#the resistance and also happiness that i have not texted her ONCE this year

[weirdtenderlove]

i want dick so bad from a pretty girl i could scream

[velarisdusk]

Burning Desire

Eris Vanserra x Reader

Series Masterlist Part 4 <- ✦.⁺.✦.⁺.✦ -> Part 6 - Embers to Ice

word count: 17k (AAAAA?) content: [ explicit sexual content, unprotected PIV, BDSM, power dynamics, bondage, gags, sensory deprivation, pain play, spanking, paddling, flogging, begging, degradation, praise | infidelity, emotional infidelity, explicit language, alcohol, drinking, smoking (cigarettes, marijuana), bitches are fake as fuck, bad rebound choices, i.e. casually fucking someone who you KNOW has had an actual crush on you for years and not caring, the Vanserra family is a loving one in this he deserves happiness ] summary: In a depression following being caught cheating, a troubling phone call brings a harsh revelation. Distraught and in need of comfort, you turn to Eris, who's been trying to reach out since that night. He provides the emotional and physical escape you need. author's note: oh. my. god. i've been working on this for what feels like a decade i feel like years have been taken off of my life. school has been killer (negative), writing this was killer (positive), and i hope you enjoy >:)

It’s been two weeks.

Two weeks of rotting in bed, drowning in self-pity, and starting your days with cigarettes and bottles of rum. Over a week ago, you threw your phone into the drawer of your nightstand, barely resisting the urge to post a pity-filled story for your close friends. Before you essentially vanished, you noticed texts from Feyre and Mor. That was nothing out of the ordinary, but you didn't read them, dreading their content. Were they upset? Angry? What did they think of you? Were the messages even about the situation? You couldn't say if they knew or not.

You also received messages from Az, Eris, and Tarquin. Their concern surprised you, figuring that bro code would have outranked you on the list of priorities. But then, were they even still talking? If you were Cassian, you’d probably cut off all communication.

It was a complicated situation. They all worked together and had for years. They couldn’t just walk away; they were bound by contracts. You wondered how practice was faring if it was even happening. By now, they must have realized that Cassian wasn’t speaking to you. Whether they kept things private or shared the news with Feyre, Mor, or anyone else, you had no idea. You hoped they had the sense not to all come downstairs at once after your departure with Cassian. But even if they were careful, it must have been noticeable when they started reappearing suddenly.

Two weeks of these thoughts hurtling through your mind.

You haven’t told your mother why you showed up disheveled at her door in the night. How could you? You couldn’t bear to face her after admitting what you’ve done.

But as the hours stretch endlessly, a surge of loneliness (only the latest of many) finally drives you to your phone. You respond to the texts from Azriel and Tarquin, reassuring them that you’re as fine as you can be. When you open the text thread with Eris, you’re caught off guard.

Hey, just checking in. How are you holding up?

If you need someone to talk to I’m around. Seriously.

Look, I get that it might seem weird coming from me, but I’m genuinely concerned. No strings, I just want to make sure you’re okay.

I’m not trying to pry, but isolation doesn’t help. If you need a break from everything, my line’s always open.

You sit there, staring at the string of messages, each one making you feel a little more seen, a little more cared for. You aren’t even sure you want to acknowledge that right now. It’s almost too much, the kindness wrapped in Eris’ words, especially when everything else feels like it’s crumbling around you.

But Eris’ texts… they’re a lifeline, a small thread of connection in a sea of isolation. You pick up your phone again, reading through the messages once more, feeling the sincerity behind them. The idea of responding, of reaching out, is both comforting and terrifying. But the thought of facing all of this alone, of letting it continue to eat away at you in silence, is somehow worse.

Your fingers start to move, typing out a response before you can second-guess yourself.

you’re not prying, thanks for checking in. captain morgan’s been keeping me company lmfao

No sooner do you turn your phone off and toss it onto the bed beside you does the screen light up again with a buzz. That was fast.

Sounds like he’s good company, but maybe not the best listener. How about a real conversation instead?

You can almost hear the playful tone in his words, a lightness that cuts through the heavy fog of your thoughts. It’s enough to make you smile, just a little, even as the weight of everything else still hangs over you.

Another buzz and his next message appears.

Seriously, if you want to talk, my door’s open. No pressure, just an offer.

You can tell he’s trying to strike a balance, not pushing it too hard but still getting through your head that he’s there. It’s disarming in a way, and it leaves you wondering if maybe, just maybe, you should take him up on that offer.

thanks eris, i might take you up on that. it’s just… a lot rn, yknow?

There’s a pause, the seconds ticking by as you wait for his reply. You don’t have to wait long, and it’s as straightforward a reply as you expected.

I get it. You didn’t make the mess alone, just wanted you to know you don’t have to deal with it alone. And if you want to get out of your place for a bit, my offer still stands. You can even invite the captain as your plus one if that helps.

You smile at that, a small huff of amusement escaping you. The thought of getting out of your old childhood bedroom, of not being surrounded by the same four walls that have seen you at your lowest, is more appealing than you’d like to admit. Maybe a change of scenery, and the chance to talk things out with someone, would help.

Your fingers hover over the keyboard as you think about how to respond. Part of you wants to dive in and take him up on the offer right away, but another part of you hesitates, unsure how it would look if Cassian found out. You decide to keep things simple. You don’t respond.

Without paying any mind to the countless social media, text, and call notifications from your other friends, you open your texts with Nesta and make a FaceTime call. The thought of her blunt honesty is a small comfort in your otherwise bleak current existence.

Her face appears on the screen, and though her expression is one of surprise and concern, you can’t help but feel a twinge of relief.

“Where’ve you been? You look…”

She trails off, her eyes narrowing as she takes in your appearance. You glance at yourself in the small window at the top corner of the screen. Your eyes are puffy and red, your face is pale, and the bags under your eyes seem darker than ever.

“Talk to me,” Nesta says, her voice gentle but firm, as if trying to cut through the fog of your despair.

You draw a deep breath, the weight of your emotions pressing heavily on your chest. “I don’t even know where to start,” you admit, your voice trembling. “Everything feels like it’s falling apart. I’m a fucking mess.”

Nesta’s gaze softens further, her concern palpable. She leans in slightly, her tone soothing yet resolute. “You can tell me whatever you’re comfortable with. I’m here.”

The hesitation is palpable as you search for the right words, the lump in your throat making it difficult to speak. Finally, you find the courage to confess. “I messed up, Nesta. I don’t know what to do. I feel like I’ve ruined everything.”

Nesta’s expression tightens, her eyes flicking to something off-screen for a moment before she returns her focus to you. She runs a hand through her hair, a sigh escaping her lips as she gathers her thoughts. “Just... try to explain what happened.”

You take a deep breath, trying to steady your emotions before asking, “Do you know what’s been going on?”

Nesta’s gaze momentarily shifts away, a flicker of something you can’t quite read passing over her face. “I’ve heard bits and pieces,” she begins, her tone deliberately vague. “But I’d rather hear it from you.”

Sensing her evasiveness, you decide to give her a broad overview. You explain the guilt and confusion you're feeling, how everything seemed to unravel and make the situation worse than you could have imagined. You describe the betrayal and the weight of not knowing how to mend things. By the time you’ve caught her up, your words are coming out through hysterical cries and gasps for air between sobs.

Nesta listens quietly, absorbing the emotional weight of your words. Her expression reflects a mix of sympathy and contemplation as she processes the gravity of what you’ve shared.

“I broke that boundary to hell, Nesta. I ruined everything.” Your voice trembles with the weight of your confession, the words feeling like a leaden anchor pulling you down.

Nesta’s brows knit together, her concern deepening as she tilts her head slightly. “What boundary…?” she asks, her tone gentle yet probing, as if trying to piece together the fragments of your unraveling story.

You swallow hard, trying to steady your breath, but a sniffle escapes you. “They’ve all been pretty flirty with me since the beginning, and Cassian and I… we decided early on that we didn’t mind it?” You pause, glancing down at your hands as you fidget with the red scrunchie around your wrist, twisting the fabric between your fingers. “So we’d just let them like… make comments… touch up on me a little–”

A sudden, sharp gasp crackles through the phone speaker, cutting through your words like a knife. Your eyes narrow as you stare at the screen in confusion. That sound hadn’t come from Nesta; you’d been watching her intently this whole time, and her lips hadn’t moved.

You furrow your brows, your heart quickening with unease. “What was that? Is there someone there with you?” you ask, trying to keep the edge of suspicion out of your voice, but failing.

But her face is the image of calm, save for the confusion in her furrowed brows. “Huh? Oh, it was just the TV,” she says, quickly flipping her phone around to show you the screen. The shaky camera reveals a reality show playing in the background, the exaggerated drama of strangers’ lives filling the awkward silence.

But your gut tells you something’s off. The way her hand shook just a little as she moved the phone, the tension still lingering in her posture. It all feels wrong. Despite her attempt to brush it off, the seed of doubt has been planted, taking root in the back of your mind.

Nesta flips the phone back to face her, and her voice is smooth and encouraging as she speaks. “So, what are you going to do? Are you going to talk to him?”

You hesitate, letting out a sigh as you rub your temple. “I don’t know. I’m scared of what he’ll say, or worse... what he won’t say. I don’t think I’m ready for that kind of rejection, Nesta.”

She nods slowly, her expression softening into one of understanding. “You have to do what feels right for you, but running away won’t make it any easier in the long run. I know it’s—and I’m sorry to say this—your fault, but you still deserve to know where things stand, even if it’s hard to face.”

You shift uncomfortably, the weight of her words pressing down on you. “I know, I just... I need time to think. To figure out what I want, what I’ll do.”

Nesta listens patiently, offering her quiet support as you continue to spill your thoughts. The conversation drifts from your immediate fears to the what-ifs. She shares some of her own experiences, her voice a mix of tough love and genuine care, giving you just enough space to feel heard without feeling judged.

The minutes tick by, and soon you find yourself leaning back into the pillows, the exhaustion creeping in. You talk about other things too, and an hour passes before you even realize it, the conversation winding down naturally, both of you running out of things to say. It’s a comfortable silence now, a brief respite from the storm of emotions you’ve been weathering.

“I should let you go,” you finally say, your voice soft. “Thanks for listening, Nes. I... I needed this.”

Nesta smiles, a touch of warmth breaking through her usual stoic demeanor. “Anytime. You know I’m here for you.”

You nod, feeling a little lighter, if only for a moment. “I’ll talk to you soon.”

As you move to end the call, you hear it—faint, but unmistakable. A voice, muffled but clear enough to make out the words: “No way–”

Your heart skips a beat, but before you can react, the call disconnects, leaving you staring at the screen, that single phrase echoing in your mind. The voice wasn’t Nesta’s, and it sure as hell didn’t come from the TV. You know that voice. It’s familiar in a way that makes your stomach churn, your pulse quicken. The realization hits you like a ton of bricks, a cold wave of dread washing over you.

It was Elain’s. You’re sure of it. You sit there for a moment, phone still in hand, your mind racing. But why would she be there hidden from view? Why wouldn’t she just say hello or at least make her presence known? The questions tumble over each other, forming a gnawing pit of unease in your gut.

Then, like pieces of a puzzle snapping together, the thought hits you: Elain was listening in, but she didn’t want you to know she was there. The secrecy, the way Nesta quickly tried to cover it up. It wasn’t just about eavesdropping. No, it felt intentional, like Elain was trying to gain insight into your situation with Cassian. Your breath catches in your throat as the implications sink in. A cold, hard truth begins to crystallize in your mind. She wanted to know the details because it mattered to her. It mattered because she’s involved—because she and Cassian are…

You don’t want to finish the thought, but it’s there, undeniable and ugly. Elain and Cassian. It explains the secrecy, the way Nesta tried to protect her, and the sickening feeling gnawing at your insides.

The weight of it is almost unbearable, pressing down on you as you sit there, phone in hand, processing the cruel truth that’s just come to light. Elain and Cassian. How? Why? You never saw any sign in their interactions before. The bitterness of the revelation is a sharp, relentless edge in your chest — you need to do something, anything, to shake off this feeling.

You push yourself up from the bed with a determined resolve, your mind racing with anger and the need to reclaim some sense of control. First things first: you need to wash off the remnants of the last two weeks, the sweat and guilt that cling to you.

The hot water of the shower is a welcome relief against your skin, and you let the steam envelop you, trying to wash away the emotions churning inside. You lather up, scrubbing away the sweat and liquor and cigarette smoke, letting the water run over you until you feel clean, both physically and mentally. You stand under the spray, letting the water cascade down your body as if it could cleanse the memories away. When you’re done, you run a comb through your hair, detangling the wet strands with care before blow-drying and styling it, every strand perfectly in place and your arms sore by the time you’re done.

You reach for your phone, fingers hovering over the screen as you debate your next move. Finally, with a deep breath, you type out a message to Eris:

you still up for company?

It’s simple, to the point, and carries the weight of everything you’re feeling right now. Maybe you shouldn’t be doing this, but you hit send before you can overthink it, nerves and anticipation bubbling in your chest. As you wait for his reply, you glance at yourself in the mirror, taking in the freshly styled hair, and the clean skin. You look entirely different than you did this morning. You’re someone in control, someone who knows what she wants. Your phone buzzes.

Absolutely. I’ll swing by and pick you up.

You weren’t expecting that, but you don’t hesitate before replying with the address. His response is swift.

See you in 15.

Your eyes linger on the screen, absorbing his words as you double-tap and leave a heart his message. Something is grounding about the certainty in his response. No hesitation, no questions, just action. You set your phone down and take one last look in the mirror, a quiet determination settling in your chest. He’ll be here soon, and you have just enough time to get dressed.

You see Eris pulling up through your window, the white Jaguar rolling to a stop, and you take a deep breath before heading toward the door. As you walk down the driveway towards him, you catch a glimpse of your reflection in the car’s window. Jean shorts and a hand-cropped t-shirt—casual and understated.

Eris’s eyes meet yours as you approach the car, his expression softening with concern. There’s no sign of the smirk you usually see on his face. Just a steady gaze that feels sincere. He leans over the center console and opens the door for you, a simple gesture, but one that makes your heart feel lighter.

As you settle into the passenger seat, you set your tote bag down in the footwell. It holds a mostly full bottle of Captain Morgan, a pack of Newports, some gum, and a lighter you grabbed on your way out.

Eris’s eyes flick to the neck of the bottle sticking out of the bag before he asks, “Bringing the party with you?”

You shrug, offering a faint smile. “You did say I was allowed a plus one.”

He nods, his tone softening. “That I did... You okay?” he asks, pulling away from the curb.

You glance at him, a bit surprised at the shift from teasing to concern. “Not really,” you admit quietly.

Eris gives a small nod, his eyes still on the road. “Could’ve guessed the answer, huh?” he remarks, the corner of his mouth quirking up slightly.

You offer a wry smile and a quiet “yeah.” You glance out the window as the sunlight reflects off passing buildings. “But I figured getting out of the house might not hurt. What were you thinking of doing?”

Eris keeps his eyes on the road. “I can swing by somewhere if you need to grab something or,” he pauses, a sly grin forming. “Or if you’re up for unwinding a bit…”

You raise an eyebrow, catching the playful glint in his eye. “What are you suggesting?”

He shrugs, one hand gripping the steering wheel casually. “We could stop by my plug’s place and pick something up, if you’re looking to take the edge off. He’s got some good shit.”

You lean back in your seat, considering his offer. The idea of numbing your mind with something other than liquor is very tempting. You glance at Eris, his casual demeanor giving nothing away, but you can sense that beneath the surface, he’s paying close attention to your reaction.

You nod, feeling a sense of resolve settling in. “Let’s do it. I could use a change of pace.”

Eris keeps his eyes on the road, but there’s a flicker of approval in them. “Alright, then,” he says with a grin, shifting lanes smoothly as he changes direction. His hands move with practiced ease, one gripping the steering wheel and the other shifting gears with effortless precision. You glance up from your phone just in time to see him reach into the center console. He pulls out a sleek pack of Dunhills, taps one out, and lights it with a quick flick of his lighter.

The cigarette sits casually between his lips, its ember glowing softly as its smoke curls lazily around him. “Want a cig?” he asks, his tone casual as he cracks his window.

You hesitate for a moment, then nod, reaching out for the cigarette sticking out of the pack. Eris passes it to you with a small knowing smile, his eyes flicking briefly to meet yours before returning to the road and lowering your window for you. You take a drag, the smoke filling your lungs and momentarily dulling the edges of your lingering unease. It’s quite the difference from the menthol kick of your usual Newports. The flavor is richer, with a deep, earthy undertone that’s almost woody. It feels more refined, less about the immediate hit, and more about a lingering, sophisticated aftertaste. You exhale, the smoke curling in the air, and the taste leaves a warmth that’s oddly comforting.

“Helps, doesn’t it?” he glances at you, a touch of curiosity in his gaze.

You exhale slowly, watching the smoke get pulled out the window. “A little… Thanks,” you say, and you both know it isn’t just for the cigarette.

Eris nods, his grin widening slightly. “Anytime. We’ve got a bit of a drive, so just get comfortable. We’ll hit the place soon.”

You settle back as Eris merges onto the highway. The sun is high, casting a warm light over the passing scenery. The rhythmic hum of the engine and the classic rock on the radio make for a relaxing ride. You gaze out the window, watching the landscape shift as the car speeds along. After finishing your cigarette, you hold onto the butt, not willing to litter. Eris is focused on the road, so you just hold onto it, unsure what else to do.

A few minutes later, Eris chuckles and glances over, eyebrow raised. “Were you going to hold onto it the whole ride? Come on, you can’t be serious.”

You give a small laugh, shaking your head. “Well, I wasn’t going to throw it out the window.”

Eris smirks, his eyes flicking to the cigarette butt in your hand. “Just give it to me.”

He reaches over, fingers brushing against your wrist as he tries to take it from you. But you’re quicker, pulling your hand away with a playful glare. “No!” you protest, holding the butt out of his reach. “You’re gonna throw it out the window!”

His grin widens, a mischievous glint in his eyes as he leans closer, making another grab for it. “I won’t, I promise.” And for some reason, you believe him.

He takes the cigarette butt from your fingers and, with a practiced motion, opens the center console and undoes the locking mechanism on a glass jar. He drops it in, the jar already filled with likely a pack’s worth. The jar seals with a soft click, likely why you hadn’t noticed any lingering smell before. He shuts the jar and console, his attention never wavering from the road.

The smell-proof jar, not even considering littering, doing it all while keeping his eyes on the road—it’s the kind of thing that shouldn’t be as hot as it is.

The drive stretches on with the radio playing softly in the background. You watch the scenery blur past as the car weaves effortlessly through traffic. With the windows still cracked, you catch a glimpse of Eris’s auburn hair tousled by the breeze. The sun casts long shadows across the highway, and you find a strange comfort in the steady rhythm of the drive. Eventually, Eris slows the car, steering off the main road and into a sleek, gated driveway. The place is an upscale, modern mansion with neatly trimmed hedges. Not what you expected. He parks near the entrance and turns to you with a casual smile.

“I’ll leave the car running,” he says. “Lock up, I’ll be quick.”

You nod, watching as he gets out and heads toward the front door. The gate closes behind him with a gentle click, leaving you alone in the plush interior of the car. After a few minutes, Eris reappears with a small, discreet bag in his pocket. He slips back into the driver’s seat, the bag placed neatly into the center console.

The car pulls out of the driveway, and Eris’s eyes flick toward you as he navigates the streets with practiced ease.

“Any special spots in mind, or are you up for anywhere?” he asks, the hint of a grin in his voice.

You shrug, a faint smile tugging at your lips. “Nah, yours is fine.”

He gives a teasing scoff, putting a hand on his chest as he speaks. “My place is special, (y/n), you wound me.”

His words pull a genuine laugh from you. It really wasn’t that funny, but hearing your name on his tongue so casually stirs a nervous flutter in your chest.

“What’s so special about it?”

“Besides the view, or the pool, or the game room?” he pauses for dramatic effect, lowering his voice to a murmur. “Yours, truly.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Is that so? And what makes you so special?”

Eris lets out a soft laugh, his gaze flicking to you before returning to the road. “Well, I’ve been told I’ve got a talent for making things unforgettable.”

“Someone’s got a massive ego.”

He grins, his eyes glinting with confidence. “Guilty as charged. You like it though.”

You roll your eyes at that, unable to keep the smile from creeping onto your face any longer. “Yeah, yeah, whatever.”

“Ah, you didn’t deny it. I’ll take it.”

“You’re impossible,” you laugh softly, shaking your head.

As the highway fades into the background, the road before you begins to wind through lush greenery. The towering trees start to crowd in, their canopies forming a dappled, sunlit tunnel. Fields of wildflowers stretch out on either side. The road curves gently, revealing glimpses of a large, elegant house nestled among the trees, its silhouette framed by the tranquil lake shimmering in the late afternoon light.

When you step inside, the first thing you notice is how effortlessly cool the place feels—like it’s been designed with a blend of sophistication and laid-back charm. The living room is spacious and airy, with large windows that let in plenty of natural light, casting a warm glow over the polished wooden floors. The furniture is a mix of sleek modern pieces and cozy, oversized cushions that invite you to sink in and relax.

Eris heads over to a low cabinet and retrieves a small grinder and some neatly rolled-up papers from a hidden drawer. He moves with casual confidence, clearly in his element. You couldn’t help but wonder how many women he’d invited here for a smoke before you, having to remind yourself that this wasn’t that. You’re here as a friend who needs an attentive ear.

“So,” he says, flashing a grin as he begins grinding the weed, “what do you think of the place?”

You settle into the sofa, taking in the room’s ambiance. The walls are adorned with tasteful art, and the scent of cedarwood and something subtly herbal fills the air. It’s inviting.

“Not bad, huh?” Eris continues, leaning against the cabinet and looking down at the papers in his hand.

You chuckle, glancing around. “Yeah, it’s alright.”

His eyes dart up to meet yours, a playful, mock-surprised smile on his face. “Crazy…” he murmurs.

You roll your eyes with a smile. “Oh come on, you know it’s a nice place. I'm not gonna shower you with more compliments than you need.”

He chuckles, shaking his head as he sits on the couch, starting on the joint. The sound of the grinder and the rustle of the papers are the background to your conversation. “Fair enough. But before we get too cozy with this,” he nods toward his work, “let’s talk. I’d rather hear how you’re really doing.”

You hesitate, feeling a bit vulnerable all of a sudden. “I don’t know if I can get through it all sober.”

Eris looks at you with a soft, reassuring smile, his fingers pausing briefly as they work the paper. “Just try.”

For a moment, you’re silent, the sound of the grinder filling the space between you. You look around the room, at the art on the walls, the low light casting a warm glow over everything. It’s easier to focus on that than on the storm inside your head.

But then you find his gaze again, and the quiet concern in his eyes makes something inside you crack, just a little. "It’s just… everything’s been so overwhelming lately," you begin, your voice soft. "I keep making these choices that… I don't know how to explain it… I’m digging myself into a deep, deep hole. And I don’t know how to get out." You hesitate as you try to find the right words. “It’s just… I don’t even know why I let it happen. I mean, I love Cassian, he’s everything to me. But every time I’m with you,” the words catch in your throat, and you quickly clarify, “with all of you, I mean… I feel like I’m losing myself, like I’m just drifting through all of it without thinking. It’s like I’m not even in control anymore.”

Your voice trembles as the floodgates open, the words spilling out faster than you can stop them. “And the guilt… it’s eating me alive. Every time I’d see Cassian, it was like I was drowning in it. When we went to sleep at night, when he’d kiss me, when we cooked dinner, when he’d tell me he loves me and I said it back with a straight face, knowing what I’ve done… I keep asking myself why I did it, why I kept doing it, but I don’t have an answer. I don’t even know if I’m looking for one or if I’m just trying to justify something that can’t be justified.”

You take a deep breath, trying to steady yourself, but the weight of it all is too much. “I thought I could handle it, that I could keep everything separate, but it’s all tangled up now. I’m tangled up. And I don’t know how to fix it, or if I even can.” You pause, swallowing hard as you try to gather your thoughts. Focusing on how methodically he rolls the joint is the only way you can keep from crying. “The past couple of weeks have been a nightmare,” you continue, your voice barely above a whisper. “Every day feels like I’m just… going through the motions. I wake up, and for a split second, everything’s fine. But then it all comes crashing back, and I remember what I’ve done. It’s like this constant weight on my chest, and I can’t breathe.”

There’s a heavy silence as you finish, the room feeling almost too quiet. You glance at Eris, the exhaustion in your eyes reflecting your need for a break from the emotional turmoil. “I can’t keep talking about this right now,” you say, your voice wavering slightly. “I just need to… I don’t know.”

Eris nods, a knowing look in his eyes. “Yeah, I got you,” He stands up, moving with a relaxed confidence, and heads towards the kitchen. You watch him, feeling a small flicker of relief at the prospect of a distraction. He returns with two glasses of ice, setting them down on the coffee table before lighting the joint and pointing towards your bag for the rum. When you reach to pour the drinks, he gently takes the bottle from you, pouring them himself.

You take the glass when he offers it, the alcohol warming your insides and helping to dull the sharp edges of your thoughts. Eris hands you the joint, a small, encouraging smile on his lips. “Here’s to a temporary escape,” he says, his tone lighter now.

You take a slow drag, letting the smoke fill your lungs and the effects of the alcohol and weed start to mingle in your system. The combination is soothing, and you feel the tension begin to ease. As the minutes pass, you can feel the fog of intoxication settling in, and your thoughts become less jagged.

