the edge of the water, sitting on the bank. Just as you did when you were a child. But now, your legs could extend into the river if you so wished. And instead of finding a quiet human at your right, you find a soul. 

“You’re caring. Forgiving. I can see why Kris likes you so much.”

The compliment makes your stomach churn. From anxiety or flattery, you’re not sure. That’s what makes you terrified.

“I’m sorry. I’m not trying to scare you.”

“Yeah?” You mumble with zero conviction. “Y’know, you’d be great for a haunted house. You’re like a walking– floating audio device. Don’t even need to get close to your victim to make them feel like you’re whispering in their ear.”

You stop yourself from glancing over, but you’re a bit disappointed by the lack of reaction. Not even a huff. A sigh? A wince?

“I did laugh.”

You quirk an eyebrow. “Did you?”

“You couldn’t hear it. But I did.”

You shiver at the thought. You wish you knew what that meant. You try to push it down before it hears you.

“So… what’s with the whole pretending to be Kris thing? Trynna get into my pants?” You joke.

“No.”

“I’ll assume you laughed at that one, too.”

“No.”

“Oh, c’mon. You’re hard to please.”

“I admire you.”

You pause. “...That’s why you couldn’t tell me the truth?”

“You’re funny. You’re comforting. You’re smart.”

Your ears feel hot. You don’t like how much you enjoy hearing compliments from Kris’ demon. It’s a bit horrendous how fast you cave for any semblance of Kris flattery. It feels just as off as it usually does, and this isn’t Kris, but you can’t help but crave it tenfold.

“You like putting straw on water fountain spouts to shoot the water in the air. You put your best tests at the front of your binder and hide the rest behind. You don’t want Kris to see you cry. You don’t want anyone to see you cry.”

It’s weird. Because yeah, this is a completely different person you’re talking to, but they know you well. They know everything Kris knows about you. And somehow more.

“You’re just trying to get me off topic. Like all those other times.”

“I was stopping you from revealing me to Kris.”

“They don’t know?”

“Of course they know. But they don’t know you know.”

“Why’s that a bad thing?”

To be honest, you’d rather someone (like the soul) reveal your secret instead of you doing it yourself. 

“They would not take kindly to me talking to you.”

…

And that. Makes your brain work a mile a minute.

Is the soul dangerous in Kris’ eyes? Or is Kris worried that the soul will say something to you that they don’t want you to know?

You’re confusing yourself now.

“Not even I know as much as Kris does.”

The hell does that mean?

“It means–”

“Okay, no,” you bring a finger to its hypothetical mouth, ordering it to shush. “If we’re gonna have any sort of normal conversation, you need to stop doing that. The whole mind reading thing.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Whatever.”

It stills. You feel like you’re about to get a presentation.

“Kris, with the help of a few others, will cause the end of the world. The ROARING.”

Okay. Here’s what you came for. Whatever the hell this is.

“There’s something in the bunker. Something that Kris doesn’t want me to see.”

“You’re being awfully vague.”

“Because I don’t want to confuse you. Nor do I know many details myself.”

“Then start from the very beginning.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because you won’t believe me.”

“How do you know?”

“I just do.”

“I’m not going to trust you out of the blue. I need more than that.”

“You need to ask them yourself. Then, you’ll realize I’m telling the truth. After that, I can tell you everything I know.”

God damnit. “Fine. What does any of this have to do with me?”

It paces forward, hovering over the smooth stream. “These rivers. They always move in one direction. They all end up at the same place. Whether a place of peace or a place of destruction. Its fate is already decided.”

Oddly poetic. “Yes, teacher.”

It ignores your obvious sarcasm. “What if you wanted to divert the stream? Forge your own path? End up somewhere different?”

You gesture to a random patch of dirt. “Then grab your shovel and get digging.”

It glides to your face. You’re almost entranced by the glow in the night. “Exactly. And you’re my shovel.”

“Why me?”

“Kris would never give me the chance to talk to Susie one on one. They know I’m opposing whatever they’re doing. They want Susie to blindly trek towards what she thinks is the ‘good ending’.”

It lowers to your hands resting in your lap, just barely brushing your palms.

“But you. You found me before any of this started. You keep coming back. I believe it’s fate we met. I believe it’s fate you’re here with me right now.”

You can’t help but be skeptical. “One man’s fate is another man’s force.”

“There’s no harm in asking them, right? Even if you don’t believe me right now. If I’m lying, you’ll know through them.”

Compelling argument. It’s like it knows exactly what to say.

“Okay. I’ve got you a deal,” you lower your head to seem more intimidating. “You try to give Kris their autonomy back, and I’ll… hear you out. I’ll ask them. Whatever you want.”

“That sounds counterintuitive.”

Yeah, maybe just a bit. If you somehow end up believing Kris is some villain, them gaining their autonomy isn’t exactly the best thing. 

But that’s not your concern right now. You need to default to soul = wrong. “Then just– do stuff Kris would do.”

“I’ve been trying to.”

“Then you’ve been trying wrong! Kris wouldn’t do any of the things you do.”

It’s rendered silent for a few seconds. Then…

“Can you help me?”

…

You can’t believe you’re about to explain Kris’ mannerisms.

You keep it relatively light, fast, simple – you’re sure it’ll get the just eventually. You ignore the flutter in your stomach when you talk about the smaller, more meaningful bits.

“–And stop talking to everyone. That’s just– no.”

It tilts as if quirking its nonexistent head.

“I don’t. Not anymore.”

Right. That’s a thing of the past, now.

But does that mean the soul stopped talking to everyone for you? Knowing what you do now–

“Of course I did it for you.”

Oh, c’mon.

Your cheeks flush hard. “I told you to stop doing that.”

~*•*~

Eventually, you come to the realization that you can’t just cut off Kris because there’s some creepy soul inside them. Which means, the soul is a part of your life now whether you like it or not.

While you’re not exactly thrilled about talking to a weird spirit, it’s hard to prevent. And the soul is more endearing than you first believed but you won’t admit that.

The exact thought appeared in your head, as thoughts usually do, to which the soul couldn’t resist listening to. It made it more concerned than you expected. It told you it didn’t need to keep up appearances with you anymore because you know the ‘full truth’ (which you find hard to believe).

But what happened next surprised you. It told you it would keep its distance if that’s what you wanted. Of course, there was an unspoken assumption. It thought you’d come crawling back after it was ‘proven right’.

You didn’t care about the specifics. Distance from it is all you need.

And so your old routine continues. You’re neutral to Kris at school and you see them after midnight. You would fully avoid them during the day, but there’s a small but loud part of you that tells you not to. You listen to it, for some reason.

You’ve been sick of surrounding yourself with your room, so you text, saying you’re coming over this time. No question, even though it probably should’ve been. Your phone buzzes in your pocket – more than a definite, single ‘yes’ – but you’re too busy climbing onto their roof to reconsider.

Right as you gain your footing on the shingles, your eye catches a very distinct green sweater at the window. Their arms spread to hold onto the frame, effectively shielding your vision of the inside.

“You–” they start, face unreadable (how unexpected). “Did you get my text?”

You pull out your phone. “C’mon. There’s no way your mom’s still pissed that I’m sneaking in–”

And your mouth drops, cutting yourself off. You stare at the thirteen messages. You almost want to screenshot it because of how absurd it looks coming from Kris’ name.

You swipe up.

moms sleeping

i dont want to wke her up

A minute passed.

r u at home

ill come to u

or wherever you r

Another minute.

my roofs slippery

dont want u falling off

Two minutes.

im out rn

i cnt make itto the wndow

its jammed from theutside

outside 

wait form e in dribeway

Five minutes.

ur coming arent u

You can’t help but wince at the messages. Of course this is about the soul; they don’t want you seeing it. 

…

Actually, this isn’t a bad time to test a mini theory you have. Yes, the soul was the one distracting you from Kris, but will Kris cover for the soul as well?

“Huh,” you shrug, waving your phone in their face. “Looks like a bunch of lies to me.”

They avoid your gaze. “I don’t lie.”

“What about incorrect truths?”

“Yeah. That’s better.”

You find yourself carefully trekking up the roof, avoiding the many wet patches. “So. What’re you hiding?”

They don’t flinch. “My drug ring.”

“Got anything for me?”

“Can’t give away the merchandise.”

But you don’t back down. You stick your face right into theirs, looming over them like a predator. “Oh, Dreemurr. You know I won’t back down.”

“I know.”

You squat, inching closer. Your noses nearly touch. “Let me in.”

“Can’t.”

“I’ll shove past you.”

They give you a look, as if saying ‘I’d like to see you try’.

“Don’t believe me? I’ll–”

A droplet of water lands on your nose from the overhang.

You immediately back off. “Ew, there’s probably so much dirt from your roof–”

And you feel a hand on your shoulder, ushering you closer to them. 

There’s a smile of pure satisfaction that spreads across their face as they use their other hand’s sleeve to dab it off. Your cheeks flush at their warmth. At their closeness. You felt so in control before. What the hell happened?

You’re immediately thinking abort, abort!

You snatch their offence wrist, tugging it as far from your face as possible. You’re hoping they won’t feel your hot face, even if they can definitely see it.

“Okay!” You announce a bit louder than you should’ve, starting to rise. “Let’s just go back to mine!–”

But you misplace your step. On their stupidly wet roof.

And you’re tipping backwards before you can stop yourself.

And you’re screaming.

Kris immediately reaches out the window to you, grabbing your other bicep to stabilize you as you fall on your ass.

Your panting, life having flashed before your eyes.

Then, you hear a snicker.

“Told you my roof was wet.”

“Shut up, Dreemurr.”

~*•*~

You watch from afar as the soul attempts to put your advice into action. It’s actually trying to act like Kris. You’re surprised it’s following every little detail you told it. It’s almost impressive how much it remembered.

It isn’t until you see Kris at the grocery store after school when you actually consider what you’re about to do.

You see them with a list, no doubt doing some shopping for Toriel. You don’t think Kris notices you, but you can’t be so certain about the soul.

But you can’t help but anonymously step past them as they stare from the list to the eggs. And maybe you peek over their shoulder. They seem a bit confused.

Well, you’re sure Kris knows which eggs to get. However…

“Don’t you always get the large ones?” You peep.

They turn to you, just slightly shocked to see you. It vanishes almost instantly.

They look at the eggs. “These look medium at best.”

And yeah, that second voice is always a bit of a scare, but for some reason, you find yourself rooted in place.

It’s crazy how this one interaction spiraled into a multitude of interventions.

You find yourself glancing around more and more, to the point where you might just be outwardly searching for them. There’s something so satisfying in correcting the soul’s mimicking – it feels gratifying, in some weird way.

Maybe you feel like you’re helping Kris gain back some semblance of their identity. 

Or maybe you’re actually having fun with the soul.

Sometimes you let them– it watch you play piano. You’ve learned a thing or two from listening to Kris. Yeah, they’re definitely more skilled than you in music, but you can say with certainty that the soul has no idea what it’s doing when it presses the keys. 

Other times, you’ll help it make pie with their mom. You guide it through the notions despite knowing Kris is an absolute master at it. It feels almost wrong, but you enjoy the time nonetheless.

And every so often, you find yourself walking side by side with them, rambling about nonsense, when it slips their fingers into yours.

All you can think is:

Pshh, Kris would never… do that…

Your gaze turns to them and your thoughts go quiet. You can only assume you’re staring into their stern, hard, nervous eyes. You can only assume you’re staring at Kris’ real expression.

~*•*~

They don’t know what to do.

They’ve been so busy with Susie and Ralsei and everything else to realize what’s been truly going on.

You’re warming up again. Not to them, to the soul.

It’s acting like them. It makes them want to throw up.

You’re extra close, almost touchy when they’re not in control. You’re soft. You’re emotional. You’re everything they’ve ever wanted.

They watch you laugh through eyes that don’t feel like their own. They watch you smile at words they don’t want to speak.

When they find themself at your window, you’re different. 

It’s like everything’s been flipped on its head. While you seemed to hate them with the soul before, it’s like you’re buddies now. 

With them, you’re almost shy, like nothing ever happened. You don’t brush the pads of your fingers up their arm. You don’t whisper in their ear, close enough that they can smell your gum. 

And you give them this look. They can’t place their finger on it.

It’s almost like sympathy. Maybe understanding.

But you don’t understand anything. You never will.

They can’t put that burden on you.

They’ll make sure of it.

~*•*~

After a week or so, it starts working. You didn’t know this was an objective you were subconsciously trying to reach, but it feels right.

It feels like you’re with Kris when you’re at school. It feels like you’re talking Kris when you know there’s someone lurking beneath their skin.

The voice is unnerving, just as it always has been, but you’ve been used to it for months now. 

You’ve been having fun. You love the excuse of spending more time with Kris. If this is how it has to happen, then so be it. You hope this helps them, even if just a bit.

Things finally feel right.

…

But then you watch them crawl out their window.

You were going to show up unannounced, actually respect their boundaries this time, maybe offer to go out, but they’re already leaving.

To where? You have no idea. You got no text informing you of such.

Not that you think they’d tell you every little thing they do–

You duck into the forest surrounding their house before they notice you. You’re not sure why.

Stop hiding like a creep. Just call out to them.

And you do. Well, you’re about to. You take in a deep breath, when–

“Don’t. Just watch.”

And whatever shout in your throat gets lodged painfully.

You find it hard to swallow.

The voice travels down your spine, leaving uneasiness in its wake.

But you listen. You’re not sure why.

You tail them from a distance, hiding behind parked cars and thick trees. They follow the road. Not once straying from their path.

Maybe they’re going to get a snack. Maybe they’re going to Susie’s. You don’t know where she lives. Yeah. She probably lives down here, right? That’d make sense.

…

But, street after street, they don’t turn. Not once. They don’t even think about it.

There’s not a single head in sight.

The street ends. You’re stepping on grass.

The silence is killing you.

They’re heading straight. 

Straight for–

…

You’re not sure when you avert your eyes. 

But you do. 

You don’t want to see it.

Your mind jumbles into a million pieces.

The bunker. Yeah. Okay. Okay.

You–

They’re not doing anything suspicious there. 

You can’t seem to stomach the fact that the soul was, even in some tiny capacity–

…

It’s not right. Don’t say that.

It’s just…

Not wrong.

And somehow, that makes things even worse.

~*•*~

Okay. Okay!

Kris visited the bunker! That means nothing, right?

You’re sure that one time meant nothing. They were probably just wandering the forest, got curious about the big thing, maybe wanted to explore the thing.

Well, no one can get in, right? There’s nothing to explore!

It meant nothing. 

Not the first time. Not the second time.

Not the seventeenth time.

You just keep following and following, hoping for something different.

You hate the soul. No, you don’t.

It’s helping you. No, it’s not.

“Ask me about it. Later. My response should be enough evidence.”

Of course it was talking about Kris. Of fucking course.

That would’ve been horrible. If you went into that blind.

You don’t want to ask. You don’t want to be a part of this.

…

You don’t want to ask.

“Hey, have you ever been inside that weird bunker? The one south of town.”

You can’t believe you held your composure. Not one voice crack. Not one stutter.

Please answer right away. Please. 

They don’t. They pause. 

Why couldn’t they answer right away?

You have to nudge their shoulder.

“Nope.”

You smile. It’s wide. Too wide. “We should explore it. Could be fun.”

They’re picking at a loose string on their sweater. “Can’t. Doors are locked. Probably.”

‘Probably’. Your head’s pounding.

“Then let’s find the code!”

A pause.

“What’s with the bunker obsession?” They tease. But it feels too real.

You shrug to hide your full-body shivers. 

“It’s creepy, dontcha think? Thought it could be fun,” you repeat. You repeated it. They know. They know. They know. They know–

They seem uninterested. “Could be.”

…

You grit your teeth. You might crack a tooth. 

What about the end of the world? Does that sound fun? Does that sound like something they’d do?

Of course not.

Of course not!

~*•*~

“–and now I don’t know what to do because I can’t for the life of me believe that you’ve done anything but lie to me because that– it’s just easier to think that! Right? And– and I don’t want to hear any self-righteous bullshit–”

It’s been three days. You can’t believe you survived three days before rushing into Kris’ room with one thing on your mind.

You’ve been ranting. True ranting. For the past hour. You’re not sure how deep into the forest you ran, but you ran far. If the soul could pop, you’re sure it would’ve from the way you squeezed it like a stress ball on your way here.

It hasn’t said a word since. It just watches as you pace back and forth, flailing your arms into the air like a lunatic.

“–because I just know you want to tell me to choose what I think’s the right option but I don’t know what that is!”

You throw a stone into the river. Correction, you chuck it so hard it shatters against another.

“Oh, and don’t get me started on Kris. Are they seriously lying to me? Seriously? Me? Why can’t they just be honest about their… supposed– doomsday plans?”

There’s a distinct silence. Where’s the so-called comfort you were pleading for? Isn’t that what the soul offered you that Kris didn’t?

“Why– oh, oh! And why did it take a goddamn soul spirit thingy for them to show me any sort of– I don’t know! I can’t believe that you’re the one I’ve been– I… and– and! I’ve never seen them cry! Isn’t that crazy? I’ve known them longer than I’ve been without them, and I’ve never seen them cry, get angry, anything! I’d take anything!”

Your eyes dart to the soul.

“Did I really have to beg? Because I would’ve! I– I just… needed to know.”

…

You wanted to know.

You want to know.

You want to know everything.

“I know.”

“No, you don’t,” you spit. “I’m an idiot for thinking your voice was enough for me.”

“You’re not an idiot.”

“Here we go. You gonna tell me none of it was my fault? That I couldn’t have known?”

“No. I won’t.”

You sigh. “Then tell me something I don’t know.”

There’s a long, drawn out silence.

Then, the voice echoes as it always does. Right in your head.

“You’re codependent.”

Your eyes snap open. “Excuse me?”

“You’d do anything for them. You’d die for them. You need to start thinking for yourself. For someone other than them.”

You’re about to scoff, tell them it knows nothing. But your steam dies faster than it came.

…

Is it ironic that all you want is a hug from Kris?

Just– their arms? Anything?

That one at the window felt really nice. 

God, you really are pathetic.

…

You hate this.

You hate all of this.

…

But, you suppose you owe a certain someone your end of the deal.

You plant yourself on the grass, absorbing the sounds of running water. It always did calm you down.

It flies to your side.

“I know you heard my thoughts. Just– get on with it,” you mumble with no conviction. “Please.”

It halts.

“No.”

Your eyes dart to it. “What?–”

“If you don’t want to hear it, I won’t force you.”

…

Huh.

You exhale. A long, drawn out exhale.

You don’t say anything in response.

And you wait a minute. You make sure to fill your head with unrelated thoughts.

You were sure it was manipulating you; telling you that you have a choice in all this, when in reality, you don’t.

But it doesn’t push you further.

Your throat is rough, coarse. But you push your voice through anyways.

“I do,” you eventually say. “I want to know.”

…

It doesn’t perk up, it doesn’t seem grateful.

It’s like it knew you would cave eventually.

~*•*~

This is bad. This is really, really bad.

They didn’t question your curiosity about the bunker. Anyone would find it alluring. But their hesitance grew when you accidentally let slip that you know the bunker has a code. It was fine; they chalked it up to ‘oh, you probably just stumbled across it recently; saw the newly revealed panel that dropped by a certain Susie’.

You seemed a bit distant after the conversation. You’ve been changing a lot. It’s fine. It hurt more than they’d like to admit, but they let it go.

They’ve had to attend certain matters more often as of recently. With an end goal now in sight, they expected to be more involved. But, they kept feeling like they were being watched. 

Of course that wasn’t you. That’d be stupid to assume.

And they haven’t been sleeping. At all. That’s what class is for.

They’re on the brink of sleep, wondering what’s wrong with you. That’s when they hear their window open.

Silently. Sneakily. With intent. 

With practice.

They can’t bear to stop you. Not when you subtly glance in their direction to ensure they’re motionless. Not when you stare at the soul like it’s a familiar face. Not when you take it.

It doesn’t matter.

It’s fine.

They already know what to do.

They already know exactly what it’s doing.

~*•*~

You go along with it. Only because you don’t know what else to do.

You can’t disagree with anything it claims. In fact, you almost feel inclined to… believe it.

From what the soul tells you, Kris, the Roaring Knight (needed an explanation for that, too), and perhaps other third parties are trying to bring about the ROARING. Which is, essentially, the end of the world. 

It explained how there exists something called a dark world. These dark worlds are fueled by a dark fountain, which can only be opened by a lightner; those who live in the ‘real world’. 

(Again, not too sure what any of it meant.)

It wanted to show you a dark world, but just the fact that it was so adamant on having proof makes you believe it even more.

When too many dark fountains are opened, it causes ‘titans’ to emerge and, with enough, causes the ROARING. Which is what Kris is allegedly assisting this Roaring Knight to do.

It’s a lot to take in, but it’s okay. You’ve developed a new mindset:

Believe it until something proves it wrong.

There hasn’t been anything to deter you yet. Which leads you to now.

With the soul in your pocket, you’re climbing over the Holiday’s gate. You’ve been enveloped with so much deja vu lately that you’re used to the feeling. Except you’re not chasing it down this time. You’re helping it.

You like helping. You like feeling needed.

But this is just–

“That one.”

You stop circling the perimeter, assuming the soul is gesturing to a specific window. The room’s nearly pitch black, but you recognize that snowflake wallpaper from the deep recesses of your childhood memories.

You climb the hedges that conveniently lead you to Noelle’s window. It takes a few attempts (and a few sore fingers) but you manage to wedge your fingers between the gap of the closed frame. 

As quietly as you can possibly manage, you pull the frame and worm yourself through as small of a crevice as you can make. You land on her couch, wincing when it lets out a small creak. Thankfully, Noelle remains in her peaceful sleep.

“It’s the room next to this one.”

Yeah, I know that. I kinda grew up here.

“Right.”

…

It shouldn’t bother you, but that just shows how much it doesn’t know about you.

How does it know so much yet so little?

The halls are quiet, but you’d argue you’re even quieter. You avoid parts of the floor you know will creak, finding yourself in front of a certain deer’s room.

You weren’t really close close with Dess, but just the sight of the door makes you grow a bit squeamish. 

Before the soul can rush you, because you just know it wants to, you enter the cold room.

It’s just as you remember it–

“It’s in the closet.”

You’re rather offended that it cuts off your internal monologue.

“I’m sorry. I don’t want you to get caught.”

You ignore the curious parts of you that want to explore this ancient relic of your past. Sliding the closet door to the side, the guitar’s exactly where the soul claims it’d be.

Your hand slips underneath the strings, tugging them out of your way. 

And there it sits; the labeled bunker code.

1225.

You bolt out of there before you give them the chance to catch you.

~*•*~

The longer you walk, the slower your steps become. The longer you walk, the distance of your strides decreases. You hope the dark clouds of the sky will come to consume you.

You’re hesitant.

You were so ready to do whatever the hell the soul wanted you to do. You felt betrayed, for some reason. Even though Kris owed you nothing. 

You just thought– maybe you had that type of friendship where you tell each other everything. Like about certain eldritch demons. And mysterious bunkers. And end-of-the-world plans.

Even though you know your friendship isn’t like that. And that pissed you off even more.

But now you feel empty. That flame dwindled not long after you left Noelle’s.

You keep telling yourself that you’re still upset, because you are. But even more so, you’re trying to hide your thoughts of doubt.

Just by proxy of your attempt to bury it, you’re almost certain the soul knows.

And yet, it’s been silent. Hovering alongside your pace, even when you slow significantly.

You don’t know why it’s not trying to plead its case a bit more. It knows how you feel. It has to. It was so adamant on you listening to it. It begged you. Now, it feels like it’s just going with the flow. 

The river’s taking you somewhere. Maybe it knows you can’t swim against the stream. 

You cross your arms, fingers tapping against your elbow in quick succession. “So… if we punch it in, will something happen?”

“We need three parts.”

“Uhh, not sure if you’ve noticed, but we only have the one,” you mutter under your breath. “Shouldn’t we get the others before we input anything?”

“It might give us a clue as to how to get the second part.”

You highly doubt that, but you don’t voice your hesitance. You’re sure it heard you, anyways.

The soul’s glow seems to brighten as you near the doors of the bunker, flying a bit too close for comfort. You bury every second-thought you’ve ever had deep into your stomach.

“Okay,” you whisper to yourself, fingers brushing the panel. “Do I just…?”

It doesn’t respond. It watches you intently.

Okay.

The pad of your pointer finger hovers over the one.

Nothing’s gonna happen.

You feel the button under your touch.

Stop worrying.

“What if it blows up?” You blurt.

It doesn’t seem amused. “It won’t.”

“What if it locks us out? Or it alerts someone? Or–”

You’re interrupted.

There’s a bang to your left.

You glance just in time to see the soul hit the ground, undoubtedly sniped by the rock that falls with it.

…

You’re frozen in place.

You know who’s behind you.

Crap. Fuck! This is the worst possible outcome!

What do you say? What do you do?

You peek behind you. Your eye catches just the slightest green before your head jerks away in fear.

“Oh!” You grin at full force, voice weak. “W-what a coincidence!”

You finally turn to Kris, a bead of sweat dripping from your forehead. They look awful.

The slight breeze brushes the hair from their face. Their eyes are blown wide; wider than you’ve ever seen them. They’re hunched over, leaning on a trunk for support. Their mouth opens and closes, as if not knowing what to say. To be fair, you’re just as lost.

There’s no saving this.

Their voice is hoarse, but quiet in skepticism. “What’re you doing?”

Your lip quivers. You can’t lie to them.

“Lie to them.”

Your tongue moves quicker than you can think. “W-well, you didn’t want to explore the bunker with me, so–”

Their eyes dart to the soul, still unmoving. They take a step forward.

As if on instinct, you step to block it.

Their jaw clenches. It isn’t until they grip their knife impossibly hard that you realize they have one at all.

This isn’t happening. 

They blink. “So you–”

“I didn’t steal your soul!” You blurt, shaking your head defensively. “I was gonna put it back! And it makes for rather enjoyable company! You have a mighty fine soul, Kris!–”

Another step forward.

“A-and!” You panic. “I didn’t even have enough of the code to get in! It’s– what, three parts? I only had o– zero! I had zero– I have zero parts! I’m not exactly a treasure hunter, nor do I care enough about whatever secrets lie inside to look for them! I don’t care at all! Secrets mean nothing to me!”

The voice in your head echoes louder than usual. “Be quiet. You’re–”

“No!”

They seem awfully confused. “Who’re you–”

Nope. Not doing this. 

“Why did you lie to me?” You snap.

…

Their lack of response speaks volumes.

“You told me you’ve never been inside. The bunker.”

“I haven’t.”

Your conviction grows. So does theirs. “It told me–”

“You believe it?”

“It hasn’t proven me wrong yet!”

It just happens to tell you everything you want to know! Even with the evidence, the plentiful amounts of evidence, it still feels the need to boast about you. 

Their eyes narrow. “Why does it matter?”

“Because– I don’t really get the whole doomsday ROARING bunker knight stuff, but it– sounds bad.”

They seem shocked that you’re mentioning it at all. 

“What?”

You pause, a bit in a panic. But this is Kris. They can’t read your mind.

“It took me to a dark world!” You bluff. “I know about–”

Right. You don’t actually know enough to–

“About the prophecy.”

…

You follow its lead senselessly. 

“–about the prophecy.”

“You talked to Ralsei.”

“I talked to Ralsei.”

Who the hell is Ralsei?

Kris is oh so obviously picking apart your fat lie in their head. “He wouldn’t– he doesn’t–”

“He knows everything.”

“He knows everything!” 

You can’t believe you’re the echo now.

And even then, you find yourself breaking.

“I– I told you you could tell me anything.”

They scoff, but you can tell there’s no heart put into it. “Was that before or after you found out?”

“Found out what?” You bite back. “That you’re apparently some evil mastermind trying to end the world?–”

You’re exaggerating again. To be frank, you don’t care about the world as much as the soul seems to. The world’s done nothing for you.

“No,” they huff. “About it.”

You’re rendered speechless. If you had no shame, you’d have said ‘before’. But even now, you know they wouldn’t believe you.

They let out a pitiful laugh. It’s depressing. “Yeah. How could I tell you ‘anything’ when you knew that?”

“That fact doesn’t change what I said! You can still tell me anything–”

“How long’ve you known?”

You truthfully think for a moment. “I don’t know, a few months?”

“You’ve known for months? And you didn’t talk to me about it?”

You scoff. “You can have secrets from me but I can’t?–”

“That’s not what I’m saying. I’m saying you’re a hypocrite.”

“How am I a hypocrite?”

“It went both ways, didn’t it? You could tell me anything, too.”

Your shrug like a madman. “Neither of us confessed to any of it! So we were both lying! We’re both assholes!”

They haven’t stopped taking steps. 

What the hell does someone do in this situation?

You’re trying to overplay your lack of trust in them. “What about the ROARING? What’s that?”

“You already know.”

“I want to hear you explain it. What does it mean for you?”

“It doesn’t–” Their eyes widen in realization.  “What did it tell you?”

“It told me you’re evil and quite frankly I think that’s stupidly simplified–”

“It’s more complicated than that–”

“Yeah, I got that, thanks!”

“You don’t understand–”

“Then help me understand!”

Step after step. You can tell they’re trying to approach you like you’re a rabid dog.

“It’s a demon. It’s been tormenting me. Controlling me.”

“They’re lying.”

You crumble. “I… I know.”

They don’t seem too pleased with the info. “You know?”

“But– it’s been trying to give you your life back, right?”

“How?” They jab their knife in the soul’s direction. “I wake up every day without a single limb in my body to call my own. I can’t move, eat, talk without its approval.”

“I don’t have complete control over everything. They can nod, muffle their voice, rip me out–”

Your hands tangle behind your head. “I didn’t know what to do! You need your soul to live! If I told you I knew, it’d just– make things worse–”

“What happened to ‘independence’? You’re giving excuses.”

Your eye catches the slightest movement near your feet; the soul seems to have regained its footing. Metaphorically. But you’re sick of this whole ‘call and response’ game.

You snatch the soul as it rises, squeezing it in your palm to stop it from running.

“Kris. Just– listen. Please?”

They’re unmoving, too busy shooting the soul with a nasty glare.

Thankfully, you think you’ve made up your mind.

“I… I’ve never been the one to ‘save the day’– or anything. This whole ‘ending the world’ thing? I don’t get it– I don’t want to get involved. Not by a longshot. I don’t know why I even–” You cut yourself off with a sigh. “But I… trust you. And if this is something you think is necessary for whatever you’re doing? Then fine. I don’t think you’re a bad person, Kris.”

“They’re manipulating you.”

“And this whole soul thing? I don’t get that, either. And, to put it bluntly, I wanted to forget it existed the moment I saw it. But… I don’t think it’s evil, either.”

“It’s manipulating you.”

“But I just… could we– I don’t know, pretend? This didn’t happen? Go back to normal? If I–”

“Do not give me to them. They’ll kill me.”

You snap. “No, they won’t. They need you to live.”

Kris’ gaze turns to you, staring like you’re crazy.

“You should care about the ROARING. You’ll all be dead.”

“They’re not an idiot. There’s gotta be some loophole–”

“You’ll never change.”

You snap. “You know nothing about me!”

Kris seems to fall into an immediate state of distraught.

“You can hear it?”

You come to a startling realization.

“You can’t?”

…

Holy fuck.

