#try as he might he is just like her: cold

[milla-frenchy]

Close-up

8k7 | Joel Miller x fem reader | ao3 | masterlist Summary: Joel receives a script that takes him back to the memories of your love story. He realizes that out of protective instinct after the break up, he has not been honest neither with his own feelings nor with you Warnings: 18+ mdni. ex lovers reunited, angst, mostly Joel pov, Joel can act cold out of defence mechanism, he has trouble accepting his own feelings, pining, slow burn, pet names (sweetheart, baby), semi public sex, just the tip, soft!joel, oral (f), piv, creampie. Pic for mood only, reader has no specific physical descriptions. 

a/n:  this is written for @jolapeno 's dear-uary challenge (prompt here) thank you for this challenge Jo, and it was such a cool prompt 😍😍😍 Thank you @aurorawritestoescape for beta-ing and for reading this one soooo many times 🥹😘💕 @/saradika-graphics for the dividers 🙏

I sent you a script, tell me what you think tell me more just read it, trust me

The informal messages between Joel and his agent, Will, were usual. They had known each other for a long time, they were friends, and Will had always found him perfect roles. 

So as always, Joel trusted him- even though the first page of the script, delivered to him by a courier, was not completely filled, making him wonder why. 

In the evening he put his cup on the coffee table, and lay down on the sofa, a soft light lamp behind his head. With his back leaning against the cushions, shirt, jeans, bare feet. Always the same ritual, always the same setup, when he was about to read a new script.

He started reading it, taking a sip of coffee from time to time, until his heart leapt in his chest as he got to a particular scene. 

He closed it and took a moment before rereading the first page, with the name left blank. 

It could only be you. 

That was the only explanation for getting a script without the name of the author on it. And there was no way the scene he had just read, so familiar, so intimate, could be coincidental. Or could be written by anyone else. He grabbed his phone and sent a message to his agent, unable to contain his annoyance.

that’s fucked up, Will

*Will calling*

“Yeah,” he grumbled as he picked up, without even trying to hide his feelings, then he got up to pace the room.

“Look, I know what you’re thinking, Joel. But she’s a great writer and actress, you know it. We’ve been looking for a good drama movie for a long time. This one’s perfect.”

“It’s… damn, Will, it’s our story, ok? Or a part of it, I don't know. Anyway I can’t play this. Can’t play me.”

“Joel, listen to me and think about it. No one would know. And it can be therapeutic.”

“Thera… jesus, you gotta be fucking kidding me.”

Joel sighed as he hung up and threw his phone on the couch. 

Why the fuck would Will do something so stupid and inconsiderate, giving him a script from you? 

At the beginning of his career, his agent sent him one project for a movie in which you were expected to play too. Joel confessed that you two had been together, and added “you don’t bring her up. Ever,” to end the conversation. So Will never did. 

Until today.

He sat back down on the sofa, resting his forehead on his fist, resisting the urge to throw the cup of coffee across the room. He was surprised by his own reaction, his nervousness. His anger. Barely able to control his emotions, he felt so weak, like his heart was about to tear in two again, swallowing him whole. He was affected, years later, as if it happened yesterday.

So, sure, a long time ago he asked Will not to talk about you anymore. But they might have been  friends, his agent might have known about you, but he didn’t know the details. Didn’t know how profoundly the break up had hurt Joel, how much you had gotten under his skin, back then.

And in Will's defense, it wasn't like you never saw each other again, at parties or ceremonies, under Will’s gaze who thought that it wasn't that bad, after all. It was years after your separation, now having the job that both of you dreamed about, talked about, sweaty young adults in a messy bed where he had just made you come.

Will wasn't aware that it was actually that bad. 

Because he didn’t know the way Joel looked at you, when you were together. He didn't know how sweet and caring Joel was with you. He didn’t know how much he loved wrapping his arms around you, and having you curl up against him. 

He didn’t know how Joel used to hold you firmly against the mattress, hands on your hips, lapping at your cunt to make you come again. Because he always wanted more, always wanted to give you more.

He didn’t know that pushing his cock in you was the sweetest, most intense sensation he’d ever felt. Even now, years later, he never felt something like that again.

Will didn't know any of that, had no idea how intense it had been. Because the only thing Joel told him was “you don’t bring her up. Ever.”

The first time you saw each other again, was in a place full of actors, agents, writers and directors.

You couldn't believe he was here, a few steps away from you. Of course, you knew you'd cross paths one day, but suddenly he was closer to you than he had been in years and you felt your heart racing. He was even more handsome than he was back then, if it was even possible. You knew what he looked like, you watched all his movies. In need of his voice, his smile, his gestures, his laugh. In need of him. 

But seeing him for real- not through a screen but in the same room, not some character but Joel, the man you loved more than anyone else, the man you would still call “the love of your life” in your thoughts -, was breathtaking, almost surreal. 

So you approached him, without overthinking it, but as soon as he saw you he gave you a subtle but firm shake of his head. The message was crystal clear - he didn’t want to talk to you, didn’t even want you around. 

It stopped your hesitant steps in their tracks, and the shy smile you had the courage to build instantly disappeared, and your gaze fell to the floor. Trying to control your breathing, to fight back the tears you felt welling up. 

If you had looked up right away, you would have seen guilt sweep through his eyes. But when you finally raised your head, seconds later, he was on the other side of the room. The only thing you could see was his back, which he undoubtedly presented to you deliberately, as if his glare hadn’t been enough to make a point.

All evening, you struggled to keep conversations going, to concentrate, to think of anything other than his dark stare, furrowed brows, and the way he shook his head at you without any hesitation. For years, you had been wondering what he had thought of you, after those years. You just got the most brutal answer to that question. 

The second time, a journalist had done some research and discovered that you attended the same university, graduated the same year. He took the opportunity to bring the subject as Joel was walking by. He probably hadn't seen you amongst all those people, because you were sure he would have gone the other way, otherwise. You didn’t have much choice than to kiss, feigning a friendly closeness that had never existed between you. You had been lovers, then strangers. No in-between. 

His scent, so familiar, invaded your nostrils. He always wore the same perfume, the one you had given him for a birthday. It surprised you but you didn't have much time to think about it, as he ended the hug quickly.

Joel's eyes were shifty when you looked at him, a fake smile plastered on his lips. Which could probably seem real for people who didn't know him, but not for you. Not even years later. You answered the journalist's questions as best as you could, until Joel leaned towards to give you a hug that was as neutral as his eyes on you, cutting off the questions. Then he walked away, leaving you facing the journalist who was delighted with the exclusive material and oblivious to the unspoken scene that had happened in front of him.

Joel thought back to those two evenings, after he’d hung up on Will and before he’d put the script away in a drawer. He needed to regain control of his emotions, and to do that he couldn't continue reading your words, at least for now.

He went to the kitchen for a fresh cup of coffee, and despite him trying, his mind wandered to lazy mornings where he would get up to make two coffees and then come back to the bedroom. He’d put them on the nightstand, before cuddling up to your warm body under the sheets, hearing you moan gently. Sometimes you would fall asleep in one of his shirts, and he loved smelling his scent on you, as if you were marked by him, somehow. It always made him feral, possessive. He didn’t know he had that side in him, until you.

You'd always grab his hand to kiss the tip of his fingers, before sliding them along your folds, feeling his cock harden against your ass and your pussy starting to drool. He would make you come with his digits, his lips against your ear, caged in his arms, then he'd slide his cock between your thighs and your soaked folds, just in time for your last spasms to squeeze his tip. Sometimes he would keep fucking you like that, lying behind you, and sometimes he would roll you on your back, taking his place between your thighs. Until he’d come, grunting, growling, his hair disheveled, and you often fall back asleep, his cock softening inside you, the cups of coffee cold on the nightstand.

He shook his head to think about something else and to resist the urge to take the script out of the drawer. Instead, he took a sleeping pill and went to bed.

The next morning he woke up groggy. He put on a t-shirt and sweatpants, poured himself a cup of coffee, and put aside his good resolutions. He didn’t need the script to think about you, anyway. Time never healed his wounds, he never forgot you or the pain he had felt when you’d left. His thoughts were always hurtful, possessive and raw.

Even years after the break up he couldn’t help but think about you when his wrist fucked his shaft. Even sometimes when he was in a relationship. He hated himself for that but couldn’t help it. He missed your cunt, your hands, everything. But he couldn’t accept the idea that he was simply missing you. 

He always thought that your bodies were made for each other, and you always breathed the same words. He knew you meant it, his cock buried in you, his eyes fixed on yours rolling to the back of your head and his ears filled with your moans, barely able to tell his name.  