A while later, the room is darker now, the only light coming from the soft glow of the lamp on the side table. The drinks are empty and the bottle of rum you brought stands proudly, and emptily, in the center of the table. The joint is long finished, and the conversation has shifted from heavy to light. You and Eris are more relaxed on the couch, and the air is filled with more classic rock, the remnants of laughter, and the gentle hum of your voices.

You lean back, feeling pleasantly buzzed, the haze of the alcohol and weed wrapping you in a cocoon of warmth. Eris is sitting right next to you, his leg pressed against yours, his hand resting casually on the cushion next to you. The shared warmth and comfortable silence between you feel natural.

“You know,” you say, your voice slightly slurred but lighthearted, “I didn’t think I’d find myself here tonight, like this. But... I’m glad I did.”

Eris glances over at you, a small smile playing on his lips. “Sometimes the unexpected turns out to be the best part of the night.”

You chuckle softly, the sound mingling with the music playing in the background. “Yeah, it’s funny how things work out. I definitely needed this more than I realized.”

He nods, his eyes softening as he looks at you. “It’s good to let go now and then. Just don���t forget there’s still shit to unpack when you’re ready.”

You let out a deep sigh, your gaze drifting around the dimly lit room. There’s a moment of hesitation as the weight of your earlier conversation looms on the edge of your thoughts. The alcohol and weed have softened the edges, but the heaviness is still there.

Eris shifts slightly, his hand moving a bit closer in the process. Whether it was intentional or not, you don’t know. “You know,” he says gently, “it’s not every day you find someone willing to listen without judgment. You should take advantage of that.”

You take a deep breath, feeling the pressure build behind your eyes. “Cassian… he’s been nothing but loving, nothing but kind to me. And it kills me, Eris. It kills me to look at him and know that I’ve betrayed him in the worst possible way. Multiple times.” You feel the lump in your throat as you continue, the warmth of the alcohol making it easier to let your words flow. “I keep trying to think of ways to fix it, to find some sort of answer or way to redeem myself. But...” Your eyes search the dim room as if trying to find some clarity in the shadows.

“I keep going over every moment, every decision, wondering where things went so fucking wrong. It’s like replaying a movie where I know the ending is tragic, but I can’t look away. I did this shit to myself…

“The hardest part is that he saw everything. He didn’t even need me to confess; he saw it with his own eyes. And everytime I replay that night, I think about how coldly he looked at me. He’s never looked at me like that before. Not that I don’t deserve it.” You glance at Eris, the weight of your emotions clear in your eyes. “I’m trapped in this cycle of guilt and regret, and it’s suffocating. I don’t even know what I’m looking for anymore—whether it’s forgiveness, understanding, or just a way to get rid of all this guilt. The thought of facing Cass again… God, I can’t…”

Eris’s eyes narrow slightly as he takes it all in, draping an arm across the back of the couch. You aren’t quite close enough for it to wrap around you.

You mentally chastise yourself for wishing you were. Thinking like that is what got you into this mess.

His voice is low but steady when he speaks. “You’re human. You made choices. Bad ones, sure, but it doesn’t make you a monster.” He pauses, his gaze intense. “It’s easy to get lost in guilt. But you’re not doing anyone any favors by going MIA. Especially not Cassian.”

You scoff. “Cass doesn’t want to talk to me.”

“How are you so sure?” he asks, his fingers drumming lightly against the couch, the rhythm steady and patient, unlike the chaos unleashed in your mind by the simple question.

The Facetime with Nesta shoves itself to the forefront of your mind as if your subconscious has been holding it back all this time. You’d heard Elain’s voice in the background, imagined her laughter mingling with Cassian’s, imagined him sharing her breath, his tongue deep in—

The thought hit you like a sucker punch, just as the air had been knocked out of your lungs the moment you’d put the pieces together.

“I’m pretty sure Cassian is fucking Elain,” you blurt out, your voice shaking with the weight of the confession.

Eris’s expression doesn’t change, but his eyes sharpen. “Why do you think that?” he asks calmly, though there’s a new edge to his voice.

You swallow hard, the memory still raw. “When I was on a call with Nesta, I heard Elain in the background. She was trying to listen in on me ranting about this all to Nesta… She didn’t even say hi to me, didn’t let me know she was there. Why would she do that unless she was hiding something?”

Eris raises an eyebrow, his expression skeptical but curious. “You might be reading too much into this,” he says, but the sharpness of your gaze makes him backtrack quickly. “Alright, alright, I didn’t mean it like that. Just… how are you so sure they’re involved?”

You exhale sharply, frustration evident. “Cassian is incredibly vindictive in bed,” you say, thinking back to all the times he’d gone hard on you just for catching you making eyes at one of the guys. “I’ve been through his friends, I’d be more shocked if he didn’t try to go through mine.”

Eris’s eyes narrow thoughtfully. “Most of his friends.” He doesn’t elaborate but the implication is clear. “I’m not saying you’re wrong, but it’s not always best to assume the worst.”

A fleeting thought crosses your mind. Eris is right. You and he never crossed that line, despite the heated moments over the years, despite the events the night of Ianthe’s party. If Cassian is dropping you off on your mom’s doorstep just to go after your friends, maybe it’s time for you to stop moping around and start embracing some fun yourself. Why should you sit at home and stew when he’s out there doing who knows what? Who knows who? For all you knew, Nesta had fucked him too. And, honestly, Eris doesn’t look half bad in that black, fitted t-shirt and tailored jeans, the thin silver chain around his neck glinting in the low light. There’s a roguish charm about him, just as there’s always been. It’s something that makes him undeniably tempting.

You look down at your lap with a sigh, a feigned sadness in your eyes, and a playful pout on your lips. “Well, if Cassian’s going to do whatever he wants, maybe I should too.” You look up, letting your gaze linger on him, lowering to his lips before meeting his eyes again.

Eris’s eyes flicker with surprise, but he maintains his cool as he raises a brow. “Is this where we’re headed now? I thought we were in the middle of something a bit more serious.”

You scoot closer to him, close enough for the hand on the back of the couch to rest on your shoulder if he wanted it to. “Maybe I’m tired of pitying myself. Or maybe I’m feeling adventurous.” A glint of mischief sparkles in your eyes before you slip back into your act.

Eris chuckles, a faint smile curling his lips. “A distraction, huh? You know that won’t fix anything.”

You shrug, maintaining your demeanor. “Who says it has to be about fixing anything? Sometimes a little distraction is just what you need,” you level. Tired of the theatrics, you scoot even closer and grab that god-forsaken hand, placing it gently on the back of your neck.

Eris’s fingers linger there, his expression shifting from playful to intrigued before he traces soft patterns on your skin. “Is that right? And here I thought you were just looking for a friendly ear.”

You lean closer, your voice dropping to a softer, more flirtatious tone. “You mean to tell me you didn’t have any other intentions? Not a single fleeting thought?”

Eris’s gaze drops to your lips, his eyes narrowing with intrigue. “So, what are you suggesting? Are we breaking some rules tonight?”

You let out a soft laugh. “Yeah, something like that. A night of enjoyment. No strings attached, just...”

Your words trail off as you close the distance between you, your lips meeting his in a slow, heated kiss. His hand grips the back of your neck, pulling you closer as the kiss deepens. It starts slow, almost exploratory, but quickly deepens as you both lose yourselves in the moment. The taste of liquor lingers on his tongue, a heady mix of rum and something uniquely Eris. You savor it, letting the alcohol-infused warmth of the kiss sweep over you. Your lips move against his with increasing urgency, and you gently tug at his lower lip, pulling him closer.

Eris’s hand tightens around the back of your neck, his fingers sliding into your hair as he angles his head to deepen the kiss. His tongue meets yours with a bold, almost possessive stroke, and you pull back just slightly, your breath mingling with his. Your eyes lock, the heat still palpable between you. “I like the taste of you,” you murmur, a playful glint in your eyes.

He exhales, a low, throaty sound that’s part groan, part sigh, as if you’re unraveling him with every word, every touch. It’s the kind of sound that sends a shiver through you, making you feel like you’ve got him right where you want him. His eyes darken with desire and amusement before he leans back in to capture your lips again. This time, the kiss is more intense, a dance of passion and need. His hands roam to your waist, pulling you even closer. The world outside seems to fade away as you both lose yourselves in each other.

Eris’s lips trail down to your neck, his breath hot against your skin. You arch into him, the sensation of his touch making you shiver. You let out a soft moan as he kisses a sensitive spot just below your ear, making your pulse race. You’re left feeling lightheaded from the drinks and the smoke, and every touch, every caress feels electrifying. His hands slide up to your back, pulling you tighter against him, if possible.

His lips return to yours, and this time, the kiss is unrestrained, filled with a raw, urgent need. You can feel the strength in his arms, the way he holds you close, as if afraid that letting go might make this moment slip away. He pulls back just enough to look into your eyes, his gaze smoldering. There’s a breathless pause, the intensity of the moment hanging between you. “You said you were feeling adventurous,” he says, and you shrug. “How adventurous?” His voice is low and his words are laced with an intensity that wasn’t there before.

You let out a soft laugh, the sound almost breathless from the heated kiss. “You’re not planning on taking me out back and murdering me, are you?” you joke, looking out the large windows at the sea of tree silhouettes around you.

Eris’s lips curl into a half-smile. “Well, I hadn’t thought of it, but now that you mention it…”

You nudge him playfully, your smile widening.

Eris’s expression turns serious again, though the amusement in his eyes doesn’t fade. “I promise, nothing like that. But I do have something in mind that might be a bit… beyond what you’re used to.”

You look into his eyes, feeling a mix of anticipation and excitement. “I sincerely doubt that,” you say, your voice steady. You’ve had more than your fair share of sexual escapades, indulging in all kinds of experiences in past relationships. And with Cassian, the bedroom was never without a spark—rarely did things stay simple.

Eris’s eyes brighten with satisfaction. “Good to hear.”

He stands and grabs another joint he’d rolled earlier, offering you a hand to help you up. You take it with a playful smile and follow him.

The music fades as you follow Eris down a short flight of steps. The hallway is lined with eclectic art and framed photos. One with Eris surrounded by a bunch of dogs, a grin on his face that’s more genuine than you’ve ever seen. Another with the Vipers, his arm slung casually around Azriel, all of their faces flushed with victory. You have to talk yourself out of paying too much attention to Cassian in that one. There’s even one of him with who you assume is his family, standing in front of a cabin, all smiles and warmth. It’s a side of him you’ve never seen before, and it makes you see him in a different light—one that’s more personal, more real.

At the end of the hall, a large bookshelf stands against the wall. Eris pauses, throwing you a sly glance before reaching for one of the books. He pulls it, then pushes the bookshelf open, revealing a short set of steps leading down into a hidden space below. How cliché.

“After you,” he murmurs, gesturing for you to step inside.

You look at him with creased eyebrows, to which he only gestures his arm in again. You find a lounge, set slightly lower than the rest of the house, with five or so steps leading down into it. The room is richly decorated, with dark wood paneling, plush seating, and warm, ambient lighting that adds to the intimate, secluded atmosphere.

Eris follows you inside, closing the bookshelf door behind him. The room is completely private, a hidden sanctuary within his home. He steps closer, holding the joint he rolled earlier between his fingers. “What do you think?” he asks, his voice carrying a note of quiet pride.

You take a moment to absorb the space, your eyes drifting over the rich details—the king-size bed on the far wall, the soft glow of the lighting, the floor-to-ceiling mirror on one wall, the smooth texture of the dark wood, the way the room seems to envelop you in warmth. It's intimate without being suffocating, luxurious without feeling ostentatious. You notice cabinets discreetly integrated into the walls, their contents hidden behind polished doors. A smirk tugs at your lips as you turn to face him. “I can honestly say I wouldn’t have expected this from you, Eris. A sex dungeon? Really?”

Eris arches a brow, looking mildly offended. “Dungeon? That’s what you’d call it?”

You raise an eyebrow in response, your teasing tone unwavering as you gesture around the room. “Isn’t that what it is? Hidden room, dark wood, all the ambiance… seems like a dungeon to me.”

He steps closer, his eyes narrowing playfully. “Dungeons are cold and grimey. This is a private lounge, a sanctuary, carefully curated for… specific tastes.”

You can’t help but laugh, the sound echoing softly in the room. “A curated sanctuary, huh? You really do have a way with words.”

Eris’s lips curve into a smirk as he reaches for your hand. “Words, among other things.”

He lets the words hang in the air, a knowing smile tugging at his lips. You arch an eyebrow, leaning in slightly as if challenging him. “Among other things?” you echo, your tone playful. “Care to elaborate?

He steps closer, his gaze steady and full of intent. “You’ll find out soon enough,” he replies, his voice smooth as silk. “But first, I need to know how far you’re willing to go.”

Your heart skips a beat, not out of fear but from the thrill of the unknown. You’re no stranger to pushing boundaries, and something about Eris’s confident, almost predatory demeanor only heightens your anticipation.

Instead of answering directly, you take a step closer, closing the remaining distance between you. “You really think this kind of thing is—What was it you said? ‘Beyond what I’m used to’, was it?” you tease, your lips curving into a smirk.

Eris’s smile widens, his eyes gleaming with challenge. “Alright, alright,” he murmurs before he pulls you in by the small of your back for another heated kiss, and he speaks against your lips. “You have full say in how this goes, I don’t want to go any further than you’re okay with.”

You pull him off by the hair on the nape of his neck, and the muted hiss that escapes him shoots straight to your core. “Oh, well if I’ve got full say,” you say, sarcasm lacing your words. “Give me whatever you think I can take, and then some.” You give him a dazzling smile, but he can only look at you in wonder.

His hands find your waist, giving the flesh there a tight, possessive squeeze. He leans forward, bringing his lips to your ear. “C’mon, pretty girl, strip for me.” His voice is low, almost coaxing, with a soft yet commanding tone that makes your skin tingle.

Though you’re surprised at his suddenness, you don’t hesitate. As you begin to strip away your clothes, Eris steps away, moving toward a large set of deep drawers. He looks back at you as he goes, drinking in your every movement as you peel off each item of clothing. First you shed your shirt, then the shorts, followed by your socks, underwear, and even the scrunchie on your wrist. The air thickens with anticipation as you wait, rather impatiently, to see what he’s looking for.

“Y’know, most guys wouldn’t have their back turned to the beautiful, naked woman in their basement,” you muse, examining your nails as you stand perfectly tall.

“First, it’s not a basement.” He turns to you, black rope in hand, his smirk tinged with an emotion you can’t quite place. “But you’re right, baby. I’m sorry. How about I make it up to you?”

You have to suppress a shiver at his words, or maybe it’s because of the cool air on your bare skin. He takes you in like it’s his first time seeing you, like he didn’t have you practically grinding against the heel of his hand two weeks ago. You’re not sure if it’s the substances in your system or the prospect of doing whatever he can imagine to you, but he feels different today than he had then.

Eris reaches into one of the drawers and pulls out a small, sleek controller. With a quick press of a button, a rig begins to descend from the ceiling, the soft hum of the motor filling the room. He keeps his eyes on you, holding the controller loosely in one hand as the rig stops at around eye level.

His tone is almost casual as he walks back towards you with the rope, the controller goes into his pocket. “Ever use one of these before?” You can only shake your head in response as you walk around the metal hook, thinking for the first time that you may be in over your head. “Good. Go ahead and kneel there for me.”

Eris moves behind you as you kneel, working the rope through the rig and instructing you to place your hands behind your back. The rope isn’t as rough against your skin as you anticipated. His hands work with practiced ease, securing your wrists together. He steps back, watching you with a satisfied expression. Then, with deliberate slowness, he begins to raise the rig, the rope tugging your wrists upward. The position forces you to stand as it continues to rise, his eyes narrowing as you do.

Once you’re in position, bent forward with your arms forced behind you, Eris steps closer again, his fingers tracing the line of your spine. “You look so good like this,” he murmurs against your ear. His fingers skim up your arm, lingering at the nape of your neck. His touch is almost tender, a stark contrast to the tension in the room. “Is it okay if I–”

“Do whatever you want,” you interrupt, your voice steady even as your heart races. “If I don’t like it, I’ll let you know. Just do something, please…” You needed a distraction from your thoughts, and the newness of this all was sobering you up.

A slow, approving smile spreads across his lips as he nods. Without another word, he goes to a cabinet, selecting a few items with deliberate care. When he returns, the scent of him envelops you as he carefully ties a blindfold around your head, plunging you into darkness.

You hear the soft rustle of fabric and the click of something plastic. Before you can dwell on it, the world goes silent as something is placed over your ears. The shift is sudden, disorienting. The subtle hum of the room, even the sound of your own breathing, everything fades away, leaving you in an almost eerie stillness.

The rope tugs uncomfortably, but not painfully, at your wrists, the tension in your arms pulling you taut. Your heart pounds, each beat echoing in your chest, reminding you of the vulnerability you’re allowing yourself. Then you feel it—a gentle tap on your jaw, followed by his thumb brushing against your lower lip, pulling it down slightly. You take the hint, opening your mouth for him. The next thing you feel is cool metal pressing against your lip as he slides a ring gag into place.

“If you need to stop,” he says after raising an ear of the sound-canceling headphones, “shake your head and I’ll check on you. Nod if you understand.”

Just as you do, the pad is back over your ear.

You feel the air shift as he moves around you. Deprived of your sight and sound, your body becomes hypersensitive to every touch, every brush of fabric, every subtle shift in temperature. The tension in the air is palpable, your anticipation growing with each passing second.

A light touch trails down your spine, causing you to shiver involuntarily. The sensation is followed by the warmth of his hand as it settles on your hip, steadying you. You can barely hear your own breath, the sound muffled and distant, heightening the sense of isolation. Then, a gentle tap against your inner thigh. You instinctively spread your legs, the vulnerability of the action sending a rush of heat through your body as his touch lingers, waiting.

Then, without warning, a sharp sting lands across your ass. Your body jerks in response, the sting quickly dissolving into a low, throbbing heat. The unexpected strike pulls a soft whimper from your gagged mouth, but before you can even process it, another comes, and then another, each one precise and measured.

The blows alternate with the soft caress of his hand, the contrast between pleasure and pain pushing you deeper into the headspace he’s crafting for you. The strikes aren’t overwhelming, but each one is enough to remind you of the power he holds in this moment, the control you’ve willingly surrendered.

You lose track of time, each sharp strike followed by soothing touches, the rhythm lulling you into a dazed, almost meditative state. The gag keeps your mouth open, forcing you to focus on the steady rhythm of your breathing, each inhale and exhale carrying a mix of adrenaline and endorphins. The warmth of saliva trickles from the corners of your mouth. The rhythmic stinging across your ass slowly transforms into a heated, throbbing warmth that radiates through your body. Each strike, followed by the soft caress of his hand, leaves you in a heightened state of arousal and anticipation, melding into pain and pleasure that lull you deeper into the experience.

Suddenly, the warmth of his touch disappears, and you’re left in disorienting solitude. The absence of his presence makes you acutely aware of the emptiness left behind, amplifying your anticipation. Without warning, you feel something cool against your inner thigh, followed by the unmistakable sensation of a vibrator pressed against your dripping cunt. It’s startling, and though you can’t hear it, you moan, loud and needy.

His hand is on your hip, steadying you as the vibrations increase in intensity. The buzzing becomes loud and clear as he gently pulls the headphones off, and you hear them thud as they fall somewhere. The sudden reintroduction to sound is jarring as the room’s noises flood back in—the loud hum of the vibrator, the sounds you hadn’t realized you were making, the now husky tone in his voice. Each sound is more vivid than before.

Eris’s voice breaks through this new sensory flood, warm and approving. “You’re doing so well for me, baby,” he murmurs, his tone a soothing balm. After being spanked, then paddled for God knows how long, between his calm, reassuring voice and the relentless vibrations against your cunt, you aren’t sure how long you’ll last.

His fingers replace the vibrator, brushing lightly against your clit. He teases your folds, just enough to drive you wild with need. You squirm against the rope, desperate for more contact, for release.

“You want more, don’t you?” Eris’s voice is low, almost a purr as he leans closer. His breath is warm against your ear. “Tell me what you need.”

He rubs slow circles against you, his fingers like fire against your skin. You try to articulate what you need, but the gag muffles your words into incoherent sounds. The frustration of being so close and unable to finish draws an exasperated groan from you, and he responds with a deep, dark chuckle. Eris’s touch withdraws entirely, leaving you in aching anticipation. The sudden absence of his touch is maddening, your body craving the completion he’s denying you. You can’t see him, but you can feel the warmth of his presence lingering near.

Minutes pass, or maybe just seconds—time has lost all meaning in this swirling haze of sensations. Without warning, you feel the sharp sting of a flogger grazing your inner thighs, just enough to remind you of his control. The flogger’s strikes alternate between gentle taps and more forceful hits, never quite enough to satisfy your growing desperation, but enough to keep you on edge. Each touch pulls you further into the comforting fog he’s woven, and your whimpers morph into sharp yelps of pain, each one more urgent than the last.

“Poor thing,” he murmurs, his voice laced with mock sympathy. “Does it hurt, baby?” His tone is tender, but there’s a sharp edge beneath it that promises much more pain.

You groan, the sound a mix of frustration and need, but Eris’s expression hardens. The flogger lands on your skin again, a sharp crack that reverberates through your body. He grips the hair at the nape of your neck tightly, yanking you closer until your breath mingles with his. You can feel the heat of him, the solid presence that’s both terrifying and intoxicating. His lips hover near your ear, his breath raising goosebumps on your skin.

“Do you have something to say?” he asks, his tone noticeably darker and more dangerous. There’s a tense, almost impatient edge to it, a sign that stepping out of line is not an option. “A complaint? Are you ungrateful for what I’m giving you?”

The flogger’s strikes become more deliberate, more vicious. Each one lands with a stinging, biting pain that blossoms across your skin, the sensations mingling with the ache of your muscles straining to hold the position he’s put you in. He’s toying with you, savoring your helplessness, the way your body trembles and arches under his control, the way your breath hitches in anticipation of each new strike.

“Who’s in charge?” he whispers in a slow, deep voice, every word dripping with malice. You try to answer, but the gag in your mouth turns your response into a pathetic, muffled sound. Your eyes squeeze shut in frustration, tears of helplessness welling up and quickly absorbed by the blindfold. You can’t form the words, can’t tell him what he wants to hear, and that only makes it worse.

He clicks his tongue, a sound of feigned disappointment, and tugs your hair again, forcing your head back. “Ah, couldn’t quite catch that,” he sneers, his eyes gleaming with dark amusement.

You whimper, the sound a pitiful mix of plea and frustration, and he chuckles, a dark, cruel sound that sends a fresh wave of heat pooling in your belly. He’s enjoying this — enjoying how easily you bend to his will, how every strike of the flogger makes you jerk forward with a cry. He wants to see it all, the way you crumble under his touch, the way you surrender every last shred of control and hand your worries away to him.

“I control how this goes,” he growls. “You said you’d be good for me, baby. Did you lie? Do I need to stop treating you like a good girl? Because I can do that if that’s what you want.” The flogger strikes down in the middle of your back with a crack that feels like it splits you open, and you cry out, the sound desperate. Your body lurches forward, but Eris’s hand is still in your hair, holding you in place, forcing you to stay still, to take every single lash he’s giving you.

“Look at you,” he hisses, his voice dripping with condescension. “So fucking needy. You love this, don’t you? Being my little toy, something I can break however I feel like.”

The words cut deep, the filth of them sending shockwaves through you. You hate how true they feel, how much you crave the pain, the degradation he’s giving you. The flogger strikes again, harder this time, and your knees almost buckle from the force of it. But you don’t fall. He won’t let you.

“Oh, you like when I treat you like this. You like this a lot better than before, I can tell. You’re just a fucking hole, aren’t you?” he continues. “A pretty little slut who’ll do anything to please me. Do you even have any shame left, or do you need me to fuck some sense into you?” The flogger descends again, and again, each strike punctuating his filthy words. “I’m going to break you, baby. Turn you into the perfect little slut who’ll take everything I give and then beg for more. And you’ll love it, won’t you? You’ll love being nothing but my whore, thinking about nothing except wanting my cock.”

Each word, each degrading, filthy word, sinks into your mind, pushing you further into the haze of submission. The pain of the flogger, the sting of his words, they’re all you can think about. Your world narrows to just him — his voice, his hands, the way he’s tearing you apart and building you back up, molding you into what he wants, what you need.

He pauses, the flogger still resting against your skin, the rough leather a reminder of what’s coming next. He drags it slowly down your back, letting it scrape over the welts he’s already raised. The sensation is entirely new, a subtle pleasure and pain that leaves you trembling.

“You feel it, don’t you?” he murmurs, his tone a bit gentler now, but still laced with that underlying cruelty. The change gives you whiplash. “I can see it. You want to be good for me, don’t you? You want to show me just how perfect you can be.”

The flogger strikes again, and you gasp, the sound a desperate cry. But this time, he doesn’t stop. He strikes again, and again, the rhythm relentless. Each lash pulls you further from the chaos of your thoughts, dragging you into a dark, twisted place where nothing exists but him. The pain and pleasure blend together until you can’t tell where one ends and the other begins.

“You’re going to remember this, baby,” he promises. “You’re going to remember how it feels to be mine, to be owned. And you’re going to beg me for it again, aren’t you? You’re going to come crawling back desperate for me to use you, to turn that pretty little mind off and break you all over again.”