Your palms instantly feel very hot and you’re chucking it at the nearest tree like it’s a spider crawling up your arm.

“Oh my god,” you shiver.

But it’s already swerving, preventing the impact.

And it’s flying away.

“Shit,” you both wince.

As you begin sprinting through the plumage of trees with Kris practically using you as a crutch, you let your thoughts process for the first time since you got here.

So, it turns out Kris can’t hear the soul. That’s horrifying. Does it work in reverse? The soul must’ve been reacting to your thoughts, right? Reading your reaction to Kris’ words, rather than their actual words themselves?

Doesn’t matter.

“Wait, wait–” You skid to a halt, gesturing to a large, loose piece of bark. “Carve this out for me.”

You try not to think about the fact that they instantly break it off with their knife. Although, they do look at you questioningly.

“It’s probably better to whack it down than to snipe it with rocks, right?” You reason.

They shrug. “No clue.”

You clutch the DIY board in your free hand, continuing your chase with Kris on your shoulder.

You feel a drop on your cheek. It’s raining. As if things couldn’t get any more complicated.

The soul’s glow has dimmed significantly, but it hasn’t quite faded.

You feel a foreboding reason as to why.

But Kris breaks your thoughts, panting like the life’s being drained out of them.

“When we– when we’d talk at school, you…?”

You’re a bit peeved that their mind has chosen this conversation as priority. “Yes! I knew! I knew it wasn’t you.”

They seem a bit more ticked off than you expected, hiding their scowl behind a blank facade.

You continue. “But it wasn’t like that, I just– I liked spending time with you. Soul or not.”

“But– the soul isn’t me–”

“I know it isn’t, but I was training it to act like you!”

You realize how psychotic you sound and you immediately shut your mouth.

“You– what?”

“It was stupid– I thought if you felt like yourself, you’d feel better about the whole possession thing! And– it felt like I was talking to you.”

You just feel like offering your entire heart today, don’t you?

They don’t grace you with a response. You’re a bit worried they’re pissed as hell, but when you glimpse at their face, their cheeks have reddened. Huh.

You’re chasing in silence, quickly catching up to the rather slow perpetrator. 

You release Kris. It’s hovering low enough that you’re almost able to swat it with your board. You miss a few times, but as you did with your rocks, you hit it on the third try.

It barely flies a few feet forward before continuing its flee–

Kris whips a rock, hitting it square on. It descends a bit before elevating right back up.

Wow, they’re–

But they don’t stop. They keep firing.

This can’t be good.

The soul twitches in what you’d think to be pain when Kris aims for another.

You drop your weapon (You’re not sure where their knife went). You can’t help but rustle their damp arm, sabotaging their throw.

“Stop! You’re gonna hurt yourself!”

They don’t cease, winding for another. “It isn’t me– I’ll only feel it when I put it back in–”

You mess them up again. “That’s still hurting you!”

They realize you won’t falter. Or, maybe something else–

“Do you care about it?–”

Crap.

“No! I just– it…”

You feel yourself being yanked back by your wrist, turned to face them.

“The soul!” Your neck cranks, watching it continue its escape. “What about–”

But they don’t seem worried. When you fidget, they capture your other wrist.

All they do is stare intently. Pleading you to answer.

You avoid their gaze. “It’s stupid.”

“No, it’s not.”

“Yes, it is.”

“Talk to me,” they beg. “Please.”

Don’t make the same mistake.

“It–” you cough. “It made me feel good. I don’t care about it– but… y’know…”

A pause.

…

So you continue.

“When it’d tell me I was funny. Or it held my hand. Or told me it liked being around me. A lot of me hated it. Because I knew it wasn’t you. But, sometimes, when I’d close my eyes…”

It was easy to pretend.

Maybe that’s why you caved so easily.

‘A lot of me hated it’.

You’re such a liar.

And you’ve embarrassed yourself enough. Might as well ask the question that’s been burning in your mind for far too long.

“Why did it take someone possessing you to show that you care about me? Even if it wasn’t really you showing me.”

…

Their eyes are unreadable. You squirm, blinking away those stupid emotional tears.

“Was I–” Your voice cracks. “Was I not enough for you?”

“You–”

“Sure was enough for the soul, haha.”

…

Isn’t getting things off your chest supposed to feel good? This isn’t as gratifying as you thought it’d be.

Their fingers brush your wrists, warmth spreading through your already too hot body.

Then, they speak. You wouldn’t have caught it if they weren’t inches from your face. You feel their breath on your face.

“I’m not– good. At this.”

You choke back a laugh of disbelief. “Neither am I.”

They let out a stressed, grueling sigh.

“You wouldn’t have made things worse if you told me you knew.”

Their forehead rests on your own. It feels right. Real. Perfect.

“‘Cause of all the people in the world, I’d want you to know all the fucked up stuff that’s been going on.” 

Their fingers interlock with yours. They grip hard, not wanting to let go. You don’t either.

“Because I’d rather spend my hell on earth with you.”

…

You’re ducking into their shoulder before they notice your tears. Their hands slip from yours, instantly winding behind your back. They squeeze you like you’re their lifeline. 

“I’m sorry I didn’t make that clear.”

“Nope, no–” you sniff, sinuses clogged with snot. “I– It’s not your fault, I’m just… a hormonal emotional teenager.”

You feel them huff out a laugh. Your fingers curl into their sweater.

You don’t care that they kept things from you. You don’t care that they’re still keeping things from you.

You don’t care about the past. About the future.

You don’t care about the demon. About the ROARING. About any of it.

Not when it feels so right.

This finally feels right.

…

Your eyes open to the soul, floating waywards above. Watching. Waiting.

You loosen your grip, just slightly. You silently gesture to the soul. They take the hint rather fast, turning to it with a deathly glare.

But then, it does something you don’t expect.

It descends. Slowly. Right to your eye level.

“I’ve tried everything,” it confesses with grueling disappointment. “You never listen. I don’t know what else to do.”

And you’re sure you could reach it if you tried.

…

So you lunge for it.

It doesn’t fight you at all. It seems to accept its fate. You can’t for the life of you figure out why.

You clasp it between your hands. Finally. Finally.

This is all over. For now, at least.

You turn to present the soul to Kris like a birthday gift, but your relieved smile vanishes.

Despite their weakened state, they’ve remained upright for this very moment.

Their eyes glow with a look you’ve never seen on them before. Their knife reappears in their grasp from wherever they hid it.

They’re staring at it like they want to kill it.

“Kris?” You squeak, holding the soul just a tad closer to your chest. “You, uh, okay?”

They tread lightly, stopping when they stand before you. Their free hand, the one without the knife, hovers near your own.

They halt when they see your hesitance.

You peek at them under your lashes. “What’re you doing?”

“You said you trust me, right?” They mumble ominously.

“Yeah. Trust you don’t have bad intentions,” you laugh nervously. “Right now, it looks like you’re filled with nothing but.”

They blink, eyes narrowing onto you. Their grip relaxes. “I’d never hurt you.”

“I–” your bashful smile morphs into one of worry. “I know. But you can’t… y’know, kill it.”

“I won’t.”

“Or hurt it.”

A pause.

“Why not?”

“It’s your soul,” you turn your body away from them. “You need it.”

They stare at you like you’re an idiot. “It’s not just my soul.”

“I know, but–”

Your foot taps, anxious from the way they almost loom over you.

“–what if I brought it home? Just for a day. Let you calm down a bit.”

“I’m calm.”

“You’re good at presenting as such, that’s for sure.”

They hold out a hand, more demanding if anything.

“Give it to me.”

You refuse. “No. I won’t let you hurt yourself.”

“I won’t.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Then we’re back at square one.”

You sigh. “I guess we are.”

You’re fine with that. The hard part’s over; the reveal. Your thoughts are already laid out like glass. It just depends if they decide to smash you to pieces or–

Nevermind. They’ve just tackled you to the grass.

They tumble over you as your head hits the mud, feeling much stickier than before. Ouch.

Oh, that’s how it’s gonna be?

They bracket their legs around your waist. Your hands grip the soul with all your strength, jerking away as they attempt to pry your fingers open.

Their blade’s clenched between their teeth. Their voice is muffled, but loud as hell to your ringing ears. “I’m sorry–”

You knee their side, shoving them off of you with much more ease than you expected.

“Don’t wanna hear it!”

You’re not sure what running’s going to do for you, but you’re on your feet.

You can’t really tell where you are, so you just head away.

“You–”

You wish it could feel the way you suffocate it between your palms. “I’m not doing this for you!”

The grass is slippery, almost annoyingly so. You can’t help but slow down.

But you don’t hear the steps swiftly approaching. You don’t feel the arms sneak over your shoulders.

How’re they so sneaky?

They paw at the soul, managing to get one of your wrists in their grasp. You’re awkwardly tangled in each other’s arms for an oddly long time.

Eventually, you turn to face them. You hold it above you while they twist your elbow to bring it down. Shit.

As a last ditch effort, you shove them off you with all your might. “I’m doing this for you!”

And you chuck it into the sky. Again.

Kris rips the knife from their teeth, ready for another pursuit. You’d rather be in an endless loop of chasing and hunting and fighting if it meant they’d be okay.

…

But the soul–

It doesn’t run. It doesn’t hide.

Even without eyes. You can feel its stare.

Its stare of triumph.

Like you’ve just made the biggest mistake of your life.

But you can’t stare for long, as Kris is already shoving you back by the shoulders. You hit a tree, trapped between the trunk and the arm across your chest.

You squirm, but your legs barely touch the ground. You can’t move.

“Let me go!”

“No–“ they struggle. “Stay here.”

You object and object, but they don’t listen.

They’re waiting for you to calm down, but you don’t.

The tree shields you from the storm, offering grace from your sickly wet clothes.

And you’re tired.

You’re desperate.

You see the knife in their free hand, and you swiftly reach for it. Your hands tangle around their palm; around the base.

They panic. “Let go–”

“You first!”

“I’m protecting you–”

You don’t care for this stupid back and forth, so you keep clenching your fingers, digging your nails into their skin. They don’t flinch.

Even when they’re objectively weaker than you, you’re still outsmarted. 

You can’t win this.

…

Midway through your desperate clawing, your eye catches sight of something. 

Something behind them.

It’s–

A…

…faint glow.

You don’t know what it’s doing.

It floats. 

Waiting.

But then, it–

It hovers towards them. It’s coming.

Kris doesn’t notice your incentive fade.

You hear the voice. It’s quiet, almost remorseful.

“I’m sorry,” it whispers.

But you know it isn’t. 

And right as you think it’s about to touch Kris–

It vanishes. Nowhere to be seen. It’s gone.

You can’t help but focus back on them.

What just happened?

Their eyes widen in realization. Yours, on the other hand, squint in confusion. 

Their grip almost completely slacks, nearly dropping the knife.

…

Then, it strengthens tenfold.

The arm on your chest pushes harder. Your back pokes into the bark.

Their jaw clenches. Expression unreadable. Blank.

Their wielding arm tenses.

…

You scream when you realize what’s about to happen.

You’ve never heard yourself make such a noise before.

But it doesn’t matter. No one hears you.

You don’t know where you are. You don’t know how far you are.

You’re too horrified to stop it.

You don’t think you’d have the strength to.

…

There’s a sharp, painful sting in your stomach.

A dig. A twist.

A knife. In your gut. 

The noise dies quickly. You’re too scared to look down.

You can feel the uncomfortable clog of liquid in your lungs.

…

You’re released. You immediately crumble to the ground.

Your legs feel trapped. Like stilts, ready to snap. 

You cough, wiping away the spit that dribbles down your chin.

You look at your hand. It’s red.

It’s blood.

…

Your vision’s becoming hazy, but you can make out most of it.

Kris is holding something. The soul.

They’re whipping the soul at a tree. 

Over. And over. And over.

They slam boulders over it.

Over. And over. And over.

They hold it between their hands. Squeezing, clawing, ripping…

You don’t want them to do that. You don’t want them to get hurt.

You try to tell them. You try to call out. You’re quieter than you hoped–

But they don’t hear you.

…

“I didn’t want to,” you hear faintly.

“Whether on purpose or by accident, you were always the one to kill me.”

It talks so casually.

It’s almost like it’s not being beaten to a pulp right now.

“I tried reasoning with you. Even tried running away as Kris. But you always catch up. It’s always you.”

You choke. Out comes more blood.

“I admire it. Your determination. Reminds me of myself.”

You don’t want to be anything like it.

…

You finally have the guts to look down.

It’s pretty bad. Your hoodie’s soaked from the rain.

There’s a deeper colour, right above your stomach. It’s too dark to make out.

When you touch it, your hands stain an ugly red. 

It washes away in the mist. 

You press on your middle, trying to wipe away the colour.

But it keeps spreading.

…

You’re not sure when Kris came to your side, but you’re glad they did nonetheless.

They’re urgently rambling. You’ve never heard them talk so much before.

Is it bad that you like it? You like their voice. 

Their hands move from your face to your cheeks to your stomach to their phone to your hand.

When you weakly reached for their palm, they interlocked with you wordlessly.

It feels nice. It’s the type of casual intimacy you’ve always wanted. 

You can admit that now.

They asked you why you’re smiling. But you’re too distracted by the way they wipe your lip of the blood. Your blood.

It’s staining their sweater. You don’t want to ruin their sweater.

…

You didn’t realize it, but you think they’re crying.

As much as Kris cries, anyways. Which is nothing. 

You wouldn’t know. You’ve never seen it.

But you’re watching tears fall from their waterline.

It’s not the rain. You can just… tell.

Your thumb swipes their cheek. Their hand envelops yours, encouraging you to cup it.

They gaze at you like you’re everything.

“You have the prettiest cry,” you whisper.

Your blood stains their skin. They don’t seem to care.

“Don’t talk,” their voice cracks painfully. “Please.” 

You watch the leaves collect the rain, dripping onto the muddy ground. 

“We… barely hang out– in the rain,” you sigh. “I thought… it’d be cute, but it’s just… gross.”

Your clothes stick to you uncomfortably.

Your blood mixes with the dirt.

They let out a pathetic, depressing laugh. But it immediately vanishes.

You don’t like that. You miss their laugh.

You’re tired. You want to close your eyes.

You don’t seem to get the choice, anyways.

Their eyes widen in panic. Or something of the sort.

…

You regret it. You regret wanting them to show more emotion.

It’s just not who they are. Even if it’s something you wanted.

And besides. After years of wondering, you finally know what their tears looks like. 

But it’s not what you thought it’d be. 

You’re not sure what you expected. 

…

Although. You are sure of one thing:

You don’t like seeing them cry.

~~~ IF ANYTHING LOOKS WEIRD ITS BC I HIT TUMBLRS 1000 BLOCK LIMIT LOL SO LMK IF SMT IS FORMATTED WEIRD but yeah..... this is definitely NOT a good ending for anyone but the soul LOL but that wraps up this series !!! i hope u guys enjoy it nonetheless <33 IM TAKING REQUESTS !!! now that this is donezo im gonna sort through my inbox (a lot of it is just u guys being super sweet :(( but i do have some actual fic requests in there so look forward to those and send me smt if u have smt u think i could pull off !!!) PS i write what gives me ideas first not whats sent to me first !!! it helps me avoid writers block so DONT FRET if u wanna send me smt u wont be pushed to the back of my list !!! (just hope ur idea sparks my toddler brain lol) pps halfway through the final sequence i audibly shouted "I DONT WANNA DO THIS ANYMORE" so if u dont like the ending dw i dont either LOL but i just couldnt help myself i love angst ppps the part where reader goes to meet soul for first time after and thinks random shit was inspired by an ask in my inbox LMAOO AND FINALLY, sad as it is, im gonna be taking a mini break (2-3 days?) bc i need to do uni prep that ive been putting off bc of this series. ill def be doing brainstorming for fics but i wont be writing probably idk we'll see lol ILY GUYS I LOVE TORMENTING U LMAOO

[sharkbitten-sailor]

Hi sailor! its me TED talk anon again :> im sending this message again just to make sure you'd still get the letter incase the waves of the tumblrian sea swallow the first one wth was i thinking making this joke vro

And im here with another req (tw very and i mean VERY long req srry): *le ehem* "His impression of her in rounds was that she was obnoxiously kind and bubbly, always with her stupid smile and kindness sh#t, always give other survivors her medkit and cola right when he's so damn close to killing them! Annoying, really. But not so surprising since she're so young and all. But what really pisses him off is when he finishes her. God she should be begging, crying for mercy or even look at him in spite, NOT GIVING HIM A GODDAMN "REASSURING" SMILE AND A THUMBS UP LIKE SHE'S OK OR SOMETHING! And yet today's round was diffrent. somehow LMS, he got the teen cornered But something was a bit odd about her... hmm... she were missing uh... oh right. Her iconic irritating, radiating smile that burns like a thousand sun even from 10 shedletskys away. at least to him. Infact she look like they just had a mental episode or something, the hate radiating from the child is concerning to say the least tbh kinda disturbing to see a "kid" with a face like they're going to kill someone. Oh well not his problem. And yet right when his daemonshank was about to pierce her pathetic little skull-

"Can you show me how you hate so easily? Can you please teach me how to hate like you?"

it was a plea? ah excuse me what now-"

OR chat teen reader with ptsd pt2 but imma expand on her character and def not projecting no who said that 🥰 reader was always a lively lil guy and hides their trauma with her "innocence" little smile. Until she broke. The headcanon part with the survivors are their reaction to when reader spilled everything about her past. Which was stupidly simmilar to 1x's. Being betrayed by the one they trusted the most. but in this case they were bullied restlessly at school for months on end. Infact 1x to them was some kind of muse of sort, they envy the fact that one could hate so easily without being bounded by her stupid high moral standards. And ofc the spectre being a lil b#tch it was started a round right after reader's mental episode, and what a coincidence the round's killer was 1x, so lil reader takes a huge risk.

not a ship btw just wanna make that clear! could be a oneshot or hc list you decide since im already asking so much of you im so srry btw- you can also decide the outcome and stuff if it's the oneshot option! again im so so so sorry for asking so much of you, you can decide to not do this request if you wanna, and please take care of urself you are an amazing writer, m'k? :)

. . .

haha this is funny, isn’t it

i’m seriously considering slapping a huge, unmistakable “OPEN FOR ART REQUESTS ONLY” pin on my intro post. is the note in my bio too subtle?

i know i sound a bit sharp right now, but this isn’t the first time - the fourth, actually - that someone’s sent me a writing request even though i clearly stated i’m only taking art requests for now. i’m dealing with writer’s block and low motivation, and i mentioned that upfront.

it’s honestly kind of rude to ignore that boundary. but maybe i’m partly to blame for not making it loud enough. so yeah i think it’s time to make that message impossible to miss.

again, your request is peak. thank you for putting so much thought into it. i really appreciate the time and care you took to write it all out. i might revisit it once my motivation returns, but for now i’m sticking strictly to art requests while i work through this writer’s block.

take care of yourself too, ted talk anon.

[decembermoonskz]

.

[drafts-and-delusions]

Reader under anesthesia around them 💌 Request

Tags: fem!reader, comedy, post-surgery nonsense

🎀 Masterlist  💄 Request Guidelines

Jinu

You’re still half-drugged when you point at him and gasp.

“Wait… you’re hot?”

Jinu blinks. “Excuse me?”

You squint, very seriously. “You’re my boyfriend?”

He nods slowly, unsure where this is going.

“Huh.” You stare at him like the math isn’t mathing. “I thought I liked sweet guys.”

“I am sweet,” he says gruffly.

You tilt your head, eyes glazed and voice full of suspicion. “You look like the type to kiss someone and steal their credit card.”

The nurse coughs into her sleeve, clearly holding back a laugh.

Jinu exhales hard. “You’re literally high.”

You nod, calm and sure. “High on regret.”

He rubs his temples, looking like he’s fighting every instinct not to walk out. Then he turns to the nurse.

“Can we put her back under? Just five more minutes.”

You grin. “You love me.”

He mutters, “Unfortunately,” but his hands are already adjusting the blanket around your shoulders. His touch lingers, quiet and careful. He doesn’t say anything else. He doesn’t have to.

Romance

You’re loopy; eyes barely open, lips puffy from the anesthesia and moving with zero filter.

The first thing out of your mouth? “Are you famous? You’re so pretty. You should be a model. Wait, no. A K-pop star.”

Romance blinks at you like he’s been personally attacked by flattery. “You’re literally dating me.”

“Lucky me,” you whisper, then giggle.

He presses the nurse call button with all the urgency of someone ordering food at 3 a.m. “Nurse, how long does this stuff last? I need to record everything. This is gold.”

You keep going, barely registering his sarcasm.

Later, when you’re lucid, he sends you ten voice memos labeled “Babe being obsessed with me.” They’re all you. Saying the most unhinged, love-drunk things in the softest voice imaginable. He has them backed up on two different drives and one burner phone.

Abby

You wake up slowly, blinking past the blur and dryness in your eyes. Everything feels heavy, soft around the edges. But then you see him—Abby, standing by your bedside like he’s been there for hours. His hair is perfect. His face is perfect. His shoulders are basically illegal.

You squint. “…You’re my boyfriend?”

He nods, brushing your hair away from your forehead with a careful hand. “I’m here. You did great.”

Your jaw drops. “You’re hot.”

He freezes for a second. “Babe, I’ve always looked like this—”

“No, like—seriously? You’re my boyfriend? Did I pull? Is this a prank?”

You start giggling. It doesn’t stop. “Oh my god. You’re so handsome. And beefy. And gentle. I must’ve saved an orphanage in my past life or something.”

He tries to keep a straight face, but he’s already turning red, ears and all. The tips of his fingers twitch like he wants to hide behind something.

When you call him “my husband” and try to touch his chest “for proof,” the nurse has to step out to laugh.

Mystery

You blink up at him like you’ve just seen heaven.

“Are you a dream?” you ask, voice slurred from the meds. “Or did I actually bag the hottest man alive?”

Mystery stands at the edge of your bed, silent and stiff. He was hoping you’d sleep through the worst of it; maybe slip in, check your vitals, and leave before you stirred. But no. You’re wide awake, high as a kite, and staring at him like he’s glowing.

“Your hair is so shiny,” you sigh. “Can I touch it? Just one strand. Please. I won’t eat it.”

He finally speaks; his voice is low and quiet, like he’s worried it might shatter the moment.

“You’re ridiculous.”

You just smile, unfazed. It’s the kind of smile you usually give him when you know you’re pushing it, and you love that you’re getting away with it.

“You think I’m pretty when I’m ridiculous?”

“…Yeah.”

You gasp, scandalized. “You do love me.”

He crosses his arms and looks away; you catch the red creeping across his ears.

“You’re gonna forget this.”

You reach for his hand, clumsy and giggling. “Not if you kiss me.”

He exhales through his nose. Leans in. Presses a kiss to your temple and mutters, just barely above a whisper, “You’re worse when you’re sober.”

“Wait, say that again. I love your voice. It’s like villainy and chocolate.”

He doesn’t answer. Five minutes later, you’re making up a dramatic ballad about him and his bangs while swaying your legs under the blanket. He turns to leave. Before he goes, he pulls the blanket up to your chest and says, soft and brief, “Rest.”

He’ll deny smiling the entire walk back to the waiting room. But the nurse catches it.

Baby

When you wake up, everything feels like pudding. Your tongue is heavy. Your eyes sting. Your brain is buffering. But you know one thing for sure: there’s a menace in the room.

“Hey, Sleeping Ugly,” Baby says, kicking the wheel of your hospital bed like he’s bored. “Alive again. Yippee.”

You squint at him. “Whuh…?”

He drags the visitor’s chair closer with the loudest scrape imaginable.

You try to sit up. Your head wobbles.

“Whoa, whoa,” he says, catching your shoulder. “Relax. You just got your insides reorganized.”

You blink slowly. “You’re… cute.”

He stares at you. “Okay, first of all, no flirting until the drugs wear off. Second, I know.”

Your hand flops into his lap. You poke his thigh like it’s a doorbell. “Are you… real?”

He scoffs. “Unfortunately.”

You keep poking. “You’re warm. Soft. Like a—”

“If you say ‘teddy bear,’ I swear to all things unholy, I’ll unplug your IV.”

You giggle, loopy and unbothered. “You love me.”

He freezes. Blinks once. Then grabs your pudding cup and starts peeling the foil off.

“No, but really,” you say, eyes fluttering shut again, “You missed me.”

He feeds you a spoonful of pudding without looking you in the eye. “Shut up and chew.”

You smile, all drugged and smug. “You did miss me…”

He keeps feeding you in silence, face unreadable.

Then, just when you think he’s going to brush it off forever, he mutters under his breath—barely audible over the heart monitor:

“I almost threatened the surgeon. Happy now?”

Your heart rate spikes.

He frowns. “Okay, calm down. You’re gonna get me kicked out.

[kurominiiiz]

The amount of incest, noncon, and pedophilic jjk smut content is getting out of hand.

"Just scroll if you don't like it!" - this doesn't negate the fact they're posting disgusting scenarios. They're targeting an audience of people who should seek therapy. That kind of shit is not okay.

It's like saying "scroll part a zoophile account on Twitter if u don't like it." See how stupid it sounds?

This Fandom is slowly becoming one i regret being in because of just how disgusting people are becoming. Come on guys, do better.

It's okay to have kinks and fetishes, but that doesn't mean they're okay. It's not okay to sexualize minors, it's not okay to sexualizw little space, it's not okay to sexualize r//pe! I get dubcon, but noncon? That's literally just nonconsensual sex.

Anyways. Rant over. Do better, people.

---

Edit: I have MUCH more to say on this now that I've read some other inputs:

The problem isn't "block and move on" or "ur arguing for fiction..." it's the fact people are exposing minors and already mentally ill people to VERY REAL and DISGUSTING scenarios. It doesn't matter that they're fictional, what they're writing about is a real issue. Blocking tags doesn't work most of the time, so stop saying to shut up and just use that feature.

Another thing is that people are making these writings so normal that they are making others think it's okay. When I was younger, I had unsupervised internet access and was exposed to smut like this. It messed me up and got me institutionalized because I didn't know it wasn't okay to talk about. Minors nowadays are also very unsupervised and will come across your stuff. I'm worried for the next generation.

Last thing, the excuse "they're just fiction" is flawed because you're ignoring the PSA! You wouldn't say this if it was about something else, right? If someone was saying: "I love lolicon!" You wouldn't block and move on. You would call their asses out and comment bomb them. It's the same concept, except on a broader spectrum. You're enabling the behavior of these vile creatures that need serious help. You're not doing anyone any good by saying "this is so unnecessary" or "they're fictional..."

(Update: read this post about my asks if you plan on sending a hate message or threat lol)

[cherrysinner]

─── TAKE THE BAIT ♡

♡ pairing: clark x girlfriend!reader

♡ summary: you've been known to prank clark, but one of your pranks is starting to make your boyfriend overthink things.

♡ warnings / tags: fluff! clark keeps getting ragebaited. wc: 1.5k

♡ author's note: we're ragebaiting clark kent in and out of canon!!

CLARK KENT MASTERLIST ♡

it was no secret that you liked pulling harmless practical jokes on your boyfriend, whether it was by buying a bunch of tiny plastic babies in bulk and hiding them around the apartment, making clark scratch his head when he started finding more and more babies every day, even hiding a few of them in his bag, or by convincing him to do a tiktok with you, only for you to prank him.

one day, after weeks of baby-hiding when clark had found a row of babies on his bathroom sink, he'd walked up to you with his brows furrowed, hands cupping a bunch of plastic babies.

"is this- is this supposed to be some kind of hint?"

you'd looked up from your laptop with a perplexed expression, "what... what am i looking at here?" "the babies. the plastic babies." "clark, what are you talking about?" you chuckled as you looked from him down to the babies, "and why do you have a bunch of plastic babies?"

"because i've been-" he let out an exasperated sigh, "i keep finding a bunch of babies everywhere." "sorry, clark. i have no idea where they're coming from." you shrugged, bringing your cup of coffee to your lips, "maybe it's some supervillain playing with you."

your boyfriend narrowed his blue eyes at you, letting out an adorable huff, and making his way back to the bathroom, your lips quirking up into a smile.

but later that night, as you and clark were in bed, your boyfriend in the middle of writing an article, you stretched your arms over your head, "mm, i'm starving. i think i'll go get a snack." "do you want me to make you something?" clark asked, looking up from his laptop with a small smile. "nah, i'll just go grab something small."

only for you to make your way to the kitchen and grab the bag of babies. "what'd you get?" clark was now back to focusing on the computer screen. "oh, nothing much." you mumbled, getting back under the covers. you held out the bag to him, a mischievous grin on your lips, "want one?"

"oh, no th-" when clark's eyes landed on the bag of babies, he looked to you with his blue eyes narrowed, but a playful grin on his lips, "i knew it."

"i couldn't res-"

your sentence was cut off by clark bringing his lips to yours, making you drop the bag of babies onto the bed, more focused on having your hands on him.

it had taken you a few weeks for you to be able to convince him to make a tiktok with you; clark was never too into social media, but you were playing the long game, and eventually, he finally agreed.

"so, what are we doing?" clark asked, clearing his throat and straightening his tie. you shook your head as you set up your phone so that it was leaning against a stack of books, "oh, it's just... a little get-to-know-you video. i tell people about you and then you can tell them a bit about me." "alright." clark took in a deep breath, and you made the phone to record.

"so, some of my favorite things about clark... he's a sweet guy, obviously." you let out a soft chuckle, "he's funny, but in a dorky, adorable way. and one thing he does, is every morning he'll wake me up by holding me close, pressing kisses on my cheek and mumbling stuff to me really softly."

as you turned to clark, you could see his cheeks starting to redden, the man clearing his throat, "do... do i go now?" "no, still my turn." you turned back to the phone, "but... clark does have like, a certain set of rules for me to follow." "wait, rules?"

"so, clark doesn't wan't me speaking to guys," "you have guy fr-" "and whenever i leave the house, he wants me to send a picture of my outfit to make sure it's not too revealing." "i ask for them because you look cute in them!" "and he always wants to be able to track my location through my phone."

"what- i don't even know how to do that?" "and i always need to have dinner ready by the time he gets home." "we alternate!" "he always logs everything i eat on a meal tracker to make sure i don't gain weight. and the last thing-"

"sweetheart." your boyfriend said with the softest voice, his brows furrowed in concern, "i'm confused, did i do something to make you think you have some sort of rules?"

you couldn't help the pang in your chest at the softness of his words, and the genuine worry marring his features, making you feel bad, "no, no!" you rushed, letting out a sigh, pursing your lips with an apologetic look on your face as you cupped his cheeks, "i'm sorry, clark, it was just a stupid prank."

"really?" clark asked with a relieved tone, and you nodded your head, "golly, you worried me." "i'm sorry. i didn't mean to make me feel bad."

your boyfriend's lips turned upwards, "you're lucky i love you so much." "i love you too, clark." you smiled, bringing your lips to his.

next time, you decided to go for something you considered to be a nice prank, one that wouldn't make clark overthink things and that he'd actually really like and find cute, but what you couldn't predict was that it was the one that was going to make him overthink things the most.

you and clark walked into the diner you'd spotted on your way home after you'd gone out for drinks with your friends, both of you thinking about nothing but pancakes and milkshakes. clark led you to a booth, picking up the menu off the table as you sat down next to one another, both of you looking over it together.

"what were you thinking?" clark mumbled, turning to you with a fond smile on his lips, your lips pursed in thought, "i was thinking... strawberry milkshake and blueberry pancakes." "good choice. i was thinking chocolate milkshake and chocolate pancakes." "excellent choice, mr. kent."

moments later, an older waitress walked up to your table with a wide smile on her sweet face, "what can i get for ya?" "i'll have the blueberry pancakes with a strawberry milkshake, and my husband will have the chocolate pancakes with a chocolate milkshake."

clark felt a flutter at the pit of his stomach when he heard that word leave your lips. husband. he was sure it was just a random slip-up, but he couldn't help the way his smile brightened when you called him your husband.

but then... it started happening more often.

clark could hear that you were on the phone with someone from outside your front door, though it was mostly covered up by the sound of a pan sizzling. he pushed open the door, smiling as he started to make his way towards the kitchen, popping his head in.

"i'm home." clark said softly, and you rolled your eyes, "i should get going, my husband just got home. yeah. talk to you soon. bye." once again, clark felt a wave of flutters, his cheeks feeling warmer. husband. "so, how was work?" you looked to clark as you set down your phone. "yeah," clark cleared his throat, trying to bite down his smile, "it was good."

suddenly, the sleepy mumbles of "good morning my love..." you'd let out every morning turned into "good morning my husband..."

when you went out to museums or on the beach, instead of asking a stranger, "could you take a picture of us?" it became "could you take a picture of my husband and i?"

and although clark's bright blue eyes only got brighter every time you referred to him as your husband, he couldn't help but feel a pang of anxiety. why did you keep calling clark your husband? could it be...? no. no way. the nightstand drawer was locked.

but when it continued to bother him, he decided to finally bring it up as the two of you were laid up on the couch, clark's arm around you. "sweetheart?" he mumbled softly, and you turned your attention from the tv to your boyfriend with a warm smile, "what's up?"

"i was wondering... how come you've suddenly started calling me your husband?" your eyes widened slightly, brows raising, "oh." you let out a soft chuckle, "well, initially it was because of a prank i saw about calling your boyfriend your husband. but you didn't really react to it, so i wanted to see how long it'd take for you to react. and... i guess it kind of stuck. do you- are you not comfortable with it? i can stop."

"no, no, it's not that." clark smiled, "i like it." he brought his lips to your forehead. but it was a relief to know that you hadn't found the ring box in the drawer of his nightstand.

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[missadangel]

MAKE HIM DISLIKE LOVE YOU

Harry Castillo x Reader (The Materialists)

Chapter 1: Blind Date

series masterlist next chapter

Summary: You work as a housekeeper in a rich family's mansion and often have to deal with their spoiled daughter. One day, she asks you to pretend to be her on a blind date with a guy her dad picked out for her. Your mission is to make him not like you so he won't want to marry her. But here's the twist: will Harry end up hating you, or could he actually fall for you? That's the real question. Warnings: 18+ (smut, MDNI) kinda romantic comedy stuff, fluffy, angst, lying, soft and caring Harry Castillo, Lucy as his ex, John as Lucy's ex, wealth, expensive gifts, drinks, money, cars, language, sexual tension, oral sex, p in v sex, kissing, slow burn, power imbalance, I might have missed some warnings; I will update them in due time. Word Count: 4.8k for now, There will be a part two if you guys like it, but I'm not sure about the rest. Sorry for the poor writing; that was quick. authors note: I am not sure about his name. If there's any update, I will edit. English is not my native, so please be nice; this is my third fanfiction. Thank you for the reblogs, comments, and likes. Love you all!

"Ugh, this dress is so last season! Are you serious? Everything here is out of style—get rid of them! Call Elliot and have them send me another dress, or I'm going to be really pissed!"

As if tossed at you like a used handkerchief, another dress worth thousands of dollars—perhaps only worn once—landed in your hands. You sighed as you looked at the elegant dress you were now holding, the Gucci label glinting under the light.

"Story of my life," you mumbled.

Working as a housekeeper in a millionaire's house was hard enough, but dealing with his spoiled and ill-tempered daughter was exhausting. Yet you were determined that it would soon be over. You could no longer endure this physical and psychological torture. With the money you had saved, you planned to open your own restaurant—fulfilling your dream. You just needed to save a little more and hang in there a bit longer.

Your boss was a decent, kind man, but his daughter was so unbearable that every housekeeper assigned left the next day.

How do you even tolerate her? 

Because you didn’t have the luxury of quitting and waiting for a new job. You were still young and trying to establish yourself in the business. The extra pay you received was simply to endure her antics. Your kind millionaire boss had even promised you all the support you needed, suggesting you could quit your day job and focus solely on managing his daughter’s affairs. But how could you have known it would be so challenging? Still, you managed to get through each day and believed you could endure this for just a little while longer. After all, you had survived three challenging years already, right?

The mansion was enormous, and everything inside was meticulously organized. Everyone—housekeepers, gardeners, cooks, and even the owners—followed a disciplined daily routine. 

Except for the young lady of the house.

You never knew when she would wake up or come downstairs to join her family at the dinner table. She was stubborn, mean, and unpredictable, and you had to manage her behavior just as you managed her dresses, her dates, and her friends. Because you were responsible for her, there were times when you wished you could handle all the housework yourself and let someone else take care of her demands. Despite being just an ordinary housekeeper, your name was the one that echoed the most throughout this vast mansion.

Why? 

Because the young lady constantly called on you to fulfill her never-ending requests. And it was one of those moments again. Since it was evening, you guessed she was probably getting ready for a night out at the club, and you felt a surge of annoyance as you rushed to her room.

"I can’t believe my dress, which was tight before I started this job, is now way too big. I shouldn’t be surprised, though. It’s all thanks to that b.i.t.c.h.," you spelled, mumbling to yourself, quickly making your way up the stairs.

One of the cleaners dusting the vases in the hallway shot you a wink and let out a sigh. Man, you’d do just about anything to be in her shoes, just taking care of that vase!

As soon as you knocked on the door, the young lady Melanie opened it, pulled you inside by the arm, and slammed the door shut behind you. You were taken aback—had you made a mistake? It had only been two hours since you last saw her; you had picked up her clothes off the floor and taken them to the laundry room. She had seemed content, busy texting on her phone. What could have possibly happened in such a short time?

“Is something wrong?” you asked, your eyes wide. For some reason, she looked super tense and nervous.  

“You’ve gotta help me,” she said almost desperately, which caught you off guard; it was pretty rare for her to ask for help like this, very rare.  

“Of course, if I know what’s going on…” 

“Remember that thing we did with the senator's son? I need you to do something like that again.”

You froze for a moment. She was referring to something you had helped her with before—something you weren't very proud of.

“Oh, but—” you frowned. “You said I’d never have to do anything like that again.”

Years ago, you had done your best to disguise yourself as Melanie to turn off the senator's son and prevent him from marrying her. It had worked, but lying to someone was a real headache. Thankfully, Melanie's father hadn’t suspected a thing, but the thought of risking it again felt scarier than anything else.

“I know, I know, but I’m in a tough spot. My dad has been speaking with a matchmaker again to arrange a match for me. After the scandal at the club last time, he's determined to marry me off for sure. Please, I need your help.”

How could she still act so childish in her late twenties? As she looked at you with those pleading eyes, memories of all the times she’d yelled at you and scolded you flashed in your mind. It was fine when you were more like her special assistant instead of just a housekeeper, but now it feels like you’re just a toy to her. When she wants to have fun, she plays with you—almost like you’re her little slave or something.

“I’m not here for that,” you said firmly. “That is not my job.” Your patience was running thin, and this was just too much.  

“But you’re supposed to help me,” she shot back, stubborn as ever. “And it’ll be easier this time, I promise.” 

You narrowed your eyes and said, “We got caught last time when the guy found out and cursed both of us. Do you have any idea how hard that was for me? And if your father discovers what we’re up to this time…”

She replied with a grin, “We won’t get caught this time because I already sent them your photo instead of mine. Besides, you know how my father is strict about always having my picture removed from newspapers and magazines.”

“You did what?” you wailed.

“Chill, it’s all figured out. I’ve been working on this since last week. You’ll have dinner with the guy, pretend to be me, scare him off, and boom! He won’t want to hear my name again. Easy peasy!”  

You rolled your eyes. “But he’s surely seen your photo somewhere; he can’t be that clueless.”  

“No, he’s a very busy businessman. He has lived abroad for years and has just returned from France. He’s looking to set up his business here in New York,” she said as she opened her laptop and pulled up a webpage with information about the man. “It seems he’s also looking for a suitable match,” she continued, glancing at his photo and pursing her lips.

You froze when you looked at the photo; he wasn’t at all what you expected. He appeared to be a mature, charismatic, and intelligent man. But how could you sit opposite this man and pretend to be someone else? The thought made you shudder, raising the tiny hairs on the back of your neck.  

“As you can see, he’s much older than me. I don’t think he’ll tolerate disrespect. If you’re disrespectful to him, he might get annoyed and just leave the table,” she said with a chuckle.

You laughed too, but for a different reason. You were sure that if she went to the meeting herself, he would get up and leave when he saw her personality.  

“I think you should go; maybe he won’t like you,” you suggested.  

She narrowed her eyes at you like she'd just caught you saying something crazy. “He won’t like me? Seriously?” She flipped her hair over her shoulder with a cocky grin. “Anyway, I can’t risk it. I don’t want to marry him or anyone else, and I definitely don’t want to be stuck in the same room with that old man.” 

As if I want it so much, you thought.  

“Come on, please do this for me! I promise I’ll be good; I won’t make you work too hard. I’ll ask Dad to give you a nice raise,” she said, clasping her hands together and trying to look cute.  

Well, good raise would mean you could quit your job and bail out of here earlier, right? You crossed your arms and glanced back at the laptop screen, staring at the photo of that guy—Harry Castillo. You made a decision that you had no idea would change everything in both his life and yours.

“Fine. When’s dinner?” you said, feeling a bit anxious.  

“Oh, you’re the best! I knew you couldn’t say no!” she said excitedly. “This Saturday.”  

“But that’s only two days away,” you pointed out, feeling even more nervous.  

“Don’t worry, I’ll get you all set. Just make sure you displease him,” she grinned.  

You sighed deeply, already sure you’d regret this choice.

“Don’t you think this dress is a bit… exaggerated?” you muttered, looking at yourself in the mirror.  

It was an elegant burgundy dress—strappy, satin, and adorned with pearl details—the kind of designer item you could never afford, even if you worked your entire life.  

“Am I trying to make him hate me or make him fall for me?” you asked, frowning.  

Melanie rolled her eyes. “Don’t worry; he’ll never fall in love with you,” she said arrogantly. This was typical behavior for her, so you chose to ignore it. “As much as you want to annoy him, remember that you represent me. I don’t want anyone gossiping that Melanie Johanson is wearing a lame dress,” she continued while picking out a matching purse.  

“But everyone knows I’m not you, except that poor guy.”  

“I don’t suppose you were planning to wear one of your own skimpy outfits,” she remarked. “Do you want our game to be exposed?”  

That was too much—being scolded and being forced to do something so ridiculous for this spoiled girl.  

“Fine, go to that dinner yourself then,” you said, slipping off your heels.  

She grabbed your arms. “No, no, no, please. Okay, I’m sorry I was rude. But I need you; no one else would do something like this for me.”  

“It’s good that you realize that,” you muttered.  

“Here, take this; it’s time,” she said, giving you a smile.  

Honestly, putting up with Melanie’s constant demands, cleaning up after her, and covering for her felt like child’s play compared to what you were facing tonight. 

A nice raise, you keep telling yourself trying to soothe yourself. I’m doing this for my restaurant; I’ll get it started someday.

The restaurant was one of the most famous, expensive, and luxurious places in New York—somewhere you would never normally set foot in. But tonight, thanks to Melanie’s name, you could easily get in. You were overwhelmed by the incredibly polite behavior of the restaurant staff.  

Melanie may have been extravagant and reckless, but she had thought of almost everything for tonight—from the driver who brought you here to the all restaurant staff. 

All this effort was for one purpose: to rid herself of the matchmaker’s match.  

When they took your fur coat at the entrance and told you that Mr. Castillo was waiting for you, you took a deep breath. After one step inside, when you saw him, you nearly backed away. Harry was busy on his phone, scribbling notes in his small notebook. He looked really sharp and stylish—way more handsome and appealing than in the photo.

Damn.  

You wanted to escape; you wished to put an end to this nonsense before it even began. Without realizing it, your feet started to move backward. Just then, you turned around and accidentally bumped into the waiter behind you, causing him to drop the champagne glasses he was carrying on his tray. The glasses shattered, and champagne spilled all over his outfit. You cursed yourself for the mishap.

Before you could even respond, the waiter apologized. “No, it was my fault; I’m sorry,” you said nervously, trying to wipe off the champagne from his clothes.

The other waiter and the staff stared at you in shock. 

Yes, you were a wealthy lady now, but what harm was there in being polite?

"No, ma'am, I should have been more careful," he said before turning and walking away.

"Miss Johnson?" said a soft, deep voice. 

You turned around to meet him and felt almost breathless. There he was, few inches taller than you, with broad shoulders, curly hair, deep-set brown eyes, a sharp nose, and an attractive appearance. 

"Melanie, right?" 

"Y-yes," you stammered, batting your eyelashes. 

And that smile! For a moment, the world seemed to stop; all the sounds in the restaurant faded, and you almost forgot why you were there. 

"I'm Harry," he said, holding out his hand. It took you so long to look at his face that you nearly forgot to acknowledge his hand. He laughed again, that wonderful smile lighting up his face. "My hand has been waiting for a while," he said teasingly. 

You felt your cheeks flush as you realized what he meant. "I'm sorry," you replied, quickly reaching out to shake his waiting hand. His hand was big and warm. "I hope I didn't keep you waiting too long," you mumbled, feeling embarrassed. You knew you needed to work up the courage. 

“Not really,” he said with a grin. “Shall we head to our table? Or do you want to stay here all night?” 

“S-sure,” you said sheepishly. 

Well, there wasn't much you could do about it. This wasn't just about him being wealthy or handsome. Even if it was a fake date, it had been years since you'd been on a date, and you didn’t know many men in your life. 

Dinner was harder than you expected. Even though you and Melanie had practiced what you should and shouldn't say, your fears came to light. Harry seemed kind and understanding, and it was difficult to lie to him, which made you hate every minute of it. It got worse when he started grilling you with questions, and you weren't sure how much longer you could keep up with this silly game.

When you excused yourself to go to the restroom, you called Melanie. 

"What do you mean he hasn't left the restaurant yet?" 

"I don't know; the conversation got a little long, and he kept asking questions about me, I mean you." 

"Do something to make him hate you already!" 

“But how? Throw wine at him? This is all ridiculous. I think we should just tell the truth.”

"Don't you dare!" she barked.

Her voice was so loud that you had to smile apologetically when the other women in the ladies room looked at you strangely, hearing your end of the conversation. 

"What am I supposed to do? Our plan isn't working." 

“What's up with this guy? He should’ve bailed by now.” Melanie grunted.

“He seems nice—I doubt he’d be rude like that.” 

“Rude! That’s the ticket; just be rude enough that he can’t stand it.” 

“What? Seriously?” 

“Yep, you heard me. Just be as rude as you can.” 

You let out a sigh, really wishing you could just bang your head against the wall right now.

“I said do it, or you'll ruin everything. Call me when you’re done.” 

“But what am I gonna— Hello? Darn it!” 

Beep… Beep… Beep… 

She hung up. 

You’ll have to be rude, how wonderful! But she was right; you needed to get rid of this man for the night to end and for you to return to your normal life. Why did he have to be so nice and kind? If he could ever act like a jerk, you would have done it by now, but he was just too sweet. As you looked in the mirror, you thought of all the rude things a lady wouldn’t normally do. Ah, that sounds familiar; it reminds you of Melanie herself. The very thought of her actions made you smile nervously. You took a deep breath and left the restroom.

Encouraging yourself, you gazed at Harry's handsome face from afar.

You can do it, you can do it...

Your first move: act indifferent.

You changed your facial expression as you approached the table and deliberately looked away from his face. He was smiling warmly at you. No, you couldn't look at him; it would only complicate everything. You were about to apologize for being late, but no, you can’t. Instead, you pulled your chair noisily on purpose, scraping its legs on the floor to create an annoying sound. You sat down and crossed your legs, positioning your body so it wasn't fully facing him. Harry seemed surprised by this sudden shift in your mood, but he didn’t comment.

A little later, as your desserts were served, he looked at you, “I like chocolate cake too, especially with pistachio sauce. We have similar tastes,” grinning at you.

You looked at him and then at the waiter. “I don’t want this,” you said angrily.

“But ma'am, you ordered it,” the poor man replied sheepishly.

“I’ve changed my mind,” you said. “I’ll go with the tiramisu,” you added after a quick look at the menu, making sure to glance away casually.

“Sure, I’ll change it right away,” he said, taking your plate and walking back.