Until it was over. 

He knew it could happen, you always told him that you'd have to leave for California one day in hope to live your dream, that you couldn’t do it in Texas. But he brushed it off, not wanting to believe it, not wanting to think about it. He hid it in a corner of his mind, until he had no other choice but to face reality. Until it hit him. That day, he realized that he wouldn’t get to wrap his arms around you for the rest of his life.

He lay down on the couch and started to read. And the more he read the script, the more he realized that you wrote only the moments that had really happened. 

The story, background, was slightly different, probably so that no one could ever make a connection to the two of you. But the moments were real, and it made him dizzy.

You wrote that dance in your small apartment, first for the both of you, that you rented after graduation. You worked as a waitress and Joel was a barista, and you two went to as many castings in Austin as you could, dreaming every day about being actors.

That night you put on some music and danced. He kissed your hand and looked at you. He felt warm. He loved you so much that his heart was aching. He made you spin and you laughed, and it was like a spring breeze in the apartment, filling his lungs with fresh air. When you stopped twirling you brushed his hair and then kissed him. 

The writing was pure and vivid and as he was reading your point of view he felt like his ribcage was suddenly too small to contain his heartbeats.

Over the next two days, he took the script out of the drawer regularly. Slowly touching the paper that already bore the marks of repeated handling, him  lying on his couch, taking his time before opening it. 

He read it all, and the sweetness, the sensitivity with which you described your moments moved him profoundly. The person he had loved, cherished, cradled in his arms, wrote that. 

All the intimacy, the love and care you both felt for each other were there. For several years he made everything to forget the good moments, to focus only on the ending to feed his bitterness, but the fact was that there had been so many beautiful moments. And he could read them, feel them again. Couldn’t deny them anymore.

Your words were so familiar, so true to your love story, that his anger slowly gave some place to something else: nostalgia. Finally allowing himself to miss you and what you two had. He was still wondering why you had written the script and sent it to him, but now he was ready to learn the answer. And he wanted to look you in the eye when he’d ask you this question. But he wasn't sure how he’d behave, when you met. Didn't know if bitterness or nostalgia would fill his heart.

So after two days of silence, Joel picked up his phone and sent Will a message.

Ok, set up a meeting

Because of your busy schedules you could meet only in two weeks. The delay was driving him crazy. 

He made a copy of the script, his copy, which he filled with annotations, dates. Underlining moments or words erased from his mind, out of grief, anger or self-protection.

He got hard several times, while reading some scenes. And sometimes anger would come back to creep into his thoughts, whispering to him that you never should have sent it to him, when your separation had been so painful for him. 

And Will was not the only one Joel said “you don’t…. ever.”

To you, it’d been “If you leave… you don't call me. Ever.”

That morning, as he got used to doing several times a day, he grabbed his copy of the script. He had handled it so much that the sheets were already damaged, some pages peppered with annotations. 

As he was reading, he remembered how you had loved to run your fingers over his jeans when you were watching a movie on your little couch. Playing with him, your hand going higher and higher, just to hear his breathing slow down, just to hear him murmur a needy and low “sweetheart, what are you doing?”, making you smile widely. Knowing that he would manhandle you two seconds later to be under him, pulling your panties to the side and pushing his thick length into you. He remembered the feeling of your breasts against his chest, how you whimpered in his neck while he was fucking you hard and deep. 

He was nervous the morning of the meeting. He took a shower, hoping to get rid of the fatigue and headache from the lack of sleep the night before. He put on a shirt and jeans and grabbed his car keys, put on some music when he started to drive, trying to change his mind, but it didn’t work, he was still anxious. He parked near the building. Once inside he found the meeting room and knocked on the door. He heard you say “come in” and took a deep breath before twisting the handle.

You were alone, sitting in a chair, and he quickly pushed aside the thought of how pretty you were. Joel immediately noticed your hands, pressed together nervously, before you stood up to greet him. He stopped when you walked towards him and your smile faded like that time.

“Wait,” he said, his hand raised in front of him, as he was trying to control his emotions. “I just… Why did you send it to me?” he added without any preamble, his tone harsher than he intended. 

“Oh… ok. Straight to the point, huh?” you said, sitting back down, and removing an imaginary crease on your sleeve, eyes lowered to the desk.

“I never…” you started to say, before stopping and taking a breath. “I think I needed to write our story down.” 

Joel’s sigh stopped you. You tried to keep a low and calm tone, not to show your anxiety. You knew that facing him wouldn't be easy. He had given you a glimpse of his coldness after the situation with that journalist.

“Joel, please, listen to me.” 

You looked at him, and yet you had no idea how his name, escaping your lips, tore his heart apart. He never thought he’d hear it again, and the familiar intonation made him shiver.

“I honestly think it would make a great movie,” you said. “And you must think so too, since you’re here.”

“I don’t know why I’m here, honestly. Except that I want to know why.”

“Would you have preferred to discover it once the movie was out, your role played by someone else?”

His gaze on you, dark and possessive, made you freeze.

“No, I really wouldn’t have appreciated our story, my life, played by someone else, Jesus,” he growled.

He put his hands on his hips, a stance you’d seen him do dozens of times before, searching for words, and then he sat in a chair, pinching the place just above his nose with two fingers. Trying to stop the headache that was threatening to come again. It had started off badly, and he knew it was his fault. He was too stubborn, too cold.

“Who do you have in mind for the female lead?” he asked finally.

“Well… me,” you answered, without lowering your gaze that time.

“You?” 

A part of him, that he thought was gone the day you had left, woke up with a groan. He couldn't imagine the movie being made, you playing... well, you, and him being played by another man. It was unthinkable and made his jealousy and possessiveness stir painfully in his chest.

Unlike you, he hadn't watched your movies. He tried though, when he saw your face on a movie poster for the first time. He went to the cinema, but he walked out of the theater the moment that actor leaned toward you to kiss you. He couldn't stand to see someone kiss you, when he couldn't do it anymore.

“I’m the best person to play this character, aren’t I?” you said softly, interrupting his thoughts. “Just like you’re the best one to play the male lead. Look, I know you’ve been rumored for a role like this for years. I know you’re not opposed to it. So why not?”

“Because it’s not about playing a role here,” he sighed. “It’s playing in front of a camera, things we said, did, years ago. Intimate things that belong to us.”

“I changed some things, no one has to know it’s autobiographical,” you started to say, before he quickly cut you off. 

“I know it is. And so do you.” He walked over to the window to stare at the buildings in front of him. “When you leave someone, you don’t do that. It’s unhealthy,” he said, almost softly. Resigned. He turned to you before adding, “Why stir up something that died years ago?”

He didn't expect to face the sadness that clouded your face, and once again guilt seized him. You were sad, upset, and despite the bitterness he’d been feeling for years, he didn’t want to hurt you.

“Joel… I didn’t leave because I didn’t love you anymore,” you answered, standing up and walking towards him. You stopped a few steps away to respect his boundaries, before you'd see his body stiff. “I left because I had to follow my dream, and it wasn’t working in Texas. And you wanted to stay in Austin, to take care of Tommy. We ended it because a long-distance relationship would have been too painful, because I didn’t want us to be unhappy, barely seeing each other, not being able to feel each other often enough. So I left. And I told you all that. You knew it, you knew why.”

You took a breath, after formulating what was oppressing your heart, waiting for him to answer.

“Playing with feelings is dangerous,” he said in a low voice.

“This isn’t a game, Joel. I'm not playing. I’m sure it would make a great movie. And maybe we need to express all that, even years later.”

“Do you remember what I told you that day? The last day?”

“Of course, I do. You told me not to call you. You told me that if we had to meet again… then it would happen. Well, it's happening, Joel.”

He looked at you, confused, and headed towards the door, brushing past you lightly as he passed. 

Just before leaving, without looking at you, he said in a low voice, “my agent will give you my answer in a few days.” 

Once the door closed behind Joel, you remembered the day you left. 

In tears in your car, your boxes in the back, eyes fixed on the rearview mirror where Joel’s silhouette was getting smaller and smaller. Until you could no longer discern his clenched fists, his stone face. Until he was only a small dot, until he wasn't in your life anymore.

At that moment you were wondering if you had made a mistake. You kept wondering for years. To be honest, you still weren’t sure you made the right choice that day. You followed your dream and succeeded, but it cost you the love of your life.