He’s right. You can feel it, deep in your bones, in the way your body responds to him, in the way your mind clings to every word he says.

Eris’s eyes never leave your face, his gaze predatory as he watches you fall apart for him, unraveling under the weight of his dominance. You’re exactly where he wants you — lost in the moment, completely detached from anything and everything happening outside these walls. As the flogger comes down one last time, sending a final, searing wave of pain through your body, you know that this is exactly where you need to be tonight.

Finally, when you’re trembling, he lowers the flogger and returns to your clit, the light, teasing touch of his fingers reigniting the fire within you. “You feel that, baby?” he whispers, his tone teasing. “Feel how wet you are for me? You like when I hit you, don’t you?” He drags two fingers up your center, gathering your slickness on them before bringing them up to your open mouth. “How badly do you want to come?”

You nod, desperate to show him how much you need this, but he’s not finished with you yet. “Tongue out,” he purrs, his voice a low, silky command that sends a shiver through your already trembling body. Without a moment’s hesitation, you obey, sticking your tongue through the cold metal of the ring gag. A string of saliva spills out at the motion, glistening in the low light, and you hear a soft, satisfied exhale from him.

Eris drags his fingers down your tongue, cleans them off inside your mouth, pressing them against your tongue. “Can you taste how badly you want it?” His voice is a dark, teasing caress, each word wrapping around your mind, sinking deeper into that place where only his voice and touch matter.

You can’t respond, not even attempt to, but the question is rhetorical anyway. He doesn’t need an answer; he knows. He withdraws his fingers, leaving your mouth empty, yearning for more. The loss makes you whimper, as does the ache in your jaw — a pitiful sound that he savors as he continues, his tone a mix of mockery and care.

“You can taste how good I’m making you feel, how much you love it when I hurt you. You want to taste something better, baby?”

Before you can process what he means, you hear the familiar flick of a lighter, the soft his as the flame catches. Your heart thumps in anticipation. A moment later, the smell of weed fills the air, earthy and heady.

Eris takes a slow, deep drag from the joint, holding the smoke in his lungs for a moment before he leans in close. His lips brush against the edge of the gag as he exhales, blowing the smoke directly into your mouth. It’s so unexpected, so sudden, that you choke, your body convulsing slightly as you try to inhale and cough at the same time.

The thick, pungent smoke fills your lungs, burning them and reigniting your high. You can feel him watching you intently, relishing the way your body reacts.

“Breathe, baby,” he murmurs, his voice deceptively gentle. “I want to see how much you can take.”

Your chest heaves as you fight to draw in air through the second cloud of smoke he blows your way. He chuckles, and with an almost casual motion, he reaches up and unfastens the gag, pulling it away from your mouth. The relief is immediate, but it’s laced with the residue of his control, the taste of smoke lingering on your tongue.

“There we go,” he coos, running his thumb over your wet, trembling lips. “Such a good fucking girl, taking what I give you. But we’re not done yet, are we? No, you’re going to give me more, right?”

His thumb presses against your lower lip, parting your mouth slightly, and you instinctively suck on it, the action almost automatic. Your body responds to him without thought, driven purely by the need to please, to submit, to give him everything.

When he finally, finally begins to untie you, his hands are gentle but firm, his touch careful as he releases the ropes one by one. The sensation of freedom is almost overwhelming after being bound for so long. But before you can fully process it, his hands are on you — supporting you and guiding your arms back down slowly and carefully. He pulls the blindfold from your eyes, and you try to readjust to the lighting.

He’s taking another pull, holding the joint between his lips as he takes you in. But that isn’t what stops you in your tracks. At some point during your immobility, he’d rid himself of his shirt, and you couldn’t stop your eyes from taking him in. His hair is tied back into a bun, strands having fallen loose around his face, and his chest is covered in a glistening layer of sweat. Images of Eris spanking you, walking around you and assessing where to land the next blow, of the muscles in his arms flexing as he strikes. The hungry look in his eyes and the tightness of his jeans as he watches you writhe under his touch.

“How do you feel, baby?” he asks, his tone teasing with an undercurrent of genuine curiosity. “Did I get you there? That nice little headspace where it’s just you and me?”

His voice is soft, but there’s an edge of satisfaction in it as if he already knows the answer. “Did it help?” he continues, his fingers brushing against your cheek. “Did I get you out of that busy little head of yours?”

You nod, still dazed by the intensity of the experience. You’d felt blissful before, sure, but this was entirely different. This was unadulterated endorphins and adrenaline. He grins, the expression both proud and wicked. “Good,” he murmurs, his voice a soothing balm against the lingering sensations.

But he doesn’t stop there. He leans in, his lips brushing against your ear. “Now, let’s see how long I can keep you floating, yeah? You’re not done yet.” Eris tosses the flogger in the general direction of the shelf it goes on, and guides you with a commanding yet gentle touch to a mat on the other side of the room, placed in front of full-length mirrors. The surface underfoot is soft and inviting, and he helps you kneel in the center, the plush cushioning molding to your knees. He moves behind you, his hands brushing along your arms until they rest on your shoulders, a comforting weight as he leans in close. He hands you the joint, inviting you to take a few hits before handing it back. The smoke in your mouth, in your lungs, it only boosts the floating feeling you have from the experience of this all.

“Look at you,” he murmurs, his voice a low, velvety whisper that wraps around you like a warm embrace. “So beautiful, so ready. But I need you to understand something, sweetheart.” His hands slide down your arms until they reach your wrists, guiding them up to the back of your head. “I need you to be ready to trust me completely. How far I push you now is all about helping you relax, so you can completely lose yourself.”

He pauses, letting his words sink in, his breath warm against your ear. “This isn’t about making things difficult, not for either of us. It’s about you letting me guide you through this. I want you to be my good girl, to follow my lead and take everything I give you.”

His hands rest on your shoulders again, squeezing you lightly. “You’re going to do everything I ask, aren’t you? You’ll be obedient, you’ll let me push you, because you know I’m going to take care of you, don’t you?” His voice is soothing, like honey, and you can’t help but melt into it. “You’re going to give me all of you, every last bit, and in return, I’ll give you everything you need. Remember how you begged for this last time we were together? I want you to be that good girl for me again.”

As his words echo in your mind, you recall the last time you were with him, at Ianthe’s party. The memory is all too vivid — your desperate need, your willingness to surrender completely. You had been so open, so eager, voicing all your desires and pleas. The way you had let go of all inhibitions, the intensity of your submission, and the way your words had spilled out in a fervent, almost frenzied confession. The memory is as intoxicating now as it was then, all things considered.

His words are a gentle invitation, luring you in with a calm confidence that makes it impossible to say anything but yes. You feel hesitant as you consider the depth of your commitment. The tension in your chest tightens for a moment, but then you nod slowly, your voice soft. “Yes,” you murmur, the word barely a whisper but laden with an unspoken promise to embrace whatever he asks of you.

Eris’s fingers brush lightly over your hands, guiding you to interlace your fingers. He steps back to observe you, his eyes raking over your form, taking in every detail. The floor beneath you is hard, unforgiving, but his presence—his authority—keeps you grounded. The anticipation builds as he circles you slowly, like a predator assessing his prey.

“Knees wider," he orders, his voice still soft but with a firm undertone that brooks no disobedience. You adjust, spreading them further apart, feeling the strain as your muscles stretch. You watch him through the mirror, watch how he gives a satisfied smirk as you obey. You finally see how blissed out you look. A dewy sheen of sweat covers your body, your chest rises and falls deliciously with each breath, and your skin is red where you remember him flogging you. You couldn’t imagine what your ass and thighs looked like; red as fire, you imagined, if the lingering, stinging pain was anything to go by.

“Arch your back for me.” His hand is at the small of your back, applying gentle pressure until you curve just the way he wants. The uncomfortable position has you on edge, completely exposed, and yet there’s a strange comfort in the way he controls you, in how thoroughly he’s taking over your body and mind.

Eris takes his time, relishing the sight. “Look at you, already so perfect for me,” he purrs, his hand trailing down your spine in a slow caress that sends shivers through you. “You’re going to stay just like this, sweet girl, you hear me?”

You nod as he runs a hand over your head in a soft caress, trails that hand down your spine. Then, without warning, his touch sharpens—a sudden, firm grip on your hips, followed by the sting of his hand against your ass. The first slap is light, almost playful, but it quickly escalates. The next one lands harder, and he pauses to run his hand over the reddened skin, soothing it briefly before delivering another, even harder.

"Does it hurt, baby?" he teases, his voice a low murmur in your ear. "Or does it just make you want more?" He doesn't wait for an answer. Instead, he continues, alternating between sharp spanks and gentle caresses, pushing you to embrace the pain, to find pleasure in the way he’s handling you.

"You’re so good for me," he continues, his tone dripping with satisfaction. "Taking everything I give you. I bet you love it, don’t you? The way I’m making you feel?" He chuckles a bit at your lack of response. “You can speak now, sweetheart, I took the gag off for a reason.”

You hadn’t realized you’d been holding your breath. “Hurts…” you manage to whimper, your muscles shaking. “Hurts really good. I want more.” He spanks you again. Hard.

“Is that how good girls get what they want?” he asks, eyebrows furrowed and you recover from the sting of pain.

“No, I’m sorry,” you rush out, wincing from the pain of the spank, the soreness in your legs and arms. It’s too much. “Please, will you give me more?”

He takes one last, long drag from the joint, finishing it off and throwing the roach towards a bin. He drags his fingers down your back again, only to grip your hips and pull you further back, adjusting your position until you’re even more exposed, your knees straining to hold you up. The discomfort is intense, but the way he’s pushing you has you on the brink of something deeper, something more primal.

Finally, he moves in front of you, his eyes dark with intent. He cups your chin, lifting your gaze to meet his. "If you want more you’ll have to work for it, baby.” You nod eagerly and he smiles endearingly. “You’re going to show me just how badly you want me," he says, his voice a mix of tender command and raw desire. "And you’re going to do it the way I like."

He steps closer, guiding your face until your lips hover just in front of the zipper of his jeans. "Open that mouth wide for me," he coaxes, his thumb brushing over your bottom lip before pressing it down. "That’s it. Nice and wide."

You obey without hesitation, the need to please him overwhelming everything else. He pulls you into him, his hand resting over your interlaced ones, rubbing your face and mouth into the denim. You feel pride at the way his cock grows stiffer without having taken him into your mouth. You can only imagine how good it must feel to get fucked by that cock, to have it slam into you from below when you ride him, to take it so deep down your throat you can’t even taste his release. A low ‘Now, look at that’ pulls you out of your thoughts, and you look up to see his arms crossed over his chest.

“I don’t even have to ask you to keep going,” he says, his voice laced with arrogance. Your ears turn red with embarrassment when you realize you’ve been practically nuzzling your face against his cock, but oddly, there’s a twisted sense of contentment mingled with it.

He takes his time undoing the button and zipper of his jeans, mere centimeters from your still-open mouth. No one can make taking jeans off hot. No one except Eris, apparently. His fingers tangle in your hair, pulling you closer, but not too much—just enough to remind you who’s in charge.

Your breath catches in your throat at the sight of him. His cock is hard and throbbing, a rich, warm shade of pink with a slight flush at the tip. The girth is impressive, making your mouth water with anticipation. It stands proudly, the pre-cum at the tip glistening slightly under the dim light. You lean in, ready to take him into your mouth. The heat and tension in the air are palpable, and you’re just about to close your lips around him when he gently but firmly grips your hair.

"Not yet,” he murmurs, a playful edge in his voice. “You’re in a hurry, aren’t you? I haven’t given you permission yet.”

You pause, your lips hovering inches away from him. Your eyes flick up to meet his, a mixture of frustration and amusement dancing in your gaze. “You’re cruel, you know that?” You drop your arms, the strain of holding them there finally too much. He notices the shift, but to your relief, he doesn’t say anything, letting it slide.

Eris smirks. “Cruel? I prefer to think of it as… thorough. You wouldn’t want me to rush, would you? A little patience never hurt anyone.”

Your eyes narrow playfully. “Patience, huh? I expect a good reward afterward.”

He raises an eyebrow, his grip on your hair loosening slightly. “Is that so? And what kind of reward are you hoping for, baby?”

“Something a little more satisfying than just this,” you say with a teasing smirk, your wit finally returning after being silenced for so long. “I’m thinking you could make all this worth my while.”

Eris chuckles softly, looking down and relishing the view of his cock hovering over your face. “I will, without a doubt. But you need to be patient,” he repeats. His eyes linger on you as he shifts, rubbing his cock slowly against your cheeks and lips. The touch of his skin is warm and firm, and each movement is calculated, gliding with a teasing pressure. The pre-cum at the tip leaves a subtle, slick trail that only adds to your arousal.

You feel the ridges and veins of his cock brushing against your skin. His touch is firm but purposeful, making sure you feel every bit of his arousal. He takes pleasure in the way your lips part involuntarily, the way your breath hitches with each stroke. Eris’s breathing grows a bit heavier, his gaze intense as he watches your reactions, savoring the build-up and the control he exerts.

As he continues, he lightly traces his cock along your jawline and over your closed eyelids, creating a delicious blend of sensations. The warmth of him mingles with the coolness of the room, heightening the contrast between the two. He pauses occasionally, teasingly pressing his cock against your lips or rubbing it against your forehead, only to shift and start again.

Your need intensifies with each passing moment, the teasing just shy of maddening. You try to keep your composure, but the craving to have him in your mouth is overwhelming. Finally, unable to bear it any longer, you whisper, “Please… let me.”

Eris’s lips curl into a satisfied smirk, clearly pleased with your plea. “Now that’s what I like to hear,” he murmurs, his grip tightening slightly in your hair as he guides you closer. “Go on, baby.”

With a soft breath, you lean in, finally closing the small distance between you and him. The moment your lips wrap around the head of his cock, a soft groan escapes him, and it sends a thrill through your body.

Slowly, you take him deeper, your tongue gliding along his length, savoring the warmth and the weight of him. The slickness of his pre-cum makes it easier to slide him into your mouth, and you hollow your cheeks as you move. His fingers thread through your hair, guiding your rhythm, and you can feel the tension in his body, the barely contained control he holds over himself.

You focus on the sounds he makes—the low, husky breaths, the occasional hitch in his voice when you find a particularly sensitive spot. Each reaction spurs you on, encouraging you to take him deeper, to push the limits of your own control. Eris’s voice, rougher now with desire, breaks through the haze of your focus. “That’s it, just like that,” he praises, his grip on your hair loosening slightly to let you set the pace.

His hips start to move in time with your motions, a slow, steady thrust that matches the rhythm you’ve established. You relax your throat, taking him in further, feeling the head of his cock brush against the back of your throat. The sensation is overwhelming, yet you revel in it, the sheer intimacy of this act, the way you’re entirely at his mercy, yet completely in control of the pleasure you’re giving him.

Eris’s breathing grows more ragged, the tension coiling tighter within him. He watches you, his gaze heavy-lidded with lust, his usual composure slipping just enough for you to see how much he’s holding back. The knowledge that you’re the one drawing out these reactions from him makes you bolder, urging you to take him deeper, to drive him closer to the edge.

But just as you think he’s about to let go, he pulls back slightly, halting your movements. “Not yet,” he breathes, voice strained but firm. “I’m not done with you.” His words are a promise, and though you’re aching to continue, you obey, releasing him with a mix of anticipation and frustration.

Eris's hand slides from your hair to your cheek, his touch gentle now. He leans down, his lips brushing against your forehead in a brief, almost tender kiss before he straightens up. Without a word, he helps you to your feet, his hands steady and reassuring as they guide you toward the bed.

He lowers you onto the soft sheets with care. The roughness from before has melted away, replaced by something softer, almost reverent. As you settle onto the bed, Eris kneels at the edge, his hands gliding over your thighs, spreading them slowly.

He looks up at you, and there’s a tenderness in his eyes that makes your heart stutter. But just as quickly as it appeared, it fades away. He’s silent as he leans in, pressing a gentle kiss to the inside of your thigh, his lips lingering there for a moment before he continues, trailing soft, slow kisses up your leg. Each touch is feather light, as if he’s savoring every inch of you.

When he reaches your core, he pauses, his warm breath ghosting over your most sensitive spot. The anticipation is almost too much to bear, and you feel a shiver of desire run through you. But instead of diving in, Eris takes his time, pressing a soft kiss just above your clit, then another, slightly lower. His lips are gentle, tender.

Finally, his mouth closes around you, and he begins to work with a slow, deliberate pace, his tongue moving in languid strokes that send waves of pleasure through you. There’s no rush, no urgency—just a steady, sweet rhythm that makes you feel cherished in a way that takes your breath away.

His hands slide under your thighs, lifting them slightly as he brings you closer to his mouth, his tongue swirling in a way that’s both gentle and utterly consuming. Each movement is tender, every touch filled with a quiet, unspoken affection. He takes his time, coaxing soft moans from your lips with each delicate flick of his tongue, each gentle suckle.

The pleasure builds slowly, like a tide rising within you, and you can feel yourself teetering on the edge, not from overwhelming intensity, but from the sheer tenderness of it all. Eris’s name escapes your lips in a soft, breathy moan, and he hums in response, the vibrations sending a fresh wave of sensation coursing through you.

He doesn’t stop, doesn’t rush you to the peak, but lets you linger in the sweet, tender pleasure for as long as possible. It’s only when your body begins to tremble, when you’re right on the brink, that he finally picks up the pace, his tongue moving with a little more pressure, a little more focus, guiding you gently toward the release you’ve been craving.

And when you do fall, it’s into the softest, most blissful release, the kind that leaves you feeling weightless and utterly at peace. Eris stays with you through it all, his mouth never leaving you until the last tremor of pleasure has faded, and then he pulls back, pressing one final, lingering kiss to your trembling thigh. When he does pull away, it’s with a soft, almost reluctant sigh. He moves up your body with the same tender care, his hands trailing lightly over your skin, leaving a path of warmth in their wake. When his eyes meet yours, there’s a softness there.

Eris doesn’t rush. He leans down to kiss you, his lips brushing against yours in a way that’s more about comfort than urgency, more about reassurance than demand. His mouth moves slowly, languidly, tasting you as if he has all the time in the world.

Your hands find their way to his back, sliding up to tangle in his hair, pulling him closer as your body arches instinctively toward his. There’s a quiet, almost reverent intensity in the way he touches you, his hands moving to cradle your face as he deepens the kiss, his tongue sweeping against yours.

He shifts slightly, his hand sliding down to grip your thigh, hooking your leg around his waist as he settles between your thighs. You can feel the hard, insistent press of him against you, the heat of his skin melding with yours, and it sends a fresh wave of desire coursing through you.

“Are you ready?” he murmurs against your lips, his voice soft.

You nod, breathless, your eyes meeting his with a trust that’s unspoken but absolute.

Eris presses a soft kiss to your forehead before lining himself up with your entrance, and with one slow, deliberate thrust, he fills you completely. The sensation is overwhelming, a perfect blend of pleasure and comfort, and you can’t help the soft moan that escapes your lips as he begins to move.

He sets a gentle pace, his hips rolling in slow, deep strokes that leave you gasping. There’s no rush, no frantic rhythm — just a steady, measured movement that builds a different kind of tension. Eris’s hands cradle your face, his thumbs brushing gently over your cheeks as he watches you, his gaze never leaving yours. Each thrust is accompanied by a whispered word of encouragement, a soft murmur of praise that only heightens the intimacy between you.

Your bodies move together in perfect harmony, each roll of his hips sending sparks of pleasure shooting through you. The world narrows down to just the two of you, the softness of the sheets beneath you, the warmth of his body above you, and the gentle rhythm of your bodies coming together.

Eris leans down, his forehead pressing gently against yours, his breath warm and ragged as he moves inside you. “You feel so good,” he whispers, his voice husky, laced with a deep sense of awe. “So perfect.” His words send a shiver down your spine, the intensity of the moment wrapping around you both.

He shifts his angle slightly, his hips pressing deeper, and you gasp, your fingers digging into his shoulders. The new angle has him hitting just the right spot, each thrust making your toes curl with pleasure. “Eris…” you moan, the sound of his name on your lips seeming to spur him on.

“Right there?” he murmurs, his lips brushing against your ear as his hand trails down to grip your hip, holding you in place as he drives into you with slow, deliberate thrusts. “I want to hear you, baby. Tell me how it feels.”

“It’s so good,” you gasp, your voice trembling with the intensity of it all. “You’re perfect, Eris, just like that.”

His pace increases slightly, still measured but with a growing urgency that matches the heat building between you. Each thrust is powerful, and precise, and sends waves of pleasure rippling through your entire body. You can feel the sweat starting to slick your skin, your breaths coming out in short, desperate gasps as he brings you closer to the edge with every movement.

“Look at me,” he commands softly, his voice gentle yet firm, and when you do, you find his gaze locked on yours, his amber eyes dark with lust and something deeper, something that makes your heart stutter. “I want to see you when you come,” he adds, his voice dropping to a rough whisper, his thumb brushing tenderly across your cheek as his other hand slides between your bodies to find your clit.

The moment his fingers touch you, you’re lost. He circles your clit with slow, deliberate strokes that match the rhythm of his thrusts, his gaze never leaving yours, his lips curling into a knowing smile as he watches your reaction.

“Please…” The word slips from your lips before you can stop it, desperate for more, for everything he’s willing to give. Your hips lift to meet his thrusts, your body arching into his touch as the pressure builds inside you, coiling tighter and tighter until you feel like you’re about to snap.

“Please, what?” Eris’s voice is teasing, but there’s an edge of intensity there, a deep desire to hear you say it, to have you begging for him. “Tell me what you want, baby. I’ll give you anything.”

“Please, I want to come,” you gasp, your voice barely a whisper as the pleasure threatens to overwhelm you. “I need it, Eris, please.”

His eyes darken with satisfaction, his lips brushing against yours in a soft, teasing kiss as he picks up the pace, his fingers moving faster against your clit. “Then come for me,” he whispers against your lips, his voice thick with desire. “Come for me, baby. I want to feel you.”

That’s all it takes. The combination of his words, his touch, and the deep, steady thrusts of his cock send you spiraling over the edge, your orgasm crashing over you like a tidal wave. Your body clenches around him, your back arching off the bed as you cry out his name, the pleasure so intense it’s almost too much to bear.

Eris doesn’t let up, driving you through the waves of your orgasm with steady, unrelenting thrusts, his fingers never leaving your clit until you’re trembling beneath him, completely spent. He watches you the entire time, his gaze heated and possessive, a soft groan escaping his lips as he feels you come undone around him.

As your orgasm begins to subside, he leans down, capturing your lips in a deep, possessive kiss, his hips still moving with a slow, deliberate rhythm. “You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs against your lips, his voice rough and breathless. “So fucking perfect.”

You’re barely able to respond, your body still trembling from the aftershocks of your orgasm, but you manage to whisper his name, your hands gripping his shoulders as he continues to move inside you, his thrusts becoming more erratic, more urgent.

Eris doesn’t hesitate, sensing the way your body melts beneath him, still trembling from the intensity of your orgasm. With a smooth, practiced motion, he flips the two of you over, his hands guiding you to straddle his waist. Your limbs feel like jelly, weak and trembling, but he shushes you softly, his hands firm on your hips.

“It’s okay, baby,” he murmurs, his voice a soothing balm as he brushes your hair away from your face. “Just lay on me. I’ve got you. Let me take care of you.”

He pulls you down gently, your chest pressed against his as your head rests on his shoulder. His hands slide up and down your back, grounding you, before they settle on your hips again, holding you steady. You barely have time to catch your breath before he starts moving, his hips thrusting upward with powerful, controlled strokes.

The sensation is overwhelming as he fills you completely, the force of his thrusts sending waves of pleasure radiating through your body. You can feel every inch of him, the heat of his skin against yours, the strength of his body beneath you, and the way his cock drives up into you with unrelenting intensity.

“Eris…” you moan, your voice muffled against his neck as your fingers dig into his shoulders, holding on for dear life as he takes control.

“Shh, just feel me,” he whispers, his breath hot against your ear. His hands tighten on your hips, guiding your movements as he continues to thrust up into you, each stroke hitting deeper, harder. “Let me make you feel good.”

Your body responds instinctively, your hips moving in time with his as he drives into you over and over again. The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the room, mingling with your gasps and his low groans, the intensity of it all threatening to unravel you once again.

He doesn’t stop, doesn’t let up, his pace relentless as he chases your pleasure. His hands roam your body, one sliding up to cradle the back of your head, pressing your face against his neck, while the other grips your waist, pulling you down onto him with every thrust.

“God, you feel so good,” he groans, his voice rough with need. “So tight, so perfect. You’re gonna make me come, baby. Just like that.”

The words send a fresh wave of heat through you, your body clenching around him as you feel yourself spiraling toward another climax. The intensity of his thrusts, the way he holds you so close, the deep, reverent way he whispers your name — it’s all too much.

“Eris, I’m…” you start, but the words dissolve into a moan as he slams up into you with a particularly hard thrust, your vision going white as another orgasm crashes over you, more intense than the last.

“Oh, you giving me another one, sweetheart?” he growls as he feels you tighten around him. “Let me feel you.”

Your body convulses in his arms as you shatter, the pleasure ripping through you with a force that leaves you breathless. Eris’s grip on you tightens, his own release just seconds behind yours as he thrusts up into you one last time, pulling out as he comes with a low, guttural groan, his cum spilling over your ass in hot, erratic bursts.

