#the first part was... not meant to be a dispute

[amywritesthings]

in the wrong. / levi x f!reader

for @levievent #levimonth24. (day one: pre-canon, first time)

pairing: gang leader!levi ackerman x military police!reader word count: 2.4k summary: You're Military Police. He's public enemy number one. Getting involved with one another is wrong.

tags: 18+ MINORS DNI! pre-aot, in the canon of 'a choice with no regrets', smut, enemies to lovers, military brutality mention, first time, bottom!levi, virgin!levi credit: dividers by @saradika-graphics

And so it goes—

There’s no disputing if waiting here in the dead of night is right or wrong.

Leaving your post, forcing your colleagues to pick up the slack — it’ll catch up with you eventually.

Military Police stationed within the Underground City is about as much of an oxymoron as it comes. You see the irony of walking these streets as the symbols of order when it’s a place that thrives in disorder. 

Your superiors don’t wish to save these people.

You — your squadron — will do nothing here.

(But he could.)

Meeting with the leader of the most notorious gang in the city started out as an accident, really. 

You’d minded yourself down here, still trying to do your job when you could: helping elderly people walk their rotting groceries to their door; aiding a young child who found themselves lost, only to witness the dilapidated home they came from; smuggling your own rations down from the surface to feed the sick.

In their eyes — wrong.

In his — confusion.

If you ever came into contact with the perpetrator known as Levi, then you were meant to engage.

Albeit fast on his feet and even faster with a weapon, his ever-growing group of goons were the Military Police’s biggest enemy.

You’d just spotted a redhead doing her best to creep up one of the staircases towards the surface, assuming no one was watching.

There are people up there, you remember saying.

Her wide eyes stared back at you with uncertainty, like perhaps getting her attention was a trick to set her up, but you’d managed to grab her by the scruff of her dirtied vest.

The small girl made a noise of protest, but you did your best to press a finger to your lips:

Silent.

Pulling her back into the shadows with you had been the smart move — the unit at the top of the stairs trudged down the stairs and into the Underground pathway, presumably to cause trouble.

They always did.

You held onto the stranger until the unit disappears, letting go only once the place is clear. 

The girl turned around, seemingly breathless. “You… why?”

You didn't know.

“I don’t know,” you confessed, blinking between her face and the pathway. Paranoid. “Those two are pieces of work. Nasty. Would’ve had your damn head on a platter.”

“So you saved my life?” she asked, and the musical naivety of her voice squeezed your aching stomach.

“It wasn’t that noble,” you promised softly. “Just… be more careful.”

She realized as seconds pass: you’re letting her go.

There’s nothing to arrest her for.

The people down here suffer enough.

When she left, you thought it was the last time you’d ever see her.

.

.

— —

.

.

  It isn’t.

.

.

— —

.

.

  “The hell is an MP doing here, Isa?” 

You can’t say. You’re not sure.

The redhead, a common recurring figure in your time patrolling the Underground, seems to have taken a liking to you when she surely shouldn’t.

Isabel Magnolia, you learn, is her name.

Talking to you about her life, asking questions about the surface, wondering if there’s a better life up there—

She’s a part of a found family she definitely shouldn’t be telling you about.

You explain that, while the sun is beautiful, the surface isn’t much better sometimes.

If there’s a better life, then clearly you wouldn’t know it.

You’re stuck down here, too, whether you’d like to admit it or not.

Perhaps by choice — you enlisted for a reason — but nonetheless stuck.

She’s so cheerful. Trusting. 

You hate that for her.

(Someone could take advantage. Doesn’t she know that?)

Yet when Isabel grabs your hand one day and excitedly pulls you down an alleyway, telling you she has to show you something, you wonder if this is the moment where your stupidity catches up to you with a final blow to the head.

So it begs the question while you’re standing in an oddly pristine, clean-to-the-edges apartment in the middle of the city where two boys stare at you like you’re the devil incarnate:

What the hell is an MP doing here?

An ashy-haired boy yelps from his spot at a round dining table, catching a second dark-haired boy’s attention. He whips around, the whites of his eyes growing while he stares directly at you.

Immediately you recognize the cold stare, the raven-black fringe sweeping against them.

A smaller frame for a man but nevertheless daunting.

Billowing white sleeves are rolled up to his elbows. His hands are busy scrubbing dishes at the sink of their quaint kitchenette.

The one they call Levi.

“This is the girl who saved me a few months ago,” Isabel chirps like it’s nothing, happily tugging you further into the apartment.

Your uniform feels constricting, like it’s threatening to choke you out.

“You never said it was a goddamn MP, Isa,” the lankier boy whisper-shouts as he stands from the table, his head whipping between the other two. “Levi? The hell do we do?”

Levi’s silent, observing you.

“Isabel, I should go,” you murmur to your odd friend, looking over the ginger warily. “They’re right. I shouldn’t be here.”

“But why not?” Isabel asks with confusion. “You’re not like them. Furlan, she’s really not, she’s actually really—”

“You’re the one who saved her ass from MPs?”

Levi’s voice, smooth like honey and deep like a rumble, cuts through your panic.

You turn your chin to regard him, lips parted with an apology you shouldn’t owe.

“She was getting too close to the stairwell,” you confess softly to him, clenching your fists at your sides. “I know how the MPs treat people down here. I didn’t — I couldn’t let something happen to her.”

“Why?” he asks abruptly, eyes narrowing.

Isn’t that the question of the hour:

Why are you trying to get yourself fired and tossed down here with the rest of them?

“Because it… was the right thing to do.”

He makes a noise, something of a tch, before picking up a fourth tea cup.

.

.

— —

.

.

  If your colleagues knew you spent the better part of your shifts in the Underground talking to their number-one public enemy, with your backs against adjacent brick walls — you facing the street, him in the shadows of an alleyway — they wouldn’t hesitate.

Execution style, side by side.

You confess the routes of your brethren.

You warn them of the dangers of different colleagues that want nothing more than to hurt people, to use their position of power for worse.

It takes time — months upon months — but eventually his group grows stronger than your unit.

They could very well kill you themselves, if they wanted.

Maybe you’re like Isabel with the desperation to connect.

Maybe you find yourself hating the animals your colleagues become under the guise of an endless night.

Levi meets with you weekly, if not daily, by this point.

For the good of his friends, he claims. Nothing more.

You don’t blame him.

(Yet the more you talk to him, learn about what he’s built, what he’s about, the less you feel like returning to the sun.)

.

.

— —

.

.

  He likes tea.

That much you’ve gathered in your time sitting in the living kitchenette of their apartment.

You’ll never forget the change in his expression, usually so stoic and emotionless, when you produced a small bag from under your emerald cloak late one evening.

“The traders down here don’t carry these blends,” you tell him, pushing the bag towards him.

His eyes squint, observing the brown pouch with confusion, before reaching to delicately unravel the tie holding it together.

Levi lets out a gentle huff when the aroma hits him, face smoothing with recognition.

Fresh leaves. 

“Why?”

It’s a question you’ve even asked yourself.

You get things for Furlan and Isabel all the time, their requests for surface goods fairly frequent, but—

“Because you never ask for anything,” you confess. “And it’s the least I can do.”

“But why?” he questions again, softer this time.

His gaze flickers to yours.

Your throat clenches with the truth.

“I don’t know.”

A lie.

.

.

— —

.

.

  You’re meant to be patrolling the streets of the Underground City in the dead of night.

Another lie.

All you’ve learned to do is hide, steal, and lie.

Yet nothing feels closer to the truth than Levi letting you into the small, cramped apartment.

Opening his home to you.

The enemy.

“Furlan and Isabel are elsewhere tonight,” he confesses under his breath when he closes the door.

“Elsewhere?” you ask him quietly. “Are they safe?”

“You would know if they weren’t.”

You step forward, anticipating the same song and dance you’ve played for over a year now.

Instead of dancing with you, playing the game, Levi stays put. 

It forces you chest to chest, eye to eye, and suddenly you realize just how blue those gray eyes really are.

Stormy, like a sky he’ll never see.

Something shifts in his expression. Something lighter, tangible, as he takes a slow inhale through his nose.

You shift on impulse, angling closer, until you feel the heat of his face.

“Can’t,” he states, like you know what he’s saying.

By now, you do.

“I know,” you whisper, and those eyes dart lower.

Cheeks.

Nose.

Lips.

“Shouldn’t,” he argues to no one but himself when he leans closer. 

His breath tickles your face.

“Wrong,” you agree, accidentally brushing your lips to his.

A single act opens the floodgates.

Both pairs of hands jump as your lips smash into one another’s.

His palm cradles the back of your head while yours guides his cheek closer, directing the angle of the kiss.

With a purposeful push, he slams you into the front door, caging you in and causing stars to flash behind your eyelids.

You’re already undoing the straps of your uniform with haste — he may have stolen ODM gear in the time you’ve known him, but you’re not confident he knows how to disrobe a military uniform.

He seems grateful, because he grunts against your lips and flicks his tongue against your lower lip in thanks. You part your lips obediently.

Can’t, but you’re still hopping up into his arms the second you free your lower half of white uniform trousers.

Shouldn’t, but he catches you with ease, digging his free hand into the flesh of your ass while he pivots and walks with you in his arms.

Wrong, but he drops down to his couch anyway, letting you sit in his lap.

There’s no time for decorum.

His hand blindly dips down your lower belly and slips under the fabric of your panties, groaning when he realizes you’ve been wet since you saw him.

You make the tiniest noise, a strangled moan at best, and you feel it right against your lips:

A smirk. 

Brief and fleeting, but you felt it.

Lazily dragging his fingertips in a circle around your clit, your breath becomes stagnated. Shaky.

Your bare thighs clench around his, trying to keep your wits about you, but his hand only proceeds faster to ruin those efforts.

“Off,” you weakly state, reaching between you to pathetically tug at his own trousers.

Levi pulls away from your mouth, staring up at you in his lap. “That’s—”

“What I want,” you interrupt, and you see his throat bob with a swallow.

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” he confesses, and it feels like the closest you’ve ever gotten to knowing the essence of him.

“You don’t have to,” you promise. “I do.”

Once, fumbling at the cadet barracks.

It was awkward and quick and unremarkable.

Yet the way Levi’s eyes widen with recognition, you already know this is what you want — him, every fragment of him, hidden away from the world.

Pushing him to the couch cushions, you raise your hips to help him push down his trousers and underwear.

His cock springs free and his hisses at the contrast of the cool air and his hot skin.

You take advantage of the moment, wrapping your hand around him.

The way he whines when your hand leisurely pumps will be burned into the back of your skull.

“Are you sure?”

His question manages to weave itself through the hazy maze of your mind.

Glancing down at him, you note how flushed his cheeks have become; how his chest rises and falls under that flowing white shirt. He looks utterly wrecked without having to do much of anything.

“Are you sure?” you ask in return, giving your answer rhetorically.

Panting, the dark-haired boy nods.

Certain.

So are you.

“Just touch me,” you tell him, and Levi leaps at the damn opportunity to do so.

He raises up from the couch to loop his palm around your neck, dragging you down with him into a searing kiss. You moan into it, gently nudging the tip of him to your entrance.

When his hand returns to your clit, eager to draw those noises out of you, it only makes it that much easier to slowly push yourself down onto his length.

Both of your mouths drop open, wide with a soundless shout, as you ease him fully into you.

Wrong.

Over and over, the word plays in your mind.

Levi groans as you drag your body up, then down, beginning a tentative rhythm.

Wrong.

Nothing fills you like him.

Nothing fills you like this.

He lets you set the pace as you fuck him on his couch, the sounds of your pleasure mixing in the midnight air.

Faster.

Harder.

His hand grips your hip so hard it could leave a bruise.

You don’t care.

He groans a semblance of your name, something he rarely does, and squeezes harder.

Close.

If he’s never done this, then you know he won’t last long.

With your own climax coming at you with a vengeance, you can’t find a reason to care.

Suddenly you feel it — the wave rises so fast and falls that you don’t have time to warn him.

Within seconds you cum around him, violently shuddering around him as you cry against his mouth.

The sheer force of it causes Levi to gasp sharply, hips slamming abruptly into you so he’s buried deep—

He doesn’t have time to warn you, either.

He cums just as hard, sealing the loud moan with a kiss to your lips.

You still your hips, spent — his arms catch you when you crumble against his chest, desperately trying to catch your breath.

You’ve passed it: the point of no return, forced to confront a choice with no regrets.

The aftermath, euphoria clouding judgment, hasn’t quite hit yet.

Wrong.

(Neither of you care.)

.

author's note:

Thank you so much for reading! This one shot was unbeta'd and written in two hours so I hope this insane "I woke up with this idea and really wanted to participate" story made you as sweaty as it made me this morning.

[heartsofminds]

i'm calling just to hear you scream - part i

"She’s tried to be positive. She’s tried to be kind. She’s trying to be the peacekeeper, but all of that falls out the window when her brother is bitching out everything that fucking blinks and breathes and Richie has slung a sledgehammer into the wrong wall that needed to be knocked down." or Natalie gets fed the fuck up and hires a hospitality attorney before everything else turns to shit. 

a/n: i couldn't help myself at all and had to bite by trying my hand at writing for carmy! what can i say? i love men with trauma that need to be cuddled like newborns! please enjoy the beginning of enemies to lovers to enemies back to lovers fic with a workaholic chef and an overly empathetic attorney. angst is my brand! i hope you enjoy!

Being the peacekeeper of your family is never something anyone ever sets out to be. 

One day you’re normal and live blissfully with the rose-colored lenses of naivety tinting life shades of bashful blush and magnetic magenta. The next day you’re diffusing a spitfire scarlett dispute between your anxiety-ridden mother and impulsively crude older brother while simultaneously taming the balloon of battered blue tears your baby brother sheds who observes from the corner; scared yet somehow unaware of the emotions sucking the oxygen out of everyone. 

At first, it feels good. It feels nice to be appreciated and turned to in moments of darkness. Helpfulness defines your livelihood and gives you the nameplate of the gold star child who can never do any wrong and always finds a solution. But then you realize that is what you ever really are, and you’re both hated for your inability to let things sour and for always having an answer despite uncertainty plaguing every course of action. 

Being the peacekeeper of your family is both a Medal of Honor, worn with pride and graciousness, yet a bullet wound wielded by shame and agony. The tenderness and hurt push on it until you can hardly stand it; half expecting pus to be seeping out in pale yellow heaps because the pain feels so real. 

There are no exit wounds. There are no breaks. There is no humanity or personal identity or room for self-discovery. 

A peacemaker is all you will be and all you will ever accomplish, and you’ll never say it out loud but it’s fucking exhausting. 

Being the peacemaker is something Natalie Berzatto never fucking asked for, yet here she is, playing project manager to her haywire (and sometimes freakishly obsessive) baby brother’s blind-eyed throw of a dart that manifested itself in asking Uncle Jimmy for an eight hundred thousand dollar loan with the promise to have it completely paid back within eight months. 

She’s not one to rain on a parade, but it’s hard to keep marching when your entire life has been putting out the fires of overly ambitious business ventures during unmedicated fits of mania. She had seen it with their dad, with their mom, and with Mikey. Carmen is the last needle needed to complete the fucked up haystack that engulfs their family. 

She’s tried to be positive. She’s tried to be kind. She’s trying to be the peacekeeper, but all of that falls out the window when her brother is bitching out everything that fucking blinks and breathes and Richie has slung a sledgehammer into the wrong wall that needed to be knocked down. 

Natalie has never thought of looking into Botox until now; when her face is set in a permanent scowl and her resting heart rate nears triple digits. Pete had been telling her for the past three weeks that she was doing amazing; that this was an impossible task to complete stress-free, and that the stress was “good” because it meant that she cared. 

Sometimes she doesn’t realize that not everyone has a mom who drives the fucking car through the den during Christmas Eve dinner nor does everyone have a mom who moves all the furniture to the backyard before having to leave for their oldest brother’s high school graduation. Not everyone has an older brother who blows his head off and doesn’t leave a note and not everyone has a younger brother who would lose his head if it wasn’t attached to his body and had his mouth that was spewing hurtful insults by the dozen.

Stress does not mean that you care. Stress means that your eyes are staring at the fucking Sun trying to see where the other shoe is getting ready to drop because there’s always another disappointment and always another phone call to make to the pharmacy for more SSRIs. 

Needless to say, Richie calling Neil “lard ass” on an antagonizing loop after he had pointed out the wrong wall was being destroyed was the last straw. Well, that and the fact she found a new patch of white hairs colonizing on her hairline the other morning. Constant shouted insults, gray hairs popping up overnight, and the colossal secret of a new infant making its arrival into the chaos in October weigh heavy on her. And she absolutely cannot afford to lose her cool and become the kind of bitchy and mean she knows that she’s capable of. 

Your phone number sits inside the LED-lit text thread of a friend she had known in high school. Becca was the older sister of Claire Cantor whom her little brother may have or may have not had a pathetic crush on years ago when he was in high school. 

She feels kind of grimy doing what she is; offering up information about Carmy to Becca to give to Claire who apparently thought her baby brother was the bee's knees (which, if she saw the way he was acting right now, Natalie knows she would run the other way). She doesn’t even think Carmen has the capability to think of anything outside of the restaurant and the menu and how royally fucked they all are. 

She can feel the dull ache of guilt in her chest that comes with knowing how unlikely anything is to come from this, and how wrong she is for pretending like her telling Becca where he grocery shops or if he has a girlfriend or if he was currently looking for someone to date would somehow tether Claire to a world where her and Carmen are a “thing” (because apparently “boyfriend and girlfriend” is too permanent of a word for Chicagoan twenty-somethings to use). 

But she’s doing it for the sake of everyone else! It can’t possibly be as gross and low-lived as she feels it is. 

Becca Cantor is insufferable and can only be taken in small doses, but she’s also a big wig junior partner at one of the most lucrative law firms in Chicago. Natalie hates blowing smoke up people’s asses who don’t deserve it (and in Becca’s case certainly don’t need it), but she desperately needs help and knows that she needs to figure something out before she fucks herself in such a deep hole that she couldn’t attempt to unfuck herself if she tried. 

Your official title is “junior associate” and you had been working at Becca’s firm following your graduation from Northwestern’s Pritzker School of Law a couple of years prior. Becca had said you were amazing; freakishly smart, funny, and hardworking. She also mentioned that you were the best kind of junior associate; the ones that know when to shut the fuck up and when to get the fuck out of the way. The addition added before the text conversation ended was how you were looking to get your foot into the hospitality legal field, and how you were willing to do anything concerning that for free fucking ninety-nine if it meant you would have some experience. 

Natalie sits with her lower lip worried between her teeth and her hands one tick shy of shaking. Her heart beats erratically despite lounging on her couch with the lights off and a re-run of That 70’s Show playing softly in the background. She makes a mental note to bring up the high resting heart rate at her next OB appointment. 

It’s because she’s pregnant. Yes. It has to be because she’s pregnant. 

She shouldn’t be nervous. It would be absolutely ridiculous to be nervous. She’s not nervous. 

She already ran the idea past Sydney and she agreed that they absolutely needed a lawyer in their back pocket. With all of the tax records fucked beyond belief, new workers being hired who actually knew their worth and wouldn’t tolerate not having an actual employement contract, and the lack of permits under their belt currently, a lawyer wouldn’t hurt if getting one turned out to not be as helpful as anticipated. Besides, Becca had said you were doing it for them pro bono which in turn meant free fucking nintey-nine. 

But Natalie had lied to Carmen about how much some fluted cocktail glasses cost to ensure that they purchased the cheaper ones so that she could run the numbers and figure out a way to put you on the payroll. Pro bono or not, you’re doing them a huge favor and part of her can’t put the peacekeeping to rest. 

Her fingers type and untype a novel of characters. She can’t seem to relax her mind enough to articulate what exactly she wants to say. She has one shot to not scare you off and not lose her mind in a fit of fiery rage and not have everything turn to shit and it be her fault. She has to be perfect. 

Fuck. She is nervous. 

Hi! This is Natalie Berzatto. I’m one of Becca Cantor’s friends and she referred me to you. I’m working on opening a restaurant and would like for you to swing by and discuss some things about it if you’re open to that! Please let me know. I’m looking forward to hearing back from you soon! 

Nat’s finger hits the blue “send” arrow in the rounded box of her phone screen the same time she pushes a gag to the back of her throat. She used to work at a marketing firm for Christ’s sake. Cold contacting people isn’t anything new and she’s usually not one to shy away from reaching out to anyone in her personal life first. But she can’t help the fact that she’s never been able to swallow the artificial bubble gummy niceness of reaching out to a complete stranger for the first time. She feels stupid and knows that she sounds even stupider but tries not to think about it. 

Besides, keeping everything together is never easy and she knows that she would be selfish for letting her discomfort prevent her from doing what she knows is best. 

Her breath is stuck in her chest as she eyes the open text thread to an unsaved number; her blue text message staring at her menacingly and breeding contempt as the seconds pass. She gasps loudly whenever she sees the gray bubbles pop up beneath it. Pete pokes his head into the living room with a tea towel in his hand and one of the ceramic plates they had eaten dinner on in the other. His eyes wear concern but he knows better than to confront his wife. Natalie was anything but sugary sweet when she was stressed and the influx of hormones as of late have not been helping. 