You didn't know what to think about the meeting. It could have been worse, he could have left after two minutes of being there, you knew it. You could have said more, too, but you didn't want Joel to withdraw more into himself. And for sure, you couldn't have told him that you always thought of him when you were in someone’s else’s arms. That you tried not to let jealousy invade you when you thought of his personal life, knowing that you had no right to be. You gave up on that when you had left.

You knew what he thought, how he reacted. Now he needed time to process everything, and you just had to wait for his agent to contact you. You couldn't do more.

Joel got to his car in a blur. He realized where he was only sitting behind the wheel, too many emotions swirling in his head. Years without seeing you and it had gone by at the speed of light. He blamed himself for being cold, blamed himself for not being cold enough, and he was even more lost than before he saw you. He started to drive, the feeling of having mishandled things weighing more and more on his shoulders.

He took another shower when he got home, as if it could wash off his remorse and regrets, the words exchanged playing over and over in his mind.

“Joel… I didn’t leave because I didn’t love you anymore.”

“I had to follow my dream. You wanted to stay in Austin. To take care of Tommy.”

“You knew it, you knew why.”

Did he really start to believe that the events had happened differently, after you left? Had he really done it, to the point of omitting certain things, because he needed someone to blame, to keep moving forward? 

Had he really been that guy? Blaming you when there was no one to blame, just life and the choices that go with it, that we all have to do?

Had he really denied for years that you had left with a broken heart, too? That he had told you to never call him, after those wonderful years together? He felt like he was waking up with a monstrous hangover, and guilt gripped him. Truth is he let you down, and reality was hitting him hard.

Because you were right, you didn’t leave just like that. He didn’t want to acknowledge it for years, kept sweeping it under the rug, but deep down he didn’t forget it. 

And you were right, he hadn’t been able to prioritize your relationship. Couldn’t prioritize himself either. He had always been protective of his brother, but it reached another level when he came back to Texas after being dismissed. Tommy wasn't the same, and Joel knew that he would have constantly wondered if his brother was okay if he had left for California with you. Worried that he could be in jail after a fight, with no one to bail him out. Or that he could be drunk in an alley, alone, spending the night there. Or worse.

“I can’t leave Tommy here alone, with all his drinking and partying,” he told you, expression determined.

“But you need to think about your future, our future too, Joel,” you replied desperately.

Joel had probably hoped that you wouldn’t have left, that you’d have chosen him, until the end. And you probably hoped the same thing, too. 

Right person, wrong time. Fucking sad, but so banal.

So to forget that he was as responsible for the breakup as much as you were, he let his pain turn into anger, and he never let nostalgia set in, or his feelings show up. 

And everything blew up when you sent him that script and he started reading it. It was impossible to continue to deny the obvious, to keep thinking that his feelings were stronger than yours and that’s why you had left. It was impossible to forget that he had told you, “If you leave… you don't call me. Ever.” That he was the one who had cut everything off, once and for all. To protect himself, of course. But still.

So once you were gone, he did what he had to do, he took care of Tommy. Except that he started going to bars with him, at night. Drinking less than him, but still way too much. He took sleeping pills when he was obsessed with your absence, tired of squeezing your pillow way too tight in his fist, his jaw clenched with anger. He moved to a new neighborhood because he couldn't stand living in that apartment anymore where everything reminded him of you. 

When they were children and then teenagers, Joel and Tommy’s father taught them to work with their hands, and it helped them to find jobs on construction sites. And that he finally pulled himself together and helped Tommy the way he had to. It took him months, but he did it, and his parents would be proud of him, of them, if they saw their sons.

He worked hard, kept doing castings when his work allowed it, and eventually it paid off, even if it took time.

He thought about it all, and realized he needed to see you again before deciding on the movie. Needed to behave normally, to let go of his mask. So he asked his agent your number, then texted you:

it’s Joel. Are you still in LA?  I have some questions about the script can we meet again?  I am. When do you wanna meet? tomorrow night, my place? I’ll cook Sure!

He took a deep breath as he sent you his address. He let his emotions take over on purpose, to dispel the bitter taste in his mouth since you saw each other. Now he had to trust them.

The next day he started to cook during the afternoon, the dish that he hoped was still one of your favorite. He knowingly chose to invite you over to his place, to keep his mind occupied at least while he was busy in the kitchen. 

Once the dish was in the oven, he did a running session on his treadmill and showered. 

Anything to keep his mind busy.

You arrived right on time, a bottle of wine in hand.

“You still like the white?” you asked.

He did. Some things never changed.

As you approached the kitchen it smelled so good that you stopped there.

“Still one of your favorite meals?” he asked.

It was. 

You tried not to show that you were moved. Acts of service had always been his way of showing that he cared, and you weren’t expecting that when you showed up.

You sat down on a high stool in the kitchen and he opened the bottle of wine. You had a few sips, silently. Neither of you really knew what to say, at first. Then everything set into place, naturally, instinctively. A little shyly at first, bringing up things from your respective pasts, or present. You asked him how Tommy was doing, and he told you he was fine, that he was engaged to a woman named Maria and that they were going to be parents soon. You were happy for Tommy, sincerely. You had always liked him.

Joel was trying to act normally, to not pay too much attention to the ease with which you were chatting. How easily he opened up to you, telling you about his years in Austin, then his first ones in LA. His first roles, his doubts.

He was glancing at your hands when you weren’t looking at him. At your hair. 

He loved to see your eyes shine when you were talking about something that was important to you.

But above all, he loved to see them sparkle the first time he made you smile, that evening. It hit him, how much he missed it. Making you smile. 

His emotions were so familiar that his heart was beating a little too fast, like a horse freed from its reins.

And suddenly he wondered how he had been able to spend so many years without you by his side, when you had always been his sunshine, liberating his grumpy, reserved nature. 

A part of his brain told him that he was smiling a little too much, but he felt more alive during those moments with you than he hadn’t been in so long. 

Whether in a relationship or not.

And then he felt the atmosphere change, felt that you got nervous, an impression confirmed when you began to scratch your thumb. A habit that dated back years ago, and he'd always take you in his arms, kiss your thumb and tell you that he was there and that everything would be okay. Today, for the first time he couldn’t do all that.

“Are you ok?” he nevertheless allowed himself to ask.

“Yeah, it’s just… listen, I know you wanted to ask me about the script, but ehm... there’s something you need to know.” You took a deep breath before adding “there won’t be any movie if you don’t want to do it. If you’re not comfortable with it. I’m not saying this to put pressure on you, it's just… I just want you to know that your choice is completely free. I don’t want you to feel like you have to do it, for whatever bad reason.”

“I appreciate that you’re telling me this, thank you,” he said, in a tone you couldn’t quite define, half defeated, half tender. “Listen, I wanted to apologize.”

“For what, Joel?” you asked questioningly.

“Yesterday. I didn’t really know how to handle all of it. Honestly, I’ve been overwhelmed by a lot of emotions since I read the script. Including anger.” He didn't expect to tell you that, but the need was too much to bear. He needed to make things right.

“I know. I expected it to be complicated, after our two previous meetings,” you said, without animosity or bitterness. Just being factual.

He raised his eyebrows, as if to apologize, before continuing. “I wanted to apologize for that too. My attitude.”

“That’s your way of handling things, it always has been, I should have known. But I appreciate it too, thanks Joel.”

He nodded, then added “do you think we’ll be able to do it?”

“To do what?”

“Work together. To be coworkers on a movie?”

He saw your eyebrows furrow slightly, as you took the time to think before answering.

“Well… the evening’s going pretty well, right? You haven't shook your head at me yet, to show me the door.”

“Ouch!” he replied exaggeratedly.

“Too soon?” you asked, lips curled into a smile.

“A little,” he laughed.

He enjoyed it, that little moment. You’d had so many of them before. 

“Aren’t you afraid of what might happen?” he wanted to ask. 

“Aren’t you afraid of reliving things, that I’ll fall madly in love with you again and that the scenes we’ll shoot, my acting, will just express the reality of my feelings?” 

But he couldn’t ask you that.

He wanted to ask you if you had sent him the script because you still had feelings for him, but he couldn’t say that either.

“It’ll be a low budget movie. I mean, if we do it,” you said. There’ll be some outdoor scenes but not that many. Not many other actors either. It won’t be a long shoot.”

He nodded and said, “can I give you my answer in a couple of days?”

“Of course,” you smiled. “Thanks for the meal, it was delicious,” you said as you stood up. “You can text me if you have any questions.”

He thanked you and you complimented him on his house as you put your coat back on. His taste hadn’t changed. The rooms were simply decorated. As you walked toward the front door you glanced inside one of the rooms, and saw a table with a wooden sculpture on it.

“Oh my god, Joel? You still do the carving?”