He holds you there, both of you trembling, your bodies entwined as you come down from the high together. His hands are gentle now, soothing as they trace patterns on your skin, his breath hot and ragged against your ear.

After the intensity of your release subsides, Eris’s touch becomes gentle and soothing. He cradles you in his arms, his fingers brushing tenderly over your back and sides as he presses soft kisses to your forehead.

“Are you okay?” he asks, his voice low and filled with concern. “You did so well, you know that?”

You nod, your body still shivering slightly from the aftershocks, but a soft smile plays on your lips. “I’m okay,” you whisper, your voice barely above a breath.

Eris gives you a reassuring smile, his hands moving soothingly up and down your back. “Good,” he murmurs, his tone tender. “I’m here. Just relax, let me take care of you.”

He carefully disentangles himself from you, his movements slow to avoid startling you. As he rises from the bed, he gently helps you shift so that you’re on your stomach, your hips slightly elevated. “Just a second,” he says softly.

Eris heads to a nearby cupboard, opening it to reveal a small, built-in towel warmer. He retrieves a warm, damp towel from inside, the comforting heat emanating from it as he brings it back to you.

He returns to the bed and carefully unfolds the towel, its warmth a welcome sensation. “I’m going to clean you up now, okay?” he asks gently but doesn’t wait for an answer as he begins to dab at your skin. The warmth of the towel is soothing, easing any lingering tension.

His hands are gentle as he tends to you. “You’re doing great,” he murmurs, his voice soft. “Just wanted to make sure you’re all clean and comfortable.”

Once he’s finished, he places the damp towel aside and returns to your side, pulling the comforter over you both. He settles next to you, pulling you close and pressing a tender kiss to the top of your head. You snuggle into his embrace, feeling the warmth and safety of his presence. His arms are steady and reassuring around you, and his murmurs of affection make you feel cherished and adored.

You finally find your voice, looking up at him with a tired but content smile. “That was incredible. I didn’t expect to feel so…” So good? So much? So intimate?

Eris grins, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “I’m glad you enjoyed it.”

You snuggle closer, your head resting against his chest. “I feel like I’m floating. In a good way.” You mentally kick yourself — of course, it was in a good way. Who says floating in a bad way?

Eris wraps his arms around you a little tighter. “You deserve to feel this good. Just know I’m always here for you, not just for things like this, for whatever. Whatever you need, (y/n).”

You sink deeper into Eris’s embrace, the warmth of his body seeping into your own. The comforting weight of his arms and the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest lull you into a state of serene contentment. The intensity of the earlier moments fades into a gentle afterglow.

As you relax, your thoughts begin to wander, drifting back to the complexities of your life outside this moment. Cassian's name surfaces in your mind, but it's quickly followed by the image of him with Elain. The idea of them together interrupts your peace. It should sting, but somehow, it doesn’t.

Instead, the memory of Cassian and Elain feels distant, almost abstract, overshadowed. You'll deal with it another time.

You shift slightly, feeling the steady thump of his heartbeat. The world outside, with its complications and unresolved emotions, feels like it’s receding. In this moment, the only thing that matters is the warmth between you, the sense of being cared for, and the gentle hum of satisfaction that lingers from your shared intimacy.

Eris’s soft breathing and the comforting pressure of his touch anchor you, and you let yourself drift in the quiet aftermath, content that you’ve found a moment of peace and connection that you can hold onto.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Taglist <3

@blessthepizzaman @celear @cynthiesjmxazrielslover @girl-math-aint-mathing @halo-hanging @julesvanslutta @lilah-asteria @meeperthejeeper @paleidiot @panther-girl-124 @secretlyhers @starlightazriel @scarsandallaz @uncxmfxrtablex @xxemmarldxx

[hotgirlssupportlando]

one day x lando norris pt 5

this is a part of my series following one day of every summer from 2016 onwards in y/n’s and lando's lives, exploring their friendship and love for one another. ofc not a smooth ride with some angst and fights along the way. a friends to lovers, growing up together kind of thing. read first part here pairing: lando norris x fem!reader summary of this part: y/n is with her friends watching an f1 race where she and lando met for the first time a few years ago. wc: 1,3k a/n: one of my fav moments in f1 is when lando got this podium, it was and still is so nerve wracking to watch! but yeah let's just forget that that race was without audience, so i modified it a bit :)

summer of 2020

Red Bull Ring, Austria

the atmosphere at a grand prix weekend is something y/n can’t compare to anything else. there was no better feeling than hopping of a bus, walking towards the circuit and hear the f2 cars roar in the distance, you just knew it was gonna be a good day. with a huge smile she and her friends from uni walked along the strip of tents selling merch and drinks. they were on a roadtrip through europe and the four girls and herself accidentally came across five grandstands tickets to the race day and just couldn't resist going. y/n was beyond excited, not only for the race but also as this was the first time she was back at the red bull ring since she met lando there four years ago.

”omg, look y/n there’s the fan stage we have to go there immediately!!” her friend squealed grabbing her hand. excitingly they ran to the crowd who was stood cheering for the renault boys, danny ric and esteban ocon. ricciardo of course got the crowd bursting into laughter at practically anything he said and y/n and her friends were no exception. after a while the mclaren boys entered the staged instead, causing y/n to freeze for a sec. seeing lando on the stage, goofing around like his old self, was some kind of shock to her. obviously she knew that he would be there but she wasn’t prepared to see him like this, like the boy she met at this very place years ago. 

since last summer the pair had met once or twice but it wasn’t like it used to be before he got into f1. he was always so busy nowadays, constantly on his phone when they were hanging out, barely hearing what she talked to him about, it felt like talking to a brick wall. a bit funny that he was always on the phone but it sometimes took days for him to answer her messages or facetime calls. so after a while she kind of gave up, of course they would text each other now and then but not even close to how much they kept in touch before f1, which of course saddened her at times but what could she do? he was living his best life now, and apparently she wasn’t included in that. 

but there he was, 40 meters away laughing at someone’s sign, with no clue that his friend he hadn’t seen in forever was in the crowd too. ”isn’t that your friend? the one that aalways called you?” one friend asked y/n while another added ”ooh i remember him! he used to call you every time when we were at y/f/n’s studying. kinda cute y/n!! you never told us that??”. y/n laughed remembering how she and lando used to talk almost every night that first year at uni when he was still in f2. they would talk about everything, updating one another about every little boring detail in their lives and some nights they would just sit in each others company without talking about anything, with their phone calls usually ending when one of them fell asleep. oh well. now she just waved her friends away, blushing at the fact that they remembered so much details about their old friendship. 

after a while they were heading towards their grandstand seats not too far away from the start and the podium. with a beer in each hand they were soon stood cheering at any minor happening at their part of the track and y/n felt so truly happy with her friends alongside her having the best time of her life. 

later on, with a few mandatory courses at college in german under her belt, y/n tried to figure out what the german commentators were talking so excitedly about lando for. to be completely honest, those courses didn’t contribute too much, as the only thing she understood was ’hamilton’, ’lando’ and ’fünf’ which was probably the language skills an elementary school student would’ve had. but with the help of her friends they figured out that hamilton got a five second penalty and that lando had to make up a whole lotta time to score his first f1 podium. and holy fuck. when y/n understood that a podium was possible? she became a total wreck, she didn’t know if she would jump up and down of excitement or if that would jinx it or if it was best to look away and hope for the best. 

however, that last lap felt like it went in slow motion, y/n carefully watching every motion lando’s car did at the screen in front of them. she saw him drive by their grandstand towards the finish line, immediately looking at the screen. lando's gap was 4.8 seconds to hamilton. 4.8 SECONDS??? did she read that right?? with some kind of magical powers lando had caught up with lewis’ penalty and got a fkn podium?? she couldn’t believe her eyes. how was it possible?

in some kind of hallucination she and her friends ran onto the track as fast as possile and onwards to the podium to see the champagne pop up close. it felt so special to be a part of his first ever podium in f1. seeing him up there with the biggest smile in the word, enjoying every bit of it. y/n couldn’t have been more proud of him.

after all the celebrations and the overwhelming excitement had laid off a bit and the girls were slowly walking away from the podium, y/n couldn’t help but recognize a smaller podium a bit further away. ”i’ll catch you in a bit, i’m just gonna go look at one thing over here” she told her friends while she walked towards the small podium. could it really be it?

it sure was. looking around the podium all the memories from a few years ago came back to her. she recognized every little bit, exactly where she had been running around desperately seeking lando at the podium, remembering how anxious she had been not finding him, thinking she was never going to see him again. and how he appeared from nowhere, surprising her with pepsi and flowers. y/n could perfectly picture it where they had stood sharing their first and only kiss, how happy she had felt in that very moment.

her 20-year old self was now stood smiling at a patch of grass with a half rotten podium on. waking up from her little daydream she realized that after all these years, she still felt so strongly for lando, and not only as friends. she just had to tell him in some sort of way or at least hint about it. so she grabbed her phone, set it up a couple of meters away, turning on the timer and ran to the place where they had kissed. there she stood in her summer dress, similar to the one four years ago, with her hand held up at her eyebrows as if she was looking for someone. *click*. as the photo was taken she excitedly ran to it, opened her instagram dm’s and started writing to lando ”if i remember correctly, a podium at red bull ring means i owe you a kiss?” and was about to add the photo when she saw that lando had posted something on his story. might as well look at that first. 

y/n froze. ”no no no no, this can’t be true, please no lando” she started hyperventilating, falling onto her knees. she looked up towards the sky as to somehow stop the flood of tears that she felt coming. but nothing could stop these heartbroken tears from streaming and she couldn’t care less if anyone saw her in the state that she was. still on her knees she looked once again at lando’s instagram story, a picture of him with a trophy in one hand and what seemed like a girlfriend with flowers and champagne in her hands with the words ”there’s no one like you, love you forever”.

_____

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[waywardnerd67]

I Trust You

Title: I Trust You Summary: A chance meeting leads to midnight confessions and overcoming your deepest fears. Main Characters: Glen Powell, Reader Pairing: Glen Powell x Reader Rating: E - Everyone Warnings: RPF/Fluff/Angst w/ mentions of: touch deprivation, touch aversion Word Count: 3103 A/N: Trying to work out some feelings.

The party was in full swing. People were dancing, drinking and making out throughout the house. I happened to find a secluded corner in the backyard that no one seemed to notice. Still nursing the original beer I grabbed when I arrived hours ago. Watching all the celebrities and models mingling had me sinking further back into my little corner. I didn’t belong among the rich and beautiful, but my best friend insisted I come with her. Taking a look around, I found her sitting on some guy’s lap with her head thrown back in laughter. She belonged here.

I pulled out my phone to see if I could order an Uber home. It wouldn’t have been the first time I left a party without her. She meant well, trying to pull me out of my shell. It had been over a decade since I last felt like the woman I once was and going to some Hollywood party wasn’t going to change me back into her. I had been broken completely and beyond repair.

“Planning an escape?” A low, smooth voice said beside me.

Looking up, I was taken back by the handsome man standing there. Living in L.A. you get use to seeing movie stars walking down the street, but he happened to be one of her favorites.

“I’m Glen, by the way.” He held out his hand.

“(Y/N).” I said, taking his hand and willing mine to stop trembling, “And yes, I think it’s kind of obvious that I don’t belong here. Plus, I’m sure my friend will be taken well care of.”

His bright green eyes followed her pointing finger, “Ah yes, it looks like she has one of my friends wrapped around her finger. He’s harmless and won’t do anything stupid with her.”

“That’s good to know. She’s also a big girl and can take care of herself.” I forced my eyes to look away from him and back to my phone.

He squatted down beside me, “You know if you want to leave, I’d be more than happy to take you home. I haven’t been drinking tonight so consider me your DD.”

I smiled, “That’s kind of you, but I don’t want to pull you away from your own party. That would be kind of rude of me.”

Realization shined in his eyes as he chuckled, “So you do know who I am.”

“Oh yes. You’ve had quite the year with three major movies coming out. Hitman was in the running for my top movie this year until I saw Twisters. Can’t resist a tornado chasing cowboy.”

His laugh covered my skin in goosebumps, “I like that though you could just call me the Tornado Wrangler.” He let his full Texan accent come out, making me smile.

“I prefer cowboy to wrangler. Anyway, I should probably finish ordering this Uber and head out front. It was nice meeting you, cowboy.” This time I held out my hand to him.

He shook it, “Are you sure I can’t convince you to let me drive you home. It would be no problem and then that way I don’t have to worry about you ending up on the ten o’clock news kidnapped by a serial killer.”

I laughed as he still held my hand in his, “Are you sure? I live about thirty minutes away.”

“Let’s go.” He pulled me up from my spot and led me back towards the house.

I sent a text to my best friend letting her know I was heading home. I left out the part that it was Glen Powell who was taking me home. She replied with her usually be careful and talk tomorrow.

Glen handed his phone to me, “Type in your address.” I did, handing it back to him and he took off towards the highway.

It was a beautiful night for it being in August. The cool night breeze felt wonderful after a scorching day. Looking over, I found myself taking in every inch of Glen driving beside me. He had on a Texas Longhorns hat backwards, black tank top and orange colored swim trunks. One arm was resting on his open window while the other held onto the steering wheel. His long fingers kept beat to the song he was playing.

There was a comfortable silence between us and for the first time in a long time I felt relaxed in the presence of another person. Even with my friends or co-workers there was always an underlying layer of anxiety. The need to run from people always being my first gut reaction. Maybe it was the small amount of alcohol I had in my system or a miracle but I found myself drawn to Glen. Or it could be I had fantasized about being with him for years and my inner fangirl was showing herself more than ever.

“Everything okay?” He asked, glancing over at me.

I realized he must have caught me staring, “Yeah, everything is fine. Sorry if I was staring. Sometimes my inner fangirl shows more than I want her to.”

His smile was breathtaking, “Quite alright. Not everyday I can meet a fan who isn’t screaming, crying, throwing up.”

We both laughed, “Has a fan actually thrown up in front of you?” I asked.

He shook his head, “No. Just trying to keep up with all the cool sayings the kids say.”

“You make it sound like you're old and you're not.”

He touched his hand to his chest, “Why thank you for thinking I’m young. I will have you know that I’ll be thirty-six this year.”

I scoffed, “Meh, been there and done that.”

Glen took the exit for my house, “What? There’s no way you’re older than me.”

“Afraid so, cowboy. I will be turning thirty-eight this year. So respect your elder.”

His laugh filled the car, “Wow, I would have never believed you were older. What the hell is your secret?”

The answer was out of my mouth before I could even think about it, “I have no children and no spouse.”

It was the answer that I always said inside my head but never out loud. People asked me all the time how I could still look like I was in my late twenties. I always told them I had a baby face. The real answer was I lived alone and didn’t let anyone close to me. Hence, the no kids or spouse.

“So, no kids and no spouse. Does that also include no boyfriend/girlfriend?”

His question sent a shiver down my spin, “Uh… yeah. There’s no one except for Winchester, my maine coon. He’s all I’ve needed these last few years.”

Why was I being so open with him? I always avoid questions about my personal life with everyone. I looked over to see my house coming into view. A brief moment of relief swept over me knowing I would be safe inside my four walls of security soon. Then a sickening feeling pooled in my gut as Glen pulled into my driveway and shut off his car.

“Thank you for the ride. I appreciate you leaving your own party to take me home.” I unbuckled my seatbelt and placed my hand on the door handle.

“(Y/N), can I tell you something?” He asked, placing his hand on top of mine resting on the seat.

I tried to control my body flinching, but there was no use in it. Touch was always the one thing that set my nerves on edge. If he had noticed me flinched then he didn’t let on to it.

“S-Sure.”

“I’d been working up the courage to talk to you all night. The moment I saw you walk in, I asked my buddy who you were. He told me about your friend being a model and asking about bringing you to my party. Your friend told me that you were shy and to be aware that you don’t often talk to anyone outside your core group of friends.”

My heart was hammering in my chest, “She told you that? What else did she tell you, huh? That I’m a recluse and avoid all social interactions. That my ex completely broke me as a person. That I can’t stand to be around people or to be touched. That I’m all kinds of fucked up and damaged.”

I got out of the car and headed to my front door. My heart shattered into pieces from my best friend telling my darkest secrets to someone, especially to a man like Glen Powell. I made it to the door before I realized my keys were still in her car back at his house.

“Fuck!” I yelled, sliding down to the ground.

“(Y/N), I’m sorry, I swear that’s all she said to me.” He sat down in front of me, “What’s wrong? Other than the obvious.”

I sucked in a shaky breath, “My keys are back at your house in her car. Now not only am I completely embarrassed in front of one of my favorite actors but I’m completely locked out of the only place I feel safe.”

“Do you have an alarm system?” He asked.

“What?” I looked up at him confused, “No, why?”

“I promise I’ll pay for the repairs.” He said before he took off his tank top wrapping it around his fist and sending it through the window next to her door.

“What the hell are you doing?!” I yelled watching as he cleared out the glass then reached inside.

The familiar click of my deadbolt unlocking then Glen pulled out his arm twisting the door knob. It swung open freely and I could feel the tension in my chest release. Standing up, I noticed the blood dripping onto the ground.

“Shit, you’re hurt. Come inside and I can clean you up.” I said carefully walking over the broken glass on either side of the door.

I went into my bathroom to grab the first aid kit while Glen was sitting down at my kitchen table. Unwrapping his shirt from his hand, I found small knicks and shards of glass in his tan skin. The bleeding was coming from a gash on his arm from when he smashed through the window.

“You might need stitches.” I said, cleaning the cut on his forearm.

“You know, it looks way easier and cooler on TV.” He chuckled, “Ow.”

I wrapped his arm with gauze only then realizing he was sitting there shirtless. His well toned chest and abs on full display making my body ache in ways it hadn’t for years. The overwhelming desire to touch him nearly made my knees give out.

“Are you okay? You look like you might pass out.” He asked, grabbing a hold of my hips to balance me out.

A second realization hit me harder than the first. He had touched me and I didn’t flinch. I didn’t jerk away. I couldn’t remember the last time that had happened.

“(Y/N), you’re scaring me.” He whispered, his grip on my hips tightening.

“Y-You’re touching me.” The words were barely above a whisper.

He reached over to grab another chair and guided me onto it, “I’m sorry. I just wanted to make sure you didn’t fall.”

I shook my head, unable to put the correct words together, “I… It’s just… I don’t know how to explain.”

His hands were resting on top of mine, “Whatever it is you can say it. I won’t take offense or have any judgments.”

I had no idea what kind of spell the man in front of me had casted but I found myself wanting to explain everything to him. Looking into his concerned eyes, I just knew I could trust him. Suddenly, I had tears falling down my cheeks.

“(Y/N), you don’t have to tell me anything. I just want to make sure you’re okay.” His thumbs were rubbing against my knuckles sending waves of heat over my skin.

“When I got divorced, I swore off dating. I wanted to work on being on my own, rebuilding my life and not focusing on a relationship.”

He smiled, “That’s smart. I’ve been doing the same thing these last few years.”

“One year turned into two and before I knew it a decade had gone by. No relationships. No kissing, hugging, cuddling, and definitely no sex.” He nodded, continuing to rub my hands as I continued, “What turned from learning to live alone became being alone. I desire to have someone in my life and have even tried to date, but it always turns out wrong.”

“How so?”

I took a deep breath, “Any time I thought about going out on a date I would have a panic attack. The thought of trusting someone to be with them that would lead to touching and that would send me into a complete spiral.”

Glen looked down at our hands, “Is this okay?”

I nodded, “Yes which is why I’m having a deliriously happy and panicked moment right now. I haven’t been touched by anyone in years. Sure, I will half heartedly hug my friend or family but it is always at some kind of distance. Hugging to me is the most intimate form of touch that isn’t sexual.”

His eyebrow arched curiously, “Go on…”

“Think about it. When you hug someone, you are trusting them with your whole body. Their arms wrapped around your body completely. Their whole being being pressed against yours. A hug is sex with your clothes on.”

He smirked, “I have honestly never thought of it like that. I don’t think I’ll ever see hugging in the same way again.”

“Humans need that intimacy. They need to feel that trust in their very soul and act it out physically. I…” I paused, looking into his eyes, “I haven’t felt that in over a decade. My therapist calls it touch deprivation that has formed into touch aversion. I’m desperate to touch someone and be touched, but my brain simply won’t let my guard down enough to allow someone in.”

I watched as his bottom lip disappeared beneath his teeth in deep thought, “The fact that you haven’t flinched or moved away from me is a big moment for you?”

I nodded with a fresh batch of tears flowing down my face, “Yes. I don’t know if it’s because you genuinely seem like a good person from all the interviews I’ve watched or from the good guy characters you’ve portrayed. It could very well be my fangirl delusion masking the pure panic waiting to come out. I don’t know. All I do know is I feel safe around you.”

I looked away feeling my cheeks burning. I had practically told my whole sad truth and ended with a lame love confession. Slowly, the panic was starting to seep through the joy and my hands began to tremble within his.

Glen squeezed my hands then stood up, pulling me up with him, “You feel safe?”

I nodded, not trusting my voice.

“Do you trust me?” He asked as I nodded again without even thinking twice about my answer.

He lifted my hands up behind his neck, interlocking my fingers. I knew what was coming and the rope around my chest began to tighten. My breaths were coming out in rugged puffs as his arms wrapped around my waist. They tightened around me as his head buried into the crook of my neck.

“I got you. I’m not going to let go or let you fall. I’ve got you.” He whispered and a strangled sob escaped my lips, “I’ve got you. I promise nothing will happen to you. I’ve. Got. You.”

My grip around his neck tightened and I pressed my face into his chest. He kept repeating his mantra that he had me and I could feel the rope around my chest being cut away. Finally, I took in a long breath feeling all the tension vanish from my muscles. Glen pulled back enough to look down at me with a brilliant smile on his lips.

“How was that?” He asked.

I could feel my lips spreading into a wide grin, “I… I hugged you. I actually hugged you. I can’t believe it.”

He scooped me up, picking my feet up off the ground and spinning me around. A loud giggle erupted from my lips that surprised me.

“That giggle is music to my ears. Proud of you! I know that must have been a big step to take and I’m grateful you trust me to take it.”

Seeing how happy he was for me stirred up a new emotion, a new line to cross and I found myself pushing myself up on my toes and kissing him. I felt his body tense up and immediately I backed away.

“I’m sorry… I’m so sorry. I got caught-”

Glen pressed his lips firmly against mine once again. The kiss was simple, sweet and ignited an ember of passion within me. When he pulled away, resting his forehead against mine I knew he was holding back.

“You never, ever have to apologize for kissing me. I’m honored you trust me with your hugs and kisses.”

“I’m really scared I’m going to wake up tomorrow and find this all to be a dream.” I whispered.

He leaned in kissing me once more, “Tell you what. I will sleep on the couch and when you wake up tomorrow I can remind you that this was all very real.”

I knew I shouldn’t push myself any further, but the thought of him being on the couch while I was in my bed didn’t sit right with me. I bit into lip fighting with the urge to lead him upstairs to my room or to agree with him, leaving him downstairs.

“What’s the battle going on in your head?” He chuckled.

“I’m taking a leap of faith.” I said, grabbing his hand and leading him towards the stairs.

Glen stopped us at the bottom step, “(Y/N), are you sure? I don’t want you to feel pressured into anything. I’m fine sleeping on the couch.”

Standing on the step, I was equal height to him, “I’m not saying that there will be cuddling or anything more. The thought of you sleeping down here doesn’t feel right.”

He leaned in, kissing me briefly, “Okay, but I’m going to apologize now if I happen to cuddle you in my sleep. I’m definitely a cuddler.”

“It’s okay. I trust you.” I laced our fingers together and continued walking up to my room.

-----

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[wordsofelie]

Chapter 8

🌅Don’t you dare run away (A Phoenix and Ashes Sequel)

Miya Osamu x f!reader

Summary: Miya Osamu thinks some things will never change— Atsumu will always be annoying; his Ma’s food will always be the best and you will always be his favourite sunrise.

Content Warnings: Timeskip Setting, Manga Spoilers, ex!Suna, Swearing

Words count: 5k

chapter 1 - chapter 2 - chapter 3 - chapter 4 - chapter 5 - chapter 6 - chapter 7

Osamu doesn’t talk about what happened.

The main reason is that he wants to believe it was only a one-time thing. You were simply surprised to see your ex after who knows how many months or years; your relationship with Osamu is only starting even though you’ve known each other for a long time. Osamu wants to respect your boundaries; he wants to give you the time you need to get used to this new life. He’ll be patient (for once, his mother would say).

But that one-time thing lasts longer than expected.

Four months pass, you’re well settled in Tokyo, well integrated into your new team and Osamu has become a regular on the Omiya-Shin Osaka shinkansen line. He alternates between his shop in Osaka, where he has taken on a new full-time manager (Sato and Nagisa love her), and his new premises in Tokyo, which are still in the restoration phase. Osamu opted for a smaller place close to a university and a business district (strangely close to Akaashi's offices), the goal being to focus on takeaway food rather than a familial restaurant. Kita is getting ready to supply twice more rice and he’s just waiting for his former teammate to open the new shop.

By the time the Olympics end, everyone is aware that you’re dating. Bokuto couldn’t help but tell Hinata and Akaashi, Hinata couldn’t resist sharing the news with Kageyama during their game against Argentina, claiming it just slipped. And, from there, the secret practically ran itself through the team. By the time it got to Atsumu, he’d almost passed out from shock. The setter had cornered Osamu one evening. “Are ya serious? My own twin, my own flesh ‘n blood, and ya didn’t even tell me?”

