#that he does this to 5 or 6 people at once

[arcane-temp-fandomblog]

No, in Season 1 - Viktor's dream was to make scientific discoveries to make world a better place and Jayce's was to use magic to save lives. Not only Jayce failed at the dream, in writer's notes that they've shown his S1 arc is summed up "idealist who wanting to protect his creation from being corrupted, becomes corrupted himself". Or something similarly phrased.

On the other hand when they give up on the whole hextech dream and vow to make things right - next scene Vi's life is saved by the shield built into hextech gauntlets. Hextech dream was always a pipe dream, making things right may not be.

Anyway, I think since this is secondary storyline the writer's just wrote it explicit in S1 what the hextech dream is.

While I can think Viktor being end boss could work - writer's would have to make a lot of work to reframe episode 6 and for him to become corrupted Vander 2.0, otherwise I really don't think fighting him would be a good enough resolution for Vi and Jinx. He is just some guy to them that they met once to heal Vander, actually he and Mel are the most removed from their storyline and conflict. Even Ambessa being the end boss does not work, she's introduced end of Season 1. Even Singed is unlikely. Writer's could write it out, but it's soo unlikely with the amount of episodes.

I do think Arcane - hextech technology becoming corrupted/hijacked by possibly wild rune story point will have resolution, but I think it's important that we know now that there are two mages - Mel and Viktor - and both of them are absent from the glitching hextech sequence in Act1 fight. It's safe to assume that whatever is corrupting hexgates and objects with hexgemstones is not influencing them.

Jinx calls it a cult, Viktor calls it a commune - for me that place just resembled the long stay rehab communities. Like especially Huck with his whole hoping to meet Vi again to 'make amends' - it's such a 12 steps thing. But I think if that place was suspicious as fuck - Vi and gang wouldn't stay there.

The best would be if it's neither commune or a cult - hope it is something more? Idk. but really want it to be something better than mind control since that's kinda lame.

Or if the hexcore is somehow mind controlling people and Viktor, it's some well written plot because it feels tacked on. Like Viktor is mind controlled, Jayce is mind controlled. Unless it was mind control but since hexcore is gone, it's not anymore. Or they both went insane in their own way.

It still may be that this is re-framed on some but I don't think they'll be re-framing every single episode 6 plot point on this storyline ie. 'well actually, it wasn't healing Vander - it was corrupting him'. It seems like spinning wheels and that train has left anyway, when Singed was left with Vander in the greenhouse in the commotion. It may be that the wild rune and the hextech rune system are supposed to fight it out both possessing Jayce and Viktor but em... that seems cool but very not related to the story.

Anyway from season 2 trailer we know Viktor's commune is going to be resurrected, soo we'll know soon enough.

I also feel the teaser for Act 3 feels a bit spoilerish, Jayce comes back from whatever forsaken place he was and says 'Hextech is a curse, we need to destroy it.' and then goes to destroy one piece of hextech he knows where to find, as Singed says Viktor is the apex form of hextech.

But the teaser shows hextech everywhere - Vi has her gauntlets, Ekko has his Z drive and then his electric bat, Jinx has hexgems. I can only assume that Jayce's 'hextech needs to be destroyed' quest is well abandoned at that point. I am bummed if the teaser spoiled it to that degree because the whole thing was soo ambiguous in episodes 5 and 6, not showing if Jayce sees everything touched with hextech as his trippy visions, or everything that is infused with arcane or just every person.

Than again, I don't think many people are that invested in the technology storyline that spoiling it would matter. I just like the puzzle aspect of it.

Also similarly I feel like it'd be a huge fail if Mel comes back but it's secretly black rose, or Maddie is secretly black rose. It's just well... to much of 'didn't expect that, huh'.

Ok listen I am going to talk about Sky for a second. I will be honest that I didn't pay too much attention to her in season one, unfortunately she just seemed like another victim of colateral damaged in a very sad story, but I am amazed at the role she plays in this season. At the beginning I was unsure if the apparition we see was still Sky or something that the Hexcore was producing, specially because we knew so little of her during the first season. But to me it's clear that it is still her in some way and I love how she haunts Viktor in a not tradicional sense. She does not seem vengeful, but at the same time SHE is the one pushing Viktor to be better, the Hexcore gave him the habilities, but it is her voice that tells him to help the people, and she is the one that warns that even his powers have limits, to remember his own mortality.

I think that's beautiful because in some way, Viktor is still failing Sky, he is still not listening to her. He pushes his powers too far, he strives for evolution. Sky seems to understand that failure and limits are part of life, she tries to show him but he once again does not see.

Viktor will forever be haunted by Sky, and forever be deaf to her advice.

[butchlifeguard]

when yr having fun with yr dad but remember he doesnt respect young people or women and will never fully see you as a person

[majimassqueaktoy]

I miss Haruka.

[mystiika]

warren tag drop

[gallusrostromegalus]

I was raised agnostic and tend to remain ambiguous on theological matters.

-but my house has a porch on the second story that affords me a terrific view of my neighborhood and the Colorado Front Range and I was partaking of some peace before the 4th Of July Finger-Loss Festivities begin, and I have had a

~*Spiritual Experience*~

I just watched my neighbor try to unload an actual wooden pallet that had to have been forklifted into the back of his insecurity pickup worth of fireworks.

Except that he does not have a forklift in his garage.

He does have so much sports memorabilia and cardboard boxes of unsold MLM Merchandise and patriotically themed camping gear and posters of women in bikinis and flags of suspect political organizations in his garage that there is only BARELY enough space for the fireworks and certainly none for his truck.

So he had to unload the individual boxes of recreational explosives from the back of his truck and stack them in the minimal space he had cleared by hand. This is a tedious and time-consuming process as this neighbor has purchased a wide variety of recreational and locally illegal explosives instead of many of just a few types, so the individual boxes are rather small.

He begins, and this is crucial to what happens next, by cutting apart the industrial-grade saran wrap his explosives dealer had so carefully wrapped his merchandise in, and discarded it unsecured on his lawn.

Where Outdoor Conditions sometimes happen.

His process for unloading the fireworks is to 1. Climb up through the gate into the bed of his pickup truck (a feat made unusually difficult due to the slope of his driveway, and this man's fascinating decision to wear the world's Siffest and least Flexible Denim Overalls. 2. Once in the pickup bed, he selects ONE (1) box from the pile He is apparently from a niche religious institution that doesn't believe in stacking things. 3. Carries it awkwardly around the palette that barely fits in the truck bed 4. His wife yells "Be careful!" when he nearly falls out of the pickup. 5. He Yells "SHADDUP!" back at her. 6. The Large German Shepherd barks from inside the house. 7. He yells "SHADDUP!" back at her too. 8. He sets the (1) box down on the gate 9. Slowly and awkwardly climbs out of the pickup bed 10. picks the box back up, and carries it into the garage.

Question: Aren't you going to help this poor man? Answer: Absolutely Not.

There's four military veterans, MANY dogs, and several people with dementia in this neighborhood, all of whom are terrified by this chicanery every year and many neighbors have repeatedly asked him to maybe do the fireworks somewhere else. (This is the Eighth Year Running he's held a major demolition event in his driveway, and for those of you who can do math, you may be able to guess the precipitating incident to this little ritual) Additionally, I live in Colorado, a state marginally less prone to spontaneous and catastrophic conflagrations than a rotting grain silo, but only marginally. Our recreational explosives laws are written accordingly.

I am in fact calling the Non Emergency line to report Fireworks violations, and reading off the brand labels to someone named Dorothy, who is gleefully totaling up a SPECTACULAR fine for my oblivious neighbor.

However, while I'm on the phone with Dorothy, I notice the wind begin to pick up. and by "Notice" I mean "The Industrial Saran Wrap he left on his Lawn earlier is suddenly swept up about 100 feet into the air by an updraft intense enough to make my ears pop" And by "Pick Up" I mean "I look up to see the sky has turned a fun and exciting shade of glass green, and the bottoms of the clouds are bumpy and rounded, and the overall effect is not unlike looking up through the bottom of the cup at God's Matcha Boba Tea."

For those of you who do not live in places with Inclement Weather, these conditions mean "You have about 30 seconds before a Major Meteorological Event Occurs."

I move under the eaves. "Hang on Dorothy." I say, nose filling with Petrichor. "The show is about to be cancelled." "Oh, that doesn't matter!" Dorothy cheerfully informs me. "It's illegal for him just to possess those, no matter if he actually gets to set them off or not." "Terrific, because he's gotten maybe five boxes out of a hundred inside."

Sometimes, the weather gods are Merciful and give you a verbal warning, typically in the kind of thunderclap that makes your ears ring.

The Gods were not merciful today.

It's not often that I am in the time, place, correct angle or in a properly observational frame of mind to see this, But I got to see it today. Huh. I thought. I've never seen a cloud just DIVE for the ground before. Oh. I realized as it got closer. That's RAIN.

Sometimes, a thunderstorm will form in such a way that the rain that would normally be distributed over an area of say, five to tent square miles, is instead concentrated into an area of say, my neighborhood exactly.

So today, I was granted the rare privilege of being able to actually see the literal wall of water descend from On High and DIRECTLY onto my porch, my street, and my neighbor's truck, and his pile of unwrapped fireworks.

The sheer impact force of the downpour immediately scatters the teetering pile of fireworks boxes in the back of the truck, like the wrath of God striking down the tower of Babel. Boxes tumble, then are washed out of the bed of the truck by the deluge. Smaller Boxes are carried down the road in a little line by the stream forming in the gutter, like little impotent explosive ducklings.

My neighbor was definitely yelling something, but I could not hear what over the DEAFENING noise several million gallons of water makes upon high-speed contact with the earth's surface, but there was a lot of arm-waving and faces turning red as he went looking for the saran wrap that had probably blown to Nebraska by now, while his wife started disassembling the complex three-dimensional puzzle of interlocking material goods in search of a tarp. They do not have a tarp. They have one of those wretched Thin Blue Line flags though, and my neighbor jogs out in a futile effort to cover what's left in the truck.

Which is when the hail begins.

"HELLO?" Yelled Dorothy. "HI!" I shouted. "WE'RE HAVING SOME WEATHER!" "OH GOOD!" she shouts back. "WE NEED THE MOISTURE!"

I watch for a minute longer, but the loss was immediate and catastrophic- the hail is the size of marbles and dense and cares not for your pitiful cardboard and cellophane, ripping the boxes asunder and punching holes in the few things covered in plastic. The colors on the Thin Blue Line Flag are seeping all over the remains of that it was supposed to protect in a particularly apt visual metaphor. Not even the few boxes that made it into the garage are spared, as the German Shepherd escapes from indoors, and in an attempt to assist her humans, jumps directly into the small stack of not-yet-ruined boxes, scattering them into the driveway and deluge. She even picks one up so her humans will chase her around the yard, before dropping it in the gutter to be swept away.

So. I was raised Agnostic -but even I can recognize when God slaps someone upside the head and shouts "NO!" at them.

---

(If you laughed, please consider supporting my Ko-fi or preordering my book of Strange Stories on Patreon)

[deadsetobsessions]

Sea Cryptic! Danny AU- Pt.2

[Pt.1] [Pt.3] [Pt.4] [Pt.5] [Pt.6] [Pt.7] [Pt.8] [Pt.9] [Pt.10]

Danny dragged up another plastic wrapped body from the bay.

“It’s you. What are you doing?”

“Oh, holy smokes!” Danny screeched. “What-! Oh, it’s you! The litterer!”

Batman stood in front of Danny, cape draped around his shoulders and a far better sight to see than the last time Danny had seen the guy.

“… I’m Batman.” He introduced himself to Danny awkwardly.

“Uh huh. You missed a couple of things cleaning up the beach last time.” Danny dropped the body on the pebbled shore of the bay and crossed his arms. He sent Batman an unimpressed look. “You’re just like your city. There’s trash all over the water!”

Batman glanced down.

“That is a body.”

Danny scowled.

“No, that’s plastic. Plastic does not belong in the ocean.”

Batman sighed. For some reason, Danny thought he seemed less… antagonistic. Wait, did he think Danny killed the guy?!

“That is a body wrapped in plastic.”

Fuck it.

“If it was a body, then bury it. Or decompose it before you people decide to dump it into the water. Even the sharks have the decency to decompose when they’re dead. Do you know how long plastic takes to deteriorate??”

Batman glanced to the side, where the line of plastic wrapped masses had caught his eye to begin with.

“I do. Did all of these come from the bay?”

“Quite obviously, yes. I don’t have enough time to clean the waters! Ancients, it’s like they’re multiplying!” Danny knew why they were multiplying. It’s because Gothamites were getting murdered and dumped weekly. The problem is that Danny has classes and assignments to complete and he couldn’t be out here every week.

“I’ll handle it.”

“Oh, will you? And how do you plan on doing that when you couldn’t even properly clean the beach of your plane? I even stacked it up nicely for you to pick up!”

Alright, so maybe Danny had a couple of grudges. Like… a solid one that’s based on the hours of sleep he missed cleaning up after Batman and the wreck.

“We didn’t get everything?”

“No.” Danny huffed. “Whatever. Just figure out what to do with these bodies. I was not looking forward to digging graves for all of them.”

“You were going to dig graves for them?” Batman sounded off.

Danny scowled again. “I’m dead, genius.” And now Batman looked like someone ran over his dog. “Respecting the dead is important and graves are important for the dead. How else would we know we’re remembered?”

Danny threw up his hands. “Humans,” he muttered, like he wasn’t half human himself.

“Anyways, I’m leaving. Handle this properly or else I’m haunting you.”

“Wait-!” Batman said, but Danny had already disappeared.

So, while Batman had an angst crises at two thirty in the morning and thirty new unidentified corpses to contend with, Danny Fenton flew back to his apartment and passed out on his shitty couch.

——

“You need to stop.”

“Pay me to stop, then. What are your villains going to do? Kill me? I’d like to see them try.”

Danny looked Batman right in his lenses and plopped another body down at the man’s feet.

“I can tell you who they are for a fee.” Danny offered the vigilante. “Some of these still have shades of their souls attached still.”

“What.”

Danny tilted his head, moon once more lighting a halo of flickering white flames around his head. “$100 per identity.”

Batman stared.

[freedomfireflies]

You Again*

Summary: The one where Harry is your sister's ex-boyfriend and you finally get to see him again after 5 years.

Word Count: 11.4k

Content Warning: 18+, smut, age gap (6 years), sir kink, choking, use of a toy, exhibitionism if you squint!

"You've gotta be fucking kidding me."

Your eyes widen as you look up toward the man making his way into the diner. You'd recognize him anywhere. The dark curly hair. The tattoos that bleed through the fabric of his light shirt. The rings on his fingers.

Just like that, years' worth of memories come flooding back to you all at once.

"Harry," you shriek, sliding off the stool before practically flinging yourself into his arms. 

He smells exactly the same. Like teakwood and spearmint. A rather odd mix, yet subtle enough to remind you of home.

Of him.

His chest vibrates with a deep laugh as his arms wrap around your frame to keep you against him, prolonging the hug a minute or two longer than socially acceptable. 

And when you finally lean back to see him, your cheeks begin to warm.

It's been...four years? Five? Since you last saw him? Just days before he and your sister broke up, effectively removing him from your life for good.

It had been a hard time. You wanted to be there for your sister. To comfort her through the grief of losing such a long and meaningful relationship. 

But you wanted to be there for him, too. After all, he was one of your best friends, age difference or not. He had always been the comforting, influential figure in your life that you relied on. That you counted on to get through different hardships in your life.

He had picked you up after your first day at your new job. Had held you in his arms as you cried over your first break-up. He had even listened to you talk about the boy you had fallen in love with.

Losing him felt like losing a part of yourself.

And now, five years later...that part of you has come home.

"Hi, Dot," he beams, reaching out to take hold of your chin and squeeze. "Shit, look at you. When did this happen?"

His eyes rake over your figure and you feel your skin grown hot under his appreciative gaze. "Stop, it hasn't been that long."

"The last time I saw you, I was helping you move into your new apartment across town,” he recalls, arms crossing in thought. "And now...now what? You’re still at your job, I assume?"

"I am. I just got a promotion, actually. I’m an assistant editor now.”

His eyes seem to light up, that soft green sending chills up the back of your neck as you glance down at your feet. "Dot...that's amazing. I'm so proud of you."

You wave the compliment away. "Thanks."

"Really," he insists before following you back to the counter where you'd previously been sitting. "I know how badly you wanted to pursue a career in publishing, and this...this is really amazing. Do you like it?"

"I do," you tell him as you settle back onto your stool. "Yeah, it's really nice. The people are great, the work is fun. Plus, the promotion came with a raise."

"That's amazing," he sighs, head shaking like he can't believe it. "Really, that's so...I honestly can't believe it. I can't believe it’s been so long. You’re so…adult now.”

You snort to yourself as you twirl your straw around your milkshake. "Yeah, I know. Though I’m not sure if I should take that as a compliment or not.”

"You should." He smiles, and it's big and beautiful. "You’ve always been grown up. Even before, you were mature for your age.”

“Well…yeah. I was twenty-three. That does make me an adult.”

“And now you’re twenty-eight.” He shakes his head again. “I can’t fucking believe it.”

You glance down at the rim of your glass. He’s right, it almost doesn’t seem possible. It feels like only last week that you were following him and your sister around town, begging to be included. Traipsing after them to bars, the mini golf course, and to any and all dates. Even though you knew your sister couldn’t stand it.

But Harry was nice and always inclusive. After all, he was your friend before he was your sister’s boyfriend. And he was determined to make sure that didn’t change, no matter how many times Atta rolled her eyes.

"I don't know how you put up with me," you finally admit. "God, I was so annoying. Atta used to get so mad at me for never leaving you alone."

He shrugs one shoulder up. "You weren't annoying to me. I liked it. I mean, I liked that you still felt so...safe? Around me? I guess?"

"Yeah, I did.” You smile. “Honestly, I think you were my best friend.”

He laughs as he looks back over. "I better have been.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Cause you were mine.”

"Good."

He smirks. "Remember how you used to fall asleep on my shoulder every time we watched a movie?”

"That's right," you groan, burying your face into the palm of your hand. "See? Annoying."

"Not annoying. Cute."

"It was not cute, it was annoying. And you know she hated it.”

“I don’t care. She fell asleep on my shoulder, too. It was nice.”

You snort. “It was weird, let’s face it. But I swear I've outgrown such habits."

He seems to hesitate for only a moment, eyes flicking between yours. "Too bad."

A beat.

You feel your stomach flip as you look away, breaking you both free of the tension. "So...what, um...what brings you to town? I was a little surprised to hear from you."

He takes the cup of coffee the waitress had poured him and slides it closer. "Oh, yeah, I'm...I'm here on business. And I remembered you lived here, so...I thought I’d reach out.”

"I see."

"Yeah.” He hesitates again. "And...I missed you."

You can’t fight the flutter in your chest. "I missed you, too, Har."

The conversation lulls as the busy diner continues to bustle around you. And despite how glad you are to see him, something feels...off. Different.

You aren't sure what. Can't quite put your finger on it. It almost feels like it used to, but something has changed. He looks like your Harry. He sounds like your Harry. He feels like your Harry. And yet, he feels like a stranger.

Maybe it's because it's been so long since you've seen him. Maybe it's because you aren't twenty-three anymore. Or maybe it’s because now he’s no longer Harry, your sister’s boyfriend.

Now he’s just…Harry. Your old friend.

When you notice the way he’s staring, your eyes narrow. “What?”

"Nothing." He shrugs again before chuckling under his breath. "No, nothing. Sorry, I just...I don't know. It's just...so strange to see you again. Like this."

"Like...this?"

"Yeah. Just us. Alone. No Atta.”

“Ah.” You swallow. “Right.”

“It’s not…weird, is it? I mean, it is weird but it’s not…uncomfortable, right?”

“No,” you rush to assure him. “No, I wanted to meet you. What happened with you two has nothing to do with me.”

He glances down at his lap. “Right.”

There’s an edge to the memory that wasn’t there before, yet despite your curiosity, you bite your tongue.

“What about you?” you say instead. “What have you been up to in the last five years?”

He smirks. “Oh, not much.”

“Uh-huh. You think I’ve grown up, you’re basically an old man now.”

“Yeah, yeah, all right. I’m only 34.”

“That’s still six years older than me, which makes you old.”

“Thanks.”

“I’m serious. You're not that idiot on a motorcycle anymore. Now you say things like, 'I'm in town on business,” and you wear expensive suits, and ridiculous watches."

He glances down at the aforementioned object on his wrist. "In my defense, this was a gift.”

“Sure.” 

“It was,” he insists. His eyes flick over your face. “Look, I would have reached out sooner, but…after we broke up, I figured you wouldn’t want me to. I mean, you had just started your new job, and I knew it wouldn’t be fair to ask you to be a side, so…”

“There were no sides,” you argue softly. “You both just…grew apart. You wanted different things.”

“Yeah,” he agrees with a sigh. “But I know it hurt her. It hurt me, too. And it was weird having to say goodbye to all of you. And leave all those memories behind. You were both such a huge part of my life."

"Yeah," you whisper. "You were a huge part of mine, too."

"Does Atta know you're meeting me?"

"No. Didn't really think it was any of her business. This is about us, not her."

His brow raises. "Would she be mad if she did?"

"I don't know,” you admit. “Probably not, but...would it really matter?"

"Of course it would. I'd never want to get in the way of your relationship."

"You aren't," you insist. "Look, she's dating somebody anyway. And I'm sure you are, too. You've both moved on. We're just...old friends catching up, and she'd have to understand that."

He seems to consider this before saying, "Yeah. I'm not, though."

"You're not...what?"

"Seeing anybody," he clarifies, tongue coming out to swipe across his bottom lip. "Haven't really dated anybody since she and I broke up."