You see the message as soon as Natalie sends it. The unknown “312” number finds its way into your notifications and your eyes read over the words in a frenzy. You know that you’re intelligent. You graduated from law school for fuck’s sake, but for some reason you absolutely cannot comprehend the text you’re reading. 

Firstly, you were sure Becca hated your fucking guts. She was a junior partner that everyone hated being assigned to because she pushed all her work onto the associates and nothing ever seemed to be good enough for her. Part of the reason you had to take work home tonight was because she sent you an email with enough passive-aggressive undertone to know that these edits needed to be done now; never mind the fact that the time she took to type out the seven and a half page report about the original report probably took up so much time that she could’ve done the task herself. But yet you replied kindly and have been working through your brain fog and finger cramps since arriving home at six in the evening five hours ago. 

Secondly, hospitality litigation was absolutely above your pay grade. You had taken one elective course on it during your 2L year and did a two-week internship before the start of 3L simply because one of your friends wanted to go on vacation and needed to find someone to cover for them. You know jack shit about hospitality law and you don’t even know why Becca Cantor, of all fucking people, would be so willing to recommend you when she couldn’t care less if you lived or died. 

But of course, you can’t say no. You can never say no, and if this Natalie person was desperate enough to reach out to you via text at 11 PM on a Wednesday, she definitely needed help and needed it now. Besides, you would tell her that you do not need to be paid and if whatever she needs proves to be way too advanced for you, you can always help her find an attorney that knows what they’re doing.

Right? 

It definitely doesn’t mean that you’ll pull an all-nighter and research every aspect of hospitality law in Illinois that you can get your hands on. . .Or look up every department dealing with food and management regulations in the state. . .Or try and look at precedent cases. Your firm gave you unlimited access to West Law. Might as well use it for something slightly more interesting than trusts, estates, and contracts. 

You’re unusually pensive for something you know you would love to do. The ongoing battle as of late has been the dispute between seeking joy and wading in practicality; happiness or falsified peace? 

You rub your eyes with a roughness that would make your optometrist cringe. You know that staring at your computer screen five hours after your contracted work hours ended was the culprit for your dry eyes, but the hours you need are not going to bill themselves. Getting up to get your eyedrops will have to wait.

Replying to Natalie cannot. 

Your fingers type and untype; the feeling of texting back an unknown number foreign and unnerving. 

Thanks so much for reaching out and thinking of me! I would love to. What dates and times work for you, and where would it be best for us to meet? 

The text stares at you on your phone screen. Why do you sound so. . . corporate? Boring? Infantile.

She could probably tell you don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about at all. The feeling of defeat rises in your throat but you ignore it and hit send instead. You’re trying to be better about that; letting your fear of uncertainty keep you from taking action. You’ve come to realize that the hard part isn’t doing the thing. It’s actually sitting in the aftermath of the “thing” and waiting for the rest of the world to catch up. 

You bite your lip so hard it begins to bleed and throbs with each pulse of watery blood that fills your mouth. The gentle suck you give it to stop the bleeding makes it partially numb. 

Fuck you, Becca. Fuck you, Becca. Fuck you, Becca. 

Natalie chirps when your text illuminates her screen. She gasps and sits up; startling Pete who had settled next to her after finishing the dishes. Her eyes curl up in the same way her lips do. 

Fucking finally. 

The world no longer feels like it’ll fall apart.

[pellucid-constellations]

If It All Fell (8)

Pairing: Azriel x Reader

Summary: If it all fell apart—if you forgot who you were—would you love him again? Would the bond guide you back? Azriel doesn't know if that uncertainty is one he can bear.

Word count: 3.6k

Warnings: Angst, pining, injury

a/n: I appreciate thoughts and reactions more than you know!!! <333 Italics indicate flashbacks.

Series Masterlist (all parts ♡)

~~

The next two weeks were interesting. 

In the first few days after the accident—the ones filled with confusion and incorrect suspicions—you had spent most of your time alone or sleeping. Mor visited your bedroom every morning to share limited information about your past, but there was no routine beyond that. Everyone tiptoed around you, too afraid to set off the timebomb they assumed was your mind.

But Helion had disputed that assumption. 

You were allowed to know who you were, to become the person you had been. 

So, a routine began to form. 

Breakfast early in the morning, usually with a random assortment of the inner circle. Mor was always present, keeping up with her responsibility of telling you about yourself. Cassian joined more often than not—an early riser, he deemed himself. Azriel made it when he could. He was always busy in the morning. Doing… something, everyone told you.

Rhysand would join you after the meal, whisking you away for an hour or two to work on the powers you still could not call upon. He would have a different objective in mind every day and it was your job to parse out what it was. 

You failed. 

Obviously. 

He started bringing in random Velaris citizens instead, but you still felt nothing. It was nice to see the smiling strangers; they were all kind to you, all apparently knowing who you were. The vagueness surrounding them leveled the playing field more. They didn’t know your whole life story and you weren’t supposed to know theirs. 

“You’ve explained it to me before,” Rhysand had said. “It’s a vibration, sometimes a light or a color. You see it around them, feel it. You understand a deep part within them that they don’t even know they’re revealing.” 

Well, there was never any light or vibration or color. You could never tell that the fae were lying or that Rhysand was planning something big for his anniversary with his mate. None of this otherworldly intuition that the Night Court seemed to value so highly. It was all just stagnant. 

After spending some time failing with Rhys, you got to explore Velaris. You had insisted that you didn’t need a chaperone, and your family believed you—for a time. You had three whole days of walking around the city alone before that privilege was revoked.

Granted, it was your fault that it was revoked, but that was neither here nor there. 

It hadn’t been your plan to get lost, just as it hadn’t been your plan to get caught up in a street brawl over a cart of potatoes. But when you weren’t at the designated meeting spot for Cassian to bring you back up the house, and when he found you with a bleeding nose an hour later, what you meant to do didn’t matter. 

“Y/n?” you heard a voice shout, heavy footsteps shaking the ground beneath you. “Shit—y/n, look at me, you okay?” 

Warm hands enveloped your shaking ones, drawing them back and catching sight of the red staining your fingerprints. It was Cassian, you realized, with his broad wings cloaking you in their shadow. The General’s expression hardened when he took in your face.

“What happened?” he asked, voice low, comfort combatting fury. “Where have you been? We have about 10 people looking for you, sweetheart.” 

You grimaced—both at the pain in your nose and the notion of your family scouring the streets of Velaris. “I’m so, so sorry, Cassian. I got turned around and then I was in this alley and there was a boy—” 

“Hey!” Defeat washed through you at the sound of another voice in the alley, all hopes for a peaceful return home washed away. “Is your girlfriend over there gonna pay for the product I lost?” 

The Illyrian before you paused, body going still at the accusatory tone. Cassian’s jaw clenched and he turned, keeping you well behind him. You still caught a glimpse of the scene from between his legs, and the merchant—to his credit—had the mind to stop his taunting. 

And to look afraid. 

Really, truly afraid. 

“You did this to her?” Cassian growled, fists clenching at his sides. 

The merchant swallowed. “You’re—and she’s…” 

“Did you. Do this. To her?” Cassian asked again, words broken up by malice. 

A beat of pressing silence, only whispers of the street meeting your ears. The merchant took several, shaky steps back, but the movement damned him. His hands swayed with his backtracking feet, and red glistened on his knuckles. 

Cassian’s wings flared at the sight. It only took a small uptick of his brow for the smaller man to fall to the floor in a plea. 

“Please, please don’t kill me! I didn’t know who she was. Don’t turn me over to the Shadowsinger, I won’t make it! I have a family to care for—a wife! I was only trying to protect my crops and she butted in. I didn’t want to hurt her!”

The General hooked his chin over his shoulder and sent you a questioning gaze, one you were sheepish to answer. With a harrowing breath, you revealed, “There was a little boy stealing potatoes. He was going to hit him. I stepped in the way.” 

A tug at your chest had you gasping as Cassian turned back around. The feeling had been persistent the moment you got lost, increasing after you’d been implicated in the merchant’s conflict. It pulled and pulled, a desperate winding around your ribs that you didn’t know how to relieve. 

It had to have been fear. Or stress. 

Cassian eyed the man crumpled to the floor. “Is the boy okay?” he asked, the question meant for you but directed across the alley. 

“Yes,” you confirmed, pressing your hand to the blood running down your chin. “He ran away.” 

Cassian grunted, sent a harsh warning to the man, and then crouched back down to your place on the ground, shaking his head in frustration. “Let’s get you home.” And then he grumbled, “I might get my ass kicked but…” 

Cassian had not gotten his ass kicked when you got home, but many other things happened. Mor just about cried in relief, her arms thrown around your neck followed by a string of commands to never do such a thing again. Rhys rubbed at his jaw as tension lifted from the House. He also had a command—that you wouldn’t be traveling alone anymore. 

And Azriel… Azriel looked like he would vomit, his shadows flitting angrily around him before bridging a path to you. He had cleaned the blood from your face, eyes haunted by misplaced grief, and pure guilt replaced all else in your myriad of emotions. 

You agreed an escort would be better. 

Azriel volunteered. Every day. 

And so you got to know Azriel. 

Mor had described him as reserved, not one to offer the intimacy of touch or personal information so readily. That was not your experience with the Shadowsinger. 

Fleeting touches had become commonplace between the two of you, whether it was his hands or his wings or the brush of his thigh as you sat by the Sidra. You weren’t sure if he was doing it consciously, but you welcomed the familiarity. You found he did it most when he wasn’t paying attention—when he was deep into a story about your past or listening to your opinions intently. 

He was open, sharing pieces of himself you didn’t have to pry to receive. He told you about his mother, about his scars, about how he overcame them. He shared with you how important you were to him many, many times, slipping it into conversations so causally. A thread connected the pieces of his life, and you, it appeared, made up the spool. 

He did not speak of his mate, despite being prompted. 

A sadness came over him at any mention of her, one so achingly melancholy that you told yourself you wouldn’t ask again. 

He loved her deeply, but something had happened there.

You tried not to get too close. This was friendship, a deep familial love that he relied on. That you seemed to have relied on for so many years.

And Azriel was hurt. Even if he and his mate were no longer intertwined by their bond, he didn’t need the onslaught of emotions his amnesiac friend was suddenly overcome with. 

Because you were—overcome by emotions for him. 

It was wrong. 

You wished you had the context to separate those feelings. If you understood your history—if you had memories beyond the few weeks of sweet stories and brushes of his fingers along your hair—maybe you wouldn't be feeling this way. Maybe your heart wouldn’t beat painfully against your ribs each time he entered the room… each time his eyes met yours as if he could feel your admiration for him within his own chest. 

You wouldn’t be feeling this way, surely. Because no one had told you that you should be. 

You only had the recounts of your friends, and the three of them had made no insinuations about you and Azriel. 

You wished you could meet the rest of the inner circle. 

There had been plans to, but then you came home with blood on your face and a disorientation in your eyes and that was suddenly off the table. 

After your time exploring Velaris, you read. 

Mor would pile your favorite books beside you in the small reading room you had come to love and rave about how great of an opportunity this was for you.

“You would kill to be able to read these for the first time again,” she’d laugh. “So have at it!” 

Reading felt easy. 

Books did not pressure you to remember things you weren’t able to. 

You could see it all in their eyes, the way your family clung to each of your words for even a hint of reminiscence. They’d make a joke and hold their breath, desperate for the laugh that should be bubbling out of you. But you never got it, never making the connections that they did. 

Azriel was the only one who’d catch the shame you felt at your lack of deliverance. Although he was the one with the most torture in his expression, he was also the one with the most understanding. He’d lean his head down and whisper what you needed to know in your ear, and then you’d giggle—for show—and hope would return to the room. 

But nothing had returned to you. 

You were still a shell.

~~

“What do you think?” 

Cassian’s question blanketed the table, forks halting their movements atop plates. Breakfast had just begun and you were dressed for a morning in Velaris at the theater, this time with Cassian. 

“Are you sure that’s the best idea?” Mor questioned, eyeing the General beneath a raised brow. 

“Were you there last week when I brought her home all bloody? I think it’s a great idea. Rhys agrees.” 

“And Az?” 

Cassian continued his breakfast, reaching for his drink. “Cassian—”

And so you found yourself steps away from the roof of the House of Wind—no longer in the comfortable daywear you’d been sporting—squinting into the morning sun. Leathers fitted for your body were laced up at your back and waist, stretching with a groan as you reached up to block the light from your eyes. Although the pain in your head had subsided to practically nonexistence, it often flared up in brightness or in times of stress. 

Like when you stood atop a mountain and stared into the sun. Or got punched in the nose by a potato merchant. 

“This is where I go while you go galavanting around the city,” Cassian chimed in, a grin evident in his words. 

“Charming,” you muttered, still adjusting to the jarring assault of the sun.

The sound of grunts and clashing metal oriented you quicker, and as your eyesight settled you were met with the image of Azriel. He was bare-chested, leathers donning his legs as he pressed further and further forward, the knife you always saw at his hips hacking away at the metal dummy before him. 

He moved so quickly that it was difficult to track him, one swipe after another, so carefully skilled and practiced. Sweat beaded down his tattooed skin. His wings rippled and spread in time with his footwork. 

He was mesmerizing, a force of nature only halting as his shadows wound around his ear, whispering. Azriel whipped around, sheathing his knife at his side and staring out beyond the training ring with a narrowed gaze. He spotted you instantly, without looking near or around—a magnetic force. 

Until he wasn’t looking at you, instead glowering in Cassian’s direction. “What are you doing, brother?” he bit out. The back of his hand made a quick pass along his forehead. 

Cassian didn’t look the slightest bit sheepish, ushering you to the outskirts of the ring. “She’s going to train. Now that we know she won’t break at the slightest thing.” 

Hazel eyes slid back to you, a softness overcoming them as you quickly averted your gaze from the broadness of his chest. You were not ogling him. 

You bit into your cheek to stave off the embarrassment. 

“I thought we agreed—” 

“Az, come on. It’s been a couple of weeks now. We need to get her back in the swing of things.” 

A crack of defeat edged its way onto the Shadowsinger’s face. 

What had they agreed on? To wait it out? To treat you like glass until you were their version of yourself again? Something ugly licked up into your chest, something raw. 

For a moment—just one—you stood on the sidelines and felt pathetic. While the two Illyrians stared at each other, a silent conversation between eyes, you let yourself feel like an outsider. They had had discussions about you, but not really about you. About the you that they loved—the one with memories and reciprocation. 

“Will you be careful?” Azriel’s even voice snapped you out of the spiral you had initiated. His expression was uneasy, a hand pressed to his chest. “And tell us if you need to stop? If your head—” 

“My head has been completely fine for a while now,” you assured, hands coming up to grasp the rungs of the training ring. “Promise.” 

Azriel pressed his lips into a line but motioned you in with a nod of his head. 

Despite the conflict still raging within your mind, you smiled at Cassian, the two of you letting out a small cheer and high-fiving before the General lifted you by your hips and past the rungs. You regained your footing and stood before the spymaster, meeting his level gaze with your own. 

“Alright, sweetheart,” Cassian began, a loud clap resonating behind you. “Muscle memory is going to play a big role here, but I don’t want to risk you getting hurt, so you’re just with this guy for now.” He patted the shoulder of the dummy Azriel had been practicing with. 

You scoffed, dropping your hands to hang by your thighs. “What? I still have the same muscle tone from before and last I checked my face was beaten in by a real person, not a chunk of metal.” 

“And that will not happen again,” Azriel cut it. “Ever. But especially not when you’re… in this state.”

You ignored the unsettling remark. “Okay, well I think sparring one of you would be more effective in the prevention of that, don’t you?” 

“Cassian and I could hurt you.” 

“You wouldn’t.” 

“We can’t guarantee—” 

“I trust you,” you interrupted, your view of Azriel partially obstructed by the shadows that wound up your body. “I know you wouldn’t hurt me. Let me do this, Az.” 

The male before you faltered, his eyes darting quickly between yours. His chest, gleaming in the sunlight, rose and fell with strenuous effort. A clench of his jaw. Another pass of silence. 

“Okay,” he nodded, gaze roving over your features. “Okay, y/n. Get warmed up and we can spar.” 

You warmed up with Cassian, stretching and relishing in the feel of your body moving. He went over a few basic maneuvers with you, and you tried your hardest to pay close attention to how his feet slid around the ring. 

It was a rather hard task, seeing as Azriel had continued his blade work on the dummy. Still shirtless. 

After the General was satisfied with your progress, he passed you off to his brother. The Shadowsinger’s posture had softened a hair from when you first entered the ring, his wings coiled back and his shadows creating uneven shapes along the floor. He kept his hands by his sides, his feet relaxed—not a fighting stance in the slightest. 

“Come on,” you teased, cocking your head to the side. “You have to at least try, Az.” 

“I did not spar with you often before your memories were lost,” he admitted. “I do not enjoy the thought of hurting you.” 

Guilt immediately flooded you. You hadn’t even thought about what this would be like for him, too caught up in your own strife. Your stance dropped, the fists at your chin loosening and falling. 

“Oh, Azriel, I’m sorry. I can have Cassian—” 

“No.” He dragged his left foot back. A ghost of a fighting position. “Only me.” 

You took a painful breath in. 

He didn’t move, allowing you to lead. 

You shook your hands out and then your body moved of its own accord. 

You swiped at his legs first, unsurprised when he leaped back with practiced grace. The two of you fell into a dance of drawn arms and calculated shifts and you were almost unnerved by how your body moved without you willing it to. 

Cassian had said that muscle memory would play a role. 

It seemed to be the only thing driving you.  

You went for his knees, but in a way that maneuvered past his wings. 

You used his shadows as cover, taking advantage of their familiarity with you and cloaking yourself in their mist. 

Azriel swung a halfhearted punch at your shoulder and you bypassed the motion, grabbing his wrist and twisting at his back. 

It felt right. Your actions were not your own but they were ingrained in your being. 

This was your body. 

Something that remained unchanged. 

In your newfound joy, you missed the open palm Azriel carefully directed at your chest. The impact caught you off guard, stealing your breath from your lungs as you were pushed to the ground. As your back hit the floor, another shocking burst of air was ripped from you. 

You laid frozen for a moment before a shadow cast over your body, the sun no longer beating down on your skin. Through the ringing in your ears, Azriel’s voice flowed through. 

“I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have—y/n, take a breath.” A scarred hand rubbed along your clavicle. “Breathe. You’re okay. Breathe.” 

A startling gasp of oxygen entered your lungs. You were fine, completely unharmed, only shocked and disoriented. Azriel bowed his head as you continued to circulate the air into your body, and it was then that you saw it. 

A chain hung between you, dangling from his neck and brushing against your chin. It swayed back and forth, a grounding point as you blinked back the tears lining your eyes. The ring glinted in the sun, rubbing against the golden chain, looking as if it did not belong there. 

Azriel tracked your gaze as he raised his head, looking down at the object of your attention. He sat back on his ankles and the diamond followed him, resting close to his chest. 

You raised yourself to your elbows. “Who’s—” You coughed. Azriel winced. “Is that yours?”  

A stupid question, but you couldn’t stop yourself from asking. A guarded look passed over the Shadowsinger’s face and you regretted it instantly. He reached up and clutched the necklace in a closed fist.  

“No,” he responded. “Are you okay?” 

He didn’t release the ring. 

“I’m okay,” you confirmed. “I’m not hurt. It just knocked the wind out of me.” 

Azriel nodded. A grim line formed between his brows. 

“Hey! She alright?” Cassian called. He had moved clear across the roof when you began to spar with Azriel, mentioning something about inventory or knives or something you hadn’t paid attention to. You had been too focused on the warmth you felt from being so close to Azriel’s skin. 

The sound of Cassian’s voice did nothing to break the hold Azriel’s eyes had on you. 

Another beat of silence passed. 

The wind blew a strand of his hair across his forehead. 

“I—” 

“I have a mission. I was supposed to meet with Rhys before midday.” He spoke the words apologetically but his hand shook when it lowered to his knee. 

The sun was already past the high point in the sky. It was no longer midday. 

“Okay,” you whispered. “I want to thank you for—” 

“Don’t thank me. Please, just—Be careful. I have to go.” 

A quiet collection of parting words fell from your lips and Aziel twitched, looking as if he would move forward but thinking better of it. 

But you had thoughts too, and they worked against Azriel’s

You raised to your knees and brushed the hair on his forehead back, a small smile gracing your face, trying so hard to melt some of the tension that had grown between you. Azriel’s breath caught as you moved, but you only doubled down, softly dragging your nails along his scalp. 

He shuddered, eyes falling shut for a brief, unguarded moment. 

His shadows consumed him. 

Azriel was gone. 