But as soon as he finished his tirade, he sighed heavily and clasped Osamu on the shoulder. “Ya know, ‘Samu, I’m glad it’s ya though. She deserves it. Just... don’t mess it up, alright?”

And Osamu promised he wouldn’t. They went out to have dinner that night and Atsumu’s eyes got wet when the waiter served the plates.

“Yer leavin’ me again,” he whines to his twin.

Osamu groaned, “Stop bein’ such a crybaby for fuck’s sake. How am I supposed to beat ya if I get stuck in the same place? It’s like we're runnin’ a race but with our shoelaces tied together. One of us has to get past the other.” Because it sounded too serious, or maybe because his eyes also got wet, Osamu stretched out his arm on the chair and his voice turned to tease mode again, “and I guess, I'm just better with women than ya.”

Atsumu got mad and they acted like themselves again, as if nothing happened, as if they weren't on the verge of tears at the idea of being away from each other. 

His mother, of course, was over the moon. She’d even sent a few of your favourite treats because according to her, this announcement warranted a full family celebration. “We always hoped, ya know,” she’d told Osamu with a soft smile, “that you’d end up with someone just like her. Maybe even her, actually.” She winked, and before Osamu could stop her, she was already planning the next family gathering (and a wedding.)

No need to mention Umi who was the first to know. Osamu received a text from her early one morning, saying how happy she was for you and hinting at his potential murder if he ever broke your heart. He didn’t know whether to laugh or hide.

The only person still completely out of the loop remains Suna.

For some reason, the thought doesn’t worry Osamu. Wordlessly, you both agreed to let things settle naturally. It’s only a matter of time before you tell him, or at least, that’s what Osamu believes.

But it’s now almost November and the guys from Inarizaki High have organised a team reunion in Tokyo when Osamu officially opens his new restaurant. Your boyfriend tries to ignore the feeling, but it does sting when you seem to avoid his gaze whenever Suna is nearby. At some point in the night, Gin—who’s the only other person not aware of your situation—wraps his arm around Osamu’s shoulder and asks him, “So, what about you, man? Got anyone special?”

Osamu pauses, his hand lingers just a little too long on his glass. He catches your eye across the table, but you look away. Something twists in his chest.

That evening, you fight for the time.

When you return home, Osamu is quieter than usual, barely meeting your eyes.

“Are you mad?” you ask, watching him from the doorway as he sits on the edge of the bed, hands in his lap.

But he doesn’t look up. “That you acted as if I didn’t exist in front of yer ex, again? Huh, nah.”

You move closer to him. “Osamu…”

“Look, it’s fine,” he replies, and it breaks his heart not to look at your face. You’re probably hurt right now, but if he lands his eyes on you, he will probably just want to apologise and kiss your lips and your eyes and your cheeks to make the sadness go away, “I’m just tired.”

“Let’s talk about it.”

He huffs a sigh through his nose, “I said it’s fine.”

Then he gets up, his back is facing you now. Osamu feels his blood rushing through his veins, both out of frustration and guilt, “I get it if yer disappointed in this relationship.”

The words cut deeper than either of you expected, and for a second, you stay silent. A bitter laugh leaves your mouth.

“Disappointed? You’re not the one who’s felt neglected these past few weeks,” you reply, and your voice raises just slightly higher. “Whether you’re in Osaka or here, it’s like I barely exist to you. I mean, at least when we were just friends, I felt like I had some part of you. Now… I don’t know, Osamu...”

Your shoulders slouch and your brows furrow. When he takes a glimpse at you, the frustration is fully replaced by guilt. 

“My love…” he begins, reaching for you, but you cover your stomach as if to shield yourself from him.

“No, I… I guess I should’ve seen it coming. Maybe it was a stupid idea to let you follow me to Tokyo. I was selfish. And if you want to leave me, I understand-”

Miya Osamu has heard some stupid things in the past (especially coming out of his brother’s mouth), but leaving you has to be the craziest one. How in the world could he want someone else other than you? Now that he had a taste of what it’s like to be by your side, how could he ever think of leaving?

It’s been a decade, ten full years, that Osamu has been watching you from the sidelines. He saw you being almost chosen, half-loved by Suna. He watched you break and then pick yourself up before falling into the arms of your good-for-nothing ex again. It was unfair, it was infuriating to see you look at him with stars in your eyes when you obviously deserved so much more—the whole universe even. And then, without trying, he fell head over heels for you. He started yearning after you, desired to be the one you go home to every day, the one who makes your heart flip in your chest.

Now, in all modesty, Osamu can say he is no longer on the sidelines; he’s with you and he’s yours.

But words aren’t enough thus, he moves toward you, so quickly that it startles you. His hands find your neck delicately, his fingers get tangled in your hair and before you can pull away, he says, “Hey, I’m not goin’ anywhere. Ya understand? Yer it for me.”

You can’t help the tears that well up in your eyes. “But I don’t want to be a burden,” you respond in a murmur. “You work so hard, and I’m so proud of you. I don’t want to be just one more thing you have to worry about.”

“But that’s exactly my role.” His forehead meets yours, “listen here, sweetheart, I would burn down the restaurant for ya.”

“But I don’t want that.” He makes you smile wide through your tears.

“No, me neither.” He chuckles but after, his voice softens, “What I mean is that startin’ today and for all the days that come, yer the one I’ll choose over everything. If I had to relive my life, I’d choose ya again and again, I’d probably choose ya earlier. Please, now tell me when something is wrong because nothing could ever make me fall outta love for ya. I’m not him.”

You put your hand over his, and squeeze tightly, “And I don’t want anything else, Osamu. Just you.”

“Then that’s what ya got. And promise me one thing.”

You nod and he brushes a tear from your cheek. “Anything.”

“Let’s just tell each other when something’s wrong. It’s shit to argue like that. I’m sorry if ya felt like I wasn’t here enough, I’ll make it up ya, okay?”

Your arms wrap around him tightly, as if letting go would make all of this disappear. “You don’t have to, I didn’t mean what I said… I was just hurt, and I guess, I just miss you. We don’t see each other as much those days, but I know it’s for the better. As for Rin,” you look up at him and Osamu realises he forgot what the argument was about in the first place. He gulps loudly. “I’ll tell him, soon. But I just need a bit more time. I guess I'm just worry it'll make things awkward between you too...”

He presses a gentle kiss to your forehead. “Take all the time ya need. And ya know, we're grown men, okay? No one’s gonna punch the other... he’d get hurt anyway.”

You laugh, (and avoid reminding him that Suna Rintarou is a professional athlete, probably for the sake of his ego) and only hug him more.

Feeling your skin against his as you slip under the sheets, is the only thing that matters now. You chose him, not Suna, and the thought is enough to make his whole body shiver.

You fall asleep first and Osamu, in an unusual moment of gratitude, wants to thank the gods for being able to see your pretty face everyday. Make it last forever, he wishes to ask them. When he closes his eyes later, he is convinced that they heard him.

The gods are funny entities. Maybe they did hear him and maybe they’re trying to impulse your relationship on the right path.

At least, that’s the conclusion your boyfriend comes up with when on a calm Saturday morning, as he is making breakfast while you’re taking a shower, someone knocks at the door.

Osamu sets down the bowl of batter he is holding, turns off the stove to prevent the baking pancakes from burning, and walks to the door.

The door swings open, and he has to take a step back in surprise when one Suna Rintarou appears in front of him.

“My mum wanted to give you – Osamu?”

Both men seem to be equally surprised. Osamu tries to hide his displeasure. He just wanted to spend a quiet morning with you, eating breakfast and cuddling, so why the hell is your ex in front of him right now?

“Oh Suna, hi… hm…”

“Dearest are you-” your voice chimes in but stops as fast. “Rin?”

Osamu widens his eyes and looks at you, he scratches the back of his neck nervously. “I’m- hm- thank you for letting me sleep here yesterday. I’ll leave now.”

His excuse doesn’t seem to ease Suna’s doubts as the man with his usual sharp-eyed self, throws Osamu a side-eye. But soon enough, his attention falls on you and he crosses his arms, waiting for an explanation.

Osamu’s face swings from you to him a few times. It’s clear that you’re speaking to each other without words. Whatever space he takes in your heart now, Suna has been here before and the string that once led you to him could never truly be severed.

“Osamu lives here.” You take his hand, “we are dating.”

There’s a long silence. It’s awkward and heavy. Osamu suddenly wants to pinch his arm, hoping none of this is happening. The man understands why you kept putting this moment off for so long.

But you’re brave enough to continue, “Did you come here for something?”

“My mum found that bracelet you lost.” He takes the jewellery out of his pocket. It’s discreet but Osamu and Suna gazes meet, probably to prove to your boyfriend that he didn’t just come to see you out of the blue.

You take the bracelet from his hand, thanking him a several times and claiming you were still hoping to find it, even after all those years.

“Please Rin, enter.” 

Suna is quick to take his shoes off and step into your living room, “She also baked you this.”

Your eyes shine when you see the box he is handing you, “Auntie’s cookies? Gosh, they’re the best. I’ll warm them up.”

You turn to your boyfriend with a smile. “I can’t wait for you to try them.”

Osamu clears his throat, “Yeah, me too…D’ya want a cup of coffee or-”

“I’m fine,” Suna replies with nonchalance as he passes past Osamu to follow you in the kitchen. The latter has to hold back a groan. It’s a good thing he started meditation because right now, he really needs to keep his calm.

Suna only looks at you as the three of you stand in the kitchen, waiting for the cookies to be savoured, “my mum didn’t put any peanuts in the cookies, you still think it tastes like soap, right?”

Osamu raises an eyebrow.

“Yes, I do, it’s so considerate of her.” You give Suna a cup of tea.

“Lemon tea, my favourite, you remember.”

You smile gently at him in response, but Osamu can see that your lips tug into a thin line after. Suna is acting out of character, and it’s confusing you as well as your boyfriend.  

“Angel,” Osamu starts and from the corner of his eyes, he can see Suna’s shoulders tense. “I also made pancakes; we can share it together if ya want. I went to the market this morning to buy raspberries. I’m sorry, I know ya love blueberries more but- ”

“She prefers strawberries.” The middle blocker mumbles, though it’s unmistakably aimed at reaching Osamu’s ears.

“Wait, wait, guys, what are you doing?”

The boys look at each other and just when they both open their mouths, ready to justify their actions, your phone rings.

“I have to take this, it’s for work – Hi Kuroo-senpai.” You say as you escape to your bedroom.

Osamu wishes he could follow you, but instead, he sighs. He, who waited all week to spend this morning with you, now wants it to be over.

He turns to Suna, but your ex doesn’t move even with those two eyes staring at him, as if deadpan. He’s not going to talk first and Osamu summons up all its courage to start the conversation.

“Listen man I-”

“I’m not really surprised.”

Osamu blinks a few times.

“You guys always had that weird relationship. Ever since high school, I tried to keep her away from you, when we used to walk home together, she wanted to wait for you, but I often said you wanted to stay to practice more. I never told her that but when I moved to Hiroshima and she started spending all her days with you, I hated it. I tried hanging out with girls to make her jealous-”

“That’s a shitty move.”

“Oh, shut up, we were nineteen.” Suna’s voice sounds frustrated, it’s a first, Osamu thinks. He never saw that look on his face before, even when they shared defeats together. Maybe, he did truly love you? “And I regretted acting like that… anyway, she dumped me in the end. I guess that’s what you call karma.”

“Yer the one who dumped her first.”

He rolls his eyes in response, “I know. Biggest mistake of my life. But I’ve moved on now. I’ll go.”

Osamu is taken aback by his last words but realises he heard it right when Suna makes his way to the genkan again.

“Dontcha wanna wait til her call is finished?”

“You want me to stay?”

Osamu hesitates and it makes Suna chuckle. 

Once he’s done putting his shoes on, he looks behind his shoulder at his former teammate.

“You’re a lucky man, don’t you dare run away.”

A warm feeling spreads through his stomach, and something clicks in his brain as if he just remembered a happy memory from his childhood. He has no idea when and where, but Osamu feels like he heard those words before. Maybe from a dream.

“I won’t. I really love her.”

“The first match of the season is next week, I’m playing against Atsumu, if you guys want to come.”

“We will.”

“Don’t be jealous if she supports me though,” Suna smirks slightly and it pisses off the other man who can’t help but grin wider.

“Ya? Against the team she works for. When her brother-in-law is playin’, I didn’t know ya were so delusional dude.”

“Brother-in-law.” Suna laughs, but it’s scornful this time, “Don’t act like you’re engaged man. I’m going now, see you.”

This is the last thing Suna says before he gets out of your shared apartment.  

Engaged?

For the second time, a warm feeling hits him. It feels good, even if the thought sends a rush of nerves along with it. He doesn’t have the time to analyse it because you go out of the bedroom and scan the kitchen.

“He left,” Osamu explains as he wraps his arms around your waist. His nose finds your neck, breathing in your scent as if you’d been gone far too long—as if he’d been waiting for ages to feel you again.

“What was that about?”

He knows exactly how you’re looking at him right now, he doesn’t even need to meet your eyes. That's why, instead, he stays nestled in the crook of your neck, pretending to be oblivious.

“Hm?”

“With Rin?”

“Suna.”

“Rin.”

He clicks his tongue and finally looks at you, “Rintarou.”

“Alright, with Rintarou.” You’re holding back your laughter at his childish jealousy, “Why were you acting all ‘I know her more’ like two prepubescent teens?”

Your impression of him only makes you look cuter. His fingers trace light circles against your waist and with a side smile, he replies, “What can I do? I’m a weak man sweetheart, I love ya so much.”

“I love you too.” You kiss his cheek and just when you’re about to get away from his grip, he pulls you closer, “I have to work a little bit.”

“But it’s Saturday.” He pouts.

“Kuroo needs me for a project,” your phone rings again. Before you can reach it, Osamu puts his hands under the back of your thighs and lifts you.

“Osamu, put me down, I need to take this call.”

“Mister bedhair can wait.”

“That’s rude.”

“But I wanna take care of ya.”

He starts kissing your neck once you’re sat on the counter. You don’t stop him.

You spend your first Christmas as a couple at his parents’ house. You insist on helping his mother prepare dinner, pushing Osamu away every time he dares sneaking into the kitchen to ensure everything is going fine. “It’s better to fry the chicken like that,” he says, or “I’d recommend a pinch more salt in those mashed potatoes.”

Finally, his mother sighs and shoos him away. “Osamu, let her breathe, for gods' sake!”

You can’t help but grin as you catch his eye, pleased to have his Ma’ on your side.

The dinner is great. Your relationship with his mother is clearly turning into an effortless connection. So, when dessert is served, and she starts telling you awkward moments of his childhood, that Osamu would rather leave forgotten, the man eventually excuses himself to “go to the restroom.” (Even if you both know he’s just escaping the spotlight.)

As he wanders down the hallway, Osamu glances into his old bedroom and spots Atsumu fiddling with an old suit. “Ya don’t want dessert?”

“Am on a diet,” his twin says.

“What’re ya doin’?”                           

“Am tryin’ on one of Pa’s suits. Got Meian’s wedding next week.” He gives the blazer a tug to smooth it out.

Osamu leans against the doorframe, “Didn’t ya just buy a new one like a month ago?”

“Yeah but…” The blond grins as his gaze meets his brother’s reflection in the mirror, “I’d rather keep the new one for yer wedding.”

Osamu is left speechless; he doesn’t even try to contradict the setter—why would he anyway? Wedding isn’t something the man even thought about in the past, but when it comes to you, it seems evident, right—like something he didn’t know he’d wanted all along blossoms in him. He can’t pinpoint why, but loving you always feels new, like he’s constantly discovering pieces of his heart he hadn’t known were there. He’s so in love, and maybe this love does deserve a proper ceremony.

The idea doesn’t leave his mind, even as you’re on the doorstep, ready to go home. You’re bidding goodbye to Atsumu when his mother tells him to drive safely.

“Ma’?” He tries to pipe up with confidence, but his mother discerns his discomfort with ease, “Would ya…I mean- d’ya still have yer mother’s ring?”

A smile blooms on her lips, it’s almost as wide as when she congratulated them for winning the Nationals a few years back. In a subtle move, she disappears inside and comes back with a bag.

“She would have adored her,” she simply declares in a murmur and it’s enough to create a wave of emotions in the man’s heart—sadness, nostalgia, pride, and above everything else, happiness.

So he takes the bag claiming later that inside his mother put “her favourite cooking book”, when you ask what she gave him. He’s not lying though, the older lady did put a cooking book in the bag, to avoid arousing suspicion, but what you don’t know is that it is accompanied by a small, black box tucked discreetly at the bottom, and that it contains a delicate gold ring. Later that night, before going to bed, Osamu opens the box in the soft light of your bedroom lamp. The ring is beautiful, but it’s also intimidating, even for a guy who has never shied away from a challenge. He’ll ask you one day, but it’ll take courage, more than he’s ready to muster right now (a little voice inside of his brain also wonders what he’ll do if you reject him).

For now, he’ll keep it safe, hiding in his nightstand, under an Onigiri Miya cap (you never asked questions on why there was a cap in there, much to Osamu's relief), so it’s close enough to reach whenever he finds himself ready to shut down the little voice. It's easier said than done, but someday—he hopes—he’ll find the right time to make it real.

And just like that a year passes and the box remains hidden.

It’s winter again when Osamu decides that if he doesn’t do it now, he’ll just keep on delaying the moment. He’s in Osaka for work when he calls to ask you to spend the weekend with him in Hyogo. You are quick to say yes and buy the train ticket.

The cogs can be set in motion and the first knot in his stomach releases.

You arrive the next morning with a packet full of cannelés to offer Sato, Nagisa and Tano, their new manager. Everyone’s excited at trying the pastries but Osamu refuses to try one.

“We should go,” he informs you and takes your hand. You’re confused but follow him inside the car anyway.

The three other employees’ wave at you with wide smiles, it’s a good thing that their enthusiasm to see you leave doesn’t alarm you. Only Osamu knows why they’re so eager to see their boss get out of here, after all, they know what he’s about to do since they have been his trusted confidants this past week. In truth, Osamu has been practising his speech for days, first with Tano, the calmest of the three, who listened quietly as Osamu stumbled through his words. And then with the other two, who were more than happy to help him prepare for the big moment, his private rehearsal quickly turned into a bit of a group affair. They even spent the entire morning insisting that never in a million years you will refuse his proposal.

You spend the first twenty minutes of the ride trying to guess where you are going.

“Kobe?” You first ask, “Or Kyoto? Oh, that would be so nice, I’ve not been in Kyoto in ages.”

You seem convinced that it will be a city, but instead, he drives you to the countryside.

The road becomes familiar, Osamu can see in your eyes that you’re starting to recognize the landscapes; the fields of rice or matcha or flowers (he still doesn’t know which one it is, even in the daylight).

“Are we going to Kita’s farm?” You finally figure. “Don't tell me, I know it is Kita's farm. See, told you I’d guessed.”

You look so sure of yourself, cute, he thinks, and it makes him want to leave kisses on your grin and all over your face.

But the surprise only begins and when he pulls over to the side of the road, near a cliff, you start assaulting him with questions again. Osamu doesn’t answer, he just gets out, opens the passenger door and gently leads you out of the car.

“D' ya know where we are?” He says a few minutes later.

You glance around to look at the view and open your month, but he trails you off.

“This is where I feel in love with ya. Well- I guess I feel in love before, though I was very slow, but this is where I realised I was in love. Since then, I’ve not stopped falling for ya and for … well, everything about ya.”

“Osamu?”

He keeps going even though his heart threatens to explode in his chest, “I’m kinda nervous, but I really wanna do this. Yer the one for me, and I know I don’t always give ya the time ya deserve and I’m jealous sometimes… but I love ya and I’d like to laugh with ya for the rest of my life. So…”

He takes a little box from his pocket and gets on one knee (a little bit too harshly, he'll probably get a bruise tomorrow). The look of surprise—or rather shock, to be completely honest— on your face tells him you hadn’t realised what was happening until this moment.

“I’ve been thinkin’ about this for like a long time, and I really hope ya would accept to become my fiancé and perhaps my wife someday… if you’ll have me.”

You jump into his arms and Osamu fears he’ll fall down—not that he would mind. He would drown in oceans with you, get into a tornado, jump off a cliff, just to feel you against him.

“Dummy, idiot, argh you-”

“Why’re ya insultin’ me woman?”

He looks at you, there’s tears in your eyes, in this light, they look like stardust.

“I really want to be your fiancé and your wife and your everything.”

You already are, he wants to say but you shut him up with a kiss and he thinks you’ve never tasted so good. All the knots in his stomach can relax (because you said yes!)

The colour of the ring on your finger, golden, suits you. It reminds him of the sunrise and of the promise that you’ll be here next morning, and the one after, and the one after.

For the rest of his life, Osamu can fall asleep at peace because he knows you’ll always be the first thing he’ll see when he wakes up.

The wedding is planned for the following summer. You opt for something small and intimate, with family and close friends. His mother and yours help with the preparations, Umi chooses your dress, Bokuto does his bit too by ordering a cake from the patisserie  that's just opened next door to Onigiri Miya (this is entirely out of friendship for you, and not because he has a huge crush on the shop's owner), and finally Atsumu helps his brother find the wedding venue.

Everything is perfect, except for…  

“You said you wanted to invite the guys from high school.”

A sigh escapes from his nose and he avoids your gaze, “I know but-“

“The guys from high school that also means Rin.” He raises an eyebrow and his jaw clenches, “-tarou.”

“Alright, alright… Let’s invite Suna. It’s just, ya know, I want a very small weddin’, I’m not like ‘Tsumu.”

You cup his cheeks, “My love, I’d feel bad if I invited your team and not him. Don’t tell me you’re afraid I’ll leave with Rintarou just before the wedding, huh?”

His ears suddenly feel warm, and he tries to hide the shade of red that invaded his face by lowering his cap, you burst into laughter.

“Oi!” he barks, offended, “stop makin’ fun of me or ya'll never hear my vows.”

Your teasing smile turns into a pout, and you look at him with puppy eyes. With that face, Osamu knows he’s screwed. “I’m goin’ to bed now,” he informs.

But before he can run away, you grab his arm and with your other hand, you trace a line from his cheekbone to his jaw. He can feel the coldness of the golden ring against his skin. He closes his eyes for a second and lets you whisper a few sweet words in his ear.

"You make me happy,” you tell him in the end.

“So do ya,” he breathes. His lips find yours; you quiver helplessly beneath the touch. He smiles, “And it’s only the beginnin'.”

a/n: I may or may not have shed a tear haha

I hope you guys are happy with this ending, if you're interrested to read more I can always write some short extra stories about them

thank you for reading, liking and commenting, it means a lot to me <3

taglist: @wolffmaiden, @teyvatsunsets, @obibiwan, @sugacor3, @sunahsvt, @iluv-ace, @cinnamonruts

[audible-smiles]

So, I think I may have accidentally found the worst book ever written by a human being.

I don't know if you guys have ever heard of Savitri Devi; she was a Hitler stan who moved from Greece to India, got really excited about "Aryan" racial mythology, changed her name, and tried to fuse Nazism with Hinduism. A lot of her ideology is patently absurd (e.g. Hitler is an avatar of Vishnu), but none of it is funny because she spent her entire life actively trying to build a coalition of the most violently racist people you can imagine. Hindutva paramilitary groups, American neo-Nazis, early ecofascists; you name them, she probably went to their meetings and wrote propaganda for them.

So, knowing this, it makes one feel particularly deranged to learn that she also wrote fiction about- and from the POV of- her many cats.

The book in question is called Long-Whiskers and the Two-Legged Goddess, or The True Story of a "most objectionable Nazi" and half-a-dozen Cats.

Published in 1965, this text features a protagonist named "Heliodora", who Devi admits in the introduction is just her lightly fictionalized self-insert. In the beginning Heliodora heroically rescues a stray kitten and its mother, but then the narrative grinds to a halt to explain the weird racial theories that brought her to India, before it picks right back up with the cat fancying. Here is an excerpt that may convey a little of how jarring these transitions can be:

"An unexpected thought crossed Heliodora’s mind, like a flash of lightning: “Had I gone to Europe in 1939, or even in 1940, 1 should not have had this lovely creature, nor, in fact, any of these cats to which I have given a home. They probably all would have been dead, by now — would have died of misery, in some gutter, without love, poor beautiful felines!” And a strange question followed that thought: “Was it for them that I was fated to remain here?” She knew the thought was a nonsensical one and the question too. For of what account was the life and happiness of any creatures, nay, of any human beings, including her own, compared with the Service of the Aryan Reich and of the Cause of truth?

It is all. Fucking. Like This. There are grim descriptions of feline suffering contrasted with long, ecstatic descriptions of her cats learning to trust the only nice human in the world (her). There are passages on the virtue of vegetarianism and the evils of (especially Kosher) slaughterhouses. She thinks it's a great idea to do medical experiments on criminals rather than animals! She thinks kids who throw rocks at cats should have their hands cut off! She starts chapters with direct quotes from Mein Kampf! When her favorite cat runs away she writes the (fully imaginary) story of his adventures on the streets, including him having cat sex. Here is the cat sex:

"The coquettish she-cat jumped up and ran away, only to stop again some twenty yards further and again to roll in the grass, calling for love, — and again to ran away as soon as the lover was about to take her. At last, however, — after many an unsuccessful leap and further and further galloping in the moonshine, Long- whiskers overcame her faked resistance and possessed her. He forgot himself, and she — his black silky panther — forgot herself. Their individualities ceased for a while to exist, and in him, the eternal He-Cat, Creator and Lord of everything, and in her, the co-eternal, sphinx-like, dark Feline Mother, Lady of all Life, once more mingled their opposite polarities and took consciousness of their double Godhead, as they had been doing for millions and millions of years. And once more the divine spark — the Creative Lightning — flashed through their furry bodies, and the daily miracle took place: there was life in the female’s womb."