“Are you all right?” Harry asked, concern creeping into his voice.

“I’m great,” you lied, forcing a fake grin.

He didn’t ask any further questions, but he seemed to suspect something had changed. When the waiter brought your dessert, you decided to eat it rudely. You were sure Harry would be disgusted as you devoured your dessert quickly and rather rudely as if you were starving. You didn’t look at him again until you finished your plate. When you finally glanced up, your stomach feeling a bit nauseous, the look on his face was not what you had expected. He was smiling at you admiringly.

What the hell was that? 

Shouldn’t he have shown disgust or displeasure, just like the people at the next table who were staring at you with disdain?

But not Harry, not him. Why, God, why? 

As if teasing you, he laughed and reached for a napkin on the table, wiping the remnants of dessert from the corner of your lips. “You’ve got quite the sweet tooth, don’t you, sweet girl?”

How could he be so nice, even after everything? 

“Want to eat mine too?” he joked again. Clearly, you were amusing him instead of grossing him out. Ugh, just what you needed. Why was this so hard? 

“It’s the cream in it,” you said, a bit defensive. If you were going to get into a battle of words, you might as well dive in. 

When he looked at you, confused, you thought you saw a glimmer of hope. Maybe you could annoy him with your gourmet knowledge. 

“The Marsala wine is in the cream; it’s a secret recipe,” you said, trying to sound smart. 

Harry paused eating his dessert, rested his elbow on the table, and gave you an admiring look. “Interesting. I didn’t know you were into cooking. That wasn’t in the info.” That familiar warm smile was back.

Crap. Another mess-up. 

“I get it—you’re keeping it under wraps from your dad. I want you to feel comfortable talking about your hobbies when you’re with me.” 

When you’re with him? Damn, that was supposed to be the first and last time you saw him. You started playing with your fingers in your hair out of nervousness. 

Think, think, think. All you had left was to use the only card you had.

“Look, Harry, I’ll be frank. I don’t plan to see you again.”

Suddenly, he stopped. “Didn’t you like me?” he asked softly.

Was it possible not to like this man? But damn it, you had to lie. You looked away; it was hard to read his expression.

“You’ve probably heard about me from the tabloids. I’m not the type of woman to get attached to just one man. My father put me up to this matchmaker thing; I didn’t intend to.” You admitted this indirectly. He deserved a little honesty, didn’t he? “I’ve had and will have many men in my life. I don’t plan to get married. I mean, you’re not special. I don’t want you to get the wrong idea.” 

When you looked at his face timidly, you realized you got the reaction you had been waiting for since the beginning of the night. His smile vanished; his expression hardened, and the color of his eyes darkened. 

But why did your heart squeeze when you should have felt relieved?

When they brought your coat, you thanked them and turned to Harry for the last time. You would probably never see him again. You felt fortunate to have had the chance to meet and get to know this man, even briefly. He would probably forget you anyway; why would he remember you? 

“Can I give you a ride home so we can end things on a good note?” he asked, sounding a bit unsure.

You definitely didn’t see that coming. You paused, trying to figure out what to say. It would’ve been easier to just say no, but his eyes were so mesmerizing that if he’d asked you to spill all your secrets right then, you might have done it without even thinking.

“Sure,” you replied, feeling shy.

When the valet brought Harry's car around, your jaw dropped. This black, late-model Mercedes Benz S was probably worth hundreds of thousands of dollars. Your interest in cars stemmed from your childhood; your mother always complained that you didn't like dresses and jewelry like other girls—rather, you liked cars. It was clear you were different, and you had always been that way.

Just like the situation you found yourself in now. Maybe there was something wrong with you.

The two of you were silent the entire ride. You didn’t look directly at him, but you could feel his gaze on you out of the corner of your eye. However, you were more captivated by the interior of the car. When would you ever get to ride in such a luxury vehicle again? It wouldn’t hurt to take a closer look. As you glanced towards his side to check out the control panel and see how much horsepower the car had, he caught your eye, causing you to quickly turn your head away. You had to suppress your curiosity.

"We’ll turn right here," you said as you approached the junction. Down the street, the giant mansion loomed, so close to your destination. You stole a quick glance at him, realizing this might be the only time you would see this man in person. You wanted to remember his handsome face. 

Suddenly, Harry slammed on the brakes, and the car screeched to a halt. Your eyes widened in surprise as you looked at him, startled that he had stopped so abruptly near the mansion. What had caused him to suddenly halt? He didn’t say a word, just stared at you, and his eyes seemed to communicate something intense. Was he angry and no longer wanting your company? 

You unbuckled your seatbelt and reached for the door handle, only to find it locked.

“Stay still,” he said as he unlocked the car doors. 

What was he implying? He walked around the front of the car, reached your side, and opened your door. 

Was this chivalry? If so, why did he stay away from the mansion?

“Aren’t you getting out?” His voice was kinda cold.

You didn’t know how to respond. You stepped out of the car without saying a word.

“Thanks for the ride—” 

Suddenly, he grabbed your arm—not roughly, but with a firm, questioning grip. His gaze was intense, but why did he look that way? Had he figured it all out? Maybe he was about to confront you for making a fool of yourself. After all, you had been willing to be open, and now you felt you deserved it. But you didn’t have the courage to meet his eyes, so you lowered your head. 

“You were lying, weren’t you?”

Shit. 

You swallowed hard; this was the moment you had dreaded.

“I-I…”

What were you going to say? How would you even say it?

You were fucked.

Suddenly, Harry pinched your chin with one hand, forcing you to look at him while his other hand rested on your waist. He tilted his head toward you, his hot breath brushing against your face, making your heart race. His lips were dangerously close to yours, and you could feel your throat going dry. What the hell was he going to do? Kissing you or scolding you? After what felt like an eternity, he pulled you closer by the arm around your waist and kissed you.

It had been a long time since you kissed someone, so you were almost shocked by his sudden kiss. No matter how hard you tried to stop yourself, you finally closed your eyes and surrendered to him completely. Your surrendering gave him courage and he deepened the kiss, his hot tongue licking your lips and forcing them apart. While his expert hand lingered on the swell of your breasts teasingly, you moaned and opened your mouth for him and when his tongue touched yours, you could still taste the chocolate from the dessert he had just eaten. 

But suddenly, Harry pulled his head back, breaking the kiss and all contact. Instinctively mesmerized, you leaned forward, eyes closed and mouth agape. When you finally opened your eyes, you caught him snickering, and as the embarrassment of the situation hit you, you wished you could disappear. You instinctively pressed your hand to your burning lips and pressed hem together. Harry licked his lips and grinned. "Just as I predicted. You lied to me. There's no way another man has touched you recently."

For a second, your mind went blank, and you just stared at him, blinking in confusion. What the heck did he mean by that? "Y-you... w-what..." Great, now you couldn't even put together a simple sentence.

What next?

Just then, your phone started ringing. When you opened your purse to get it, Harry reached for it before you could. Fortunately, you had saved Melanie in your phone under a special nickname, not her real name. Harry laughed, raising his eyebrows in surprise and amusement. "Trouble?"

Yes, you had saved her as trouble.

"Can you hand my phone back, please?" you said, holding out your hands, but he caught them with one hand and gently pushed them away. 

“Your trouble can wait,” he said, rejecting Melanie’s call. He dialed a number on your phone, but realized what he was doing when his own phone started ringing.

“There, now you have my number,” he said, handing your phone back to you.

You frowned and grabbed your phone angrily, "What makes you think I’d actually call you?" 

Harry shrugged, pursing his lips. “Shouldn't I call you before I come to pick you up for our next date? I guess I could just come by your house and honk the horn instead.” 

“What?” you exclaimed.

He grinned.

You took a deep breath to release some of your tension. “Harry, why are you doing this? There won’t be a next date; I told you that.”

“One chance,” he said firmly.

“A chance of what?” 

"I want you to give me a chance. A real date. If, at the end of the night, you still feel the same way, I promise you’ll never see me again."

You shook your head. "But why? You’re a man who can have any woman you want. You’re rich, handsome, and kind—why waste your time on someone who doesn’t want you?"

You saw something in his brown eyes, something you couldn’t quite identify, but it was intense. “Because you're different from others,” he said sharply. “True, women are not unattainable for me; they are always around. But what I want is someone special, and I feel that you are the one. There’s something about you that has ignited something in me I haven't felt in a long time. I must admit, I'm surprised; I never thought I’d be attracted to you after reading the news about you, but it seems I was wrong. Can you give me a chance? Please?”

Oh, Harry, there’s so much you don’t know, you thought. Your heart was fluttering at the thought of saying yes, but how could you? How dare you? You weren’t Melanie, the daughter of a wealthy businessman; you were just an ordinary girl.

“You know I won’t leave without hearing your answer, right?” He grunted.

Just then, you heard a car approaching, and you freaked out. That was Melanie’s dad’s car. Your heart nearly stopped.

“You have to go, like, now!” you yelled in a panic.

“First, say yes,” he replied, frowning.

"Si, yes, okay, alright! But please, go now!" you urged, pushing him toward the back of his car. He chuckled in response.

You crouched down to hide your face as the other car drove toward the mansion and pulled him down with you.

“I want you to know I’ve never done anything like this in my life,” he admitted, snickering.

“Is that so funny?” you snapped.

"Okay, I get that you don’t want your dad to see us like this, and I’m curious why, but since you said yes, I’ll be a good guy and leave."

“Yes you do that,” you said with a sigh.

Harry took his phone out of his pocket and waved it before getting into his car. “You’d better answer it when I call,” he said, getting inside. He winked at your puzzled expression and started the engine. His car quickly disappeared from sight along the road. You turned toward the mansion, exhaled deeply, and murmured to yourself.

“I'm so fucked.”

thanks for reading, likes, comments, reblogs are appreciated ❤️

[cressidagrey]

White Horse - Chapter 13: February 2024 - Part 2

Pairing: Max Verstappen x Isabelle Leclerc (Original Character)

Summary:

Max Verstappen is a World Champion. Isabelle Leclerc is invisible.

She watched her family give up everything for Charles’ career—Arthur’s karting, their father’s savings, even her childhood horse. She understood. She never asked for more.

But Max does. He notices the things no one else does, listens when no one else will, and puts her first in ways she never imagined. With him, she isn’t an afterthought—she’s a choice. And for the first time, she realizes she doesn’t have to be invisible.

Warnings and Notes: 

we have now moved on from Charles bashing to bashing his whole family, Discussions of toxic past relationships, talk about loosing a childhood pet, toxic families, Me trying to write therapy sessions.

As always big thanks to @llirawolf , who listens to me ramble

Group Chat: HELP ME

(Members: Lando Norris, Oscar Piastri, Daniel Ricciardo, Carlos Sainz, Lewis Hamilton)

Lando: ok wait, are we sending flowers??

Oscar: flowers seem good

Daniel: FLOWERS YES but like what KIND of flowers

Lando: nothing too funeral Lando: nothing too romantic Lando: nothing too "you almost died but like in a chill way"

Lewis: you guys are the worst crisis team I’ve ever seen

Oscar: YOU’RE IN THIS TOO LEWIS

Lewis: i’m saying it with love.

Daniel: ok no roses…roses feel wrong

Carlos: no lilies either, too funeral

Lando: sunflowers??

Oscar: too happy Oscar: feels like "yay you survived!" party energy

Daniel: small soft bouquet?

Lewis: yeah Lewis: something like daisies Lewis: baby’s breath Lewis: stuff that feels gentle

Oscar: Lewis Hamilton out here secretly a florist

Lando: I KNEW IT

Lewis: I just have better taste than you idiots.

Carlos: confirmed.

Daniel: ok so like gentle happy survival flowers

Oscar: can we also send cookies?

Lando: yesssssssss

Lewis: i’m ordering them now Lewis: no glitter. Lewis: no weird colors. Lewis: keep it simple.

Daniel: who’s writing the card???

Lando: "Dear Belle: Sorry the world is trash. Love, some idiots who are rooting for you."

Oscar: perfect.

Carlos: send it.

***

Text Messages: Daniel Ricciardo & Max Verstappen

Daniel: Hey mate. Daniel:  Just heard from Lewis what happened last night. Daniel:  Wanted to check — is Belle okay?

Max: Yeah. Mild concussion. Some bruises. They kept her overnight for observation. She’s home now. Resting.

Daniel: Fuck, man. Daniel:  I’m glad she’s alright. Daniel:  That must’ve been scary as hell.

Max: It was.

Daniel: If you need anything. Daniel:  Or if she needs anything. Daniel:  You know — groceries, errands, new car — whatever. Daniel:  We’re all around.

Max: Appreciate it. Thanks, mate.

Daniel: Seriously, anything. Daniel:  Give her a hug from all of us, yeah? We’ll send flowers. Oscar insisted on Cookies too. 

Max: I’ll tell her. She’ll appreciate it.

Daniel: Good. Tell her we’re all thinking about her. ***

Leclerc Family Group Chat

(Members: Arthur, Isabelle, Charles, Lorenzo and Pascale)

Arthur: Hey, can you grab croissants on your way over?

Charles: And coffee. Please.

Lorenzo: Maman needs flowers for her lunch today.

Pascale: Isabelle, mon ange, if you have time, could you pick up some things from the market?

Isabelle: Yeah, no. Can’t. I was in a car accident last night.

Arthur: ???

Charles: WHAT.

Lorenzo: What do you mean you were in a car accident???

Arthur: This better not be a joke.

Isabelle: I’m fine. A drunk driver ran a red light and hit me. I spent the night in the hospital for observation, but I’m okay.

Pascale: WHY AM I ONLY HEARING ABOUT THIS NOW?

Arthur: Yeah, kinda rude to just drop that on us.

Isabelle: EXCUSE ME???

Charles: Were you driving too fast?

Isabelle: NO.

Arthur: Were you on your phone?

Isabelle: IT WASN’T MY FAULT.

Lorenzo: But are you sure you weren’t distracted?

Isabelle: I swear to God.

Charles: Okay, okay. Do you need anything?

Isabelle: Just rest.

Arthur: Sooo… no croissants?

Isabelle: ARE YOU SERIOUS RIGHT NOW.

Arthur: Just asking.

Pascale: Isabelle, you should have told me immediately.

Isabelle: It was the middle of the night!

Lorenzo: You still could have texted.

Charles: Next time, at least let us know sooner.

Isabelle: Next time??? Do you think I PLAN to get hit by a car???

Arthur: …so that’s a no on the croissants?

***

Isabelle was curled up on their couch, a blanket over her lap, her hair still a little messy from sleep and bruises peeking out from under the neckline of his hoodie. She was nursing a cup of tea when Max came in from the kitchen with her breakfast.

“Here,” he said softly, setting the tray in front of her. “Eat something.”

She smiled up at him, touched. “Thank you.”

He leaned down and kissed the top of her head, but as he sat next to her, she noticed his eyes drift toward her phone, still open to the Leclerc family group chat.

Max squinted.

“What’s that?” he asked, his tone already shifting.

Isabelle blinked. “Oh. Just my brothers being… them.”

Max, already suspicious, plucked the phone gently from her lap before she could stop him.

Scrolled. Read.

And then he went absolutely still.

When she finally looked at him, his entire body was tight with anger. Not explosive. Not loud.

Cold.  Sharp.  Deadly.

“They’re asking about croissants?” Max said, voice low and dangerous. “After you spent the night in the hospital?”

Isabelle opened her mouth. Closed it. Shrugged helplessly.

Max stood up abruptly, pacing a few steps across the living room like he needed to physically shake off the fury vibrating through him.

“They’re angry at you?” Max said incredulously. “For not calling them? After you got fucking hit by a drunk driver?”

Isabelle flinched. Not because he was yelling — he wasn’t.  Max’s voice had dropped into that awful, simmering tone he only used when he was one second from completely losing it.

“They’re blaming you?” he said, his voice rising just slightly, like he couldn't believe the words as they left his mouth. "Like you did something wrong?"

"It’s not that bad," Isabelle said automatically.

Max spun to face her. His expression was something brutal and raw.  "Don't," he snapped. "Don't defend them."

Isabelle curled tighter into herself, clutching the tea like it was a shield.

"They don’t mean it like that," she said weakly.

Max crossed the room in three strides, crouching in front of her again, his hands gentle even when his voice wasn’t.

"Belle," he said, fierce and low. "You could have died. You could have been killed. And their first reaction was to demand coffee and flowers and fucking croissants? To scold you like a child?"

Isabelle looked down, her throat burning.

Max caught her chin lightly, forcing her to meet his eyes.

"You are not their errand girl," he said, every word knife-edged. "You are not an afterthought. You are not disposable."

Tears slipped down her cheeks before she could stop them.

Max’s face softened instantly.

He pulled her into his arms, holding her so tightly she could barely breathe — but she didn't want to breathe anywhere else anyway.

Max let out a breath through his nose, still fuming. “Next time something happens, you tell me before you tell them. Actually—just always tell me first.”

“I did.”

That made him pause.

She looked up at him, soft smile playing at the corners of her mouth. “You were the first and only person I called.”

The fight in Max deflated just a little. His jaw relaxed, and his shoulders slumped as he wrapped an arm around her, pulling her close.

“Good,” he murmured. “Because I’ll never make you explain why your pain is valid.”

Isabelle pressed a kiss to his jaw, and despite the aches and bruises, she felt lighter somehow. Safer. Seen.

Max kissed the top of her head again, his voice low against her hair.

***

Text Messages: Sebastian Vettel & Max Verstappen

Sebastian: Hey, Max. I heard about what happened in Monaco. Isabelle okay?

Max: ... How do you—

Sebastian: Lewis.

Max: Of course.

Sebastian: He didn’t say much. Just that it was bad. And that you were with her. I figured I should check in.

Max: She’s alright. Concussion. Bruises. Scared the hell out of me, but she’s recovering. Resting at home now.

Sebastian: Good. I’m glad she’s safe. And I’m glad she has you.

Max: Thanks. Really.

Sebastian: Brave of you, keeping it from Charles. Man’s got a temper.

Max: So do I.

Sebastian: 😅 Fair enough. Sebastian:  But seriously — that’s not an easy line to walk. Sebastian:  Keeping something that important private.

Max: It’s not about him. It’s about her. She’s not ready for them to know. I’ll wait until she is. Whatever it takes.

Sebastian: Good. You’re doing the right thing. Sebastian:  (And honestly... I don’t think Charles deserves to know until she’s ready to make him see her properly.)

Max: Agreed.

Sebastian: If you need anything — if she does — let me know. Tell her I’m thinking of her.

Max: I will. She’ll appreciate that. She always liked you, you know.

Sebastian: I like her, too. Always thought she was the strongest Leclerc. Even if no one noticed.

Max: I noticed.

Sebastian: I know. That’s why she’s with you.

***

Text Messages: Max Verstappen & Emilie Abadie

Max: Hey. Wanted you to hear it from me. Belle was in a car accident last night. Drunk Driver T-boned her. 

Emilie: WHAT. Emilie: WHAT DO YOU MEAN. Emilie: IS SHE OKAY???

Max: She’s okay. Bruised, mild concussion. No serious injuries. She’s home now. Resting.

Emilie: Max. You can’t just DROP that on me. I nearly had a heart attack.

Max: Sorry. Didn’t want you finding out through someone else.

Emilie: Thank you for telling me. Is she... really okay? I mean, really?

Max: She’s shaken. But the Volvo did it’s job. It could be so much worse.  

Emilie: Good. Emilie:  Protect her, Max. Or I’ll break your kneecaps. (With love.)

Max: Would expect nothing less from you.

***

Text Messages: Isabelle Leclerc & Emilie Abadie

Emilie: ARE YOU SERIOUS RIGHT NOW.

Isabelle: Hi??

Emilie: DON'T "hi" me. Emilie: I just found out you were in a CAR CRASH??? Emilie: A drunk driver hit you?? Emilie: AND YOU DIDN'T TELL ME???

Isabelle: I was going to... Isabelle: I just didn’t want to worry you. I’m okay. Isabelle: Bruises, concussion. That’s it. I promise.

Emilie: Isabelle. Emilie: You’re literally my favorite human being on this planet. Emilie: You do not get to almost die and then not tell me.

Isabelle: 🥺

Isabelle: I’m sorry. Isabelle: I really am. Isabelle: It was just a lot last night. And Max was already there and—

Emilie: WAIT. Emilie: Max was there?? Emilie: You called him first???

Isabelle: ... Yeah.

Emilie: 😭😭😭😭 Emilie: Okay. Fine. Emilie: At least SOMEONE was looking after you. Emilie: (Still a little bit furious tho.)

Isabelle: I deserve that. I’m sorry.

Emilie: You are not allowed to apologize for getting hit by a drunk driver you absolute gremlin. Emilie: I’m just glad you’re okay. Emilie: (And also kinda glad Max is apparently ready to physically fight Monaco if needed.)

Isabelle: He’s very serious about it 😅

Emilie: Good. Emilie: You deserve people who take your safety personally. Emilie: And you deserve better than people who think you should apologize for surviving.

Isabelle: 🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹 Love you.

Emilie: Love you more, Belle. Emilie: See you soon. Emilie: (Also, Max better share the couch or I will fight him.)

Isabelle: 😂 I’ll warn him.

***

Text Messages: Max Verstappen & Victoria Verstappen

Max: Hey. Need to tell you something.

Victoria: Everything okay??

Max: Yeah. Now it is. Max: Belle was in a car accident. Drunk driver hit her.

Victoria: WHAT. Is she okay????

Max: Yeah. Concussion. Some bruises. She’s home now. Safe.

Victoria: Oh my god. Max. I’m so sorry. Are you okay?

Max: Took a few years off my life. But yeah. Better now.

Victoria: I can’t even imagine. Seeing something like that happen to someone you love... Victoria: I remember when you crashed in Silverstone…For a moment it just…that feeling. That helplessness.  Like the world could just... rip the person you love away from you at any second. I know what that feels like.

Max: Yeah. Exactly that. One second everything’s normal. Max: Next second you’re standing in a hospital room wondering how you’re supposed to keep breathing if they don’t.

Max: Feels like everything inside me cracked open at once. Max: I’m never letting anything happen to her again. Max: I don’t care what I have to do.

Victoria: You can’t protect her from everything, Maxie. I wish we could. But you’re doing the most important thing already. You’re there. You love her. You make her feel safe. That’s more than enough.

Max: Sometimes it doesn’t feel like enough.

Victoria: It always feels like that when you really love someone. It’s the cost. But it’s worth it.

Victoria: She’s lucky to have you. And you’re lucky to have her.

Max: I know.

Victoria: Give her a hug from me. And Max?

Max: Yeah?

Victoria: Give yourself a little grace too. You’re allowed to be scared. You’re allowed to love her that much.

Max: Thanks, Vic.

Victoria: Always.

***

The apartment was dim and warm, the only light coming from the small lamp in the corner. One cat was sprawled across Max’s legs, purring softly; the other had wedged itself stubbornly against the arm of the couch.

It was quiet, comfortable — but Max barely noticed.

He was too busy keeping an eye on the hallway, listening for any sound of her.

Isabelle finally padded into the living room, wearing one of his hoodies and soft pajama shorts, her hair damp from a shower. She carried a mug of chamomile tea between her hands like it was a lifeline.

Max’s chest tightened when he saw the bruises — angry marks along her collarbone, a purple smear near her temple just so peeking out from underneath the bandage that covered her stitches — but she looked a little better.

Softer around the edges.

Steadier.

She settled in beside him without hesitation, leaning lightly into his side.

“Hey,” she said, voice gentle and tired but still teasing, still her. “What are we doing for Valentine’s Day tonight?”

Max blinked down at her like she had asked him if he wanted to fight a bull barehanded.

He set the remote down and turned fully toward her.

“Nothing,” he said firmly. “You’re resting.”

Belle blinked, surprised. “Nothing?”

“You got out of the hospital this morning, Schatje,” Max said, brushing his knuckles carefully along her jaw. “You’re bruised, concussed, exhausted. You’re not putting on a dress or pretending you have the energy for anything.”

She smiled sheepishly. “I wasn’t thinking restaurant. I was thinking… I don’t know. Candlelight? Dessert? A dumb rom-com?”

Max’s heart softened instantly.

“That’s different,” he murmured. “That I can work with.”

For a moment, there was a lull — the safe kind — until Belle sighed quietly and looked down at her tea.

“I’m sorry I ruined it,” she said.

Max froze.

“What?” he asked, sharper than he meant to.

“Valentine’s,” she said, voice even quieter now. “We were supposed to have a real night. You always say you don’t care about this stuff, but you still try. And instead, I ended up in a hospital bed, and you had to spend the night watching me sleep in an awful chair.”

Max blinked at her.

Once.

Twice.

Then, without a word, he took the mug gently from her hands and set it on the table.

“Belle,” he said, low and serious, “you are absolutely insane.”

She frowned. “That’s not—”

Max cupped her face in both hands, his touch achingly tender, like he thought she might break if he wasn’t careful.

He looked at her like she had just split the world open and made everything new again.

“You didn’t ruin anything,” he said, voice rough with the force of it. “You scared the hell out of me. That’s all. The only thing — the only thing — I cared about yesterday was that you were still breathing.”

Belle blinked, stunned.

Max leaned forward, resting his forehead gently against hers.

“You’re here,” he whispered. “You’re breathing. You’re safe. That’s all I want.”

Belle closed her eyes tightly, a tear slipping free before she could stop it.

“I just wanted it to be special,” she mumbled.

Max pulled back just enough to see her face, his thumbs brushing lightly along her jaw.

“It is special,” he said, fierce and quiet. “You’re here. You’re with me. There’s nothing more special than that.”

He exhaled hard, trying to keep himself steady, but the fear — the pictures his mind supplied, of her bleeding and dazed in that broken car — hadn’t really left him.

“You could have died, Belle,” he said, voice shaking despite himself. “And if you think I give a fuck about Valentine’s Day after that—”

He broke off, swallowing hard.

“You’re sitting here apologizing because I didn’t get to give you overpriced flowers and a chocolate box?” Max shook his head, breathing out a shaky laugh that was half disbelief, half heartbreak.

Belle let out a breathy laugh too, her voice cracking.

“Well, when you say it like that, I sound ridiculous.”

“You are ridiculous,” Max said fondly, his voice dropping to something unbearably soft as he kissed her forehead.

“You’re my Valentine every goddamn day, Belle. You don’t have to do anything except be here.”

And as he tucked her into his side, wrapping an arm around her, Max made himself a quiet, blistering promise:

Whatever it takes — he would make sure she always had a safe place to land.

***

Alexandra Saint Mleux had always loved Valentine’s Day.

Not for the grand gestures, not for the over-the-top declarations, but for the little things.

 The small, specific ways Charles made her feel seen every year.

Last year, it had been a bracelet with a tiny charm that matched a doodle she'd made in a notebook once.

It was never about the price or the spectacle.

It was the way Charles remembered the quiet parts of her — the parts no one else seemed to notice.

Which was why she knew, before he even handed her the gift this year, that something was... off.

The box was beautiful — simple, elegant, wrapped in gold paper.  But when she opened it, it was a generic necklace. Pretty, but impersonal.

Something anyone could have picked out of a catalog.

Charles was smiling at her expectantly, the way he always did, waiting for her reaction.

And she smiled back — because she loved him, because she didn't want to ruin it — but a small, quiet ache bloomed in her chest.

It wasn't about the necklace.

It was about the feeling that something had slipped, unnoticed, between them.

They went out for dinner after — a cozy little restaurant tucked away from the paparazzi, candles flickering between them — but even there, Charles seemed... distracted.

 Tense in a way she couldn’t quite put her finger on.

It wasn’t until dessert, when she asked casually about his family, that she got a piece of the puzzle.

"Isabelle was in a car accident," Charles said offhandedly, swirling the last of his espresso.

Alexandra's heart stuttered. "Oh my God — is she okay?"

He shrugged, too casual. "It was just a little fender bender. Nothing serious. She’s fine."

Alexandra frowned slightly. "Are you sure?"

"Yeah," Charles said, waving it off. "She said she was fine."

He didn’t elaborate. Didn’t offer any more.

And Alexandra — who had seen the way Isabelle seemed to fold herself smaller whenever the family swirled too loudly around her — felt that same ache twist sharper.

Something told her Belle wouldn’t have made a fuss even if she wasn’t fine.

Something told her that Charles hadn’t really looked.

She said nothing, just smiled and let Charles change the subject back to racing, back to schedules, back to anything but the sister who maybe, just maybe, needed him to see her.

Alexandra tucked the necklace back into its box when she got home that night.

 It was beautiful.

 It just wasn’t quite hers.

***

The apartment smelled like coffee and something sweet.

Max had gotten up early — not because he was particularly good at mornings, or baking — but because Belle deserved something warm and comforting.

He’d managed toast, burnt only slightly, and found the last few frozen chocolate croissants buried at the back of the freezer.

Small things.

Safe things.

Belle was curled up on the couch in one of his old hoodies, knees tucked beneath her, Lilly on her lap, while Jimmy was laying on her legs and Sassy sat next to her like this was all beneath her, but was slowly inching closer, jealous to at she wasn’t getting any attention.

She looked small.

Tired.

Healing.

Max was wiping his hands on a dish towel when a knock came at the door.

He frowned, crossing the apartment in a few quick strides.

When he opened it, a delivery man stood there — arms full.

Two enormous bouquets, one a soft explosion of yellow and white, the other a careful arrangement of pink and cream roses, and a box tied up with a silky ribbon.

Max blinked.

Took the flowers and box with a muttered thanks.

Kicked the door shut behind him.

Belle looked up immediately, eyebrows lifting when she saw what he was carrying.

“What’s all that?” she asked, sitting up straighter.

Max set everything carefully down on the coffee table, tugging the little notes free from between the stems.

He read the first card — his mouth curving into a small, real smile, the kind he barely remembered how to make before her.

“This one’s from my family,” he said, tossing the card onto the table for her to see. “Flowers from my mom. Chocolate from Victoria.”

Belle’s mouth fell open slightly. “They didn’t have to—”

Max shrugged. “They wanted to.”

He kissed the top of her head before reaching for the second card, tucked between the wild, chaotic second bouquet and the neatly wrapped box underneath.

He read it, and let out a soft huff of laughter.

“And,” he added, setting the card down, “these are from the idiots.”

Belle blinked. “The idiots?”

Max leaned back against the couch, stretching his legs out lazily. “Lando, Oscar, Lewis, Carlos, Daniel. Group effort. They sent you flowers and a box of cookies.”

Belle stared at him, completely thrown.

“They said,” Max quoted dryly, “and I’m reading here, ‘Dear Belle: Sorry the world is trash. Love, some idiots who are rooting for you.’”

Belle let out a small, incredulous laugh — the first real one he’d heard from her since the hospital— and covered her face with her hands.

Max just watched her, something warm and achingly fond spreading through his chest.

When she lowered her hands, her cheeks were flushed, her eyes suspiciously bright.

“They’re ridiculous,” she whispered.

“They are,” Max agreed. “But they mean it.”

He shifted closer, resting his hand lightly against her thigh.

“Victoria sends her love, by the way,” he added. “Said next time you’re in the Netherlands, you’re not allowed to leave without a girls’ day.”

Belle laughed again — a softer, breathier sound this time — and toyed absently with the edge of her sleeve.

There was a pause.

A shift.

And then, almost too quietly to hear, she said:

“Your family’s starting to feel like mine too.”

Max stilled completely.

He turned, reaching for her hand instinctively, finding her fingers and curling his own around them.

Belle looked up at him, vulnerable in a way she almost never let herself be — open and a little raw, like she wasn’t sure she was allowed to say it out loud.

Max melted.

Utterly.

He cupped her face gently in both hands and kissed her — slow, deliberate, reverent — like he had all the time in the world just to love her properly.

When he finally pulled back, his voice was rough with emotion.

“They already think of you that way,” he whispered against her forehead. “You’re one of us, Belle. You always will be.”

She blinked fast, trying and failing to fight the tears burning her eyes.

Max just pulled her against his chest, wrapping his arms around her and holding her tight.

Not too tight.

Just enough.

***

Text Messages: Isabelle Leclerc & Victoria Verstappen

Isabelle: Hi Victoria, Thank you so much for the flowers and chocolates. It really meant a lot to me. You didn’t have to do all that.

Victoria: First of all: YES I DID. Second: you’re welcome. Third: you’re stuck with us now. No returns. No exchanges. No refunds. Family policy. Love you.

Isabelle: 😭 I love you too.

Victoria: Tell Max if he doesn’t keep spoiling you, I’ll show up and do it myself. (And make it VERY public and VERY embarrassing.)

Isabelle: 😂 I’ll warn him.

Victoria: Good girl. Rest up. Heal. And when you’re ready, come visit — Lio made you a "Get Well" card and it’s mostly just glitter but the intention was pure.

Isabelle: I can’t wait to see it. Thank you, Vic. Really. For everything.

Victoria: Always, Belle. Always.

***

Text Messages: Sebastian Vettel & Kimi Räikkönen

Sebastian: You’re not going to believe this. (Or maybe you will. You’re hard to surprise.)

Kimi: Busy. Make it fast.

Sebastian: Max Verstappen is dating Isabelle Leclerc.

Kimi:  Huh. 

Sebastian: That’s it? Huh??? I just dropped a nuclear paddock secret on you!

Kimi: Not my business. If they’re happy, who cares.

Sebastian: I mean. True. But still.

Kimi: Good for them. Hope she can handle him. Not many can.

Sebastian: I think she’s the only one who can.

Kimi: Makes sense. Quiet ones are dangerous. Good match.

Sebastian: Also apparently no one in her family knows yet. Including Charles.

Kimi: Charles will cry about it. Not my problem.

Sebastian: 😂

Kimi: Tell Max if he breaks her heart I’ll run him over with a snowmobile.

Sebastian: Will pass along the message.

Kimi: Good. Busy now. Kids want ice cream. Tell Max congratulations.

Sebastian: Will do. (Enjoy the ice cream.)

Kimi: Always.

***

Max hated this.

He wasn’t even trying to pretend otherwise.

He stood by the door, suitcase packed, keys and phone in one hand, looking like someone had asked him to do the impossible instead of board a plane for pre-season testing.

Belle watched him from the couch, a blanket wrapped around her, her bruises faded now but still faintly visible under the soft lamplight.

"You have to go," she said gently, reading his mind like she always did.

Max grimaced, shifting his weight from foot to foot. "I don’t like leaving you."

"You’re not leaving me," she corrected immediately, voice calm, steady.  "You’re going to work. You’re doing what you love."

Max ran a hand through his hair, visibly struggling.

"You just—" he started, then stopped.  "You just got hurt, Belle. I should be here. I should be with you."

"You are with me," she said, rising slowly from the couch and padding over to him.

She reached up and cupped his face in her hands, forcing him to look at her.

"Every time you call, every time you text, every time you think about me — you’re here," she said softly. "I’m not alone."

Max closed his eyes, leaning into her touch like he physically couldn’t help it.

"And you’ll be home before you know it," she whispered, brushing her thumbs over his cheekbones. "Then you can hover and fuss and drive me crazy again."

A reluctant, broken laugh escaped him.

"I don’t want to leave you," he said again, more quietly now.

Belle smiled, tears prickling her own eyes — because even now, even with the whole world pulling him in a thousand directions, he was still here with her first.

"You’re not leaving me," she said again. "You’re just chasing your dreams. And I’ll be right here when you get back."

Max bent his head, resting his forehead against hers.

"You’re my dream too," he whispered.

Her breath hitched.

"And you’re mine," she whispered back.

They stayed there for a long moment — just breathing together — until finally, finally, Max exhaled.

He kissed her slowly, thoroughly, like he needed to memorize her, and she kissed him back just as fiercely.

When he finally pulled away, it was with visible effort.

"Promise me you’ll rest," he said, brushing his knuckles down her cheek.