[astrologyvas]

mars in the 12th house overlay/synastry

please do not copy or repeat my work anywhere

mars in the 12th house is a mystical, alluring and beautifully contradicting synastry placement.

in this overlay, we have mars, the fiery and confrontational celestial body. when you mix that with the 12th house, being an elusive, murky swamp of reminiscence, there is a lot of conflicting energies. on one hand, the fieriness of mars has the potential to boil out the impurities of the watery house and cleanse them of tainted habits. on the other hand, water can extinguish fire completely.

the first glimpse of this person ignites a spiritual pull towards one another. both, but typically the mars, feel an insatiable curiosity towards the other. it's like a dark, faint-lighted party where they can't take their eyes off each other.

mars in this connection wants to untwine the soul of the house, diving head first into their whirling and opaque waters. however, they quickly realize they need to slow down and restrain their impulsivity in order to be abundant in this connection. the house is cautious of mars, and may be scared away if mars does not tread carefully. trust is very blurred in this overlay, both wanting to be in control of the vulnerability shown to each other.

the house is an oasis of water that mars stumbled upon. mars will need to relinquish its aggressive nature in order to penetrate the shy and mysterious aura the house emanates. mars frantically texting "why are you ignoring me?" while the house is asleep vibes.

how aware one is of their subconscious will be how aware they are of what's going on beneath the surface of this overlay. there is a very passive energy when it comes to disputes and arguments. hidden conflict is a theme because of the timidity of both parties. there is potential for destruction if open & honest communication is not at the forefront of this connection.

mars is almost drowned in the dim haze of the house, causing a tendency for delusion and false impressions. both mars and the house feel like a piece of the puzzle is missing, because of their preconceived notion of who this person is.

this linkage will be a sensual and otherworldly bond. sex feels like you are traveling to astral planes through each other. like you are pulling their walls away, and reaching into the depths of their soul.

it is a powerful coming-together, but if either parties aren't looking or prepared for 12th house activation, it can be just as powerfully draining and cataclysmic.

mars can reach parts of the house that they may not be used to, especially if the house person has an inactive or empty 12th house. it can have the energy of "wait, you noticed that?" after the mars pointed out something the house only ever thought to themselves.

12th house connections are notoriously tragic, as the 12th house itself is a very impenetrable retreat in the natal chart. the house person may initially be full of lust for the mars person, which in time bleeds into insecurity or resentment. this is due to the nature of the 12th house bringing unconscious wounds and trauma to the surface when triggered by someone like mars.

however, this synastry is spiritually elevated and beautifully transcending if the challenging energies are balanced and nurtured. these bonds are meant to trigger change and emotional discomfort.

songs that may resonate:

like a tattoo - sade she - harry styles how to disappear - lana del rey rose blood - mazzy star

[sadiestarrs]

To Meet A Jinx

this is part one!!

Warnings: none :)) just one mention of a gun

A/N: this is my first arcane/ jinx fic so if it's terrible I'm sorry lol

Plot: You work for Silco and his infamous adopted daughter Jinx, except you’ve never met her until now.

Word count: 1,535

Everybody in the city knew about Silco’s insane, blue-haired, and seemingly manic daughter, Jinx. Working for him meant that you were around his henchmen 24/7 and they definitely talked about her.

Most things said about her ranged from the fact that she looked innocent but could blow your face off or that she did actually blow someone's face off that day.

You had heard Sevika complain, too, especially on shipment days. They were always the busiest and most stressful. Silco made sure to have his trusted members on the ship “just to be safe”. 

He had no reason to make everyone work, mostly because he had Jinx. Everyone knew that she could take on twenty people double her size and still win. You hadn’t seen her do anything remotely close to this but it wasn’t hard to believe.

When more than half of a city knows you for being a bloodthirsty killer, of course, they would be weary. But you still weren’t that convinced.

Some older workers talked about a young Jinx running into Silco’s arms with him hugging back and taking her in immediately. Silco didn’t look like the type of guy to appreciate hugs from anyone but it was clear he loved Jinx. And that had to be for a reason.

“I want you to keep an eye on those two,” Sevika says to you, directing people carrying crates. The two men she pointed at were getting on each other's nerves, shoving and bumping one another for no reason. They must have had other issues away from work. 

Your main job was to solve disputes and help Sevika. It didn’t take much but when there were problems, they were always big.

The two guys had moved out of sight and started bothering each other again, causing commotion and yelling. Before you could get around to them, three shipments were falling on the floor, creating a bright purple pool on the ground. 

Everyone had started shoving, making it too much to handle. People were on the floor, glass was being shoved into the soles of your shoes, and most importantly, nearly 500 coins worth of shimmer had been wasted.

Sevika was definitely going to blame you and no one would fess up. You couldn’t even get to the core of the fight before being shoved to the floor and cutting your hand on a large shard of glass.

It didn’t take much to lose all hope for the future. Not only would Silco fire you, but he would make you pay one way or another. None of those things were appealing, especially considering the fact that you desperately wanted to leave this chapter of your life behind. But not before getting a bit of cash and ditching Zaun.

You were sitting helpless, contemplating your life when a shot was fired. It was hard to see through the crowd but it stopped everyone, all the men scattering and moving away.

In front of you was a, surprisingly short, girl, braids nearly touching the floor, holding a revolver and looking around the ship.

No one made eye contact with her. No one went near her. They all went back to their original places as if the fight never happened.

Jinx.

Just her presence alone was enough to make everyone nervous. You hadn’t even realised that you were still sitting on the floor when she came towards you, holding the gun’s handle out. 

It took you a few seconds before realising that she was helping you up. It was enough to make the workers stop. From the corner of your eye, Sevika stood, arms folded, looking at the both of you. You could have sworn that she was laughing when you held on and got up. 

It brought you extremely close to her face, enough to see her baby-blue eyes glimmer. A smile pokes from the side of her mouth. She stood, analysing your face, eyes, lips. You couldn’t move if you tried, she had hypnotised you.

“What the hell is happening here?”

Silco appeared, frozen on the spot. “I spend half of my life working to make life better for all of you and I’m paid with this?”

It was almost symbolic, the liquid sitting under his shoes, mixing with the dirt and mud on the ground and turning into a deeper purple.

“Jinx?” He looks at her but she doesn’t deviate from you. Her body was rigid, completely cornering you.

Confusion was apparent in his expression, looking over at Sevika who only replies with a smirk.

“Jinx!”

Another glimmer appears in her eyes just before she turns around and walks past Silco, no words said.

No one moves or says anything but everyone was looking at you. Sevika pushes off of the wall she was leaning on, leaving the ship, still laughing.

If it wasn’t for your increased heartbeat, you would have questioned the event but too much had happened. Why did she help you up? Why did she analyse you? Why did she ignore Silco?

The questions rushed to your head faster than you could comprehend and faster than you could move after Silco ordered you to go with him. 

He simply pointed, and yelled, “You!” starting to walk faster than you could keep up with. 

______________________________________

“What relationship do you have with Jinx?”

Standing in front of Silco in his office with Sevika next to him was never a place you imagined to be. It almost felt like being in a principal’s office and getting scolded.

You didn’t have a “relationship” with Jinx. You had only met her a few minutes ago on the ship. Everything that happened was unplanned and, frankly, strange. And being interrogated by both of them didn’t help.

“I-I don’t have a relationship with her.” The words were staggered and hard to come out. Your heart had only slowed by a few beats but you could still feel it against your skin.

“That isn’t what I saw. Jinx doesn’t do things like that, meaning that you must have something to do with her.” 

His reasoning didn’t make any sense. Just because she looked at you for a few minutes doesn’t mean that anything happened. 

“Jinx is like a daughter to me. I would hate to have anything happen to her.” Silco continues talking, fiddling with his shimmer eye injection tool. It was nice seeing how much he cared for Jinx but in the end, nothing would happen between you two for a multitude of reasons.

Besides, Jinx didn’t seem like the type to be in a relationship. She was probably too busy blowing things up and creating gadgets.

“You’ll keep your distance. If it wasn’t for her you’d be paying for the lost shimmer right now. Don’t come in next week.”

If it wasn’t for her? Did Jinx help you? What could she have said to make Silco excuse you? You couldn’t walk out of his office quickly enough when he finished. It had turned into a hotbox with his continuous smoking, and you desperately needed air.

Just as you walk down the stairs to leave through the Last Drop, there she was, sitting at the bar and leaning dangerously far back.

“Heya toots!”

She springs up, walking towards you and trapping you in a tight hug at the waist. It was a stark difference from only an hour ago.

“Hi,” you say, walking down the stairs and stopping, awkwardly waiting for her to speak.

“Sorry about earlier, I just couldn’t take my eyes off of you.” You tell her that it’s no problem, trying to ignore the comment and your heartbeat increasing again. “Thanks for helping me with Silco.” 

She shrugs, crossing both arms behind her back. “Yeah, he gets like that sometimes.” You both stand in the awkward silence. Luckily, the bar was empty but it was surprisingly chilly. All you wanted was to leave and try to forget everything that just happened.

“I’ve been watching you for a while. You seem pretty cool.”

The compliment was nice and well-intentioned but the more you thought about it, the more worried you became. She watched you? 

“Would you wanna go out sometime? It doesn’t have to be out out, but somewhere we can talk.”

All you could do was nod. It was stupid in hindsight. Silco had just spent twenty minutes telling you to stay away from her and but here you were, practically agreeing to go on a date. 

“Cool! I’ll see you here tomorrow!”

Here? Tomorrow? It was too soon and too close to Silco. Whether he would be out or not, Sevika and other henchmen would be nearby, not to mention all of Silco’s other enemies. It was all a bad idea. 

But you still agreed. It would be nice to talk to someone new. And you were sure that saying no would have a painful consequence.

Jinx smiles again, hugging you once more before disappearing up the stairs, leaving you standing at the bottom of the steps.

“Good luck.” You look behind the bar and see Chuck emerge from underneath the counter.

 “She’s a crazy one.”

[glotoru]

i’m your national anthem | eren jaeger

the note ☆ this is part two of my lana coded!eren ‘series’, see part one here. once again my soft spoken and older eren (drooling) spoiling his lovely little wife with everything he can but this time it’s at his place of work after she pays him a visit. it’s not as “cinematic” as the first part but i like this one a lot and it’s a birthday gift for myself lmao. inspired by national anthem (demo), lana del rey.

contains ☆ nsfw, fem!reader, stupidlyrich!eren, soft husband!eren, established relationship, semi-public sex (there are cameras), office sex, eren in a yummy suit, lotta praise, oral (m. receiving), handjobs, facefucking, vaginal, sex on a desk, backshots, unprotected sex, creampie, size kink, panty stealing (kind of), possessive eren, he likes you in a sundress, use of pet names. black reader as always but it’s all subjective so read if you like it my loves <3

wc ☆ 4k words (it was meant to be much shorter lmao)

eren jaeger is a successful man.

many would even stretch out as to say that he's almost won in life. he's made it on the forbes list, attended every exclusive gathering to be thrown in society, racked up hundreds of thousands of dollars in his chequing account; he's a well deserved ceo—not from start up connections, not from nepotism—eren jaeger has worked his way to the top from down below. and while he's considered to have everything a mortal man could ever dream of, eren believes his true fortune lies within you.

"mr. jaeger?" a timid voice calls from the entryway to the conference room, where a suit clad eren stands at the table's apex, which holds a stack of printed papers, with two other shareholders seated at the sides listening in on his presentation.

another thing about eren is that he likes rules—he has rules. there are rules employees know not to break; no bribes, no in house disputes, and certainly no entering his boardroom when having a meeting with his shareholders without his request. so when one of his brightest interns shifts uncomfortably under his gaze with a look of fear morphing his facial features, eren knows he’s been asked to do so by someone with more power than even him.

"i take it that my wife is here?" eren breathes, mindlessly running a hand through messy growing hair but still refusing to acknowledge the fact that you came at such an inconvenient time. "could she wait for another twenty minutes? we've almost concluded the contracts."

the sorry smile given by the intern is enough of an answer for him, "i don't think it would be appropriate for me to repeat the words she said, but she didn't give off the impression of wanting to wait long, sir."

so…spoiled.

he could already imagine how you would be waiting there; making yourself comfortable up on his desk, legs dangling in your four inch heels and tapping your nails against the glass whilst admiring the photo of the two of you on your honeymoon situated at the desks edge. of course, you would be doing this all with a small pout on your face, ready for you scold him for how long it's taken him to head back to you.

nursing an apologetic smile, he glances towards the man and woman on each side as if silently asking to resume this another time. they wave him off with small laughter, going on about keeping you happy and all the unimportant other things; eren's too preoccupied with going to see you to register their words.

he's quick making his way to the elevator, but not before swiping a single champagne coloured rose from a vase nearby; eren knows he can't show up empty handed, not with you. it's not irregular for you to come to his work so unannounced; at a random time on any given day. you strut around the office like it's yours, you make friends with the secretaries and listen to office gossip like you're one of them, and you tell his assistant all about the plans the two of you have like he doesn't already know. at this point his employees hold you in higher regard than they do him.

it's expected though; seeing how you have their boss contorted around your pretty finger.

your face lights up from it's bored expression when you hear the elevator chime. it takes four of eren's long strides to reach his office doors, and he opens it to a carbon copy of what he'd imagined only minutes ago.

"'ren!" smiling at his tall frame, you open up your arms for him to take. the smell of his rosewood cologne pronounces itself through the hug, which shortly turns into intertwined lips. "missed you." you mutter against his now gloss stained mouth, taking hold of his stubbled chin with long nails to deepen your kiss.

"i missed you too baby, got you this," he mumbles, handing you the flower before steadying his hands on both your sides, essentially baring you to his warm body, "how was your hair appointment?"

"thank you," you soften, casually dipping your nose into the welts of the rose to take in it's scent before continuing, "it was good, didn't take as long as i thought so i wanted to come say hi!" your eyes dilate to black expanses as you properly take him in. eren left early today, so you couldn't get a glimpse of him leaving the house. but seeing him now, with his hair pulled up into it's signature messy ponytail and the blue armani suit you told him buy—you could quite literally drool.

"it looks good." he takes a piece of your hair before leaving it alone. "and your dress looks real pretty on you."

grinning at his words, you shimmy out of his hold; intentionally ignoring the way his eyes follow the dips, curves and pudge highlighted by the sundress you wear. "so, i thought we could eat some food together."

for the first time since entering the room, his eyes shift from you over to the wicker basket on the nearby sofa.

you're sitting on his lap as he rests in his chair, putting some radish on the cucumber roll before feeding it to your husband, "hope i didn't pull you from anything..."

ah…

eren is a calculated man; he doesn't act irrationally. instead, he thinks—thinks for just a few seconds of possible outcomes depending on what he does. but with you? there's no need for that; you probably knew there was a high chance of him being in a meeting, if you weren't already told that by his assistant—so, as always, he chooses the answer that'll ultimately keep you happy.

"hm? nope, nothing important enough."

"oh, mkay." you nod, taking a mini donut from its cute package and popping it into your mouth. after dusting off your hands, you fiddle with the strands of hair that frame his face, “you coming home early today? we can watch that movie i was talking about—and i’ve been dying to get to properly use the theater with you.”

“let me think about it, princess—but i’ll try.” he sports a boyish smile, accepting the water bottle you hand him before watching you clean up the empty trays and takeout boxes. his words are most definitely for show, that man will be home by six instead of eight—hell, make it five.

perhaps eren jaeger truly has won at life; god…you look alluring, walking around his space with your heels like the place is your own, fragrancing the room with the scent of your lotion mixed with the perfume he gifted you. his wandering eye is fixed to your legs, catching how your dress rides up with every step taken.

“can feel you starin’ at me.” you tease in a sing-song voice, wiggling your hips as you bend down to pick up fallen trash.

“good.” his long legs aid him in striding towards your frame, large hands come to rest on your hips from behind. his thumbs begin to rub soft circles on them as he plants a kiss on your forehead, “did my employees see you in this?”

“duh—i had to see them to see you,” you laugh. 

you know damn well what this is about, and you find it amusing. for the most part, your husband is a calm man; slow to anger, leans towards calmly solving disputes as opposed to growing aggressive, and when he gets agitated, he takes a break. but at the mere mention of his wife, eren seems to abandon all sensical thoughts of zen he once had. 

“any of ‘em stare?” 

“dunno.” you respond with a shrug and turn to face eren, smoothing down the collars of his outfit with your hands, “i don’t pay attention to any of them. they’re not you.”

“okay.” he makes his way back to his seat, gesturing to you to follow along. “i really do mean it when i say you look nice in that dress—well, i always mean it but…”

you’re giggling, standing in between his spread legs while looking down at him, “thanks ‘ren.”

“mhm, i’m the luckiest man in the world.”

oh…he has that tone in his voice again; the rasped one that has your legs pressing together when he speaks. it’s the kind that happens when he gets a lustful glint in his eyes—when he wants to fuck you. his hands wander up the fabric of your dress, the feeling of his cold wedding band makes you gasp and steady your hands onto his shoulders for support.

“h-hold on.”

“something wrong?” he stills, “if it’s the cameras, i’ll get the footage removed—or maybe you want me to get a copy of it?”

“nothing’s wrong.” you shake your head, but make a mental note to ask him to indeed grab a copy before deleting it, “just want you to relax for a moment—i know i took you out of that meeting.” you speak as slowly and your fingers move down his arms, keeping his eye contact as you lower your knees to the ground. “‘m sorry love, i wanted to see you for a bit.”

why are you apologizing? there’s no need for you to, there’s never been a need for you to, and eren doesn’t think he would ever make you either. 

“let me make it up to you.” 

you don’t let him get much of a word out before you’re unzipping his slacks and palming the prominent bulge that greets your eyes. his body shows it’s gratitude by sinking into your ghostly touch. eren can only breath in sharp inhales as you free his dick from it’s confinement, straightening itself out as translucent pre stumbles from the tip. you shouldn’t be shy but eren is big in every sense. and your brain seems to struggle with object permanence; eyes almost blowing open in surprise of how thick he is despite you practically owning it. the phantom ache in your jaw seems to be a warning—you shouldn’t try anything.

but eren’s presence alone overrides all alarms and commands in your brain, and the hazy look he gives you from his seat has you subconsciously wrapping your hand around his base, shifting across the length and tracing the roads and ridges of his veins with your tongue. 

he sucks his teeth when you pucker your lips at the slightly pinkish tip, feathering a little kiss before letting spit fall from your mouth and onto his cock. the dribble doesn’t make it past the head before you’re meeting it with your lips, steadily taking him into your stretched walls. the feeling of the burn from your mouth molding in indecent ways would make you wince if not for the effects eren’s soft groans and breaths have on your cloudy mind.

“such a pretty sight. p-pretty fuckin’ view.” a sigh escapes him when you hollow your cheeks. admittedly, it’s nothing like the home he knows your cunt as, but when you bottom out and his tip punches the back of your throat, it seems like the closest thing. it surely is a sight to see: a sweet woman like you, doing something so damn nasty.

your throat tightens with each bob, trying its best to prevent a gag but failing every now and then. still, you plant a hand on his knee for stability to lessen the slight burn in your knees given by the nylon carpet beneath them, and allow the mixture of precum and saliva escape your mouth and dribble everywhere. 

“oh, fuck—yeah, you got it.” he’s amazed, seeing you take him like a fucking champion, choking all over him without a single complaint. “that’s my girl.”

despite going nice and slow, you get messy—his dick fucks up your sensory system. glittery tears breach your water line, threatening to drop and roll as you sniffle away. 

eren is pulled out of his trance when your mouth escapes him, watching you with a slight furrow in his brow. you gaze at him through your pretty lash extensions, tongue unfurling out for you to tap him on. “tastes so good eren.”

“shit—don’t say that to me.” his whimpers are loud, as loud as his heaves for the same air that seems to avoid him. conscious of the chance that sound could somehow transfer, he drapes his hand across the lower half of his face and captures the guttural groan from his chest.

“you don’t need to be quiet,” your hand grabs hold of his own, carefully guiding it from his mouth to the back of your head. silently, you watch him with admirable and expectant eyes that could make him cum from the sight alone, “don’t you own this place?”

my god… you want him to face fuck you, you’re outwardly asking him to do so without a drop of shame. right until your makeup is ruined and a crying mess from how full your mouth is. he doesn’t do it often—he’s too scared of watching you cough up spit and develop a sore throat the next day for it to happen regularly. besides, eren is a pleaser—very rarely did he have you like this unless you openly wanted it. but with the look of expectation you have, sniffling and pleading for him to help you like a dutiful husband he promised to be, it’s difficult to him to do anything other than comply.

eren wants to give you a standing ovation watching you submissively relax in his tender hold. with eyes full of love, he steadily lines you up with his tip, counting you to three before guiding you down the length of his cock. your husband starts off slow, keeping a nice pace that makes it easy to inhale enough to go back down. but like all things, it grows—grows faster. hands tangle in your hair, driving your head down to meet him halfway; you gag and choke and drool out the corners of your mouth, you dig and scratch with your nails, you savour quick inhales that are quickly consumed and leave you with even less air than before. 

the tip of your nose tickles the pubic hair at his pelvis as he holds your head steady at his base. the cut off of circulation has your eyes going spotty, but the lightheadedness just feels so so so good.

upon seeing the twitch in his brow and the rapid rise and fall of his chest, your breath hitches—he’s going to cum if you continue. whatever words you attempt to speak translates to vibration that makes his dick jump, so twice, you pat his arm. 

there’s a look of panic on his features, ignoring the mess left on his lower body and he releases you from his grasp. almost subconsciously, he pushes all traces of hair from your face, cupping you cheeks and forcing you to look at him, “did something happen? are you alright? was it too much—i’m sorry, love.”