"Oh, Harry," you murmur. "I'm...I'm sorry—"

"No. No, don't be," he insists. "It wasn't...I've just been busy. Working at the firm and renovating my house. I've gone on some dates but nothing serious. I just...haven't met the right person, I guess."

"The right person, huh?" you muse teasingly as you take a sip of your drink. "Okay, and what does Harry Styles' right person look like?"

He exhales an amused chuckle. "God, I don't know. I don't really think I'm that picky. Just...anybody I can get along with, I suppose."

"That's it? No, 'They need a fat ass and the ability to make me a sandwich?'"

He grins so big, the corners of his eyes crinkle. "For fuck's sake. No, nothing like that. Look, I don't know. Call me old fashioned, but...I think sometimes you meet somebody, and you can just...tell. You know? There's this energy, this shift. You look at them...and it all just makes sense.”

And as he looks you, waiting for you to consider this…the air shifts.

"Yeah," you agree quietly, allowing your attention to fall down his features and land on his lips. "Yeah, that's...you're right."

He seems to notice the way your focus has wandered because he quickly clears his throat and looks back down at his mug. "What, um...what about you? I'm assuming you're seeing somebody."

You look away as well, willing yourself to calm. "Oh? And why do you assume that?"

"Come on," he nearly snorts, eyebrow cocking. "Look at you. You're beautiful and you're smart and you have this effortless ability to make anyone around you feel good. Who wouldn't want to date you?"

"Well...pretty much every male in the city," you retort. "I don't know. I've tried dating but...there's always something missing. It never really feels quite right."

"Yeah. I know what you mean," he hums. "There's this...disconnect. Like you're forcing something that you know isn't right."

"Exactly! It's not that I don't want to find somebody, I just...haven't. It's not as easy as it is with you."

His head tilts. "With me?"

"Yeah, you know," you sigh, hands waving about the air as you try to explain your point. "I haven't seen you in five years but we still, just...picked right back up, you know? As if no time had passed. We're still just us. We can talk, and we can laugh, and we don't have to force anything."

He nods. "Right."

"I mean, honestly? Sometimes I think it would be easier to date somebody I already know. The problem is that all the guys I know are assholes. And too immature, I guess. They've got no sense of purpose, no drive. And it’s not like I need to be taken care of, but…it’d be nice to know they could. You know?”

"Yeah. You need someone with a good head on their shoulders."

"Exactly. I need someone who feels more like an equal than this thing I need to take care. I want to date a man, not a Tamagotchi."

He laughs again and the sound brings the butterflies back to your stomach. You feel proud to have amused him. And even more proud of the way he casually places a hand on your arm as he takes a deep breath. 

When he lets go, you look down at the spot on your skin as if you can still see outline of his fingers. 

"You'll find somebody," he tells you, and you do your best to ignore the sparks dancing up the back of your neck. "You will. And they'll be perfect for you. Old enough to know better and wise enough to do it right."

You place your palm over the spot he once touched, squeezing it gently. "Yeah. Hey, and you, too. Anybody would be lucky to have you."

His eyes linger on yours. "Yeah?"

You smile. "Yeah."

The next few minutes are devoted to sharing stories about your families. He asks how your parents are, you ask about his. He tells you about his job and you tell him about your roommate. You recall every detail of the past five years, and once you've finally caught up to today, he pays for your drinks, and offers to walk you home.

You make your way along the busy streets of the city as Harry tells you that he's thinking about getting a cat. You laugh and tell him that he'd make a wonderful cat dad, and he seems to flush.

You wonder why.

Fifteen minutes later, you're walking up the steps to your building, already apologizing for the messy state of your apartment before he's even stepped foot inside.

He snorts the implication away, assuring you that no matter what, it can't be worse than how Atta used to keep her place.

And the mention of your sister breeds an odd feeling in your chest. Unease, and this strange tinge of jealousy. Like you're almost peeved at him for bringing her up. For reminding you that he's seen the inside of her room before.

But you shake it away as you push the door open, refusing to linger on the thought.

"Well...this is it," you declare, stepping aside to let him enter. "Probably looks smaller than you remember, but…it does the trick.”

He takes a moment to glance over your knickknacks and decor before he grins. “I love it.” 

"Really?"

"Yeah." He shoves his hands into his expensive coat pockets and nods. "Yeah, really. It feels...fitting."

"What do you mean?"

"I don’t know. It just feels like you.”

Your teeth gnaw on the inside of your cheek as you walk to the kitchen. "Well...thanks. I think."

You offer him a glass of water, to which he declines, before you join him back by the door. You're not sure that you’re quite ready to say goodbye, but you know he can't stay forever.

You wonder if you actually want him to.

You wonder if it would be so bad if you did.

"This was…really nice," he says as he takes a half-step through the doorframe. "Really, Dot. I'm proud of you. And everything you’ve done. And I'm really glad that I can still call you my friend after everything."

Your heart starts to pound a little harder inside your chest. "Yeah, me too. I really missed you, Har. I hope we can catch up again soon."

The side of his mouth curls up as his eyes soften. "I'd like that."

With that, he moves into the hall, and you close the door behind him.

The feeling that follows is...strange. Overwhelming. Like something is wrong. Like something has just been ripped away from you. 

Like something is missing.

You feel on edge. Off-balance. Confused and unsure and you have no idea why. There’s a pain in your stomach that wasn’t there before and a hollowness in your heart that didn’t exist before you saw him.

Suddenly, there's a sharp knock on your door. "Dot?"

He's back.

Confused and slightly excited, you swing it back open to find him braced against your frame. He’s quiet as he studies you, brows woven together in what appears to be deep thought before he strides back inside your apartment and begins to pace your floor.

"Okay," he begins. Strained. "Okay, tell me...tell me this isn't just me. Tell me this isn't just in my head."

You shut the door.  "What do you mean?”

He looks at you before frantically gesturing between your two bodies. "This. This thing we’ve been doing all afternoon. Tell me it's not just me. Tell me you feel it.”

And you're almost certain you know what he means, but the implication of it scares the shit out of you.

So, you simply tilt your head. "Har...feel what? I don't know what you're talking about—"

"Us.” He stares at you. “Us, there's something...there's something different here. Something that wasn't here before."

"Like...?"

"Like...like the way you look at me," he says, eyes on yours as you feel your heart begin to race. "You never used to look at me that way."

Your lashes flutter, and suddenly, you feel acutely aware of the way you've begun to gawk at him. Have you been looking at him differently?

"And the way you speak to me," he continues. "Talking about needing someone to take care of you. Someone older. Someone...more mature."

You swallow.

He takes a step closer. "And all day, you've just...you’ve found a way to brush your hand against mine. Or your arm. And you laugh at everything I say, even when it isn't funny. And I know you. I know this can't be what I think it is, but...you gotta tell me I'm not going crazy. You have to tell me it's not just...me."

And you realize now that you have an easy way out. You could brush off the accusation and tell him that it is just in his head. That he's your sister's ex-boyfriend, and he's your friend, and that you would never make a pass at him.

But then you say, "…what if it wasn't just you?"

He goes still, lips parting as he leans back. Almost as if struggling to understand what you've just said.

Truth be told, you're struggling to understand it yourself. You hadn't realized just how differently you'd been acting toward him. Or that you’d begun to wonder what would happen if he was your Harry instead of hers.

Because he’s not hers anymore. He’s just a man. A very attractive man. With a job, and a house, and enough emotional maturity not to make a fart joke every three minutes.

And it's not your fault that you're starting to see him in a different light. It's been years. Five whole years since you've spoken to him and you're both adults now. Completely different people, and would it really be the worst thing if you wondered what could have been?

"Dot…" he begins slowly, clearly wrestling with what he wants to say, "…you don't…I don't think you really know what you're doing."

You take a step as well, challenging him. "What am I doing?"

"You're...you're—" His fingers find the bridge of his nose as he squeezes. Hard. "Fuck, Dot. Don't…don't do this—"

"Do what? Flirt with you?"

His palms fly to his ears with a wince. "Stop. No, you didn't...you didn't say that. You're not flirting with me. You're not flirting with me—"

"What if I am?" you retort, following after him with a surge of confidence you didn’t realize you had. "Why would that be so wrong?"

"Because,” he scoffs, shooting a stern look your way. "You’re Atta’s little sister. And we’re friends. And you’re basically a child—"

"I'm not a child," you remind him. "I'm twenty-eight. I've been making capable decisions for quite some time now—"

"But not this," he hisses, the muscles in his neck straining. "Not…shit. You can't do this. You can't—”

"Why not? You said it yourself, there's something different here—"

"But not this—"

"Why not?"

"Because…you're you," he huffs. "You're...you're my best friend, and my ex’s little sister, and I’m…I’m just this big, bad man come to ruin you.”

And somehow, the idea goes straight to your cunt.

"You're not ruining me, Harry," you say, even though you wish he would. "We’re adults. Old friends catching up and realizing that maybe things can be different now."

He takes in a breath. "But they can't be. They can't be different—"

"Why—"

"Because it's not right—"

"What's not right? What?" you argue. "Is it just the age difference? Is it Atta? Is it that you aren't attracted to me, because I know you were flirting with me, too—"

His entire face twists into a grimace as he inhales sharply and presses his hands back over his ears. "God. Don't say that—"

"You were," you insist. "Like it or not, I'm not the little girl you used to know. All right, and there's...there's nothing wrong with us testing the waters—"

He steels himself, arms dropping back to his sides. "We can't."

"Why?" you repeat for what feels like the hundredth time. "Why can't we? Huh? We're not breaking any rules. We're not doing anything illegal. I don't see what's so wrong with just trying—"

"I'd ruin you," he says again, with so much conviction that it makes your stomach drop. "I would ruin any chance you had at a normal relationship—a normal life. All right, being with me...it would complicate everything. And I'd never do that to you—"

"I'm not asking you to marry me. I'm just asking you to try—"

"Try what?"

"Try seeing." You take another step, making sure you have his full attention. "Just…try seeing if what we think is here is actually here. If maybe we were meant to find each other again after all this time. If this is where it all finally makes sense."

He considers this for a moment. Considers you. And you aren't sure when you suddenly became so enamored by the thought of Harry, but you’re here now. And he’s here. And there’s a shift.

And it feels right.

Then, his head begins to shake. "No. No, I know better. I have to know better. I have to do better than this. I can't...God, I can't believe I'm even...no. No, you mean too much to me for me to ruin this."

You feel your chest deflate as your lips press into a thin line. And you stare at him. You stare and you see the indecision and anguish on his face. You see the way he wrestles with the idea you've given him. The way he wrestles with himself.

The way he wrestles with you.

You don't want to push him. Because you know this is something you can never take back. And maybe there's just too much adrenaline in your veins right now. Maybe you aren't thinking straight, and once he leaves and the moment passes, you’ll wonder what you were so worked up about anyway.

But right now, all you feel is disappointment.

"Fine," you whisper, and his eyes soften. "No, fine. You're right. You're right, this is...I never should have said anything. I was…confused. I was just happy to see you again and I thought it was something else, but…you're right. It's nothing. And I don't wanna be your mid-life crisis. I just want us to be friends again.”

Your tiny apartment falls silent as you both settle onto this conclusion. As you let your heartbreak dangle in the air.

Then, his fingers between to flex and his teeth begin to grit, and watch in real time as he starts to change his mind.

Then, he murmurs, “Oh, fuck it.”

Next thing you know, he's closing the gap between you, taking hold of your face and kissing you hard.

You don’t have time to process it. Don’t even care to process it. But you don’t care. Because everything makes sense now.

So, you feel him. Surrender to him. Indulge in the dominate pull of his hands on your jaw as he takes a taste of you on his tongue. As he presses his hips so hard into yours that you feel your knees go weak.

You make a noise in your throat as he goes deeper, and he growls. Like he's fighting himself. Fighting the urge to take as he begins roughly walking you back until you’re slammed against the wall.

He knows exactly what he's doing in a way that younger men never have. He makes you feel both taken care of and somehow, still completely helpless. You don't have to think about anything with him because he does everything. 

He presses his strong, tall frame into yours until he practically disappears into you. His large hand grips onto the back of your neck as you whimper, taking control of the moment—of you—until the only thought left in your head is just more.

And you don't doubt that he'd give you more if you asked, but before you can, he pulls back, and puts the moment on pause.

You feel breathless. Dejected. Wilting in his hold as he meets your eye and looks for your reaction.

But he won’t find it. And you bite back a whine as you wait for him to come back.

He sweeps his thumbs along your cheek before sighing to himself. "Dot..."

You feel your stomach turn at the nickname. At the way it comes out raspy and desperate. "Don’t say it."

But he does, anyway. "We shouldn't do this."

"I know," you murmur, fingers disappearing into his hair while he seems to nestle into your touch. "I know, but I want to. I want to, Har. So…please don’t make me lose you again.”

Another beat passes before he groans and presses his forehead to yours. “God,” he nearly growls, and the sound makes your thighs squeeze together. “Dot—”

"I won't tell," you promise while his jaw clenches. "I won't, I swear. I'll be your secret."

Just like that, the hand he placed on your thigh tightens. Squeezing until you're squirming beneath him. He’s losing his conviction and you’re losing your patience.

"This is wrong," he mumbles. "S'wrong, Dot. I can't do this to you. Can't do this with you...I can't...I know better. I have to do better.”

You tug on his hair as you straighten up, whining beneath a strained breath. "I don’t want you to do better. I want you to do me.”

He exhales deeply with this, nose running down the side of your face as his lips travel to your neck. He seems to take refuge there, subtly pressing kisses to your throat as he thinks. "I want to," he tells you softly. "You have no idea how badly I want to. How badly I want to do everything for you. Show you how a real man fucks. Until you see stars.”

"Har," you just about gasp, anxious to have him do just that. "Please...please—"

"Fuck." His thigh slots between the both of yours and you writhe against him, searching for anything you might find. "Be so easy to take you. Be so easy to show you what you're missing. To wreck you until you’re begging for more—"

"So do it," you plead, pulling on him until his mouth meets yours. "Do it, Har. Please. Just once. Just once, and I promise I'll be so good. Be so good for you. Won't ever ask you again—"

His hold on you grows more determined before he's ripping you away from the wall and slinging you toward your bed a few feet away.

He’s on you in seconds, hovering about where you lie as you greedily grab for him. "Promise me," he hisses as his palm slips beneath your shirt, and a needy whimper bleeds from your throat. "Promise me that this is what you want."

"I promise," you repeat quickly, arching into his touch. "Promise—"

"Promise me...that you'll be good," he says next, fingers brushing over the material of your bra. "That you'll behave. That you'll do exactly what I tell you."

"Yes," you breathe, eyes falling shut.

"Fucking promise me..." he continues as he scratches down your chest, "...that you won't tell. That you'll be my dirty little secret. That you'll be mine. That you'll let me ruin you and that you'll fucking thank me for doing it—"

The last domino falls. Crashes to the ground as you tug him down to you so you can kiss him. So, you can prove your loyalty. Prove that this is everything you’ve ever wanted.

You feel him smile.

"You little fucking minx,” he purrs.

Your skin warms as Harry's stunned but unceasingly enthralled gaze lingers on the red lace of your underwear. However, his fingers move instead for your hips. His hauntingly empty touch ghosting across the fabric of your underwear as you anxiously await contact.

But he doesn't give it to you. Not quite, not yet. He just wants to look at you. Wants to drink you in. Allow himself the privilege of seeing what he never has before.

"Did you wear these just for me, little one?" he asks in a gravely drawl, eyes flicking up to yours from where he lays between your thighs. 

You swallow as you look across your stomach at him. You're not sure why you picked out this particular set today. Perhaps it was a subconscious choice or perhaps destiny was simply on your side.

"Maybe," you murmur, nails curling into your palm as you work in shallow breaths. God, you need him to touch you. Need him to do something about the mess that's sitting two inches in front of his face.

The very same mess he's pretending he doesn't notice.

Your response encourages a smirk as he hums and glances back down at the little white bow placed delicately in the center. "S'cute, Dot," he says softly, pinching the ribbon between his thumb and forefinger. "Fucking precious, actually. Knowing you got yourself all dolled up. Just to see me."

He pulls his lip between his teeth and glances back over your face. He's amused by the weary and desperate expression you wear and you're two seconds away from groaning.

His touch moves down. Down, down, down until the pad of his finger brushes over your clit. 

You tense before releasing a shaky exhale. 

Satisfied with this reaction, he moves even lower. Until he finds that growing wet patch that's beginning to hurt.

"What's this?" he coos, looking down toward the darkened red fabric. "Oh, darling...s'this for me, too?"

You're not sure where your quippy attitude from before has gone because now you can do nothing but nod mutely as you shift beneath his hand.

"Yeah?" His eyebrow raises as he grins at you. "Is this what has you so anxious?"

You give him another nod.

He hums. "Think I need to see for myself, hm?" He smirks and pats his palms against your hips. "Take these off for me."

You quickly reach down to hook your fingers around the hem of your underwear and drag them down your thighs. Once they've been pulled from your body, you get ready to toss them onto the other side of the bed. But before they can be flicked from the tips of your fingers, Harry snatches them with his fist.

"Uh-uh," he tuts as he tucks them into his suit's breast pocket. "These are mine now."

You suck in a sharp, eager pant. "Har—"

"Shh." He settles back onto his stomach, hands curling around your thighs to guide them apart and allow him a better visual. "M'busy, little one."

But it’s nearly impossible to stay quiet as his warm breath fans across your pussy, making the mess that much more obvious to you both. In fact, you can practically see the glistening reflection in his eye as he studies your cunt in the most intimate of ways.

You're not sure what he wants. What he's doing or planning or thinking. And you don't know why, but the way he stares at you does more for the apprehensive coil in your gut than him actually touching you has.

Finally, he makes another satisfied noise deep within the back of his throat before he brings his fingers back to you.

Two are placed just above your clit before he teasingly drags them down. However, when your hips buck up, he merely shoves them back down with a tsk.

Once you’re still, he starts again. Easing himself through your folds as he spreads you with the utmost glee. Fascinated by the way your body feels, the way it reacts to him.

His tongue sits between his lips as he ventures down, and the moment he finds the pooling of arousal waiting for him...you see the muscles in his neck contract.

"Darling…" The nickname is whispered across your body as he scoots closer. "Bet this hurts, doesn't it?"

"Yes," you reply instantaneously, straining around the singular word as you resist the urge to whimper. 

He circles the tip of his finger around your aching hole, almost as if to test you. "Oh, precious girl...how long, hm? How long have you been in so much pain?"

Truthfully, since you hugged him at the diner.

"All day," you say aloud, hands gripping onto the duvet beneath you. "All day, Har. Been thinking about you all day."

And that is the honest answer. You'd been anxiously awaiting your meeting from the moment you woke up.

But he smiles as if he knows better, despite the way he seems to bask in your response. "All day, hm? And what were you gonna do if I never came back? Were you just gonna sit here and rub your pretty thighs together?"

Your heart skips while your hands gather atop of your stomach.

His brow raises. "No? Well then how were you gonna take care of it, hm?"

For a moment, you think this is simply rhetorical, but the longer the silence stretches, the more obvious it becomes that he expects an answer.

You swallow the odd lump in your throat. "How do you think?"

"Uh-uh," he chastises again. "I wanna hear you say it. Want you to tell me exactly how you were gonna fix this little problem of yours had I not been here."

Your head flops back against the pillows as you glare at the ceiling. He's always been rather infuriating but now he's a menace.

"Dot..." He's warning you. Calling you back. Urging you not to be so bratty.

With a tentative sigh, you look back at him. "My...vibrator."

He perks up. "Yeah?"

You nod faintly. 

"Tell me how," he instructs next, jutting his chin toward you. "Better yet...show me. Show me how you've been taking care of yourself all these years."

Feeling rather embarrassed under the spotlight of such an intimate request, you shyly look over toward your nightstand and outstretch a hand. After pulling the drawer open, you slip inside and find the purple wand that's just small enough to fit snugly inside your palm.

And Harry watches with a certain wonder in his eye as you bring the dainty toy closer. Yet, he says nothing while you slowly guide it toward your stomach and down to your thighs.

But he does, however, shift in order to make room, scooting back by a hair to allow you the space you need to place the head right above your aching clit.

For some reason, doing something so private in front of him feels...odd. Strange and almost unsettling. And perhaps that's just nerves, but you can't deny the heat that rushes to your face as he looks between you and the vibrator.

"S'this it, then?" he murmurs, a hint of teasing laced within the remark. "Don't even have to turn it on?"

Your thumb taps against the power button, a nervous tic, although you refrain from switching the toy on just yet. "No..."

His smirk is borderline haughty. "Then what do you do, little one? How do you use it?"

You say nothing. You hold his stare, and you hold a deep breath, and you hold the wand to your glistening cunt.

Then...you flip the switch.

The soft, dainty vibrations echo across the room, across your bodies, and across your clit as it's met with the instant stimulation of the pulsating wand.

You choke on a gasp as you return your eyes to the ceiling, allowing for the feeling to take control of each remaining sense.

And as you do, Harry's hands make themselves known to you as they begin to smooth up your legs, helping guide your thighs further apart once again.

There's an ever-so-slight stretch that follows as your muscles are pulled, and the distinctive burn makes your lashes flutter shut.

"There you go," he whispers. "So pretty, darling. God, could watch you do this all day."

Truthfully, you imagine you’re quite a sight. After all, you’ve watched yourself before. You know how it looks. Know exactly the kind of visual fantasy Harry is witness to right now.

So, you play it up, give him a show. After all...he's got a front row seat.

You rotate the head slowly, circling down and around your hole before retreating and dragging the object back up and through.

And you shiver every time it brushes against that particular sweet spot. Every time the pulses slow just to speed up once more. It's almost torturous the way your body is being bent to such salacious desires. And cruel the way you're forced to do this while he only watches.