"I promise," she said. "And you — promise me you’ll drive safe. Listen to GP. Don’t try to out-stubborn the car."

Max huffed a quiet laugh. "Bossy."

"Someone has to be," she teased, smiling.

He kissed her forehead one last time, squeezed her hand, and finally — reluctantly — turned to leave.

Belle watched him go, feeling the ache of missing him before he’d even stepped outside the door.

But it was okay.

Because he would always come home to her.

And she would always, always be waiting.

***

Text Messages: Lewis Hamilton & Max Verstappen

Lewis: Mate.

Lewis: Did you just drop off a bag of stuff at my motorhome?

Max: Yeah.

Max: Belle made something for Roscoe.

Lewis: I just opened it.

Lewis: A handwritten note. And homemade vegan dog treats???

Max: She insisted.

Max: Wanted to thank you properly.

Max: Even though she’s supposed to be resting.

Lewis: I don’t even know what to say. The note made me emotional and Roscoe is probably going to try and mug me for the biscuits.

Max: Good. He deserves them.

Lewis: Tell her thank you.

Lewis: Seriously.

Lewis: She didn’t have to do anything.

Lewis: I was just in the right place at the right time.

Max: You stayed.

Max: It matters to her.

Max: It matters to me too.

Lewis: You’ve got a good one there, Max.

Lewis: Also, if Roscoe explodes with happiness, I’m sending you the vet bill.

Max: He’ll be fine. Belle double-checked the recipe three times.

***

GP had known Max Verstappen for a long time.

Long enough to recognize when something wasn’t sitting right under the surface — even when Max didn’t say a word about it.

He noticed it that morning, before Max even climbed into the car.  The slight tightness around his mouth.  The way his hands flexed once, sharply, before putting on his gloves.  The way his answers in the pre-session briefing were short, mechanical. Efficient, but colder than usual.

GP filed it away. Max would tell him when he was ready.

And he did — just after the second run of the day, in the shade behind the Red Bull garage, water bottle in one hand, telemetry printout in the other.

“She was in a crash,” Max said, his voice flat enough that if GP hadn’t been paying attention, he might have missed it.

GP frowned, stepping closer. “Who?”

Max didn’t look up.  “Belle.”

The name hit harder than GP expected.

“What happened?” he asked, more sharply now.

Max’s jaw tightened. “Drunk driver ran a red. T-boned her car. Hit the passenger side, just behind the front wheel. Sent her spinning into a light post.”

 Quiet. Clipped.  Words that barely scratched the surface of the horror GP could hear pulsing beneath them.

GP stared. “Christ. Is she—?”

“She’s alright,” Max said. “Bruised. Concussion. Hospital kept her overnight.” He paused. “But it could’ve been a lot worse.”

GP’s stomach twisted sickly.  He couldn’t — wouldn’t — let himself imagine Max getting that phone call in the middle of the night. Wouldn’t let himself imagine what it must’ve felt like to walk into a hospital room and see Belle curled up in a stark white bed.

And then Max said, in that same low, steady voice that somehow carried more weight than shouting ever could:

“The Volvo you helped me pick out for her? It saved her life.”

GP went still.

The memory flickered: Max months ago, texting him…asking for his opinion. 

Just buy her a Volvo. Safe. Reliable. Built to last. Also one of the best crash-tested brands in the world. You did say you were thinking about kids, right?

And now — thank god — Belle was still breathing because of it.

GP swallowed thickly, feeling a knot loosen somewhere deep in his chest.

“Thank fuck,” he said hoarsely.

Max gave a short nod.  No dramatics. No sentimentality.

But GP could feel the magnitude of it radiating off him like heat off the tarmac.

This — this — was the side of Max Verstappen few people ever saw.  The side that loved without conditions.  That protected without compromise.

“Thank you,” Max said quietly. 

No dramatics. No fuss.  Just that heavy, quiet sincerity Max reserved for the rarest moments.

GP reached out and clapped a hand to his shoulder — a solid, grounding gesture — knowing Max didn’t need anything else from him right now.

"I’d do it again tomorrow," GP said.

Max nodded again, and GP watched him turn back toward the data screens, pulling his headset on, ready to work like nothing had happened.

But GP knew better.

Max had always raced like he had something to prove.  Now, this season, he was racing with something to protect.

And GP would make damn sure everything — the car, the strategy, the team — was ready for that fight.

Then there was no margin for error anymore.

Not even a sliver.

He pulled his headset back over his ears and keyed into the comms with a calmness he didn’t entirely feel.

“Let’s run another systems check before lunch,” he said smoothly.  “And someone triple-check the safety settings while you’re at it.”

The comm crackled to life with quick affirmatives.

***

Text Messages: Gianpiero Lambiase & Eloisa Lambiase

GP: We’re getting you a new car.

Eloisa: ???

Eloisa: Good morning to you too?

Eloisa: What’s wrong with my car?

GP: Not safe enough.

Eloisa: You’re the one who picked it out, love.

GP: Doesn’t matter.

GP: We’re upgrading.

Eloisa: Did something happen?

GP: Yeah.

GP: Belle — Max’s Belle — she was in a crash last week.

GP: Drunk driver ran a light.

Eloisa: Oh my god.

Eloisa: Is she okay???

GP: Shaken. Concussed. But alive.

GP: Because she was driving the Volvo Max bought her.

GP: The one I told him to get.

Eloisa: Oh.

GP: Yeah. That’s why we’re getting you a better car.

Eloisa: Gianni…

GP: No arguments.

GP: Please.

Eloisa: …okay.

Eloisa: But only if I get to pick the color this time.

GP: Deal.

GP: Something with five stars on every crash test rating.

GP: I’m sending you options this afternoon.

Eloisa:  (And coffee. You owe me coffee for giving me a heart attack.)

GP: Already on it.

GP: Triple order.

GP: Love you.

Eloisa: Love you too, you giant overprotective marshmallow

***

Text Messages: Isabelle Leclerc & Max Verstappen

Max: We need to get you a new car.

Isabelle: Max, I’m fine.

Isabelle: The Volvo did its job.

Max: Exactly. Which is why we’re getting another one.

Isabelle: You’re serious?

Max: Volvo customer for life now. I’m about to put their logo on my helmet at this point.

Isabelle: You’re ridiculous.

Max: Not taking chances, Schatje.

Max: Same model or you want to pick something else?

Isabelle: …I did love that car.

Max: Same brand, non-negotiable. Colour’s up to you. Same as before or something different?

Isabelle: Honestly? I liked the old one. That dark green felt like me.

Max: Then we’ll stick with it. Dark green it is.

Isabelle: You don’t have to do all this, Max.

Max: I do. I’m not letting you drive anything that isn’t built like a tank.

Isabelle: You’re going to spoil me until I forget how to function on my own.

Max: That’s the plan.

Isabelle: You’re impossible.

Max: You love me.

Isabelle: Very much.

Max: Fortunately, it’s mutual.

Isabelle: Fine. Dark green Volvo. But I’m picking the air freshener this time.

Max: Deal. As long as it’s not something that smells like cupcakes.

Isabelle: No promises. And it was strawberry. 

Isabelle: Consider it payback for forcing me into an indestructible Swedish fortress.

Max: Best decision I ever made. Second only to falling in love with you.

Isabelle: You’re dangerous when you’re sweet.

Max: Only for you.

***

Alexandra wandered the halls, pretending to admire a modern art installation while covertly people-watching — one of her favorite pastimes when the pace of life let her slip out of the Ferrari bubble for a few hours.

She was standing near a collection of minimalist sculptures when she caught snippets of a conversation between two women nearby, both well-dressed, deep in quiet, intense discussion.

"I still can't believe it," one woman murmured, her voice low but urgent. "She could have been killed. Did you see the photos? That car was destroyed."

Her friend nodded, wide-eyed.  "Near the tunnel, right? Total mess. And poor Isabelle  — I mean, she's so sweet. She did that whole project for our office last year."

Alexandra’s heart stopped.

She took a tiny step closer, pretending to examine the sculpture in front of her.

"Isabelle Leclerc," the first woman said again, confirming what Alexandra already knew. "Such a shame. She's so talented. And to walk away from something like that — it’s a miracle, really. They said the drunk driver didn’t even hit the brakes."

Alexandra felt her stomach churn.

Destroyed.  Miracle.  No brakes.

That didn’t sound like a fender bender.

That didn’t sound like "nothing."

Another man chimed in, sounding grim. "I heard the paramedics said it was a miracle she didn’t have internal injuries. They were worried about a collapsed lung at first."

Alexandra blinked hard, the art blurring in front of her.

Collapsed lung.

Not a fender bender.

Not nothing serious.

She pressed her lips together, hands curling slightly at her sides.

The women moved on, voices fading into the low hum of the gallery, but Alexandra stayed frozen in place for a long moment.

When Charles had told her about the accident, he’d been so casual. So dismissive.

Alexandra swallowed hard against the knot forming in her throat.

Isabelle hadn't been fine.

Isabelle had survived something horrific.

And Charles — either through ignorance or unwillingness — had looked the other way.

Again.

Alexandra didn’t know what bothered her more: the fact that Charles hadn't seen it, or the gnawing fear that maybe he did — and just didn’t know what to do with the parts of his sister that didn’t fit into the neat, tidy picture of the world he needed to believe in.

She glanced down at her phone, thumb hovering over Isabelle name in her contacts.

For a moment, she debated it — reaching out, saying something, offering something.

But what could she offer that wouldn't sound hollow?

Her family saw her as nothing more than background noise and Alexandra loathed to admit that she was guilty of the same on more than a few occasions. 

It was just…so easy not to think about Isabelle. Which sounded horrible, the longer she examined that thought. 

Isabelle was so happy in the background, so sweet and kind in a way that never seemed to want any kind of attention for it. 

 So easy to overlook. 

***

Text Messages: Alexandra Saint Mleux & Charlotte Di Pietro

Alexandra: Hey, random question. Did you know how bad Isabelle’s car accident actually was?

Charlotte: ?? I thought it was minor? That’s what Lorenzo said when I asked.

Alexandra: It wasn’t. I overheard people talking at the gallery tonight. Paramedics thought she might have had a collapsed lung. Car was totaled. Impact was bad — drunk driver didn’t even brake.

Charlotte: No one told me any of that. Lorenzo made it sound like a dented door and a headache.

Alexandra: Yeah. Charles too. He brushed it off like it was nothing.

Charlotte: …They’re acting like it’s an inconvenience.

Alexandra: Exactly. It’s been sitting wrong with me all night. Like there’s something broken there that no one’s talking about.

Charlotte: Maybe. But I do know they love her.

Alexandra: I don’t doubt that. But love isn’t the same as seeing someone. I’m not sure they know how to see her properly.

Alexandra: I am not sure we know how to see her properly. None of us thought to invite her to lunch…you know, when we ran into her. 

Charlotte: You are right…They aren’t the only ones guilty of forgetting her…

Charlotte: Speaking of forgetting. 

Charlotte: Guess who forgot about Valentine’s Day until the morning off. 

Alexandra: Oh? (Spill.)

Charlotte: Valentine’s Day. Lorenzo didn’t plan anything. Literally nothing.

He said, "Well, it didn’t feel like a big deal this year."

Charlotte: Later he grumbled that "normally Belle helps" and "everything feels off without her."

Alexandra: Wait, what?

Charlotte: Yeah. Apparently Belle used to remind them, plan ideas, even organize half the stuff so they wouldn’t forget.

Alexandra: …Oh my god. Alexandra: That tracks. Alexandra: You know, her friend once joked that Isabelle was the one who bought all my birthday presents from Charles.

Charlotte: Wait, seriously??

Alexandra: Apparently. Alexandra: I didn’t take it seriously at the time — Alexandra: Thought it was just teasing. Alexandra: But now… Maybe it was true.

Charlotte: She shouldn’t have to carry everyone. Charlotte: It’s not fair.

Alexandra: No, it’s not. Maybe it’s a good thing they’re feeling the consequences now.

Charlotte: Let them sit in it. They need to learn.

Alexandra: Agreed.

Charlotte: (Also. Are you ready for Arthur's dramatic downfall?)

Alexandra: LOL. The girlfriend disaster?

Charlotte: The girlfriend disaster. At this point, I’m tempted to bet how long until he posts a sad song on Instagram.

Alexandra: 100 euros says it’s before Thursday. Bonus points if he posts cryptic black-and-white stories too. With quotes he definitely doesn’t understand.

Charlotte: You’re on.

Alexandra: God help us all.

***

The Bahrain paddock buzzed under the heavy sun — mechanics shouting, tires rolling, the faint scent of burning rubber hanging in the air.

Charles leaned against the barrier separating the hospitality areas, sipping from a bottle of water as he chatted with Pierre, both of them still in their race suits, unzipped halfway down against the heat.

Pierre had just casually asked, somewhere between a joke and genuine concern, "Hey, by the way — your sister’s alright, yeah? Heard she had some kind of accident?"

Charles waved it off immediately, flashing a small, tight smile.  "Ah, yes. Isabelle is fine. Just a little fender bender."

Pierre nodded, a little relieved but still wary. "Good. Glad she’s okay. Monaco drivers, man."

Charles laughed lightly. "Exactly. Probably more dangerous in the city than on track."

But before he could say anything else, a voice cut through the air, calm and deliberate.

"It wasn’t a fender bender, Charles."

Charles blinked, turning instinctively toward the sound.

Lewis Hamilton stood a few feet away, gloves dangling loosely from his fingers, expression unreadable.

Charles frowned slightly. "What do you mean?"

Lewis shifted his weight, crossing his arms over his chest. "I was there."

The words dropped like stones into Charles’ stomach.

"I saw the crash," Lewis continued, voice low and even. "Drunk driver ran a red light. Slammed into her side full speed. Spun her into a pole. The car was totaled."

Charles opened his mouth — but no words came out.

Lewis wasn’t finished. "Isabelle was trapped in the car. Shocky. Barely able to talk. I called the ambulance. Stayed with her until they got there."

Charles’ heart kicked hard against his ribs, cold and sickening.

He tried — for a second — to picture Isabelle in that moment.

 Tried to imagine her small body pinned in a wrecked car, blood trickling down her forehead, gasping for breath.

It made something twist inside him — sharp and ugly and guilty.

"She’s lucky she survived," Lewis said quietly. "Don’t call it a fender bender."

The silence that followed was suffocating.

Lewis gave him one last look — not angry, not cruel — just disappointed.  And then he turned, walking away toward the Mercedes garage without another word.

Charles stood frozen in place.

Pierre cleared his throat awkwardly after a beat. "Uh," he said lightly, "maybe you should... check on her properly. Yeah?"

Charles didn’t answer.

He just stood there, staring after Lewis, feeling — for the first time in a long time — the uncomfortable, foreign sensation of having missed something important.

***

Group Chat: HELP ME

(Members: Oscar Piastri, Lando Norris, Daniel Ricciardo, Carlos Sainz and Lewis Hamilton)

Lewis: Guys. GUYS.

Oscar: uh oh

Lando: what happened now

Lewis: Charles just called Isabelle’s crash a "fender bender." fender bender. LIKE. MINOR. INSIGNIFICANT.

Daniel: ...oh no.

Lewis: IT WAS BAD. Lewis: Bad enough that the car was crushed against a streetlamp. Lewis: Bad enough that she couldn’t even get the door open. Lewis: Bad enough that she was shivering and barely breathing and covered in cuts and glass.

Lando: Lewis is going full caps lock. This is bad.

Oscar: It’s worse than bad. He’s spiraling.

Lewis: I WATCHED HER BLEEDING IN A BROKEN CAR. Lewis: I HELD HER HAND UNTIL THE PARAMEDICS GOT THERE. Lewis: AND CHARLES IS OUT HERE LIKE "lol oopsie minor incident"????

Daniel: Breathe mate Breathe

Carlos: Yeah, deep breaths. We need you alive.

Lewis: HE CALLED IT A FENDER BENDER. I AM GOING TO LAUNCH HIM INTO THE SUN

Oscar: Not before Max does.

Lando: Max is gonna find out eventually and we will ALL need to evacuate Monaco

Lewis: I literally saw it. Lewis: I thought she was dead for a second. Lewis: And Charles didn’t even know how bad it was. Lewis: Didn’t even ask. Lewis: Didn’t even CARE.

Daniel: You okay mate?? Do you need snacks?? Or wine??

Carlos: Or a punching bag???

Oscar: Or a very large blunt object???

Lewis: I need Charles to grow a brain cell.

Carlos: Welcome to the nightmare brother.

Daniel: We have t-shirts.

Lando: and wine Lando: lots of wine

Oscar: and emergency stress snacks

Lewis: I’m bringing tequila next meeting. Lewis: We’re gonna need it.

***

Leclerc Siblings Group Chat

 (Members: Arthur, Isabelle, Charles, and Lorenzo)

Charles: Isabelle. Why didn’t you tell me the accident was that serious??

Isabelle: Because you didn’t ask.

Arthur: Wait what? Serious?? I thought it was a little crash?

Charles: It wasn’t. Lewis told me today during testing. He was THERE. He said the car was totaled. You got spun into a post. You were trapped in the car, Isabelle.

Lorenzo: What do you mean, trapped?!

Isabelle: I didn’t want to worry anyone. I’m fine now.

Charles: You said you were fine. You made it sound like you got a scratch and drove home.

Lorenzo: That’s not the point.

Charles:  You lied to us.

Isabelle: I didn’t lie. I said I had a concussion and bruises. And spent the night in the hospital. Which was all true. I said I was okay. Because I am.

Lorenzo: Isabelle, why didn’t you say anything?

Isabelle: Because I knew this would happen.

Isabelle:  Exactly this.

Isabelle:  You’d all get angry or guilt-trip me or turn it into something about you.

Charles: Of course we’re angry!

Arthur:  You scared us, Isabelle.

Lorenzo:  Do you think Maman could handle hearing you almost died?

Lorenzo: We are not going to tell her.

Lorenzo:  I’m serious.

Lorenzo:  It would crush her.

Lorenzo:  Better she thinks it was nothing.

Isabelle: So let me get this straight.

Isabelle:  You’re mad at me for not telling you…

Isabelle:  And now you’re also deciding for me that Maman shouldn’t know?

Isabelle:  Because you think she can’t handle it?

Lorenzo: Exactly.

Isabelle: Okay. Noted.

***

Raymond Vermeulen prided himself on knowing everything about Max Verstappen’s career — both on and off the track.

It wasn’t arrogance. It was necessity.

You didn’t manage Max Verstappen successfully by being two steps behind. 

You stayed ahead. You anticipated. You knew.

Which was why, when Jos Verstappen of all people leaned over during a quiet moment at a post-testing dinner and casually said: "Max is serious about a girl,"

—Raymond almost dropped his fork.

He blinked, slowly, suspiciously.

Jos didn’t do casual. Jos didn’t mention Max’s girlfriends unless it was a complaint. Normally, the subject was treated like some embarrassing injury you didn’t talk about in polite company.

Raymond cleared his throat, playing it cool. "Oh? New?"

Jos grunted. "No. Been a while."

Raymond narrowed his eyes. "And you’re... okay with this?"

Jos shrugged. Shrugged.

Like Max Verstappen — his pride, his legacy, his entire life project — dating someone was just fine and normal.

Raymond was officially in uncharted waters.

"Who is she?" he asked carefully.

Jos reached for his beer, nonchalant. "Isabelle Leclerc."

Raymond froze mid-sip of his wine.

Isabelle. Leclerc.

As in Charles Leclerc’s little sister.

As in Ferrari’s golden boy’s little sister.

As in political nightmare fuel if the media ever got hold of it.

"You're telling me Max is dating Charles Leclerc’s sister," Raymond said slowly, like he was trying to defuse a bomb.

Jos grunted again. "Mmh."

"And you’re fine with this?" Raymond pressed.

Jos actually — God help him — almost smiled. "She's good for him."

Raymond sat back in his chair, stunned.

Not just because Max was apparently neck-deep in a secret, long-term relationship.

 Not just because it was Isabelle bloody Leclerc.

 But because Jos — notoriously impossible to please, allergic to softness — actually liked her.

Jos approved.

Raymond processed that for a long moment.

The earth hadn’t split open. The sky wasn’t falling.

Miracles did happen, apparently.

"Well," he said finally, recovering some professionalism. "That’s... good."

Jos nodded, unbothered. "She makes him happy."

Raymond exhaled slowly. If Jos was using words like happy, it was serious. Monumentally serious.

And suddenly, Raymond understood something deeper:

This wasn’t a passing thing.

This wasn’t a fling.

This was real.

Max had gone and fallen in love — quietly, stubbornly, like he did everything else — and somehow, without anyone noticing, built himself a life outside the machine of Formula One.

Raymond reached for his phone under the table.

Because if the media ever got a sniff of this, he was going to need a very detailed contingency plan.

And maybe a drink.

Or several.

***

The office was quiet.

Soft light filtered through gauzy curtains.

A pot of chamomile tea sat untouched on the side table.

Isabelle sat curled into the corner of the couch, sleeves of her sweater pulled over her hands, staring at the stitches in the rug instead of at Simone.

Simone waited.

She always waited.

Finally, Isabelle exhaled a shaky breath.

"It’s so stupid," she said quietly. "I shouldn’t be this upset. I didn’t even get badly hurt."

Simone didn’t flinch at the deflection.

She just tilted her head slightly.

"You’re allowed to be upset, Isabelle. Something frightening happened to you."

Isabelle bit her lip, fingers tightening in her sleeves.

"I didn’t even want to tell them," she said. "My family, I mean. I knew how it would go. And it did."

Simone’s voice stayed soft. "Tell me what happened."

Isabelle shrugged stiffly. "I mentioned it. Just… dropped it into the family group chat. Like ripping off a band-aid. Thought maybe they’d be a little worried, and then we’d move on… " she admitted softly. 

Simone waited again.

Isabelle’s mouth twisted bitterly.  "Arthur and Charles kept asking if I was distracted or speeding—like it was somehow my fault."

Simone’s brows furrowed slightly.

“And then a few days later, Charles found out that it wasn’t just a little fender bender. And suddenly they were angry with me. Because I didn’t tell them how bad it was. But I did. I told them that I was…I told them I had a concussion and bruises…And then Lorenzo," Isabelle continued, voice tightening, "he said—he said he wasn’t going to tell Maman. Because it would 'crush' her."

She laughed, a thin, broken sound.

"Apparently, I’m a bigger problem for them if I exist hurt than if I just… pretend everything’s fine."

Simone stayed silent, letting the words hang in the air between them.

Isabelle blinked hard, willing herself not to cry.

"It’s always been like that since Papa died," she said eventually, quieter now. "Maman either sticks her head into the sand—pretends bad things aren’t happening—or she panics. Makes everything about her fear."

Her voice cracked slightly on the last word, and she pulled her knees tighter to her chest.

"So I learned to make myself smaller. Easier. Less trouble."  She smiled bitterly. "Invisible, sometimes. That’s the safest way to survive it."

Simone leaned forward slightly, her voice still low, but firm now.

"Isabelle, what happened to you wasn't your fault. Not the accident. Not your family's reaction."

Isabelle closed her eyes.

"It feels like it is," she whispered.

"It isn’t," Simone said. "You are allowed to take up space. You are allowed to be hurt. You are allowed to need help, without carrying their feelings on your back."

***

Group Chat: HELP ME

(Members: Oscar Piastri, Lando Norris, Daniel Ricciardo, Carlos Sainz Jr. and Lewis Hamilton)

Lando: okay Lando: hear me out

Oscar: this is already a bad start

Lewis: absolutely not

Daniel: proceed Daniel: i love bad ideas

Lando: what if Lando: instead of everyone panicking about charles finding out Lando: we just... Lando: tell him softly???

Carlos: what the fuck does "softly" mean

Lando: like, we ease him into it Lando: drop hints Lando: plant the idea Lando: subtle Lando: caring

Oscar: you're insane.

Lewis: he'll kill us all.

Daniel: ok but i kinda wanna see where he's going with this

Carlos: no Carlos: lando’s plans never end well

Lando: NO LISTEN Lando: like maybe Lando: i casually say Lando: "hey charles did you know belle’s been hanging out with max lately" Lando: and when he starts freaking out Lando: we just Lando: soothe him Lando: with like Lando: positive reinforcement.

Oscar: you think he's a puppy???

Lewis: lando. Lewis:  this is the worst plan anyone’s ever had.

Carlos: you’re going to get us murdered.

Daniel: actually i’m free next thursday if we wanna die then.

Oscar: i vote no. Oscar: hard no. Oscar: hardest no of my life.

Carlos: softly = we still die  Carlos: but maybe slower and more painful

Lando: NO NO Lando: like Lando: we sit him down Lando: give him snacks Lando: maybe a hug Lando: and then just... you know... gently mention that max is in love with his sister

Oscar: lando.  be serious.

Lando: I am serious

Lewis: this is the worst idea i've heard in a long time

Daniel: give him snacks???  what is he, a wild animal???

Oscar: you’re going to get us killed.

Lewis: softly telling charles is still telling charles.  he’s gonna go full Leclerc rage no matter what.

Daniel: AND THEN MAX IS GOING TO KILL US

Lando: ok but hear me out again Lando: what if we tell him Lando: and then IMMEDIATELY leave the country

Oscar: i'm already packing my bags

Carlos: dibs on Spain

Lewis: i'm going to pretend i don't know any of you

Daniel: same

Daniel: i’ll be in australia by the time charles processes step one.

[yougavememyopia]

Kidnapper! Yandere (3)

Tags: 18+, afab reader, sub male yandere, edging, overstimulation, mentions of oral and spitting, a bit of spanking, pegging, creampie

This is the last part! He won the poll twice so I went all out for him. Link to previous parts: Pt. 1 and Pt. 2

-----------------------♡♡-------------------------

“Nngh, please… Hah! I can't do this anymore… Let me finish—please, please! Mmh, I can't take any more…”

Your sorry excuse of a kidnapper moaned for mercy. Dizzy and sticky with sweat after all the different ways you held him back from release.

His neck glittered with your bite marks and hickeys, his torso even worse. All of your affection drowned him until it was way too hard to breathe—fingers squeezing his throat until his head emptied—pathetically muttering incoherent pleas into the pillow.

You had him in your mouth merely a few minutes ago, sucking and licking his cock slowly. Squeezing his balls and making him whine in desperation, denying the oncoming climax as he obediently restrained himself by holding the sky-blue sheets.

Now he was on all fours, facing the wall, lubbed up for when the head of your strap finally pushed inside his asshole.

Your spit rolled down his cheek, and his eyes rolled up in response, staying at the back of his head while you abused his poor cock. Hand angrily pumping every last drop of white seed left in him.

Your breasts against his back, hips pushing into his ass, pegging the tight hole. Sending deep waves of pleasure through his body, his mouth snapped open to cry out, drool and spit dripping on the sheets along with the milky fluid of come. 

The blood flowed to his swollen, sensitive prostate as you continued thrusting the strap inside. Hissing when you rubbed a thumb over the dirty, overstimulated head of his shaft. Your other hand tangled in his straight hair, tugging, pulling relentlessly, unforgivingly. Still not satisfied with the punishment you bestowed.

A harsh slap landed on his red bottom, earning a yelp from him. Erect yet again, ready for more torturous edging. He grabbed onto the bed's headboard tighter, tears cooling his feverish skin. Painfully squeezing around the fake penis, moving and squirming, trying to find some sort of relief from your cruelty.

“Ahnn, it hurtssss. I didn't think you'd use me, mmh, so rough…! For our first time too…”

“You’re being such a good boy. Do you want me to stop?” You already knew the answer, yet you asked. Not out of concern but as a way to tease him. You already established a word if it truly gets uncomfortable for him.

Ah, wasn't it nice? Acting like a real couple despite the situation. It made you want to spank him a few more times. His flesh turning scarlet, flinching, his thighs shaking.

“Aaah! No! No… Please don't… Keep making love to me. Keep paying attention to me. Please… I'm yours. I just want to change positions; is that alright?” He flipped to his back at your approval and shifted closer to you.

Helping you throw the large toy away and instead lowering your panties impatiently. Distracting himself by licking your fingers clean. “My— My punishment is over, right? I can have you?”

“O…okay?” Although you were planning on continuing for another round like that, you weren't really taking this seriously, focusing more on his enjoyment.

He always serviced you with his kindness and thoughtfulness—making your memorized favorite meals, keeping your new home clean, or buying you whatever you wanted. (You didn't dare to ask how he made his money.)

You felt like you owed him an experience he fantasized about. It was a bit silly—punishing him as if he felt any remorse when capturing you. Transferring all your stuff to his mansion and acting like he was saving you from something, an angel there to rescue you from your miserable, boring life.

The perfect guy that was messed up in the head. How did you end up capturing his heart? You'd never understand. 

His eyes glistened when he saw the wetness pooling on the fabric of your underwear. “I'm so happy. All those times I spent watching you through hidden cameras or following you in secret… Now I have you here by my side! Ah, it's perfect. You make every day better. I'd do anything to make you feel as lucky as you made me feel.”

“Um…” You tried to ignore his creepiness and think more about the feeling. Still unsure how to reply when he got that dangerous glint in his eyes. Your stomach twisted, your brain a bit fuzzy—he cupped your face in his hands, eyes turning to hearts as a cheerful smile stretched on his face.

“Please never leave me. Without you, I'm nothing. Please… I know you understand. My heart won't take any more rejections. It's already so close to breaking into a million pieces. So please, please, let me have you again tonight without you resisting…”

You ran your fingers through his hair, fixing it, soothing it. Imagining how fast his heart rate might be. He looked undeniably cute when he pouted up at you. “Well… okay.” 

“I love you… I love you a lot.” His lips pressed against yours in a heated kiss. Tongue pushing in to caress yours, whimpering at the familiar feeling. He seemed to lose all his self-control—pulling you down on the bed with him, undressing whatever was left of your clothes. 

His naked form molded with yours. Sinking himself deep into your entrance easily, moaning your name. He embraced you tightly.

“You must be tired from all that; why don't you let me take care of you now? Your soon-to-be husband. I'll be the best spouse! We're gonna have an amazing life together… Hah… I'm sosososo excited! I've been planning our lonely wedding since our first conversation.”

“I feel like we should talk about the past more—!” Your lips were attacked with his again and again, hips thrusting with rhythm. His hands holding your chest, fingers rubbing your nipples in circles, trying to maximize your euphoria.

He put his ear next to your mouth, listening to your noises. The groans he caused. His smile widening. “My turn. Let me repay you for alllll these marks… Make you feel so full and warm. I like that much better. Come to think of it… I should get some vibrators for you.”

“Wait—” He ignored your sudden protest and bit into the sensitive skin of your collarbone. Starting to mark you up with harsher, more enthusiastic sucks on your neck.

All while he messaged your boobs and pushed his cock in and out your puffy pussy lips rapidly, whispering seductively in your ear, “becoming one with you… it's the best feeling in the world… I'm so glad I found you… Let's finish together, okay?”

“Ahh… Fuck! Just slow down a bit…” Your eyes bore into his, mouth agape as he slowed his pace, emphasizing each shove to your hole instead. You thought this time would be about him, but it seemed like he got ecstasy from worshipping you and your body more than anything else.

One of his hands reached down to play with your clit, pinching it, trying to earn more sounds. 

“Do you love me yet? Mmh? Tell me what I need to do… Please. Ah, I want to make you happy… I want to hear those words so badly. Y'know I won't stop giving you pleasure until you admit it. Admit you feel something for me. Please, please, please!” 

It felt as if you had no choice left but to agree. Your freedom merely an illusion. The suffocating hold he had on you never ceasing. Perhaps with time and trust, you could train him and lessen the possessiveness.

You swallowed when he started moving impatiently again, waiting for an answer. “Okay, okay… Yes, I… nngh… I l-love you too… There, I said it…” 

He smiled with joy. “Thank you… You don't know what that does to me. Ah, fuck, I'm gonna finish… Are you close too? Yeah? We're gonna do this lots more. The two of us bonded forever and ever and ever!”

His hot come poured inside you, triggering your release as well. Lips not leaving yours for a good few minutes. 

He panted, hot breath exchanged between you two. You felt exhausted. Your body tangled with his, turning to the side. He stroked your face lovingly, eyes taking in your expression.

“I'll never let anything come between us. That's a promise. Now, should I get the bath ready for us? Then I'll make you something delicious and healthy. Please let me take care of you…”

[maskedbyghost]

this is part 2 to toxic ex!Simon Riley x f!Reader, smut, mdni

You hadn’t planned to cry, and honestly, you weren’t even sure why your chest felt tight in the first place. It was just supposed to be a walk, nothing more, just some fresh air and sunshine and maybe a break from your own thoughts.

You thought moving your body might help. Maybe if you just walked far enough, breathed deep enough, looked up at the clouds instead of staring at your bedroom ceiling, something would click into place and you’d feel like yourself again. Like a person again.

But the universe clearly had other plans.

Because every corner you turned, there was another couple.

They weren’t even being obnoxious about it. It wasn’t the affection that made you roll your eyes or want to vomit. It was worse. It was the soft stuff, the connection you could feel without even hearing a word of it.

A guy was walking with his girlfriend, and his hand was resting right at the small of her back. Another couple sat under a tree with a checkered blanket spread out beneath them. She was half in his lap, trying to balance her drink, laughing at something he had said, and he was holding her as if she were made of glass and sunlight, one arm wrapped around her waist and the other brushing her hair with his hands, slowly.

An older couple walked by, holding hands, their fingers intertwined so casually that it made your throat ache. She was talking, he was nodding, and they stopped every few steps to point at the flowers planted along the sidewalk like they had all the time in the world.

And you just… froze.

It wasn’t jealousy. It wasn’t even sadness, just this deep yearning that settled heavy in your chest and refused to budge, this desperate ache for something that didn’t hurt, something soft, something simple, something that didn’t feel like you were holding your breath all the time, afraid of saying the wrong thing or asking for too much.

You wanted to be held. Not grabbed, nor thrown onto a bed because someone couldn’t control themselves. You wanted to be chosen in the quiet moments, when there was no sex or tension or drama to sweeten the deal. You wanted someone to look at you and think, There you are. I’ve been waiting for you.

You sat down on the nearest bench, dropped your phone into your lap, and just stared at the grass. You didn’t want to cry in public, not really, but the sting was there, just behind your eyes, and you blinked fast, hoping it’d go away.

Your phone buzzed.

You didn’t even want to check. You already knew, somehow, like a sixth sense, or maybe just muscle memory.

“Come over. I’ll order Thai. You can stay.”

As if it was some kind of prize. Like the offer of food and his bed was supposed to feel anything other than a pity invitation. Like that sentence wasn’t the exact same breadcrumb he’d been throwing your way for months, just enough to keep you following, never enough to satisfy.

He wasn’t saying I miss you. He wasn’t saying I’m sorry I hurt you or I didn’t know what I had until you were gone. He was saying Come over. Like this was still a game he was winning.

And maybe a week ago, hell, maybe even yesterday, you would’ve paused. You would’ve stared at the message with that same dull throb in your chest and thought maybe this time will be different. Maybe he means it. Maybe he’s trying.

But right now?

Right now, you felt done.

Done with making excuses for him. Done with confusing attention for affection. Done with dragging your heart behind you like dead weight every time he pulled you back in with nothing more than a half-assed promise and a takeout order.

Your fingers hovered for a second, just long enough to acknowledge the part of you that still wanted to believe he’d ever be capable of giving you what you needed.

And then you typed:

“No. We’re done, Simon. For real this time. Don’t text me again.”

Your thumb hit send before your brain could stop you, before your heart could scream, before the echo of what if could take root and grow into something dangerous again.

And then, without waiting for the three dots to pop up, without giving yourself a chance to hesitate or soften or let him back in even a little you blocked the number.

And that was it.

Your hand was trembling, your eyes burned, but the tears didn’t fall. And your heartbeat was steady in your chest, like it was relieved.

You looked up at the sky. Watched the clouds move slowly across the blue. They didn’t know what it meant to panic over someone who didn’t care.

You weren’t happy, not yet. But for the first time in too long, you didn’t feel chained to him anymore.

And that, in itself, felt like something.

...

You hadn’t seen him in over two weeks.

No texts, no calls, no sudden knocks at your door. No glimpses of him near your job, no DMs from new burner accounts, nor mutual friends trying to convince you he was “going through it.”