“no.” you shake your head, moving from the position in front of him that made your knees ache and buckle. quietly, you turn your back to him, hazardly pressing your body into his desk while your hands tease up the back of your thighs, dragging the dress’s fabric along with it. “just want you to cum inside, it doesn’t feel as good when you don’t.”

symphonies ring through his head: eren is sure he’s won at life—and he’s going to be selfish with it. you’re his freedom—your pussy is his national anthem, not the fucking two minute song that rings monotonely in his mind after hearing it. he can’t rip his eyes away when your dress climbs up and over your ass; it exposes your thong and it’s  practically swallowed by the folds of your pussy, which leaves a damp spot right near its entrance. 

“oh, eren…” you sigh in relief at the feeling of your hand fumbling to pull your panties to the side for your husband to see just how wet you get on the mere thought of him. your fingers are met with no friction as you slowly rub your clit, nails clacking against each other and you spread the slick that coats your cunt. 

you pull away from yourself with a string connecting your fingers to your pussy, all before giving it a few love taps once more. “‘s all yours.”

it’s all his…what a fucking lucky man. your scent has commanding control over him, clinging to his body and moving him towards you like a puppeteer and he’s the woodwork. hands rounding over the fat of your ass, he makes quick work of pulling your thong off one leg and letting it pool at your ankle. he’s not afraid to admit it: eren jaeger will die for this pussy—his wife’s pussy.

he makes quick work of you, slotting his dick within your folds, fucking himself up against your clit a few times before convening at your hole. he sheaths himself inch by inch, reveling in the soul snatching grip you welcome him with. the pulsation of your spongy walls almost bites at him—cause a stuttered moan to fall from him as he bottoms out into you.

“fuck!” you squeal at the feeling of his tip budding up against your cervix. frantically, you try to inch forward to build some space between you two. 

“nuh-uh, no fucking running,” he sucks his teeth, digging his dull nails in your hips to keep you flush against his body, “take it whole, didn’t i teach you better than that?”

“mm—mhm!” baring your eyes shut, you allow your upper body to relax into the glass surface of the desk while he finds his rhythm. but you’re at a loss for words, mouth hanging open as he drags out to the hilt and buries himself back in until he’s trying to bypass your ass. his repeated strokes strikes against the soft spot at the roof of your cunt, “you’re going so fast.”

“am i—shit—am i supposed to go slow?” he asks knowingly, to which you frantically shake your head no to. had he gone any second slower, you’d be throwing a damn fit, whining about his talking too much time in teasing you and throwing yourself back into his hips instead. “yeah, that’s what i thought.”

each thrust drags out more of the milky white slick that forms a nasty ring around the base of his cock. “r-ren, you’re kissin’ me…” you whine, wiggling and writhing as you feel him reach your cervix—‘n it hurts, hurts real good and eren knows you don’t want him to stop. 

your sobs fog up the glass below, and with tear stained eyes you turn your head to look back at your husband. his pace falters when he locks your gaze—it’s hazy and pretty, your once neat waterline is now smudged against your lower eyelids, and your plump lips are in a pout to suppress what would be breathy moans to quick whimpers—all which reach his dick just the same. 

eren wastes no time grabbing a hold of your leg and hoisting it up to meet your torso on the table. the new angle gives him leeway to hit deeper—rub against his favourite spot that has you seeing stars.

“fuck, yeah—p-please eren.” you’re babbling incoherently, eyes gluing shut to give yourself some peace of mind as you shift your hips backwards to meet him halfway, “give it to me, jus’ like that!” 

oh, shit. 

your eagerness messes up his pace, making him curse at the feeling of his cock slipping out of you and instead slipping up against your neglected clit.

“c’mon…put it back in.” you’re whining, rubbing your cunt all over him like the neediest thing he’s ever seen—but you’re so molded to eren; there is undoubtedly nothing else in the world that makes you feel better than the way he does.

“calm down, be patient.” his voice is smooth—firm. it pulls you down into a sense of docility; security. it almost makes you forget how you’re being defiled on the desk where he earns a living so you can wear the pearls on your neck. “you’re so good to me.” he’s mumbling, fucking himself through your folds. 

you can hear the sounds of your juices mixing, and eren giving a low groan before bottoming back into your sweet pussy that welcomes him back like a man once at war.

“baby…gonna—i’m gonna cum.” you shake your head at the inevitable—you’re already whimpering and your legs are buckling under the pressurizing buildup in your bottom torso. 

and eren? he would never deny you of anything you wanted—in fact, he loves when you cum; your body goes rigid and develops an ironclad grip on him, and your mouth hangs open in the most obscene, yet pretty, way. so he encourages you, coaxes you on by keeping steady, hitting harder. 

“f-fuckfuckfuck—fuck!” when your hand shoots down to rub and fuss and your clit, you’re done for. 

eren’s strokes don’t stop when you do. instead, he lets you ride out your high right on his dick—and you…your walls are fluttering around him. uncontrolled sobs leave your mouth as you grip onto the table for some sort of stability, “that’s it.” 

“you feel good?” he asks, moving your leg from the tabling and bringing you up to meet his body. 

your mind is so gone, you can only mirror the words of your husband, “mhm—feels good.” 

his hands grab your waist, pulling you down into the chair with him. there’s little time for you to process your surroundings before eren’s got your back flush against him, arms hooked around the back of your legs, bringing them back towards your chest. 

“you can take a little more for me, right?” he huffs, blindly navigating himself back into your hole before receiving extra aid from your fucked out self. 

truth be told, you’d take anything for eren—even when you’re crying from the sheer overstimulation you feel as he sloppily bounces you on his cock. you can only pray he cums quick, all before you truly start to get messy in his place of work. 

“give it to me ‘ren.” moaning sweetly, your hands make their way to the nape of his neck and tug at the hair found in your fist, “c’mon—give me what i came here for.” 

and eren…he doesn’t like to keep you waiting. 

“fuck—you’re just the most spoiled thing aren’t you?” he moans—truly, he knows there is no one to blame but himself. and when you give him pussy this good, what else can he do?

your heeled feet clack together as eren fucks up into you with little regard for decency. his breathing is erratic, either heavy or almost laboured and still. your name is stuck on his lips—rolling around on his tongue like candy—he says it like a chant, rambling on about how only you can get him like this. shallow groans and grunts as he stills in your cunt—making sure you feel every rope of him by keeping you right on him despite your squirms.

“feel full?”

you scoff playfully, moving from your position once eren lets you, only to see a coy grin settling on his face. he’s not expecting an answer—especially when you return his smile while tugging your dress back down your legs. his eyes follow your movements, watching as you gather the picnic basket, keys to your pink porsche, and lace thong within your hands before making your way back to him.

slotting the underwear into the pocket of his blazer jacket, you whisper, “you’d better be home early, mr. jaeger.”

[wileys-russo]

taught a lesson II a.putellas x sister!reader

taught a lesson II a.putellas x sister!reader

"alexia!" you yelled loudly with a scowl, stomping out of your room to find your sister sprawled out on the lounge, her girlfriend laid in between her legs as both older girls gave you a curious look.

"why is there a lock on my window?" you moved to block their view of the tv and crossed your arms, glaring daggers at your older sister whose face remained blank.

"why don't you tell me why you would need a lock on your window hermana?" the blonde hit back raising an eyebrow as you scoffed. "because you think you're a prison warden!" you snapped, the warning glare sent your way doing nothing to deter your anger or where it was directed.

you'd moved in with alexia when after years of academy training and playing on the junior team you were finally offered a contract on barcelona's senior team.

you'd all been over the moon and you weren't sure if you could ever do anything to make alexia prouder than she had been once you'd picked up the phone and called her first.

quickly accepting the contract, the club had offered to set you up with your own apartment, car and a nutritionist to visit weekly to help you settle in and form a healthy routine around balancing this new adjustment to your life.

however both your older sisters and your mami declined this on your behalf, all sharing the opinion that at eighteen you weren't responsible enough to live by yourself even with assistance, and your protests fell on deaf ears as you were instead moved into your eldest sisters spare room.

to her credit she'd done everything she could to make it feel like it was as much your place as hers and olga's, allowing you full creative control over everything about your room and even offering to move about or change some things in common areas in an attempt to help you not feel like just a guest.

though not dissimilarly to both your older sisters you had a temper, especially at eighteen it hardly took much to have steam pouring from your ears and as much as it amused alexia to wind you up she knew where the line lay between teasing and taking things too far.

that did not however stop the two of you from being at one anothers throats more often than not. alexia had always and would forever be fiercely overprotective when it came to her younger sisters, and about as close to a helicopter sibling as one could be.

it was rare things got physical now alexia was thirty and knew better, never afraid to smack or shove you when she was younger and you'd be on her case about something refusing to leave her be until you got your way. now for the most part she left the wrestling and the rolling around to you and alba, rarely involving herself.

as much as she was also protective over alba, with nearly twelve years between the two of you it meant she'd adopted more of a maternal role. this only seemed to worsen once you moved in with her and she had much easier access to every little aspect of your life, trying to control as much of it as she possibly could in order to keep you safe, happy and healthy, at least in her eyes she was doing what she thought was best for you.

but this lack of autonomy, privacy and independence didn't fare well with you, and caused the two of you to clash heads frequently. olga more often than not acted as the mediator between your disputes, much more reasonable and in touch with her emotional intelligence than your sister was.

but when you'd stupidly left your laptop open on the kitchen bench having stepped out of the room to shower, alexia had snooped and found your iMessage threads with friends, head boiling as she read through weeks worth of successful executed plans to sneak out and get up to god knows what with them at all hours of the night.

so to prevent this from happening again she'd had the lock installed when you were out with your mami for lunch the next day, olga warning her against it and trying to remind her of when alexia herself was eighteen, prompting that you needed the room and space to make your own mistakes and learn from them.

warnings which of course, fell on deaf and very stubborn ears.

"stop sneaking out then and i would not have to put things in place to keep you in." alexia spoke coldly, olga squeezing her hand trying to catch her eye and encourage her to take a different approach which went ignored.

"how did you even know about-" you scoffed in disbelief, shaking your head firmly and storming back to your room. "i know everything pequeña, including what is best for you!" alexia yelled after you, having never been able to let you do anything without poking her nose in or getting involved.

"stay out of my life!" you yelled back, bedroom door slamming with such force that a picture in the hallway could be heard falling off its hook and to the floor with a thump.

a string of angry catalan leaving her mouth alexia gently moved her girlfriend off and stood, ignoring her warnings to leave you be to cool off as her footsteps raced toward your room.

olga sighed as your door could be heard being flung open and the two of you started to argue, voices raising higher each minute as both you and alexia refused to relent or budge an inch, not able to see at all where the other one was coming from.

"you looked through my personal fucking messages?" you yelled as alexia finally got angry enough to let it slip what had prompted the lock in the first place. "no! you were stupid enough to leave your laptop open." alexia defended herself as you scoffed.

"so you thought you'd read them instead of just...being a normal human being and going about your day. you're crazy alexia!" you hauled a pillow at her which she caught with ease only further fueling your rage.

"you are my responsibility pequeña. you live with me! i know what is best for you and i did what i needed to do to keep you safe. you are eighteen what if someone had taken advantage of you walking around in the middle of the night huh? mierda!" alexia spat throwing her hands up in the air.

"i wasn't walking around in the middle of the night puta i was picked up and driven to my best friends house. my best friend who i never get to see anymore because if barça's training schedule isn't enough you are always on my back about doing more." you paused to take a breath, feeling a little light headed for a moment.

"extra laps, extra weights, extra media study, extra shooting practice, extra drills, if you had your way i would never leave the pitch alexia. i need a life outside of football too, please!" your anger quickly melted away as honesty leaked through, your voice straining and eyes pleading for her to see it from your point of view.

"just because you don't have a life, doesn't mean you get to ruin mine." you spoke quietly, sitting down on the edge of your bed and rubbing your face tiredly with your hands, your sister missing all the signs that now would be a great time to wrap this up.

"football is your life, and if you don't see that then you don't belong at barça." your sisters words hurt more than you let on, face falling just for a moment before it hardened, olga now appearing realizing she should have stepped in sooner.

"get dressed, now. we have training!" alexia warned sternly, again ignoring the way her girlfriends eyes burned into the side of her head and she tugged on her shirt in warning.

"i'm not going." you spoke, eyes trained to the floor as alexia scoffed and stepped further into the room. "perdón?" she spoke, eyes drilling into you and cold tone warding you off of arguing, intimidation often her best tool of communication these days when she didn't know what else to do with you.

"mami is picking me up soon and taking me to the doctors, i have an appointment. jona already knows!" you rolled your eyes, still refusing to meet hers which bore down on you as you stood to your feet.

"why did you not tell me? what is the appointment for? i could have taken you." your sister rushed out, eyebrows furrowing as you snickered. "because my body is none of your business alexia, and you're my sister, not mami!" you grunted, pushing at her chest so she stumbled out of the room, the door quickly closing in her face.

scoffing at the gesture alexia's hand reached for the handle to push it open again, never allowing you the luxury of a lock bar the one now on your window, but fingers caught her wrist and tugged it away, olga staring up at her with a firm look and a raised eyebrow.

"sí, vale." alexia sighed, moving away from the door as her girlfriend followed after her to their own bedroom to continue the conversation.

~

"go, go go!" mapi chanted, raising from the lounge and clutching onto alexia who was sporting the same wide eyed stare as they watched the barcelona mens team play.

"bah! where was he offside huh? joder!" mapi threw her hands up with a roll of her eyes as the whistle blew and both girls dropped down into their seats with annoyed frowns.

alexia's head turned when she heard your key in the door, sure enough a few seconds later you were walking through, only alba was following you which caused her eyebrows to furrow.

"pequeña! we missed you at training." mapi greeted you with a cheer, opening her arms expectantly for a hug as you breezed right past and made a beeline for your bedroom. "what was that about?" the defender asked confused as alba joined the pair on the lounge.

"ask ale." the younger putellas chuckled with a shake of her head. "i thought mami was taking her to the doctor?" alexia ignored the previous remark and directed the question at her sister who shrugged.

"no? mami's been at work all day, i just picked her up and took her to get food." alba shrugged as alexia frowned. "from where? the doctor?" alexia sat up more as alba shook her head and her phone rang.

"no from the bus stop not too far from here. conned me into paying for her food of course, diablillo." alba rolled her eyes as mapi chuckled, the phone ringing again. "so mami didn't take her to the doctor then?" alexia clarified as alba gave her a look.

"no, why are you being so pushy?" the younger putellas questioned as alexia ignored her, the phone ringing again. "mierda! alba would you get that?" alexia snapped as it rang for the fourth time, her patience breaking.

"vale relax its not mine! its hers, took it cause she wouldn't stop taking ugly photos of me eating." alba scoffed, pushing her hips up and grabbing it out of her back pocket.

"that is hilarious." mapi chuckled as alba shoved her and clicked accept. "she's busy call back later!" your sister spoke the phone without looking, but her face clearly changed when whoever was on the other line spoke up.

"no lo siento i understand. i will have her call back soon as she can, gracias." alba spoke much more politely as the older girls beside her gave her a funny look. "amor." before alexia could question her on anything olga appeared, nodding for her to follow.

"two seconds cariño." alexia waved her off and turned back to alba as olga cleared her throat. "alexia, now." at the more serious tone the blonde was quick to her feet, ignoring her sister and best friends teasing jests after her.

"before we speak, you need to promise me you will stay calm amor." olga closed the bedroom door as alexia took a seat on the bed with a confused nod of agreement, stomach churning at the anxiety of what could be going on.

"you need to talk to your sister." olga sighed without giving much more context. "about this morning? cari i know she was upset but-" olga shook her head and cut her off.

"no, you need to talk to your sister." olga repeated as alexia's frown deepened. "i do not understand." the midfielder shook her head as olga stepped into their ensuite for a moment.

"what?" alexia questioned seeing her girlfriend had something hidden behind her back. the younger woman hesitated for a moment before slowly moving her hand, holding up something which made alexia's eyes widen.

"calm alexia, you promised me calm." olga warned as the blonde snatched it out of her hand, staring at the positive pregnancy test in disbelief. "why would i be upset? amor i did not even know you were speaking to doctors or-" as her girlfriends large hand settled on her stomach olga's eyes rolled.

"its not mine! idiota." olga smacked her on the head with a huff as alexia frowned. "then who would it-" suddenly everything clicked into place and the spanish captains blood ran cold.

"i found it in the bathroom."

"ale." olga warned seeing the instant switch in her facial features. "amor think about this and how to-" but her words fell on deaf ears as the bedroom door opened and alexia stalked back to the living room.

"maría, vaya." alexia ordered nodding to the door as the defender looked confused. "ale the game still has-" she gestured to the tv but was promptly shut down with a stern glare.

"vale, vale! i know where i am not wanted." mapi held her hands up in surrender and stood, grabbing her keys and quickly leaving the apartment to head to her own.

"we need to talk." both alba and alexia spoke in sync, frowning at one another. "you first." again they spoke at the same time rolling their eyes now, though as alexia held up the pregnancy test alba's jaw dropped.

"felicidades hermana!" the girl leapt up and tried to hug her sister who pushed her off. "it is not mine, and not olga's." at those words alba's eyes widened even further in shock.

"the call on her phone. it was a nurse with her test results, wouldn't say anything else but that she has to call back as soon as possible." alba explained, the two having a conversation entirely with their eyes before nodding and turning to head to your room.

"mi amor, go easy. if you push and yell she will just close off!" olga warned, hovering by the bedroom door respecting this was more a family matter as alba sent her a small smile, though she winced as alexia basically kicked your door open.

"hey! what i have to knock when i enter your room but you can't do that for mine?" you glared up at your sisters from your bed, spotting your phone in alba's hand. "oh i was looking for that." you sat up and held your hand out expectantly.

"alba!" you huffed when your sister didn't hand it to you, shifting a little uncomfortably as they both glared you down wordlessly. "what?" you questioned with a frown.

"what test did you have today?" alexia spoke first, voice seemingly calm as you rolled your eyes. "i told you, my body is none of your business." you repeated from earlier.

"well i know mami didn't take you, so you tell us or you can tell her." alexia threatened as you paused, looking them both over and finding no weakness you could pick at or exploit.

"i am eighteen i am an adult, i don't have to tell you or mami anything." you held firm as alba scoffed, tossing your phone onto the bed beside you. "and is that what you think you are, sí? an adult?" alexia taunted as you glared up at her.

"good, good. because you will need to be to look after a baby!" alexia yelled suddenly causing you to flinch, pulling the positive pregnancy test out of her pocket and holding it up.

"thats not mine." you spoke quickly, trying to keep your face as still and as calm as possible. "oh no? well pequeña it is not mine, not olga's, is it alba's?" alexia's voice dripped with sarcasm making your eyes roll.

"you have friends over all the time." you scoffed, crossing your arms and shrugging. "sí, friends who do not sleep with men! idiota." alexia threw the pregnancy test as you as you ducked and it went sailing behind your bed.

"the doctor called, said they have your test results hermanita. time to stop lying!" alba warned sternly, moving to stand beside your eldest sister as both of them stared you down.

"okay, it is mine." you spoke with a shrug. "we said stop lying! we-" alexia started to lecture but stopped as alba tapped her shoulder and she registered your words.

"it is yours?" "sí."

"dios mío, we're going to be tia's! we can't be tia's first, you're supposed to have a baby first." alba moaned in shock, smacking alexia and siting down at your desk in shock.

"you are too young to be having sex joder! who is the father? you're a baby you can't have a baby!" alexia roared, vein in her forehead near to exploding as alba grabbed the back of her shirt stopping her from lunging at you like she wanted.

"alba, call mami. olga!" at her call the brunette appeared in the doorway, alexia asking her to go to the chemist and get a few more tests. but all three of them stopped their fussing and planning at the sound of your laughter.

"you think this is funny?" alexia's eye twitched as she took a step closer and you nodded, ignoring both alba and olga frantically gesturing for you to stop behind her, both girls recognising the eldest putellas was about one second from exploding.

"sí, very funny." you grinned tauntingly, alexia's mouth opening and closing like a fish as the tips of her ears turned red and you laughed again.

"i'm not pregnant, idiotas" you smiled, leaning back on your hands as all three girls frowned. "but you said-" alba gestured to the test on the floor and your stomach. "it is my test, but i'm not pregnant." you replied with a shrug.

"pequeña. you have five seconds to explain before i rip your arms from your body." alexia growled, fists clenched by her side as you chuckled. "i bought it online, its a fake test that always show positive." you explained as alba's jaw dropped.

"i bought it to scare you. so now i hope you learned your lesson about snooping around in my life, alexia." you spat with a roll of your eyes, alba quick to grab her sisters wrist as she stepped toward you again.

"what about the test? the doctor called." alba pushed with a frown. "mami found a weird spot on my back last week, made me an appointment to go get it tested to make it sure wasn't cancer or anything bad. call her! she will tell you." you replied honestly, pulling down the collar of your shirt and twisting to show the marks.

"you are not pregnant?" you fixed your shirt and shook your head with an infuriatingly smug smile that had your sisters seething. "prove it."

with a shrug you bent down and grabbed a pregnancy test from your side table, assuming this would have been the outcome. "muévete por favor." you shooed your sisters out of the way as olga stepped aside and you went to the bathroom.

olga again recognizing this for now was a family matter stepped out of the room as your sisters took a seat on the edge of the bed, both were silent still trying to process everything.