A whimper slips free, and you arch off the bed, pressing the toy as tight against your body as you can stand.

You hear Harry chuckle. 

"Easy," he warns before you feel his fingers curl around your wrist, encouraging your grip to relax. "Take it slow, Dot. Not in a hurry, are you?"

"No," you breathe, head shaking zealously. "No, m'just...feels good."

"Does it?" He almost sounds surprised. "Hm. Interesting. Seeing as you're doing it wrong."

Your head lifts.

He glances toward the vibrator. "May I?"

You nod.

Pleased, he slips the toy free from between your fingers and clears his throat. Focused eyes landing on your body as he readies the bullet. 

Then...he begins.

It meets your clit—an innocent, familiar touch—before it's instantly being dragged down. He's slow with it. Giving you enough time to feel each particular flutter and twitch. 

Your soft gasps and grateful sighs carry him further, until the tiny head of the toy is swimming through your arousal. You fall still, attention locked on the man by your knees. 

But he’s still focused. Soft, green eyebrows weaving together as his pretty cherry lips stretch into a smile.

Something changes—everything changes—when he slips the head inside. Your entire body ripples from the vibrations as you stumble over his name and squirm across the mattress.

He only laughs before placing his arm overtop your stomach to keep you cemented to the bed. "None of that. Stay still for me."

"Har," you whisper, depleted of any strength. "Please..."

"What, little one? What do you want?"

"I need...please, I'm..."

"What? Does it feel good?"

"Yes. Yes...yes, feels so good. Please..."

"Please what? What do you want, sugar?"

More. Everything. Anything. "Fuck, I'm—don't stop. Please don't stop."

"Oh, darling," he breathes. "I'd never dream of it."

He takes the toy out and moves it back to your clit, circling gently a few times before pressing down hard. 

And you almost miss the full feeling it provided as it was eased into you, but before you can dwell for too long...Harry's extending his fingers and slipping them into your cunt.

Not one, but two of those beautiful digits push past your walls and begin to stretch you, ripping a gasp from your throat at the simultaneous stimulation. 

"Attagirl," he murmurs from below, and you can hear the smug undertone. "That's what you wanted, hm? Needed something to fill you."

Your chest heaves, the red lace of your bra lifting and falling as you roll your head back. "God, Har—"

"Tell me, darling," he continues, easing himself out just to push back in. "Were you gonna use your own fingers? If I wasn't here? Gonna ride your pretty little hand?"

You can't tell if he already knows the answer or if he just wants to picture your hand between your thighs.

Either way, you pant out, "Mhm."

"Yeah? How many, honey? How many were you gonna use?"

"...two."

He tsks, seemingly disappointed with this answer. "Just two? Hm. And would it have felt like this, darling? Would they be able to do it for you the way mine can?"

To accompany this ask, he curls upward, nearly yanking the pleasure out of you as you choke on a cry and writhe away from him. 

"Fuck—" Your teeth tug on your bottom lip. "Shit, Har—"

"Is that a no, then?" He thrusts his fingers out and back in again. "Would you have gotten yourself this wet...with just your own hand?"

The sound of him slipping through your arousal meets your ear as you groan and look down.

"No?" He adds a third finger while making sure to keep the wand of the vibrator exactly where it needs to be. "What about when you thought of me? Would that have done it for you, sugar? Thinking of me while you soaked your sheets? While you dripped down your knuckles as you fucked yourself?"

You've never heard a man talk to you this way. You already knew his experience superseded that of any man you'd been with before but this. None of those other boys ever knew how. But Harry...God. He knows just what to say. Knows exactly what you need to hear, and it overwhelms you.

"Har...Har—"

"Need an answer," he reminds you, but when you refuse to offer him one, he takes himself away. His fingers, the toy, his body. Leaning away completely as your pussy goes completely quiet.

"Harry," you just about moan, pushing up onto your elbows to leverage the playing field. "You...I'm...I was just—"

"Disobeying," he answers for you. "That's what you were doing. And I don't think that's fair, do you?"

You frown. You know this tone he's taking with you. Authoritative and condescending. It makes you huff. "Fine. I'll try again."

"Good girl," he murmurs, nodding at you as if to encourage confidence.

"I...wait, what was the question again?"

He smiles at this, releasing an amused chuckle beneath his breath before crawling back to you. His hands find the mattress beside your hips and he settles between your parted thighs, lips dangerously closer now.

And you can smell him. Smell his cologne, and his aftershave, and his shampoo. Can feel the heat radiating off his body, even through the expensive suit. Can see how much he wants to take care of you—ruin you. As promised.

"Do you get yourself this wet...when I'm not around?" he repeats, and the tip of his nose brushes against yours.

Your breath hitches. "No."

The answer was always obvious, but you know he needed to hear you say it. 

"Do you touch yourself...the way I touch you?" 

"No."

"Can you make yourself come the way I can?"

"God, no—" you gasp before taking hold of his face and smashing his mouth against yours.

His lips are perfect and his kiss is perfect and the two of you are perfect together. A connection so seamless, so effortless...it's as if you were always meant to be.

A ridiculous notion, you think to yourself, but right now...it's quite nice.

He pulls himself back just enough to meet your eye and offer a devious grin. "Then let’s find out, hm?"

Rough fingertips travel up the length of your inner thigh, forming goosebumps in the wake. You shiver, ready to receive his touch once again before he dances right past your cunt, and up your hip. 

He moves for the lace on your chest, tugging on the wire between your breasts with a disappointed tsk.

"I want this gone," he decides, plucking it from your skin. "Need to see all of you, Dot."

And before you can even reach back to undo the hook, he's looping an arm underneath your back, lifting you up, and flicking the clasp free. 

Once done, he yanks the bra down your arms and body before flinging it somewhere behind him.

Your eyes shut as your naked chest is revealed to him, heart hammering against your ribcage.

But then, you feel those lips again. He wraps his mouth around your left nipple before you can even whisper his name, sucking on you as though he's determined to make you see stars.

Which you do the moment his teeth pull on the sensitive skin. And you can't help but mewl as his tongue flicks cruel and merciless patterns against before moving for your collarbone.

He groans as he goes, situating his knee between your legs and pressing it directly against your cunt. His other hand gropes at your right breast, kneading at the tender flesh until his mouth reaches your neck. He nips at a vein just below your jaw and you arch up into him, chest knocking into his.

He sucks sweet bruises into the curve of your throat before licking apologies over the newly ruined skin. It's slow and painful and beautifully good.

Everything about him is beautiful and good.

His entire body seems to cater to yours as he cages you to the mattress and easily pulls whimpers from your throat. As he touches you, and pleases you, and knows you in a way nobody else ever has. 

You grind yourself against his leg before glancing down. And that’s when you notice the way your arousal has begun to soak through his nice pants. The way a dark little patch seeps into the fancy—and expensive—material. A sight both erotic and humiliating.

Your whimper forces his eyes to where yours reside, and he smirks when he sees your mess.

"What's the matter, little one?" he asks, taking his hand from your tit and using it to grab onto your jaw. "Are you embarrassed?"

You nod, despite his hold.

"Oh, my dirty little girl,” he hums. “I don't mind you soaking my trousers. But I'd rather you soak my cock."

You'd rather that, too, and you're more than grateful when he leans back to undo his belt. You don't know where this will lead you. If you’ll fuck him and then lose contact for another five years. 

Or if you’ll fuck him and change everything.

But right now, you don't mind. You'll happily exist in this moment with him. In these bad decisions until you're coming so hard, you forget your own name.

He leans back to begin ridding himself of his clothes and you scramble upward to help him along. Your greedy hands grab at his jacket and his shirt, wrestling them down his arms and off his broad chest. Wanting to see him the way he can see you.

You nearly moan when his inked skin is revealed to you. You knew he'd gotten a few tattoos in college, and even some a bit after. But seeing them now, painted across such a tan, toned canvas makes your head spin.

"Easy," he laughs, reaching out to swipe his thumb beside your mouth to collect the pooling drool. "Save some for me, hm?" 

But you can't. Instead, you take his finger between your lips and bury it beside your tongue.

Surprised, his lashes flutter. But once you realize he won’t be able to undo his pants without both hands, you regretfully pop his digit free. Allowing him to slip out of his briefs until his cock springs free.

He’s…perfect. Still. Somehow. Red and swollen and leaking just for you. And you clench from the mere thought of having something so beautiful inside you.

You crawl closer, eager for a taste, but Harry simply grabs hold of your chin.

"Yes, little one?" he murmurs, using his other hand to hold his cock. "Did you want  something?"

You nod and lean forward another inch.

"All right," he concedes, pumping himself before subtly tugging you down. "Just a taste, honey. Since you've been so good."

He leads your mouth to him and without a moment's hesitation, you outstretch your tongue, and drag it along the underside.

You revel in the way you feel him twitch. In the way he exhales a deep breath through parted lips while moving his fingers to your hair, guiding you closer but not too close. Just enough to get him on your tastebuds.

You hum when you reach the tip, eager to indulge in the pre-cum already beading in pearly drops. And the vibrations from your eager appreciation make the muscles in his stomach quiver as he curses your name.

However, you barely get the chance to wrap your mouth around him before he's yanking on your hair, and straightening you back up.

"What did I say?" he hisses. "Don't be greedy, Dot."

"I'm sorry," you whisper, swallowing the bit of him still lingering in your mouth. "M'sorry, won't do it again."

"No, you won't. Or I'll go back on my promise."

"No," you whine, needy fingers wrapping around his wrist to keep him close. "No, won't do it again. I promise."

You know he’s amused with your desperation, and even though you're slipping fast, he can't help but be entertained. "We'll see, little one."

With a fervent motion of your head, you scramble back to the pillows to lay down, legs spreading as if to invite him in.

He smirks as he strokes his cock a time or two more while settling himself between your thighs. You imagine he could have you in a number of ways, a plethora of positions. But he chooses this. He chooses to see your face this first time. To see every ounce of pleasure etched within your features.

And truth be told, you don't mind. You could stare at him forever.

"Do you have any condoms?" he asks next, dipping down to press his lips to yours for only a second. "Or would you prefer to go without?"

You consider this. You're on birth control and you do have a bit of a creampie kink, so you shake your head. 

"Without," you answer quickly before lifting an eyebrow. "Unless you'd like to?"

"No," he chuckles, placing a kiss to your nose this time. "Just wanted to make sure. Promised to take care of you, and that's what I plan to do."

Your heart flutters.

"Okay, gonna need you to be good, honey," he tells you now, large palm landing on your hip to steady you. "Gonna need you to take me and do as I say, all right? And I'll make it worth it."

"I will," you agree quickly, fingers traveling up the dips in his arms, ghosting over each muscle until you reach his shoulders. "Be so good, Har, promise."

"Uh-uh." His hand smacks against your inner thigh in warning before his thick eyebrow cocks up. "S'not my name, darling. Not right now."

Curious as to what he might mean, you study him for only a moment before you realize.

"I'm sorry, Sir."

Just like that, something in his demeanor switches. 

Truth be told, the name doesn't do much for you. But you revel in the way he feeds off it. Find absolute euphoria in the way he lights up at your obedience until you want nothing more than to please him again. To call him anything he wants as long as he keeps looking at you like that.

"Good girl," he growls beneath a deep breath before he's bringing his cock closer.

He starts by dragging it along your clit, making you jolt and buck before his hand splays across your stomach to force you back down.

"No," he says simply, eyes fixated on the torture he's currently implementing. 

He does it again, letting your swollen, puffy clit jump from the slight brush of his tip while he drags it through your arousal and shifts forward.

"Breathe," he orders next, stealing a quick glance at your puckered lips and wide eyes. “All right?”

“Yes, Sir.”

He slides in slowly, pushing past your tight walls, coaxing the muscles to stretch to his size.

At first, it's nothing more than a soft, easy sensation. Relaxing, in a sense as it aids the ache and fills the void his fingers left behind.

Then...he goes deeper. 

And this is what you'd been waiting for. The slight tension and subtle burn as your body is forced to accommodate him. You're thankful he goes slow. Not just because of the pain. But because you both want to watch.

You want to watch the way he pulls your body apart. Wanna watch him disappear into your tight hole that pulls him in. Wanna watch the way you flutter and clench and claim him the way he’s claiming you.

"Oh, that's my fucking girl," he groans to himself. "Fucking hell, Dot. Didn’t think you’d be so tight."

"Yeah, well…never had someone like you before," you tease, gauging your body's reaction by slowly rolling your hips up. 

"Yeah?" His hand lands on your throat, smoothing up the sides of your neck until he can squeeze a gasp from your lips. “Never, huh?”

You shake your head and with one quick thrust, he bottoms out, forcing a strangled cry as you arch into him.

“Never had someone stretch this pretty pussy the way it deserves, yeah?” He tsks again. “What a fucking shame.”

He rears back, and the pain and the pleasure that follow him out make your chest cave in.

However, he’s quickly driving himself back in before you can complain, pushing past the fluttering muscles once more as you keen and rake your nails down the blanket.

"Harry," you breathe, his name like a lifeline as you drown in his sin. 

But it earns you another firm smack to your outer thigh as he grunts his disapproval into your neck. "No," he warns before nipping just below your jaw. "You know better."

But really…you don’t. "Sir...please," you amend.

"Hm. S'a good girl," he praises. "Knew you'd behave for me, yeah? My perfect little toy—"

A rather debauched moan rips from between your gritted teeth as his hips ram into yours. You can feel him everywhere. In your stomach, in your head, in your heart. His legs against yours, his chest against yours, his entire body against yours until you're almost convinced he's gonna become one with your bloodstream.

Not that you'd mind.

His arm slips beneath you once more in order to lift you up and provide him with a new angle. Then, he thrusts himself into you again as your mouth hangs open in a silent gasp for air.

"There she is, that's what you needed. Yeah, little one?' He does it again, brushing against that one spot that makes your toes curl. "The other boys never did it, did they?"

You whine, knees bending besides his hips as you attempt to follow after him when he pulls back. 

But he's quick to tut and knock you back down onto your ass. "No. You don't rush me, darling. We do this my way. On my time. If I wanna stay here and fuck you nice and slow, then you’ll behave, and you’ll fucking take me.”

You’d like to agree, but he’s thrusting himself back in before you can.

"You will thank me for taking my time," he continues in a coarse cadence that seems to reverberate from his chest. "You will thank me...for being so goddamn good to you. And you will thank me…for doing it right."

"Harry, please—" you just about wail, hands finding his arms as you grasp on for dear life.

But the fingers around your throat tighten until the edges of your vision begin to blur.

"There you fucking go again," he growls, stilling his rhythmic attacks as he meets your eye. He seems to enjoy watching your focus go fuzzy. "Starting to think you like to be punished, hm? And here I thought you had a praise kink."

You clutch onto his wrist, nails scratching along the veins in his arm as he pounds into you at a harder pace.

But you don't mind. You enjoy watching him give into the voices inside his head. Enjoy the way his chocolate brown curls sweep across his forehead, the way his eyebrows weave together and the muscles in his jaw constrict.

For a 34-year-old man, he seems to possess quite a bit of stamina. He'd mentioned earlier his enjoyment for running and exercising, detailing his rather excessive and diligent routine.

And you'd smirked because you'd assumed he was showing off or because he was trying to stay ahead of the inevitable "dad-bod" in his future.

But now you understand why he's really so meticulous. He's a long way from looking his age. Apart from some subtle, but soft crinkles near his eyes and a few gray hairs that peek through the auburn waves, he looks rather youthful. 

And his body. You swallow another noise as you let your hungry gaze trail over every inch, every muscle, every quiver in his thighs as he braces himself above you.

Sir feels like a more appropriate title to you now. Because he is. He is your superior in this moment A man to be respected and revered. Someone who not only knows better,.but knows you. Knows your body and how to play it like an instrument. 

There's something exciting about submitting to him. Something tantalizing about being at his mercy. Most of the other men you've been with have felt more like your equals than anything else. Which you haven't minded in the least bit.

But the way Harry has managed to fit you into the submissive, subservient role so quickly suggests that perhaps...this is where you were always meant to be.

Beneath him.

"Oh, honey," he coos, a mix of condescension and amusement. "Can feel you squeezin' me. Need it so bad, don't you? Need to come, hm?"

"Yes. Yes," you whisper, nuzzling your face into his neck, lips eagerly pressing into the salty skin at your disposal. "Please, Ha—Sir. Please let me come. Can't...can't hold it—"

"You will,” he says before he’s grabbing hold of your wrist and hosting it above your head. Burying into the pillow and preventing you from reaching for your clit. “Forget it, Princess. Told you to take me. So you will. Exactly how I tell you.” 

"Sir—"

"I said no. I plan to keep you here for quite some time. Plan to feel you coming around my cock as many times as I see fit. And I expect you to behave for me the way you promised. Can you do that? Or do I need to stop?"

"No," you gasp, tears springing to your eyes at the very thought. "No, no, please—"

"Then what are you going to do?"

You swallow a moan and lift your chin proudly. "Take it."

A pleased smile crawls across his face as he hums and dips down to press his mouth to yours. "There she is," he murmurs, nipping at your bottom lip. "My good girl. Try to remember that, yeah? Or I'll keep you here all day."

However, that’s something else you wouldn't exactly mind, and you shiver as he pushes your knee into your chest.

"Fucking hell, Dot," he mumbles, eyes falling back down to where you're coating his cock. "Oh, my perfect toy. Look at the way you treat me, honey. Treat me so well, fucking soaking me, aren't you—"

"Yes, Yes, please…"

"I know. I know, little one. Feels so good to be filled, yeah? To be fucked the right way—"

"God, yes. More...please—"

"More, huh? Need more? Need me to make it better? Need me to fucking take—"

Suddenly, your phone rings.

The soft, melodic chime cuts through Harry’s vulgar response, bringing the moment to a close as his thrusts falter and he glances over.

God, you hate that stupid, evil, sadistic machine. Right now, you wish you'd never bought it. You wish you could throw it again the wall until it shatters into a thousand fucking pieces so as long as he just keeps going.

Instead, he searches your nightstand for the small device before he's releasing your leg in order to reach for it. 

"No, Har," you plead, attempting to grab onto his hand. "Just let it go to voicemail, it's fine—"

"But that wouldn't be very polite, now, would it?" he tuts, glancing over the screen. "And I think you need to take this, darling."

"Harry, please—"

"Shh," he says sharply. “You're gonna take this phone call and you're gonna use your word. And then, and you're gonna come for me."

His thumb hovers over the green button and he guides the phone to your ear. 

"And you're not gonna make a fucking sound," he adds, dropping his voice to a threatening hiss before pressing the receiver to your ear. "Or I fucking stop. Do you understand?"

You do your best to nod, and he smiles before tapping the screen.

Through a slight quiver, you say, "Hello?"

"Hey! Long time no talk, babe. How are you?"

Your eyes just about pop out of your head.

Atta.

Her cheerful tone and eager greeting make the blood drain from your face as you look up at the man hovering above you.

"Speak," he mouths with a wicked grin while nodding his chin at you. 

But you can't. You physically cannot get the words to come out of your mouth as Harry keeps the device glued to the side of your head.

"H...hi," you stammer, forcing a more confident cadence. "I'm...good. How...how are you?"

"Oh, I'm good. Good, yeah," your sister replies, and you hear a bit of shuffling. "Been working a lot. Got today off, which is nice. God, you'd never believe how much shit we have to go through since we changed our filing system—"

"Mhm," you reply right as Harry rams his hips into yours.

You gasp and quickly turn your head away from the phone in an attempt to keep the excitable noise from making it into the microphone. 

However, he uses his other hand to grasp onto your jaw and force you back. "No," he whispers, shooting you a stern look of warning. "You know better."

"—which is wild because we've been using the same program since '08," Atta is saying, although you can hardly hear her over the imminent pleasure rushing through your veins. "But...whatever. Once we're done, it'll make things so much easier. Which will be nice. I can cut back on my hours—"

"Yeah, mhm," you repeat, and it's outrageously strained as Harry pulls himself out, leaving you depraved and so goddamn empty.

You have to fight the urge to cry out for him, glancing down at the string of arousal that follows his cock. And it's almost too much for you to handle as you greedily reach for him once more.

However, he bats your hands away and brings his free fingers from your chin to your clit, rubbing into the sensitive nerves until you arch up.

"—so, yeah. What about you?"

Your eyes squeeze shut as that tightly wound ball of pleasure in your stomach expands. "I'm...I...good. I'm...good. You know, not...not a lot going on. At the moment."

Harry smirks to himself before sinking all the way back in and thrusting up.

Your lip fights its way between your teeth and you writhe beneath his chest while praying for the strength to stay quiet.

"Well...I guess no news is good news, yeah?" she chuckles. "Oh, hey, speaking of which...I heard that Harry's in town."

That's not the only thing he's in. 

"Oh?" you squeak, placing a palm on Harry's chest almost as if in retaliation. "He is?"

"Yeah. Saw it on Facebook," she answers, and you hear her move around. "Figured he might try to reach out. I know you guys are still on good terms, right?"

"Me and Harry?" you repeat pointedly, garnering a curious look from the aforementioned man. "Uh...we're...yeah. I guess. But we’re not…that close."

He grins.

"Well...I just thought I'd let you know in case he does," she says, and your lashes flutter shut as the guilt begins to find you.

"Would it be weird...if he did?" you ask before the patterns being traced against your clit make you whimper.

Terrified, you quickly cough in an attempt at burying the sound, but Atta doesn't seem to hear. 

"I mean...maybe? I don't know. He and I are fine, I think. And I know you two were friends. I guess you could at least...check on him. Make sure he's doing okay."

"Yeah," you breathe, sneaking a glance up. "I'm...I'm sure he's doing just fine."