Sooooo......anyway...........the lost cat finds its way back to her, but has caught feline distemper and dies in her arms, but then he is REINCARNATED IN ENGLAND, as a kitten in a decent (white) home where his family loves him. Heliodora is coincidentally going back to Europe at this time (she lists her religion as "national socialist" on the travel paperwork), which means we get pages and pages of her obsessing over every 'misstep' in the war, and Germany's tragic loss, but more importantly, she meets a random cat and he is (unknown to her), the reincarnation of her beloved Long-whiskers, the Cat Who Fucked. She sees that he's well-fed and happy and is like "I finally understand why Hitler was so nice to the British; they treat cats well so I guess they're Aryan too". I am not making any of this up:

“They have poured streams of fire over Germany; betrayed their own race; identified themselves with its worst enemies ...”

“Prrr, prrr, prrr,” purred back the cat; “that is because they had been (as they are still being) misled, deceived. But one day they shall wake up from their delusion, tum against their bad shepherds, and help the people of their own blood to build up a new Europe — the very Europe of your dreams, in which we creatures will all be happy — for they are good people at heart; good people like Aryans generally are, taken as a whole. Prrr, prrr, prrr . . . The proof of it is that they have taken such good care of me! Prrrrrrrrr . . .”

This version of her cat grows old and dies. Meanwhile, Heliodora is arrested and imprisoned for distributing Nazi propaganda. When she gets out, she meets the reincarnation of a different cat she had left behind in India. (All of her cats want to find her again after death because they love her so very much.) In between her banal, mundane descriptions of caring for this new cat, she describes her various arrests, interrogations, and brief periods of imprisonment. And then she moves, gives that cat away and gets another fucking cat. It is at this point where I completely lose track of which cat is meant to be the reincarnation of which other cat; this woman goes through cats like potato chips. She says she doesn't even love them as individuals, but as one piece of "the intangible Essence of Catdom", so I guess it doesn't fucking matter whether I know their names or not.

This woman's primary thesis is "human suffering doesn't matter, only animal suffering matters" and she beats it into the ground. Her secondary thesis is that national socialism is the one true religion and will save the world. Not only is this a deeply self-obsessed, morally incoherent, grotesque piece of writing, it is also boring as hell. It's half stories about how people who are mean to animals all deserve to get murdered, and half a travelogue where the protagonist goes on screeds about race-mixing every time she visits a new city. While you're reading it you feel as if time has stopped, and you will be stuck reading this terrible book for the rest of your life. All she knows how to do is repeat her two ideas over and over again. Honestly, it reads like heavy-handed satire of a very specific type of white woman. Heliodora wears golden swastika earrings.

I'm exhausted. Never read this book.

[wrenreid]

Off Limits

contains: sexual intercourse

Part Twenty-Six

Being left in bed naked and alone was not exactly how I pictured my first time to end, but I know it wasn’t personal. He left because he had to. Because my father might take his glock out and act irrationally if he sees his favorite agent with his only daughter. I’m not saying he’d actually shoot Spencer, but he might scare the piss out of him.

My father gets home just as I slip back into bed dressed in pjs. He doesn’t say goodnight because it’s late, and I’m sure he assumes I’m asleep.

I would be asleep. Should be. But I can’t even think to rest my eyes. I’m not one to think that first kisses and first times are that big of deal. It’s not like having sex is a life altering event. And I most definitely do not feel like a whole new person.

Books and movies make it seem like a huge deal. But it’s really not. However, I do think this will change our relationship a bit. Hopefully bring us closer. Honestly, I’m really not sure what will change between us.

I do know one thing. I’m officially his girlfriend. He’s officially my boyfriend. We’re official. Which feels good. After years of crushing on him and months of sneaking around and having fun with him, we’re finally together.

I know I said fuck it if she’s off limits, but goddamn do I feel guilty. I hate feeling guilty. I’m sick of it actually. No one should feel guilty about dating anyone. But I can’t help it. It’s wired into my subconscious.

Jade is finally my girlfriend. We had a great night together. I should be happy. Well, I am happy but I’m also feeling guilty and a little dumb.

Of course I didn’t have sex with her just to spite her father, but he did have something to do with it. They all did. They pushed me a little too far and I finally caved in to what I’ve been resisting. But I wanted it, I’ve wanted it for a while, so it’s not like their teasing was my only reason for sleeping with her.

Just as I’m about to text her the next morning, I get a call from Hotch saying we need to go to Quantico for another case. I was hoping to see Jade today since we didn’t get to talk after we had sex. But I guess that’s out the window. I grab my pre-packed go bag after getting dressed then head to work.

(skipping time because goddamn i am bored with this story… sorry)

The sneaking around that once stressed the hell out of me has kind of become fun. I mean there’s a type of thrill that comes with dating your boss’s “off limits” daughter.

Jade and I have had a fun few weeks. We’ve connected more, spent as much time together as we can, and have honestly had a lot of sex.

We’re both still getting used to our new relationship, but we’re in it together.

I spend the night with Spencer as often as I can without my dad getting suspicious. He thinks I’m either with a friend, at a party, or whatever other minuscule lie I tell him.

The lying and sneaking around is fun. I’m finally getting the experience I never had in high school. I would obviously love if I could date Spencer and not have to lie about it, but the secrecy of it all is thrilling.

It makes the sex just hotter.

After having sex on the couch, then moving it to his bedroom for more space, Spencer and I lay on the mattress together. Our hands intertwine, fiddling with our fingers.

“Want to know something a little ironic?” I ask him as his thumb rubs across the back of my hand.

Spencer shifts a bit to face me. “What’s that?”

“In 7th grade health class, us girls were all given purity rings, misogynistic, I know. I think I still have mine.”

“Give it to me.” As he says this, something in his face changes.

“What?” I question, a slight chuckle releasing from my lips.

“It’s technically mine now. It only seems accurate and fair for me to have it.”

I laugh a little once again, my cheeks burning pinker than they ever have. He’s dead serious. Something about the look in his dark eyes makes me want to go for round two right now.

I think he has the same idea. Spencer leans in, his lips kissing mine. I kiss him back immediately, my tongue sliding in his mouth. As we kiss, his hand slides down my body and he slips a finger between my folds to touch my already sensitive clit.

“You’re still wet,” he says. “Good girl.”

I moan into his mouth, moving my hips back and forth as I ride his fingers. His lips find their place on his neck and tits, sucking on the places he’s already left his mark on. It stings a little, but the pain feels good.

“God, Spencer,” I whine as he sinks his teeth into my flesh, not enough to damage my skin but enough to hurt a bit.

I beg him to touch me harder and faster, and he obliges, fingering me as I moan into his ears.

After a minute, I’m so needy that I take matters into my own hands. I sit up then place myself onto his lap, guiding his dick inside me with my hand. I roll my hips back and forth, watching his face as I ride him.

“Holy fuck,” he whines. “You’re so hot, baby.”

The way his length hits inside me as I bounce on him has me louder than I’ve ever been. He lifts one of his hands up to quiet me so his neighbors don’t hear. I personally, don’t care if they hear us. I want them to know how good he feels and wish they could feel this way.

He releases his hand after a while, holding my hips and occasionally slapping my ass while I ride him. He bucks his hips upward to meet mine, making his dick hit inside me harder.

“Fuck,” I moan, dragging out the word.

He’s moaning louder than usual too. My hands that were scratching down his chest land on his throat, choking him.

“Is this okay?” I ask.

He’s done it to me before but I haven’t done it to him while we’ve fucked.

“Very,” he nods.

As I finish, I bite into his shoulder, quieting my moan of his name. He finishes not long after me.

The next morning, Jade comes into the bullpen, she’s walking toward me. everyone’s looking. My face is red already, and she hasn’t done anything. I have no idea what she’s doing.

“My dad told me to give this to you,” she says, handing me an envelope. She smiles sweetly then turns toward the elevators.

She was bringing her father lunch and was in his office for a bit, eating with him as he worked.

I let out a soft, relieved breath. I open the letter. There’s a paper, and written on it in neat handwriting is “I think this belongs to you.” Taped to the paper is a small, silver ring with the word “promise” on it. I’m definitely blushing hard and trying to suppress a smile.

“You getting fired, reid?” Morgan teases.

“Totally,” I joke casually, my mind far away from Morgan’s question.

I slip the ring in my pocket before folding up the note and safely putting it away in my desk.

I think that little word engraved on the inside of the ring has a new meaning now.

tags: @pauline5525mgg @theintimatewriter @lilibet261 @greysviolets @jazzymariexoxoc @one-sweet-gubler @thatsonezesty13 @necromaniackat @awhoreforspencerreid @sebs-oxygen @scarredelirium @bts-sugaplum @awesomeness1679 @preciousbabypeter @yazzyu @cynbx @r3idsp3ncer @1010lizz @tiredbut-here @skulzombiw @lena-1895 @eevee0722 @shakespear-picaso-lovechild @daydreamingqueen1 @regulus-black-223048 @virginmusicloverr36 @jazzerbelle14 @kylakins88 @f-me-reid @lovejules888 @marimorena06 @daph-421 @idkusername8787

[possibilistfanfiction]

not truly a prompt but would love some more outside perspective for surgeons au

‘dr. v, hey, what’s up?’ silva says, leaning against the doorframe of the supply closet with far too much aplomb for someone who spilled chili all over himself in the cafeteria — in front of beatrice, who had, horrifyingly, just rolled her eyes with a smile — merely an hour ago.

‘silva.’

you’re a little proud when dr. silva — usually infuriatingly unflappable — gulps. ‘hey, so, uh, well. i’m saying this in confidence.’

you resist the urge to just walk past her, because you definitely could, and you’re way too busy, but she’s unfortunately actually a great intern, switched to your service after beatrice told chief superion they had feelings for each other. which, well — it seems serious, and dr. silva has made beatrice, your best friend — your sister — happy, happier than you’ve ever seen her, so you’ve come to terms with the fact that ava silva is probably going to be in your life for a long time now.

‘go on,’ you say.

ava nods, steps into the supply closet and closes the door, glancing behind him quickly. 

‘the coast is clear, for whatever secret you’re about to divulge that i’m sure i won’t want to know.’ you know the coast is clear because you come into this particular supply closet to catch your breath when days are chaotic and overwhelming, to, on occasion, shed a tear or two over a bad outcome or, even more embarrassingly, a great outcome, too much family thanks sent your way. 

dr. silva isn’t deterred at all. ‘okay. um. beatrice cried herself to sleep last night. and last thursday night too. i know she doesn’t want me to know, or i guess, she probably doesn’t, but, like, i care about her, a lot, and i lov— ‘ ava shakes his head, a little panicked, but then soldiers on. ‘do you know why? is there anything i can do?’

beatrice, you are well aware of, has therapy every thursday, barring emergencies she can’t get out of. you also know, from years and years of watching her hold feelings in for days, weeks even, until she explodes a little, that beatrice is a slow processor, someone who needs her time to understand what she’s feeling. before she met ava, you’d text her every thursday, after she’d gone to the dojo or climbed or run, and you’d read a new study together (not sworn to secrecy) or catch up on love island (sworn to absolute secrecy). 

but now there’s dr. silva — ava; there’s someone for beatrice to be held by, someone to warm the cool side of the bed. you can understand from when you first started dating camila, the sheer panic that she would realize you needed things, the sheer panic that you needed her, that beatrice doesn’t want to share with ava whatever was difficult or sad or hard to process. beatrice is excellent at most things, including kindness, and especially including steadiness, and you know, no matter how open she is in therapy, that what she grew up having shoved down her throat is not an easy thing to overcome. 

‘she has therapy, thursday morning, every week if she can make it.’ maybe beatrice would be mad at you, but you don’t think so — sometimes it’s easier to have help, anyway. 

‘oh,’ dr. silva says, their shoulders relaxing immediately. ‘well that makes a ton of sense. i was worried it was my cooking or taste in music or something.’

‘i’m sure those things don’t help.’

she rolls her eyes. ‘thanks for telling me.’ thanks for knowing beatrice so well; thanks for loving her too goes unspoken; to dr. silva’s credit, she does seem to understand that there are lines too tender for her to cross.

you nod, just once, and motion toward the door. dr. silva steps aside, a little hurried, trying to be polite — for once.

‘i need post-ops on mr. williams, and then we have a consult with dr. masters.’

‘sexy.’

‘i can get you fired, you know.’

dr. silva’s grin, under the florescent lights in the hallway, is almost rakish. ‘i do know that, and i also know you wouldn’t.’

‘the next abscess i see is yours.’

ava just laughs.

/

beatrice slips into the supply closet silently, just behind you, a week later.

‘jesus,’ you grumble. ‘i’ve got to find a new spot.’

she’s undeterred, wearing a fleece over her scrubs and a bright orange fisherman’s beanie — silva’s undoubtedly; beatrice would never buy anything bright orange herself — a neat canvas tote from her favorite coffee shop on her shoulder — tired, and on her way out. ‘did you tell ava i had therapy on thursdays.’

‘well, you do.’

she clenches her jaw, seems to toy with what she wants to say. ‘thank you,’ she settles on, surprisingly but also not: beatrice is kind, above all else; kinder than you ever expect. 

‘i apologize,’ you find yourself offering, ‘if i overstepped.’

she shakes her head. ‘it’s — was it hard for you?’

‘camila?’

she sags back against the closed door. ‘letting someone in, like that.’

‘well, i certainly didn’t choose ava.’

beatrice laughs, a little, but, ‘i don’t feel as if i had much of a choice. he’s, just, spectacular.’

you refrain from saying anything mean; there will be time enough, years and years and years of it if beatrice has any say. ‘he took care of you?’

‘as much as i let her.’

you have to smile, then; there are a handful of times you’ve been in charge of taking care of beatrice: after her parents visit, each time, especially in college, tears and hours of sparring; after she had top surgery, helping her take a bath and deal with her drains; once when she got food poisoning from a sketchy burger place she resolutely loved. ‘no small task.’

‘we’ve got to get better at that, don’t we?’

’speak for yourself. i’m a seasoned professional.’

‘ah yes, you, remarkably comfortable accepting affection and care. since the moment we met.’

you laugh; you can’t help yourself. ‘you’re happy?’

‘beyond.’

’sure you couldn’t pick someone less… ava?’

beatrice elbows you but it’s lacking any malice. you sling an arm around her shoulders, as close to a hug as you’d get under normal circumstances, especially at work. ‘you know,’ she says, ‘everyone knows you come in here to decompress. you’re not stealthy.’

you shrug. ‘intimidating, then. no one interrupts me.’

she lets you have it with just a small smile, kind once again, and makes to slip out the door. ‘i’ll leave you to it then.’

‘sure.’

‘drinks later when you get off? perhaps just the two of us?’ a measure of care you’ve never been brave enough to offer but are always grateful to accept — your oldest friend.

‘i would really like that, beatrice.’

she nods. ‘text me when you’re done.’

[rosethevideomancer]

Let's Fix Ruby's Mom Reveal

Certainly! Here's the revised version and sorry imma read more this one.

UNIT finishes the scan and finds it empty. There is still no match in the database for the mother. Then the TARDIS emits a shuddering noise and all the screens flicker. Multiple screens pop up, searching through every time and place they've visited, scanning planets and realities they've traversed. The Doctor gasps, Ruby starts tearing up, Kate considers deadlocking her access points, and finally, the screen displays "MATCH FOUND." We see Ruby's face and then cut abruptly to the Cafe.

A blonde woman enters and stands in line, chatting on her phone with a friend about her life improving now compared to years ago with her abusive father. She vaguely details his actions and stops when she hints at giving up Ruby Sunday.

We watch her convey the pain with her expressions as she remembers. She reaches the counter after a young girl, whose face remains unseen—Almost insignificant. She orders her coffee, sits down at a table, and continues discussing an upcoming trip, mentioning someone like Rani or Sally Sparrow for a potential future coincidence.

As she taps on her phone, checking her text messages to pass the time (describe her briefly, mention social help lines), Ruby remains out of focus in the background. Finally, she looks up and sees Ruby staring at her. Confused, she asks, "Can I help you?"

Ruby replies, "Oh, sorry. I just… thought you looked like someone I once knew," then hesitates and starts to leave. The woman stops her, saying, "I don't know, but I get whatcha mean. You… come here often?"

"Oh yeah, used to pop round here every day!" Ruby answers. The woman replies, "Oh, yeah? Well same! Maybe that's how we know each other—from seeing each other here!" Ruby knows this isn't true but agrees verbally, "I guess so. Well, sorry to bother you," and tries to leave. As she turns, the barista calls out, "Ruby!" The woman freezes, and Ruby cringes as she grabs her coffee. Starting to leave, the woman softly says, "Ruby's such a pretty name," to which Ruby, as always, replies instantly, "Thanks, it's the road I was found on," the ladys eyes go wide and realizing she said too much. Ruby hurries away.

She runs to the Doctor, leaning on his TARDIS outside. She hugs him and cries; he returns the hug as he understands. He also had the opportunity for answers in FLUX but didn't follow through. It's hard to accept answers when questions have been your constant companions throughout life.

After this sad moment, a voice interrupts, "Excuse me." Ruby turns and sees the woman, nervous and fidgety, looking almost like an older Ruby Sunday. "That road you were left on… It wouldn't happen to have been… Ruby Road… would it?" Ruby hesitates but reluctantly nods, and they share an awkward moment, both tearing up. The Doctor beams his smug grin before leaning in and and saying, "This is the part where you two hug," pushing Ruby gently. The music swells as they embrace. We see him lean back happy as he adds in a whisper, "The foundling finally found. Coincidence, coincidence, coincidence," glancing briefly up at the sky with concern before smiling.

Fade to a later scene with the Doctor, the Sunday family, and Ruby's bio-mom. Carla asks, "So you're not a god or something?" The Doctor interjects, "Yeah, no, turns out… My old girl the looovely TARDIS eventually figured out about our little death doggo stowaway when I crashed near the edge of the universe. Turns out he was using all the noise and energy of the cosmos to cloak himself, but when you're at the edge of space, well... it's hard to hide in an empty room. Once she found that out, she kept trying to think of ways to warn us—groaning, planting a song in Ruby's core and using the excess energy from coffee and a lil' mavity mix up to try and burn him off her. When that didn't work she figured the only way she could help is by making a mystery the death god couldn't resist, extending her perception filter to Ruby's birth Mother on Christmas Night 2005. Which you should feel honored about, thousands of years and she's rarely ever done that."

Ruby nods but adds "But what about the pointing?" Her biological mother chuckles and nods "Oh I remember now. Yes.. Christmas night, I was giving away my baby and the faint song from the church had me questioning myself. But the strangest thing happened.. I heard this noise and a big box that wasn't there moments ago was suddenly fading into reality only a few meters away from me. I thought I was going mad! My tongue was tied and voice gone! All I could do was point. Put yourself in my shoes, I thought god himself had come to punish me for my actions... But he just stared me down crying.. I wondered why god would cry... How did my choice make him that sad?" The Doctor looks at her reflecting on the Sutekh conversation about being made the god of life. Her Mom continues "I think it's what pushed me. I had a life so sad that even god cried for me. I made a promise in that moment to leave and get out and maybe one day if my life ever got better... I'd find you again. So I turned and I walked away I made that decision to live the life I wanted you to have, Ruby, and I knew I made the right choice because when I turned back... That man and his box were gone."

"And here now here we are and for the record I'm really very glad that for once, just this one beautiful time… " the Doctor sits between Ruby and her bio-mom and hugs them both beaming "It was just a human." The episode continues from there as usual.

[eltube]

(new fic!) Evil-Adult-Anon

I wrote this fic as a gift for @kndrules’ birthday this year (Happy Birthday Jay!) and after he mentioned it offhand someone was interested in reading it—so I am posting it here for all to see!

It takes place in our adult AU, where—for reference—sector V members are about 35 years old. This fic doesn’t feature sector V, though; it stars Cree!! Who is in her forties, a Japanese history professor, and still coming to terms with her life after Father. (Father is recently in prison—basically, if you have any questions about the details of this timeline, feel free to ask about it.) It also features special guests (The) Steve and The Toilenator, though you may not recognize him at first.

Enjoy!

With every step she took into the hotel lobby, Cree gripped the shoulder strap of her canvas bag a little tighter. She had tried to dress casual, but put-together: one of her nicer cardigan sweaters, the pants she actually ironed, and her new shoes with the fancy broguing on the sides. Her locs were tied back in a small, loose bun behind her, and she figured that–at least if nobody zeroed in on the death grip of that one hand on her bag–she probably looked pretty composed from the outside. 

She needed the death grip though, because the farther away she got from her partner’s familiar car, the more she felt her bravado slipping away, already making a smaller woman under this big, domed ceiling. Steve had told her way too many times that she’s “got this,” working his clueless magic that once again made her enough of a fool to believe him. Now, the stronger illusion of her–the stranger who so confidently waved at Steve as he dropped her off, as if this was all her idea–was looking down at her real self with a mixture of smug superiority and pity. 

She ran her palm along the bag’s material as she walked on the lobby carpet, grounding herself (as she had been taught to call it) by feeling the bumps along the surface. She recognized and remembered the shapes of the file folders, overflowing with booklets of paper, packed inside. Cree had brought her students’ essays along with her, like she always did during exam seasons in case she had a few moments to catch up on marking them. 

In this case, bringing the student papers along had been a kind of silent, last-ditch prayer of desperation. Like, maybe this whole thing would actually be cancelled, right? Everyone would go home, not even knowing she had shown up, and she could sit peacefully alone on these pearly white couches until Steve’s band finished practicing, just reading first-year history students’ takes on bushido and cracking up without a care in the world. 

It wasn’t going to happen–but honestly, she just needed the fantasy to get her out the door. As the knots in her stomach were reminding her very loudly now, she really did not want to come.

Trying the grounding again, Cree focused on the surroundings of the hotel as she moved towards the conference room, reminding herself to “name three things” for each of her senses. She had resisted this strategy at first, how babyish it sounded. To her displeasure though, she had to admit that when she actually tried it eventually, the damn thing worked.

I hear…the front desk people typing. Luggage carts. A fountain.

I see…ugly wallpaper. Plants. A snack counter…huh, looks like they have ice cream. That logo is familiar. 

I smell…what do hotels smell like? The scent of blandness? Parfum du nothing? ‘Clean stank’? Sure, those count as three things.

I taste…DAMMIT! FUCK! SHIT!

A jolt of surprised rage yanked Cree out of the ritual. She strode directly into something blocking her path, priming her to explode at whoever put it there–and then, just as fast, a wave of hot embarrassment followed. She realized she had knocked her foot against a sign outside the conference room. It was, actually, the exact sign she was supposed to be looking out for.

 “SUPPORT GROUP HERE,”--the text on the cardboard seemed to be shouting out loud to mock her as it toppled over. Cree couldn’t help but project onto it like it was a person she hated, some shrill little kid maybe, pointing and going LOOK WHAT THIS WEIRD LADY DID for the whole hotel to hear. Scrambling to catch herself and prop the thing back up–make it be quiet–Cree looked around, praying that no one had seen her “calm” herself into a clumsy mess. Luckily, it seemed like it was a secret between her and the security cameras at most.

“So much for mindfulness,” she muttered to herself, silently cursing her therapist. That lady was definitely going to hear about the mess she caused with her advice next week. On the bright side, though, all the potential awkwardness Cree felt around walking into this conference room seemed tamer in comparison, now. She let out a long-suffering breath, reasoning that she had come this far, and put on a brave face as she crossed the threshold.

—

The room was set up just the way Cree had imagined it–she couldn’t tell if she found this funny or downright irritating, the cliche of the scene. The circle of folding chairs, the table of cheap coffee, the name tags…it all felt like the setup of a joke at her expense, and when she found herself taking a sharpie and actually writing Cree on one–eugh—that was the punchline. 

A nametag, as if these people didn’t know exactly who she was. Even if she had changed her hair or her mannerisms much in the last 15 or so years, she was, she noted bitterly, the only Black woman in the room, so she would always be unmistakable. 

At least no one’s staring at me. At least not until my back is turned. 

The cheap label stuck to the right side of her sweater, she kept her hand on her bag as she sat slowly down in one of the chairs. It was stiff, but she took some small pride in having good posture. Others in the room, many of whom she was surprised not to recognize–shouldn’t I know everybody here?--were all milling around and making small talk, like friends. They smiled at each other, touched shoulders, laughed; they probably came here dutifully every second week while she was hiding at home.

People started to take their seats around her, and Cree tried to block the lonely resentment building in her gut from showing on her face. As the meeting started and the scattered conversations died down, she closed her eyes and conjured up her confident self from the car again, a witch conjuring ghosts of the past. She would need magic not to screw this up.

Directly across from her, one middle-aged man stayed standing with his hands folded; he, she assumed, was the group leader she talked to on the phone. 

“Welcome, everybody,” he said, and his familiar voice confirmed Cree’s guess. “Now that everyone’s sitting, we can start.”