"see? negative." you returned around five minutes later, handing the test to alba as both her and alexia studied it with a frown. "i peed on that you know." you reminded as your sisters face scrunched in disgust and she promptly dropped it on alexia's lap.

"alba!" the older of the two smacked it away, both starting to bicker as they wiped their hands on one another making you chuckle, the noise alerting them back to the issue at hand.

"i hope this taught you both a valuable lesson about snooping." you rolled your eyes, hands on hips and staring them down in a stance scarily similar to eli's.

"you are not pregnant?" "no." "promise? on papi?" "yes, not pregnant."

"good, dios mio." alba exhaled shakily, catching alexia's eye as they seemed to again wordlessly have a conversation, your suspicions peaking as they stood and fixed their eyes back on you.

"you go left, i'll go right, she can't outrun us both. vamos!" your eyes widened and you nearly fell to the floor in your haste to get away, both your sisters launching at you.

"olga!"

[badkitty3000]

Weak

Even Five Hargreeves is no stranger to temptation. He tries so hard to stay away. He wants to do the right thing for once in his life. If not for himself, then for her. But every man has his breaking point.

Five Hargreeves x Reader Smut

This one shot is an accompaniment to my other work "Addicted". This can be read on its own, but is a different side of the story, as told from Five's point of view.

My Master List Of Number Five Fanfiction

Weak:

I never meant to take it this far. I never meant to be cruel. That’s not who I am, or at least I didn’t think I was. I also thought I was strong and had will power. But I guess I was wrong about that, too. Because as much as I try to stay away, I don’t.

I know who I am and what I’m made of. The terrible things I’ve done. That’s not a secret and I’ve never lied to myself about that. My morals can’t even be called a gray area anymore; they’re more like an indistinct blur. But in this one tiny part of my soul, I was trying to be better. For her, at least.

I have failed miserably.

She knows what I am. When things got too comfortable and too familiar, I told her as a way to push her away and to scare her. It didn’t work, though. In fact, it had the opposite effect. She fucking loved it…and I didn’t know how to say no to that.

How could I say no when she was tearing at my clothes, practically panting with desire, and shoving her hand down my pants? All over a bloody stain on a shirt collar and the feel of my Glock against her skin. I’m sure there’s a way to resist that, but fuck if I know what it is. I’m not smart enough or strong enough to figure that one out.

I don’t particularly like all of the killing. But I’m pretty fucking good at it and someone has to do it, I suppose. I certainly never considered it sexy in any way. Then, after that first time, when she begged me to tell her all of the gruesome details, and I watched her skin start to flush and her pupils dilate…well, fuck, that put a new spin on everything.

I still don’t like it, that part hasn’t changed. I get no pleasure from pulling that trigger and watching their skull break open like a fucking pinata, spraying the contents of their brains all over the floor like the world’s worst party game. Now, however, there is a sick little spark that will ignite in me after it’s done. Because I know how it will turn her on.

And, fuck, I am weak.

That’s what this all boils down to. Weakness. For most people that meet me or know me in any way, weak is probably the last word they would use to describe me. Cold; bitter; sarcastic; asshole. Those adjectives are much more likely to be used. But weak? Doubtful.

I know the truth, though. Deep down, that is what I am. Because when you continue to break someone’s heart time and time again, just because you can’t control your own basic urges…that’s weakness. Pure and simple.

She has told me how much I’ve hurt her, and how much I am ruining her life. She has screamed and cried and told me all of the things I know I deserve to hear. She has called me an asshole more times than I can remember, and I have never disputed it. So, I stay away, like I know I should. Until she inevitably calls again. And I slip right back into it without another thought. Like the absolute fucking bastard that I am.

Weak.

Because even though I know it’s wrong and I’m slowly poisoning her with my selfishness, each time I think maybe it will be different. Maybe this time will be the time when I stay. When I will finally be the person I should be and really want to be.

All the way up until the early morning, I will convince myself that this is it. I’ve finally seen the light and I can be the man she deserves; it will be so easy. Because when it’s just the two of us, in our own little cocoon, hidden away from the outside world, the idea is magical. I would give anything to stay there, tucked away, fucking like animals until we’re both too exhausted to talk anymore. I want to stay there and listen to her voice, and her laugh, and feel her hands on my touch-starved body. And I think, yes, this is it. This is what I want.

Then morning comes and the spell is broken.

Once that first peek of dawn starts to light up the sky, all of my anxieties come rushing back, and I remember why I can’t stay. Morning brings back the real world, and with it all of its problems.

I will freeze up, practically paralyzed with fear, as she sleeps next to me, an arm draped over my chest. I will remember what kind of person I really am, and how that just doesn’t translate to boyfriend material. And it’s not just the little fact that I am a hired assassin, although that does put a slight snag in any future meetings with parents and the like.

It’s the mixing bowl of fucked up thoughts and feelings and history that lives inside my brain. Guilt. Regret. Sadness. Rage. Take your pick, none of them are great. And I can mask them for a night or two, while I’m pretending to be someone I’m not. But they will come back again, and that’s just not something anyone needs. Especially someone you care about.

So, I do the worst, shittiest thing in the world, and leave while she’s asleep. No kiss goodbye. No note. Not even a quick morning fuck. I grab my shit and leave in a flash of blue light, like the weak coward I am. Can’t even bother to use the god damn door.

I will stay away after that. At least for a while. I will ignore the incoming texts and voice mails that sometimes will follow, and sometimes don’t. I’ll pretend I don’t care about the lectures and pleas and rightly-deserved insults. But I do care. And that’s why I won’t answer.

A month might go past, maybe more. Just enough time for me to start thinking she really is done with me. Then the call will come through, late at night, and I won’t ignore it. Because, as we’ve determined…I am weak.

She is the only one, although I’ve never told her that and I bet she thinks she’s not. I’m not interested in anyone else. I don’t need anyone else. And when she stops calling for good, which one day I know will happen, that will be it. It’s either her or nobody. And it’s barely even her.

Our paths almost never cross outside of our little midnight meetings. After that first night when all of this started, I’ve never seen her anywhere else besides her apartment. I assume it’s because the types of bars and clubs I frequent are not anywhere a normal, sane person would want to spend their free evenings. But tonight, as fate would have it, I do see her. After I grab my drink off the cracked and peeling bar top and turn to look at the room behind me, I see her. And she’s not alone.

With my glass half way to my mouth, our eyes meet, and for a second neither of us move. It’s not a big place, so we aren’t that far away from one another. But it’s loud and crowded, and the guy is leaning in close to her ear, talking loudly to be heard over the constant bass thumping through the shitty speakers on the walls. Who the fuck is this guy?

It’s not fair, I know that. Believe me, I know that. And I try to give myself a stern talking-to inside my head. She is not yours. Not even remotely. You are an asshole and she deserves better. Leave her the fuck alone.

I take a drink. And then I see his hand disappear under the table, and I can see everything from where I’m standing. He’s squeezing her thigh, leaving his hand there to rest on her leg, rubbing his thumb across the bare skin that isn’t covered by her short skirt. A skirt I know I’ve had my face under before.

Fuck. I hate this guy.

In the thirty seconds that it takes for all of this to happen, she is watching me. Reading me. A faint smile plays on her lips and I know I’m caught. My thoughts must be written all over my face like a fucking billboard, and it’s too late to pretend I haven’t seen or that I don’t care. She’s got me.

If I were stronger, or a better person, I would leave. Pay my tab, collect my coat, and get the fuck out of there without another glance in her direction. Leave her be. Let her live her fucking life. But I am not. And I’m pissed.

My first instinct is to reach behind me, grab the Glock that’s hidden in the waistband of my pants and covered up by my suit jacket, and take care of this asshole right then and there. That would probably be the nicer thing to do, honestly. Then she’d finally see what a fucking psycho I am and that would end things once and for all. But I’m also not that stupid. Or that nice.

Instead, I stay and watch. I let her see me watching, too. I lean with my back against the bar, casually sipping my drink, and my eyes never leave her. I want her to know, even if it makes me more of a giant dick than I already am. I want her to know I am not pleased.

I have no idea who this guy is, and I don’t care. Maybe it’s their first date; maybe it’s their tenth. It doesn’t matter, I want him dead. And now that she knows that, because it’s pretty fucking obvious by the way I’m coiled like a cobra ready to strike right now, it’s quickly become a game. If she had feelings for him before, that seems to have been forgotten now. Because everything she is doing is for me.

Her eyes leave mine and she returns to what I can only imagine is a very dull conversation with the Neanderthal sitting next to her. She smiles and laughs, and moves her leg closer to his so that they are touching. She reaches up and fixes his hair, tucking a stray piece of it over his ear. She rests her chin on her hand and stares at him like he’s the most interesting person she’s ever encountered. And he’s eating this shit up; kicking his game up a notch with even more inane talk and rubbing her thigh up and down with his whole hand. He thinks she’s into him. Fucking dumbass.

That’s the only thing keeping me slightly calm at the moment. Knowing it’s all a play. She is a really good actress, I’ll give her that, but I’ve paid more attention to her than she realizes. I know her tells. I know the difference between her fake laugh and her real one. I can tell when she’s actively engaged in the conversation or she is just waiting for you to shut up. I know how she touches her face when she’s nervous and I know what she looks like when she wants to fuck you.

And, buddy…I got bad news for you.

The corner of my mouth lifts in an arrogant smirk as I take another drink. I shouldn’t be proud of this; I should be appalled. How dare I think I have any right to any of her little traits and quirks? I haven’t earned that. That kind of thing is reserved for boyfriends and husbands and people that can stand to stick around for more than a few hours.

When she runs her tongue over her lips in an obvious gesture meant only for me, I actually laugh out loud. Fuck, she knows what she’s doing. And it’s one hundred percent working.

As I order my second drink, feeling the calming buzz of the booze fill my brain, I start to care less and less. I don’t care if this is not fair. I don’t care that I’m being a complete and utter shit head. I don’t care if I’m weak. I’ll deal with all of that later.

I take out my phone and type out a quick text.

Enjoying yourself?

I watch as she glances to her phone on the table as it lights up. She picks it up, angling it away from Caveman Cliff, and reads it. It’s subtle, but I saw it. A brief twitch of her mouth and a quick flit of her eyes in my direction. I see her type out a quick reply and then she is back to him, completely enrapt in his droning.

Immensely, thank you

Not able to resist, I counter with:

Even I can tell from way over here that your panties are as dry as the desert

She holds in a smile as she responds back.

Too bad you’re not going to find out

Honey, if that pussy of yours is even slightly wet, it’s only because you’re thinking of me bending you over that table you’re sitting at right now

I see her legs shift and she crosses one over the other, squeezing them together as a faint blush covers her cheeks.

And why would I be thinking that?

Because that dipshit you’re with isn’t going to give you what I know you want

I watch as she swallows and then glances at the idiot to her left that is oblivious to all of this, the poor bastard. Her response is short.

Fuck you

She puts her phone away to end this exchange, but I see the small smile she is trying to hide and the way she touches her hand to her face. I can see her chest expand as she sucks in a deep breath, biting at the inside of her cheek.

I give a short snort of satisfaction and put my phone back in my inside jacket pocket. I got what I wanted. I throw back the rest of my drink, leave a few dollars for a tip, and head for the door without another look in her direction. But I know she saw me leave.

As I wait there in the dark, I think about how awful I’m being; what a shit bag move this is. I’m using her, that’s what it boils down to. Using her for her warmth and her openness, and to temporarily calm my mind. Also, for her body and her touch. She sees something in me that isn’t there; or at least something I can’t see. But I can’t or won’t give her what she needs, and I’m also not letting her move on.

Fuck, I’m an asshole.

I hear their voices coming down the hall, the rattle of keys in her hand. As they near the door, I can hear her made up excuses. She’s tired; she had too much to drink; she has a headache. Maybe next time. She’ll call him tomorrow. Then she slips inside her darkened apartment and the door closes behind her.

I’m on her before she has a chance to turn the light on, pressing her against the door as she drops her keys on the floor. Since I’ve been waiting, the anticipation has already made me fully hard and I push my groin into her while I circle my hand lightly around her neck.

“What’s the matter, sweetheart? No love connection tonight?” I growl next to her ear.

She never even screams or fights back. She knew I would be there. But her hands grab my forearm and I hear her suck in a loud breath.

“I never knew you were the jealous type,” she smarts back.

 “Only when I see someone try to take what’s mine,” I hiss hotly against her neck, drawing my lips and then my tongue across her skin.

“I’m not your fucking property,” she snarls, but I can hear the break in her voice and she swallows hard against my hand.

I laugh cynically. “Well, then I can go and you can let him fuck you instead. Is that what you want?”

There’s a long pause and it’s just our loud breathing in the dark of the room. Then I feel her head move slowly from side to side.

“No,” she whispers.

As I crash my mouth onto hers, my hands in her hair and on her face, and down to her tits, she is reaching for the front of my pants. I had already removed my jacket and belt when I got there, as well as the pistol that I always carry with me. Our little act back at the bar was already enough foreplay and our bodies are screaming for each other.

Our hands can’t work fast enough as she is shoving my pants down my legs and tearing my shirt open while I rip her top off and yank her skirt up. My fingers are already pushing her panties to the side and entering her, sliding right in with no resistance.

I smile proudly against her neck. “I knew you were wet for me.”

As she moans and throws her head back, she is reaching down to stroke my cock, her warm hand tight and firm as she drags it slowly over my shaft.

My hips are already jerking into her and I want to be inside of her so badly I can’t think straight.

“Get these panties off so I can fuck you,” I snarl.

I pull my fingers out, pushing her underwear down roughly and she quickly steps out of them. With one pull of her hips into me, her arms clutching tightly to my shoulders, I lift her up and start fucking her against the door.

I tip my head back and groan loudly as she whines and pulls her legs tighter around my waist.

“Can he make you feel this good?” I ask between clenched teeth as I ram into her harder and the door rattles in its frame.

“No!” she cries out.

“Do you think about him when you’re alone and fingering yourself?”

Her moans are punctuated by the slamming of my body against hers and her fingers press deeper into my skin.

“No,” she breathes out. “No.”

“You think about me, don’t you?” I say with a sneer. When she doesn’t answer fast enough, I ask again, louder. “Don’t you?”

“Yes,” she whimpers pitifully, her nails digging sharply into my shoulder blades.

I can’t believe what I’m saying and what I’m doing. But she’s loving it and so I continue.

“I’m going to fuck you until you forget all about him, and then I’m going to fuck you some more. And if I ever see you with him again, I will kill him.”

“You wanted to kill him, didn’t you?” she asks, and that knowing smile starts to form as she closes her eyes and bites her lip. “When you saw him with me?”

“Fuck yes I did,” I groan loudly into her neck.

She’s almost there, I can tell. So am I, but I’m going to make her finish first. I pick up the pace, thrusting into her as hard as I can, her back and head slamming against the door, my fingers digging deeper into the flesh of her thighs and ass. I’m practically ripping into the side of her neck, latching on with my mouth and teeth, desperate to mark her as my own.

I listen as she repeats my name over and over in gasps and moans and I can’t hold back anymore.

“That’s it, sweetheart. You are all mine.”

She is falling apart in my arms, violently shaking against me as I penetrate her one last time, letting out a loud, guttural moan. I’m as deep inside of her as I can be, and I fill her up with so much cum, I know it will start sliding out; dripping down her legs and onto the floor. Somewhere deep inside, in the primordial part of my brain, I take satisfaction in knowing that it’s my seed, and only mine, that is coating her insides.

Once the last spasm has left my body, I let her down and she falls back against the door, breathing hard. Her bra is still on, but the straps have fallen down, and her skirt is bunched up around her waist. I look at the painful looking purple bruise I left on her neck, which is large enough and obvious enough that she won’t be able to cover it. Her eye makeup is smeared and her lips are swollen and red. She looks completely ravished. And then she starts to cry.

It’s because of me, I know it is. Because of the things I said and the things I did, and the way I needed her so desperately. She had been trying to break away from me and I reeled her back in. And I did it knowingly and deliberately, just to feed my ego and maybe not feel so alone. I could have found anyone for that. But, like the prick I am, I only wanted her.

“I’m sorry,” I say quietly, my lungs still working hard to get air in and out.

She just nods silently, wiping her face with her hand, and pulls down her skirt. She picks her shirt and underwear off the floor and heads to the bathroom without a word. I’m left standing there with a softening dick and my pants around my ankles.

Fuck.

I could leave now, while she’s in there, and maybe I should. That feels wrong, though. But then again, so does staying. I feel like shit and I’m so full of shame that I want to punch my fist through the wall. Instead, I zip my pants back up and walk over to her couch to wait. I turn on the table lamp and even though it’s dim, it feels blaringly bright and I have to squint my eyes.

When she comes out, she has changed into some soft shorts and a t-shirt. Her face is cleaned up and I assume her thighs and the area between them are too. She is no longer crying, but I can still see the tell-tale signs of red-rimmed eyes and flushed cheeks. I’m surprised when she comes and sits down next to me, laying her head on my shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” I say again, because I can’t think of anything better to say.

“I know. Me too,” she says and she leans her body against mine.

She has nothing to be sorry for and I’m not sure what to do, so I put my arm around her and hug her to me. I kiss her forehead and she closes her eyes. I don’t know why she’s letting me do this, but it feels good and I like it. Just like every other time, I tell myself that maybe this time will be different. I can do this; I can be that person. I don’t want to be that other jealous, callous, hurtful person. I don’t want to be the asshole.

“Just don’t go yet, ok?” she says quietly with her cheek resting against my chest.

I smooth her hair and run my hand down her back. I don’t want to go. She feels good and warm and soft against my tension-filled body. She feels right. I want to tell her all of that, too. I want to say I’m sorry a million times over and beg for her forgiveness. I want to wake up with her next to me every day.

“You’re so beautiful, you know that?” I murmur into her hair as I brush my chin across the top of her head.

“Don’t do that,” she pleads, her voice soft. “Please.”

I decide I’m going to tell her how I really feel. Before the night is over, I’ll come clean. And then I’ll stay. If she’ll still have me.

“You are, though. I mean it.”

She doesn’t respond, but sighs and nestles in, holding me around my waist. Fuck, I have craved this. More than the dirty talk and the biting and the ferocious fucking. I want this. I want her. And I’m going to tell her.

The rest of the night goes by in a blur. It’s there, on the tip of my tongue the whole time. All I have to do is say it. But I don’t.

We fuck again, rough and hard, on the couch and on the floor. I leave more marks on her chest, branding her as my own. I tell her she’s mine, and I make her scream my name again, but I don’t say what I really mean.

We fuck in her bed, while we’re both tired and slightly drunk. I pump lazily into her while she lies underneath me and moans softly. I kiss her lips and tell her how gorgeous she is, and it’s not a lie because she is. I worship her body, running my tongue over every part of it, tasting her skin and her delicious arousal. I can taste my own cum as I lick into her soft folds and inside her pussy that’s been stretched and abused by my cock several times over.

There are so many opportunities and I don’t take any of them. I let her fold her body into mine as I hold her in the dark and I can say it right now. It would be easy and it would be the truth.

I want to be with you.

I want to be yours.

I want you to be mine and mine alone.

I want to stay.

But I am weak, and so I don’t.

She sleeps against me and I listen to her rhythmic breathing while I lie there wide awake. I think about all of the things I should have said. Everything I should have done and should not have done. I hate myself for all of it.

When the sun creeps in, and the faintest light is leaking through the curtains and cutting through the safety of the darkness, it all comes crashing back. I remember why I can’t stay and why those words just wouldn’t come out. The reality of the real world is glaringly obvious in the light of day and I remember all of it.

The real world is filled with everyday things like jobs and homes and bills to pay. Coworkers and families that want to meet you. Graduation and birthday parties. Movie and dinner dates, holidays and vacations. Marriage. Children. Normalcy.

There’s just no way any of that would work. I can’t fit into that life, even though I want to. I think of all of the things holding me back and they keep piling up until they are crushing me and I feel like I can’t breathe.

I am an assassin. A killer. A murderer. I have seen the end of the world and survived the most horrific things. I have PTSD and crippling anxiety. There are nightmares and paranoia and episodes of manic rage. I am old and I am tired. There is nothing left of me and nothing left to give. I am not meant for normalcy.

As I slowly remove her arm from across my chest, she stirs but she doesn’t wake. I take a moment to look at her. Her mind isn’t betraying her with vivid dreams of the world collapsing around her in a fiery blaze or sprays of bullets piercing her body. She is at peace and I am envious of that.

I am not good for her, I know that. I need to go and stay gone. She deserves stability and happiness and a million other things I cannot give her. So, I will be the asshole that leaves in the morning before she wakes, just like I always do. She will hate me and curse me and cry for me. And I will stay away this time. I have to.

I chance it by leaning in and brushing my lips across her forehead. Her face wrinkles up and then relaxes again, but she doesn’t wake. I slip out of the bed and out of the room, following the trail of discarded clothes and put them back on one by one. Then I am gone in the same flash of light that allowed me to enter there in the first place. A convenient exit that I have misused way too many times.

Outside, the sun is bright and the world is waking up. I can feel my resolve growing stronger as the new day builds. That was it, I am done. It was awful and I shouldn’t have done it, but it’s over now and I will not be repeating it. I am a pillar of inner strength. That was the last time and she is finally free of me. I am doing the right thing.