Harry smiles once more before moving his palm to your thigh and pressing it into the bed to spread you at a different angle. 

"I hope," Atta sighs. "Anyway, I wanted to call and check in. Just to make sure everything is going okay for you—"

"Mhm, yeah. I'm...I'm glad you did," you blubber while attempting to send Harry a pointed look. You're close. So fucking close, and if he keeps going...

"Are you sure you're all right? You sound a bit flustered—"

"Yes. Yes, yes, I'm..." Your head shakes quickly, nails scratching down Harry's chest in warning. He needs to stop. He needs to stop or you won't make it. "I'm fine. I'm...a little under the weather, but I'm—" 

Suddenly, he sheathes himself inside your cunt, face burying in your neck with a groan as your entire body shivers.

"Are you sure? You kind of sound like you're in pain—"

"Listen, Atta, I...I gotta go—" you gasp, so close to your orgasm that you can practically taste it. “I’m sorry—”

"Oh, yeah. Hey, text me, okay? Just let me know that you're all right—"

"Mhm, yeah, I will—fuck—"

It happens before you can stop it. Ripping through every muscle and fiber in your body as you rake your fingers down Harry's back and choke on a moan.

Thankfully for you, Harry has already ended the call and thrown the phone to the other side of the room so he can loop his arm beneath your hips and tug you up into his body.

"Go," he breathes. "Give it to me. Come on, little one. Just like that. Good fucking girl, just like that. Let me feel you—"

Your room fills with the sound of his name, dancing effortlessly between the whimpers that follow.

It feels like you've touched heaven. A sensation so overwhelming and euphoric that you don't even realize his hand has returned to your throat. Don't realize he's squeezing your neck in his tight fist as he comes, filling your cunt with everything he has to give you.

You don't even realize you can't breathe, but you love it. Love the way he presses his teeth into your shoulder and presses his body into your chest. Until you're trapped against the mattress while you live through the high. 

Every joint in your body aches. Radiating pain and pleasure all at once as you hook your leg over his hip and snake your arms around his neck.

And you keep him inside of you for what feels like hours. Even after you've regained a bit of consciousness. And a bit of common sense.

Perhaps the moment he pulls out, you'll realize the mistake you've made. You’ll realize that this isn't a secret you can keep. Or a choice that you can ever choose again. And maybe he’ll realize it, too.

But until then…

You’re happy to have your Harry back.

~ Masterlist

Taglist: @littlenatilda @prettythingsworld @heartateasee @walkingintheheartbreaksatellite @monicaalexandraaa

@cinnamonone @triski73 @lemoncrushh @vamprry @lady-lamb21

@lillefroe @kirstiea05 @ribbonknives @lunaharrygurl @harringtonhundreds

@swiftmendeshoran @sundresstyles @eldahae @becauseheartsgetbroken-hs

@hannahdressedasabanana @sykostyles @lukesaprince @daphnesutton @love-letters-to-uranus

@lovrave @nuggetdean @samanddeaninatrenchcoat @babegoals @lc-fics

[sharkylass]

ALRIGHT, I ASKED FOREVER AGO, BUT WHO WANTS TO HEAR ABOUT MY ISA LOOPS AU??

Heads up this contains a lot, and I mean A LOT of spoilers for In Stars And Time. Including: = Act 6 spoilers, including main mystery and secret encounter = Minimal Act 5 stuff = And a bunch of extra stuff that happens through Act 3 and 4. SO BASICALLY ALMOST EVERYTHING, FINISH THIS GAME COMPLETELY BEFORE READING (ESPECIALLY THAT ACT 6 ENCOUNTER, IT WILL LITERALLY BE THE FIRST THING I MENTION UNDER THE CUT)

With all those warnings out of the way-

IN REPETITION AND CHANGE

Initial Concepts:

I feel it's important to show these sketches because they were the first ideas I ever had. I wasn't even entirely sure I wanted to make an AU at this point, I didn't even know how I'd approach it. But I started sketching and it's been on my mind since- SO! Isa is stuck in the timeloop. I know what his wish is and he DOES have a Loop equivalent! The grumpy dandelion guy is Roboro (it/they/he). Their name is a very small play on Ouroboros and they call Isa "Seedling". However, this post is not about them, as I'm gonna talk about it and Isa's dynamic in a separate post. In short, Isa is his normal loud self up until Act 3, right? They beat the King, they reach the end, and whoops, the loop isn't broken. So now, what happens is that Isa starts getting his brains out. He starts thinking more analytically and tries to problem solve.

The more stuck he gets in his head, the less he's able to perceive his friends as real people, and more like them holding him back. Because even if Isa explains that he's smart, that they shouldn't be surprised if he says something, shock of all shocks, reasonable- They'll forget it the next loop.

So Isa is stuck with trying to portray his confident, loud, supportive facade- Which is fine! It wouldn't be the first time! But it progressively gets more and more frustrating, as he tries to find answers and simply looses the energy to pretend to be stupid.

TL;DR: Isa in the timeloop, unlike Siffrin, becomes more distant and cold rather then something more akin to Sif's mania.

NOW, MORE ART!!!

KILL KILL KILL:

I imagine Isa didn't have this encounter the same way that Sif did. Yeah, frankly, Isa is pissed with the sadness- But that's not why he goes through with this.

In this moment, Isa is trying to kill two birds with one stone. He's trying to get through this quickly, as well as reassure Mira that they can do this! If he shows how strong he is, then she'll feel safe right???

Poor Isabeau forgot that whenever he shows that he thinks ahead, he scares people. How could he forget that? How could he forget that he's inherently---

Family Quest:

I still think Odile is the one to call out to him (same with sus quest).

The hangouts I'm still figuring out, cause I don't think they'd too similar to base game- But, fun fact, at the end of this run, everyone agrees to keep travel together!

Isabeau brings it up, can't hurt if you can fix your mistakes right? And everyone agrees. The relief on Siffrin is the most palpable thing Isabeau has ever seen.

In this moment they love you. In this moment they all love you. In this moment---

Death Screen:

He loops back anyways. (This is one of the initial concepts that I ended up animating. This line in particular is when he reaches the end)

Act 5 Tarot Card:

NOW TO SEE MORE OF HIS PASSIVE AGRESSIVE SIDE

Thanks to @the-bitter-ocean for prescribing tarot cards to Isa (THEY ALL FUCK SO HARD) and for the RAW ASS LINE

If interacted with in act 5, predictably, Isa tears it apart. He doesn't need the divine judgement upon him, he's faced everyone's perception his entire life.

However, he tears it methodically. Tears it once in even pieces, twice, three times, and one of the pieces once more. In a way he isn't even getting his emotions out, it's like he's actively trying to tear it apart so it stops nagging him, like he wants to shut it up. Though, the Judgement card symbolizes rebirth, absolution and inner calling. In Act 6 he'd be able to look at it and find comfort and confidence in the card.

Act 5 Mirror:

And lastly, I have the Act 5 mirror picture. I haven't quite figured out how to make the normal ones work yet, however, I couldn't let go of the idea that Isa would not want to be in the picture.

The idea of seeing himself at all makes his head hurt and his stomach squeeze. The memory haunts him as he stands to the side and says the word. He didn't think the mirror would catch him.

AAAAND THAT'S ALL THE ART STUFF FOR NOW!!

I still have quite a bit of it to post, especially about Roboro, but I'm gonna leave it here for now.

I still gotta figure out the hangouts and potentially the dagger equivalent- but I have ideas for Bad Touch, the glass equivalent, and some extra little things that didn't happen in Siffrin's loops.

I needed to yap about this, because I've been slowly stacking up ideas and writing and I needed to share it at some point- If anyone read all this and has questions and stuff I fully welcome 'em!!

[anxi04]

tim meeting lex at a gala when he’s young. he knows lex is a villain but he’s also the only vaguely smart person there and he has a look of disgust every time someone says anything remotely dumb, which tim relates to SO much.

meanwhile lex seeing this kid who is so clearly going to be a supervillain when he grows older and quite honestly this child scares him a little. so he indulges him just enough to be on his good side. lex just about has a heart attack when tim off handedly mentions one of lex’s very secret, only 6 people know about it and 5 of them are hidden away and can’t see their family because of what they know, project.

every time they see each other at a gala there’s just a sense of “oh thank god someone smart is here” and spend half the time politely shit talking the idiots

cut to 17 yo tim drake (never aging again) and he just. shows up in lexs house one day like “give me the blessing to marry kon and i’ll tell you the absolutely groundbreaking gossip i just found out about rebecca” he gets his blessing without lex even questioning it. he knows tim drake is red robin anyway who else would be able to? he is a little disappointed he went the hero route but out of all heroes red robin is closest to becoming a supervillain anyway so it’s fine

lex however does not know any of the other batfams identity. brucie wayne is a fucking idiot who can’t tie his shoes (lex watches him stuff the laces in his shoes once) dick grayson is a Cop(negative), jason todd is dead, stephanie brown is the daughter of a villain and would probably want to be as far away from that life as possible, damian wayne he could buy as robin but there’s no way anyone biologically related to brucie could be even remotely competent, duke thomas seems too normal, and he can find nothing on cass wayne except she seems too sweet. besides tim’s competent enough to hide his identity from his family. especially the wayne family.

[mv1simp]

inspired by my fav @piastrification thank you for being in my walls 🫶🫶 hope you enjoy!!

Streets ♥️

Max Verstappen x PR Manager!Reader

we play our fantasies out in real life ways, and no final fantasy, can we end these games, though?

6 months ago, F1 champion Max Verstappen traded in his status as "serious cat dad with road rage issues" for "Genius. Playboy. Millionaire. Philanthropist". Since then you've been fighting absolute demons as his PR manager to keep his reputation clean in the media. After you tell him you've had enough, he proposes a very interactive solution to your problem.

Content includes: Humour, crackfic, fluff, so much sexual tension, 18+ MDNI, smut, playboy!max, exasperated manager! reader, a very well rounded fic for once?! 4.7k WC

If someone asked you where it’d all gone downhill, you’d have to say it started because of that greedy paparrazi rat Henri - photographer at the MonacoDaily, otherwise known as every PR manager’s sleep paralysis demon. Because this particular paparazzo had a nasty knack for capturing celebrities just as they made the most atrocious decisions known to mankind. And he had an even nastier knack for threatening to sell said photos to the highest bidder. Truly, it was a dark day for any media team when they were forced to bargain with such a foul demon, who’d be able to go toe to toe with the likes of Satan himself.

So when your phone dinged at 5am on a peaceful Sunday morning, only to reveal the 7th (7th!!) message this month from the very same greedy little rat, you threw it across the room. Only to then remember you devastatingly had not been born into a Dubai oil family and you needed this job to pay Monaco rent. The text turns out to be a photo of your aggravating client - Max Verstappen, F1 champion driver, loving father to two cats, and more recently, certified manwhoreTM. He’s living upto your nickname for him, pictured in some nightclub with a half naked blonde sitting on his lap. Alright, alright, not as bad as you were expecting, you could even photoshop the girl’s hair colour to match his current girlfriend’s one maybe? Well, except the brunette woman glaring behind him is his current model girlfriend of the month. You hear a ding, another text from Henri - this time with just a 😈 and 💸👀. You throw the phone back against wall.

Three hours later you’ve cleaned up the PR nightmare and are banging on Max’s apartment door. He blearily lets you in, shirtless and still looking half drunk, but you don’t hesitate to yank him by his beltloops and drag him to the dining table (after quickly checking out that broad chest of his, though, cause goddamn. You’re just a girl.)

Ow, ow, what the hell, Max groans as he’s shoved into a chair. Please. As if you could do any real damage in your 5 foot frame to the 6 foot driver. Slamming your hands on the table for some dramatic flourish (you’re never beating the theatre kid allegations) you give the Dutchman a piece of your mind, demanding to know what his problem is, does he know how many people you’ve had to bribe this month to stop #SluttyMaxEra trending on twitter?? And yes, you know he broke up with Kelly 10 months ago but can’t he just process this healthily and go to therapy instead of having a hoe phase and hooking up with every third woman in Monaco?

Max looks insulted at this slight to his honor. He retaliates by accusing you of buying into the patriarchy and slut shaming him (-That’s not how that works but pop off king, is your deadpan response), and telling you he’s very much over Kelly, okay, it was an amicable breakup (-Sure, Verstappen, that’s why you’d only played Lana Del Ray for a whole month afterwards, huh?) and well, what’s the issue, he’s a hot and rich guy in Monaco, it’s not his fault women just want him? Would it not be #misogynistic of him to deny women the opportunity to explore their sexuality?! He smirks, pleased with his defence.

You groan, slumping down on a chair and burying your face in your hands, muffling your groan of wholesome cat dad Max comeback whennn. Max rolls his eyes at your theatrics, asking if you’d finally lost the plot.

You try cleaning up the PR messes you’ve been making, Max Emilian, you hiss furiously, remember Ibiza? Santorini? The goddamn yacht party over summer break when he got with the captain and her deputy?! (Even now, thinking of that leaking online gives you heartburn.)

Which yacht, Max says cockily, the one where he got with them one after another or at the same time?

Your jaw drops. You hadn’t even known about the threesome, so you suppose you should be grateful that wasn’t another mess to clean up. But a deeper, insecure part of you can’t help but wonder why the only woman Max doesn’t seem to want is you.

And sometimes you can’t help but wonder what it’d be like to be one of his girls, under his strong body for once instead of on the other side of his hotel wall, having to drown out the very satisfied female moans and headboard bangs with noise cancelling headphones. Like always, you push that thought down quickly.

You, good sir, are for the streets, you announce, standing up and deciding it was time to leave before your delulu, jealous thoughts decided to resurface. Seriously, you mutter under your breath, you didn’t care if his current side quest was to fuck 10 times a week, but could he at least stick to one person for a bit and not make more work for you-

Max’s hand slams the front door back closed as you started to open it. You freeze, turning back to look at him smirking down at you. You hadn’t expected him to follow you down the hallway and you gulp nervously for the safety of your job - you might have taken the roasting a bit too far.

Instead, you get a sly, Oh, so I can do whatever I want, wherever I want, just with one person?

At your awkward nod, because yes, that would significantly ease your workload, he continues, enjoying teasing his uptight, pretty manager - then were you gonna offer yourself up? After all, there’s no PR messes to find out about if it’s you, right?

You blink at Max, completely stunned by the 180 this conversation has taken. Your expression is so adorable that he couldn’t resist a you’re so cute when you’re acting all jealous, you could’ve just asked if you wanted him to fuck you, ya know?

That promptly reminds you you’re dealing with an an absolute manwhore. RIP celibacy era Max, you’ll always be famous.

Um, absolutely fucking not, keep your STDs to yourself, you hiss, flushing head to toe, and furious at the desire in you to give into the devilish proposal. He encourages you to think about it, still smirking, relaxing his grip so you can mercifully flee far away from his intense gaze. Jesus, when did he learn to rizz a girl up like that?!

You don’t take his proposal seriously at all, ignoring his cocky looks at you over meetings all week (also, he’d texted you his clean STD result to assure you he was a #SafeSexKing.) But that weekend, your refusal comes back to haunt you when you’re on a well deserved night out with your girlfriends and your PR manager senses start going off. You narrow your eyes as you spot Max in the dark corner of the nightclub, hands all over a mystery redhead. She’s not going to be a mystery much longer though - if you’d spotted them it was a matter of time before fan’s phones did and then you’d wake up to another goddamn text from your sleep paralysis demon, Henri.

You don’t even have to think about it twice. Saying goodbye to your friends, you’re at Max’s side at a very impressive speed given your 6 inch stilettos and tight sparkly minidress, and once again dragging him off by the beltloops and into an open bathroom.

He lets you yank him away, smirking when he sees you lock the door for good measure. Sweetheart, he greets. So good to see you. Finally realised you couldn’t resist me?

You practically climb him like a tree while telling him to shut the fuck up and pay attention at media training day next time, because what kind of PR crisis did he have unfolding out there? And just this once you’ll help him out, you say breathlessly in between deep kisses, but this isn’t a regular thing -

There’s not much more talking from you because he has you moaning up against the wall next, fingers buried inside your tight little pussy as he talks you through an orgasm, and then another when he splits you in half on his cock. (Once again, manwhore, who carries a condom in their jean pockets?!)

Unfortunately for your self control but very fortunately for your sex life, it is not in fact, a “one time thing”. Your trusty rose vibrator is glad for the break as you’d been taking your year long frustrations at your dry spell out on her. Especially when coming home after staying in hotels where you’d had to book out rooms neighbouring Max’s, so no one else overheard the raunchy vocals of different women every night.

Like Max said, with you, there were no more illicit PR messes to find out about in the middle of the night. You’d redirect him everytime he gave you bedroom eyes (At the pre race debrief. Post race debrief. Weekly team plan meeting. Over zoom calls? Seriously?) - gently taking his large hand and guiding him to a much more hidden, PR crisis-friendly area. To your surprise, Max actually sticks to his word and only hooks up with you - admittedly, multiple times a week (Not that you’re complaining. Turns out he was just as good in bed as he was on the track. Except this time he was definitely not finishing first...)

And for a while, everything is going well. There are no more weekly scandals scattered across trashy celeb magazines about Max. Your boss is gushing with praise, so impressed that you’ve finally managed to talk some sense into Redbull’s problem child (ah, if only she knew, but she never would, because the goddamn CIA couldn’t torture this info out of you) and best of all, you haven’t gotten a text from papparazzi rat Henri in weeks!

So of course, Max Verstappen decides that things are getting just a little bit too quiet for his liking, you had to earn your generous PR manager salary, that he paid for, right? His new, numerous tactics to stir the pot had included:

Going to clubs with no private bathrooms so you’d had to sit on his lap in the VIP lounge as he pulled your panties to the side to slide into you, barely hidden under your flimsy dress. You’d held back your moans and prayed the bass was too loud for anyone to hear

Sitting right next to you at every team dinner or business meeting so that he could sneak a large hand up your thigh and tease your pussy for fucking hours, often just as you were about to speak. And when you’re clenching the table so hard your fingers were white, he’s bending under the table to pick up a pen or something but instead left teasing licks and kisses on your aching core. You'd learnt very quickly not to wear a skirt.

Picking you up in his 2 seater Aston Martin instead of the much more appropriate discreet, spacious, 5 seater Audi he owned - so when he was too pent up after a bad practise session to wait till he got home, he'd get you to go down on him right there in the car, sometimes even as he drove, instead of parking in some hidden backstreet. It was so dirty, that he needed you so desperately that he didn't care about being caught by anyone peeking in through the half tinted windows. Because if they did look, they’d find his head thrown back in pleasure as he moans, his fingers tangled in your curls as he moved your drooling, pink lips up and down his wide cock-

Anyways, you get the picture. And he’d escalated this all the way to the paddock, which was insane because there were always multiple cameras trained on the current F1 champion. It’s the one place you two couldn’t sneak off without a very high risk of being caught, as evidenced by the one and only time he'd managed to get under your skin in the garage. He'd had you pinned up against the wall in some narrow side hallway as he whispered how fucking sexy you’d looked today, wearing his hoodie to cover up the hickies you hadn’t realized you’d woken up with and paired with some tiny denim shorts. Having the 6 foot champion huskily groan that he couldn’t focus on his free practise everytime you bent over to pet a passing dog, or when you innocently sucked on the Redbull flavoured lollipops and then the goddamn ice cream from the truck they’d brought in - was quite the power trip, you admit. So you guided his lips from your neck as he tries to add to the growing bruises on your neck and redirected him to your waiting lips instead, steamily making out as his large hands squeezed your thick ass like he’d been thinking about all day-

Max?!?

You instantly pull back from the driver and turned to see a flabbergasted looking GP - Max’s race engineer. His jaw is wide open as he looked at you two with round eyes. You’re fumbling to explain, trying and failing to push Max back - who looks rather annoyed at the intrusion and semi-glares at GP with narrow eyes. You hiss at the younger man to stop being rude and slip underneath his arms, going over to guiltily apologise to GP only to be met with You too?! How did he get you in his bed, you hated how much of a slut he was! Seriously, does he have a magical dick? Now you stare at GP in shock, unsure of how to respond to his question while Max starts laughing behind you. You make him join you as you promise to GP that he will never have to witness this again, because there will be no unprofessional behaviour of any sort on the paddock after "BootyShorts Gate" as you thereafter dub the incident. Regardless, GP still shoots you both wary glances and begins the habit of announcing his arrival and waiting 10 seconds before turning a corner in the garage, earning him many an odd look. Dramatic, really, was this where Max gets it from?

Max, of course, was very displeased with this new “professionalism” rule you'd set down - on the paddock was when he'd get the most tense, the most horny and desperate to have you underneath him, after all - and he made sure you knew it. You deliberately ignored his heated gaze on you as you interviewed him, or his lingering touches when he helped you hold your microphone up to his much taller frame, large hand wrapped around your small ones clutching the mic. Or his recent favourite, which involved standing next to you to help pick out the insta pics post-race (something he'd notoriously always hated to do) - except now, he conveniently happened to be shirtless, his toned abs and broad shoulders on display, running a hand through his sweaty tousled hair.

This last seduction tactic had sent you fleeing to Checo's garage to seek out the other Redbull driver's PR manager and beg on your knees for a client swap, surely, the sponsor benefits are legendary for whoever Max's PR manager is -

Nope. Nuh uh, no way, Checo is the breeziest driver ever to look after. The other manager pauses. Well, except for the occasional political military coup scandal in Mexico. But still, I'd take that any day over El Manwhore.

You wailed at whatever Gods had decided to curse you and took matters into your own hands, furiously plotting up social media campaign idea after idea that were exactly the kind of thing Max hated with a burning passion - hoping it would get him to back off on his tactics and wave a white flag. From viral TikTok challenges, to making him read all his cringe 2008 tweets, and even making him play fuck, marry, kill with the drivers of the grid. You'd admit, that last one had been rather funny to watch, making you chuckle as you scrolled through the comments, liking "Can't believe we got Max Verstappen saying he would fuck Lewis, kill Pierre and marry Charles before GTA 6" and "does Redbull admin know she posted this on main?!"