And honestly? You were starting to think he’d finally gotten the message. That maybe he’d realized what it meant when you said we’re done. That he’d felt the silence for what it was: a full stop, not a pause.

But then he showed up. Of course he did.

You were walking home from the grocery store, just a quick trip for bread and milk and some random snacks you didn’t need but bought anyway because the act of filling your cupboards made you feel happier. You’d just turned the corner onto your street, earbuds in, music low, mind somewhere else entirely, when you looked up and froze.

He was leaning against your building. And he had the nerve to be casual about it too, his arms crossed, head down like this wasn’t completely insane. He looked up when you stopped walking, and his mouth did that slow curl into a grin that used to make your stomach flip but now just made your jaw tighten.

You pulled your earbuds out and said nothing.

“Hey,” he said, as if this was normal or completely not out of bounds. “You’ve been hard to reach.”

“Simon,” you started, your voice flat, your pulse already kicking up. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

He shrugged. “You blocked my number and my backup email. You weren’t really leaving me a lot of options.”

You blinked, stunned at how casually he said it. “So you decided to stalk me instead?”

“That’s a dramatic word,” he said, pushing off the wall and walking toward you like you weren’t already backing away slightly, trying to hold onto your grip. “I just wanted to talk. You made that impossible.”

“I made it impossible because we broke up,” you snapped, dropping your grocery bag onto the steps with more force than necessary. “I told you not to text me. Not to call. I said we were done—done, Simon—what don’t you get?”

He smiled again, that infuriating smirk, like you’d just said something cute instead of trying to set a boundary.

“Yeah,” he said, cocking his head. “We broke up, sure. But that doesn’t mean you get to erase me.”

You stared at him, jaw slack. “Are you actually hearing yourself?”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Simon said, stepping closer now, his voice calmer, which, honestly, made you want to scream. “You think a couple texts and a blocklist are gonna make me forget what we were? You really think that’s enough?”

“I don’t want you to forget,” you snapped. “I want you to leave me alone. I want you to understand that this—whatever this was—is over. I’m not doing this anymore. I don’t belong to you.”

Something in his expression shifted then, just a flicker. A twitch of his jaw, a tightening of the eyes. You’d seen that look before, right before the walls went up. Right before the mask slipped into place.

“You keep saying we’re over,” Simon said slowly, “but you don’t get it.”

He stepped in so close you could feel the heat radiating off him, smell the scent of his skin, that cologne he always wore too much of, the one that used to make you ache but now just made your stomach turn.

“You and me?” he whispered. “We’re never really over.”

Your breath hitched, and for a second—for one stupid, fleeting second—you felt that pull again. That old, broken, magnetic force that lived in the space between his mouth and yours, in the memory of what it felt like to be wanted by him.

But you were so fucking tired of confusing that with love. So you stepped back.

You looked him dead in the eye, and you said:

“What do you want from me, Simon? Seriously. Do you want me to scream? Do you want me to cry? Do you want me to fall apart in front of you just so you can feel something? Because whatever this is—it’s not love, it’s not real. It’s you, trying to control me. And I’m done letting you.”

He didn’t say anything.

Just stood there. And you picked up your bag again, turned on your heel, and walked away. You didn’t look back, didn’t have to.

Because this time? You were the one leaving him behind.

...

It had been weeks.

Weeks of silence, weeks of healing, and pretending you were ready to move on, even when your heart still felt like a battlefield he’d walked away from without ever looking back.

So when your coworker asked you out—the nice one, the one who remembered your coffee order and always held the elevator—you said yes.

You didn’t feel fireworks, nor did you get butterflies. But you also didn’t feel dread, or the bone-deep exhaustion that came from chasing someone who only ever looked back when you were halfway out the door.

And maybe that was enough. Maybe soft was what you needed now. Safe and simple.

He took you to a cozy little restaurant tucked off the main street, the kind with candlelight and mismatched chairs and a menu written entirely in cursive. He held the door open for you, pulled your chair out when you sat, complimented your dress without looking at your chest. And you smiled, even if it felt a little forced. You laughed, even if it didn’t quite reach your eyes.

You tried...

Halfway through the meal, you excused yourself to the bathroom. The ladies’ room was down a narrow hallway in the back, quiet and dim, music muffled through the walls. You were halfway there when you felt it.

That shift in the air.

That awareness that only ever came from one person. And you didn’t even get the chance to turn around before he was there.

He stepped out from the shadows of the hallway like a fucking ghost, like he’d been waiting, like he knew you’d be here and timed it down to the minute. And before you could speak, before you could even breathe, he had you pressed up against the wall, one arm caging you in, the other sliding slowly along your waist.

His mouth was at your ear in an instant, voice low, thick, dirty.

“Really, sweetheart?” he murmured, breath warm against your skin. “This the best you can do?”

Your heart slammed in your chest. Your hands went to his chest, pushing lightly, but you didn’t move. Couldn’t.

He leaned in closer, body not quite touching yours but so fucking close, you could feel the heat radiating off him like fire.

“You think he’s gonna fuck you better than I do?” he whispered, and it wasn’t even a question—it was filth wrapped in confidence. “You think he even knows what to do with you? Bet he doesn’t even know how you sound when you beg. Doesn’t know how your thighs shake when I’ve got my mouth on you—”

“Stop it,” you hissed, voice shaking, but your knees were already weak and your throat felt tight.

Simon smirked, eyes dark and gleaming. “Can’t stop thinking about it, can you? His hands won't feel right, will they? Bet you’d picture mine every time he touches you.”

Your hands pushed harder now, but he didn’t flinch.

“And what about when he’s inside you?” Simon rasped, mouth brushing your jaw, teeth grazing skin just enough to make you gasp. “You gonna close your eyes and pretend it’s me?”

“At least he’ll fucking stay,” you snapped, louder now, anger burning through the haze. “At least he won’t leave the second he gets what he wants. At least I won’t wake up to an empty bed.”

That got him. His jaw clenched instantly.

But he didn’t move. He just stared at you, breathing hard, hands twitching like he didn’t know whether to touch you or punch a hole in the wall beside your head.

You shoved him. Hard.

“Get the fuck out of my way.”

Simon didn’t move right away. He just stood there, watching you like you’d gutted him, like your words had cut deeper than you’d meant them to—but you didn’t regret it.

Not this time.

You stepped around him, ignoring the way your legs trembled beneath you, head high, heart pounding like it was trying to tear its way out of your chest.

You didn’t look back.

You walked straight back to the table, sat down, and smiled at your date like your ex hadn’t just whispered filth into your ear in a hallway like a man possessed.

“Everything okay?” your date asked gently.

You nodded.

“Yeah,” you said. “The bathroom line was just long.”

...

The walk back to your apartment felt like an out-of-body experience.

Your date had walked you home, smiling the entire way, hands tucked into his pockets, making soft jokes that you tried to laugh at, even though your stomach had been turning since the second you stepped out of the restaurant. He was kind. He listened, he held the door open, and he even complimented your dress without leering. And when you reached your door, he leaned in and kissed you, soft and gentle, just like the kind of kiss you should want from someone like him.

And you felt nothing. Not even a flicker, not even a spark.

You kissed him back out of politeness, maybe even a little guilt, and when you stepped away and thanked him for dinner, he smiled like he’d had a good time. And you hated that you hadn’t. Hated that he was everything you said you wanted—safe, respectful, sweet—and all you could think about the whole fucking night was Simon’s mouth, Simon’s hands, Simon whispering filth and promises and pain in your ear like he was made to ruin you.

By the time you reached your door, your hands were shaking. Not from fear, but from rage.

From this endless, exhausting loop of trying to do the right thing and still craving the wrong one.

You fumbled with your keys, cursing under your breath, eyes burning. You wanted to scream. Wanted to punch a wall. Wanted to shove Simon’s face into the fact that he’d broken you so thoroughly that now, even when someone was good to you, it felt wrong.

The door opened. And there he was.

Simon.

Sitting on your couch but he didn’t look cocky this time. Didn’t smirk or lean back with that smug glint in his eye. He just sat there, elbows on his knees, head in his hands like he didn’t even know what to say anymore.

You dropped your purse.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” your voice cracked, sharp and loud in the quiet room.

He stood, slowly, but you were already walking toward him, hands clenched, eyes blazing.

“How dare you?” you hissed. “How fucking dare you be here again. After everything.”

“Just listen—”

“No!” you snapped. “No, you don’t get to talk. You don’t get to sit there and act like you’re confused about why I don’t want you in my life. You ruined me, Simon.”

He flinched, and good. You wanted it to hurt.

“You took everything I gave you, every part of me, and you made it ugly.” Your voice shook now, rage mixing with grief. “You used me when you wanted company. Tossed me when you were bored. And I kept coming back, like a fucking idiot, thinking maybe this time you’d mean it when you kissed me.”

He was quiet.

“I went on a date tonight,” you spat. “With someone who treated me like I mattered. Someone who held doors and remembered things I said and kissed me like he gave a damn, and do you know what I thought the whole time?”

Simon swallowed, barely whispering, “What?”

You shook your head, tears stinging your eyes now.

“I thought about you,” you said, voice cracking. “I thought about your fucking mouth, about your hands. I thought about how I’d rather have your soft kiss than his perfect one. And I hate myself for it.”

Simon took a step forward. “I never meant to—”

“Don’t,” you snapped, voice trembling now. “Don’t stand there and act like this just happened. You did this. You made me believe you’d never care, and now I’m so fucking broken I can’t even feel anything from someone who actually tries. I still picture you when I think about love, Simon. That’s the worst part.”

He was right in front of you now, his breathing shallow, his eyes wide as he just watched you split yourself open in front of him.

“I imagine you,” you whispered. “But better, softer, and kinder. I imagine you as the version I needed, the one I deserved, and it kills me, because I don’t even know if that version of you exists.”

Silence.

He reached out then, so slowly it made your breath catch, and placed one hand gently on your cheek, the lightest touch he’d ever given you.

“I can be him,” he said, voice barely above a whisper. “I swear to God, I’ll try. I’ll be him.”

You didn’t respond. Couldn’t.

Because he leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to your forehead.

And then another, on your temple. One on your cheek, your jaw, your nose.

“I��m sorry,” he whispered between them. “I’m so fucking sorry.”

You were crying now, full-on sobbing, body shaking like it had been holding this in for far too long. And he didn’t grab you, didn’t pull you into him like he used to. He just stood there, kissing every tear that fell like he was trying to wipe them from existence.

“I didn’t know how to love you right,” he murmured, voice breaking. “But I will. If you let me. If you give me a chance, I’ll change. I’ll do the work. Just… don’t shut the door on me yet.”

You didn’t answer.

Because even after everything, even through all the rage and resentment and raw wounds, his kisses still felt like home.

And that was the scariest part of all.

He kissed your tears like they burned him, as if each one that slid down your cheeks was proof of what he’d broken, and he was trying, pathetically, hopelessly, to piece it all back together with nothing but his mouth and the weight of his regret.

You didn’t say anything when he pressed his forehead to yours. Didn’t pull away when he wrapped both arms around you like he thought you might disappear if he didn’t hold you tight enough.

You just stood there and let yourself breathe him in, his warmth, his scent.

“Let me show you,” Simon whispered, voice raw. “Please, just once. Let me make it right.”

You didn’t nod, you didn’t speak, but you let him take your hand.

He led you to the bed and didn’t tear your clothes off like he usually did. He didn’t grab or push or bite. He just kissed you, like you were something fragile, something he didn’t think he deserved to touch but was begging to try.

His hands trembled when he slid your top up over your arms. He took his time with every button, every hem, because rushing would ruin it. When your bra fell away, he kissed the center of your chest—not your breasts, not your neck—your chest, right over your heart, and rested there for a second like he was trying to feel it beat.

“You don’t have to forgive me now,” he whispered. “But I need you to know I’m gonna earn it. All of it. Whatever it takes.”

You didn’t stop the tears. You didn’t hide from them. They slid quietly down your cheeks as he lowered himself between your legs and pressed his mouth to your stomach, your hips, your thighs—anywhere but the place you were already aching for him.

“I’m gonna learn how to love you right,” he murmured against your skin. “I’m gonna give you every soft thing I never thought you’d want. You won’t have to beg for affection anymore. You won’t have to guess if I’ll stay.”

He kissed the inside of your thigh, then the other, then finally pressed his mouth to where you needed him. It felt as if he was praying with his tongue. Like this was how he was going to worship you now.

You gasped, hands fisting the sheets, more tears slipping from the corners of your eyes.

And he noticed. Of course he did.

He looked up from between your thighs, his face a mess of want and pain.

“You don’t have to cry,” he said softly, crawling back up your body. “I mean… I know why you are. But I hate that I’m the reason for it. I swear, I’ll never hurt you like that again.”

You cupped his face, fingers trembling, and he leaned into your touch like it was the only thing holding him together.

He lined himself up, slow and careful, and when he pushed inside, he went still. Completely still. Just breathing against your mouth, his hands cradling your face like he couldn’t believe he was allowed this close again.

“You feel like home,” he whispered, voice cracking. “Fuck, you always did.”

He moved slowly, painfully slow. Like every thrust was an apology. Like he was rewriting the way he touched you, undoing every rushed, selfish fuck with something tender and earned.

Your tears didn’t stop. And neither did he.

He kissed your eyelids, your cheeks, and your jaw. Whispered everything he’d never said when it would’ve mattered most.

“I’m gonna do better.”

“I’ll take care of you. I swear I will.”

“No more games. No more pushing you away.”

You whimpered beneath him, arms wrapped tight around his shoulders, clinging to him like you didn’t know how to let go anymore.

He rested his forehead against yours and kept moving, slow and deep, every thrust sending something hot and unbearable through your chest.

“You deserve flowers,” he breathed. “And check-ins. And hand-holding and fucking morning texts and someone who doesn’t make you cry every goddamn day.”

His voice cracked again. You felt it.

“And I want to be him,” Simon said, nearly choking on it. “I need to be him.”

Your body trembled beneath him. You were already so close, not just because of his cock, but because of the way he was inside you.

You came with a broken sob, your nails digging into his back, your legs shaking.

He came a moment later, groaning into your neck, and holding you tightly.

He didn’t pull out and didn’t move.

Just wrapped his arms around you, face pressed to your shoulder, and kissed you again and again and again, believing that if he just stayed close enough, the damage might finally start to heal.

...

Morning came quietly.

You woke to the pale gray light bleeding through your bedroom curtains, the kind of early morning glow that made everything feel hazy. For a few seconds, it was peaceful. Warm.

And then you remembered.

The weight behind you wasn’t just a dream.

Simon.

Still here, and breathing steadily against your back, one arm draped around your waist.

Your stomach twisted.

It wasn’t that last night had been bad. It hadn’t. If anything, it had been too good. Too soft. Too vulnerable. It was the kind of night you used to pray for back when you thought he’d never give it to you.

And now?

Now it just felt like weakness.

You untangled yourself from his arm slowly, carefully, trying not to wake him as you sat up and slipped your legs over the side of the bed. But he stirred anyway, and you felt his hand twitch behind you, reaching for something that wasn’t there anymore.

You stood up and didn’t turn around when you said it.

“Simon… you need to go.”

Silence.

Then the quiet sound of bedsheets rustling behind you.

“...You serious?” His voice was rough from sleep, low and uncertain in a way you weren’t used to hearing from him.

You nodded, still facing the window. “Yeah. I am.”

He sat up, and you could hear it, the shift in weight, the creak of the mattress, the pause before the sigh.

“Last night—” he started, but you cut him off.

“Was a moment,” you said, finally turning around to look at him. “That’s all. A moment of weakness. It doesn’t mean everything’s okay.”

He blinked at you, eyes bloodshot, hair messy, mouth parted.

“I meant everything I said,” he told you quietly. “Every word.”

“I know,” you said. “But meaning it isn’t enough. Not yet.”

He was quiet again, looking down at his hands, he didn’t know what to do with them now that they weren’t holding you.

“Okay,” he said eventually, dragging a hand through his hair and exhaling slowly. “Okay. I’ll go.”

You watched as he stood, pulled on his jeans, his hoodie, his boots. He didn’t rush, nor beg. He just moved with weighted sadness, like leaving was physically hard to do.

But at the door, he paused and turned around. “This isn’t the last time you’ll see me.”

You opened your mouth, but he kept going.

“I’m gonna prove it to you. That I meant what I said. That I’m changing. You’re gonna look at me one day, and you’re not gonna feel stupid for loving me anymore.”

You didn’t reply.

You just looked at him, arms crossed, your heart pounding.

And then he opened the door and stepped into the hall, casting one last glance back over his shoulder.

“I’ll win you back,” Simon said, voice like a quiet promise. “Even if it kills me.”

The door clicked shut behind him.

And you didn’t breathe until you were alone again.

PART 3

-----------------------------------------

@nightunite I'm not done with this bitch yet.

@daydreamerwoah @kylies-love-letter @ghostslollipop @kittygonap @alfiestreacle @identity2212 @farylfordaryl @rafaelacallinybbay @akkahelenaa @lovelovelovelovelove987654321 @wraith-bravo6 @tessakate @xocandyy @nightfwn @robinfeldt98 @xiisblogs @mad-die45 @readingthingy @actualpoppy @amongthe141 @whore4romance @thatghostlykid @syofrelief @avgdestitute @sheepdogchick3 @echo9821 @imalapdog @foxintheferns @trulovekay @preeyas-world @ruleroftides @rose37373 @succulambb @havoc973

[lambilegs]

best friend's older sister!sevika headcanons pt. 2

contains: modern!au, nsfw content (so minors/ageless blogs dni!!), cursing, reader is mentioned to have family issues, hcs + blurbs set pre-confession and post-confession, mention of spanking, strap-on sex (reader receiving), breeding kink, dirty talk, degrading (the word "slut" is used), humiliation kink, sevika physically teasing reader at family dinner, mention of smoking, reader's body is referred to w the terms "pussy" and "clit"

pt. 1

best friend's older sister!sevika who pauses outside her door when she hears the muffled noises of your crying, followed by her sister's voice. her eyebrows immediately draw in concern, stomach turning as possibilities run through her mind. you mentioned having an exam earlier this week -- did you fail it? was someone bothering you? did you need her to do anything?

when her sister's in the shower, she knocks quietly on the door, your call of, "yeah?" pushing her to enter.

once she does, her eyes immediately scan your face, looking for signs of distress. when she finds your eyes pink and glossy, a bolt of nervousness shoots through her, taking her off guard for a second.

once she swallows down the feeling, she tilts her head at you, leaning on the frame. "all okay?" she asks, trying to keep her voice levelled, not wanting to reveal just how much worry is stirring within.

"yeah." your mouth is twisted in something resembling pain, and she eyes you carefully as you sit up in the bed. "it's just, you know, family stuff."

she nods. she understands that, alright. most people would think that being the older of the two, she'd fight with her father less than her little sister, but the truth is that out of everyone in her house, they butt heads more than anyone else. she usually shrugs it off when anyone asks, with her most popular coping mechanism being fuming in her bedroom with a cigar while heavy music blankets over all her thoughts. probably not the healthiest way to react, but it's worked for this long. besides, she doesn't have the patience to sit at a desk and do that journalling bullshit her sister always prattles on about.

"sorry." she contemplates for a few moments on what else she could say to help, rocking on the balls of her sock-clad feet. all she comes up with is, "families suck," silently berating herself for being so incompetent.

but, at least you laugh, the noise a bit breathless, so sevika takes pride in that. "yeah, that's the understatement of the century."

"do you wanna, I don't know, talk about it?" just to ease the weight of the question, she mutters, "you know, I'm pretty good at belting insults at anyone who deserves it."

"oh, yes, I'm sure of it." you nod at the wall where the shower can be heard from. "she's told me how vicious you were in middle school."

she bristles, feeling her stomach tighten in embarrassment. she was a little asshole, alright, and she can't lie, her younger sister bore the brunt of it. something she secretly regrets now -- not that she'd ever admit to it. she probably never would've revealed it you in the first place if not for her sister ratting her out.

"well, I-- that was middle school. I'm not like that now."

your eyebrow raises, lips tilting up. "you know, some people would argue that who you are as a kid shows what kind of person you are at the core of it."

she scoffs. "who, freud? considering the other stuff I've heard about that guy, I think I'll pass on believing that bullshit."

"oh, c'mon, I can tell you all the merits about his theories."

"and while that sounds riveting, I guess, I'd prefer knowing if you... you know, need anything?" she shrugs, her eyes trained on you.

you smile softly, the corners of your lips crinkling. "thank you. I don't feel like talking about it much now, but I appreciate it a lot."

she nods, rasping on the doorframe, unsure as to how to proceed now.

"huh, someone's not really used to this."

she rolls her eyes, sending you a half-hearted glare. "oh, shut up."

best friend's older sister!sevika whose attention towards you is beginning to become obvious, even for you. she's started seeking you out instead of any of your other friends when she's looking for her sister, and when she enters the room, her eyes always flicker to you immediately. it makes you feel like a spotlight is casted upon you, your entire body, your entire being, reserved for sevika.

one day, one of the girls in your group leans over to you, her tone lowered with conspiracy. "you know, I think sevika has a thing for you."

your best friend groans, smacking her arm. "god, please! that's my sister, for god's sake."

"and? she's hot?"

her face morphs into complete disgust, eyes squeezing shut. "please, that's so fucking gross."

while you laugh along with the conversation, you can't help but warily glance to your best friend, mind whirring with thoughts of whether or not she's being earnest. you and sevika aren't, well, anything really -- at least not anything officially declared or acted upon. for months, it's just been tosses and back-and-forths of teasing and flirting. but, there has been no step over the threshold that divides you two between nameless, vague chemistry and the agreement to work towards a real relationship.

but, still, there is something there, and you cradle a hope in your chest that it'll turn into more one day, an actual thing that can be named. but, it's hard to feel positive about that outcome when you're not even certain if your best friend would approve or feel comfortable.

she meets your pondering stare, and you immediately backtrack, turning away so she can't read what's on your face.

a moment later, her palm rests on your knee and she laughs, tone as casual as ever when she says, "honestly, if anyone could tame her, it's you."

your lips part in shock, but she simply squeezes down gently before carrying on with the conversation.

best friend's older sister!sevika who pretty much wants to wring her cousin's neck out when she spots her conversing with you. well, it's not the conversing that's the problem -- she's not that crazy. or at least, she pretends not to be.

it's the fact that she knows her cousin hits on every one of her and her sister's friends, and she's clearly doing that with you right now, eyes half-lidded and voice lowered to what sevika hopes sounds more like darth vader than sexy to you. god, she nearly wants to kill her sister for being stupid enough to leave you alone with her. but, judging from her sister's shit-eating grin from where she stands at the food table, sevika suspects that it was intentional.

she tries not to crush her plastic red cup in her hand and send her vodka-spiked punch spilling everywhere. when her sister had casually mentioned last night that you'd be showing up to this family barbecue, sevika, much to her own embarrassment, had felt an immediate buzz of anticipation at knowing you'd be there. it's stupid, she knows. she's a grown ass woman, not some teenager -- yet, there she was, biting back a smile as she walked up the flight of stairs back to her bedroom. and when she reached her destination, she could barely focus, her thoughts straying to how she'll get a rise out of you rather than remaining on the toy she was meant to be building for the kid she babysits, isha.

she couldn't lie to herself about it. she was goddamn excited.

if only she had known how the day would wind up. it's nearing to late afternoon, and still, she hasn't spoken to you once. as soon as you and her sister had reached, the two of you had met with your usual gaggle of girls. and sevika hadn't been in the mood to entertain their giggles and leering stares upon coming to get you from them. and so, she waited. and then, you were dragged off to talk to her sister's favourite cousins, and then, to the idiot you're currently speaking to. a few minutes into what sevika hopes is a cringe-inducing conversation, her sister had left you to go to the food table.

she knows she has no reason to be jealous of her cousin. after all, look at the dimwit, she barely has game. she's so flashy with it, no subtlety. if you weren't the object of her cousin's attention, she might've actually taken some amusement in watching from afar.

but, no, it just had to be you. she can't even blame her cousin -- after all, you do look damn good, that's for certain. if this wasn't a family event, she'd be dragging you to the nearest corner, pushing you against the wall, and teasing you until you're a squirming little mess. god, she's just throbbing at the idea of it.

but, the feeling gets washed over with ice when her dumb cousin starts stroking her knuckles against your arm. stupid kid. and why are you smiling at her? do you not realize she's flirting? do you like that she's flirting? oh, now that thought leaves a sour taste in her mouth.

her composure snaps when she sees you laugh, and with a firm toss of her cup in the nearest garbage bag, she calmly makes her way to you. she knows she ought to be better than this. she should be the one with sense, with rationality -- the one who keeps her shit together while you become a fumbling mess whose feelings might as well be written on your forehead. that should be you. not her.

but, it's like her mind is working on overdrive, all her instincts honed in on making sure she takes you away and has you all to herself.

when she slides next to you two, your jump in surprise, looking up at her. her eyes rove over your features, drinking you in, wondering momentarily if you even realize how crazy you drive her.

"hey, sev, are you looking for your sister? because she's--"

"no," she cuts in, her palm bracing against the small of your back. "give us a sec."

"wha-- but, I--"

sevika doesn't give her cousin a moment to protest, firmly guiding you away to the front of her house, which has been left secluded now that people are eating in the backyard.

when you stumble into her back from her sudden halt, you blow out a frustrated puff of air. "what the hell was that?"

she feels her thick, dark eyebrows furrow, her gaze casted down on you, unwavering and focused. "I should be asking you that. why were you talking to her?"

"your sister left me with her!" you protest, your voice raising a pitch she'd find cuter if it weren't for the sour taste in her mouth.

"and? that makes you incapable of leaving a conversation afterwards?"

your eye twitches. "and why should I have left the conversation?"

sevika swallows, feeling her throat bob with the movement. if she acts like some jealous girlfriend, it'll be all too clear what it is she feels. and that's a bit too exposing for her. sure, you two flirt and push-and-pull, but it's something she could easily pass as a game if ever needed be. but, jealousy, disliking you talking to someone other than her? that's way too obvious, and there's no way of covering that up.

so, she takes a different route. "you know, if you're gonna be hitting on someone at this thing, it should be--"

"you?"

she nearly splutters, blinking hard at your growing smirk before continuing. "no. it should be someone other than the fuckboy-wanna-be relative who hits on anything with a pair of nice legs and pretty eyes."

your smile only widens and sevika has the sudden urge to bend you over her lap until you're a sobbing mess.

"so, you think I have nice legs and pretty eyes?"

"are you dense? how is that what you focus on?" despite the harsh undertone of her words, she can feel her body stiffening up under your watchful gaze, desperately hoping you don't realize just how badly she wants your attention. it feels pathetic, really, to be putting up a fit like this because just you spoke to someone flirtatious other than her. shit, she needs to save some face.

"yeah, because I think it's weird how you're dictating who I can speak to as though you're my girlfriend or something!"

"that's not how I'm acting--"

"yes, it is!" you scoff, stalking up to her and pointing a finger against her chest, the contact making her jerk back from the spark it leaves. "you wouldn't be this pissed if it was just about concern."

she's silent for a few seconds, her mind running through possible comebacks. the only one she can think of is a hard, "you don't know that."

you tilt your head at her, as though she's some kid in need of a scolding. it only exacerbates her frustration, causing it to flare up low in her gut. "well, if it's just about you being concerned, then let me continue talking to her. you warned me, I took it in stride, and if things go wrong, you can always rub it in my face late, okay?"

she sighs, beginning to regret having ever acted out now that this is the turn the situation is taking. you were supposed to take her words in, and do as she says. instead, you're arguing back, just like you always do. but, she knows that at this point, she'd be a hypocrite to complain about it. she knows it's why she likes you.

"you really want that?"

you cross your arms over your chest, and sevika tries not to let her eyes stray downwards. "is there a reason why I shouldn't?"

stupid mind games. sometimes, she hated being gay because of this.

she likes you, sure, but she doesn't have the patience to beat around the bush. which she's aware is hypocritical and stupid, considering that's what she's been doing this entire conversation. but, still.

so, she shrugs. "beats me."

your eyes flash with something, jaw clenching. sevika can't tell if it's a look of determination or anger.

but, what does it matter if you're spinning around to stomp back into the backyard?

she releases an exasperated breath, fishing for her cigarettes.

best friend's older sister!sevika whose voice makes you jump when you're stirring instant noodles in a frothy pot of water later that night.

"jesus, sevika!" you gasp, your other hand flying to clutch your chest. "what the fuck are you doing here?"

"it's my house, remember?" she dryly remarks, padding over to the fridge and grabbing a carton of milk. pinching the flap open, she drinks straight from it. you'd find it gross if it weren't for the way her lips wrap around the soggy cardboard material, the muscles of her neck protruding as she gulps it down.

when she bends down to put it back, you turn away, your stomach churning from how any bit of laughter is totally drained from her voice, leaving it flat and achingly unfamiliar.

you've felt guilty since the barbecue. sure, it's annoying that she makes demands of you without actually admitting her feelings. but, it's clear that she was upset in that moment. so, maybe you should've been a tad nicer.

"uh, sevika?" you meekly call out right as she's about to exit the kitchen.

she freezes in the entryway, casting you a sidelong glance over her shoulder, which is pinched from the strap of her tight tank top. god, you wanna kiss the indent it leaves.

"I..." you trail off, shifting side to side on your feet, the low bubbling of the water the only noise filling the room. you don't know what's too much or too little, so you mull over your words before tentatively saying, "you know, I'm not interested in your cousin. like, at all. I had no intention of flirting back with her, or, like, pursuing something with her."

she's silent for a few seconds, her eyes flicking away as her jaw tenses, which sends her cheeks hollowing out. you stare at her for a few seconds before focusing your attention back to stirring the noodles, needing something to occupy your thoughts other than the thick, stifling tension seizing the air.

finally, she speaks, her voice low but firm with surety. "well, I didn't want you to flirt with her... for reasons other than what I said."

your stomach tightens up in anxious, gut-wrenching excitement, forcing your mouth to remain in a clenched line. you know this isn't exactly a confession, but it's unspoken between you two -- what she means, that is. there could only be one reason other than concern that would explain how protective she was earlier. a reason that, sure, you're not certain about regarding the details or her intentions, but that nonetheless has you feeling like you could jump with the amount of energy surging through you at the mention of it. no matter how vague.

you can sense she won't say anymore, though, her body rigid with tension. so, to try to lighten the mood, your own body sagging in relief now that you two have somewhat made amends, you drawl out, "yeah, that much was clear."

she snickers, turning fully to you and propping her arm on the door frame. you expect her to give her own retort, but instead, she just... watches you. smirk slowly curling on her face, eyes crinkling in amusement, she simply stares at you.

after a few moments of feeling like the side of your head is burning from her razor-sharp gaze, you say, "what?"

the corner of her mouth quirks up further. "for someone who says it was obvious, that was a pretty big grin you had on your face just now."

you huff indignantly, ducking you head down to the noodles in order to avoid getting caught in your flustered state. "well, I'm just grinning because my noodles are almost done."

she peers at the time flashing over the stove before shaking her head and grimacing at the pot. "why are you even eating this crap at 2:00AM? we have actual food in the fridge."

"I was craving this," you defend with a squeak, shooting her what you pray is a convincing glare despite your heart racing from her earlier words. "besides, I didn't know if your family would be having the leftovers."

"don't be stupid," she chides gruffly. after a pause, she adds, "you know you're family."

this time, you can't resist the beam that overtakes your face, eyes squeezing in delight as your cheeks throb pleasantly from the joy embracing you. you've, of course, heard this sentiment from your best friend plenty of times before, but never from sevika.

"thanks," you murmur feebly, sending her a small, bash smile.

she simply nods in return, her lips pressing together as she continues observing you.

part of you basks under it. the attention of her focused grey eyes, the heavy weight of her gaze -- it all sends a thrill to you that's hot and burning, making you feel you're being revived from a lifelong slumber. how did you ever manage without the life-altering feeling which is sevika's gaze directed to you?

"so, I guess I should head up," she says, sticking a thumb behind her.

your body immediately tenses in protest. she can't leave -- not like this, not after this tender moment you two just shared. not when her presence here holds the contrast of warm assurance and ice-cold surprise that you're always craving.

a loud "no!" bursts from your lip as she's just about to turn.

when she sends you an inquisitive stare, forehead wrinkled in confusion, you feel your face heat up in embarrassment over your over-eagerness. but, it's too late to scale back, so you force yourself to proceed with, "I just-- why don't we hang out a bit? maybe watch gilmore girls. and, I don't know, share the noodles and, well, left overs."