The man, tall and Latino with greying hair and broad arms, had already introduced himself to Cree last week as Paolo. He was friendly enough, and thoughtful enough with his direct invitation to attend the meeting, that she tragically couldn’t refuse it anymore without looking like a complete jerk. And as always seemed to be the case with these people, he said he knew who she was, but she never remembered meeting him–and again, she wondered if this tendency to erase people’s names and faces from her memory made her arrogant. 

She tried to console herself with the fact that, at least in this case, there were reasons Paolo might have been forgettable; ice cream men were always wearing those stupid hats anyway, and they all looked the same in uniform. It’s not like she was hanging out with them back in the day—they were never even invited to those Anti-Kid Bingo Nights. 

Ugh, she had almost forgotten how much she hated those.

“First of all,” Paolo continued, with the attention of the room bringing Cree back. “Thanks to everyone again who brought food. Feel free to say something about your recipe when we do the circle…if it’s not a family secret!”

There were good-hearted chuckles scattered around Cree where the older members sat, the kind she hears from the tenured professors pushing 70 at work. When she’s not scared of getting a day older, part of Cree looks forward to getting to an age where unfunny jokes make her laugh like that.

“Now, we’ll start with me like always. We don’t have too many new folks here today,”--and Cree felt his lack of eye contact with her here was deliberate–”but it’s always good to introduce ourselves just in case. So, hi everyone. My name’s Paolo–feel free to share just your first name, or your last too, whatever’s comfortable–and, well, when I’m not running this group, I’m the Ohio regional representative of Tasty Taste. It’s been really rewarding for me to help build the new face of the company, and, hey…I’m sure it’s also rewarding for us that I’m able to offer free ice cream to everyone here.” 

There was a murmur of chuckles from the group again, and Cree remembered the stand she had passed on the way in, the shape and colours of the logo all clicking into place. The new face of the company. So the stand used to belong to…hell, maybe the whole hotel used to be his. Suddenly she felt a pang of nausea, like the chair she was sitting on might be coated in poisonous slime.

Paolo went on. “I’ll pass the intros around the circle now, and feel free to share anything about yourself. It can be a fact about you related to the group or not! Then we’ll go into a theme for this week’s discussion. Lou, you’re on my right–why don’t you go ahead?”

Paolo sat down, and the man next to him looked up and smiled at the group shyly. He was white and semi-elderly, with a belly but stringy, gangly limbs, and he sported a decidedly balding head of thin blonde hair. Cree didn’t recognize this guy, either, and assumed he was another ice cream man. How common was it, she wondered, for men like Paolo to still be working at Tasty Taste now?

“Hi, I’m Lou,” the new man said, and something about his voice sounded instantly familiar. “I brought some quiche today, but it is a bit of a family secret with my husband and me…” He grinned. “Um, I work as a [gastrointestinal specialist] now, but for a long time I guess people probably just knew me as a guy who walked around wearing a goofy costume…a guy who no one liked.”

With that bit of context, in his timid voice, it dawned on her. Holy shit. Her mouth fell open, shocked by how bizarrely normal he seemed across from her now. That’s the Toilenator.

Nobody noticed her gaping expression while Lou continued, now so clearly resembling a time-lapsed version of the villain, like a parody act that walked offstage. “It’s been great for me to get to know people through this group,” he smiled, “And I’m glad more people are coming every time. Sigmund doesn’t come with me since it’s not his experience, but he says he can really tell it makes a difference and he’s grateful to all of you.”

Lou sat back in his chair and the group clapped, something that Cree gathered was customary during this “introductions” phase. She awkwardly raised her hands and clapped once, feeling distinctly stupid, like she was at show-and-tell or something. How long has the Toilenator been married? 

More than that—though she realized how cruel it was, while he was being vulnerable—Cree was embarrassed to think she had any common issues with the Toilenator. 

As the next few people introduced themselves, their words blurred into nonsense and this parallel between them horrified her more and more. She was suddenly haunted by a mirror image of herself, wearing an oversized toilet seat around her head, getting bullied by people—who were, by all accounts, total freaks themselves—is that the kind of company she was seeking solace in? 

More people spoke, mostly ice cream men, or B-list villains, or some guy who watered the lawn at the mansion. Ignoring them, she wondered if the Toilenator had any of the same messed up problems as her—maybe he even went to the same therapists about it. Maybe right after Cree left those offices, all woe-is-me, this old guy walked in after her, clearly doing so much better about it since he can be at home making quiche all day. As if all of this couldn’t be more humiliating, now the Toilenator was beating her at therapy! 

“…would like to share something?”

Cree looked up as she noticed the room was staring at her, expectant. It was silent now, no one else sharing, meaning it must have been her turn to speak. She stupidly opened and closed her mouth and sat up straighter, running her hand along her canvas bag nervously again.

”I, uh.”

Paolo was looking over and smiling patiently, and the patience of it sort of made it worse.

”Sorry. I’m…I didn’t bring anything. Didn’t know it was a potluck. I um…well, you all know who I am. I’m Cree. You know me whether you met me back then or not. Everyone keeps telling me to come to one of these things, but I never felt like I…I dunno, deserved it. But now I’m here, so I guess I have to catch everyone up.” 

Once the first words were out of her mouth, it became a kind of compulsion to speak, which in a way was a mercy. She caught faces with eyes burning into her, but fought the urge to try and read their thoughts.

”So, I was Father’s apprentice. For…10 years? Something like that.” 

Speaking his name made it real. She might as well jump right into it. 

”I guess, you know…I realized in my mid-20s, that after everything I worked for, I wanted out. It wasn’t worth it, and he never intended to give me any of the power he promised. I guess a lot of you worked for him for money, but he never even paid me. Then I realized it was his future or mine—he didn’t want me going to school, didn’t want me doing anything that took me farther away, and I guess…something in me sensed it would only get worse. I took a chance, I left, I cut contact and left for college and didn’t look back. I was scared he’d come after me but lo and behold the case against him came together just in time. And it’s only with him in prison that I feel like I can say anything without putting everyone I know in danger, so I’m not used to…saying anything. But I’m trying to start.”

 The room was listening intently, with a kind of respect that she only got in a really good lecture—the kind she never expected and worried she couldn’t rise to. She kept talking anyway, facts spilling out of her that she was always worried would explode if exposed to the air.

”I had some distance from everything, and I compartmentalized everything from back then until I graduated, but…you know, I still live with all the shit I did, while I worked for him, while I was trying to prove that I could be him someday. What I did to kids, to my own kid sister…and I went to him, right? And I did it year after year, and I convinced myself they deserved it. I didn’t think it was right to call myself a victim, because of that. Sometimes I felt I should have been sentenced with him. But becoming…”

 She took a shaky breath, feeling the full weight of the listening silence. “…becoming a teacher, when I’m working with my students…they’re all adults, right, but even then, I keep thinking…the power I have over them scares me. When I think about doing to them what he did, I feel sick, and it just makes me realize…damn, it was wrong when it happened to me, too. I was like that back then, just…young, and powerless, and wanting to impress someone who could move me up. No matter what it took, right? And he knew that. Even the guilt I’m feeling now, it…he made me feel it on purpose. And it worked.”

Cree had her eyes trained on the floor now, on a space between her shoes, and she was afraid to look up after saying what she knew was far too much. These people connected to her by Father’s common thread of abuse—she didn’t know if their pity or their total apathy to her pain would be more devastating. Whatever reaction there would be, it was the one she was afraid of—it was the escaping of the story, the reveal to the world, that hurt her every time. 

—

Cree felt her arm quickly shoot up to her face to wipe at a hot tear escaping. She and Steve had joked on the way over about how her crying was an inevitability, that it was just about how many fugitive tears she let get away. She thought she had prepared for it then, but she never could.

”Cree,” Paolo said in the silence, his voice sounding even-toned and not so sympathetic as to taunt her. “We are all so glad that you came to a meeting. And though it may not be at all close to what you’ve experienced in its intensity, I think you’ve put words to a dynamic that many of us in this group felt in our work lives for a long time.”

Cree bit down on her cheeks and braved glancing up again, seeing that several people were nodding respectfully, including Lou, who had an indisputably kind smile on his face. She wanted to mock it, but it was too genuine for that.

The woman sitting beside Cree wordlessly handed her a tissue and a glass of water, which she sheepishly accepted. When Paolo continued he addressed the entire group, taking attention away from her, helping her come back from where she had gone.

”Many people have said in group before,” Paolo said, gesturing to the circle, “that we have feelings of guilt, like you described. That we feel we can’t be considered Father’s victims, because we weren’t children when he hurt us, or because he didn’t hit us physically, or because we only suffered abuse in the workplace and not interpersonally.” There were more nods around him. 

“It comes up quite often, too, that members of the group are ourselves perpetrators—we hurt children on his payroll, and so we had no right to speak. And it’s true that many of us are guilty of things that we very well may not be forgiven for.” Paolo shrugged. “I’ve spoken to some people, former Kids Next Door operatives, who I hurt while I was an ice cream man. I want nothing more than to reconcile with them, but some of them—rightfully, I think—don’t speak to any of us. There’s a reason this group is for people who worked for Father. We all feel this tension. But it is powerful to break the cycle.”

Cree smiled, finding Paolo’s speech corny, but in a way that released some tension in her. The Toilenator—Lou, Cree reminded herself—was standing up and passing a dish around, apparently sensing an opportunity to relax everyone further. A thin elderly man looked over as he took a piece of quiche, adding his input:

“I had hoped I would see you at a meeting soon, Ms. Lincoln,” he said, and she immediately recognized his voice as the butler, Wintergreen’s. He broke into a smile at the way her eyes must have widened. “Yes, it’s been many years—and I often wondered if you were well, after you disappeared.” His face grew serious again, and he added: “I saw a lot of things back then that, if I could go back, I would not have allowed, or so I tell myself. There are people I would have protected. If I had been a better man…well. The point is to be a better man, now. Though a very old one, certainly.”

That old refrain of laughter, of middle-aged amusement at a tired joke, bubbled up and helped eat away at the nerves of the moment. Cree’s smirk was one of genuine mirth, this time. Her mind swirled with possibilities of what Wintergreen had been doing, feeling, all this time. Here was someone who served Father tea, who made the delightful children sandwiches for lunch. She had never even thought he had a conscience. But in its way, that must weigh on him, too.

Maybe she wasn’t—in every way—alone.

”I became a teacher after I left the business, too,” one ice cream man added, holding a hand under his quiche to catch the crumbs. “And I think what you said about teaching—seeing yourself in your students, and everything—well, that was a really good point. My students are adult learners, and in a new country, so sometimes when I see them lacking confidence, I remember how I felt when I messed up at work and Father exploded at me…you know, it takes me right back there. I’m not an angry guy, and I try to make class fun, but I just think…what if? What if that’s me one day? Sometimes I even have to leave the class because it messes me up. But, I don’t know if this is true for you…it makes it feel more rewarding to do it the right way. To be patient and not like some tyrant. I keep reminding myself that’s not who I am, because I get to decide.”

”I feel the same way about my patients,” Lou beamed, sitting back down now that the quiche tray was empty. “I love reassuring them, especially about things that are embarrassing, like stomach issues can be.” He shrugged. “Humiliation was a common theme in the ways all the villains targeted me, but it doesn’t have the same power anymore.”

”Damn, everyone sure moved up!” Cree thought aloud, laughing in spite of herself. “I guess the job market can’t be that bad, huh?”

”Oh, I wouldn’t say that,” Paolo laughed back. “After all, this group is my big career move, and they pay me in quiche!”

The response to this quip was uproarious, so disproportionately so that Cree found herself earnestly cackling along. As the evening wound down, the relief of introducing herself gave way to a rush of endorphins, powering her forward. 

She had conversations with people her teen self would have never spoken to—wouldn’t have been caught dead sitting in a circle with. That old outline of herself would have called this group a joke, a bunch of expired villains sitting in a circle like a kindergarten class, a cautionary tale about what happens when you let yourself go soft. 

She would have laughed about that with her teen ninja friends and then gone home alone, tried to sleep with the pit in her gut, knowing that she’d have to meet him tomorrow, to give her report, to get her orders. In the back of her mind, Cree thought to herself how much she would have wanted to hold that lonely girl. How much she wished she could call her up and invite her here herself.

—

By the time Cree met the car in the parking lot, she had four phone numbers tucked in her pocket, scrawled on hotel stationary in shaky hands by people who swore they had gotten the hand of technology enough to stay in touch. She often told people she’d call them or text them, fully intending to throw their cards in the trash the second she left—she didn’t intend that, this time. Though she guessed that time would always tell.

Steve unlatched the door handle and grinned at her from the front seat, a fry from the fast food place nearby hanging out of his mouth. “What’sh up?” He said, lips full, and then swallowed quickly to free up his speech. “Band practice was awesome today, you’re gonna love the new album.”

Cree climbed in, slung her bag over her shoulder and onto the floor in front of her. She realized how heavy it was, what she had been carrying all day.

“I’ll judge that when I hear it,” Cree grinned back. “Did you get me a burger?”

“‘Course.” Steve shook the paper bag beside him. “Your go-to after a rough day. I’m guessing you need it, huh? Tell me about everything that sucked on the way home, I’m all ears.”

“Actually,” Cree looked out the window, watching the hotel start to roll past as the car moved. She smiled again despite herself. “I was gonna say you can have it. The eating’s pretty good at these things. And man, you won’t believe who made the food.”

[moowify]

Had to remind you, I'm always by your side | Oneshot fanfic Luka Couffaine x Fem!Reader

DISCLAIMER!

This pure fan fiction by Moowify, If there are similarities in the stories, it is due to coincidence. Because this fan fic is true from the author's mind. If there is incorrect grammar and ambiguous sentences, I apologize for your discomfort reading it because English is not the author's second language. Happy reading.

Content warning : Jealousy (reader jelaous of Marinette), Possessive (Luka becoming possessive), Almost akumatize (reader), Slow-burn, Friendzone, Romantic compliment, Pet names, Friend to lover trophy 🏆

You have been friends with Juleka for a long time, so you often meet her twin brother Luka. You and Luka also hang out together for years, hearing him playing his guitar is also one of your routines everyday. He sometimes sent you voice messages about him playing his guitar or sings melody for you, he called you sweetheart sometimes and it did give you butterfly feeling. For that time you've love him ever since you first met him. But when Marinette shows up, everything changed. He never reach out for your attention and never sent you voice messages, you feel sad and lonely because of that.

"Juleka, where's your twin brother?" Juleka just shrugs her shoulder and have no idea about it "Maybe he's going out with Marinette somewhere" Again, all he did is hang out with Marinette more often. You feel your heart is burning inside and pounding faster, you are jealous of Marinette and it's obvious. Once you text him about hang out together and he refused becase he wanted to hang out with Marinette.

Few days later, you got text from him said that he finally dating Marinette and he's so excited about it but you feel everything around you is crack. You feel your heart aching and makes you want to cry immediately because of how sad you feel now, of course you responded his text with your congratulations to him. After that, you threw your phone somewhere then you start sobbing.

Hawk moth feel your emotions then he's set his butterfly ready to akumatize you, "ah! heart broken poor girl. This is perfect time to akumatize you ha ha ha, this phase makes you would do anything to get your heart stop hurting including force him to love you. Fly away, my little akuma. And evilize her!".

The akuma try to evilize you "Hi Lovebird, I'm Hawk Moth. Do you want your friend to accept your feeling and love you the way you do. Do you?" This time you know you have to resist it, but his offer sounds very interesting. "Yes" you replied, "Then I giving you the power so that you can destroy any relationship including his relationship. You can also force him to love you, in return you have to take Ladybug and Cat noir miraculous to me would you?" You want to reply his offer again but something in your mind pop out, you don't want to destroy his relationship he was happy with. You could move on and you just need time for it, if you did to his relationship he never forgive you and it would makes you even more miserable. "No, I won't destroy them!" You refused his offer and his akuma back to him, failed to evilize you.

You need some time for move on, and you did move on little by little. Never texting him again, and never shows up to him again. You also never come to his concerts again, you just need time for yourself and have to avoid him for a while. What you did this time is right? What if you did this time is wrong and makes you more miserable than before, but you knew better that you happier than before.

Before you knew, the other side taking it different. He's upset about your suddenly behavior, you're changed and it's make him confused. Apparently he notices few changes of you until the time you never shows up to his concerts again, it's strange for him. He tried to text you or call you but you hardly responded. Your response seems dry than usual.

"Okay, what's going on with you sweetheart? If you have problem, you can tell me. Just why all of sudden your behavior changed" Luka confront you in your bedroom, he's came to your house without notices. "I'm.. not" Luka annoyed at your act "You're not what? Is something wrong with me that made you changed all of sudden" He try to grab your wrists "Please, what's happen? Why you're not accepting my calls, why you're not coming to my concerts again".

You can't tell him that you're jealous of him dating other girl, you can't tell him that you're in love with him for years, you can't tell him that you always admiring him, you can't tell him that you're move on "I don't feel good that time, just coincidence" then he start laughing "haha... what? Is that a joke or not, why your excuse is not makes any sense" he pinch your cheeks "ow" you groan, you know that he's dating Marinette now.

"Tell me, but if you want some time for it. I won't force you my sweetheart" he makes you fall into his arms and strokes your head, you got flutter again by him and at the same time he made you to feel comfortable with him. "I-uh, Luka... Don't do this" You push him slowly, he confused at your reaction and he move away from you. Giving your space that you might needed for this time. "Okay, I'm sorry" he became quiet and start humming a tunes for how awkward the situation is until your phone start ringing.

Another boy's name pop out on your screen, you immediately answer the call but Luka become quiet and listening to you. He come closer to you and your back is facing him, he rest his head on your shoulder so he can hear clearly what another person say. Then another person did make lame jokes but you respond it with laughter but not with Luka, he's not happy with the sight of you laughing. Is not about you shouldn't laugh or smile, is about who made you smile or laugh like this. He wanted you back to him.

He suddenly cut off you and another boy "Sorry, I need to talk to her" and stop the call, you try to complain but he shush you before you do "I'm sorry I don't mean to, but seeing you smile because another boy. It's make my heart aching, can you hear my heart beat? It's beat fast for you" He hugs you tight from behind because of that your back can feel the beat of his heart. You speechless.

"Why, do you still dating Marinette do you?" I try to reject his hug but he seems never let go, and become more tight. "Just break up" he replied and lay his head on your shoulder. Your heart beat pounding, and you feel your lungs need more air to breath. "Tell me why you suddenly changed" he ask.

You took a deep breath, finally facing him face to face and he seems sad about it. His eyes reflect of the sadness. "Is it obvious, I loved you before and you never get the hint. Instead you interested on Marinette that I never get the chance again until you said you date Marinette. I feel my world suddenly stop and almost get akumatize because of it, but now I try to move on from you but you.. You suddenly appear to me and finally you noticed me" His face look suprise "You loved me?" You rolled your eyes "Of course I love you until now, I still can't move on from you".

He hugs you again "Listen to my heart beat, it's getting faster" He put your head close to his chest so you can hear clearly the pounding sounds. "I love you too, I'm sorry I made mistake by ignoring your hints and date another girl. I once feel insecure about my feeling to you, I'm so scared if you will leave me after I confess my feeling to you. After seeing you became more distance and you laughing because another boy made lame jokes, it's hurt my feeling. You're amazing girl that should've treasure. I regretting my actions 'cause you leave me. I hope I can make up for it. Can you forgive me sweetheart?".

You try to swallow your saliva, but it's hard to swallow and your words hanging in your throat. "I- Think I can forgive you.." You said and made him excited about it. "Thank you" He shyly respond but "Can I kiss you?" You nodded and Luka kiss your lips gently.

[bropunzeling]

I absolutely loved all the bits that hinted about Brady’s view of the girl!Leon drama in the elopement time stamp (the directors cut was chefs kiss). I’ve been rolling around imagining Brady trying to talk to Matthew after Leon has to go back to Germany after they get their shit together. Just very “she’s gone???? Again???” and more upset than Matthew is, on his behalf, because brothers!!

omg anon this really tickles me ty, sorry for the rambling phone response but god brady is absolutely like, what the fuck. because from HIS perspective the series of events is:

a year plus of matthew pointedly not dating anyone, never saying he's dating anyone, but also after a few drinks/talking about life/etc the silences get very. suspicious. in the meantime the flames play the oilers ten times in a season and matthew complains about leon every time, win or lose

february to may 2022: the silences have gotten happier? more pointed? still no active confirmation but like. maybe at one point matthew says something that implies he might have something to tell brady soon? brady tells emma and emma is like "there is definitely a girl." matthew still has playing against leon mentionitis.

battle of alberta pre-playoffs: brady is There when leon suggests coming over. matthew is like don't you want to hang out with taryn. please go hang out with taryn and leave my house. he is pacing a hole through the carpet of the condo. brady is 👀

battle of alberta playoffs finish. once they are both in stl matthew is cranky for obvious reasons. he also keeps texting someone and then checking his phone every fifteen minutes like someone might have texted back and he missed it. brady is 👀👀👀

post-wcf. matthew is just like. actively miserable. some of it is figuring out his future but maybe there's an evening where they're sitting outside and matthew gets three beers deep and brady says something like, why are you such a fucking sad sack, and matthew huffs and tears the wrapper off his beer bottle and tips his head back and is like, there was this - but it doesn't matter, she doesn't want to talk to me, and when brady pushes a little matthew shuts down because he can't reveal a secret but also he is clearly heartbroken. they deal with this in the way of tkachuk men, which is more beer and brady giving him a hug that matthew puts up token resistance to

the summer: brady proposes! matthew gets himself traded! he does seem less miserable after that. though there is one moment where he comes back from taking a call and the look on his face is just - it's way too sad for someone who just got what he wanted. brady, in a rare moment of restraint, doesn't push it.

AND THEN: rob thomas' party. the second brady sees matthew see leon, he puts it together, and he’s so what the fuck about it that he leaves them alone so he can go process (call his fiancée and be like emma what the fuck) and then he comes home and matthew comes home and brady is like okay sit down dumbass, full details now. the story comes out. the longer matthew talks the more firmly anti-leon brady becomes. she jerked him around! she ghosted him! and now she's here? just for sex? well fuck that shit

maybe he even says that when they are debriefing (again) over breakfast, and matthew's face kinda - he looks a little blindsided, and then he says something like, i think i--, and when brady is like, what (fully prepared with a whole "you don't need her you can do better" speech), matthew is like, but she didn't really say what she wanted. and at brady's annoyed, confused, unimpressed face, he says, she always says what she wants.

and then three hours later brady gets a text that's like, please be somewhere else for the night, and when he gets back the next day matthew is like, happy and practically whistling and has a hickey an inch big under his jaw.

brady does not say anything in the moment - not when matthew explains both leon's previous presence and her current absence - but he sure is thinking: you fucking idiot, you're just asking to get your heart broken again

when leon comes to stl a few weeks later? brady may not be a natural at passive aggressiveness, but boy is he gonna pick it up fast.

[bitchfitch]

Chapter 4, First/Prev/Next

Vermin's Angel

There was something very wrong with Vincent's Angel. It's been days since he came home, but he is still so weak. The poor thing just slept most of the time and ate less and less with each passing day. Even when Vincent took him into his lap to feed him gently by hand his Angel would wilt back into unconsciousness too quickly for him to ever get a proper portion.

He didn't even fight anymore. No flailing kicks or wild swings of his thin arms, just quiet acceptance of Vincent's fussing over him. Vincent liked that his Angel didn't resist his attempts to lend aid, but that didn't soothe the pit of worry that grew in Vincent's deepest gut. His Angel, dear and precious, was too weak to even tell him what was wrong. Oh how much easier it would all be if he just could.

His Angel tried to speak sometimes, of course, but it was always so muddled by exhaustion that Vincent struggled to make out any word longer than 'yes' or 'no'. It was such a shame that his Angel couldn't speak. Both because it made caring for him that little bit harder but also because he had such a gorgeous voice when he did manage to share it. Sweet and on the higher side of the scale. Like the darling actresses of old in Vincent's favorite movies, or like the music box his great to the fifth grandmother had brought with her into the bunker all those years ago.

Every little sound his Angel made was divinely healing. His content sighs after a meal would put Vincent at ease even through the harshest of anxiety, his off put grumbles when Vincent woke him for a trip to the bath would make his heart flutter in his chest, his happy half moans half whines that fell from his lips when Vincent chased the stiff soreness from his boney joints with gentle hands that felt so clumsy against the fine form beneath them made it so certain in Vincent's mind that all the dreadful loneliness he had faced in this tomb was more than worth it now that he had this blessing as his reward.

"My Angel," Vincent hated his own voice. It was an ugly, crass, garbled thing that had no right to soil the air with its presence, especially not now that his Angel would be subjected to it. Still, he used it because his gracious Angel made those precious almost-words in response. "I think I finally figured out the diagnostic machine."

Vincent bundled his Angel into his arms, careful to not disturb his leg's stump or the blankets wrapped around him. His Angel had gotten so cold to the touch over these days... Vincent could still remember how much like a warm hearth his Angel had felt pressed against him the first time he took him into his embrace. Vincent should have cherished that more when it was happening, but that day was defined by his stupidity already so there was little reason to dwell on yet another facet of it now.

His Angel's stump retained warmth though. It was always fever hot when Vincent checked if the bandages needed changed. That had to be a good sign, right? His Angel's divine power focussed in on where it was needed most.