But despite your best efforts, it didn't seem to deter Max. If anything, he'd begrudgingly do the task and end up laughing excitedly at you - who was holding the camera - about some joke or the other and make your stupid heart flutter. You knew you definitely should not be catching feelings for your client - who'd made it very clear his interest in you was only physical. But no one needed to know that sometimes you’d log into your fake account to like the "Who got max giggling and kickin his feet and shii?" comments.

Meanwhile, Max had caught wind of your desperation for an escape attempt with Checo’s manager and had upped the ante. He slyly mentioning to Christian Horner than you were doing such a great job as his PR manager, could he pretty please have you promoted to his general manager for his non racing publicity too?

And that's how you found yourself at a Dior Sauvage photoshoot, despite your adamant protests to Horner. You were putting your Masters of Business Adminstration, first class honours, to fantastic use by babysitting a 26 year old child who liked fast cars that went vroom vroom. The only redeeming factor is that you can leave the unflattering Redbull shirt at home since this wasn't for F1 publicity and instead wear a nice outfit for once. Still, you thought it was odd that Max had so easily accepted this campaign, as he wasn't normally one to enjoy doing PR.

A few minutes later you've figured out exactly why your favourite manwhore had agreed to this campaign, because he's grinning at you while posed shirtless, toned abs and broad shoulders all on display as some pretty, busty model is draped over him. The photographer is making this even more painful for you by dragging out the shoot, making Max and the model reposition herself multiple times. You roll your eyes at the scene, because obviously they're two very attractive people who will look good together no matter what, did the photographer really need to be so extra? You stalk off at some point to make yourself a hot chocolate in the hopes it'll sooth the flames of jealousy that are threatening to consume you right now. Max approaches you when a break is called, running a teasing hand along your waist from the back and whispering you looked so fucking hot in this tight maxi dress, making you nervously look around to see if anyone noticed. Luckily, all the staff appeared busy and didn’t look in the dim corner you'd settled into to do paperwork. You hiss at him to keep your hands to yourself, Verstappen making him grin and inform you that's not what you’d said last night, in fact, you were practically begging for him to do the exact opposite-

You're glaring up at him, seriously contemplating if it’s worth breaking your contract clause to "act in the client's best interests" and mauling him with your laptop when the photographer comes up to you both with narrowed eyes. You guiltily step back, thinking he overhead Max's suggestive comments, but instead he just looks back and forth between you two contemplatively. Then, just as you were about to ask him what the issue was, he announces that you'd be replacing the model as the female for the shoot. No questions asked! he announces as you try to protest and snaps his fingers at the makeup and wardrobe artists to demand they sort you out (he gestures rather dramatically to your whole figure when he says this, making you scowl).

So that's how you find yourself dressed in a silky gold minidress with a sultry eye look, pressed up against Max's broad chest and trying not to focus on the intimate position you two are in. Max, however, has no such qualms about the position, using it to tease you further. You've been looking extra tense lately, sweetheart, he breathes, those devilish lips brushing past your ear. I know a great way to make you relax? You growl at him to shut the fuck up because oh my god, did he know how many cameras are pointed at you both right now? Besides, you mutter under your breath, it seemed like he was very interested in relaxing with that blonde model earlier.

Fighting to keep the smug look of his face, Max whispers back that there was No need to be jealous, schatje, you were the only one getting access to his magical dick. So caught up in the game you two are playing, you don't even register the photographer excitedly snapping up pictures, proclaiming that he knew it, the chemistry between these two is unbelievable!

Afterwards, as you're walking off the photoshoot, feeling all hot and bothered from Max's hands running across your exposed skin, shamelessly looking you up and down, the blonde Dutchman catches up to you. He teases you that you were going to get wrinkles at 25 if you didn't stop scowling all the time. I'm older than you, you scoff back, by a whole 6 months, in fact, so maybe you should actually listen to me for once instead of pissing me off? No problem, Max agrees, after all, he's always had a thing for MILFs. You can't help snort at his retort and then start laughing when he tries to maintain an innocent look. At least you were away from the cameras in case someone heard this, you mused.

Unfortunately, you both don't notice MonacoDaily's ratbag paparrazo, Henri, hiding in nearby shrubbery with his camera. It had been far too long without a Verstappen news scandal, he thought with a satisfied smirk as he clicked away.

And later than night, after you'd eaten the chicken stir fry he'd cooked and rewatched Cars 2 (a surpassingly more regular occurrence, these days, to unwind with him at the end of the day instead of immediately being mauled the second you stepped foot in his apartment) you made sure he followed your orders for once. Sitting him back, telling him just how bad he'd been today with all his teasing (-well, it worked, didn't it, sweetheart?) you showed him just how good you were at playing the game, too. And soon, he was breathlessly moaning underneath you as you rode him for the first time, gripping his cock like you were going to milk every last drop, teasing him with just enough pace to get him worked up but not enough to send him over the edge. And you only let him cum inside you when he begged you sweetly, making you go fuzzy at the sight of the infamous Redbull playboy being so desperate for you, and only you.

Afterwards, once you've shampooed each other's hair in the shower while gossiping about how catty that makeup artist had been, really, to imply that your pretty curls had been the problem and not her shitty styling? and Max has got you spooned against him, warm in an old hoodie of his, pressing a goodnight kiss to your forehead, you can't control the warmth blossoming in your chest any longer. And as a content sleep takes a hold of you, you can't help but wonder if Max's affections went beyond physical attraction, just like yours’ were now doing.

It turned out the opportunity to find out this answer would come the very next day, when the ding of your phone wakes you up in the early hours of the morning. It’s a very specific sound that you've set for a certain ratbag - and you get war flashbacks, hearing it now after so long. Scrambling off the bed, ignoring Max's muffled groans as you shove his heavy arm of you, you unlock your phone and gasp in horror as your suspicions are confirmed. Henri has arisen from the ashes and this time it's to deliver his sauciest scandal yet. Because a picture tells a 1000 words, sure, but he has the two of you on a goddamn video, flirting and giggling at each other as you exited the studio yesterday. There's no chance of you talking your way out of this one, as Max's large palm wanders to give your thick ass a firm squeeze as he guides you into his passenger seat. Goddamn, you knew you shouldn't have worn that tempting skims maxi dress - Max was an ass (and tits) man who couldn't be trusted to control himself in public. BTW already sold this 🥸 Henri texts. Just a courtesy FYI cuz I brought a boat with the bag from this one ✌️

You contemplate if it would be better to disappear off the face of the planet, or get plastic surgery to become unrecognisable as you chug your morning Redbull while moodily looking over the Monaco sunrise. Max joins you after a few minutes, looking extremely cute as he rubs the sleep out of his baby blue eyes and asks you what's wrong, schatje.

Taking a deep sigh (like you said, #DramaKid), you break the news. I’m going to hold your hand while I say this (- that’s really not necessary, Max interrupts) - but you know celibacy exists, right? As does having sex in a private location without the risk of being arrested for public indecency?

True, Max agrees, but what was the fun in that? Besides, you were just too hot to resist. Ignoring the butterflies at his cheesy flirting, you hold up the incriminating video on your phone as proof that it was not all fun and games, as Henri had already sold this to multiple news outlets this morning, you inform glumly. Max is strangely silent, looking intently at the video and even replaying it a few times, his eyes crinkling as a soft smile appears on his face when he hears the sound of you two laughing. Then - in a truly unbelievable redemption arc plotline from the Monaco playboy - he asks if it would be so terrible, to have this made public, to let the world know that you were together?

Well, I - you stumble over your words, - I dunno, I thought you liked that? Keeping it secret cause you just wanted a convenient hook up?

Max is silent again. Then, looking uncharacteristically nervous, he says that's not what he wants, not really, not anymore - not since he'd fallen in love with you, somewhere along the 3 months of the friends with benefits/PR manager and her problematic client situationship you’d had. And like at the very start, you don’t even need to think about it twice. This time when you shyly smile and kiss him, you make sure he can feel your love through it and know that you wanted more, too.

So you walk into work that morning, holding hands in open defiance, ready for the world to see. You’re rather confused when no one seems to be paying much attention, instead frantically trying to get the set up ready for the pre race testing. Maybe you two had not been as indiscreet as you thought and people already suspected? Or maybe you both had a penchant for drama and thought you were the main characters when you clearly were not?

You look at each other, shrug, and you give him a kiss on the cheek and tell him you’ll see him for lunch at the kebab shop on the corner, before he wanders off to the garage. Maybe Henri had a change of heart and decided not to exploit innocents for fame and money, you ponder hopefully. Maybe there truly was good in the world, after all.

And then you hear your name being called and turn to see your boss standing behind you menacingly, hands on hips. Care to explain why #MaxLovesMILFS is trending right now?

Somewhere along the Monaco waterfront, a paparazzi rat skulking in the bushes sneezes.

—————————————————————————

A/N: again thank you so much to @piastrification for inspiring this piece!! So sorry for the delay and I hope you enjoy my attempt at branching out to other fics xx tysm to you all for the requests, I am working them into my upcoming fics!! 💖

[moonstruckme]

rooomate james. 😭😭 literally obsessed w himm!!

Me too I love him (and you!) sm <3

part 1 │ part 2 │ part 3 │ part 4 │part 5 │ part 6 │ part 7 │ part 8 │ part 9 │ part 10 │ part 11 │ part 12 │ part 13

roommate!James x shy!reader ♡ 808 words

You don’t recognize James’ car until he shouts at you. 

“Hey!” 

You give a little jump, turning midair to find James smiling out the rolled-down window. 

“Want a lift?” 

“God, you scared me!” You backtrack and open the passenger door. The seat looks to have been tidied in a hurry, receipts and takeaway containers tossed into the backseat. “How’d you even know I’d need a ride?” 

James refrains from responding to give you an expectant look. You roll your eyes and buckle your seatbelt. Satisfied, he puts the car in reverse, setting his hand on your seat to look behind him as he backs out of the parking spot. 

“You weren’t home when I got there,” he says, “and then I remembered on Sundays you usually get off at eleven, so here I am. Is Art not with you?” 

“No, he wasn’t working tonight.” 

James doesn’t seem too disappointed by this. He pulls onto the street. You watch him, looking almost unconsciously for signs of wear and tear. 

Now that rugby season is in full swing, he’s gone not just during the day for training but sometimes overnight for away games. You’ve been alone in your apartment for the whole weekend while he played in London and then Bristol. It was weird. You think you’ve accidentally grown used to having James around. You don’t fancy yourself a very tactile person, and the urge to hug him isn’t terribly strong, but it’s there. 

“How was work?” he asks you. 

“It was fine. How were your matches?” 

“They were fine,” he imitates you, grinning. “No, it’s like I said. Winning the second one’s always better than winning the first and losing the second. It’s nice to end on a good note.”

He’d texted continual updates while he was gone. You sat on your couch, pretending to yourself or perhaps to some invisible, judgemental observer that you were watching TV when really you were entirely focused on James’ texts. You imagined him sitting in his hotel room doing the same, or maybe in a pub with his teammates, smiling at his phone each time you responded. 

Your imagination has become terribly overindulgent lately. 

“Honestly, I was pretty disappointed you weren’t home when I got there,” James says, a familiar teasing lilt to his voice. “I was hoping to come in and catch you wearing one of my jumpers and staring tearily at a framed photo of me.” 

You roll your eyes, but your face burns. You did use his shampoo, once. In your defense, you’d run out of yours, but you thought that it wouldn’t be so bad to smell like him, nice and fresh and comforting. It had foamed more than you expected. It did smell really nice, but it made your hair feel dry (boy shampoo always does that, you’ve no idea how James’ curls seem to thrive under such poor treatment) and you felt silly about it for days, lovesick in the most derogatory sense. 

Didn’t stop you from sniffing your hair occasionally, though. 

“You weren’t gone to war,” you reply. “And where would I get a framed photo of you?” 

James looks affronted. “I assumed you already had one. How did you get through the weekend without even a photo? You brave, brave girl.” 

“I actually threw a rager,” you deadpan. “Rented out your room to six people traveling through with the carnival and let them invite over all their friends. Did loads of hard drugs.” 

“Well, we all have different ways of coping.” He reaches over to squeeze your shoulder consolingly. You pretend goosebumps don’t skitter all the way down your arm from the brief touch. “And what a marvelous job you’ve done covering up your escapades!” He exclaims as you pull up in front of the apartment. “I haven’t come across the cocaine dust on our bathroom counter yet, so you must have really done a thorough cleanup.” 

“Keep looking, it’s around there somewhere.” 

James laughs. You’re slower getting out of the car than he is, and by the time you emerge he’s in front of you, pulling you into a hug. You think your bones liquefy. He’s warm and strong and he smells like his shampoo, both arms squishing you heartily before he lets go with a little laugh. 

“Sorry,” he says, bringing his hands to your upper arms, “I didn’t even ask. I just missed you, you know?” James has this look on his face, smile brilliant and eyes wide open. So saccharine sweet you almost can’t look at him. “Guess I got used to having you around.” 

You do your best to smile back. “Yeah, me too.” 

He squeezes your arms before turning to go inside. “You smell like Italian food, too. I don’t suppose you’ve cooked anything recently that’s still in the fridge? I’m beginning to think about second dinner.” 

[i-cant-sing]

Time Traveller AU part 7

Part 1 is here. Part 2 is here. Part 3 is here. Part 4 is here. Part 5 is here. Part 6 is here. Time Traveller au masterlist is here. Check out my MASTERLIST for more!

Part 8 is here!

"Gather the troops and have them warn the public. All the infantries will be stationed here and here. The archers and cavalary-" Salauddin was sending orders to his generals. As soon as he was informed of Baldwin coming, you knew he had only limited time to make a game plan.

You didnt understand why Baldwin would come all the way here for a war. He wouldnt leave Jerusalem unarmed this way, so either he's bring half of his army while the other half protects his kingdom from invaders- which would put him at a great disadvantage against Salauddin. Or he's bringing all of his men and that means Jerusalem is practically up for grabs.

No. He wouldnt leave Jerusalem unarmed like that, so that means he's inadequately prepared for the war?

No. Baldwin's too smart. If he won against Salauddin at just 16 years, then he's definitely coming up with a plan. And it scares you to not know what he has in mind.

You looked at Salauddin who had just finished instructing his generals, as they left. He was stressed, you could see that. War. Its not a small thing. There are no true winners when there's blood shed on either side. While Salauddin does have the advantage of fighting in his home ground, that is also his disadvantage. At the end of it, his people- his Egypt will suffer.

"Y/n." Your eyes meet. "I need you to stay inside the palace. I will have guards assigned to you. If they tell you to go somewhere, follow them."

"What? No. I'm coming with."

"Have you lost your mind?"

You ignored his insult. "If Baldwin is coming for a war-" "You're gonna talk him out of it?" "I mean, its not a bad plan but I was gonna offer you to use me as a bargaining chip? That way you could avoid blood shed." You wouldn't offer to put your life in danger but since your time machine is still not ready, you need to avoid a war.

"No." He gave you a stern look. "I dont want you anywhere near him or his men. You will stay here. Listen to me for once."

"But I-"

"Y/n." He warned. You sighed before nodding. Well I could always just go out when he leaves, just like last time.

Almost as if he had read your mind, he made you follow him to a room that had no windows or any other exits besides the one door that was made of solid wood and had guards stationed outside.

"This is the safest room, Y/n. It is impenetrable." Oh no, you cant stay here.

"I think you're overreacting a bit-"

"Overreacting? Your fiance is coming over to start a war because of your crazy brother-in-law who you underestimated because you said that he's just a tool. I think I'm reacting very appropriately." He shut you up.

"I want Isabella."

"No."

"Please Salauddin, I need to keep her safe too-"

"No."

"This may be the last wish you ever grant me, so can you just agree-"

"You think I'm going to die?!" Salauddin stared at you in disbelief.

"I... I didnt say that." You tried to think of a lie. "I mean, maybe this might be the last time you see me... alive? Who knows when the angel of death pays you a visit? If we look at the statistics, between you, me and Baldwin, at least one of us going to die-"

"Stop talking." He gritted out, "Fine."

-

"Princess." Isabella wailed as soon as she entered. You let her hug you. "I missed you too, Isabella." You smiled wiping away her tears.

"I- I heard rumors of a war! Is it- his majesty coming?" The girl sniffled. You nodded.

"Its true. A war is going to happen... unless I do something about it." She blinked in confusion. "Huh?"

You held her hands and gave her your most pleading eyes. Its time for manipulation.

"I need you to get me out of here." "Why?" "Because I need to talk to my future husband out of war."

Her eyes widened. "B-but its too dangerous for you to go outside, princess!"

You sighed. "If I cant even protect people from unnecessary pain and bloodshed, then what good am I as a queen?" Yes, time for some heart breaking lines about self sacrifice. "I would rather risk my life than the lives of those who have their families waiting for them at home. I would happily fall on my own sword if it means my subjects wont have to. If I cant prevent suffering of the very people who would bleed for me, then I have no right to be the queen of Jerusalem."

-

Half an hour later, Isabella had knocked on the door for the guards to let her out.

"Sultan Salauddin has forbidden-"

"Princess Y/n from leaving. Not me. I'm her lady in waiting and the princess needs me to get her belongings so that she can write her will."

"We can have it fetched-"

"You? A common man she has no relations with- wants to touch her stuff? I dont think so." Isabelle glared at them through her niqaab (all of your maids had followed your dress code in Egypt). She didnt wait for an answer as she began walking away before a man appeared by her side. It was one of Salauddin's guards.

"What?" She snapped at him, continuing to walk.

"They sent me to walk with you and bring you back safely." He said before grinning at her. "I thought you'd be happy to see your habeebo."

"Habeebo?" She asked, reaching your room.

He caught her wrist and turned her around, gazing at her veiled face with affection. "You cant still be mad at me for leaving the other night- I had duties."

"What right do I have to be mad at you?" Isabella kept her face down, conveying she was still very much mad.

"Habeebo's habibti- you have all rights over me. You're the only woman for me." Habeebo said as he placed a hand over his heart.

Isabelle finally giggled, freeing her wrist from his grasps. "Stop... someone could walk in on us." She warned.

"So? I'm not afraid. I can do anything for love!"

"Anything?"

"Anything." He assured her.

"Then go fetch me some cold water while I pack the princesse's belongings. Hurry now, I'll be waiting for you here." Habeebo all but smiled before walking towards the kitchen, leaving Isabella alone in your room.

As soon as she was sure he was gone, she removed her veil and quickly changed her chaddar with yours.

"Thanks Isabella." You muttered as you slipped on your chaddar. Yes, you had left Isabella in the room upstairs and pretended to be her to slip out of there. She had told you about her crush Habeebo who you had also fooled into leaving you here, and youre sure that if he were to go back upstairs and find Isabella instead of you, he'd protect her. Surely.

Sneaking out of the palace wasnt a hard feat by now. What was hard was trying to figure out what way to go to find Baldwin or Salauddin, with all the people panicking as they were being constantly warned by guards about Baldwin's arrival.

You decided to go through the market and head towards the madarrasa, though you doubt Abbas is anywhere done with the parts you gave him to make. You had given a week's deadline but only because you needed him to hurry up, not because he could actually make them in such little time.

The streets were packed, shops were getting closed and people were trying to rush home to safety. You were nearing the madarrasa when you were pulled to the side in an alley.

"Y/n!" Abbas exclaimed. "Finally, I found you." You raised a brow and he grinned. "Your things are ready."

"Already?" You were in disbelief. How did he-

He puffed his chest. "Of course. I had a deadline and with the war being announced, I'm glad I made haste!" You felt hope again. If the parts are ready, all you need to do is assemble them and you can leave this timeline for once and for all, and if Baldwin and Salauddin do end up fighting each other, everything works out! You're sure that Salauddin would win by playing to his strengths, and because eventually Guy will fuck up and betray Baldwin and cause him to die. Then another crusade will happen and Salauddin will take over Jerusalem! Everyone wins.

"Well? Hand it over."

"I dont have it with me right now! I took the parts home to work on them. Lets go." You trailed behind him, the market still bustling as the air became more tensed. They're kingdom is about to be attacked and they have little to no time to prepare for it.

Soon, you reached his home. It was a cozy place, made of mud. The beige walls added onto the coolness. He lead you inside, crossing the patio. Abbas told you to wait there while he went inside a room to get your parts. While waiting, your eyes landed on a cage in the corner that had 5 doves.

"Here it is." Abbas returned with a wooden box and gave it to you.

Opening it, you saw the designs you had given him. You took the parts out and examined them. They weren't top notch, but they'll make do.

"Thank you." You handed him a pouch of gold coins. He pocketed it before raising his brows at you. "So... will you finally tell me what this is for?"

You looked up at him before taking out your time machine. Might as well assemble it here and leave as soon as possible. "I would but I'm afraid it'll go over your head." He frowned at your words before grumbling angrily under his breath before going to the doves to give them seed. Good, he should be distracted while you put these parts in.

It didnt take more than a few minutes for you to place them in. All you had to do was to put in the last key, turn it on and set the date-

"Y/n." You looked up at Abbas, not understanding his horrified expression. What's wrong? You followed his gaze and looked behind you, and there it was-

A shadow standing at the doorway of the patio.

You squinted your eyes before your heart dropped at the realisation.

Black robes, hood over the head, geared up.

Assassin.

"This is the wrong house." Abbas said with a trembling voice.

The assassin stepped forward into the light, while you and Abbas took a few steps back.