her eyes widen, lips parting in surprise, and it almost makes you want to cackle. how could she even be surprised you want to spend time with her? are you just that good at hiding your want for her, or is she that romantically dense?

"um, yeah, okay," she says, a hand curving up along the back of her neck. "but, don't think I'll eat that crap you're making."

your shoulders ease at the joke, laughing as you wag your wooden spoon at her. "it's good, okay? I don't know why you'd deprive yourself of it."

"if I didn't deprive myself, I wouldn't have these." she flexes her bicep, and you try not to let your gaze roam over the toned muscle bulging out. no need to satisfy her that much. "and wouldn't that be a pity for you?"

you bristle, but still find yourself unable to quell the laughter that bubbles up your throat. "fuck off. my life isn't so sad that your muscles are my sanctuary."

"fair point -- maybe 'religion' is a better term."

ugh, her grin is infuriatingly coy as she heads back to the fridge, pulling out a tupperware, her veins bulging out as she grips it.

you want to fuck her so bad. and then, yell at her. and then, fuck her again.

"just, shut up and heat up the leftovers," you grumble, turning your back to her as her laugh, hearty and scratchy in all the right ways, flows from her lips.

honestly, the lack of eye contact is for both of your guys' benefit. god knows how you'll react if you see that cute gap again.

best friend's older sister!sevika who, after you two start dating, places her long fingers on your thigh when you join her family for dinner. she knows it's a bit evil of her, but she can't help it. your body is just so reactive -- a fact that she was delighted to learn upon your first time sleeping together. it just makes it so much fun to toy with you like this.

your leg immediately flinches when her fingernails skim along your skin, and she'd probably smile if she wasn't so well-trained in public play to know exactly how to keep a straight face.

but, you? she knows you're struggling. she can feel it in the way you shift in your seat, shoulders rolling as her warm palm flattens against your skin, her fingers sinking into the plush of your thigh. or how your body suddenly lurches forward when she suddenly pinches her nails into the skin, causing everyone at the table to dart concerned glances your way.

you sheepishly laugh it off, shaking your head and saying, "sorry, I, um-- I just got a weird shiver."

sevika honestly feels impressed that you're able to keep your cool this well, glancing at you with a raised eyebrow. she knows it probably goes against the whole supportive girlfriend thing, but seeing you manage to remain calm only makes her want to test you even more.

and so, she inches her fingers up so that they smooth along the tender skin of your inner thigh. you immediately stiffen up, your back straightening to an almost comedic right angle. sevika's mouth twists, trying to hold in a chuckle at how you writhe when her blunt nails begin to trace shapes into the hot patch of skin. god, she wants to dip her fingers in further, feel the tight heat of your pussy wrap around her digit as she pumps it in and out of you.

she clears her own throat to cut off her breaths from getting too shallow. god, she needs a cold shower or some shit. plus, the entire point was to get you hot and bothered, not her.

trying to gather her bearings, she presses her fingers into the sensitive area, slightly digging in the curves of her nails, trying to replicate she sharp sting you feel when she sinks her teeth into that spot before eating you out.

it seems se's successful, based on the way your legs shift again, pressing together and trapping her hand there. and your cute face is noticeably distracted, expression glazed over, lips hanging open.

when your fingers curl around her wrist, keeping her hand there, she smirks behind the rim of her glass, taking a careful sip before wrenching her hand free from your grip, continuing with her meal.

through the animated conversation her sister and old man are having, she can hear you grunt in frustration.

but, she doesn't even turn to you. after all, what would be the fun if she just gave you what you wanted?

best friend's older sister!sevika who shakes you from your deep sleep when you're curled up on the mattress in her living room, your best friend fast asleep on the couch. before you can mumble incoherently, your eyes barely making out her broad frame through the sleep-tinged blur, she presses a finger to your mouth, quietly shushing you.

you nod, your heavy eyes blinking rapidly to register what's going on. but, you can barely get a whisper in before sevika scoops you up, her strong arms easily carrying you up the stairs to her bedroom. you have to bite back a gasp at the sudden manhandling, though a spike of arousal zips through you from how easily she takes you to her bedroom, dropping you unceremoniously onto her navy blankets.

you frown at her, eyes sharpened into a glare. "sevika, wha--"

she plants her lips on you, crawling on top of you and pinning your body to the bed with hers. she's sloppy and ungraceful with it, shoving her tongue into your mouth and swirling it around yours as a hand slides up to loosely grip your throat.

"you didn't think I'd leave you hanging, did you?" she mumbles against your lips, her hand drifting down your body to start fiddling with the waistband of your pajama shorts.

"well, you already did once, so I wouldn't be surprised if it happened again," you murmur against her prodding mouth, trying to keep your voice dignified in light of all the pants and whines beginning to crawl up your throat.

"awe, c'mon, baby," she snickers, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to your cheek while the rest of you practically combusts from the low, scolding tone she takes when calling you that. "even I have my limits."

and, oh, how fucking good it feels for sevika's limits to be broken, you think as she pounds into you with her dark purple strap-on, her hand over your mouth as she pumps her hips steadily, hissing whenever her bed frame bumps too loudly against the wall.

you wrap your legs around her, nails raking up her back as the toy plunges into you over and over again, stretching your walls taut. it feels good, so good, the dull ache of her nearly-too-big dildo making your entire pussy throb in a way that makes you feel impossibly full.

"listen to that," she whispers against your ear, the hot moist of her breath making you break out into shivers. "your pussy is soaking my new sheets. such a mess you're making."

god, you just leak even more from those words, the mix of your juices and the lube creating deliciously loud squelching noises in her room, only growing more pointed and firm when she begins to drill particularly hard, intentional thrusts into you. the movements have the bulb her of dick pushing against your g-spot with every rock of her body, and it sends a warm tingle through you, wrapping your nerves in pleasure and sparking them to life.

you whine against her hand, eyes rolling back when her cold, mechanical finger begins to flick along your clit. the cool, steel-hard texture of it against your swollen little nub has your body arching up, each brush and flick feeling so heightened through all the other sensations running through you.

"yeah," she chuckles darkly, grazing her teeth along your earlobe. "you like that, don't you? getting this pussy slutted out, having me fucking up your guts and making room for my babies?"

your hips jolt up at those words, a loud whine erupting from your mouth before you can stop it. sevika hisses at it, pressing her mouth to yours, her thighs smacking against yours as she continues drilling you into her mattress.

"be quiet," she rasps, her breaths shattering into uneven little pants. "you want everyone in this house to know what a slut you are? you want everyone to know you couldn't last a night in here without getting dicked down by your best friend's sister?"

you can barely respond, your entire body set aflame with the pleasure of her on top of you, surrounding you with nothing but warm skin, hard muscle and filthy, nasty little noises.

"ah," you moan quietly against her mouth, fingers tracing the indents your nails have left in her back. "feels s'good, I just-- I can't--"

"I know, baby, I know," she grunts, fingers wrapping around your jaw and shaking your face like you're her personal doll. "no need to worry your pretty head with talking, yeah? just be good and let me cream this pussy."

and so, you do. over and over and over again.

best friend's older sister!sevika who tries not to smirk too hard when her sister asks over breakfast why you're wearing a turtleneck in the middle of july.

[hbosscreations]

I Met Human Teeth Guy Again, And Yes, He’s Still Mad That I Had To Call The Cops On Him.

This is 100% real and happened today, June 13th, 2025.

Long story long, I work at a printing and shipping company in a small town, and I run deliveries. I’m dropping off a box of envelopes we’ve printed and tell the guy he needs to sign the invoice. I’m jovial, he’s smiling, and he looks me dead in the eye.

“Do you recognize me?”

Uh…I’ve lived here a LONG time. I know a LOT of people.

I run down the list of people in my head he could be. Cashier? I haven’t been in a store since curbside became a thing. He looks vaguely like the guy who came to Evil Dead rehearsals drunk before the pandemic, but that’s not saying a lot. Probably a person I’ve done a project for at work.

He had a tight smile on his face and his fists were clenched as he offered the invoice back to me, so I assumed I’d had to give him bad news about a package at some point or I’d worked on a funeral poster for him.

“You look vaguely familiar,” I offered, “But I’m not super great with faces.”

“You called the cops on me.”

Holy.

Shit.

“Ah, I see.”

The two clients he was seeing when I walked in looked between the two of us as I snatched the invoice from his hand.

“Have a nice day.”

I book it to my car, because as soon as he said that, I remembered exactly who he was.

Human Teeth Guy.

Rewind to a year or so ago, this guy comes into my work with a box he wants to ship. It’s all normal, our new girl is practicing shipping and helps him out, no problems.

Until a little later when the whole office smells like weed.

PUNGENT. NAUSEATING. IMPROPERLY DISGUISED.

We have signage stating that we can look through suspicious packages. We have a shpiel we go through every time we take in a box.

“Does this contain alcohol, tobacco, firearms, illegal substances, exotic pets, small children, human remains, cash, or gift cards?”

We ask these things for a reason. Some things require special packing, some things you have to have a special license to send. Cash and gift cards aren’t  insurable, so if they get stolen, there’s nothing we can do and I like to let people know.

Marijuana cannot be shipped through USPS. Some people think it’s fine because it’s legal in a lot of places now, but it’s not legal to ship through the post office.

So, I get myself in full view of the security camera and I pop the box to make sure that it’s not just a box that had weed in it at one point. There’s a bunch of random stuff, a shirt, some rolling papers, and a Sour Cream and Onion Pringles can with scotch tape on the lid.

Look, I hate this kind of thing. If you’re going to ship drugs, don’t ship them in something obvious. Peanut butter was classic for a reason.

I pull the tape off, because I have to lay eyes on it, and out plops into my hand a plastic bag filled with nugs…

And a bunch of human teeth.

At first, I thought they were just some weird rocks, I’ve shipped weirder stuff, but the bloodstained roots quickly corrected me.

So, look, I didn’t know what the legality was for shipping teeth at the time. All I knew what that I had a Pringles can FILLED with weed, pillow stuffing, and HUMAN TEETH.

I stopped my search at that point. I wasn’t going to mess with that. We have a pretty robust drug trade in our town, the boss’s rule is that if you find something that you’re not allowed to handle, you call the police to facilitate.

I’m not a fan of getting cops involved, when people try to ship things they’re not allowed to, I typically call them and have them come get their stuff. They’re not usually happy, but they’re happier than if I call the police.

Well, guess who gave us a fake number?

So, I call. I report the human teeth, the drugs, and the other paraphernalia, and I ask if they can deal with it because I certainly don’t want to. They say they’ll send an officer over to pick up the package.

A week passes. No cops. I’ve called twice since then. The place stinks and I have nowhere to put it that won’t spread.

I call again, I say I’ve had it a week, I’m unhappy, send someone to get the box.

“Okay, we have someone on the way.”

Great. I’ll believe it when I see it.

Minutes later, who comes in, scratching himself raw and baring his teeth at my poor girl at the counter, but human teeth guy?

God hates me.

He’s livid. His box was supposed to be there already. Why hasn’t it gotten there? Did we steal it? Did we steal his drugs?

She’s in tears, he sees his box on the holding shelf and starts having a fit.

Why do we still have it?! What the fuck is wrong with us?!

So, since I get to be the one who throws their weight around here, I send her to go calm down and explain.

No, we didn’t send it because it reeked and it was illegal to ship. No, we can’t give you back the package, the police have already been called, no I can’t let you behind the counter to just take it.

The girl who went to the back has called the non-emergency line again to tell them that Human Teeth Guy is here and he’s angry.

The cop is there in two minutes.

Human Teeth Guy is escorted out of the building, snarling and screaming that we have to give him back his stuff.

Cop talks to him outside.

Cop comes back inside.

“You called us about drugs?”

“I called because we can’t legally dispose of his drugs and I couldn’t get ahold of him, but also because there are teeth in the Pringles can.”

“Teeth?”

Cop looks at the teeth.

“Yep, those are human teeth alright.”

Human Teeth Guy didn’t look like he was missing any teeth and these didn’t look or feel fake.

“So…what do you want to do here?”

“I don’t want to cause problems, he didn’t do anything to make me want to press charges of any kind, but he made my employee feel unsafe.”

“Got it. I’ll tell him he’s not allowed back and if he does come back, charges will be pressed.”

I hand the box with all of its contents to the officer.

“Good luck to you.”

Cop leaves. We watch Human Teeth Guy walk away from the building. Cop comes back inside, looking vaguely uncomfortable.

“He doesn’t know where he got the teeth from.”

“What?”

“He says he doesn’t know where the teeth are from.”

Cop looks at me.

I look at him.

“If you see him around here, call us, okay?”

And that was the end, or so I thought.

It would hardly be worth commenting on this at all, we have seen a lot of WILD shit come through here, if it weren’t for where I saw him today.

Friends, tumblrs, countryfolks.

HE WORKS AT THE LOCAL FUNERAL HOME.

I guess I know where the teeth came from now.

But I have SO MANY MORE QUESTIONS.

And yeah, he’s still mad at me, which is exciting.

[bballesbolol]

Seven Minutes

Summary: Azzi and Caroline are staying at Azzi’s family’s lake house in Minnesota over spring break. Caroline manages to drag Azzi out to a house party, where they end up playing seven minutes in heaven and meeting a certain blonde in the process (this summary sucks, I swear the fic is actually okay)

This is kind of for the anon who asked for some forced proximity, and is also vaguely inspired by a rose x pearl animation I saw on tik tok

Warnings: Alcohol, Language (no smut but like, maybe a little smut if making out counts to you??) uh…poorly written? if that’s one 😭

Word Count: 3.6k ish

A/N: sorry for being inactive, I lowkey got hate crimed at work so I’m dealing with that 😭consider this my appology, and also a little snack for y’all waiting for new chapters of literally anything I’m working on. Wrote it in about 3 hours so it’s short and probably kinda shitty

anyway I’m going out tonight so send me anons to keep me entertained (Update, went out, edidted this in the uber home, and posting it now so pretty please don’t look to close 🤗)

oh, also for realism Azzi and Caroline are NARP’s in this, Caroline is a WBB fan, and Azzi is kinda clueless about that stuff

——————————————————————

It was spring break, and according to Caroline—that meant getting hammered at some random house in a town they’d touched down in the day before.

She hadn’t bothered asking where they were going, she wasn’t even sure if Caroline knew either—but next thing she knew, she was in the back of an uber leaving her family’s Airbnb on the way to meet an ‘old friend’ of Caroline’s.

“So like, this is people our age or…”

Caroline shrugged, “more or less, I think some college kids could be there”

“college?’ She exclaimed, eyebrows raised like Caroline had just told her Adam Sandler would be there too.

Caroline rolled her eyes and brushed her off, ”Azzi, you're about to be in college. You’re acting like we’re not 18–”

”okay but college is a big range, like, there could be 25 year olds or something” She mumbled back, slumping against the leather seats of the car.

“this is definitely all people who can’t drink legally” Caroline assured.

“Does that make it better??”

Caroline sighed, “Nope, but that means we won't be the only ones doing something wrong”

She paused for a moment, “Are there gonna be like…real drugs there?”

Caroline shrugged, ”probably”

She shot back up, whipping around to face her now, “like illegal ones?”

Caroline rolled her eyes again, ”Az everything’s illegal, we’re underage—“

She cut her off, ”Fuck I know—you know what I mean—like coke, or whatever else actual adults do”

“I can’t guarantee or deny that there will or wont be coke—“

Azzi groaned, ”we shouldn’t even be going to this”

Caroline chuckled, ”god just let loose a little, okay? We’re on vacation to have fun, and this is fun”

***

The house was packed full when they pulled up. They walked up a stone pathway, past someone doubled over throwing up in a bush, and could already hear the muffled thud of some far-too-bassey rap song from just behind the door.

Caroline swung open the door, and she was immediately hit with a unique blend of weed, cheap beer, and sweat all mixing in the air, which somehow mixed together to smell like a night she was sure to regret.

She took a deep breath and looked around the room. It was a little hazy with smoke and swimming with guys in sweaty polo’s and faded t-shirts, and girls in way-too-tiny tops who looked like they’d all had more than a few too many. By the time she turned back to Caroline she was interrogating an innocent bystander about where he had gotten his drink from. The guy pointed towards a door and Caroline whipped back around to face Azzi.

“Okay, he said there’s an open bar in the kitchen” Caroline grabbed her wrist and began to drag her through the crowd and towards what was apparently the kitchen, paying no mind to the people she was pushing through to get there.

The ‘open bar’ in question turned out to be a half empty handle of Tito’s, a bottle of fruit punch, and cooler full of shitty beers floating in more water than ice.

Caroline grabbed the handle and grinned at her, “open your mouth”

She smirked sarcastically back at Caroline, half expecting her to be joking. She shook her head when she realized she was actually serious.

“No”

“just one shot—“

”no—”

“yes, we’re behind, don’t worry I’ll waterfall” Caroline slowly inched closer to her, vodka still in hand, waving it at her like you would a spoon towards a toddler. There was no way she’d win this one.

She begrudgingly opened her mouth and Caroline poured way more than ‘one shot’ into her mouth, and she nearly gagged swallowing it. The alcohol burned as it sunk down her throat.

“Fuck—“ she choked out, “chaser”

Caroline slid the punch towards her and she took a frantic gulp. She slammed the jug back down on the counter, a little out of breath.

“You’re evil”

”I’m fun” Caroline chirped back, pouring a shot for herself into a red solo cup. She shot it back, grimaced, and began pouring another one.

“That better not be for me”

“It’s just one more, it won’t hurt”

“god help me” she mumbled under her breath. She reached out for the cup and threw it back, wincing as she swallowed.

***

Two shots and half a mixed drink later, they made her way back into the crowd. Caroline trailed behind her, probably more drunk than she should've been. She couldn’t feel all of the alcohol yet, but it had started to creep up on her. Her head felt lighter, her step was less steady than usual, and she couldn't stop smiling. At what? She didn’t know. Everything just felt funnier.

They found a spot on the wall off to the side of the living room and sat to observe.

She took a slow sip of her drink, “So, like, what are we supposed to do now?”

Caroline shrugged, “I don’t know, meet new people, get more drunk, hook up with a hot guy—“

She mock gagged and leaned back against the wall, ”ew, gross”

“you know I’ve been in a drought—I’m on the prowl tonight.”

“You’re disgusting” groaned Azzi, looking around for any escape from this conversation.

“I’m horny” Caroline groaned, swaying back until she too was leaning up against the wall.

“you’re drunk” she chirped back.

”yeah, and horny. It’s like primal—”

She cut her off, waving her hands at her, “Oh my god I’m leaving”

“Leaving? Are you actually gonna go meet new people?”

“I’m done talking”

She started to drift away from Caroline, not before she could yell “bring back someone hot”, and headed towards the sea of people in the living room.

She made her way towards the middle of the crowd, weaving through the far-too-drunk teens, trying to find a pocket to sneak into. Suddenly, she felt a body slam into the side of her. Then she heard the crunch of a cup, and felt something splash down on her. Whoever this was had managed to spill their entire drink onto her.

“The fuck—“ she snapped, taking a step back and shaking the liquid off of her arms.

She turned to look at the person. Their face was turned away from her, still talking to someone across the room, but she could still make out some details. Tall, blonde hair, pale skin, strong enough to nearly knock her over.

Then she turned around.

Blue eyes, cheekbones for days—

“Shit, my bad” the stranger grumbled, sounding unbothered and definitely unapologetic.

“Uh, yeah. You should watch where you’re going” She grumbled back, trying her hardest to wipe the drink from her top.

“Nah you ran into me.”

“I did not” She spat back, sounding offended.

”On god you did. You owe me a drink”

“you owe me a shirt”

the girl looked her up and down. Something in her face shifted, and a smirk pulled at the corners of her lips.

“You could just take that one off”

Wow. Just, wow. Wasn’t she just a ray of sunshine?

She scoffed. Well, no, more full on laughed in her face, “really? You thought that would work?”

The girl shrugged, still unbothered as ever, “What? You could just take it off. Or I can, if that’s easier—“

”oh my god, get the fuck out” she grumbled, starting to push past her.

“Fuck it was a joke okay?”

She rolled her eyes, ”you’re being an ass”

The girl grabbed her shoulder, holding her in place.

”it was funny” she paused for a moment, like she was expecting Azzi to say something smart back, which she didn’t, so she continued, asking, “so like, can you get me a new drink?”

She scoffed again, more dismissive this time. How could this girl expect her to get her a new drink when she was the one wearing it right now? If anything she should owe her one.

“Go get yourself a fucking drink, I gotta go clean the last one off of me” She spat, shaking lose of her grasp and stepping past her.

She turned and stalked back over to the edge of the party, hunting for Caroline. For all she knew, she’d found someone easy and an empty room to disappear in for the next hour. It’d been long enough—maybe a half hour, maybe more, time wasn’t exactly feeling linear right now.

She found an empty couch and plopped down into it, trying her hardest to look unapproachable. She took a sip of her drink and looked around. No sign of Caroline.

She groaned and rolled her eyes. It was going to be a long night.

***

Caroline finally reappeared what felt like an hour later. She was grinning ear to ear, and had picked up some short brunet she was dragging along with her.

“Azzi” She slurred, wobbling her way over to the couch she had been hiding on.

She sounded more drunk than she was when she left. Not a good sign, especially for her own sanity.

Azzi rolled her eyes, “Hey Caroline, where’d you find this one?” she mumbled, nodding towards the mystery boy.

She chuckled, “he found me—and now we found you. We were all gonna go to the basement and play some, uh, like some game, right?” She turned to her new friend for confirmation.

The guy nodded.

Azzi cocked her head, “Game?”

“Yeah, game, like fun. We came here to have fun”

She raised an eyebrow, “you sure you don’t want to leave?”

The question was stupid on her part, but she might as well try.

“Uh, fuck no” asserted Caroline, looking taken aback.

Yeah, she had a feeling. But, maybe this was a chance to get out of the crowd, and away from the thumping bass that was starting to feel like it was cracking her skull.

She sighed, “you said basement?”

“Mhm” hummed Caroline, a stupid, smug smile on her face.

She groaned, and dragged a hand down her face, then mumbled, “If I go with you can we leave after?”

Caroline thought for a moment, eyebrows scrunched together, “fine. But you might now want to leave after.”

“Mhm” she hummed, unconvinced. She let Caroline grab her wrists and practically pull her arm off dragging her away from the crowd.

***

The basement was brighter, lit by fluorescent ceiling bulbs that nobody could figure out how to turn off.

The crowd was thinner down there. Maybe 20 people, and that was pushing it. Caroline pulled her into the crowd by her wrists, dragging her through people who were starting to settle into a circle at the center of the room. They found their own spot at the edge and sat down, surveying the crowd.

Then she spotted her. Probably the last familiar face she wanted to see. The drink girl—more specifically, the one who had told her to take off her shirt an hour ago. She was sitting across the circle, new drink in hand, chatting to another girl who was cozying up to her like she was on a mission.

She turned back to Caroline, who looked like she was staring at the girl too. Her head was cocked, and her brows were scrunched together, clearly deep in thought. Then she gasped.

”No fucking way”

”what?” Azzi asked.

Caroline turned back to her and grabbed her arm, fingers practically cutting off her circulation from squeezing so hard, ”that’s Paige Bueckers.”

“Who?”

Caroline stared back at her like she’d just asked her who Beyoncé or Zendeya was.

”uh, Paige Bueckers, like UConn Paige Bueckers. She just won AP player of the year”

That girl? Really? She assumed an award like that would come with some sort of class, or grace, but apparently it didn’t. Maybe she was the kind of girl who thought being an athlete excused her from being a dickhead.

She looked back to the girl, then to Caroline, ”so is she like…famous?”

Caroline shook her by her arm, ”bitch, she’s the face of women’s basketball. She like, owns the NCAA”

Huh. She was important. That made her run in with her somehow feel more offensive.

She snorted, “No way, she bumped into me earlier”

Caroline’s jaw dropped, “you’re lying”

“I’m not—she’s the reason I smell like frat basement. She spilled her drink on me then told me I should go get her a new one”

“deadass?”

”yeah, and so I was like ‘oh, you should get me a new shirt’ and she was like ‘you should just take that one off’”

”BITCH WHAT? WHERE WAS I??”

She sighed and rolled her eyes, ”you were with mystery man—I was completely stranded, It was tragic, really”

”That doesn’t sound tragic, it sounds horny—I’m jealous, honestly”

“You shouldn’t be, she was an ass”

“yeah, like, a hot ass”

She pulled her arm away from Caroline and groaned, “bitch you don’t even like girls—“

Caroline leaned in, grinning like an idiot, ”yeah, but you do—and I have eyes”

”oh my god, shut up.” She mumbled, turning away from her to look back to the girl—Paige, apparently.

Caroline didn’t say anything back. She didn’t need to. She just stood there, smirking, taking in the way she’d said it way too fast. Or the way her cheeks flushed, just a little—a change that she was blaming on the alcohol.

She rolled her eyes and changed the subject, ”you still haven’t told me what game this is”

Caroline chuckled to herself softly, “You’re gonna think its stupid”

“Is it stupid?” She asked, eyebrows raised.

”It’s seven minutes in heaven” Caroline mumbled.

holy shit, what was this, middle school?

“oh my god, ew” she groaned back, already trying to stand and walk away.

”Azzi” whined Caroline, grabbing at her arms again to keep her seated.

She laughed weakly, ”I’m not hooking up with someone in a fucking closet—”

Caroline met her eyes, looking desperate to make her stay, ”you probably won’t even have to—just be my emotional support, please Az? you can cop out if it lands on you, I swear.”

“I swear to god, if I get roped into this I’ll kill you”

“Just, stay.” Caroline pleaded, letting go of her hands.

She obliged. This wasn’t something worth fighting over, plus, if she left, where else would she go? She just let it happen, trying her hardest not to look interested.

They went through a few rounds quickly. Someone placed an empty fifth in the middle of the circle, which people spun to pick out their victims. The ‘heaven’ in question was a small closet near the edge of the circle, hardly big enough for two people to move around in.

5 rounds (or whatever they were called) had gone by, and she was starting to get bored. One could only be entertained by the idea of a sweaty makeout in a broom closet for so long before getting sick of it.

The bottle had made its way around the other edge of the circle, and now, it was in Paige’s hand. That fact made her perk up for no particular reason.

She watched as she spun it, how the glass twirled on the hardwood until it began to slow down.

The neck was nearly facing her as the bottle neared the end of its rotation. And of course, it landed on her.

“Oh, she’s not playing” Caroline chirped, “you should just spin again”

Paige raised her eyebrows, eyes shifting between her and Caroline, “really?” She asked.

“Yeah” asserted Caroline.

Paige smirked, eyes locking on Azzi, “Not playing, or just chickening out?”

“Oh fuck no” she mumbled to Caroline under her breath, already shifting to stand up.

Caroline turned to her, a concerned expression on her face, “you said you weren’t playing” she whispered, sounding confused.

“Yeah, I said that” she mumbled back, then continued, louder, “I’ll do it, lets go”

Paige smirked back at her from across the room. Caroline took one last look at her and asked, “Are you really fine with this?”

She pried her gaze away from Paige and shrugged, “It’s only seven minutes”

***

The door shut behind them. They were close, forced together by the cramped room. They had maybe a foot of space between them.

Paige grinned at her, “you smell like booze”

Azzi rolled her eyes, “God, I wonder why” she mumbled.

Paige chuckled, “Could’ve just taken the shirt off, half the girls here are in bras anyway. You’d fit right in—”

She took a deep breath, ”shut up”

“what” Paige asked, looking a little taken aback.

She took a step towards her and met her gaze, “I said, shut up. We only have seven minutes—“

Paige cut her off, eyebrows raised, ”wait, you actually wanna do that shit?”

Azzi grabed Paiges collar with both of her hands, pulling her closer so their faces were inches apart, “Yeah, I’m not gonna chicken out now—I don’t fuck around”

Paige grinned, “Shit, that’s hot—“

She cut her off with a kiss. The sloppy kind, one where their noses bumped and teeth clacked. One that wasn’t planned, but happened anyway—and that she hated to admit she’d been waiting for.

Paige tasted like shitty vodka and cranberry—but, not bad—and her lips were…softer than she expected.

She pulled back for a moment, unsure.

Paige made it clear that she wasn’t. Her hands found the sides of her head, lacing through her curls and pulling her face closer. Suddenly the room felt hotter.

Their lips met again, but it felt more intense this time. Like this wasn’t just a stupid party game. Like this could go further than a sloppy drunken kiss.

And with the way her head was spinning—she might let it.

They slow at first. Paige was letting her lead. Seeing how far she wanted to take it. But gradually, she started to fight for control.

Paige slowly pushed her back until she was pressed up against the other wall of the closet. Her hands slipped down from the sides of her head to her jaw, cupping her face. She groaned against Paige’s lips at the touch.

Her lips parted ever so slightly, and Paige jumped at the opportunity to deepen the kiss. She leaned into it, letting Paige take control. One of her hands slipped from the side of her neck down her side until it settled at her hip, squeezing hard.

She lifted one of Azzi’s legs, grip still firm, to straddle her own hips. She pressed their bodies closer, rushed, almost frantic.

Then, Paige’s leg shifted. She threaded her knee between Azzi’s legs, pressing just hard enough for her to notice.

She didn’t realize she'd made the sound until it slipped out of her mouth. It was a small and strangled whine—something utterly embarrassing that in any other circumstance would have made her want to curl into a ball and die. But right now, in this closet, alcohol on her breath and sweat sticky on her skin—she couldn't care less.

Paige chased the sound, hand slipping lower to her ass, gripping hungrily.

This was so wrong. She didn’t even know this girl and her tongue was halfway down her throat—and she was letting it happen.

Shit, she might even be enjoying it.

She groaned again as Paige pulled her hips closer, knee offering just enough friction to drive her crazy.

Fuck. She was definitely enjoying it.

She whined as Paige pulled back for a moment, eyes raking over her face.

All she could do was sit there, panting beneath her. She could see a slight sheen of sweat glistening on Paige's face. Then she was back on her, lips starting to wander. Towards the side of her mouth, down her chin, across her jaw—

She sighed, head tipping back, giving Paige full access.

She took it, dipping her head to Azzi’s neck.

Paige's other hand trailed from her jaw down to her chest, palming her through her shirt. She could feel the strap of her tank top slowly slipping down her shoulder and handing loose around her arm, but she didn’t care to catch it.

She whimpered as Paige nipped and sucked along the skin where Azzi’s jaw met her neck, then lower, sucking harder now.

Shit, probably too hard. Hard enough to leave a mark if they weren’t careful.

She tried, albeit not too hard, to push her off, but they were interrupted by a sharp knock on the door.

Paige pulled back from her neck, a little breathless, and looked down at her, lips parted and kiss bitten. She pushed her away, not hard, but it was firm enough to move her.

Her hand shot to her neck, fingers grazing over the spot that was still damp from Paige’s kiss.

“did you just give me a fucking hickey?” She hissed, quiet enough for the sound not to carry past the closet door.

Paige surveyed her face, then her neck, and smirked.

“to remember me by” She mused

To remember her by? Like the drink spillage and knee between her thigh wouldn’t be enough?

The door creaked open behind them, and she quickly pulled herself together. She pulled the strap of her tank top back up over her shoulder, blinked, and took a deep breath, trying her hardest not to look as wrecked as she was.

“God damn it—you're an ass, you know that right?” She mumbled, pushing past Paige and back towards the room, pulling her curls down to cover her neck the best she could.

She made her way back to Caroline, stepping over the row of people in front of the door of the closet and trying her best to ignore the ooh’s and ahh’s as she went.

She still felt hot, but not exactly temperature-wise. This heat was different, low in her stomach, something that shedding a layer couldn't fix. She plopped down next to Caroline, thighs shifting uncomfortably as she tired to settle down.

”holy shit, how was that??” Caroline asked, bractically bouncing up and down.

She couldn’t respond. She was still too stuck on—whatever the fuck that was—to articulate words. She just met Paige’s gaze from across the room, cold, blue, cocky as ever. She smirked back at her, knowing. She had a feeling this wouldn’t be the last time they’d see each other tonight.

She broke the eye contact out of necessity—took a deep breath, and turned back to Caroline.

All she could get out was a breathless, “Paige Bueckers, huh?”

[aperrywilliams]

Glowing (Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader)

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Author Masterlist

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Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader.

Summary: The team has been out on a case for about ten days now. You're not with them this time due to your 21st-week pregnancy and doctor's order not to go to the field, and you miss your husband, Spencer, like crazy. When they come back, Spencer can't stop looking at you and your recent baby bump. To say it makes him feral is an understatement, and he wants to show you how marvelous you are despite your insecurities about your changing body.

Word Count: 5.8k

Warnings: SMUT/18+/MDNI. Spencer and Reader are horny AF. There is a lot of teasing, heated kissing, heavy making out, oral sex, PIV sex, and breeding kink (a kind of self-fulfilling prophecy). Reader has some insecurities about her body.

A/N: This idea was requested a while ago. I'm so sorry it took me so long to get it done. But here it is! Someone asked for horny!future!dad!Spencer? Well, you’re welcome.

---------------

You can't say you are thrilled about staying in Virginia when all of your team is fighting crime on the other side of the country. Not when it has been ten days since they are gone. Not when you haven't seen your husband that long because he happens to work on the same team.

It's not that you had another option, though. Considering you are almost in your 21st week of pregnancy, your doctor advised you to take it slow on the job. That means being on the field miles away from home became a big no, and this time, you had to settle for nightly phone calls and daily texts with Spencer.

So it doesn't surprise anyone to see the happiness on your face when Hotch calls around midday, announcing that the case is over and they are flying home.

Penelope, always the joyful human being on Earth, immediately got on board with Rossi to host a gathering in his mansion once they were back tonight. Of course, Rossi agreed. Virtually no one can say no to Penelope.