“Oh… well… yeah. I never stopped.”

“Can I?” you asked.

“Sure,” he opened the door and you slipped through the gap, brushing past him lightly as you passed and you had goosebumps at the familiar scent. Still the perfume you had gifted him once. Reassuring. After all these years, instantly, it was there. Enveloping you. 

You approached the table and leaned over a piece he was working on, admiring the figurine that was being carved. A rodeo cowboy on a bucking horse.

“Wow, Joel… you were already very good at this back then, but now it’s incredible. The level of detail is mind-blowing.”

You looked at the shelves, covered with other sculptures. You approached them: bears, deer, wolves, rabbits.

“This is really amazing, you’re so talented. And… Do you still play guitar?”

“Sure,” he answered, nodding at a guitar case. “I usually play in the dining room. My guitars are over there. This one needed a little TLC. I just got it back. It’s… well it’s the one you gave me.”

You looked at him, unable to hide the surprise on your face.

“You kept it?” you asked, trying to hold back your emotions.

“ ‘ course I did.”

You nodded, your throat tight.

“I should go, it’s getting late,” you said. “Tell me about the movie, ok?” You looked at him hesitantly, but when he leaned towards you and wrapped his arms around your torso, your eyes closed at the feeling, so familiar, before you pulled away, told him good night and left.

Driving your car, you replayed the images of the evening in your mind. Of course, you had felt his gaze on you several times during the evening. And sometimes you could see Joel again. Your Joel.

Did he think about you as much as you thought about him? Did he suspect that you had sent him this script in the hope of getting back in touch with him? Did he know how much you missed him, all those years?

You had wondered so many times if he had been thinking about you. You thought about the hug, as comforting as before. You missed him so much.

Two days later, he texted you

“I’m in”

He kept looking at his phone after sending the message. The read indicator appeared quickly, then the writing bubble.

“Great, I'm so glad! I’m sure it’s gonna be amazing!!”

He hoped it would be. Hoped it wasn’t a mistake. 

He had to leave LA for several weeks for a shooting, and the organization of the film was put in place.

You sent each other a few messages in the next few days. Then the messages became more and more regular, while remaining purely friendly.

Several months later, the day before the shooting started, he knocked on your trailer to say hello.

You had rehearsed some scenes with the crew, and everything was ready.

The less emotional scenes were shot in the first few days. He didn’t ask for it, but he was glad. Every night he came back to his trailer, played the guitar, and thought about you. 

Seeing you every day was a very strange thing that he had trouble to define. He was happy to see you every day, to see the person you had become. And sad that you were no longer his. Filming these moments with you was like constantly reopening a wound that had never really healed.

That night, he took out the script, and reread the scene planned the next day.

EXT. THEIR APARTMENT -- EVENING He parks downstairs at their apartment, it’s dark. He knows she’s back from a week at her parents’. He’s eager to get home and see her again, he’s missed her. He quickly climbs the outside stairs and unlocks the door. INT. THEIR APARTMENT -- EVENING He puts his keys on the hall cabinet, takes off his jacket and hangs it on the coat rack. We follow him as he walks in the apartment, until he sees her in the doorway of the dining room. He smiles, we see love in their eyes as look at other. HER Hey baby He goes to her, they kiss, he takes her in his arms. She closes her eyes. HIM I missed you, baby. He brushes her cheek with his thumb. HER I missed you too. She takes his hand and leads him to their bedroom.

He stopped reading there, before the next scene, that was the most intimate, the one that made him anxious just to think about.

“I missed you, baby,” he said the line. He brushed your cheek with his thumb, like he had done so many times before. His eyes were fixed in yours. He wondered if he was imagining what he was reading in them.

“I missed you too.”

You took his hand and you headed out of the frame.

“Cut, it was perfect, guys! Go get ready for the next scene.”

He picked up his water bottle and took a sip. He felt dizzy.

You were both wearing underwear and bathrobes. Waiting to shoot the scene.

“Ok guys, you’re ready? Great, let’s go.”

The scene was a close-up of both of your faces during a sex scene, at night. You lay down on the bed first, after taking off your robe. He took off his too and lay down between your thighs.

“Is this ok?” he asked.

“Yeah, it’s ok,” you smiled.

“Action!”

You started to kiss, tongues quickly brushing against each other. His hands cupped your cheeks as he rolled his hips towards you slowly, careful that your crotches wouldn’t touch. 

It was overwhelming to feel you against him, your breasts against his chest, with only your bra between the two of you. It was a whirling moment, to kiss you in such an intimate scene, playing something that you had lived for real before. He groaned and slid his hand to the back of your neck to hold you as close as possible against him.

He felt you shift slightly, turning your hips to face his. He wanted to ask you what you were doing but he couldn’t. He was half hard from the moment he laid against you but now his cock was hard as steel. You pushed your pelvis forward and the tip of his cock nestled at your entrance, pointing against his boxers.

He could feel your wet panties through the fabrics.

“Don’t stop, baby,” you recited your line, and he growled.

He couldn’t believe you would act like that while shooting a scene, couldn't believe you were using him.

He pulled away to look at you and you murmured an unscripted “please.” Eyebrows furrowed, he nodded slightly. His fat head found its way, and his tip pushed your panties in.

It was hot, filthy, forbidden. So unprofessional, but he couldn’t stop. He recognized your moans, and the small team around you probably thought it was perfectly faked, when it was music in his ears. The music he thought he would never hear again. 

Your hands tightened on his biceps as you came. So quickly. He felt your walls squeezing his tip and he almost forgot to move, forgot the script, forgot you were shooting a scene. He pulled out, afraid he would come too, and faked his orgasm, neck tense and veins bulging, your hands caressing his hair at the back of his neck.

You said the next line “I love you, baby. I missed you so much.”

“I love you too,” was his.

“Cut!! That was amazing, great job!!”

There was a pounding on your trailer door as you got out of the shower. You quickly threw on a bathrobe and went to open it.

“What the fuck were you thinking?” he growled.

“Keep your voice low Joel, damn… Come in.”

You closed the door behind him, searching for the right words, pressing your hands together. 

“I, huh…” you stammered.

“No! No, talk to me. Tell me. You can’t… you can’t do that and stay silent.”

“I’m sorry.”

“You’re sorry?” he chuckled.

“Having you so close to me, against me… I couldn’t help myself. I’m sorry. It was overwhelming.”

“Everyone could have seen, what were you thinking?”

“I wasn’t thinking, that’s the point, Joel! And they didn’t see, anyway.”

“Jesus christ you can't do that. You can’t just use me like that.”

“I know, Joel. I know, I’m sorry. It’s just…”

“What?”

You sighed, and that time he didn't try to rush you. You felt him soften, giving you time to find your words.

“I miss you, Joel.”

“No, don't…  Please, don’t say that.”

“I missed you the second I left and it never stopped.”

Hearing the tone of your voice and reading your eyes, this time he had no doubt that you really meant it. And he felt all the tensions in his body relax, as if he were freed from everything that had been oppressing him for years. You approached him slowly, eyes raised to his, and you slid your hand into his, and his large palm gently closed over it. You caressed his cheek with the other, and for a moment he shut his eyes, pressing his face against your hand.

“I miss you,” you said again and he rested his forehead against yours. He gently rubbed his nose against yours, before kissing your lips softly. He heard your breathing hitch for a moment, then you moaned slightly as you pulled away, just to look at him, Joel, not the actor, for the first time in years. He pulled you closer to him and brushed his tongue over your lips, as if asking for permission to push inside. Greedily, you slid yours to his, licking his tongue and lips, until he crashed his mouth against yours. His hands rested on your waist while yours moved up his back, pressing your bodies together. You whined when you felt his hard cock pressed to you.

You pulled away from him again, just to look at his face, and he wanted to pinch himself, just to be sure you were not some dream that would leave him disillusioned and alone when he woke up.

You took his hand and led him to your room.

“Undress me,” you said.

He pulled on the knot of your bathrobe slowly, making the two sides of the garment part, revealing the curve of your breasts that he caressed with his fingertips.

Your chest rose quickly as your eyes were plunged into each other, until he lowered them to your pussy. His heart was beating so fast that for a moment he was afraid it would explode.

He raised his gaze to yours, silently asking if you were okay.

“Yes,” you said. As if you knew he would want to hear it, that a nod wouldn't be enough.

He slipped his hands under the fabric of the robe and slid it down your shoulders. It fell to the floor, leaving you naked. So vulnerable, and yet you were the strongest woman he ever knew, following your dream by leaving for a city where you didn't know anyone. And made your dream come true.