"What- what do you want?" The assassin didnt answer him, his eyes fixed on you. This is- this is not an Ismaili. They wouldnt attack alone, and especially not so soon, and not when a war hangs over their head.

The assassin took another step forward, this time you grabbed the time machine and held it closely. This made the dark figure tilt his head at you.

"Get behind me." You moved behind Abbas. "Get out of my house- this is not the time. Evacuate!" Abbas warned the guy but he didnt stop staring at you.

As soon as he took another step, Abbas grabbed a wooden stick from the side and ran towards him, only for him to be flipped over his shoulder and slammed to the ground. You took this as a sign to run but the assassin was faster, grabbing you by the chaddar as it ripped off you. Your eyes widened as he grabbed you by the shoulder and yanked you back and your immediate reaction was to slap him, but he caught your wrist and pushed you back inside the patio. Abbas got up and tried to punch him, but he was knocked down back on his back in a second.

You ran, but didnt make it more than a few steps before you got tackled to the ground. You struggled to break free but the assassin had his arms wrapped around your neck, putting you in a chokehold.

Knowing Abbas couldnt come to your rescue, you clawed at the assassins hands, flailed about trying to break free from under him. But he had overpowered you, putting immense pressure until you started seeing black dots.

Just at the last moment, your eyes caught the sight of the dove cage and instinctively, you yanked the cage, hoping to hit the assassin in the head with it, but all you managed was to tip it over, the latch holding it close dropped.

And in the next moment, the doves flew out and went straight for the assassin. You wouldnt say they were attacking him, but the moment he saw them flying in his direction, he raised his hands to bat them away, which only caused him to get scratched-

You didnt stick around to find out if they clawed his face off, springing to your feet as you ran inside a room, hoping to find a window to escape.

You spot the window, quickly opening the wooden frame to leap out. Only the moment you have one foot out, you're pulled back inside and thrown against the wall.

The assassin is back, his body language conveying he's more pissed now than before.

You cant outrun him. You take a fighting stance. You know very well that you cant beat him either, but it works well to at least make him doubt that.

Maybe you could bribe him?

"What do you want?" You ask him, your fists raised. He tilted his head at your attempt to look ominous.

You glared at him. "You let me and my friend go, and I can assure you I can give you enough gold to keep you out of work forever. I am..." you pause before using your last card. "I am King Baldwin's fiance, future queen of Jerusalem. Let me go, and I'll give you anything you want."

He took another step forward and you knew you were backed into a corner so you punched him, only he caught your fist before it was anywhere near his face.

He stared at you, tightening his hold on your wrist.

"Please dont hurt me." You gulped before raising your other hand to punch him, but he caught it too. Now both of your hands were in one of his while he used the other to grab your throat and push you against the wall.

"Oh fuc-" He squeezed a pressure point on your neck until you passed out.

-

Salauddin was on his horse at the front of his army, waiting at the gates of his kingdom for Baldwin. His generals had informed him that they had placed the respective troops posted according to his plan. Everyone waited with baited breath for his command. They're ready to protect their sultan, ready to sacrifice their lives to protect their kingdom.

Salauddin heard them before he saw them.

The heavy jingle of metal armour, the marching of the horses and then he saw their cross flags. He gave a nod to his men, signalling to be prepared.

They're coming.

In all honesty, Salauddin was expecting Baldwin's army to not make it through the hot desert, since they rarely ever leave Jerusalem.

But it was still a surprise when he saw the actual size of his army.

It wasnt that much. Thought he anticipated it, after all Baldwin wouldnt have left his kingdom without some men, but now this means that Baldwin is not relying on numbers.

He's relying on strategy. And its hard to predict Baldwin's moves.

Salauddin's mouth turned into a grim line. What was he planning?

The templars lead the army to the gates of Egypt. The Muslims had their weapons ready to be drawn. Salauddin watched the Christians Knights halt.

Do they attack now?

Baldwin emerged from the masses on his horse, sporting his iron mask despite not needing it anymore. Salauddin also rode his horse to meet him halfway, knowing his generals dont appreciate him leaving.

Their horses stopped a few feet apart from each other. Everything was silent apart from the sound of warm air whooshing through the desert.

Baldwin raised his hand. Salauddin heart skipped a beat. He's going to signal them to attack-

"Salam alaikum!" Baldwin greeted with a wave.

Salauddin gave a nod. "Walaikum asalam."

Baldwin tilted his head. "Why so tense, Sal? Not happy to see me?"

"I dont like uninvited guests." He replied. Baldwin chuckled. "Of course. But we're friends-"

"Why are you here, Baldwin?"

Baldwin stared at him. No king appreciates being interrupted.

"I'm here to meet my fiancee."

Salauddin stared at him unamused. "You left the Holy Land to meet your fiancee who was going to return home soon anyways?"

Baldwin shrugged. "I missed her."

"Baldwin."

The young king sighed. "I know I should've informed you before coming but I really do want to see Y/n. I mean no harm, Salauddin." He raised his hands in surrender. "I just thought it would be a nice surprise for her. Ever since she cured me, I realised I hadnt seen the world that much, so what better location than Egypt?"

Salauddin stared at him, before his gaze fell on his army.

"Come on, Salauddin. Where's Y/n?" Baldwin asked with a goofy smile.

Salauddin's brows furrowed before he sighed. "In my palace." He nodded at his men to open the gates as he lead Baldwin in. But not before whispering to his second in command to surround the kingdom from all perimeters and be on high alert. Things can always go south.

Baldwin smirked looking at the size of Salauddin's army. "Aww, you didnt have to bring them for my warm welcome." Salauddin ignored him, knowing very well that Baldwin knew how it looked when a king comes unannounced at another king's door.

-

They soon arrived at the palace, welcomed by servants and maids who were looking at Baldwin in awe. They had heard rumors of his beauty, and when he removed his mask, they realised how huge of an understatement it was. And the fact that this young king was the one to defeat their sultan at just 16 years age, it definitely added to the charm.

But Baldwin wasnt blind to the furious gazes of his soldiers either. He just ignored them, which was easy since his mind was occupied by thoughts of you. Y/n. My princess. My angel.

What surprised Salauddin was that Baldwin hadnt come alone. No, Guy was here too which only confused him more. If Baldwin brought Guy along, then who did he leave to take care of Jerusalem? Sibylla and Guy's son was still too young to be a heir.

He did remember your theory about Guy being the one to hire the assassins to ambush you in the desert. If Guy came here despite his failed attempts to get rid of his enemies, then he's either incredibly stupid or he's well assured that he'll get away with everything.

Salauddin wont let him. He'll make Guy pay.

"I hate to rush you Salauddin, I know Muslims are knows for their hospitality but can you just lead me to Y/n's room? She is a sight for sore eyes." Baldwin requested sweetly, making Salauddin roll his eyes. He signalled a servant to bring you down.

Guy looked disgusted to be in the presence of so many Muslims, but the moment he caught sight of any maids passing by, he would be eyeing them like a piece of meat. A maid came by holding drinks in a tray. When she offered it to Baldwin and then Guy, the latter startled the poor girl by purposely touching her wrist with his grubby paws.

Salauddin gripped the armrest tightly. If he wasnt Baldwin's brother-in-law, Salauddin would've plucked his eyes out and had him whipped in public to make an example out of scum like him.

"So, when did you leave your camp outside Jerusalem? I was expecting to see you there on my way here, but there were new troops of yours instead." Baldwin asked, sipping the cool drink.

"I came here with Y/n. I had some errands that required my attention." Salauddin didnt bring up the ambush, watching both him and Guy to gauge their reactions. Did they know?

"Went on any new conquests recently?" Salauddin decided to make small talk as they waited for you. He hopes you're not taking time to get ready to meet Baldwin. He'd rather you come up covered in a chaddar when Guy is here.

Instead of allowing Baldwin to answer, Guy cut him off. "Of course! We are the noble warriors, the Chosen Ones! God wants us to conquer as much as possible, for the sake of his-"

"How dare you talk to me?" Salauddin silenced him. "I'm talking to your king. He may allow it but you're in my kingdom now. You will abide by the rules or so help me, your head will be on a spike for the crows to shit on." Guy's eyes widened and his jaw fell open. No one had threatened him like that, at least not since he married Sibylla.

Baldwin barely suppressed a smile and when Guy looked at him for help, he only shrugged. "You should listen to him. We are his guests, after all."

The servant returned with the special guards he had assigned to protect you, all looking scared.

"S-sultan... the princess-" Baldwin and Salauddin's gaze sharpened at your mention. The poor servant gulped.

"The princess is gone."

There was deafening silence. The servant had his head bowed, along with the guards, all too afraid of the wrath they're going to face.

"Gone? Gone where?" Salauddin spat as he walked upto them.

"I- I dont know-" Salauddin grabbed the guard by the collar and shook him. "I left her in a room with no windows, a room guarded by the 6 of the most skilled men. Where did she go?!"

The guard's head only lowered further. "Sultan, we only opened the door to let princess Y/n's maid in and out. B-but- but when we opened the door, the maid was waiting there instead of the princess!"

"Which maid? Where is she?!" Salauddin roared.

The guard nodded at his men who pushed a young girl forward roughly. She fell on her knees, crying pitifully. He immediately recognised her.

Isabella.

"Where's the princess?" Salauddin questioned her, only to be answered in hiccups and tears. A vein on his forehead popped. He doesnt have time for this. Who knows where you are? If you're safe-

"Isabella." Baldwin called out gently, kneeling in front of her. She sniffled and bowed her head. "Isabella, look at me." She took panicked breaths before lifting her eyes to meet his kind ones, not a a grain of anger in them.

"You know where princess Y/n is?" He asked, pushing her hair back over her ear. She shook her head, hiccuping though she wasnt bawling her heart now.

"Use your words, Isabella. Tell me what happened." Enchanted by his gentleness, she spilled, told him all about how you made her take your place so that you could go and stop you from starting a war with the sultan.

Salauddin watched the interaction closely, trying to figure out if Isabella was lying. He did note Baldwin's behabiour throughout this entire interrogation as well. For someone whose future wife is missing, Baldwin is surprisingly calm. Then again, he's rarely ever seen Baldwin lose his temper.

"Where did she go?" Baldwin questioned her once again.

"I- I dont know, your majesty. She never told me!" Isabella cried out.

Baldwin nodded before standing up, his brows furrowed as rubbed his chin with his thumb and index finger.

"If Y/n was going out to stop me and she never reached the gates, then it means... she's still here." Baldwin said after some deep thought. He looked at Salauddin. "Your men have surrounded the kingdoms, havent they?"

Salauddin nodded before ordering his men to find you.

"Search every house, every place. No one gets in or out of the kingdom!" He yelled at them, watching them leave. He felt Baldwin stand beside him and out of the corner of his eye, he saw his face wasn't... too concerned.

"You know, for someone whose fiancee is missing, you're surprisingly calm." Salauddin was both stating his observation, and accusing him too. Did Baldwin know where you were?

Baldwin simply smiled, his dimples showing. "I know you will find her."

"And why is that?"

"Because if I dont have Y/n in my arms by today, then I will burn your Egypt to the ground."

-

The Templar Knights kicked down doors, rattled the poor citizens and took great glee in destroying their belongings, using you as an excuse to "search thoroughly". Salauddin's army was also rigorously working to find you, interrogating everyone for any clues on you. Then again, no one had really seen how you looked like. You were just another woman covered in a chaddar and niqaabi among a whole city of them. It would be like finding needle in a hay stack and Salauddin wasnt about to allow anyone to rip off the niqaabs off his Muslim women. He wont allow such a transgression.

Fortunately, Baldwin agreed. After all, why would you be hiding from him? You dont have a reason to, right? But still, he had to find you. So he was walking through the streets of Egypt himself to look for you.

Salauddin had joined him, and not just because he wanted to ensure the safety of his folks but also to stop Guy from provoking Baldwin by feeding him any lies.

That cretin was getting on his last nerves.

Salauddin pretended to be deaf as Guy harshly whispered to Baldwin that "How can a princess just vanish? Clearly, there's someone plotting. These Arabs must've sold her off! They dont respect women like we do-" only to be pushed away by Baldwin who told him to focus his energy on finding you.

Its been 3 hours since Baldwin's arrival and still no sign of you. Despite his best attempts, Salauddin could see Baldwin's calm demeanour chipping away. He was running out of patience.

They were now standing outside the madarrassa where all the scholars, students and staff were rounded up. Salauddin was the only one who knew about Abbas, but now that he looked at each face, he realised he was the only one missing.

Immeadiately, he sent the guards to find him. Salauddin was sure that he knew about your whereabouts, He had to.

"Who is Abbas?" Baldwin asked as they both followed the guards that had found out his residence.

Salauddin didnt miss the suspicion in his tone. As much as he wanted to toy with Baldwin, now is not the time.

"He is a craftsman. Y/n had hired him to make something for her. Maybe she went there to collect it." He purposely avoided telling him about the unique chessboard you had gifted him.

After half an hour, they had reached Abbas's residence. It wasnt all that odd to find the front door open, and truth be told, no one was expecting anyone to be home.

It was concerning to find the disasterous state of the house as they entered. Clay pots were smashed to the ground, a cage lying empty in one corner. Clearly, something had happened here.

However, something caught Salauddin's eye that made his heart sink.

Your chaddar, lying on the ground.

-

You woke up with a pounding headache. When your lids fluttered open, they first spotted the single candle in the corner of the dimly lit room. Memories of the previous events flashed through your mind and you fitted the pieces like a jigsaw puzzle.

When your eyes finally adjusted to the dimly lit room, you realised you were still in the same room the assassin had knocked you out. Not only that, but Abbas was also lying beside you, though he hadnt regained conciousness yet.

"Abbas- Abbas, wake up." You raised your hand to shake him, but your eyes caught the sight of your ripped sleeve. When- when did this-

You looked down at your clothes and realised they were all tattered too. Your niqaab was gone, you recalled the assassin had pulled off your chaddar during your escape attempt, and now that you looked at Abbas, he was in a similar state too. His clothes were torn and ripped too. But why? The assassin had already knocked you two out, he didnt need to-

You gasped, patting yourself to find your lack of belongings. Your time machine was gone, as was your jewellery an coins. You'd been robbed!

Panic surged into your veins as you violently shook Abbas, your machine was gone- your only way out of this era was gone!

"Abbas! Wake up!" But he only groaned in response. What was wrong with him?

You dont have time to wonder as you rushed to open the door. You need to catch that thief, assassin- whatever he was, before he got too far and you lost your time machine forever. Grabbing the handles, you tried to yank the door open, but it didnt even budge. Its... locked.

You whipped your head around, remembering the window you were trying to get out of earlier. Running up to it, you tried to open the wooden shutters, but they didnt move an inch. No. No. This is- this is not happening. You ran back towards the door. You felt your throat close up as you pulled the door with all your might before banging your fists against them in frustration.

You were locked in.

The thief has your time machine. He's probably gone far away with it. By the time anyone comes to your aid, he'd have fled the city. He'd be gone as Baldwin and Salauddin fight and burn Egypt to the ground. I'll be trapped here, probably die under the rubble with Abbas-

Abbas.

You look back at him, still unconscious. How hard was his head hit?

You fall back on your knees besides him, trying to wake him up. He'd know- Abbas would know how to get out of this room. He's smart, and he knows his house, probably built it himself- he'd know a way out.

"Abbas! ABBAS! Wake up! Wake up-!" You grabbed his head and laid it in your lap, turning it side-to-side to see if he was bleeding. You started to massage his temples, hoping the circulation will wake him up.

Wait. Circulation.

You recalled what they taught you in first aid class- what to do when someone faints? Raise their legs above heart level. You quickly moved and pulled his knees up until they were able to stay bent on their own, before cradling his head in your lap again, tapping his cheeks.

"Abbas- Abbas, wake up please. Abbas-! I swear if you dont wake up, I will give you a tight slap-"

You were cut off by the sound of the door being banged.

What in the-

The door shook as something hard banged against it. You jumped at the force. Did the war start already? Are they using cannonballs?

No. While cannonballs were used as heavy artillery in medieval Europe, it was more popularly used in the 1700s, but I'm still in the 1100s-

NOT THE TIME TO GEEK OUT! I'M ABOUT TO DIE-

The door burst open and light flooded into the room, blinding you for a moment. You raised your hand to shield yourself from the light before slowly bringing your hand down as you saw figures entering into the room.

Once your eyes finally adjusted, you recognised the figures in front of you.

Salauddin. Baldwin. Guy-

Guy?

All three of them stared at you, though your eyes remained focused on Baldwin, who looked at you, then at your clothes, and then... at Abbas.

The look of relief turned into confusion. What? Whats wrong?

You heard Salauddin yell something in Arabic at his soldiers, which made them instantly look away and leave the room. Baldwin kept looking at you in barely suppressed shock.

"Baldwin?" You whispered, though it was Salauddin who moved first, removing his chaddar and bending down to cover you with it, but your eyes were fixated on Baldwin's face. Why is he... looking at you like that?

Wait. If Baldwin and Salauddin are here together, then it means there's no war. Which means-

"Are you okay? What happened?" Salauddin asked you, though before you could answer him, Guy began laughing.

"Okay? She's more than okay!" He smirked. "After all, she was spending some time with her secret lover!"

Both your and Salauddin's eyes went wide. It finally clicked why Baldwin was looking at you like that.

He thinks you and Abbas-

"No. That's not true-" You tried to speak but Guy cut you off.

"Of course it is! Look at you, holding his head in your lap so sweetly!" He accused before snarling at you. "And you chose a dirty Muslim to cheat on our King? The audacity! And the lack of taste."

You shook your head. "Thats not true. This is Abbas. He's a- a craftsman-" "Oh, I'm sure you were pretty crafty with him too." Guy cut you off.

"Shut up, Guy!" You snapped. "I came to get my valuables from him. It was a gift! I had them commissioned for- for you Baldwin!" You half lied.

"And where is that gift?" Guy interrogated.

"I was robbed. We both were-" "Oh how convenient!" You glared at him. He was framing you. You pointed at your clothes. "How else do you explain the torn clothes?!"

Guy hummed and you knew you were going to regret as soon as a disgusting smile crept on his face.

"Well, animals fuck with wild passion-"

"I WAS ROBBED!" You yelled. "Look, the thief even knocked out Abbas!"

"I dont see a head injury." Guy shrugged. "I just think he's passed out from drinking. Or maybe his stamina wore out-"

"Shut up! Just shut up!" Your face was red with rage, though to anyone else it may have looked like you were caught red handed in a lie. You calmed yourself down. You need to explain before things got worse.

"Baldwin, I'm not having an affair with Abbas. He's married-" Once again, Guy cut you off, this time waving his hands. "My king, it doesnt matter to these Muslims. They're into polygamy. Whats one wife, when you can have four?"

Of all the things, this is the one thing he knows about Islam?

You didnt detect one, not a single emotion of trust or love from Baldwin's stoic face. Is he- is he actually believing this bull?

Why wouldnt he? He's a man after all. And who knows what other lies Guy has been filling his head with to make him doubt your loyalty?

Enough is enough. You need to come clean.

"You know what Guy? I was going to keep this a secret to let you beg for forgiveness, but I think its time for the truth, hm?" You watched Guy's smirk falter. Enough games. You stared at Baldwin with determination. "Here's what has happened Baldwin: Charlotte didnt just happen to drop by Jerusalem. No, Guy summoned her by pretending to be you. Oh and I have that exact letter where Guy used your respectful name as proof. Guy exploited Charlotte and his plan was to use her and her son's illness to infect you so that you could die and he could get your throne."

Guy's face paled. But you didnt stop there.

"Of course, when that didnt work because you and I have an unbreakable bond, Guy decided to get rid of me." You looked at Salauddin. "When I left for Egypt and I was at Salauddin's camp, he had hired assassins to ambush us in the dead of the night and kill me or Salauddin, or both! If I were to die while I was with Salauddin, he would've convinced you that Salauddin was the one who killed me. And if Salauddin was dead, then it meant good news for Guy because he would have to deal with one less enemy after he took your throne."

"Lies! There's no proof-"

"No proof? Baldwin, did you realise that more than half of my entourage was missing? Its because they're dead. And if that isnt enough proof, then this might help-" You pulled up your sleeves to show your fading burn marks. "My back is full of these marks because the assassins left me to die in a burning tent. It was Salauddin who saved me!"

"And today? When we heard you were coming, everyone thought that there will be a war. I left the palace on my own, to find you Baldwin. I wanted to stop you from committing unnecessary bloodshed! I came to Abbas's house to get my gift for you, but Guy sent a thief after us! The thief knocked us out and he robbed us both!" You explained. "Didn't you ever wonder Baldwin- why Guy decided to accompany you today? Guy has never left Jerusalem, not even for a war, not to defend his people. He wouldnt leave the throne empty! He hopes, he prays and he plots for you to die everytime you leave Jerusalem so that he can finally be king!"

"BLASPHEMOUS!" Guy screamed, red in the face. "You wench-!"

"With all due respect Guy, which is NONE! I didnt think you would be smart enough to come up with such schemes. I underestimated you, which turned out to be mistake because you made Baldwin doubt me!"

Guy shook his head and stood in between you and Baldwin, acknowledging the stoic faced king first. "This is slander! All lies, Baldwin! I'm your brother-in-law! I would never betray you!"

"Never betray Baldwin? You aren't even loyal to Sibylla! I could have more than half of Jerusalem attest to that you've tried sleeping with other women! Adulterer!" Guy's eyes practically popped out of his socket and he screeched.

"You dare accuse me of cheating?! YOU?! You're the one who is locked in a dark room with a strange man in your lap like a fucking whore!" Not risking Baldwin's suspicion, Guy stormed towards you with his hand raised to strike you.

"You unfaithful, lying bitch-!" You heard the air being sliced and you flinched as you felt something splatter across your cheek.

Thud.