"Okay, mama-genius," she says after ending the call with David. "We have a party tonight and a lot of things to do."

You may be worried about what 'a lot' can imply, but it is just a saying. Penelope will do most of it anyway, claiming you can't do any strenuous task so as not to bother baby-genius. Since the moment you and Spencer told the team about the baby's coming, Garcia baptized you all: papa-genius, mama-genius, and baby-genius. You find it the cutest thing in the world.

Walking through the supermarket aisles, you get everything you'll need: snacks, alcoholic and non-alcoholic drinks, and all the stuff. And with the cart full, Penelope sends you home to get ready.

"But Pen, you need help to set all this up."

"Don't worry, honey. I already have Anderson waiting for me at Rossi's. The benefits of having a spare key," she proudly says, dangling her keychain full of keys. "Now go! Go to get ready for your man. I know you have been missing him like crazy."

She is not wrong in the slightest, so you don't fight her. A bath sounds nice right now, and with all the pregnancy going on, you'll need the extra time to get ready.

-

Ten days have been torture for Spencer Reid. It's the longest he has been apart from you since you guys discovered you are pregnant. Sure, phone calls and texts help, but it's not enough. Not to the overprotective Spencer, anyway. It's not that he doesn't trust you; he does. But his mind always works in overdrive, and he worries more than he should. Not to mention, he has missed you like he hasn't seen you in months.

When Rossi tells the team the plans for the night once they arrive, Spencer is a bit disappointed. He would have preferred to go straight home to be with you. But when JJ assures him you will be there, his apprehensions change to anticipation.

The kind of anticipation that keeps him anxious until everyone arrives at Rossi's past 8 p.m. They were a little bit late for the estimated time, but the traffic was hell today.

A happy Penelope opens the door before Rossi can reach his key.

"Welcome home, mon amis."

"My home, you say?" the old man corrects, no real annoyance in his voice.

"Share is care, so our home is," Garcia retorts, effusively hugging every team member crossing the threshold. The last one is Spencer. "Your woman is waiting for you," she whispers to him after almost crushing him in her embrace.

Spencer practically runs to the living room, where you are greeting everyone. His eyes nearly can't give credit to what he sees. Of course, he knows how you look. He has known you for years and has memorized every detail of you: your height, the way your head leans when you're listening to someone, the color of your eyes, the way you smile, your expressive hands, and every curve of your body. But today? Something looks different, alluring, magnetic, and so entrancing.

His brain has a suitable explanation for it. Sure, when you haven't seen your partner in days, you tend to enhance every detail you love about them. 'Love hormones,' others would say. But no, this is more than psychology and chemistry.

Pregnancy has made changes in you. It was expected, and Spencer knows that, but reading it in a book is way different than seeing it for himself. Sure, there were the headaches and the morning sickness in the early stages. Adding the mood swings and fatigue. But nothing prepared him for the body changes. And not in the bad way people must think, all the opposite. To Spencer, pregnancy has made you the most sexy woman in the world. And after ten days of being deprived of those changes, to him, all come at once. Your breasts got bigger, and you definitely started to show more. The sundress you're wearing just enhances those details, and Spencer feels like he can faint right there.

When your eyes meet across the room, his breath hitches; those eyes he loves so much are glowing and chanting a spell Spencer won't escape from. Not that he wants to, anyway.

Shameless, you leave your conversation with Prentiss and Luke and run to your husband, throwing your arms around his neck.

"I missed you," you murmur into his neck. Spencer hugs you back and closes his eyes, relishing how good you smell and how good it is to have you in his arms again. "We missed you," you add.

The mention of your unborn child melts Spencer on the spot. "I missed you both, too," he manages to say, reluctantly parting from your embrace to look at you and get lost in your eyes again. "I love you," he whispers, leaning to capture your lips with his. And just like that, the anti-PDA, Spencer Reid, indulges himself in kissing you in front of everyone.

The teasing from the team around is only background noise, and neither Spencer nor you are very concerned about it. Not until you involuntarily tug his hair, and Spencer needs to do everything in his power to stop the groan threatening to escape his lips.

Parting and clearing your throats, you both try to regain composure. All the team's eyes are on you, but the only one who dares to point out the obvious is Rossi.

"I have a guest room upstairs, at the second door down the hall."

The comment causes the team to laugh and you to be mortified.

"Sorry," you both mumble, a deep shade of crimson adorning your cheeks. Grabbing your hand, Spencer pulls you to a corner. You're still in sight of the people but far enough to talk and not be listened to.

"Why didn't you tell me?" He points to your baby's belly. It's not an accusatory question, more like an excited one.

"I wanted it to be a surprise. I would have liked to be in a more private setting, but I wasn't going to miss being here and waiting for you at home to show you."

Spencer's hand rests over your now prominent belly and rubs soothing patterns there. "It's amazing," he admits. "How are you feeling?"

You let out a content sigh, feeling the warmth emanating from your husband's palm to your lower stomach.

"Much better now you're here."

"They haven't done much trouble, have they?"

"Nah. Behaves like an angel." And it's the truth. The second trimester has been much better than the previous one: no morning sickness, less fatigue, and it has been great.

There are other 'issues' though. The boost of energy has been paired with an increase in your libido that sometimes is very hard to control. The times Spencer is around, having sex can be enough, but with days passing and with the tenderness and care Spencer has been touching you, it's getting hard to satiate your most primal needs. You know he does it because he doesn't want to hurt you, but even if you have assured him you won't break, he hesitates nonetheless.

And now, after all these days without him, you are sure another touch from him, even the most innocent, will set your body on fire. You are sure this night will be excessively long.

Spencer's thoughts are not very different from yours. The moment he sees you in your sundress walking to him was enough to make his mind wander.

"OK, mister. Enough lovebirds' moment for now. The girls need their time, too." Without warning, Penelope grabs your hand to lead you to the group where Tara, Emily, and JJ are.

You can only shrug to Spencer as Penelope drags you from him. Spencer gives you a reassuring smile. It's fine; you are both adults, he reminds himself. How can it be so difficult to keep his hands to himself for a couple of hours?

Easier said than done, he'll realize.

Neither of you can't help the stolen glances across the room or the subtle smiles you share as you talk to the team at different spots in the house.

Spencer doesn't know if he can control himself much longer. You look stunning and tempting, and his mind starts to fill with unholy things he wants to do to you.

"Reid?" Luke's worried voice gets him out of his mental predicament.

"I - uh. I'm sorry, what did you say?" 

"Are you alright, man? You seem distracted."

If alright means extremely horny and with an incipient boner tightening his pants, then yes, he's more than alright.

"Yes. Yeah. Uh - I'll grab some water. Excuse me, I'll be right back."

The trip to the bathroom is quick and mildly effective: Splashing cold water on his face and reciting the Declaration of Independence in his mind, Spencer regains some composure and gets back to where the people—and you—are.

The night continues in the same way. It's not like you are openly teasing him, but Spencer can't help himself.

The last straw comes when you're in the backyard talking to JJ and Emily, and you're laughing so hard that your body jolts, making your breasts bounce a bit, exposing more of your cleavage. It's not that evident to anyone, but for Spencer, who has been gawking at you all night, it is clear as day.

He wants you, and he wants you now.

Spencer sets his glass of water on the table and strolls where you are. Giving JJ and Emily a tight-lip smile, he leans to whisper something in your ear. The girls can't hear what it is, but the flush in your cheeks should give them an idea.

"Yeah, it's kind of late. And yeah, I'm feeling a bit tired," you tell Spencer, now looking at the girls, not wanting to disclose what Spencer actually said.

"Sure, carrying a baby Reid must be exhausting," Emily teases, gaining a roll of eyes from Spencer.

"Go, guys. Don't worry; I think I'll leave soon, too," JJ says, and you nod gratefully to avoid making more uncomfortable the moment.

With a tight grip on your hand, Spencer walks with you to say goodbye to everybody. Then, no later than that, you hop on the Uber, already waiting outside Rossi's.

-

All the ride home, Spencer's hand rests firmly on your tigh. His eyes can't peel off of you. All of you. It's like he hasn't seen you in months and wants to memorize each feature. You look back at him with a mix of amusement and self-consciousness. The lust is all written on his gaze, but there is something more, too. Love, longing, reverence. It's like there isn't anything else in the world but you.

The thought only fuels how much you love him and, of course, how horny you feel. Is it hot in this car, or is that just your idea? Why is the ride taking longer than you would like? You're about to huff in protest when the vehicle stops at your destination. Thanks God!

Spencer never falters his grip on you all the time. You can feel him everywhere: on your hand as you take the stairs, on your lower back walking down the hall, on your shoulder when you fish the key in your purse.

As the door shuts behind you, Spencer's lips are on yours in an instant. Kissing you hard. Like he's a drowning man, and you are the air he needs.

"God, you don't know how hard it was to control myself," Spencer mumbles, now peppering wet kisses down your neck to your collarbone.

"Hard, uh? Well, I guess I have an idea," you say, palming him over his slacks, making him hiss.

"Don't tease me, please," Spencer growls between kisses as he walks you both through the apartment to your bedroom, leaving a trail of clothes in your path.

"I'm not, baby. I promise I'm not. I'm as desperate as you are." You're not lying. Your body has been on fire the whole night. You want him as much as he wants you right now.

When your legs hit the bed, you're both only in your underwear.

Spencer breaks the kiss to look at you. The bedroom is only lit by the hallway lights. He reaches for the nightstand to switch the lamp on, but before he does, you stop him.

"Can we just-" You don't finish the sentence, but Spencer understands what you're asking for.

"Yeah. We can, of course. But what's wrong?"

It's not the first time you have sex with the room's lights off, but those times, neither of you has explicitly requested it. You usually don't have trouble with Spencer seeing you naked, but since you got pregnant and your body started to change, you don't feel sexy, and it is mining your confidence. Spencer's suspicion goes in that same direction.

"Nothing," you say, pulling him to kiss him again with the same passion as before. Spencer almost surrenders at your doing, but he stops.

"Hey," he whispers. "Talk to me."

You sit on the mattress, knowing you have to tell him what's bothering you. He sits by your side, patiently waiting for you to collect your thoughts and choose your words.

After some seconds of deliberation, it is you who switches the lamp on. Standing from the bed, you plant yourself in front of Spencer.

"What do you see?" you ask, with your hands on your hips.

Spencer's eyes rack your body from head to toe, especially double-taking your lower stomach, where your pregnant belly is. The answer is obvious to him.

"My perfect and sexy wife, standing almost naked in front of me, trying to kill me because I can't touch her yet."

You roll your eyes, huffing. "Spencer, be serious, please."

"I am! Baby, I don't know why you could think I'm not being honest with you."

There is a scold on the tip of your tongue, but you relent, changing it for a deep sigh.

"But look at me! These-" you say, eyes darting between your breast and the skin of your stomach. "There is no chance this is sexy. I'm bloated half of the time; my skin feels gross, and the stretch marks are more every day. And my tits! God, if I unhook my bra, they are going to fall to the floor!"

It's true, your body isn't the same as it was a couple of months ago, and it'll probably continue to change as the weeks go by, but for Spencer, that doesn't make you any less attractive or desirable—quite the opposite.

"Hey, look at me, please," Spencer asks in a soft voice. You do as he says, now feeling more exposed in front of him. Spencer notices and takes your hands to bring you closer to him.

"You know you're carrying a human being in your womb, right?" he asks, tracing soft patterns with his finger over the skin of your arms. "That makes your body not look or feel the way it usually does. But it's perfectly natural, and I'm sure you know that." Spencer stops to kiss your stomach. "What you don't seem to know is that every change makes you more perfect than you already are. Love, you are perfect for who you are, and your body is perfect because it's yours—stretch marks or not, breasts enlarged or not, swollen or not."

"You have to say that," you complain with an adorable pout, and Spencer chuckles.

“I have to say that because it's true. Did I lie to you before?” You shake your head no. “Exactly.”

He pulls you to him so you can sit on his lap. Your arms rest loosely around his neck. He looks up at you with only adoration in his eyes.

“Love. You look amazing. Gorgeous. And so so sexy. I have been craving to touch you all night, renegaded to only see you from afar. That's torture,” Spencer says, lips hovering over your jaw before trailing down loving kisses—the feel of his wet lips pushing your heart rate to go up.

“You don't know what you do to me, do you? All these days thinking about you, what it's like to have you in my arms, what it's like to be able to kiss you, to smell you.” Spencer says, his fingers dancing over the patch of exposed skin of your breasts still clad in your bra. His lips sucking on that special spot on your neck. You can't help the nasty moan that leaves your mouth.

His eyes search yours for permission when one of his hands rests on the clasp of your bra. You nod, and he unclasps it, revealing your full breasts to him. You swear you hear him whimper at the sight, just as you feel him twitch beneath your thighs.

“Fuck, darling. They are so perfect. So round, so full, so soft,” Spencer praises as his mouth latches to one of your nipples and, with one hand, squeezes the flesh of your other breast. “I couldn’t stop all night thinking about doing this. Claiming these perfect tits.”

“Spencer, fuck!” you moan when he sucks harder. “Yes!”

“So sensitive. These tits are all mine,” Spencer mumbles as he switches his mouth from one nipple to the other.

He keeps lapping, swirling his tongue, sucking. It's like he can't have enough of it. And you can feel it in your bones.

'Extasis' keeps it short to explain how you feel right now. Just with the use of his mouth, Spencer is already pushing you close to the edge. In the back of your mind, you can hear his voice explaining how nipple stimulation can produce orgasms. You didn't think it would be possible at the time, but now you're nearing experiencing it.

"Spence, please. Just -"

One of his hands travels south, leaving goosebumps in its wake until it reaches the waistband of your panties.

“Tell me what you need, baby. And I’ll give it to you.”

“I need you to touch me,” you mewl, your voice cracking with desire.

“Here?” Spencer teases, trailing feather touches across your inner thigh. His mouth marks your neck, his favorite spot on you.

“More. Please, don’t make beg,” you plead. Spencer’s smirk could tell he was not done with the teasing. But in all honesty, he doesn't know how much he can contain himself.

“My baby is desperate already. Let's see how much.” A hand sneaks under your panties, and the slick pooling there tells Spencer everything he needs to know.

“Fuck, you’re soaked. It’s all for me?” He cockily asks as his fingers tease your folds. You gasp at the contact of his fingers on you.

“For you only. Spencer, I’m yours. Always.”

“And I am yours. No matter what. I love you so much,” Spencer says, now claiming your mouth with a searing kiss. It's like he wants to devour you whole, beyond the physics laws, if it's possible.

You let yourself go, kissing him urgently, your fingers tangled in his hair, giving experimental tugs, which Spencer rewards with grunts of pleasure.

You don't realize when you start rocking on his lap, seeking more friction from his fingers.

Spencer continues his assault on your center, alternating the thrusting of his fingers in and out with rubbing against your clit.

"Oh, God!" You whine, not fully believing how good it feels.

“So good, my love. So so good,” Spencer chants. His free hand on your back, maneuvering to lay you down on the mattress without stopping his ministrations in your pussy, and latching his lips to the crook of your neck. The new position allows him to reach deeper inside you with his fingers, massaging that spongy spot that makes you see stars.

“Right there! Oh, please.” You are on the verge of falling, your body surrending to Spencer’s experimented touch. He knows your body better than you.

Your moans go straight to Spencer’s cock, twitching inside his boxers, rock-hard and screaming for attention, but he has a mission before ever thinking of his pleasure. He needs you to come on his fingers first.

“Are you going to come for me, baby?”

“Yes! I’m so - so close,” you cry.

“I can feel you clenching on my fingers. That's it. Let go, my love. Cum for me; let me feel you,” Spencer encourages, and it's the last push you need. Your vision goes white, and your body starts to shake. The coil snaps and flows your body with waves of pleasure.

“Fuck! Yes!” You cry as your orgasm travels through your body. “Spencer! Yes!”

Spencer doesn’t stop the in and out of his fingers, still rubbing your clit, at a slower pace, helping you to ride it out. His breath is hot on your neck, mumbling praises of how good you are, how much he has missed you, and how good you feel around his fingers.

When the aftershocks subside, Spencer carefully retracts his fingers, sucking them clean before passionately kissing you. You can taste yourself on his lips, fueling the desire to have more of him.

“I missed you,” you say, still breathless. Spencer lies on the mattress by your side, stroking your cheek.

“And I missed you. Both of you,” he says, now rubbing a hand over your belly. You let out a content sigh. “We don’t have to do anything else tonight. We can just prepare to go to bed.”

Your head snaps up in an instant.

“Are you fucking kidding me? No! We’re not done, mister. We have a lot of days apart to make it up to.”

Spencer laughs. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Start with those boxers. Get them off,” you command, kneeling on the mattress and suddenly feeling a rush of adrenaline. Spencer pulls his boxers down, freeing his cock from the confines of the fabric. It's hard, red, and already leaking precum. And your mouth waters.

“Like the view?” He teases.

“Very,” you shamelessly reply, gawking at the way his cock twitches under your gaze. You position between his legs. He is at your level sight with his elbows on the mattress. You wrap a hand around his shaft, giving a light squeeze, as your other hand looks purchase on his thigh. Spencer hisses at the contact.

“Baby, you don’t have to,” he reminds you, knowing this position could be uncomfortable for you.

“Oh, yes, I have to,” you counter. “I have been thinking about sucking you off for weeks, Spencer. Weeks!”

Spencer laughs at your dramatics, but still, he reaches for your chin to tilt up so you can look at him.

“Just let me know if it's too much, and we can stop, okay?”

Did you mention before about how careful he has been treating you since you discovered you were pregnant? Yes, you did. And here is a reminder.

“Okay,” you reassure him, giving an experimental lick at the tip. The salty taste just encourages you to lick the underside, from base to tip and back and forth. Spencer’s moans are music for your ears. You lower yourself now, taking him in your mouth—inch by glorious inch.

There is something special about giving Spencer head, and it’s beyond the sexual component of pushing him to orgasm. It's about the way he surrenders to your touch, the way he is splayed over the bed at your mercy. The way he trusts you in such a vulnerable position. He doesn't rush you; he’s pliant at your pace because he knows you know how to pleasure him.

“Fuck!” he groans when you go deeper. “So good, baby. You take it so good.”

As him with yours, you relish on his praises. He never stops complimenting you and vocalizing the way you make him feel. Evidence of how much you like it is the pool of wetness forming in your center just hearing him moan and talk.

With renewed vigor, you keep bobbing your head up and down, swirling your tongue, and extracting the more nasty and sexy noises from Spencer’s lips.

“Just - just like that. You are doing amazing.” His hands rest over your head, but he doesn’t push or pull; he just grounds himself in the midst of the pleasure cloud he is in.

But when that knowing coil is forming on him, Spencer knows he needs you to stop, or he won’t last much.

Gently, he grabs a fistful of your hair and pulls you back. You understand the signal and release him with a pop.

“What is it? You don’t want to?” You ask, licking your lips full of fluids of both of you. Spencer is panting, shaking his head no.

“You were amazing, but I don’t want to cum yet. And I want to cum inside of you.” The admission makes the heat in your body rise.

His hand caresses lovingly your cheek as you’re sitting on your haunches on the mattress. Spencer sits with his back on the headboard, raking your entire naked body from head to toe. His eyes are full of adoration.

Leave it to Spencer to look at you like you were Afrodite's incarnation, even with your grown breasts and bloated body.

“What?” You ask, giggling out of nervousness. Years with him, and that piercing gaze still makes your heart flutter.

"Marvelous. So beautiful. The most gorgeous. Perfect.”

Before you can protest the overflowing compliments, Spencer's hands cup your face to pull you into a deep kiss. You kiss him back with urgency, straddling him. Spencer’s hands go to your waist to keep you in place, where you belong, on top of him. From that position, you can feel his cock twitching with want.

"Spencer-" you mumble in his lips, almost like a whisper.

"Yes, sweetheart?" he asks, focusing on how you start swaying your hips, making contact with his hardness, and settling him on fire.

“I need to ride you, now,” you plead, and Spencer can’t say no to you even if he tried.

“Then ride me. Take everything you need from me,” Spencer says, leaving the grasp of your hips so you can lift yourself to position his cock at your entrance. You start to sink and you both are gasping for air. It feels so good. You feel so full with every pull and push of your core into Spencer’s cock. It's a sensation that never gets old.

“That's it. You are doing so well. Take your time,” Spencer reminds you, but you have been craving him so much that you don’t have patience anymore. Spencer's hands come back to your hips, and yours rest on his shoulders for balance. With a last bounce, you’re full to the hilt.

“Fuck!” You hiss. The stretching is a mix of pain and pleasure that’s driving you insane. Spencer’s concerned eyes seek yours.

“You okay?” He asks, his gaze now raking your body, looking for something that can tell him about your discomfort.

“Yes! I’m okay—more than okay,” you assure him. Then you remember there is something he needs to know, something you need from him.

"Spencer, look at me," you demand, and he does what you ask.

"Yeah?" he pants, eyes mapping your face for any sign of what you want to say.

"I want something. Better said, I need something,” you pant, feeling already the urge to move.

"Okay, whatever you need. I'll give it to you."

"I need to feel you. All of you.” Spencer nods.

“You are feeling me now, baby. I’m not going anywhere.”

“Spencer. I’m talking about being rough. I need it hard. Please, baby, don't hold back."

“Oh.” Realization hits him at the same time you clench around him. “Fuck. But I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Love, I promise you, you won’t break me.”

Spencer looks still hesitant.

“Please, don’t deprive me of you. I need to be consumed by you. I need to feel you everywhere; I need to be reminded I'm yours, and you're mine. Remind me you’re the only one who can have me like this. Remind me who put this baby in me.”

The way Spencer’s cock twitches inside of you and the groan escaping his lips is enough for you to know he got the memo.

His eyes darkened even more, and you could swear you saw a smirk on his face.

“You don’t know what you’re asking, do you?” he says, thrusting up so you can feel him deeper.

“Ah! Show me! Give me what you think I deserve, please,” you beg, and for Spencer is the last straw. With both hands on your hips, he starts to bounce you up and down. Your hands rest on his stomach as you try to catch a rhythm. It starts messy and frantic, and you can’t care less. You’re riding Spencer, and that's what matters.

“So tight. I don’t know how I can fit here. Feels amazing.” Spencer's voice is strained, breathless.

As you gain more control over your movements, the grinding intensifies. Every part of your body is on fire. The bounce of your breasts makes Spencer feral.

“These tits. Are mine. All mine,” Spencer chants, hands squeezing them. “You’re mine.”

Damn right, you think. You are his. Every part of you is his, in the same way you are claiming him as yours right now.

Not fully satisfied with touching, Spencer leans forward and captures one of your nipples with his mouth, one arm around your waist to help you as you keep riding him.

“Fuck! Spencer!” You cry when he sucks harder. Tugging his hair, you speed your rhythm, feeling the coil forming, a new orgasm approaching.

At some point your legs start to falter, the exertion making them cramp, but you don’t want to stop. Spencer notices, though.

“I’ve got you,” he says, maneuvering you on your back without pulling out. Now he’s on top, and your legs over his shoulders. “That’s better, uh?”

You nod eagerly. “But don’t stop, please.”

“I won’t.”

With this new angle, Spencer thrusts deeper and harder. It's all you have wanted for weeks. The sinful sound of skin hitting skin fills the room, and you can respire the smell of sweat and sex.

“Yes! Just like that!”

“Oh, so you wanted it harder, uh? My sweet, dirty thing,” Spencer coos, head nestled in the crook of your neck. You feel his hot breath, how he’s panting while giving you precise and deliberate thrusts, in and out, in and out.

“Spence, I’m close,” you warn, and Spencer doesn't halt his movements, leaning a bit back to look at you.

“Me too, baby.”

You are a sight to behold. Your messy hair, sweat sparkling on your skin, eyes full of lust, the moans leaving your lips, tits bouncing with every thrust, and that bump, where your baby is. Spencer still can’t believe it's real.

“You’re so gorgeous. You look so good, pregnant with my baby. Everyone knows you’re mine.”

“Yours, always,” you half-sob, half-moan. The pleasure is overwhelming, and you can feel it in your bones. Spencer knows exactly how to get you there. He’s almost there too.

“That’s what you want? That I keep you nice a knocked up all the time? Do you want my cum, don’t you?”

“Yes! All the time. Please.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll keep you nice and full.” Spencer vows, kissing your calf and sneaking down his fingers to rub your clit in tight circles.

“Oh, God.”

You’re on the verge of falling. The wet sounds your bodies are making, the panting and moans, Spencer’s words, everything is pushing you to the edge.

“Come for me, come on my cock,” Spencer demands, and it is like your body has to comply because as the words leave his mouth, your orgasm hits you like a freight train.

“Fucking shit! Yes!” You scream, feeling your body trembling with pleasure. Spencer’s pace keeps, now chasing his own end.

“That’s my girl,” he praises, losing some rhythm. “So good for me.”

You can feel him twitching inside with each thrust as you clench your walls, still riding your high.

“Spencer, please. Cum inside. Fill me up, baby. I need it so bad,” you plead, and Spencer loses it. After a deep thrust, he grunts and stills inside, spilling everything he has. You feel his warmth filling you up, a content sigh leaving your lips.

For a few seconds, you both remain still, panting and trying to catch your breath. Spencer is the first to react. Not pulling out, he lowers your legs from his shoulders, massaging them gently while he peppers your neck with kisses. You giggle, still drunk of post-orgasmic hormones.

“You did so good, my love,” he praises. Your hands cup his face so he can look at you.

“I love you, Spencer. I missed you so much,” you declare as you lean in to kiss his lips. Spencer reciprocates immediately. This kiss is sweet, not rushed, but takes your breath away as all Spencer’s kisses do.

“I love you, too,” he mumbles on your lips. “And it was torture being away from you for so many days. But I’m here right now; I’m not going anywhere.”

“Good, because tonight I’m not done with you yet.”

With the whimper that escapes Spencer’s lips and the twitch of his cock still inside of you, it’s clear he knows exactly how the night will go from here.

------------------

[callmecoke]

sugar baby headcanons!

CW: Mention of sex work, This is sfw generally but still deals with adult topics so proceed with caution.

Tf141 x reader

What you’ve realised about your favourite mystery account is that A) it's run by multiple people, and B) At least one of them is called Price.

You can’t exactly pinpoint who the rest are or how many, but you’ve managed to identify a few common themes when interacting with the account.

First, you know who Price is, and you can almost always tell it's him when he’s interacting with you. He’s the one you go to first regarding bills and fees you physically can’t pay. Within seconds, he transfers you the money and never lets you thank him for any of it. He also does his weekly check-ins to make sure everything is good. “Have you eaten?” “How’d you sleep?” “Did you take your meds last night?” That kind of thing. He’s also the one who calls you ‘Dolly’, a nickname he reserved for you. 

But you're also pretty sure this other guy (Simon) lurks in the chat when you’re streaming. He won’t ask questions; he just sends you random tips throughout the stream while he watches silently. He’s not as talkative as Price or the others, and that’s kind of how you know it's him. But you’ve realised that just because he’s quiet doesn't mean he doesn't want to talk. It’s quite the opposite. He enjoys hearing you talk about your life and day and silently rewards you. When you DM him, you even get a little conversation. Nothing more than money and a “Nice”, but still conversation nonetheless.

You know one other fellow spends most of his time in the livestreams and not in your DMs (Gaz). He’s the one who engages with you in conversation the most, asking endless questions about your life. And he always comes back on the next live stream, remembering everything you said in the last. He’ll want the update on that project you were working on for school or if that job interview went as well as you both had hoped. If you weren’t Live to complete strangers, you’d probably open up to him about stuff you’ve never told anyone.

Now…One more person shows up now and again, mainly in your DMs. Part of the service for the website is that people can pay you to take a selfie and give it to them. They can be dirty or completely innocent; it all depends on what you’re advertising. There’s this one person who rather frequently asks for pictures of you, especially those with you smiling. You know it’s a different guy from the others you’ve spotted because he’s the only one who's outright flirtatious with you. Initially, you were wary. A man spending a lot of money on pictures of your face and upper body just screams trouble. But you grew to trust the account, so when you sent them the image, you were surprised by how quickly he showered you with praise.

“Fuckin’ hell, you’ll give a strong man a heart attack walking around that gorgous.”

“Makes me wonder how cute you look in person.” “I’m surprised no ones come along and snatched you up all ready. Can’t complain though. Means I get more of you to myself.”

You’d be lying if you said there wasn’t a slight blush on your cheeks after reading his responses.

[kaitlyn-imagines]

Can I get saja boys x emotional reader? Like reader who gets angry easily or cries easily and maybe both at the same time? Like something happens and reader just starts lashing out while also breaking down crying or something

Omggg, dont call me out, I'm such an emotional person! LOL! Literally, my poor bf has to navigate me crying all the time over silly stuff. We always call it my 'big feelings' haha, so I use that here!

Saja Boys with an Emotional Reader

Jinu:

The first time you burst into tears, he’s so startled that he just goes into overdrive like, “What do you need? What happened? What can I do?”

But as it happens more and more often, he kind of learns that you just have big emotions, and he comes to expect tears every other day.

Keeps travel-sized tissues on hand in case something happens like you spot an old man getting groceries at the store. “He was doing his own shopping, all alone!” you’ll wail.

And he just pets your hair, and wipes the tears from your cheeks like, “sweetheart, I promise you he was fine, he was just trying to figure out what brand of detergent he wanted…”

That is to say, he learns how to navigate your moods pretty quickly, like a captain braving the storm. He loves that you feel things so deeply, especially when it’s coming from a place of boundless empathy.

When he tells you about his past, you tear up instantly. And he just looks at you with an expression of such tortured love and shame, like, “shh, don’t cry sweetheart, least of all for me…”

Abby:

You’re having one of those bad days where everything just seems like it’s going wrong—your phone died, you lost your favorite keychain on the way over, your iced coffee dripped from a loose cap all over your jeans…

You don’t mean to be moody and short, but all that bad luck has made you impatient and you lash out a bit at Abby over something that normally wouldn’t have bothered you

He looks at you, an unappreciative look on his face as his eyebrows narrow. “You don’t have to snap at me,” he’ll huff a little, crossing his bulging arms over his chest.

And he looks so irked that it just sends you over the edge and your burst into tears. “I-I’m sorry, you’re right, I’m so sorry!” and you’re trying to wipe the tears and snot from your face.

And this poor guy just PANICS, grabbing your shoulders all concerned, like “shit, what’s wrong, what did I do??”

He rubs your back and hands you tissues while you cry and rant about your shitty day, and he’s so understanding, doting, patient, and forgiving. “Shh, jagiya, no more tears now. Come, drink some water, you’re probably dehydrated now…you want a sweet treat?”

Baby:

Bro, the first time you cry in front of him, his body just goes RIGID. He stiffens up and is so uncomfortable, just silently looks around for help because he doesn’t know what to do!

“Uhhh…” just pats your back with the most clumsy, unhelpful thumps. He’s bad at comforting people, and frankly, he just hopes you stop crying soon.

It’s a little easier if you’re crying from anger, because at least he understands that a bit better. Let’s you rant and get it out, dropping the occasional, supportive “hmm” and “what a jerk.”

If you’re crying from sadness, he has less experience with it, so he just awkwardly asks if you’re okay or need anything. He relaxes when the tears finally stop, feels like he just put out a fire. What a hero!!!

If you’re crying because somebody hurt you, his reaction shifts completely. He goes rigid, his jaw clenching a bit as a cold lethality flashes in his eyes. His voice is quiet, deceptively calm as he asks you to, “Tell me everything.”

Romance:

Very attentive and in tune with his emotions, so he’s naturally very comforting and good at helping you get everything out.

“Tell me what you’re feeling right now…” Rather than just labeling everything as angry or sad, he always helps you find the right words for how you’re feeling. Lonely, disappointed, hurt, annoyed, frustrated, irritated, etc…

Never makes you feel like you’re overreacting or that your emotions are ‘too-much,’ makes sure you always have a shoulder to cry on or someone to rant to.

You’re watching a movie together, and it’s an emotional peak in the film. He hears a sniffle next to him, and looks over to see you leaking like a faucet. How had you been crying so much, and so silently???

���Oh darling, no no,” he’ll immediately pause the movie and grab both of your wet cheeks in his hands. His thumbs swipe away at the salty wet skin, and he coos softly.

Kisses your salty lips until you’re laughing through the tears like, “let me blow my nose first!” and he’s just glad to see you smiling.

Mystery:

Seeing you cry is near agony for him. If you’re feeling down and sad, he’s very touchy, pulling you into his arms and just holding you there as you tremble. Every sob that wracks through your body is like a punch to the gut.

Whispers small words of comfort and love into your ear, rubbing your back, petting your hair, making sure you know through physical touch that he’s there for you.

When you finally get it all out, he’s clingy. Doesn’t want to leave you alone…will cuddle with you for as long as you’ll let him. Follows you around like a dog until he’s 1000% certain you’re feeling better.

If you’re crying out of anger, he’s still pretty touchy…but he’s also barely restraining his own anger. Who made you cry? Swear, they’re his newest, biggest opp. Practically rigid with the thought that someone made you cry.

Even if it was something simple, like someone cut you off on the road. He’s got half a mind to get out of the car and kick a dent into their bumper.