My strength is impressive, both inside and out. But it is not impenetrable, especially when darkness falls and the world around me grows quiet. When I am alone with nothing but my thoughts, and I just need to feel something good again.

Everyone has a weakness.   

[bellejolras]

i don’t mean to go on a rant but I’ve been reading reviews of Poor Things bc i hate being happy and ohhhh my goddddd

spoilers under the cut but I have complaints about people’s (lack of) media literacy

Oh my god okay so first of all, if you haven’t seen a movie how are you going to comment on it. Reading summaries and other people’s reviews only is not sufficient to make an original point. you do not know what you’re talking about. just stop.

Second, the movie is. satirical. Which I thought was obvious from the absurd premise and surreal visuals? This is not supposed to be the real world. Nor is it advocating for all the stuff it shows. In fact, it’s even actively indicting some of what it shows. For example: fucked up power dynamics in sexual relationships exist in the movie, but the movie is not saying they are good, it’s criticizing them. Is this not getting through to people?

Third, and related, it’s not ! just ! about ! a sexy baby !! Partly because again, satire. But also partly because she rapidly goes through childhood & adolescent maturity. And it’s not meant to be, like, linear… the regular laws of empirical data and science do not apply to this world… so she is not in fact, like 6 when she’s having sex but more like 16. Which you could argue is still a minor, and im not disputing that, because again the movie is critical of this part and duncan is a total loser. But there’s a massive difference between the mental development of those two ages. ALSO there’s literally nothing inherently wrong with baby bella autonomously discovering masturbation. That’s extremely normal for little kids, often just as a way of self-soothing because it feels nice and not with any awareness of sexuality. And it’s fine if you thought that was a weird scene! but it’s hardly pedophilia to include in the film when the “baby” in question is in fact played by fully grown adult emma stone and I cannot believe that I’m seeing people accuse this movie of that

Fourth, if you claim your takeaway from this movie is “it wants me to believe that women’s power only exists through their sexuality” then I don’t believe you’ve seen the entire movie (see point 1). Narratively it’s only a means to an end for Bella, and when she gets tired of it, she stops! She gets bored of duncan and reads philosophy! She leaves her sex work career and becomes a medical professional! And, even in the sex scenes, while there are many, they center her and her experience, her pleasure. Yes, her tits are out a lot but the sex scenes are weird, intentionally grotesque without being violent. The montage with duncan is shot through a fisheye lens and literally pans away from the bed to focus on a bird landing in the room. Duncan can proclaim himself the best lover in the world, but he’s really not important to the scene ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

In conclusion, I know the people I’m complaining about aren’t going to read this, but just in case, I urge you to learn media literacy. And anyone else who read all of this, thanks lol!! accepting good faith discourse in the notes/replies

[epicbuddieficrecs]

Weekly Recap | August 5th-11th 2024

Happy Monday! Hope everyone is doing alright! Enjoy this rec!

Complete

Just a Daydream Away by carpediaz/ @sofa-king-lame (Post-S7, Acidental Kissing | 1K | Not Rated): The one where Eddie accidentally kisses Buck over breakfast.

indecent proposal by coldbam/ @coldbam (Established Buddie | 2K | Mature): “Marry me—Eddie, Jesus Christ, marry me.” It startles Eddie for a moment. It’s not like they haven’t talked about it before. He just wasn’t expecting it to come like this: his mouth too full of Buck’s cock to give a response. Yet. *Buck proposes. Kind of. It’s disputed.

can we pretend that airplanes in the night sky are like shootin' stars by honestlydarkprincess/ @honestlydarkprincess (Different First Meeting AU | 6K | Teen): Buck and Eddie have a different first encounter, instead meeting on airplane during Eddie and Christopher's move to L.A. Distracted, Eddie forgets to get Buck's number and they go their separate ways. Thankfully though the universe has their back.

I never meant to fall for you but I was buried underneath by smilingbuckley/ @smilingbuckley (Canon Dibergent, Probie Buck | 9K | Teen): The guy isn’t looking at Eddie. He’s looking at Bobby with big, blue eyes. His baseball cap is gone, revealing dark blonde curls. His lips are a shade of pink one could only dream about. They’re parted slightly and an even pinker tongue darts out to lick them. “Buck, welcome!” Bobby greets him warmly and shakes his hand, clapping his shoulder after. “Guys, this is Evan Buckley, he will be joining us for his probationary period.” Buck glances around, cheeks flushed, and he gives them a small wave, “Hi.” He looks a little shy. Eddie feels like he’s going to swoon. (Or: Buck is the new probie at the 118 and Eddie.exe stops functioning.)

🔥 it's always on the tip of my tongue by allyasavedtheday/ @littlespoonevan (Post-S7, Feelings Realization | 18K | Teen): “You wanna talk about it?” Buck asks after a beat. He doesn’t drink his beer. Eddie doesn’t either. It’s a crutch, mostly. A pretence, so that if the conversation gets too deep, too fast they can blame it on the alcohol. Eddie appreciates it. As he thinks about Buck’s question he wonders where to start. He’s told Buck some of it, the important parts, but not- not what compelled him to do any of it in the first place. In the end, he can only think of one thing. Swallowing around the lump clogging his throat, he says, “I don’t think I know how to be in love anymore.” (Part 1 of Eddie vs Romance)

🔥 boys, when my baby found me by nondz (pinkjook) (Post-S7, Presumed Dead | 27K | Explicit): Three months later, things are mostly back to normal. And then there's an accident.

WIP

Where there's smoke by rainbow_nerds/ @rainbow-nerdss (Multiverses | 11/31 | 14K | Teen): His eyelids are heavy. His lungs ache. The smoke is dense and thick, slowly suffocating him. Eddie feels himself drift as Buck’s voice penetrates the smoke, cuts through the fog in his brain. “Eddie, stay with me. Stay with me, Eds.” Eddie wants to stay. He wants to open his eyes and see Buck. He doesn’t want to leave. But he’s so tired, and sleep is calling him. Maybe it will be okay. Maybe his dreams will be sweet. Maybe there’ll be peace, there. And maybe, if he just rests for a little while, he’ll be able to find his way back.

🔥 Long Death by Daisies_and_Briars/ @cal-daisies-and-briars (Post-S7, Vampire AU | 12/15 | 57K | Explicit): In the summer of 2024, a never before seen form of vampirism breaks out in Los Angeles. Just as Eddie is about to get his son back. Six months later, Buck's life is permanently changed.

🔥 Any Other Way by Daisies_and_Briars/ @cal-daisies-and-briars (Canon Divergent, S2 | 16/21 | 80K | Mature): In a switcheroo alternate universe, Buck spends young adulthood in the military, while Eddie, who has no idea Christopher exists, spends his twenties messing around, finally enjoying freedom away from his family’s expectations. When they both end up in Los Angeles, at the 118, some things are different, and others will be the same in any universe.

🔥 Things We're All Too Young to Know by Daisies_and_Briar / @cal-daisies-and-briars (Canon S1-S6, Divergent Post-S6 | 133/? | 422K | Mature): This is a love story. Even if it doesn’t always look like it. Even if it doesn’t always feel like it. A look back on Eddie and Buck's lives up to now, and what led them to each other, interpreted from the current 9-1-1 canon.

🔥 Next Best by Nejinee/ @nejineeee (A/B/O AU | 2/3 | 12K | Explicit): Eddie had been very clear that they needed to keep their relationship stuff off the job. That meant no make-outs, no groping of asses, and no sexy stuff. Buck was fine with that. (Part 2 of Second Best Series)

Podfic

🔥[Podfic] give your heart and soul to charity by MistMarauder/ @mistmarauder // fic by 42hrb/ @exhuastedpigeon (Post-S7, Eddie Sexuality Crisis | 1.5-2h | Teen): Eddie dumps God, gets some more therapy, accepts parts of himself he was taught to hate, loves his best friend, and loves himself.

[straystarr]

i miss you, i'm sorry; lmh

 in which alcohol and a broken heart prompts you to make a phone call to your ex.

Reference(s): “I miss you, I’m sorry” written by Grace Abrahams and a line from Notting Hill directed by Roger Michell

~

“I miss you”

The flashing lights seemed to somehow mute the chaotic noise around you. Head hurting, mind overwhelmed, and still, your fingers unconsciously danced across the screen of your phone, typing a number you had deleted months ago.

Some things don’t stay the way they're supposed to. Out of sight, out of mind right? Funny how all logic and rational thinking is suddenly muddled by the denial of a broken heart. 

“y/n.”

If it weren’t for the alcohol in your system, you’d cry at the sound of his voice. Instead, the concern in his tone forced a bittersweet smile to form on your face.

He shouldn’t be worried, he shouldn’t have even answered. But he did. And you hated that you knew he would. Because even in your drunken state, it was so natural for you to go back to him. 

“You promised.” 

You felt pathetic. Clinging onto his promises of forever, even when you fought his declarations towards the end of your relationship. The need to be right overpowering the need to be loved.

It was careless, taking everything you loved and disputing it with cruel words driven by a fixed mindset. And he did the same. Hurt people hurt people, because no one wants to be hurting alone. 

You did your best to move on. You really did. It was easy at first, fueled by anger and pinpointing all the blame of your failing relationship on him was something you did with your head held high. 

And then all of a sudden, your pride became too hard to swallow and all the hate you spewed ricocheted in the forms of longing and regret. 

You often found yourself reminiscing about fights in his apartment and the disappointment that came with broken dishes, just to get a glimpse of him.

Because he was always readily available in your mind, whether it be in the form of heartbreak or not. And the extent to which you would willingly fall back into these moments only resulted in any progress of moving on to slip through your fingers.

“y/n, where are you?”

How do you move on from someone who is so deeply engraved into your mind, someone who has touched every part of you with sweet kisses and gentle hands, someone who starts your thoughts and always ends them.

For these reasons, your doubts and hesitations were not baseless. Because how do you move on from someone you once promised forever to? It almost seems wrong to do so. 

“I don’t know what to do Minho. Everywhere I go leads me back to you. Everything I know brings me back to us.” 

There was so much to say, so much you wanted to tell him. It was desperate and embarrassing, but others might say you were simply in love; that you were just a girl, talking to a boy, asking him to love her. 

“Y/n, please….go home.”

“I can’t.”

“Y/n–”

“Every corner of that fucking house is haunted Minho.” 

It was suffocating. Home was no longer home but a place filled with traces of his presence. Bittersweet reminders of the life that once flourished remained in every room.

His coffee cup in the cupboard, his hoodie tucked away in your drawer, the silly love notes he left embedded into your books, his morning kisses, his laughter, his smile, him. 

He was everywhere and nowhere at the same time. Even in his absence, he was consuming you. So no, you wouldn’t go home, you couldn’t. Because the definition between home and Minho seemed to blur overtime. 

“I don’t know what to do anymore."

The drunken daze was now fading away, your clouded mind becoming overwhelmed with the sober emotions that flowed through your body, because they were one in the same when you were drunk, just easier to handle in a state of intoxication. 

“I thought you hated me.”

Such a statement was not meant to be laced with the gentleness he evoked, so much so, a certain heaviness clung to your chest. For the reminder of the three words you spewed at him the last time you spoke will forever bring feelings of angst and regret. 

“Minho…”

Some things are better left unsaid. Until the time comes when those things are all you can think about, clouding your judgement and cultivating a narrative of missed opportunities guided by the words “what if”.

You had many. And they creeped up on you, leaving you lost in your thoughts of love that you’ll never be able to live, at least, not with him.

But not was not the time to wallow in your self pity and despair. Not after all the time you had dedicated to pondering over the “what ifs” and certainly not when the person these “what ifs” revolved around was here, listening to you. 

“I was angry and upset and desperate to hurt you. I don’t hate you—I never could. I’m sorry.”

The slow sigh that ran after your words displayed your relief more than you intended. Thinking back to the last time you spoke to him was routine for you.

But this time, instead of being tormented by the hurt laced in the memory of that night, you were now comforted by the fact that your truth was now something he knew.

And you weren’t going to deprive yourself of his, no matter how much it may break you. You were in too deep to consider that now. 

“Do I still make you sick to your stomach?” 

It was his turn to let out an audible sigh. And it seems as though you weren’t the only one reminiscing back to that night; for his response appeared to be nurtured with time and consideration.

“No y/n, you never did. You never will. I didn't mean that. I wish I had ever said those words to you, but I did. I’m sorry.”

It’s one thing to say something. It’s another to mean it. And it felt nice to hear he didn’t. You knew he could never have meant it, but the assurance you experienced upon his confession pulled apart the remaining angst embedded in your memories. You could only hope he felt the same.

It was cold outside. Somehow, your feet carried you out of the stuffy place, the moon illuminating the still street, a complete contradiction to your surroundings a few seconds ago. 

The silence seemed to emphasize your acknowledgement of everything that had happened and was happening. The phone pressed to your ear. The quick beating in your chest. The familiarity of the slow breaths he took as you listened. Your boldness. His patience. 

“I’m sorry I called. I know we said we weren’t talking—”

“I miss you too.”

You almost didn’t catch it. His voice low and quiet, almost as if the statement was a passing thought that had slipped past his tongue. But you caught it, as did your denial, that after all this time, he too missed what once was.

A part of you wished your ears had been deaf to his words. Because the way your hand fell to your chest, the way it felt as though your heart had paused, the way tears immediately lined your waterline, was the same way you recognized exactly how much you missed him.

One step forward and three steps back is the damage his words did. But you started it first, and it was only fair to finish what you started. 

An absent smile lined your lips with tears falling down your face. Your tears were warm against your cold skin and you so badly wanted the warmth to stay.  

“Everything we were scared of happening, happened Minho.”

“Nothing happened in the way we wanted Y/n.”

Your absent smile turned bittersweet, fingers gently grazing your cheek in an attempt to catch the warmth from your eyes. You were right. And he was too. They say that nothing that is meant for you will ever get away, so why did he?

“Is this better for us y/n?”

It’s hard to make peace with something you don't entirely agree with. He hurt you more than anyone else has. But he loved you better than anyone ever did. 

“I don't know. I’m still confused.” 

Your eyes shut, squeezing what was left of your tears out. 

“I do know that I was really happy with you, we were happy together. And we were really good to each other.”

You went into this conversation with hope and uncertainty. It was only normal for that hope and uncertainty to cultivate into doubts and hesitation. He didn’t deserve that. And you didn’t want to make things worse than they already were. Not now. Not ever. 

“But….”

“But we’ve been here before. And I want to love you because I love you, not because I need you— I missed you Minho…..I miss you. I’m sorry.” 

And in an instant, no sound came from his phone. Your voice, gone, as if it were never there.

Gone before he could familiarize himself with the highs and lows of your tone. Gone before he could tell you to not cry, for he recognized the tell tale signs that you were. Gone before he could say everything he wanted to say and more. 

And perhaps that's why he continued to hold the phone to his ear, head falling to the back of his couch as he allowed the words he meant to say to you, the second your name appeared on his phone, break free from his lips.

Barely a mumble, but with his whole heart and all his truth. 

“I still love you, I promise.”

Check out the easter egg in this story!

𝙎𝙏RAy𝙎𝙏𝘼𝙍r★

[littlemissstel]

Soft-Play Love- Shiu Kong

You meet someone while taking your daughter to the softplay centre.

No use of (Y/n), Shiu and reader are both in their late 30s and have daughters, (D/n) = daughters name, "mummy"

dividers from @saradika-graphics

It had taken a month of begging from your daughter to finally take her to the soft play centre she loved oh so much. It wasn’t that you minded her being there—it was just that you knew the routine all too well: the first twenty minutes of her clinging to you , the next hour of boredom as you waited, then the inevitable meltdown when it was time to leave. Not to mention the sickness a few days later once the germs caught up with her, keeping her a grumpy mess for what seemed like an eternity. And like any other reasonable parent, you'd rather not deal with any of those things. If you'd been a bit younger when you had your babe, perhaps this wouldn't be so draining- but you weren't and it was.

Still, you couldn’t help but smile at her excited little face, knowing how much this meant to her- it was just a part of growing up, and so, begrudgingly, you spent your Saturday afternoon sat on a chipping, washed-out, squeaky chair; overstimulated by the merged sounds of high-pitched shrieks from feral children and smell of sickeningly sweet processed snacks. Truth be told, you hadn't seen your daughter for the last ten minutes - too engrossed in your book to acknowledge the passing time. The last few instances you had managed to catch sight of her she was accompanied by a young girl around the same age, who sported pigtails and a wide smile to show off the gleaming rows of wobbly teeth. It's not often she bothered at making friends so you were more than happy to let them be, but you figured it was time to warn her about leaving soon as the end of your session approached- knowing she would no doubt bring chaos in her wake.

"MUMMYYY!!" the all too familiar voice sounds from behind as she runs into view, her new found friend in hand.

"Me and Min-hee want ice cream!"

"Yes please!" the little girl added, her rosy cheeks squished in delight.

For a moment you considered saying no, but how could you? Not when two anticipating faces of faux angels looked up at you with such expectation.

"How about we ask Min-hee's parent if they are okay with it first?", you suggested, already reaching for your bag. "Then I’ll get you both some ice cream."

And in a blink the two girls were off, racing back into the chaos of the play area.

You figured that was the end of the conversation until they both reappeared, a tall and handsome man trailing after them with his gaze meeting yours. He seemed to be around your age, no older than forty which was rare to see and you perked up in interest. There were a few parents from your daughters year who were also in their late 30s but they were the least sociable of the cohort, either that or they had their biases about you being a single parent. It wasn't something you had ever foreseen. You and your then husband had been together for a long time beforehand and when your daughter had unexpectedly came you both saw it as a blessing. Though a few years after her arrival, fights began to frequently arise ; about his job, about household chores, about quality time, about trivial matters that never should've been a problem in the first place. You both tried to make it work but you had already drifted too far and- although not fully divorced- decided to separate. Now you both co-parent on good terms, though the unevenly split weeks still tend to be the subject of most disputes.

You stood up, snapped out of your daze, giving him a friendly smile, but for a moment, it felt like the words caught in your throat. It was one of those strange moments where the quiet between two strangers is just enough to make you second guess.

"Daddy! (D/n)'s mum wants to say something to you!"

"Oh—no, I just wanted to know if it’s alright for the girls to get ice cream," you blurted, suddenly feeling put on the spot, "I didn’t mean to drag you over here."

He smiled—an easy, small but genuine smile—and you felt a wave of relief. "It’s no problem. I don’t mind at all. Do you have a preference?", he asked, his voice deep, almost soothing.

"A preference?"

"Of ice cream flavor"

"Ah, no, thank you," you said, shaking your head. "I really don’t mind getting them myself." .

"It’s my treat," the tension between you both easing as he spoke.

"Then can I at least help you carry them back?"

"Of course", and he stepped aside, gesturing for you to follow him

The conversation was concluded by the badly hidden giggles of your girls who took turns whispering in each others ear. If you had to guess it would be D/n cracking poorly made jokes. If Shiu had to guess, his daughter would be up to something.

The table where the girls sat was right next to the restaurant so you had no qualms about leaving them for a few minutes as you followed Shiu into the queue.

"Do you come here often?" He starts, turning his body halfway to you. Each ray that streamed through the windows turned everything it touched into a fierce gold which bounced off the side of his face and into his eyes- creating splotches of sweet honeycomb too captivating to look away. It was almost as if the heavens were testing your resolve with how they shone down on him and you could only pray the light blocked his vision enough so that he didn't notice your prolonged stare.

"We used to but not so much anymore. D/n has been bugging me for weeks and I couldn't hold off any longer"

"That sounds about right" he chuckles dryly

"What about you?"

"It's our third time, I've been meaning to take her more but it's hard to find the time when there's only one of you"

You nod in excitement understanding, "I get it, there's only one of me too- and i could think of a thousand other things that need doing right now but..."

The two of you continued to talk, the subject straying slightly further from kids and more into your personal lives which you unexpectedly appreciated. Children were something you both had in common yes, but you hadn't had a proper conversation with another adult in a long while and it was nice to interact with someone as the original you for once- not mummy. He had an unspoken charisma about him, one that drew you in and you felt more and more compelled to ask about the mundane aspects of his day to day life- anything to fill the puzzle in your head of the intriguing man. Eventually the ice creams were served and although you initially joined him to help carry the two sizable bowls of sugar, he quickly scooped them up and asked another question before you could have a word of it.

"So," he said, voice low and subtly teasing, "do you think we’ll be able to handle two sugar-high kids at the same time?"

You raised an eyebrow, smirk tugging at the corner of your lips. "As long as they continue to entertain each other, but I’m sure we'll regret it regardless"

The girls were already bouncing in their seats, their eyes wide with excitement like little comical bunnies and you couldn’t help but chuckle. The two of you sat down next to each other engaging in conversation as the girls indulged in their own and suddenly the cheap plastic chair, bright fluorescent lights, and overbearing shouts of children became more comfortable than it had any right to be - blurring into the distance.

You seemed to bond with Shiu seamlessly, the two of you finding another who understood the hidden struggles of single parenting and you had wished it was as easy to talk to all of the parents you had to interact with; normally as a result of your daughters playdates where conversations consisted of watered down small talk.

Your discussion was cut short however as a loud beep echoed through the room—a reminder that your session was almost up and you prepared yourself for the oncoming tantrum.