He rambled to the still air about his trials with the machine while they made their walk. How his reader failed over and over with the faded text of the manual and how the machine's needle had left deep gouges in Vincent's misshapen arms during his experiments. But finally he was confident enough with the awful beast to trust it with his Angel.

Vincent set him on the vinyl seat, positioning him carefully as to insure his comfort and safety in the machine's grip. Anxiety welled in him, the machine was behaving well so far. It's beeps and chimes telling him to do this or that with each part. His Angel's arms were strapped to the machines, the machines cuff like hands placed over the soft skin that covered his Angel's pulsing veins. His Angel was so brave. Not once did he stir or panic. Not once did he worry. His resolve was the only strength Vincent had, if his Angel trusted this machine with his delicate form then Vincent could too.

His Angel trusted him.

The machine droned as it set about taking its readings. Weight, pulse, blood oxygen, every other basic little thing before its motors whirred and the cuffs began their search. Vincent was glad for his blindness, if he could see the ugly mechanical thing touching his precious Angel his resolve would disappear in an instant and he'd hurt them both trying to rescue his beloved.

All he could do was wait, laying on the floor at his Angel's feet with his head resting on his whole thigh. His Angel may have slept constantly, but Vincent had barely slept at all.

The whirring, his Angel's soft breathing and gentle warmth. It pulled him into the embrace of sleep like a lullaby that hadn't been sung since Vincent was a babe.

Consciousness came back slowly. Lino couldn't tell how long it had been since he last woke. The med bay around him was pitch black beyond the single screen illuminated to his side.

The read out for an all in one doctor stared back at him. Its text stuttering in place from some connection having grown loose.

Renal failure, stabilized, further dialysis needed. See guide book to find the recommended schedule.

Severe Overdose, cleared, no further action needed.

Severe Infection, controlled, purge source immediately.

Pain Management Administered.

Lino blinked at the screen. Renal failure, sure, he hasn't taken his meds in days, infection, of course the freak didn't clean his crush wound right, but the overdose irked him.

The days of sleep, and briefest moments of being woken and manipulated like an invalid or child's doll. He faintly remembered his captor saying something about medicine the first time he woke, but with how foggy everything was, that may have been decades ago.

Lino moved to put his hand in his lap and found he was not alone. The man was there, laying silently with his massive head resting on the cushion between Lino's thighs. The light from the screen cast him in sickly silver and let Lino get a look at his face for the first time. The boney jut of a nose was there, as were the bulges of eyes beneath the man's skin, but there were no holes or slits in his grey and mottled skin to give either use. The entire face was on top of a long beastly head, his mouth looking like an awful slash in his throat with his upper jaw being made from his face's chin.

His breathing was loud, like an old air con unit full of debris, but even with sleep. His hair was wild, thick and black with streaks of grey that showed the man's age.

Handsome wasn't a way to describe any part of him, but as he slept he had his appeal. Like an old dog mangled by age, or a noble beast meant to be felled by the hero of the story.

Lino remembered him calling him Angel. Remembered faint prayers whispered between his shoulder blades as the man cleaned him. He remembered the rambling, the endless rambling that never went anywhere but always thanked 'his Angel' for blessing him with his presence.

Lino reached one of his hands, his arm still aching and bruised from the needles that filtered his blood for him, and raked his fingers through the man's hair.

It's clean, and warm from the furnace that was the man's body. Course but straight, unkempt in a way that betrayed how little company the man kept.

Lino sighs. The man rumbles happily in his sleep as his Angel resolves to use every scrap of his misplaced affection to manipulate his way out of this beast's clutches.

Chapter 4, First/Prev/Next

[irastayshome]

I sometimes still imagine you holding me from behind. A warm hug that gets tighter and warmer till I can't resist and turn around and tell you how much I need you. How much you mean to me. I never said that enough to you in the last few years. The daydreaming still happens, though I don't dissociate anymore when it does. I feel it all now. The pain i've caused you, the pain you've caused me, the pain we went through together, and the pain you went through alone. I also feel all that love. The immense need that you fulfilled in me, and I hope that it was the same for you. You probably don't know this, but i've been trying to live.. a little bit more for myself, and not just pretending for the boys. I've started learning BJJ, together with Ibrahim. You remember one of our first few dates? On fort canning hill, when you admitted you had tried to learn BJJ online to have something interesting to teach me on our date, though it was mostly an opportunity for us to be in such close contact. I had never heard of that sport till that point, and thought wow you know martial arts is that why you're so hunky.. Oh sayang. BJJ is good fun, though i'm sure I would be a much better learner back then, 10 yrs ago. My 34 year old body can barely get a hang of where to put which limb and my usual overthinking and poor memory has gotten much worse since you last courted me. One thing hasn't changed though. I am well aware that I'm past my prime and you have nothing to worry about, nor will I even have any space in my life to with the kids and trying to support them. But with that said.. I miss being touched by you. By a living, breathing man who loves me, and desires me. I miss being held - feeling so safe and yet so vulnerable in that desire for you. Each time I go for a class and there aren't any ladies to pair up with, my heart goes into overdrive and I can barely contain myself. I'm all suited up and obviously have no skin contact, or barely, but those visual thoughts of us enter at the most inconvenient and embarrassing moments. Sometimes I feel like I need to isolate myself because I don't trust the emotions that hit and at times pour out of me. What I would do to have one more of those moments with you. I know we'll be together again someday, but seeing as how I'm the bigger sinner amongst us two, you'd have to wait quite awhile. I've got a lot of atoning to do. I hope you've been hearing our doas, especially Ibrahim's. Idris is getting there, slowly, but steadily. For now, i'm so.. so.. tired sayang. The hole in their young hearts is still raw and bleeding, more obviously so for Ibrahim. I keep trying to find a way to plug it, but there is no use.. it is the price we pay for loving you. and the three of us have gone through so much in a bubble that only us 3 can understand.

Also to catch you up on what you missed out on...

Nyayi passed away.. it was the final week of my iddah period for you. I got the news over a text after I sent the kids to school, and I broke down in waterway point. A security guard tried consoling me, but I could not breathe because I needed you there. You weren't there. I know you had a say in sending a stranger, a nice lady, my way. She made sure I was alright before I headed off to break the news to the kids. Nyayi looked peaceful, and I was happy for her for she got the death she wanted in her room, on the bed that you and I used to sleep on too. Ibrahim insisted on watching her burial, but I hadn't anticipated how much it would have affected him. That was the start of him experiencing some severe anxieties. We're working through that now, with every conversation, hug, therapy and lots of sun and exercise.

We took Idris on his first trip overseas.. it was Australia. The place Ibrahim had doa for us to go to once you got better from your last surgery, which you didn't. You should have seen the look on his face right before he boarded the plane. He never hides any emotions and it would have warmed your heart to see how excited he was.

I went back to work. I guess this is no surprise, and you'd probably have expected me to, but it was hard. I left after 6 months, right before I was confirmed. Im back to square one now, or worse, because I can't figure this part out with the kids still needing quite a bit of attention. Send me a sign if you can somehow, because oh i am lost and frankly don't know who to talk to about it other than a paid therapist, and I know how much you'd hate that.

Ibrahim has done his sunnat, and yes he screamed afterwards and was terrified, but he soldiered on and i'm so proud of him on your behalf too.

Ibrahim is now in primary 1, and he's a class monitor! haha. Yes I had my reservations, but his teacher said he's doing so well, and not surprisingly she's astonished by the "rare level of maturity" she saw in him.

Your brother got married. Ibrahim went, but I must apologize that I just could not go. I tried, but the thought of looking your mother in the eye, and not knowing what I can or cannot say with your relatives after the drama on the day you passed is just too much. I wish I could say that Ibrahim had a good reunion with your mum too, but I guess im still glad he doesn't know what went on behind the scenes and that he still felt your brothers' love for him.

Honestly, the last few nights, or weeks, have been strangely hard. I find myself at this crossroad again to figure out what's my next step, and the only person that I can think of who can talk me through it is you. Was you.

and I finally did it. I cleaned out your closet, took out that bag of clothes from the hospital, inhaled thinking it would still smell like you. It didnt.. it smelled like moth balls. and I let it all come out of me.. the anger that you're not here anymore, the guilt that I could have done or said more to save you, the desperation of wanting nothing more than to you see you walking through that door and hold me as I cried into your superman jacket. I never wanted anything so badly as I did in that moment.

Well, that's it from me for now. Just please do me a favour..

"If you get there before I do, Don't give up on me. I'll meet you when my chores are through, I don't know how long i'll be.. But i'm not gonna let you down. Darling wait and see.. and between now and then till I see you again i'll be loving you... Love me."

Ya, u can laugh if u want. But I know you appreciate that, you closet romantic.

[positivlyfocused]

A Practical Example Of How Thoughts Create Life Experience

Editors note: Many links in this post connect to my other blog, The Transamorous Network, where I offer Positively Focused material, oriented to the transgender community. This story also describes an experience a Transamorous network client experienced recently. It’s being shared here due to its revelatory nature.

Often clients offer great examples of how our thoughts create our reality. That happened just today (at the time of writing this).

This client’s experience also shows how faithfully our beliefs play out in our behaviors. In the behavior of others too. Even so, these often are invisible to us. Because we can’t see them, we can’t do anything about them. So having them show up in our reality is the best way to figure out what our beliefs are.

“Reality” includes our own behaviors. So in addition to how we feel and what we think, another great way of discovering beliefs creating our reality is by looking at how we act. And how people act toward us.

By doing that, we can deliberately create paths to everything we want, with very little effort on our part. This is the basis from which I work with clients. On the way to getting all they want, clients become empowered. They also become happy. This client is a perfect example.

Let’s take a look at the wonderful experience she offered.

Creating her dating reality as she goes

My client is using the Positively Focused practice to improve her dating life, among other things. Recently she stopped using online dating. I don’t encourage anyone to use online dating. Here’s why.

Besides, it’s just more fun meeting your perfect match through serendipity. 

Anyway, the client, who I’ll call Sarah, now has several men she’s seeing. Most of them are casual. And a few of them involve actually going out on dates. That’s great because Sarah, who is transgender, has very strong beliefs about men not being willing to take her out. But because she’s changed those beliefs, men now take her out. Go figure!

One guy I’ll call Cleo, wants to take Sarah out. But he’s scared. He still resists his trans-attraction. So, he’ll text Sarah, telling her he wants to see her. Or text her about taking her out. Sarah likes getting these messages. But it irks her that he won’t followup. She wants him to take her out. He doesn’t though.

I explained to Sarah that Cleo represents a stepping stone along the path to the relationship she ultimately wants and will have. I also said the more she focuses on positive aspects of what Cleo offers, the more she becomes a match to that relationship she ultimately wants.

Sarah’s working on this. Some days she’s better than others. But what happened in today’s session was instructive. First some more context.

A relationship to beat all relationships

Sarah loves a man she really wants to be with. She and this guy, I’ll call Paul, have talked on and off for years. Paul really likes Sarah. But he too fears his trans-attraction. Yet he keeps coming back to Sarah. Sarah really wants to be with Paul. I assure her constantly she can be with Paul and will be. Once she becomes fully a match to him and vice versa.

But beliefs Sarah keeps active about relationships, about Paul and about herself keep her from becoming a match. I am working with Sarah to identify and soothe these beliefs.

One belief she has is, if she told Paul about her dating experiences, Paul will get angry at her and cut her off. Even though Paul has consistently told Sarah she should date other people. I told Sarah she should share what she does with these other men. Not to manipulate Paul, but, instead to authentically express what she’s doing. Which is something Paul already encouraged her to do. Paul would appreciate knowing she took his advice, I said. 

So Sarah really wants to be with Paul. Paul likes Sarah a lot and wants that too. But both keep beliefs active that keep the two apart. And Sarah won’t communicate authentically with Paul because she’s afraid she’ll lose him.

Ok, that’s the context. Now, back to Cleo. Keep in mind what you just read. See if you can put the pieces together about beliefs and how they created the reality you’re about to read before I explain it in the section after this next one.

Perfect manifestation played in real time

One day Cleo texted her. He complained that a lot of older cis-women were coming on to him. He said he had lots of opportunity to fuck these women. But he didn’t know what he wanted to do. Sarah told him he should enjoy these women. He should have sex with them, she said, if he wants to and thinks he will enjoy it.

The more a person can enjoy life, the more life will yield to them what they want. That’s the general rule of the Positively Focused approach. So I applauded Sarah for telling Cleo this. It’s also spot-on guidance.

A couple days later, Cleo texted Sarah. He shared news that he did actually follow Sarah’s advice. He said he had a great time doing it. Remember, Sarah encouraged Cleo to have sex with these women.

Here’s what happened next, in Sarah’s own words:

“After he told me,” she said. “I got mad. Then I picked a big, giant fight with him. He got really angry with me. Then he stopped talking to me.”

Can you see what happened here? It’s a perfect manifestation of Sarah’s beliefs about Paul and her playing out, in real time, in her behavior, and Cleo’s!

The evidence: plain as day

Sarah is playing out her belief about being authentic with Paul, with Cleo. Here Cleo is, doing what I suggest Sarah could do with Paul. Cleo is telling Sarah authentically what’s happening in his life. Notice how Sarah first responds to his authentic sharing. She’s empathetic. She offers really good advice: do what pleases you.

But then, when Cleo takes Sarah’s advice, Sarah gets pissed. We could replace Cleo with Sarah in this example, and Sarah with Paul. Doing that, we can see how Sarah is creating a reality revealing her beliefs about Paul and her. They’re playing out in perfect view for all to see.

If I tell Paul what I’m doing with these other men, he’ll get mad and stop talking with me. That’s Sarah’s belief about her relationship with Paul. And that belief has Sarah feeling fear. Even so, when Cleo does what Sarah’s afraid to do with Paul, at first, Sarah is compassionate. She offers great advice. But when he follows it, Sarah gets mad and picks a fight – exactly what she’s afraid Paul will do if she shares authentically what she’s up to.

What’s interesting though is the combination of realities playing out. At first Sarah is interested and compassionate. This tells Sarah that Paul would be interested and compassionate should she communicate authentically to him. But her fear dominates her behavior as a manifestation. So she gets mad at Cleo after first being interested and compassionate. That tells her she will match a version of Paul who equally gets mad. Unless she changes her beliefs.

The evidence here is as plain as day. It’s playing itself out in Sarah’s reality. Both in Cleo’s actions and her behavior too. 

Power and leverage unveiled

This is the kind of thing we uncover in Positively Focused sessions. It’s the gold daily life contains about everything we want to know. Everything that will get us all the love we want. Or all the money we want. Or whatever else we want. Definitely all the happiness we can handle. And then some.

As we can see, physical reality is very sophisticated. The uninitiated have a hard time figuring all this out. That’s because we have a literal constellation of beliefs creating our ongoing, unfolding reality. A reality that includes behaviors of others. Others we create as specific versions for ourselves. As well as our own behaviors. Behaviors we’re often blind to.

All of this gives us clues about our inner-understanding. Our inner world constantly projects outward. It creates our realities all day, every day. Which is why a Positively Focused practice offers so much value. Through the practice, clients learn how to read the clues.

Just because we can’t see all this doesn’t mean it’s not happening. It is happening. And when a person starts seeing life through this lens, they come into incredible power and leverage. Power and leverage allowing one to deliberately create any reality they want. Including one in which anyone can enjoy anything they want.

Maybe you’re ready to get your hands on that power and leverage. Send me a note. Let’s get you started.

[heleneea]

You were everything I had ever wanted. You were perfect. Exactly the way you were. Everything was perfect with us...except the timing. We could never get the timing right. We met on Tinder, of all places, and you were in an opened relationship. Except I didn't know that part. We didn't start out honest. But the connection was unparalleled. When we met 3 years ago Jan '20, it felt exactly like it felt now. Conversation flowed easily, you were so compassionate and understanding, and we had so much fun doing nothing. Time got away from us easily and I was always sad that you had to leave. Things were going well and I wanted to lock things in. You said you only wanted casual. That you had slept with others during our time together. It broke me. My friend said you were in your prime fuckboy years so of course you'd want to fuck around. Who was I to lock you down? So I got over you by getting under someone else. And then another someone else. And I realized that if I'm going to fuck around, I might as well have you on the back burner. At least I would get a piece of the pie that I wanted. So I chased you back. And things went back to what was seemingly "normal" for a while.

Then COVID hit. I remember calling you out of boredom and talking to you for 4 hours. Then you offered to come over. You stayed for 3 days. It was perfect. I had all of your attention. We didn't have a care in the world. We didn't need to go out. You made me eggs every morning and fucked me every night. Until it wasn't. Five days later you suggested we never see each other again. I imagine you were honest with her in the opened relationship and told her what had happened. I also imagine that she got insanely jealous. I know I would. So you sent that message to me and you were so cold. You said you wanted to do right by your person. I read in between the lines. I didn't know you were in an opened relationship but you talked about your “ex” and how you were still talking. I knew she was the one person I couldn’t compete with. You have history. You made a commitment to her. Who was I? Nobody. I still wished you the best. I told you if you could conquer the demons in your closet, you would go far. Now, knowing the full picture, the timing made more sense. How you asked to stop seeing me after a seemingly perfect 3 days.

I had trouble letting you go. I started drunk dialing you. You said you got chewed out for that. But eventually, you started responding to me. I guess you had trouble letting me go too. You told me you had gone back to school. I was so happy for you. I always knew you could do it. Later, you said you didn’t tell anyone because you didn’t want to get their hopes up in case you dropped out again. You started texting me when she went out of town. Sometimes the timing worked out and I saw you. It was only twice because I felt so guilty. You couldn’t get away often. It was once in Nov ‘20 and another time in March ‘21. I told you I couldn’t do it anymore.

We went into the second year of COVID.

Over a year later you texted me again. It was July ‘22. You broke up. I knew I couldn’t resist you so I met up with you. We caught up. You told me how you finished your bachelor’s (finally) and got a big boy job at a bank. You were making real money finally and were able to help your parents. So many problems could be solved with money you had said. It was so nice to see you again. It seemed that you had conquered the demons like I knew you would. It was so familiar and easy to pick up where we left off. You had grown so much. But then I found out you had just broken up the day before you texted me. She was still living with you. What does that mean if your first thought went to me after you broke up? Am I a rebound? It was too fresh. I didn’t plan on talking to you after. It was for closure. I thought that would be the last time. You later told me that it took you a year to break up with her. You had been telling her to move our for months but she made no motions to even look at apartments. You gave her a 6 month deadline. And then another 6 months. Until finally, you just broke up with her and awkwardly lived with her. Until she left. Looking back at our timeline, that’s about the time that told you I couldn’t do it anymore. I tell myself not to romanticize and get caught up with all of this confirmation bias to make myself feel better. But the timeline aligns with this story.

It took her 3 months to move out. I didn’t wait for you. I started dating someone else seriously. You told me how happy you were for me because that had been what I had always wanted. You said we were friends. How does it feel to be on the other side?

March ‘23 I text you. My ex threw me against the wall. And my first thought after breaking up was also you. Now I’m actually using you as rebound. My last relationship wasn’t easy. We had a lot of problems and it gave me a bit of trauma. You were nothing short of understanding, sweet, and compassionate, like always. You slide back into my life.

So many things are different this time around. No more secret girlfriend but I still have this lingering feeling I’m doing something wrong. We need to address the scars left from the past. But we don’t. I’m not in the right headspace after my breakup. So we went back to what it was before. He comes to my apartment, we eat and fuck. But this time, it’s different. We start staying up until 3AM talking. The connection is becoming emotional. You tell me about your first kiss with a girl who was bi and dumped you for a girl. You tell me about your first time with a girl who had a boyfriend and what happened when he found out. You tell me about your first love who went to Europe and you were an emotional mess for even though you never formally got together. You tell me about the girl who you trauma bonded with but then it fizzled out when you both started to feel more. She was also significantly older. You tell me about the first time you said I love you to the girl who cheated and promised yourself the next time you would mean it. You tell me about your ex and how long it took you to break up. How uncomfortable it was for you to live with her in your parents house and constantly feeling like a guest.

I’m still overthinking. Every weekend you unplug from the world and ignore all your responsibilities, including me. It leaves me feel unfulfilled. Past insecurities come out and I start thinking you’re busy with someone else. We both have trips and I don’t see you before. Even though I’m in no position to ask for anything, I don’t feel like a priority. I start to feel like your job is your priority. You work so hard and so much. You don’t have work life balance. Your life is consumed by work. You’re unable to see me as much as we both would like. You don’t text me that much either and I’m not reassured.

Three months in, I decide to take a little trip with you. Feelings are starting to deepen. I want to show you what my life is like on the weekends. To show you what your life could look like with me. To see how you interact in a group setting. To see how we handle it. It was amazing. You held my hand the whole time, never leaving my side. You made sure I was safe and that I had a good time even though I brought you on the trip. Even though we hadn’t said it, you made me feel loved. I could really feel like you cared. In the way that you held me, the way you kissed me, the way you never let me reach for my wallet, the way you thanked me when I was finally able to pay for something, the way you never complained when I asked you to take my picture. So many things that clicked.

I took all this time together on the trip as an opportunity to address some things. I feel like you have questionable morals. It prevents me from moving forward with you. You tell me about your open relationship. The jealousy. From both sides. I finally find out the whole story. You are honest and answer all my questions. She never did find out about those two times. You tell me that you’re not ready to get into another relationship. It doesn’t make sense to me. You seemed ready when you texted me a year ago when you first broke up. I’ve been very clear about what I wanted the past 3 years. You even said you felt bad you weren’t the one to give that to me because you took too long. And now, when we are finally both single, you say you’re not ready? Then… why did we go through all this? Why are we here? Is it no longer fun if there’s no shame? You say it’s not me. You have mentioned feeling like you’re behind in your career due to your delayed graduation. You’re so focused on that promotion. I get it. Some guys have a financial clock that must be fulfilled before they can think about anything else. You said you want to be able to provide. But I don’t need you to provide. I just want your company, your touch, and your compassion. I don’t need all the bells and whistles. I don’t need all the glitter. I just want to be with you. Why can’t we make it happen? You’ve hurt me so many times already. I’ve moved on from you so many times before. I thought this was it- our opportunity to be together. Looking back, it definitely wasn’t. I was using you. We didn’t address any of the past until now. We didn’t set up for success. We went back to old habits.

I tell you that it’s not exactly fair to me. We are already acting like a couple. Being with you prevents me from being with someone else and looking for someone who can give me what I want. You’re not ready but I am. My clock is ticking. I already own 2 properties. I have the $100k you’re trying to get in your 401. You say no one is more proud of me than I am. You tell me I’m H motherfucking Y. You’re not only not intimidated by my success but you are proud of it. I tell you how much you’ve changed in the last 3 years but you point out my accomplishments as well. You suggest that we never see each other again. It hurts more than anything. But we both know this is for the best. You say you could take years to get to where you need to be. You are finally single but you are not available still emotionally. You need all your ducks in a row before you can commit to anything. You have financial insecurity. To the outsider, you make double the median income and you’re doing so well. Most people in their 30’s feel like they’re still not where they need to be in their career. Life takes so many unplanned twists and turns which delay us getting to our goal. Your path is not as behind as you think. But it doesn’t matter what reality is. You say your emotions fight with your logic. You’re so scared. Scare to move out and into the real world. I wish I could have been there for you. To conquer the world together. To see you become the man you’re destined to be. You have so much potential and I know you’re destined for greatness but you don’t see it at all. I see that you have a lot of emotional work to do before you’re ready for anything. It’s not me. But it still hurts. You tell me what a catch I am and how I’d be an amazing wife. You make it worse. You tell me how patient I am with you. You say how you noticed that my kindness is infectious to others. You notice things that I never thought about. How can something so warm and loving be ending? This is not the direction that I thought we would be heading. I thought I would have a boyfriend at the end of this trip. Instead, we break up. We spent hours crying at my doorway. You tell me to do better than you. “Please do better than me” you repeat with tears in your eyes.

Why is timing always a problem with us? Are we just not meant to be? Were you put into my life to show me what love should feel like? You were the best part of every relationship I ever had. You were not afraid to attach to me. You were nurturing and reassuring. You were so clean. I could see us living the domestic life together. You did so many dishes. You were tall and handsome. You spoke another language and patiently answered my questions. You were so smart. We had debates but they were we politely disagreed with each other. Things never escalated. We never fought. I didn’t know that could exist. We communicated. We listened. Why does it have to end? I take the opportunity to tell you that I love you. That I fell for you. In case we never see each other again. I’m no longer afraid to say it first. To not have it said back. I do not have trouble aligning logic with my emotions.

You’ll always be someone who I look positively back on. You’ll become the ruler of what a relationship should feel like. I know I don’t always date the right people and I’m not always treated right. It kills me not to message you every day. I pray that you’ll come back. I’ll live my life but I’ll keep a spot opened for you, just in case. I keep telling myself that you’ll reach out again, if history repeats itself like it has. You’ll have your promotion and fancy apartment in Manhattan. It’ll be along the 7 line so I only be a train ride away. You’ll finally have that king size bed that your feet don’t hang off of. I’ll wait for you for as long as I can. Some friends suggested I take a break from dating. I’ve been going through too many whirlwind of emotions in the past year. I need to dial down my dopamine filled life. There’s a few things I should work on as well. Maybe this will be for the best for the both of us. I know that when you reach out again, you’ll be fully ready. You said the next relationship that you get into, it’ll be for marriage. This hadn’t been the path I expected but I don’t care what it takes as long as we get to the shared destination together. No matter what happens, I know a piece of my heart will always belong to you. I love you.