But now you were here, in front of him. So pretty, so sure of yourself, of your desires.

“You’re so beautiful,” he said in a low voice.

He pulled you back, guiding you with his hands on your hips as he kissed you, until the back of your knees touched the bed.

“Lie down, sweetheart,” he said. The nickname was so familiar in his mouth, so normal. You did as he asked, moving back until your head rested on the pillow as he watched you, still standing at the end of the bed. Then he took off his t-shirt, unbuttoned his jeans and got rid of them and his boxers.

“Are you ok?” he asked.

“Yes,” you replied. “Haven't felt better in a long time, actually.”

“Me too,” he added, laying on the bed, his hand caressing your inner thighs that he kissed, then he spread them with his hands.

He ran his thumb over your folds, covering it in your wetness until he reached your clit and gently rolled it under his finger. You moaned, spreading your thighs wider. 

He leaned down, his shoulders taking possession of the space between your thighs, the scent of your arousal filling his nostrils. He licked a long stripe from your drooling hole to your clit, then placed his hands on the inside of your thighs, pressing your knees against the sheets, and you willingly let him do it, your hands sliding into his hair. He pushed his tongue into your cunt, growling against your folds. He never thought he would taste you again and an overwhelming feeling was running through his whole body. You were leaking into his mouth, down his throat and he pressed you against him, greedy for what you were giving him as your hips rolled towards him. His nose brushed perfectly against your clit, like it always did before. You clung to his hair as your moans were getting louder and louder.

"I'm so close, Joel," you murmured, hands lost in his curls. "Please, baby, please." 

“Take what you need, use me, sweetheart.”

“Oh my god, Joel… I’m gonna… I’m coming, fuck!”

He didn't let go of you, leaving his tongue buried in your pussy and his nose against your clit, gripping  your waist with his hands, as if they were in their natural place, your flesh welcoming them.

“Joel…” you whimpered.

“Another one, please, baby. Let me give you another one, ok?”

“I’m not sure if I can… I don’t know if I can,” you panted.

“Lemme try, ok?”

“Ok,” you whispered.

His tongue left your pussy, licking your puffy folds before teasing your swollen clit. His middle finger slid along your folds before he pushed it in you gently, immediately adding a second digit. His fingers pumped into you, making your wetness flow down to the sheets. He kept you pressed against the mattress, as he had done so many times, drunk on your taste and smell. His cock ached but he resisted the urge to grind himself against the bed, afraid of not being able to hold back and come on them.

“I can feel you clench on my fingers, you’re gonna be a good girl and come again for me?” he asked, before swirling his tongue over your clit again. “Thought about it so often,” he added, still pumping your drooling cunt with his thick fingers, then licking and sucking your clit.

“Yes, fuck yes,” you whined, just before you came on his diggits, clit pulsing against his tongue.

He crawled over to you, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, and smashed his lips against yours, your wimpers now disappearing between them.

“I wanna suck your cock, Joel,” you breathed against his lips, but he shook his head. 

“Sweetheart… I'd love it too but I’m gonna come the second you’ll take me in your mouth,” he said. “And I really need to feel you around my cock. All the way this time, not just the tip. You’re ok with that, baby?”

“Of course, need to feel you too.”

“Damn you’re so pretty,” he said, and kissed you.

He grabbed his cock in his hand, the tip leaking, swollen and red, and nestled it at your entrance, pausing there for a moment before thrusting in. 

“Oh fuck…” you whined, making him stop.

“No, no no, don’t stop, I’m ok. Need all of you, please,” you whimpered.

Like years ago, he would give you everything you needed from him. So he didn't stop until he bottomed out. 

“Shit,” he groaned, feeling his balls tightening, ready to explode. He was struggling so hard not to come, but his breath was hitching with every thrust since he felt your pussy around him. 

You kissed, hips rolling towards each other softly and slowly. He loved to feel you around him again, and again he thought that your bodies were made for each other. He was sure of it more than ever. He slid his arms under your shoulders and you licked his neck, right at his pulsating point, then kissed the thin and delicate skin crossed by its veins.

“I won’t last, baby, I’m sorry…” he panted.

You wrapped your legs around his waist, taking him deeper.

“It doesn’t matter, fill me, Joel, please, just like before,” you begged, making him grawl, and he placed his thumb against your clit. It was enough to give you soon another climax and you pulsed around his shaft, digging your fingers into his skin as you came once again. He thrusted in a few times before burying himself, balls deep in your cunt, and shot his cum into your core, filling it to the last drop, his forehead against yours.

“Fuck, sweetheart….”

“I know,” you breathed. “Just like before.” 

For a few minutes both of you were panting loudly, waiting to catch your breath.

Then you caressed his cheek and he kissed you until he pulled away and lay down facing you.

“Come here, baby,” he said, welcoming you against his chest. He wrapped his arms around you, the way he always liked it so much. You stayed like that for a few minutes without talking. He just wanted to feel you against him, to hear you breathe slowly, to feel your skin against his. 

“I should have left with you,” he said suddenly.

You straightened up to look at him then said softly, “hey, no, don’t… Don’t hurt yourself by thinking that. You did what you had to do, and so did I. And we met again, like you said back then,” you added, and kissed him, then curled up in his arms again.

“We did,” he agreed, brushing your hair delicately. “So, that script?” he asked. “Was it to… like… get me back?”

“Of course it was,” you smiled against his torso, and he kissed the top of your head. 

“I’m happy you sent it to me, sweetheart.”

Thank you for reading 🙏

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[checkeredflagggs]

The Story of Us: Chapter 3

pairing: logan sargeant x famous!fem!singer

summary: logan and you have been keeping a secret from everyone but it might be time for it to come out

a/n: while I do my best on most of my works to be race neutral, this one is very very very self indulgent 🤷🏻‍♀️

a/n2: this is part 3 of 4/5, which will be released when they’re finished and I’m using pretty much everything from Taylor Swift

a/n3: I still don’t understand instagram so - no one but those that follow you can see a private accounts comments (even on a public post). Also I still hate twitter so I’ve replaced it with Bluesky.

a/n4: Also timelines? Never heard of them. This is set in 2024 but I’ve moved Miami to before Australia

a/n5: I’m pretending that the race schedule is known more then a year in advance so…

Part 1 Part 2

y/n

liked by charles_leclerc, georgerussell63, logansargeant, landonorris, and 12,284,124 others

y/n: loving the tour, missing the simple days

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user1: never seen someone so fucking pretty

↳user2: absolutely jaw dropping

user3: adding several things to my bucket list

↳user4: same!

↳user5: I just want to add her cloths to my closet

not_oscar: this is gonna cause so much trouble oh my god y/n

↳not_y/n: 😂🤭😂😉

↳not_oscar: i give it minutes before those losers start posting vaguely similar photos…

↳not_logan: no bet dude. It’s gonna happen

alexandrasaintmleux: Tu es aussi magnifique que les œuvres d'art sur les murs. You're just as stunning as the art on the walls.

↳charles_leclerc: Comme tu l'as dit, mon amour. As you said, my love.

↳user6: bringing in reinforcements??

↳user7: well at least it’s not cheating now I guess 😂😂

pierregasly: On ne devrait jamais avoir à porter ses propres sacs pour faire ses courses! One should never have to carry their own bags when shopping!

↳francisca.cgomes: Je t'ai bien appris. I’ve taught you well.

↳user8: oh boy the desperation…

georgerussell63: what’s you current read? I’ve been looking for some recommendations!

↳user9: How Not to Flirt with Someone Not your Girlfriend and Dumbassery 101

↳user10: 😂😂

alex_albon: do you offer horse riding lessons?

↳user11: don’t…don’t you own a horse???

↳user12: I think the drivers have passed from desperate into just being sad…

landonorris: visiting New York soon — any suggestions?

↳user13: getting a life maybe?

georgerussell63

liked by carmenmmundt, alex_albon, lilymhe, and 1,283,123 others

georgerussell63: Love those London days

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user14: …so this is blatant y/n bait right?

↳user15: absolutely!

↳user16: I think my favorite part of the season so far is how fucking stupid these drivers turn in the face of y/n…

↳user17: it has been funny to watch

oscarpiastri: why are you posting London photos? We’re in Japan?

↳georgerussell63: its call a photo dump Oscar

↳oscarpiastri: I think it’s actually called stupidity…

↳not_logan: 😂😂 please continue to call them out

↳not_oscar: well someone has to and it’s obviously not gonna be you…

↳not_y/n: not yet at least…

↳not_logan: the next part of your plan??