You looked down to where the sound came from.

Guy's head dropped in front of you.

Your ears began ringing. Slowly, your eyes trailed back up to where his body remained.

Headless body. That fell to its knees before dropping to the side.

You could hear the ringing get louder.

Baldwin stood there, his eyes full of rage, his hand holding his sword that had just cut off Guy's head.

He was breathing heavily, nostrils flared and a vein popped in his temple. Your heart dropped as his eyes landed on you and he moved towards you.

Your consciousness finally gave out.

Salauddin caught you but not for long as Baldwin made his way to you. Fearing for you, Salauddin tried to bargain for your life.

"Baldwin, she didnt-"

"Let her go. Now." Baldwin commanded, throwing Abbas's head off your lap. He didnt wait for Salauddin to move, simply taking you from his arms, ripping off the chaddar and replacing it with his cloak instead, before picking you up.

"Lets go home." He whispered in your ear before kissing your temple, pulling you snug against him as he walked out of the room.

-

You wake up to the feeling something wet on your legs. You jolt, eyes snapping open as you look for your potential assaulter-

"Isabella?" You croaked as you saw the young girl at the foot of the bed, her face red and eyes swollen from all the crying.

"P-princess." She greeted tearfully, holding a wet towel in her hand. Her lips wobbled as she spoke, nose bright red, sniffling as she stared at you with those big sad eyes.

"What's wrong?" You couldnt help but be soft with her. She just- she looked so pitiful.

She looked down, her hands clutching the towel tightly. "You- you were- you were gone for so many hours. I- I didnt know where you were- his majesty and the sultan- they were so mad- they were so concerned- i- i didnt think they believed me when I said I didnt know- where- where you were- i thou-thought you were-" Her tears cut off her hiccuping explanation. You didnt think she would be this distraught over you.

"Its... its okay, Isabella. You didnt do anything wrong. I'm... fine." You tried to calm her down, beckoning her forward. You sat up on the bed, taking the rag from her hands before holding her hands in yours. Giving them a gentle squeeze, you assured her. "I'm fine, Isabella. In fact, I should apologise for causing you all the trouble-" She shook her head. "No- princess- its my duty to serve-" You gave her hands another squeeze, calming her down.

"Thank you- oh. Isabella-" You looked at her hands, noticing something red peeking from her wrist. You pulled her sleeve up, realising that the redness was from the welts on her arms. "What happened?" You asked, turning her wrist around, noticing a small scratch.

She pulled her hands away, pulling down her sleeves as she sniffled. "N-nothing to worry about, princess-"

"Did you get injured? Are you okay?" She nodded. "I just- when I heard you were missing, it made me worry too much and I- I tend to scratch my arms when I'm stressed!"

You gave her sympathetic look, grabbing the cool towel from earlier and handing it to her. "Oh, I'm so sorry, Isabella. Here- take this. It'll help your skin, hm?"

"But the king asked me to wipe your sweat with this-"

"Its fine- wait? What sweat?"

She nodded. "We've been travelling through the desert for some days. His Majesty suggested I be the one to wipe you clean while you were unconscious." Now that you looked around, you realised you were in a tent, much different in design to Salauddin's.

Wait, desert?

"We've left Egypt?"

"Yes-"

She stopped speaking as soon as the sound of footsteps filled the room.

You stiffened at the sight of Baldwin.

Isabella had to only take one look at his face before taking her leave. Events of the last time you had seen him flashed through your mind, and you couldnt help but be scared of him when you remembered the murderous look on his face as he killed Guy. It is one thing to know that a king has killed people, perhaps even more brutally than this but after spending so many months with Baldwin, you had become accustomed to his soft nature. Never in your worst nightmares could you have ever imagined such a barbaric actions from him, and to his own brother-in-law.

It made you question everything, your own mortality- your own safety with him.

"How are you feeling?" He had his arms crossed behind his back as he made his way towards you. It took everything for you to not flinch back and beg for your life. No- no, you need to think smartly. If he wanted to kill you, he wouldve gotten rid of you back there-

Or maybe he has decided to torture you.

"I'm fine." You replied weakly, keeping your eyes on your lap. You dont want to risk pissing him off.

Maybe I should apologise, clear the air before he has any other doubts about me.

"I'm sorry." You said abruptly, finally looking up at him. His stoic expression didnt falter. This is not the Baldwin you knew, no. This was the king you had imagined when you first came here. Stiff and apathetic.

Taking his silence as a sign, you continued. "I'm sorry... for everything. For hiding the truth about Guy, for causing misunderstandings, for making you doubt me-"

"I never doubted you." He cut you off.

Your brows raised in surprise. He sighed sitting down on the bed besides you.

"I never doubted you, Y/n. Not once." He said with conviction."I didnt doubt you when Salauddin said you'd be with Abbas. I didnt doubt you when Guy raised false allegations. I didnt doubt you when I saw you in that dark room alone with that man. You could've been naked in there and I still would not have doubted you."

Your lips parted. What... what was he-

"You trust me? That much?" You couldn't help but whisper.

He smiled sadly. "I do. And more than that, I trust in my love for you." Baldwin looked down at his hands, still smiling gently. "I love you so deeply that I know you would never betray me. I have loved you the way I want someone to love me. My love for you... it is free of impurity, of imperfection. And thats how I know you would never betray me."

You couldnt help the tears that came in your eyes, and you looked down. How could he- how could he-

"If anyone should apologise, it should be me, Y/n." Your head snapped back at him. He was looking at you with genuine guilt. "I may have loved you deeply but I have failed to express it to you. Had I- had I done a better job, had I let you know just how much I feel for you, you wouldn't have hesitated to come to me. You wouldn't have felt the need to hide your traumas, your pain from me. You wouldn't have felt shy to get my help, to tell me your secrets. All of this could've been avoided if I had made you feel secure enough to come to me. I alone am responsible-"

"Baldwin." Your teary voice cut him off. You shake your head, sniffling at him. "This- this isnt your fault- I-"

"You did nothing wrong." He assured you, holding your hand. "Traps were set for you, but it was my job to save you from them. I am your protector, your shield. I owe my life to you. I owe everything to you."

A tear slipped from your eye. "I- I didnt think you'd save me. I thought you didnt trust me- I thought I lost you forever." You dont know why you said that, but they were true.

"I would've found you. I will always find you." Baldwin cupped your cheek, he felt his heart break at your confession.

"If I don't go to you Y/n, then where do I go?" And at that, the dam you'd been holding finally broke.

Baldwin immediately pulled you into his lap, his arms wrapping around you as you buried your head into his shoulder, sobs wracking your entire being. You dont know why you're crying, whether its because of Baldwin's pure love for you, or that Guy is dead because of you and you've ruined the timeline, or because you're mourning the loss of your time machine and its just dawning on you that you're stuck here forever.

He patted your back, rocking you gently like a child. "All my paths lead to you, Y/n. All my conquests bring me to you. Everything leads to you." He kissed your cheek, his hand petting your hair smoothly as you broke down in his arms. "You... you are the beginning and end of my everything."

Baldwin pulled you away and wiped your tears away with his thumbs. "I love you, Y/n. And I know you love me too. You may not say it, but I know deep down in your heart, you love me. I know you do-"

"I love you, Baldwin." You said.

His eyes went wide. "You don't have to say it-"

"I love you, Baldwin. I really do." You admitted.

Baldwin's shock was replaced with joy, a grin gracing his face as he cupped your face and kissed your forehead deeply.

"You have no idea how happy you've made me." He whispered before pulling you into his embrace.

-

Following this, you both began your journey back to Jerusalem. Every now and then, you'd start crying again because you'd realised just how much you were loved by Baldwin. You remembered the time when you saw him with Charlotte and you didn't give him a chance to explain. You had already decided that he was a cheater, he was disloyal. Yet when the tables were turned, when everything pointed against you and Baldwin had every right to find you disloyal, have you punished for even being in a locked room with another man, he trusted you. He didn't question your love for him. And even if you didn't love him back then, you respected him enough, both as a king and as a man and he still didn't ask for an explanation, let alone accuse you of adultery.

The rest of the trip home was spent with you crying and Baldwin consoling you like a toddler. No matter how many times your tears fell, he was right there to wipe them away and assure you that you did nothing wrong.

Did you love Baldwin? Maybe not back then, but you do now. Perhaps he was right. Maybe you did love Baldwin deep down, you just didn't know it.

And it's not like you don't have a choice either way. With your time machine lost, you can't leave this place. So, you've accepted your fate and agreed to marry him. Baldwin says the wedding preparations are mostly complete and the wedding day is on Sunday.

Today is Friday, when you both finally reach Jerusalem. It didn't dawn on you until now just how you were going to face Sibylla, the woman whose husband was killed because of you.

But Baldwin already had a plan. "Guy was buried in an unmarked grave outside of Egypt. I have instructed my knights to inform everyone that Guy had died a dishonourable death because he was a traitor to the crown."

"Traitor to the crown?"

He nodded. "I'll tell Sibylla I caught him cheating on her and plotting against me." He sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Its believable. She'll be upset, but she'll get over it. Besides, she deserves better than him. I have already found a list of suitors for her."

He truly has thought of everything.

-

Sibylla as expected was the grieving widow and after she welcomed you and Baldwin, she excused herself and left. You pitied her, she really did love Guy despite all his shortcomings. But she also respected her brother.

After a quiet dinner, you had returned to your room. You sat on your bed as you thought over the events of the past few days. Baldwin had assured you that he doesnt hold any hostility towards Salauddin. In fact, to further put your mind at peace, he told you that he had invited Salauddin to the wedding. As for Abbas, Baldwin said he doesnt know what happened to him but he's sure Salauddin didnt harm the man.

"Did you ever find your family?" Baldwin had asked earlier. You shook your head, telling him that you mistaken someone you thought was family.

"I know you would prefer to have the Nikkah first, before our actual wedding, but I wasnt able to find someone to marry us off in the Islamic way. But then-" He grinned, almost proud of himself. "I decided who better than Salauddin?! Since he'll be arriving on the day of the ceremony, he could walk you down the aisle and then later that day, he could do the Nikkah for us!" You could only smile and agree, what difference does it make what ceremony happens first? You're stuck here either way, and you're gonna be his wife soon.

You sighed and got up to dress into something more comfortable. As you removed your clothes, your hand found something in your underclothes.

The key.

You fiddled with it. Its useless now. The thief probably has broken your machine or sold it and it could be anywhere in the world now, also useless without this key here.

You put it back in your underclothes. Perhaps it'll be of use you can craft your machine again one day.

Lying in your bed, you thought about Guy. You didnt feel guilty, no. He had it coming, and it really was a matter of you versus him at the end. But what bothers you is how much you had underestimated him.

Guy's plan was perfect. There was no chance of escape for you. He had ambushed you and Salauddin, and when you narrowly escaped that attack, he brought Baldwin to Egypt to cause misunderstandings between him and Salauddin. And when they found you with Abbas, all his allegations were perfectly said. You're only here because Baldwin was far too much in love with you. He had no reason to not take Guy's words over yours.

You turned to your side and closed your eyes.

Perhaps God saved me.

-

Today is Saturday and Sibylla had taken you to get your dress fitted.

"Whats that?" You pointed at the huge frame, covered by silk as the servants struggled to hang it on the wall.

"Oh, you're not supposed to see it yet, but Baldwin had commissioned a portait of you. He wants to gift it to you tomorrow, so dont peek. He'd hate to miss your first reaction." She explained.

"You look... absolutely stunning." Sibylla praised as she looked at you in awe. She brought some jewellery to pair with your white gown. A diamond necklace, tear drop earrings, and-

The ring.

"Its the-"

"The exact same ring!" Sibylla finished for you, slipping it on your finger. "After yours was stolen by that thief in Egypt, Baldwin had the same ring made again by the royal jeweller within a day!" Your heart warmed at the gesture. Baldwin must've known you felt guilty over losing his family ring.

"Isabella, will you pass me the veil?" You asked. Isabella brought the soft veil and helped you wear it. As she was adjusting it, your eyes caught sight of her hands again.

"Oh, they didnt heal?" You gently grabbed her hands, taking note of the same red welts on her arms again. She pulled her hands from your grasp away.

"N-no, they healed princess. Its just- its that I'm stressed again! Thats why my skin is itchy and I- scratched them raw."

"Stressed? By what?" You asked.

"Oh- um, the wedding." She muttered. "Its- its not that I'm not excited for it, I am very happy for the union of you and His majesty, but its just we have very little time and there's so much to do-"

You giggled, nodding at her understandingly. "I see. Well, I apologise for causing you to stress. And I hope you know how much I appreciate your efforts."

"Its my honour to serve you, princess." She squeaked.

"Well, do get those checked out soon, Isabella. I dont want you getting sick." Sibylla advised the young girl who bowed her head before taking her leave.

Sometime later, after you had lunch with Baldwin, you decided to go to the gardens and... be by yourself for a while.

Planned or not, I'm getting married tomorrow. This will be my last day as a single woman and I... I should savour every moment left.

You were sitting in a cozy little spot in the royal garden. It was besides the huge bush maze, near the area where your time machine had first gotten burned by the maids accidentally. Speaking of maids, the small entourage had given you space and were standing near the maze, away from your eyes with some knights. They were all eager to please you, the future queen, if only to get a better status by you or Baldwin.

But you had already decided to make Isabella your lady-in-waiting. She deserves it, for everything she's done for you.

You laid down on the soft bed of grass, looking up at the sky as you wondered what will happen tomorrow. Well, nothing about the wedding, Sibylla had made you rehearse several times that you knew exactly how the ceremony will go tomorrow. No, you were curious about... how your wedding will impact the future.

Will you cease to exist? Will the world change because the crusades might not happen since a Christian king married a Muslim commoner? Will there-

Doves flew up in the sky. You smiled, recalling the doves in Abbas's house. You hoped he was alright now. Maybe he could attend the wedding-

Wait.

You sat up with a jolt at the realisation, heart beating fast as you connected the dots.

-

Isabella rushed to the gardens. A servant had told her that you had immediately summoned her. Fearing the worst, she hiked up her gown and ran as fast as she could.

She was out of breath by the time she found you. "You called for me, princess?" She gasped out. You hummed, standing beside a gilded cage of doves.

"Arent they so beautiful?" You asked her, beckoning her to come forward. "They are indeed." She agreed, standing beside you.

"I was thinking of releasing them tomorrow, outside the chapel. All the maids could hold them in their hands and release them as I walk out with the king. What do you think?"

She nodded. "Wonderful idea. I'll go and have it arranged-"

"Hm? Oh, I took care of that. Why dont you open the cage and hold this one for me?" You smiled at her as you made you took a few steps back. "And gloves off, Isabella. I want to see how you will look like tomorrow."

Isabella throat ran dry, She gulped looking at you, then at the cage before back at you.

"I- I cant hold the doves, princess. They'll slip out of my hands-"

"We have plenty here for you to practise. Dont worry. Now make haste." You crossed your arms in front of you and looked at her expectantly.

She parted her lips to say something, but then looked back at the cage. "Whats the matter? Dont know how to hold them?" You sighed before making your way back to the cage. "They're just tiny little birds, gentle ones really. They wont bite you, so I dont know why you fear them. Here, let me show you how to hold one." You opened the cage and carefully held the dove in your hands, petting it softly. "There, there."

You suddenly thrusted the bird in her direction, and Isabella jumped back. "What's the matter? Scared of birds?"

Isabella hesitantly nodded. "Yes, I'm sorry princess- I- I- dont like birds. I'm very much afraid of them." You nodded understandingly, before placing the bird back in the cage. "How very inconsiderate of me. Very well, off you go." Isabella bowed graciously and was about to leave when you suddenly grabbed her arm and rubbed a feather along her exposed arm.

"P-princess-!" She shrieked, trying to yank her arm out of your grasp but your grip didnt relent.

"Would you look at that?" You grinned looking at the area turning bright red. "Are you itchy now? Did I stress you too much?"

Isabella could only look at you in horror as you became angry.

"How stupid do you think I am?" You snarled before throwing her hand down. "That itchy red skin wasnt from stress, it was from birds!" Her eyes widened.

"You had me thinking that your tears, your red skin, your snotty sniffles was because you were soooo concerned for me. But you actually had the rose fever from birds!" You recalled seeing the scratch on her hands the day you had first seen her skin, which wasnt just random skin welts. They were hives, from her allergy to avian protein (or birds, in simple terms).

Isabella could only look at you in silence as you continued. "How long did you think you could keep this charade up? Did you honestly think I wouldnt find out?!" She kept quiet while you continued, which only made you angrier.

"It was you. You were the thief. You- only you knew when I would leave the palace. You followed me! And you stole from me?!" When she didnt speak, your threatened her.

"Say something before I tell the king how you attacked me!"

Isabella looked up, and she smirked.

"You have no proof."

You looked at her in disbelief. Instead of defending herself, denying all the things- she basically admitted to it all.

"Isabella, where are my belongings?" You asked her. "If you return my things, I wont let you stay here, but I will let you leave this castle on your two feet." You didnt bother asking her why she did it, you cant waste any more time. You need to get your time machine back.

She shrugged, playing with her nails. Now that she was caught, she didnt bother putting up her scared, demure little girl image. "It doesnt matter. You will never get it. And you're not getting rid of me either. After all, you have no proof of any of the things you accused me of."

"You think you're going to get away with it?" She hummed. "I already have, princess. Now, I will be returning to my duties to prepare for you wedding tomorrow. And I think we'll do no birds-"

You pulled out a knife, silencing her. She looked at the knife before smiling. "Are you really going to kill me? Did you forget how I overpowered you and Abbas back there?"

"I havent." You bring the knife up to your throat. "But if you dont tell me where my belongings are this instant, I will slit my throat and let you explain to the king how you killed me. Oh and you may think you can just sneak out of here, but remember, there's a whole entourage who saw you come here. They'll tell Baldwin you were the last person to see me, and then no matter where you run, Baldwin will hunt you down. Him and his Templar knights."

Her brows furrowed at your threat. "Princess, I dont-"

"Dont think for a moment I wont do it, Isabella. I'm mental." When she remained quiet, you pressed the blade harder into your neck, just enough for the skin to break and blood to pour, making her eyes wide.

"Okay! Okay- stop! I'll tell you."

-

Isabella lead you to a room inside the castle, hidden away in a corner. You had never been here before, you realised when you stepped inside. She pulled out a drawer from the desk, which had a false floor in it. Lifting the wooden panel, you saw all your belongings, including your time machine.

"Leave." You ordered her. Once you were alone, you pulled out the key from your underclothes and placed it inside. Saying a tiny prayer, you turned on the machine.

It worked. The tiny lights turned on. All you had to do was set the date and-

The machine was snatched from your hands. "Isabella drop-!" Your eyes widened at the sight of Baldwin holding the machine.

"What are you doing?" He asked you, looking at the machine.

"Baldwin, please give it back-"

"This?" He shook the machine in his hands. "Sure, you can have it." He smiled at you before bashing the machine to the ground.

"BALDWIN NO! STOP!" You tried to stop him, but Baldwin pushed you away and kept smashing the machine until its lights went out and they key broke.

"NOOOOO!" You finally snatched it from his hands but it was too late. The screen wouldnt turn on, wouldnt display the date no matter what you did. The key was broken.

"WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU?!" You cried out.

"What is wrong with me? What is wrong with you?!" Baldwin yelled. "What were you going to do with that? Leave me, the love of your life, to go where?! Back to heaven?!"

Heaven? No fucking way-

"Do you- do you actually think I'm an angel?" Oh god. The look on his face was enough to let you know that he was actually serious.

"You can deny it all you want, but I am your husband to be and you cannot lie to me! You appeared out of nowhere in my castle. You cured me, you brought that baby back to life and you have escaped death one too many times! You may think I'm a fool, but I'm the king of Jerusalem, head of the Church and you were sent to me by God Himself! YOU ARE MINE AND I WILL NOT LET YOU GO BACK!"

Oh God. Oh God, you're marrying a crazy person.

Wait.

"How did you know I was here?" Your brows knitted together when he didnt reply, still looking at you in rage. "Did Isabella-" You gasped.

Of course. OF-FUCKING-COURSE!

"She wasnt a thief. She was a spy!" You chuckled humourlessly. "All this time, I thought Guy was behind it all, but I knew- I knew he was too dumb to come up with such a plan. It was you! It was always you! You sent the Ismailis after me! You sent Isabella after me to steal my belongings and spy on me! You set me up with Abbas so that when you "saved" me, I'd fall for you! Oh and I'm sure you made it seem like Charlotte was also here because Guy had called her. You framed Guy just so that you could have an excuse to get rid of him!"

"I did it because I love you!"

"You hurt me because you loved me?" You whispered to him, tears flowing down your cheeks. "I almost burned to death because of you. And you say- no. Why did you do this, Baldwin? Why the hell did you do all this?!"

"I was- I was testing you." He answered, bending down on his knee to cup your face. "I... only wanted to see if you would come to me for help. If you truly trusted me, loved me enough to come to me." He wiped your tears away. "I'm sorry it had to happen this way, but it worked out in the end-"

"You dont test the people you love, Baldwin."

"Oh, come on. Even God tests his strongest believers-"

"YOU ARE NOT GOD!" You shrieked, pushing him away.

"I'm not, but I'm special to Him. He made you for me. He gifted you to me. He made you fall in love-"

"I dont love you!" You cried. "I can never love you! Never!"

Baldwin's face hardened. "You do love me. You said so yourself. Now, youre just saying nonsense out of hysterics. Calm down-"

"I hate you. I have never loathed anything as much as I loathe you. I would never love you, even if you were the last man on Earth. I fucking hate you."

Baldwin stared at your red face. "Well, I hope you can change your mind because we will be getting married tomorrow regardless." He tried to touch your face but you slapped his hand away. "Besides, I love you enough for the both of us."