"Ah, I’m afraid we need to get going soon," you said, carefully. "Our session's almost over."

The girls' faces fell. "Noo! Thats's not fair!" D/n whined, slumping in her seat.

You looked over at Shiu, feeling the irony of your disappointment as you not too long counted down the minutes until you could leave.

"Well, we’ll have to do it again sometime," he said, his voice warm.

"Definitely," you agreed, a tad too fast for your liking. "Maybe we could arrange a playdate for the girls? They seem to have hit it off."

Shiu’s smile softened. "That'd be great"

The girls erupt in squeals once again,

"Can we have a sleepover!?" (D/n) begged. "Please, please, can Min-hee come over?"

You and Shiu exchanged knowing, apologetic glances, and you reached for your phone, handing it to him.

"Here, I'll text you and we can figure out what works best"

He took the phone, his fingers brushing yours for just a second. "Sure thing." He quickly typed before handing it back to you. "Looking forward to it."

"Me too," you said, feeling a flutter of anticipation in your chest as you saved his number.

For some reason the simple exchange felt strangely significant, like the start of something new.

Please feel free to leave any ideas/ recommendations x

[aaronsrpgs]

In Praise of Random Encounters

I'm in my "responding to frequently asked Reddit r/rpg questions" phase, so please allow me to defend the random encounter. This post is in response to everyone who goes, "Why do people use random encounters? They interrupt the flow of the story, and it doesn't make any sense to have something randomly show up and fight."

Did you know there was a Pokemon named after me?

In this post, I will argue against these strawmen, make a case for random encounters in certain games, and describe my favorite random encounter situations from my own games.

This disputation against random encounters can be broken up into three parts:

they interrupt what is already going on ("the story")

they are illogical

they're automatically a fight

I'm going to address these last to first.

Random encounters shouldn't jump right into fights. If used as intended, they come with an encounter distance, meaning sometimes you just see signs of the encounter, or you spot them from far away. And they should also come with what used to be called a reaction roll, which dictates how the encounter feels about the PCs. These were rolled on 2d6, which meant there was a bell curve that favored results in the 6-8 range, which were usually something like "wary" or "neutral."

Second, the logic of random encounters. If you're using them right, random encounters should make sense. They should only have a chance of happening in places where the encounters could be, and encounter tables ought to be chosen based on location. So you won't get a dire trout in a desert or whatever.

This last bit is the hardest one. If it feels like a random encounter would disrupt "your story," you're probably running a game whose underlying philosophies are opposed to random encounters, yes. It's probably also opposed to many other frameworks that were present in traditional/old-school rule sets. If your game has a pre-planned story or plot, if that plot requires a certain pace or order, and if the injection of outside elements would disrupt that plot, you probably shouldn't use random encounters.

(You also shouldn't use D&D or its cousins. You might also not want to have other players, since they can disrupt those plots. But that's just me being petty.)

A page of random encounter rules from Advanced Dungeons & Dragons. This is a shitty example. I promise it's easier than this.

So when SHOULD you use random encounters? Use them if the game you're running is attempting to simulate a world that has its own logic and background that is not dependent on the player characters. Random encounters help show that the world is in motion at all times and that people and creatures move about of their own volition. They don't show up when it's meaningful to the plot or the other characters; they wander. They're random.

Another key component of this style of gaming is that they usually consider story as something that emerges from or comes after play. "Remember how we tried to cross the raging river full of electric eels, and you dropped your sword, and I almost died, but we made it across? That was awesome." These things didn't happen because they were important plot points predicted by the DM; they are the results of rolls at the table, rolls that are honored in their immediacy and only made sense of after the fact. Does this mean that you risk having a disjointed mess from which no pleasing story can emerge? Yes! But you also risk having a story emerge that no one could have planned, that is equally surprising and pleasing to everyone at the table.

This emergent storytelling is probably the greatest joy of the random encounter. Don't approach the encounter with, "It doesn't make sense that a goblin would be here." Instead, adopt the attitude of, "Let's figure out why this gobllin would be here." (And while you're at it, use that same attitude toward books you read and movies you see.)

A related aside: in some play cultures, the DM is considered to be someone who plans everything out and slowly reveals bits of story as rewards to the other players. As a DM, this can feel really stagnant, and it can be a lot to keep track of, and there is far less joy of surprise. Using dice at the table to introduce new elements can bring some of that fun back to the DM.

Everything I've said so far is a synthesis of dozens of rulebooks and blog posts I've read across a decade of running games, so please allow me to introduce a final element: my own experience with the joy of random tables.

In 2014, when 5E was coming out to great demand on the backs of Stranger Things, Critical Roll, and The Adventure Zone, I started running a campaign for friends and coworkers. There was no developed play culture around 5E at the time, no cottage industry of third-party developers. So in running it, I was drawing on what I had been reading for years: old-school roleplaying and story games.

So I prepped my starting town (doing way more work that I would today), including random encounter tables for the area. And when the players were out searching for some ruins and getting lost west of town, I rolled a random encounter. It was some gnomes. All the gnomes here had escaped from a gnome hell for greed, so they weren't exactly kind. And their reaction roll was just south of neutral, so they were a little surly.

A bad screenshot of my "west of the town of Wall" encounter tables.

They led the players to the ruins and waited, trying to trap them inside after they'd been run down by the undead inside. But the players overcame the trap and told the gnomes off. (They didn't want to get in another fight after going through the ruins; more emergent storytelling.) So the gnomes ran off, but they would remember this.

Flash forward to a different session. In the main mega-dungeon under the town, the players were exploring a new area. Another random encounter: the devil of gnome hell! It was a giant mole with masses of earthworms for limbs, and it was searching for its escaped prisoners. It threatened to kill the PCs unless they gave it a magical item. So Pepper the elf gave up his winged sword, which he'd found in the aforementioned ruins. He loved that sword.

And here's where it all comes together. The gnomes were trying to settle the land west of town, but the humans had a fort there. The players were going to that fort to get some information about the faerie realms. How could I show this situation in a way that would, as succinctly as possible, illustrate the tension while giving the players a choice on who to join? Well, the gnomes would be attacking the fort. This normally wouldn't be much of a battle…but the vengeful gnome from the ruins had made a deal with the gnome devil for power. And now he was wielding Pepper's sword, using it to fly over the fort walls and attack.

Pepper was pissed! He wanted his sword back! The other players were more interested in figuring out a way to stop the ongoing conflict between gnomes and humans. And the gnomes were split between wanting to peacefully settle their new land and get revenge on the players for driving them off from the ruins. Who would prevail?

I hadn't planned a story, but I had created a situation a story was likely to emerge based on the players' actions and the results of the dice.

Conclusion

This isn't me saying this is the only way to play. It's not the only way I play. In a short one-shot or a tightly paced, emotional game, I would never use random encounters. But they can be fun! And they (and their associated suite of rules) can address some of the issues that lead to DM burnout and genre predictability.

If you find me in the wilderness, I will fight you.

[kimberly-spirits13]

When Bruce Introduced You to the League

Batman x reader

No warnings

• You were a big part of his life for a long time

• When the Justice League was being built you weren’t going to immediately be part of the team

• You two decided that it would be best if there was an available hero internationally and one for Gotham

• You chose to stay back in Gotham when the Justice League needed something but you were involved in helping build the league equipment

• This included the computers, software, the orbiting justice league headquarters, and the other things used for the league

• You didn’t really start hanging out with the league until long after you had met everyone at one time

• They had asked Batman to get you to come to the tower since something had stopped working

• Bruce knew how to fix it but he wanted an excuse to bring you up there and everyone was eager to meet you

• Once he knew that they were worth trusting, he didn’t mind exaggerating one of the problems with the main computer

• You were suspect about it but agreed to come anyways

• Bruce had already left for an early morning meeting with the league and you’d be coming later

• You came in full gear, using the zeta tubes in the cave

• When you walked in you were greeted by one of the managers that maintained the tech

• “So what seems to be the issue?” You were given a tablet with the electronic schematics of the satellite base

• “There seems to just be a loose connection in the mainframe. Probably a coding error with the new update to the system that someone added.” They walked you towards the room where the rest of the league was waiting, “Not sure why someone here couldn’t handle it, but they wanted you to come check it out.”

• “I’m sure it’s nothing major, thank you.” You smiled and nodded at the manager who did the same and walked off to attend to other work

• You walked in the room and was greeted by Green Lantern and Flash bickering over a basketball game while Wonder Woman, Aquaman, and Martian Manhunter were working over some mythology connections that they had made

• Superman and Bruce were busy talking about missions when you caught Bruce’s eye

• Flash was first to greet you, asking to settle the dispute between he and Lantern

• Bruce’s glare in the cowl got him quite again

• “Everyone this is Y/H/N, I assume some of you have met them before.” Bruce introduced you walking over to where you were standing, leaving Flash to retreat

• They were quick to greet you while Lantern was quick to flirt with you

• “I’ve come here to fix a systems issue, not court you.” You started walking towards the computer and have Bruce a look

• “So it’s a basic computer issue. And you called me to fix it?” You raised a brow challengingly, he knew you had caught on to what he was playing

• “Well, I wanted to make sure it wasn’t something more serious.” He gave the batsmirk causing Flash to give him a suspicious look

• “Well I better make sure this thing isn’t about to drop out of the sky” You elbowed him kiddingly causing him to break a chuckle

• They all exchanged glances at each other before Lantern gave a huge sigh

• “Tell me you two aren’t dating?” He was exasperated

• You shrugged and started working on the code that was supposed to be fixed

• The rest of the team started doing their own thing again and Wonder Woman came to sit with you while you worked

• “I don’t suppose you’ve known Batman for a while?” She asked you, “It is none of by business but I am curious if you’re willing to answer.”

• “You’re fine. We’ve known each other since we were kids. Nothing much to it.” You were hunched over going over the treacherous line, “My only gripe against him is that he called me in to fix one line of code that I know for certain he could have done himself”

• This caused Diana to laugh, “I’m sure he was eager to introduce everyone formally.”

• “Apparently so”

• You two talked for the duration of your stay, which wasn’t meant to be long but you decided to stay longer to hang out

• Superman was there too talking and there to offer a coffee

• Despite his efforts, you could tell he was from Kansas based off of that little twang he had

• When it was time to leave, Bruce was there to see you out

• “I assume that the problem wasn’t hard to wrangle.” He said with a smirk in his voice

• “Oh it was terrible, I definitely see why you called me out.” He gave you a nudge

• “I’ll see you in an hour for the WE meeting.” He said

• You bid each other a goodbye

• Once you left he could hear the snickers of Flash and Lantern before Lantern started off, “BATSY HAS A GIRLFRIEND/ BOYFRIEND” “NEVER IN MY LIFE DID I EVER THIN-“

• And that’s when the usual brooding started again, scaring Lantern off for a bit

[shuahoonie]

when you love someone | choi seungcheol

pairing: non-idol!seungcheol (svt) x female!reader

notes: angst, eventual fluff— maybe, exes to friends to lovers (?), slow burn, meddling friends, swearing, alcohol consumption. loosely based on the song 그렇더라고요 (when you love someone) by DAY6

word count: 4.3k

summary: some seek love and have the pleasure of keeping it, some never find it, and some aren't meant to find it. you and cheol are determined to discover whether love still exists beyond your old love letters.

part of the to x, with love mini series

shuahoonie's masterlist | to x, with love masterlist

jun was always curious as to how you've managed to just sit there and laugh at chan’s comment when you're in the same room as seungcheol, let alone show up at seungcheol and jeonghan’s quaint cafe.

he knew better than to pry you for questions, of course, but knowing how deep your relationship ran with cheol, it was astounding to see you light on your feet.

“junnie,” you nudged jun who was sitting right next to you, evidently staring at you. “is there something wrong?” you asked quietly, careful not to attract any attention. most of the attention were on seungkwan and chan anyway as they were busy bantering about a prolonged birthday gift.

jun snapped out of his thoughts and shook his head no, a sheepish smile forming in face. “sorry, i didn’t mean to stare.” he apologized, scratching the back of his head.

“it’s all good,” you laughed softly. “sorry, i must’ve been talking a lot, huh? it’s just—” you sighed “it’s been a while since i saw you guys.”

“no, no,” jun was quick to dispute whatever it is that you were thinking. “it’s nothing, ynnie. don’t worry about it.” he smiled. “it’s just nice having you here.”

“it’s nice being here too,” you said half-heartedly, while stealing a quick glance at cheol, who was already looking at you from across the room.

a couple of days before you showed up at the café, you received a text from soonyoung, asking forcing you to attend this exclusive get-together.

the heads up was nice and it was sweet that they miss you because you miss them too— you were all friends first, of course.

“haohao,” you called your friend who was busy cooking in your kitchen. minghao was the only friend from the group who still hung out with you regularly— mainly because you two don’t live that far from each other.

“yeah?” he called back.

you walked towards the kitchen, leaning against the pillar. “were you ever going to tell me about it?” you pointed out, still looking at the message in your screen.

“tell you what?” hao asked, confused.

“the hang out.”

“what hang out?” hao knew exactly what you were talking about though. he was just trying to be… careful. right, careful.

“c’mon, hao,” you crossed your arms. you weren’t mad though, you knew exactly why they were doing this— why they’re trying so hard. it’s hard enough to get everyone gather at the same day, however, it’s even harder to have your friends— two of which used to date— to be at the same place. “it’s fine, you know.”

“well,” hao turned off the stove, carefully plating your food. “do you wanna go?”

“i mean, it’s been a while since i saw the boys together,” you mumbled, playing with your nails. “and besides, i miss them.”

“them?” hao smirked, as if he knew damn well that you were pertaining to someone else.

“shut up, minghao.” you grumbled, taking a seat at the table, the smell of hao’s delicious masterpiece filling up your nostrils. “thank you for the food.”

hao hummed in response, watching you as you eat your food with a pout, making him smile.

silence enveloped the rest of the meal. it wasn’t until you were washing the dishes when hao suddenly asked “you know, no one really figured out why you two broke up.” you almost dropped the plate you were holding upon hearing the question. “all i remember was cheol wanted to drink to death one day. if it wasn’t for shua and jeonghan that made him pull from his senses, i honestly don’t know what would’ve happened.”

“we were too young. too passionate, too—” you answered, trying to think of an answer that made sense because frankly, you didn’t know why either. “hao, we were each other’s world.” your voice drifts off.

minghao just listened intently to you. he could never really relate to what was said, because what you and cheol had was something different. it was never just young love, it was something more.

“cheollie, what if—” you groaned “what if i just drop out.” you said, closing your laptop in frustration. seungcheol laughed, making you glare at him. “you dare laugh? at my frustration?”

“i’m sorry, babe, but you’re just too cute.” he smiles, pinching your cheeks. “i’m also sorry because you can’t drop out.”

“and why not?” you quirked a brow at him.

“because your dad will have me delivered on a silver platter if he finds out i encouraged his daughter to drop out,” cheol replied making you laugh “and besides, dating a well-known curator is on the list of my life-long dreams.”

you rolled your eyes at the cheesy comment, fighting off a smile. “a list?” you asked, to which cheol nodded. “what else is on that list?”

cheol bit the insides of his cheeks, suddenly feeling flustered.

“wow,” you laughed “choi seungcheol, are you embarrassed?”

“yah! i told you i hate it when you call me that,” seungcheol pouts, crossing his arms.

“you’re being a baby.”

“that’s fine because i am your baby,” he grins, making you snort laughing. one of seungcheol’s dreams was to make you laugh till the rest of your lives. that was enough for cheol.

“ynnie,” chan hands you the third round of shots. “i heard you’re holding another— uh…” chan looked around, trying to remember the word.

“exhibition, chan.” jeonghan finished with a laugh. “you need to slow down, we’re only three rounds in.”

“hehe,” chan giggles “sorry.”

“it’s okay, chan,” you laughed before taking the shot. “but yeah, it’s going to be my first time exhibiting my own work.”

“that’s so cool, ynnie,” seokmin smiles adoringly at you. “we’re so proud of you.”

“thanks, you guys,” you replied shyly. “i— uh, it really means a lot.”

“of course,” jun nudged you playfully “we’re always here to cheer you on, you know.”

a collective mutter of agreements filled the coffee shop during its after-hours— a long string of support followed one after the other. from the group of muttered agreements, one voice seemed to stand out from others. one voice that meant so much to you. one that you longed to hear for so long.

seungcheol. he was looking at you with those adoring eyes, the ones that filled you so much comfort whenever you looked at them. there was a small smile forming in his lips— god, those lips. words cannot describe how much you miss those lips. it hurt that even after 3 years of your break up, you still long for him. but at least he was happy, right?

a couple of days before the planned hangout, the boys were gathered at heaven’s cloud coffee roasters— the coffee shop that seungcheol and jeonghan proudly own.

“so are we all meeting here then?” joshua asked, taking a sip of his iced americano.

“fine by me,” jeonghan shrugged “i just need to put a notice that we’re closing early that day.”

seungcheol hummed in agreement, the voices slowly drowning out. he was busy looking at your instagram art page. again.

whenever there was a fighting itch that he missed you, he would find his way to your instagram account. you still followed each other on your personal accounts, but you weren’t really active there. you had an art account where you post nearly every day. it wasn’t just drawings and paintings that were on that account, you also posted your letters there too. for seungcheol, that account was more personal as it encapsulated everything that was needed to know about you.

upon quietly scrolling through your account, he found a letter that you posted a couple of days ago, one that hit close to home.

“the last time i fell in love— i was twenty. i was probably too young to be thinking about love, but still, it was a force that shaped my entire perception of love.

at twenty-seven, i still have yet to feel it again. and if the multiverse is real, i hope a version of me finds someone who would still move mountains for her— to be loved as much as she loves.

because i learned the hard way that some people are meant to find love, yet they aren’t meant to keep it.”

joshua caught a glimpse of what seungcheol was looking at when he sat next to him. he was one of the few people who knew where cheol’s feelings lied with you. joshua’s one of the few people who also knew about your feelings with cheol, especially involving that art account that you practically dedicated to seungcheol.

joshua was not a betting person, but if he were, he knew that seungcheol had no idea that that art account of yours only existed because of seungcheol.

“are you looking at her account again?” joshua asked cheol quietly while the other guys were talking about what to eat and drink on the upcoming hangout.

“psh, what?” cheol instantly exited the page, putting a false face of appall “of course not.”

joshua rolled his eyes, knowing damn well that his friend was lying straight through his face. “whatever, cheol.”

knowing there’s no point in lying, especially towards joshua, seungcheol lets out a deep sigh. “i miss her, that’s all.”

joshua hummed, choosing to stay quiet. joshua knew about your true feelings for cheol when he, minghao, and seungkwan were in your apartment that one rainy night. you had invited them for dinner and to catch up because you haven’t talked in so long. drinks were involved so one thing led to the other, next thing joshua knew, you were still moping about your break-up with cheol.

“god, i miss yn,” soonyoung groaned out of the blue. soonie’s comment was enough attention for the boys to look at him, some of them with widened eyes.

“what?” soonie asks, almost innocently. “it’s been awhile since we were all hanging out together, i’ve always loved having her around.”

“soonyoung,” jeonghan warns him quietly, practically holding himself back from gesturing to seungcheol.

“cheol, hyung, you’ve moved on right?” soonyoung asks carelessly, making vernon— who was sitting quietly in the corner— practically choke on his drink. “you wouldn’t mind if invite ynnie right?”

jeonghan and joshua both looked at seungcheol the same time, with pairs of eyes full of curiosity, watching what cheol’s about to say.

cheol cleared his throat, “yeah, it’s fine,”

soonyoung grins— a little too mischievous as seungkwan would note. “perfect, i’ll text her now,” soonie says as he tapped furiously on his phone.

it’s not like you and seungcheol have been avoiding each other, that’s not it at all! you two would always see each other at a friend’s birthday or an event where you two have common circles— you two would always smile at each other, say a quick hi, but that’s the extent of it. and even then, you two were always surrounded by other people too.

“yn,” seungcheol practically seethes your name. “look at me.”

you hate it when you two fight, it only morphs you two into monsters.

“seungcheol,” you had to take a deep sigh before saying anything further as you’re trying to calm yourself down. “i’m tired. can we not do this right now?”

“no, yn, because you always do this.” seungcheol was getting frustrated too. he was always patient around you, but he is human after all. life is sometimes, though often, frustrating. “you always avoid the problem, even if it begs to be confronted.”

this got you heated because seungcheol was right, and it annoyed you that he was right. you don’t like confrontations. in fact, you hated them. for the entirety of your relationship, you could only count the number of times you initiated the apology.

“then what do you want me to do, cheol?” you asked, almost in a whisper. you closed your laptop, knowing well enough that you weren’t going to finish the report you needed for your internship.

“talk to me, yn.” cheol practically begged. “what’s going on?”

“i— i’m tired, cheol.” tears formed on the brims of your eyes.

“okay, we can take a break from studying,” cheol nodded, closing his laptop as well. you two had been practically living in the library for the past couple of weeks, trying to finish the your last semester head-strong.

“no, cheol, i meant—“ you couldn’t even bear to finish the sentence and even then, cheol knew what you were trying to say. “there’s never a day that we don’t fight and it’s—“

“frustrating?” seungcheol finishes for you, a small disbelief present in his tone.