↳not_y/n: 🤭

↳not_oscar: you mean to tell me you actually have a plan for this madness?!???

user18: call him out Oscar!

↳user19: fighting for his best friend really…

user20: you can tell these aren’t recent because it’s still FUCK ASS cold in London right now

↳user21: oh my god I didn’t even notice that…🤣🤣

sargeantnation

liked by not_y/n, user, user, and 834,244 others

sargeantnation: not the weekend that Logan wanted but boy did he look good while he was there

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user22: made it further than his teammate did…

↳user23: barely

user24: you’ll get it next week Logan!

user25: did you see the look on vowles’ face??

↳user26: he definitely need acting lessons

↳user25: right? Like dude can you try and act like you actually like both of your drivers?

↳user26: I fear for Logan…it took so long for his contract renewal and vowles all but said he would have gone with someone else if they were an option…

↳user25: do not even speak that into existence!!!

user27: such a let down after last week…

↳user28: not everyone is max verstappen!

↳user27: going from a podium to last place though…

↳user26: and remember how lackluster vowles congratulations were for it??

↳user25: 😬😬😬 not. good.

Private Messages

pierregasly

liked by charles_leclerc, francisca.cgomes, user2 and 1,928,223 others

pierregasly: Missing those summer days and beach dates 🩷

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user29: hmmmm…not liking this

↳user30: the blatant attempt to shoot his shot at y/n completely overlooking his gorgeous girlfriend? liked by francisca.cgomes

↳user29: yeah that 😂

oscarpiastri: this is…not it

↳pierregasly: you’re supposed to be Norris’ problem — not mine

↳oscarpiastri: I’ll be everyone’s problem

↳user31: show them how it’s done Oscar!

charles_leclerc: enjoying that sunset? 🌅

↳pierregasly: enjoying the company more 🩷

↳user32: hopefully it’s Kika!

y/n_nation

liked by carlossainz55, alexandrasaintmleux, iamrebeccad, and 11,124,135 others

y/n_gossip: Weeks into her tour, y/n has brought out multiple new outfits for her highly talked about Eras tour. Here’s a carousel of some our favorites!

view all comments

iamrebeccad: she could be a model…

↳carlossainz55: ¡Sabrías hermosa! You would know beautiful!

↳user33: girl go back to your actual boyfriend and leave y/n alone 😭😭

user34: is this a safe space? Can I say something?

↳user35: do it regardless

↳user34: I’m starting to believe user19…

↳user19: HAHA

↳user35: you summoned them

↳user34: brb putting on my clown hat 🤡

alexandrasaintmleux: Des couleurs si magnifiques ! Sur un magnifique modèle 💕 Such gorgeous colors! On a gorgeous model 💕

↳charles_leclerc: Presque aussi magnifique que toi. Almost as stunning as you.

↳user36: …👎🏻

user19: i have more proof for you people if that’s something that you need

↳user53: how??? Neither of them have posted anything even vaguely related to them being in a relationship

↳user19: after all this time you still doubt me??

↳user53: of course not but really?

↳user37: I’m gonna start my own crazy train — you guys are dating

↳user19: I’m gonna block you

↳user37: MORE PROOF

charles_leclerc

liked by alexandrasaintmleux, pierregasly, user, and 2,145,924 others

charles_leclerc: I’m laughing on the car ride home with you ♥️

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user38: oh so now we’re blatantly quoting y/n’s songs now?

↳user39: well she’s been ignoring her apparently many boyfriends 😂

alexandrasaintmleux: Toujours, mon amour Always, my love

↳user40: girl he’s trying to cheat on you

this comment has been deleted

↳user41: anyone else catch that?

↳user40: 😑😑😑

oscarpiastri: oh it’s so good you and Alex are taking time together

↳not_y/n: thank you for your service 🫡

↳not_oscar: I expect something for this

↳not_y/n: summer break with me and Logan?

↳not_oscar: sure

↳user42: thank you king for your continued service

alex_albon: going shirtless? For free?

↳charles_leclerc: anything for the fans

↳alex_albon: is that what we’re calling it nowadays?

↳logansargeant: 😂😂

user43: user19 can you give us more proof please

↳user19: I WOULD LOVE TO

↳user53: please stop screaming

Bluesky

logansargeant

liked by not_y/n, georgerussell63, oscarpiastri, and 1,284,923 others

logansargeant: a full heart and a full living room

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user44: I need more photos of boyfriend Logan in my life

↳user48: I just need Logan as a boyfriend

not_y/n: 🥰🥰🥰 I love you so much Logan

↳not_logan: I love you too. More then I can ever say

oscarpiastri: thanks for the sleeping place

↳logansargeant: it’s always open for you

↳user19: ☝🏻☝🏻 LOVER CODED

alex_albon: when am I gonna get an introduction?

↳logansargeant: soon I promise — but she has a plan

↳alex_albon: can’t argue with that I guess 😂

↳logansargeant: oh I never argue with her…

↳user53: user19 they have a plan???

↳user19: well she’s a mastermind liked by logansargeant

user49: THATS NEW YORK, PARIS, LONDON

↳user19: I TOLF YOJ

↳user19: Welcome to New York, Paris, London Boy, and Lover! All in one post!

iamrebeccad

liked by carlossainz55, alexandrasaintmleux, francisca.cgomes, and 2,334,235 others

iamrebeccad: race dates and date dates 🩶

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carlossainz55: Chicas impresionantes! Stunning girls!

↳iamrebeccad: thank you my love

↳user50: 🤮

this comment has been deleted

user51: user12 was right…it didn’t take long at all for the wags to jump on the y/n train…

↳user12: ok but I am seeing a vision

↳user52: is the vision a Carlos-y/n-rebecca threesome? liked by carlossainz55, iamrebeccad

↳user12: yes it is

alexandrasaintmleux: lunch tomorrow?

↳iamrebeccad: sorry plans tomorrow! Day after?

↳alexandrasaintmleux: plans or plans 😂

↳iamrebeccad: plans

y/n_gossip

liked by logansargeant, landonorris, carlossainz55, and 18,234,023 others

y/n_gossip: y/n and y/n_nation has been posting videos and teasers of these vaults — thoughts?

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user54: music video?

user55: merchandise? It’s been awhile since they’ve dropped anything new!

maxverstappen1: new music?

↳user56: car boy I know you’re used to being fast but we don’t demand new music around here

↳user57: we’re gonna have put together a pamphlet on how to act aren’t we…

↳user58: not a bad idea actually…

not_oscar: why do you keep doing this y/n???

↳not_y/n: sorry not sorry 😂

↳not_lilyz: ohhh new music??

↳not_y/n: yes!

↳not_lilyz: oh my god i can’t wait!

↳not_y/n: I’ll send some voice notes for you my love 🩵

alexandrasaintmleux

liked by charles_leclerc, iamrebeccad, user and 1,192,469 others

alexandrasaintmleux: Voir l’art, c’est connaître l’amour. To see art is to know love.

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user59: stunning

↳user60: she really is

↳user61: can charles fight?

user12: user52 ok this or the other?

↳user52: definitely charles-y/n-alex liked by alexandrasaintmleux, charles_leclerc

charles_leclerc: Alors j'ai été béni tous les jours. Then I’ve been blessed everyday

↳user63: i am begging at this point…

↳user64: no I get it 🤤🤤

↳user63: what? Eww no. I’m begging them to realize they’re promoting cheating…

logansargeant

liked by oscarpiastri, alex_albon, williamsracing, and 923,824 others

logansargeant: Not how I expected Australia to go but we preserve — let’s go Alex!

comments have been limited on this post

alex_albon: thanks for the support!