-

Its Sunday. You were locked in your room with a whole infantry ordered to not let you out. You had cried the entire night at your loss, at your fate, at your stupidity. How could you have ever trusted Baldwin? And now you will have to marry this religious lunatic.

The maids did their best to dress you up and tried to mask your red, swollen eyes. And with Isabella in the room, you were sure she had told them to not comment at your pitiful state.

You were standing outside the chapel with Salauddin. Everything seemed to blur, the choir singing, the attendees- you couldnt focus on anything.

"Y/n." You finally looked up at Salauddin, who was looking at you with deep concern. "Are you okay?" He asked you, noticing your teary eyes and dull expression.

"No."

He wasnt expecting you to answer bluntly.

"Do you want to marry Baldwin?" He whispered.

"No."

"I can help you-"

"No." You sniffled. "No one can."

The knights stood outside the chapel doors, waiting for you to enter. A few ladies held your trail behind you. Salauddin cast a glance at them before passing you something in your hand discreetly.

"Abbas asked me to give you this."

You opened your palm to see-

A key.

The key!

But how did he make this? You never designed it-

You smiled. That genius. He must've used the other parts to figure out the design and crafted it.

Abbas, I'm sorry I dont give you enough credit.

"Give him my thanks. And a lot of money, hm?" Salauddin could only nod in confusion. You looked back at your ladies. "I need to pee." Their eyes widened at the use of such crass language, especially in front of the sultan.

"But princess, the ceremony is about to start-"

"Would you rather I pee in my gown?" You snapped.

"But there is no bathroom here-"

"Then be useful and find a sheet and a bush. Now!" They all scrambled away to find some bush. You looked at the knights in front of you. "Go inside and inform them of a delay. The princess has to take a shit."

They looked hesitant to leave. "I'm not taking off my underclothes in front of you men. LEAVE!" They hurriedly went inside and closed the door to give you privacy.

You looked at Salauddin. "Can I borrow your horse?" He nodded, helping you up on it.

"Where are you going? I'll come with."

You shake your head. "No. I have to go alone. And I suggest you go inside as well."

"Y/n-"

"Please, Salauddin. No more questions. I dont want to lie to you." You smiled at him.

Salauddin reluctantly went inside the chapel, and you rode the horse out of there. There was only so long before Baldwin realised you had left, so you needed to speed things up. Grateful that you had swapped your broken time machine during your heated argument with Baldwin. You placed the new key in, just as you heard the sound of galloping horses and Baldwin-

"Y/N!" You didnt pay attention as you sped off ahead, only stopping when you reached the edge of the cliff. Climbing down, you looked at your machine as you turned the key.

It didnt turn on.

No. No. No-

"Y/N! GET BACK HERE!" Baldwin yelled at you, getting off his horse as he made his way. His troops had surrounded the area so you couldnt escape.

You looked back at your time machine and you- you banged it with your hand. "Come on. Come on!" This had to work- you banged on it as you would bang on a TV set when it stopped working, on a remote when it didnt operate quite right.

"Did you think you could escape me?!" You looked up and Baldwin was a few feet away.

"Baldwin stop!" You took a step back, nearing the cliff. "I'll jump-I'll fucking jump, I swear!" He halted.

"Dont be stupid, Y/n. Come to me, and we can put this behind us-"

You banged on the machine, cutting him off.

The machine turned on.

You grinned as Baldwin stared at you, shaking his head. "Dont-"

You jumped, pressing the button and hoping you returned to your time. You hadnt been able to set the date cause of the broken buttons.

The last thing you heard was Baldwin screaming your name.

So what do you guys think? Yall better comment and send asks and reboots because i sacrificed lunch and dinner for this.

Also, what do u guys think will happen in the next part? Do you think she'll return home or to a new timeline??? And which era???👁👁

PART 8 is here!

[thekeeperof-thefandoms]

My girlfriend requested this

Hazbin men trying the period simulator. Somewhat of a follow up to my period post so this is based on the reader having severe period pain due to PCOS/ENDO

Lucifer

The man is sweating before you even attach the simulator. He knows he fucked up. He only agreed to this because he loves you a lot.

He handles the first 3 levels ok. You tell him very few women experience that little pain and that usually 4-6 is the average.

Those levels make him tense. He's uncomfortable, but still pretty able to work and do normal things. 5 has him pausing to do deep breaths every now and then. (If this is the canon timeline where he birthed Charlie he compares it to bad kicks).

6-8 he's pretty much doubled over. If you tell him that's the level you experience, he will cry. Literally begs forgiveness since again, period and labor pain is technically his fault. He is so sorry. If he didn't have issues with his Dad before he does now because this is fucked up. God's fucked up for doing this.

He doesn't make it to 10, he's crying by level 9. This is labor levels of pain. He gets why all you do is sleep. Treats your period like a sacred ritual after that. Preps for weeks. He goes full Bible, sheltering you for the duration of it so you can have peace and quiet. Please never hook him up to this again.

If you wear it at anything from an 8-10 and tell him "It's close, but I've hurt worse" he's gonna sob and then try and fight his Old Man again. He'll settle for offering to have your bits removed for you.

Vox

Once again this man hates admitting he was wrong. And yeah he knows your periods are really bad, especially now he's witnessed it. But it's still a huge knowledge gap for him and he doesn’t really take the time to think about it.

He handles 1-5 well. He's mildly uncomfortable by 5, but thinks that if this is the average experience, then it's not such a big deal. Tell him the statistics on how many people with periods actually experience 6-8 because that's actually the majority, and he's just confused. How is the average pain level not the most common?

6-8 has him gritting his teeth and glitching, but he refuses to stop and keeps trying to work. Is starting to wonder how you went so long working with this level of pain without him noticing.

He makes it to 10, but by then, he's unable to move, clutching his abdomen and sparking and glitching. Tells you it feels like his entire insides are being squeezed. The fact that he can feel it in his groin. He's kind of afraid of period sex with you after that because of how much he felt it. And you said it's caused cramps from your ribs to your knees. He's like... genuinely scared of your period and pain tolerance.

He's going to snuggle the fuck out of you afterwards and apologize for not appreciating how much you still do for him when you're not feeling good. How he didn't see how hurt you were. He does a lot of research after that and not only does he spoil you by buying whatever you need for your periods and giving you time off, he looks into treatment options. Even if that means chopping the useless fucking things out. Sinners can't have kids anyway so who needs ovaries and a uterus?

He's more convinced you should just be rid of the damn things when you wear it and 8-10 is "Yeah, this is close, but it doesn't really cover how much of my body hurts".

Valentino

Is only doing this because he was dared to by Velvette. Or if this an au where he's trying to be a less toxic person. But really I think it's also to prove that you're all being dramatic. It's a perfectly normal body function and his employees are just trying to get out of work.

He gets all the way to 6 before he starts to realize he may have fucked up. Especially when it's explained that this is what most people experience.

By 10 he's gritting his teeth, chain smoking, clawing at things. He refuses to give in, but he can count on one hand the number of things in his entire life and death as a pimp and a whore that he's experienced that come close to this level of pain.

No one told him his dick was gonna hurt. Sitting hurts. Breathing hurts. He doesn't even try to eat. He won't ever admit to being wrong, but he does behave more leniently with his actors when they're on their periods.

If you put it on (and lets say he actually cares about you) and setting 8-10 is "Yeah, this an average day for my cramps. My bad days are like..5 or 6 levels worse" it's gonna rearrange his brain a little. He might be a little afraid of you and some of the other actors with periods because your pain tolerances are so high. It threatens his ability to control you and them. But on the other hand, that's kinda hot???

Alastor

Has never once doubted that people who experience periods undergo serious struggle and has nothing but respect for women (and trans people he just associates it with women more because of the time period and his mama) who work through it.

He is actually the one who heard about the simulator through Rosie and asks you to show him your experience. Just to better understand you. He knows you're the type to try and function through the pain (probably because society ingrained into you that your pain doesn't matter).

Initially, he wants to skip the lower levels and just have you set it to your pain level. You tell him that's a bad idea, and to be honest, you're not sure if this thing goes that high. He asks you to check and you set it to the highest setting and say, "It's pretty close. It's been worse, but this is a rough idea," he's a little frustrated but still tries it.

You agree to set it to 4 and tell him 4-6 is what most people report feeling. He acknowledges it, registers it as unpleasant, but otherwise is fully capable.

7-9 has his ears flat, his smile is more a snarl. This is uncomfortable. Not what he considers painful but certainly irritating. It makes sitting, stretching, and eating feel much more difficult.

10. There's static visble around him. His teeth grind. Actually painful. Not the worst pain he's experienced, but he hates it. He hates the way he feels it in his back and hips as he walks. He hates the way taking deep breaths (which for someone as dramatic as he is and with the transatlantic accent, breathing technique and posture is important) stings. He hates the way it causes his stomach to cramp and churn. He hates the ache in his thighs and groin that make sitting feel stiff and ackward. He can only picture how blood loss would make this worse. Tired, losing nutrients, the headaches, the increased moodiness. It's no wonder you sleep, so much, but he wonders how the Hell you sleep like this? He's snappy and short tempered because of the pain (and again he gets why you would be if you weren't sleeping so much).

How does this affect how he treats you?

Not much. He still expects you to know your body and your limits. He would never dare to presume otherwise. He still helps prepare whatever you need for your time of the month and still meal plans for you, though he perhaps finds ways to ensure you get all the iron and vitamins you need without cooking steak and other big, heavy meals, since he now understands how bad your stomach hurts.

The only really noticeable change is how much more protective of you he is. Your time of the month hits, and Alastor hates being more than a few moments from you. He growls, pins his ears, and his antlers grow when people get too close to you. He's more prone to letting you snuggle with him when you want, trying to comfort you.

Angel Dust

Another who volunteered. His girl besties insist he doesn't have to do this, he's got the pass. He still wants to do it though, for solidarity.

He also starts on 4 and handles it well. He handles all of the levels pretty well, even 10. By 7 it's obvious he's sore, maybe a bit more withdrawn, exhausted, trying not to move too much or eat too much. Just trying to find a comfortable way to exist. The sad problem is, Angel already has to do this after rough nights at Val's.

He's used to sitting being uncomfortable and aches in his groin and thighs, cramps in his stomach from muscles clenching constantly. 10 is the only level where he's visibly ill, hunched over, lower arms curled around his midsection protectively.

He and the girlies all curl up together and nap and chat and snack on easy to digest junk food and granola bars. He's the first one to say "I bet it's even worse for you gals, but I tried".

He gets it. He's one of the girls. Honestly, kind of becomes a favorite when the ladies have period problems. (If you're dating any of the others and Angel is openly your favorite after this it is gonna cause a lot of dramatic pouting, posturing, and tantrum throwing.)

Husk

I'm going full balls to the wall on Veteran Husk. This man has seen some shit and dealt with his fair share of pain. Like Angel he takes it the best, with very little outward reaction. He's used to stiffness and nausea. The pain in his crotch is a little off putting, but it could be worse.

He's more cautious how he moves, rests more, occasionally a cramp causes his ears to pin back or a small hiss. Overall he takes it like a champ.

Offers you endless amounts of supportive words for dealing with this as well as you do, for days on end. Also is deeply sorry you even have to put up with this shit. Offers all sorts of tips on how to do stretches that help with easing cramps and stiffness without pulling something. Tips of foods/protein drinks to keep on hand to make sure you're maximizing how much nutrition you get. Man's a whole ass survival guide.

He only offers advice if you ask, though. He's not mansplaining how to handle your own body. He genuinely wants to help you, and that's the best way he knows how.

When you're on your period and just want something soft and warm he doesn't even bitch about it, he just settles on top of you and purrs, offers a massage, maybe offers a sly grin and a "no man left behind" joke as he helps you through these dark times.

BONUS:

ADAM

Would only do this if you challenged him, he has to prove his masculinity. He is definitely nervous as fuck though because he's seen yours. You and Lute already forced him to sit through a whole PowerPoint on women's anatomy and shit. He remembers how shitty he was to Eve, even if hers were in comparison, not that bad, just scary and new.

You forcing him to learn about and acknowledge female health is making him scared of pussy. This isn't gonna help.

3 and 4 make him whiney. He's uncomfortable. His groin feels weird. This sucks. "WHAT DO YOU MEAN THIS ISN'T EVEN THE AVERAGE?!"

By 5-7 he's actually on his knees, curled over his stomach. He tells you getting stabbed hurt less. This is making him re-evaluate his entire view on women (again he knows about trans people, but because of personal history equates periods to women. Wouldn't hate if a trans person had a period, it would just take his brain a second to process). He whines that you and Lute shouldn't be more badass than him.

"I thought men were supposed to be tougher and stronger. This pain tolerance horseshit is a lie. You guys suck."

He insists on going to 10 because quitting is for losers. He may actually throw up at 10 though. Every time the stupid simulators sends out a pulse and his stomach clenches, he groans. He's in the featal position, there are tears. One hand clenches his stomach the other is cupped around his groin. He's apologizing so much and he doesn't even remember what he's apologizing for. At one point its just "I'm sorry...oh fuck this...sorry about...ugh just...just men?! I guess. Fucking shit ass. Men suck. Women are...fucking great. Aces. You do this shit every month? For like 5 days....what the fuck. What the fuck what the fuck."

You feel a little bad, but Lute is definitely filming this. Afterwards, he tells you you're a badass and any person shit talking people for bitching about period pain (Not that a lot of Winners do, but ya know, obviously they let some questionable people into Heaven if Adam and Lute got by) he's gonna beat the shit out of them. Like "Do you even fucking know, bitch? They're literally so much fucking better than you. Absolute queens. You try doing literally anything when it feels like your dick is falling off and your insides are trying to claw outside your body!"

[elgarwhore]

(The Blood of Arlathan Spoilers)

(Audio of Solas and Elgar'nan bickering in Rook's head. Audio script included.)

Solas: Elgar'nan! Lethallin! Ma banal'evanuris. Ma salin ar ghilana?

Elgar'nan: Fen'Harel! You have no power here!

Elgar'nan: So the Dread Wolf has arrived to defend his pawn.

Solas: Your cruelty forced my hand.

Elgar'nan: A hundred generations, and still the same refrain.

Solas: Again, you have caged our people, and again, I will set them free.

Elgar'nan: But you were always stubborn, Fen'Harel. Insubordinate. Unmanageable, even by Mythal's reckoning.

Solas: You have lost the right to speak her name.

Elgar'nan: Ma vallas ban! Shev gar, Fen'Harel!

Solas: The only reason Mythal joined you was that she knew the monster you would become if left unchecked. She thought to temper your brutish ego. Instead, you betrayed her. Murdered her.

Elgar'nan: (Chuckles) Only the first time, Dread Wolf.

[Elgar'nan talking to Rook]

Elgar'nan: Your struggle is pointless, and your faith in the Dread Wolf is misplaced. Give up. Save yourself. Save your friends.

Solas: The cruelty is nothing new, but what happened to the vaunted brilliant mind of Elgar'nan the mighty? The blight has left you blunt and slow, a monster, not a mastermind. You used to be a challenging opponent.

Elgar'nan: You saw me as an opponent. To me, you were an irritation. A fly buzzing ceaselessly.

Solas: I must speak to you in this tongue. It seems Elven is beyond your grasp.

Elgar'nan: As much as freedom is beyond yours.

Solas: Once the blight is free, it will rule this world, and you will be its attack dog. You will burn this world at its command, as Andruil did at yours, and you will leave only ruin behind you.

Elgar'nan: This world is ruined already! Your Veil destroyed it!

Solas: You could heal it. You have the strength to repair the damage without using the blight!

Elgar'nan: (Choked laughter) Save your games for the mortals, Dread Wolf. The blight is my blade, and it will take more than your tricks to get me to lay it down. Your whining comes from envy, Fen'Harel, but it does not have to be so. There is a place for you at my side in a new, glorious empire.

Solas: But it will not have eluvians, will it? June built them, and now he is dead. Our great cities came from Sylaise. Our deepest mysteries from Dirthamen.

Elgar'nan: I will restore it all. Their achievements will not be lost.

Solas: You were a bully who ruled over what others had built, and now the others are gone. Who do you have left? Ghilan'nain? You cannot rebuild a world by stitching together monsters.

[chaoticace2005]

Why Vox needs to GET THE FUCK OVER THE RADIO DEMON:

(By Velvette, the only competent of the Vees)

(Her list for Valentino here)

1. He’s just not into you

2. We have better things to do than allocate company time to this.

3. He makes you look stupid

4a. He makes US look stupid (and Valentino already does that enough)

4b. Seriously how are we supposed to stop your boy toy from chasing whore around town when you can’t do the same with your ex? We need to set a (gag) good example for him.

5. What do you even see in him? Tacky coat. And that voice is so old-school.

6. You have two people who (reluctantly) want to work with you. Why spend energy on a guy who doesn’t?

7. This was seven years ago babe. Give it up.

8. I’m tired of finding your Alastor Body Pillow around the penthouse

9. Speaking of the body pillow, did you really have to spend 5k on it?

10. Company money should be used for COMPANY things. The fact we even have an “Alastor��� budget is stupid. HE DOESNT EVEN GO HERE. ( @onesidedradiostatic )

11. He fucked off once, he probably will again.

12. Do you really want to fuck with someone who has the princess and king of Hell on his side?

13. It makes Valentino insecure about his sexual prowess, which is not good for anyone.

14. I have to LISTEN to him complain about it.

15. No matter how hard you try, nobody will ever beat “Susan” for #1 rival in that man’s heart. (Which is valid cause Susan SUCKS.)

16. Also you’re wasting company time by having Val put together shitty-Alastor look alike porns? Angel Dust does NOT look like Radio Demon ffs, I though Val was the blind one not you.

17. Your screens keep crapping out whenever you think about him, and we’re running out of ones in storage.

18a. I don’t want to keep having to go to overlord meetings for you because you’re having a breakdown over of he’ll be there or not.

18b. Speaking of breakdowns, STOP MAKING THE WHOLE CITY LOSE POWER.

19. You’ve taken over the entire office space with your Alastor-shrine. It’s not really an inconvenience, just creepy.

20a. Not to kinkshame but I walked in on you and Val fucking with Alastor-wigs on, REALLY?!

20b. Also I think you’re making Val insecure about his lack of hair.

21. STOP asking me to design Alastor-cosplay clothes for you. I don’t want anything to do with this.

22. I already have to deal with one pissbaby

23. Seriously, he isn’t into you. Maybe it’s cause you’re a mess. Maybe it’s cause he’s AROACE. Who knows.

24. You keep interrupting channels to brainwash people into hating the Radio Demon, when we should be brainwashing them into other things.

25. We can all hear you talking to yourself in the shower when trying to come up with shitty comebacks.

26. You display your dreams when you sleep, and while it was funny at first at this point it’s so boring. Val and I want to watch something actually interesting for once rather than the same shit.

27. You keep glitching out in bisexual whenever he comes up and it’s annoying waiting for you to put your shit back together again.

28. I’m sick of movie nights where we just watch your self-made compilations of “Alastor’s Epic Fails” or just watch security footage of him at the hotel.

29. Why do you even try and film him? Your shitty cameras can pick hardly anything up.

30. Honestly this whole thing is just pathetic.

31. Like it used to be cute but now?

[shit-talker]

The 141 have a ridiculous run of inside jokes that is continuosly ruining their lives, such as;

1.) If someone says, "You love it really," to you, you immediately have to agree with them, no matter what the circumstances. Otherwise, you lose the ability to do it back. This has resulted in many weird fake confessions, including one time in which Soap got fed up with people making your mom jokes at him and went on a rant about it. Ghost glanced at him in front of a room full of cadets and just went, "You love it really, though," and Soap almost died as he sadly nodded and replied, "Yeah, I do."

2.) If something even remotely sexual sounding is said about you, you must always say, "You're damn right I do/am/will," back. This backfired once when they were in a defreif and Price said something about Gaz "coming through the back door" and Gaz, without think, winked and replied "You're damn right I did," In front of everyone and got in trouble for mild insubordination. (The others almost died laughing as he realised what he'd done, who he'd done it to, and who he'd done it in front of (aka Price's bosses))

3.) When talking about Roach, they will always act like he's died. He hasn't, but none of them can stop the joke, and it always makes all of them crack up, even Roach. This once caused major panic, as once when Ghost was discussing their latest mission with Laswell, he said, "It was fine because Roach - God rest his soul -" and Laswell had about two minutes where she thinks Roach has dropped dead and she didn't fucking know.

4.) They will always make up bad stories for how they met Ghost, if anyone ever asks. It doesn't matter what the truth is, or who they're speaking to, when asked, all three of them will reply with some made up, overly dramatic or down right boring story on how they met. These stories ranged from Ghost, saving them from a shark attack (Gaz), Ghost selling them assorted drugs as a teenager (Roach), and most devastatingly is when Soap told a distant relative of his that he met Ghost after "finding him with my older brother, behind his wifes back" he does not have an older brother, and so there is no wife.

5.) They always reference the "Malibu incident." None of them have ever been to Malibu. Nothing bad has ever happened there, but now they've created a whole conspiracy in the British Army about a coverup that happened in Malibu. Price knows about this one and finds it endlessly funny, so he goes along with it, never directly mentioning it but refusing to deny it when someone asks. If anyone ever asks about the details of it, they just give a deadpanned look as if the other person should already know and say; "Don't make me say it." There are rumours. Like, a lot of rumours.

6.) Roach claps every time someone says, "I'll be there for you" because once he clapped at the wrong time during the friends intro and had been paying the price ever since. It doesn't happen often, but sometimes you'll just hear him clapping - not even in the tune to the friends theme. Just random clapping. If any of the others hear it, they almost always reply with "That's a fuckin' joke" in a really disappointed tone. It's confused a lot of people.