“yeah,” you answered throwing your head back, trying not to cry but it doesn’t work. your tears kept betraying you.

he wanted to be mad because how on earth are you able to just throw a 4 year-long relationship with ease? but seungcheol cannot be mad— not at your frustration, not at you. because for this relationship to work, you two need to be invested in it.

it has been suffocating for you, it has been frustrating for cheol.

“okay,” cheol clears his throat, wiping his tears furiously. “let’s take a break then.”

“okay.” you whispered.

you two stayed in the library for another hour, bid each other a quiet goodbye and left on your separate ways— never to speak to each other again.

as the night gets longer, more drinks have been consumed. it was starting to get rowdy too— soonyoung and seokmin being the cause of it all. they kept squeezing out drinking games that was enough to keep everyone feeling buzzed.

you, on the other hand, started to feel like the room was getting stuffy. so you excused yourself for a minute and sat at one of the patio chairs, nursing the alcoholic drink that you were given earlier.

you could hear the laughter emitting inside the café and you couldn’t help but at smile at how some things never really change.

you heard a faint sound of bells from the door, signalling that someone was coming.

“oh, i’m sorry, i didn’t—“ you whipped your head around and saw that cheol was standing there, a drink in his hand too. “i was just hoping to get some fresh air and—“

“cheol, it’s fine,” you reassured him, adding a small smile. “i know how drinking throughout that can be too much for you.” you nodded at your friends inside.

cheol lets out a small laugh, “yeah.” he leaned against the wall, enough to give you two some space from each other. a tiny part of cheol couldn’t help but feel happy that you still know that tidbit about him.

there was a blanket of silence that enveloped the two of you. it wasn’t awkward per se— but this was the first time you two were left alone in a while.

“so how are yo—“ “are you doing ok—“ you both said at the same time, making you laugh.

a soft smile appears on cheol’s face. it’s been a while since cheol saw you laugh— well anything that involved him, really.

“heaven’s cloud, huh?” you started off, admiring the exteriors of the café. “i’m glad you’ve finally reached your dreams, cheol.”

“i did promise you that i’ll run a coffee shop one day,” cheol said with a proud look on his face. heaven’s cloud is seungcheol’s pride and joy. all throughout his university years, he would find himself cooped inside the cafés near the university. it never occurred to him that taking care of people, by providing a warm cup of coffee and a place of comfort, was something he’d be doing.

cheol likes to think that it was you that led him here. he would always accompany you at coffee shops to study, would always buy you coffee and sweets. he did it so much that he would start doing the same thing to the guys. he would often buy them coffee unprompted, would feed them sweets.

they found it odd at first, because seungcheol was not the type to do all of that unless he was asked, but they’ve quickly learned to accept it because they saw how much it meant to cheol.

you were joking when you suggested that cheol should open up a café when he brought at least a dozen iced americanos to you and the rest of the guys one day. cheol remembered how he smirked at you and said, “wanna bet?”

so really, you led cheol here. cheol knew that you would never believe him if he said that, but it’s true. you hold so much influence in his life that it kills him that you’re not actively in his life anymore.

“i’m proud of you, cheol.” you said softly, tucking a stray hair behind your ear— suddenly not knowing what to do. “i hope you never forget that.”

"i know," cheol replied in a whisper. "i'm proud of you too, you know. always.”

"thanks, cheol."

“why do i have to give it to her?” cheol grumbled while he was fixing his hair, checking for any hair that’s out of place.

“you say that and yet you’re acting like this is the first time yn is going to see you,” jeonghan teased with a smirk as he watched seungcheol check his hair every 5 seconds at the reflection of his car window.

joshua and seungkwan laughed quietly at jeonghan’s comment, causing seungcheol to glare at them— which only makes them laugh even more.

seungcheol chose to ignore jeonghan’s sly comment. “where are they anyway?” he asked, checking his phone for the time. 10:07 am. The exhibition has started, cheol thought.

kwannie, cheol, shua, and hannie were waiting outside the gallery for the rest of the guys to arrive. hao was already inside helping you with your exhibit— as cheol assumed— along with vernon, who was kind enough to offer his help.

“jun texted that they had to pick up the cake and that they’ll just meet us inside,” seungkwan said out loud. “apparently, mingyu overslept.”

“that sounds about right,” jihoon commented as he, wonwoo, and soonyoung walked towards where cheol and the rest of the guys were waiting.

“here,” soonyoung handed cheol the bouquet of pink carnations that cheol specifically asked. “since you were so adamant about the kind of flowers and the colour.”

“oh, we’ve already decided that cheol’s going to hand yn the flowers.” shua smirked.

“i’m surprised you actually went,” wonu pointed out, knowing there is still some odd tension between you and cheol.

“uh yeah, she texted me about it.” cheol cleared his throat “she actually invited me here.”

the way cheol said it so casually, the way the words just escaped his mouth like silk— it was enough for the guys to stop in their tracks and look at cheol like he grew two heads.

“no fucking way,” jihoon comments out of astonishment, breaking the ice.

“oh my god, you guys actually came?” you were greeted with a bunch of warm smiles from the boys, each of them giving you a hug. “i thought you guys were busy?”

“are you kidding? we would never miss this for the world,” seungkwan commented as he gave you a tight hug. “besides, that was just soonie hyung’s elaborate plan of surprise.”

“well, consider me surprised.” you laughed as soonie gave you a tight squeeze. “feel free to roam around, there’s refreshments by the right corner.”

you have just hugged every one of them until you reached cheol— who was a sight for sore eyes. after being broken up for about 3 years now, it still baffles you that his presence alone makes your heart flutter.

you don’t even know why you invited him personally— you haven’t talked that much since the hangout at his café. actually, that’s a lie. you knew damn well why you invited him. a part of him lives within you— may it be in your artworks or your writing.

seungcheol was hesitant— he didn’t know whether he should hug you or not. he literally stopped in the middle of his tracks, his arms almost at mid-air. it was painstakingly obvious too— vernon, who was busy ushering people and caught wind of the situation, couldn’t hide his grimace.

you heard seungkwan’s panicked voice, forcing the others to go with him and leave you two alone. they were dying from curiosity, but even the strong-willed jeonghan could not stomach the awkwardness in the air.

as soon as the guys left, cheol had the courage to finally to say something. anything. “yn,” he cleared his throat “these are for you.” cheol said, handing you the bouquet of pink carnations shyly.

“oh, these are gorgeous,” you sighed happily “thank you, cheol.”

“of course, anything for you,” cheol said a little too eagerly. he cleared his throat, trying to mask his excitement. “it’s from all of us, really.”

“oh?” cheol raised his eyebrow at your confused tone. his eyes followed yours and saw that you were reading the card that came with the flowers— which flustered you immediately upon reading the note.

for the entire time that cheol was holding that bouquet of flowers, not once did he notice the card that was practically sticking out like a sore thumb.

“uh— can i read it?” cheol asked, immediately walking closer to you. you were about to pull the card so he can read it on his own but he was already mere inches away from you, peering over your shoulder.

this was the first time in 3 years that you two were this close to each other. his perfume immediately filling your nostrils, taking you back from how your relationship used to be. your heart was practically pounding. it also didn’t help the fact that he was still wearing the same perfume that you got him during your 2nd anniversary.

“yn,

life had so much colour when i looked into your eyes. it’s a strange thing, but that’s just how it is when you love someone.

yours forever, c.”

the typewritten note was staring back at cheol as if it crawled from the box of things he kept in his office and in to the bouquet. seungcheol wasn’t going to deny that he wrote that note to you— because he did. it’s just, the note wasn’t meant to be included in the bouquet.

he wrote that note a year ago— still in the process of trying to move on from your break up, even though it’s been two years. he was so close to mailing you that note along with a birthday gift last year. he only stopped himself because one, that would be weird and two, he would look desperate. cheol knows he is, but he wouldn’t admit that.

the guys like to believe that he never really got over you, which was obvious, because look at what happened. this also begs the question as to who saw the note in his office and who was the culprit to blame.

“cheol—“

“yn, i think we need to talk.”

you two started strolling around the gallery, not knowing where to go or how to start.

you stopped in the farthest corner of the gallery, near the fire exit. far from everyone, you both assumed. “cheol, the note—“

“i didn’t write it,” cheol immediately answers. his comment disappointed you as a part of you still longed for the idea that he still loved you.

cheol saw how your face faltered upon hearing his comment which panicked him. “i mean i did write it but not recently— i wrote it over a year ago. i was hung up on you, i still am i think, i just i don’t even know—“

“cheol, breathe,” you said grabbing his hands, rubbing small circles with your thumb. “it’s okay.”

you led him to one of the benches in the gallery, just so he can collect himself and so that you can calm yourself down as well.

a couple of minutes after cheol had eventually calmed down and has had a few minutes to take a breather, you asked “is everything okay? i’ve never seen you ramble like this.”

“yn,” cheol sighed, embarrassed at his erratic behaviour “i’m sorry.”

“for what?”

“well for rambling, first off,” cheol lets out an embarrassed laugh “but i’m sorry for everything.”

you were confused. “cheol, i don’t think you have anything to apologize for. you didn’t do anything.”

“exactly, i didn’t do anything,” cheol was frustrated. “i should’ve fought for you, for us. i should’ve done something, anything—“

“cheol, i’m so confused.” you were about to cry from frustration “what are you trying to say?”

“yn,” cheol takes a huge breath “why did you invite me here?”

“what do you mean?”

“here, in one of the most important days of your life, in your career.” cheol almost pleads for an answer “why am i here, ynnie?”

“because…”

“because?”

“because you’re important, cheol. you will always be a part of my life. a piece of you lives within my artwork, my writing.” tears were starting to fall from your eyes “you’re in everything that i do, cheol.” you let out a small laugh, slightly embarrassed. cheol started wiping the tears from your face. “you’re here because i want you to be here.”

“what ever happened to us, yn?” cheol asked, looking at you straight in the eyes.

“it wasn’t our time, cheol— i remember us fighting a lot.” you sighed “i loved you, i still do, but we were hurting each other a lot.”

cheol hummed, because he remembered the same thing. he wished it was different, but even he knew that you two would’ve ruined each other.

“do you think it’s our time now?” cheol asked, looking at the artworks on the wall.

“maybe,” you replied softly, a small smile playing on your lips.

BONUS: that's just how it is | seungcheol

for some reason ? it was really hard to write this ? that's why it took me a month to finish this ? i’m sooo sorry 😭

[thesilverscript]

Hold The Line.

Warnings? Explicit content, smut, and perhaps mild power dynamics. Toto Wolff x Reader. One shot. 

Words: 2.339.

You met a few years ago, in those days following Nico Rosberg’s retirement announcement that reverberated through every corner of the paddock.

You were there, in the middle of the chaos, representing a driver who, on paper, seemed like the perfect fit for the seat.

And then, he came along. No soft words, no easy smiles. Just brief glances and calculated phrases.

The first impression? Distant.

Like two strangers meeting in the middle of a storm, instinctively knowing they needed to keep their distance. You didn’t have time to try and please him, and he clearly didn’t care to disguise whatever it was about you that bothered him. It left a mark, not as an insult, but as a question hanging in the air.

An unanswered point.

In the end, the contract went to Bottas — something that didn’t surprise you. There was more than just merit involved in that choice. It was impossible to ignore that Torger was always close, never too far from the process. He knew exactly what he was doing, even if he never said so directly.

The real surprise, however, came afterward. When the frenzy around the negotiations finally settled, it was only then you realized what had truly been left from that dispute. The bad first impression was just a facade, hiding something deeper, something he, no matter how hard he tried, could never fully conceal.

They signed Bottas, but in the end, you walked away with something that was never part of the plan: Torger. A prize that didn’t come through contracts or negotiations, but one that, somehow, was the only result that truly mattered.

Years later, you were already sharing your routines as if it was the most natural thing in the world. You loved your job with the same intensity that he loved his, so even though you could afford to stop, that would never make you happy. It would probably drive you crazy.

And now, with the birth of your daughter, the balance between professional and personal life had become even more important. Life had changed, of course, but between the commitments and sleepless nights, there was something undeniably beautiful about the way you both adapted — together.

But that also meant that, often, you would be separated by time zones. Like now. You’re at home, getting ready for work after dropping off your baby girl at school, while he’s on the other side of the world, in Singapore.

Seven hours apart.

Seven hours that sometimes felt like an abyss, but which you had learned to bridge with quick messages and untimely calls.

As you fixed your hair and chose your outfit, something in the silence made you pause. Facing the mirror, still just in your lingerie, you looked at yourself and thought: why not?

A picture. Something simple, just to remind him of what’s waiting for him when he gets back.

The click was quick, and soon the image was on your phone screen. But before sending it, you paused. You thought about how he always worried about security issues, regulations, privacy. He’d probably complain, as he always did when something seemed out of his control — though there was always a hint of amusement in his complaints.

Toto loved new technologies, especially when they involved big investments and promising startups. But when it came to using them in everyday life? Well, that wasn’t exactly his strong suit. And with that in mind, you almost gave up.

Almost.

But deep down, you knew the reason. It was the longing, simple and inevitable.

So suddenly, you decided: the worst that could happen was him complaining — and complaining, in his case, always came with a smile at the corner of his lips.

With a quick tap, the photo was sent.

You threw your phone in your bag and got back to getting ready. The morning flew by in the blink of an eye, full of commitments that kept your mind off it. When you finally had a moment to check your phone, all you found were a few quick messages about the trivialities of that pre-qualifying Friday.

Okay, you thought. Maybe he was too busy to reply or send an audio. It wasn’t unusual.

The day went on. When you got home, you picked up your little one from school and spent the evening between homework and a simple meal, while she chattered happily about her day. The daily routine with your daughter was a balm, something that grounded you, even in the busiest of weeks. But as the night went on, Toto’s lack of response began to weigh on you.

When she finally fell asleep, you checked your phone again.

Still nothing.

Just brief, trivial messages.

That’s when an uncomfortable feeling settled in. I’m screwed.

Because Toto, in silence, was always more dangerous. When he didn’t say anything, it was worse than any sermon. He was the kind who, with a single look or the subtle arch of an eyebrow, made it clear where the problem lay.

You took a hot shower, letting the water wash away the weight of the day. With the bedroom lights dimmed softly, you grabbed a book to read, trying to calm your mind before bed. The quiet of the house was almost comforting, and soon fatigue began to win. You settled under the covers, and slowly sleep enveloped you.

Until the sudden sound of the phone ringing woke you.

When the screen came into focus, you saw him — Toto, his face slightly shadowed by the soft light of the hotel room. He looked tired, but there was something in his eyes, something warm and constant that always made you feel closer to him, even with the miles that separated you.

For a moment, neither of you said anything. You just looked at each other, absorbing each other’s presence. His image filled your screen, and seeing him, even after so many weeks, made your chest tighten with the familiar longing that had followed you since he left.

His hair was slightly tousled after a long day, but his eyes — those intense and deep eyes — were fixed on you.

“Hi, sweetie,” you said softly, a smile tugging at your lips.

“Hi, schatz,” he replied, the endearment slipping out with affection in his voice. “Sorry I didn’t talk to you earlier. The day was... complicated.”

You chuckled lightly, already familiar with the craziness of race weekends. “I figured. Qualifying’s coming up, right? How are things going over there?”

He sighed, his eyes tired but lightly shining. “Everything’s under control, I think. But I miss home, miss you two.”

The warmth in your chest only grew with his words. “Don’t worry about the little one. She’s doing great. Today she drew something and said it was for you. Of course, I could barely tell what it was, but it was adorable.”

He laughed softly, with that tenderness you’d always loved. “And you said you’d keep it for me, right?”

“Of course, it’s already on the fridge, along with her other artistic scribbles,” you replied with a smile.

Toto’s eyes lingered on you through the screen, and then, almost casually, his voice dropped lower, softer. “That photo you sent me earlier…”

Your heart raced, the tension between you shifting, growing sharper, though his tone remained calm, teasing what you both knew was coming. “Oh?” you tried to play it off, but you already felt the change in the air.

He smiled faintly, that smile that made your whole body react. “I can’t stop thinking about it,” he murmured, his eyes darkening slightly as they stayed fixed on yours. “The way… you looked in that photo, it felt like you were teasing me.”

You bit your lip, still trying to keep it light, but your body was already responding to his voice, to the way he looked at you. “Teasing? Me?”

He leaned closer to the camera, his eyes fixed on you with an intensity that made you forget how to breathe for a second. His voice came out low, wrapped in a lazy devotion, but full of need. “Schatz... the way that lingerie hugged you... and that look of yours... It was like you were calling me, asking me to touch you.”

“And if I was?” you teased, barely recognizing your own voice, low and dragged by the desire already pulsing through every part of you.

He let out a low laugh, almost hoarse, and the sound reverberated through you, causing an instant shiver. “Ah, you know how that drives me crazy,” he murmured, tilting his head slightly, the mischievous smile playing on his lips. “You knew exactly what that would do to me. I spent the whole day thinking about you, about how that looked on your skin...” He paused, biting his lip lightly before continuing, his voice dropping lower, more intimate. “That was for me, wasn’t it?”

Your body was already warm under his gaze, your heart pounding in your chest. You bit your lip, trying to hold back the smile that threatened to break through, but you couldn’t hide it completely. “And if it was?” you responded, your voice coming out lower than expected, your eyes challenging his.

He watched you with palpable hunger, his smile growing slowly, his eyes gleaming with pure mischief. “If it was…” he began, but let the sentence hang, leaving you craving more. “You know what I’d do, don’t you? If I were there right now... I’d have taken everything off you, slowly, feeling every bit. Because I want you to feel everything... like I would.”

Your body reacted immediately, the heat growing almost unbearable. Your fingers slowly climbed up to your neck, touching the skin, and a shiver ran through your body like an electric current.

He smiled, satisfied. “Ah, schatz... keep going. Touch your neck for me, slowly... like I would.”

You obeyed without thinking, your fingers sliding over the warm skin, each movement intensifying the desire already consuming you. Your heart raced, and you could almost feel his hands, as if he were there, guiding you.

“That's it... slowly,” he said, his voice hoarse, full of contained pleasure. “Now down... very slowly. Touch your chest...”

You did as he asked, your fingers brushing the sensitive skin until they reached your chest, and a soft sigh escaped your lips. The sensation was almost as if he were there, present. He saw the effect he had on you, and it only made him smile more.

“Good girl,” he praised, his voice in a low, satisfied tone, but still he kept control. “Now... lower. Very... slowly.”

The temperature in your body rose, the desire burning inside. Your fingers moved down, caressing the skin until they finally reached the most sensitive spot. You let out a soft moan, and your eyes closed for a second, losing yourself in the sensation.

“Don’t close your eyes, schatz,” he commanded, his voice firm, but wrapped in dangerous tenderness. “I want you to look at me... I need to see every second of this.”

Your body trembled as you opened your eyes, the two of you connecting through the screen, and the desire between you only grew. The tension was palpable, each second prolonging the sweet agony. “Now... one finger. Very slowly.”

You did as he asked, your fingers gently brushing over your slit, and your whole body responded, a deeper moan escaping your lips. He watched closely, his eyes gleaming, but still maintaining control.

“That’s it... slowly,” he continued, his voice almost a whisper, but filled with a force that pulled you deeper into the desire. “You know how I would do it, don’t you? I’d touch you like this... slowly... until you couldn’t take it anymore.”

You felt your body vibrate, your heart racing, your nerves on edge. “Toto… please…” you moaned, unable to hold back anymore.

His smile widened, predatory, but with a sweetness that made everything even more torturous. “Ah, schatz, you know I love it when you beg.” He paused, his eyes fixed on yours, and you could almost feel his tongue sliding over the words. “But not yet. I want you like this... a little longer.”

Pleasure mixed with frustration, and you felt like your body was about to explode, but he controlled every inch of your desire.

“Two fingers now,” he ordered, his voice low, filled with authority, but still sweet. “Slowly.”

You followed, your fingers moving gently, but the growing pleasure was almost unbearable. He kept you on the edge, always there, but never letting you reach where you wanted.

“You like this, don’t you?” he asked, his tone teasing. “I know you want more... but I also know you love it when I leave you like this. Trapped in this desire.” He smiled, full of power. “Now... stop.”

Shock ran through your body, and you trembled, the frustration and desire mixing in an almost painful way. “Toto... no...” you tried to protest, but your voice failed.

He chuckled softly, that low laugh that made your skin tingle. “I said stop,” he repeated, his tone firm, but with a softness that was almost cruel. “You’re going to wait for me... you’re not going to touch yourself. You’ll stay like this... thinking of me. And I know you’ll obey, because you have this thing for me, don’t you?”

Your body still trembled, your breathing erratic, but all you could do was nod, desperate. He smiled, satisfied, with that quiet confidence that kept you hooked on him.

“Goodnight, schatz,” he said, his voice low, but firm, with that smile that made your heart race. “I love you.” And then, he turned off the screen, leaving you alone, still on the edge, the desire burning with no relief in sight.

You let the phone fall beside you on the bed.

Turning your face into the pillow, you hit the bed with your fist, frustrated, but a small smile tugged at the corner of your lips, remembering exactly who you were dealing with.

Damn, fuck.

Now there was no doubt. You were completely screwed.

Inspired by: I was listening to Hold The Line by Toto (😌) on loop and thought: Why not?