↳logansargeant: of course!

oscarpiastri: mom said to plan on dinner at our place this weekend

↳logansargeant: yum!

y/n

be the first to like

y/n: it’s time to open the vault — and release all the secrets. Tomorrow — 26 new tracks

be the first to comment

Private Messages

Taglist

@anamiad00msday @suns3treading @daniskywalkersolo @awritingtree @justheretoreadthxxs @coral7161 @lost4lyrics @mastermindbaby

[olivialivvy17]

Racing to the beat - Daniel Ricciardo

summary: Daniel gets a new teammate in VCRB, a F2 female championship winner for the 2025 season. What he didn't expect was her to be extremely genz and a kpop fan.

pairing: fem rookie driver!reader x Daniel Ricciardo

AU: Social media!AU and Written!AU

warnings: mentions of anxiety, swearing, use of yn, hate comments, reader is 25.

face claim: Amna Al Qubaisi for professional f1 photos, the rest are from pinterest.

wc: 617

a/n: hii guyss, sorry for a late update. haven't been really inspired to write. I hope you enjoy this part, I'm not the best at writting but I'm trying my best fr. okay love you lots <333

part two <prev.

ynusername posted a story

second story

user8 oh to be rich😔

charles_leclerc you know who to call for a tour

ynusername made a post

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ynusername Alex my favorite tour guide (ily mwah) ❤️

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user9 oh how I love women

user10 a duo we needed so bad😩

alexandrasaintmleux I had a blast! can't wait to see you again 🫶🏻

ynusername love you gf <3

user11 hello my clothes were just on 😔

lilymhe we need to meet up soon!

ynusername omg Lilly, omg omg. yes, yes we have to. omg you're so pretty🫶🏻

lilymhe you're so pretty too! and like such a good driver! ❤️

ynusername ❤️❤️ im freaking out rn❤️❤️

user2 Yn is so real for this😭😭

user1 let's hope they don't media train her 🙏🏻 liked by ynusername

charles_leclerc turns out we won't be only competing for that championship

ynusername I fear Alex is my gf now (I'm joking media manager)

danielricciardo going out with Alexandra before me? I might be heartbroken💔

ynusername noooooooo I promise we'll hang out before the first race, I just need to settle in Monaco rn

danielricciardo I'm holding you to that mate

ynusername yes sir🫡

user8 I might have a new favorite duo

ynusername posted a story

user12 you ARE in fact on my rob list

user13 we need an album collection asap girl

olliebearman I miss listening to your broken Korean singing 😭

danielricciardo that Seventeen group has some good songs

ynusername see I told you! I'm glad you're liking my recommendations

second story

visacashapprb boss said we might need to start media training you

ynusername nooo boss i promise I'll behave. I promise🙏🏻

user14 so real diva

user15 HAHAHAHA I LOVE YOU ALREADY

bestfriend I love my strong woman🤤

ynusername all for you wife 🤞🏻

16.03.2025. Australia, Melbourne

“Get your shit together” you said to yourself in the mirror. Standing in the RB  garage bathroom, gripping the sink with all your strength while trying to tame the boiling anxiety coursing through your body. It's officially the first race day and all the fears and doubts came crashing down on you. It’s normal to be nervous on the first day, you said to yourself, but is it normal to be physically nauseous? Probably not, but here we are. “You can do this Yn, you know what you're capable of” you keep repeating out loud like a mantra, hoping it will stop the burning and sinking feeling in your stomach.

A voice calling out your name snapped you out of the spiraling daze. “Are you in there?” said a voice you recognize as your race engineer. “Yeah, give me a second i'll be out” you shout from the other side of the door. Receiving a ‘Okay’ from them as you turn on the faucet and put your clammy hands under the cold water. Urgently splashing your face, hoping to bring you out the anxiety induced haze. Straightening up, you dab the moisture off your face and discard the paper towel. Fixing your tied back hair and the race suit that's zipped up to your hips. With a more of a shaky chuckle, you flash thumbs up to yourself in the mirror and whisper “You got this girl” before unlocking the bathroom door and stepping out to the bustling and roaring garage.

Walking back to your side of the garage, you spot Daniel speaking to one of your engineers. “There you are” spoke the familiar Aussie accent as you two made eye contact, seeing his infectious smile only made the corner of your lips twitch upwards. “How are you feeling, everything okay?” said Daniel as you approached the screens where he's standing. With a nervous chuckle, you spoke “Honestly, anxiety is gnawing at my insides, but I've pep talked myself in the mirror so hopefully I won't spiral completely” as you shifted your gaze from the screen to him. The Aussie had a soft and understanding expression on his face as he reassured you in a comforting tone “You're gonna be just fine, trust me” as he placed his hand on your shoulder “I know how you feel and that's completely valid. Nerves mean you care—use them. Trust your prep, feel the car, and have fun. The first race is unforgettable. You’ve got this, you're a good driver and you know it.”. The way his tone was sincere and caring and that warm smile and the grounding hand on your shoulder made the burning pit in your stomach slightly fade away. With more confidence in your stance, and that smile finally appearing on your face, you thanked him “Thank you for saying that, you don't how much it means to me. I promise to give it my best and not let the fear swallow me whole,” you end the sentence with a soft chuckle. With a chuckle of his own, his arms wrapped around your shoulders as he pulled you in a reassuring and warm embrace, patting your back gently. Your hands instinctively found their way onto his upper back, mimicking his patting motion.

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visacashapprb First race of the season comes to an end! Ricciardo P6, Yn/Ln P8. What a duo!

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user16 YN IS WHAT PLACE ?

user2 ATEEEEEEEEE🙂‍↕️

ynusername i totally wasn't singing that one song by 2ne1 (iykyk)

user17 rb better upgrade that car, cuz my girl can place so much higher

user18 for a rookie, she's good

f1 Yn slayed on that track!

user7 not admin trying to use slang😭

danielricciardo Amazing first race Yn!

ynusername couldn't do it without my great teammate🥹

[sporadicallyanenthusiast]

First of all, let me just thank you for taking the time to explain all of these points! There were many contexts here I didn't know about and it helps make more sense of the story! So thank you so much ❤️

And the thing about Ancient Greek and color is really fascinating! Kudos to the people that first began translating the ancient texts, because oh boy! Hahaha @mari--lace also mentioned in the replies how it is not a consensus on Athena's eye color either. I've only ever heard about the "wine colored sea" point, but never had the thought to dig deeper and learn more. I am definitely going to change that hahaha There are so many interesting things to learn, no wonder so many scientists have been studying the topic for centuries.

I'll have to admit, our poor Menelaus really did suffer a lot, dear Gods. Since my first contact with him was through the Odyssey and some fandom posts, sometimes I forget Agamemnon was his brother. And yes, as much as he loved Odysseus, learning about your brother's death like that can't be easy to digest. And the timeline of how long he stayed shipwrecked was a little fuzzy to me, so it makes sense that after 7 years, his memory would be hazy! I see what you mean when you refer to it as a vision/dream now. I didn't know Aegisthus had them exiled either, so that definitely adds even another layer to the hell Menelaus' life was at that time! We talk so much about Odysseus' hardships, but oh my, poor Mene didn't catch a break either, I'm appalled 😰 I have yet to wrap my mind around the fact the the poems were supposed to be performed out loud as well. A lot of the narrative choices make way more sense when you remember that, it's not just a regular book. I suppose that is why some things sound jarring when you read it for the first time.

And yes! Oh my, I never thought the texts would be so expressive and so warm, you know? We tend to have this idea that people from different times were too cold and distant, but they were still human at the end of the day. Of course they'd be affectionate to the ones they loved! And to be honest, it reminds me of when I read Sherlock Holmes for the first time. It really caught me by surprise how Sherlock and Watson were described and how they talked about each other in such a loving way. I don't know when we stopped writing platonic relationships so beautifully like that, but it truly is a loss to modern literature, in my humble opinion.

And I had no idea about Odysseus' own prophecy! I did know he tried to avoid going to war, but I just assumed it was because he had a newborn son and wanted to be there for Penelope. In that scenario, it really is fair to point out Menelaus trying to warn them wouldn't change much. On that note, Athena herself also told Telemachus Odysseus was alive and he didn't believe her, the Wisdom Goddess hahaha I hadn't thought about that before, but it really does illustrate how hopeless all of them were. If Telemachus didn't believe Athena, you're right, he wouldn't really care about Menelaus' letter either.

I knew about the law of Xenia, so I assumed that was the only reason stopping them from sending the suitors away. I admit I was a tad bit confused why Telemachus didn't force the suitors to leave once he outright had Athena's and Zeus' blessing, so your explanation really helped me make sense of everything!

It's such a nice and sweet detail to have Telemachus and Odysseus going through their journeys at the same time (Telemachus' first journey and Odysseus' last journey, even!), only to meet again at home and taking back control of their palace together. Maybe I teared up a bit, can't deny nor confirm hahahahaha

You are still way more knowledgeable on the topic, and your academic background gives a perspective other people might not have. So I think it's fair to call you as such 🥰❤️

Oh, I see! Sorry, I'm a bit too anxious at times and end up worrying too much that I gave the wrong impression or was rude by accident hahaha

This has been a lovely discussion indeed! Once again, thank you so much for being so kind to explain everything, I'll definitely be reading the books with new perspectives and insights!

Telemachus is so much stronger than me for real. Cause if I had traveled for days, by sea AND land, arrived at the palace of my father's friend and my mother's cousin to humbly ask if they know anything about my missing father and instead of just fucking telling me already, this mf started a monologue about how gay he is for my dad and about the time he captured a God that granted him wishes three, I'd already be telling him to Hurry The Fuck Up. IT'S BEEN TEN YEARS, I DON'T HAVE ALL DAY.

But if the same motherfucker then turned around and told me that he had known FOR YEARS NOW that my dad is trapped on an island AND THE MOTHERFUCKER DIDN'T TELL ANYONE!!!! NOT A SINGLE LETTER!!! I would have already strangled Menelaus with that fucking blond hair of his in front of his wife and children, unhelpful son of a bitch.

[whizzing-fizzbee]

Death By A Thousand Freckles

Sebastian Sallow x F!OC Rating: Explicit 18+ (smut, profanity); all characters are 18+ Tags: friends to lovers, mutual pining and sexual tension

Summary: Emilia Bell accidentally sees her best friend and teammate, Sebastian Sallow, clad in only a towel after quidditch practice. Now, all she can think about are all those damn freckles.

Notes: I've been traveling so it might be another week or more before I can update my chapter stories, so I gift you all with this shameless smutty one-shot. This is literally just a handful of drabbles I morphed into one story. Characters are 18-year-old seventh years. Emilia Bell is MC.

Read on AO3 or below the cut.

"If Imelda fell into a pit of dugbogs, I wouldn’t miss her,” Emilia Bell muttered to herself.

The cold rain had chilled her to the bone. Her quidditch robes clung to her skin and her hair was plastered to her face. Thick mud caked her shoes and splattered up her calves until it met her knees. She was the shining example of someone who was sure to catch pneumonia.

It’d been a particularly grueling quidditch practice that evening. The Slytherin versus Gryffindor match was a week away, and would be the last rivalry match of her Hogwarts career. The same could be said for Imelda Reyes, her team captain who was hell-bent on ending her seventh year with the quidditch cup. All their team had to do was beat Gryffindor, and then they’d have a spot in the championship match against Ravenclaw.

Imelda had become more maniacal than ever, scheduling five practices per week in rain or shine. Preventing a goblin rebellion had been more pleasant than this, Emilia decided.

Emilia sat on a bench in the locker room to tend to a particularly nasty scrape she’d received after a collision with one of her fellow Chasers. The impact had stripped her skin raw and she winced as she bandaged it, making a mental note to stop by Professor Sharp’s private potion cupboard before dinner.

The rest of the team trickled in and out of the locker room in a rush to get away from Imelda’s orders for the evening. Emilia took her time, savoring the peaceful silence that accompanied her to the shower without the interruption of her teammates.

The steam was intoxicating as she stepped inside, the hot water pelting her chilled skin until it adjusted to the stark difference in temperature. She closed her eyes and tried to force all thought to melt away, washing it down the drain with the remainder of her day.

She’d stay in there forever if she could, but Ominis Gaunt was counting on her for a study session in the Undercroft after practice. 

Still, she leaned against the wall, the cool tile chilling the skin of her back as she willed herself to relax. It’d be a lot easier said than done if it hadn’t been for her idiot of a best friend.

Emilia thought she was going to make it through one quidditch practice without incident, but on the final round of training drills, a spare bludger got loose and she spent the last 15 minutes of practice trying to reign it in. It, of course, had been Sebastian Sallow’s fault. It always was.

And per usual, Emilia took it upon herself to help him. After nearly three years, she still couldn’t help herself, even if it was his fault because he’d been too busy talking about some book he read to properly secure all the equipment.

So she was the one to watch as Sebastian lunged at the bludger, forcing it to the ground until the two of them managed to wrestle it into its crate, leaving Emilia muddy, wet and bruised. It certainly wasn’t the first time Sebastian Sallow’s actions had left her in such a state.

She sighed to herself, scrubbing away the dirt and grime as if it would also rinse her clean of the filthy thoughts that plagued her head. And, like usual, Sebastian was to blame for those too.

Of course, he didn’t know she’d suppressed the urge to tackle him into that mud and straddle him. He didn’t know that the chill of the rain wasn’t the only reason for the shivers that coursed down her back. He didn’t know her quidditch uniform wasn’t the only thing that was soaking wet.

He didn’t know she was hopelessly in love with him. No one did.

So when the sight of Sebastian covered in mud made their teammates flinch in disgust, Emilia leaned in closer. She helped him secure that stupid bludger and smirked. He thought it was because she was teasing him for his incompetence. He had no idea she was eyeing the way his wet uniform adhered to the skin of his toned torso. 

She had to exhale slowly, the heat of her body rising at no fault of the hot water and steam. But it was too late. Those shameful thoughts of Sebastian and his tight, drenched clothing were embedded, snaking into the deepest caverns of her brain.

Her hand immediately snapped to her core, two fingers sinking inside. She chewed at her bottom lip as they dipped deeper, pressing into the spongy spot of flesh that made her breath hitch. But it wasn’t quick enough. Her fingers were dissatisfactory compared to the fantasy that clung to her senses. 

She wanted Sebastian and all the features only he could provide; that mop of messy hair that she wanted nothing more than to pull; that arrogant smirk that she wanted pressed against her neck; those tiny freckles that she wanted to count, one-by-one, until she’d examined every inch of his skin. 

She was too impatient, too desperate and needy to prolong her fantasy. So instead her fingers swiped against her clit, pressing and pulling, begging for release.

Finally, her nerves complied, the familiar swell of tingling cresting within her until it broke, sending her cunt into a sharp shudder that made her whimper in an attempt to be discreet.

When it was over, she rested her head back against the wall, the water washing away her secret little sin, but not the dastardly thoughts of her best friend.

She sighed and finished her shower, the water faucet creaking to a halt before she wrapped a towel around herself. The scent of her vanilla soap lingered through the steam. The locker room was quiet, all of her teammates gone in search of dinner.

She exited the row of girls’ showers to the locker room, where her clothes were stashed away. With no one else around, she could dress comfortably rather than in the cramped confines of the damp showers.

Except she wasn’t alone. She froze at the sight of those familiar shoulders, broad and peppered in freckles that would outshine any constellation in the night skies. The temptation to reach out and touch them was suffocating. Like Emilia, he was wrapped in nothing but a towel, though he bore much more skin than her.

“Sebastian,” she breathed, praying her tone wasn’t betraying her.

He turned and smirked when his gaze fell on her. She stood, shivering in her towel, water still clinging to her skin in droplets with her wet hair slicked back.

“Didn’t realize anyone else was still here,” Sebastian said. She barely heard him. She was too focused on looking anywhere but the waistline where his towel hung tantalizingly low.

“Had to take some extra time in the shower,” she croaked as nonchalantly as her voice would allow. Sebastian raised an eyebrow at her and her cheeks flushed. “Because of all that mud, thanks to you,” she added quickly.

Sebastian laughed through his nose. “Right. Sorry about that.”

“No, you’re not.”

“You’re right, I’m not.” Sebastian frowned as he eyed the bandage on her forearm. “Was that from your collision with Jennings?”

“It’s fine,” Emilia said dismissively. “Just a shallow scrape.”

“He’s an idiot,” Sebastian muttered. He took a step closer to Emilia, reaching for her forearm to examine the bandages she had charmed to repel the shower water. “Keep a close eye on that,” Sebastian murmured. “Don’t want it to get infected.”

Emilia snorted. “Seb, I’ve suffered much, much worse,” she laughed softly. “Remember that Ashwinder in Cragcroftshire?”

“Just making sure,” Sebastian said simply, his hand maintaining its gentle grip on her wrist. His thumb rubbed gentle circles over her forearm as he searched her eyes, as if he was trying to confirm she was genuinely all right. It made Emilia shudder.

“I’m sure I’ll recover from a little collision,” she said as Sebastian released her arm.

“Yes, yes, I know, the hero of Hogwarts,” he sighed, his lips curving in a teasing smirk. 

He clearly hadn’t showered yet. There was a swipe of mud across his right cheek and his legs were covered in it. His messy hair was wet from the rain and his cheeks were red from the chilly air.

She had never been more attracted to him.

But as his gaze lingered on her, still clutching her towel for dear life, she wanted nothing more than to sink into the earth. She was too bare, too naked, too vulnerable. She was certain Sebastian didn’t see her in that way, anyway. Nearly three years of closeness, of sharing all their secrets, thoughts and fears, and he had never so much as held her hand.

But he also had told her he needed her – couldn’t live without her, as he so kindly put it one day after they’d had a particularly nasty disagreement. She was his rock, his glue, his beating heart. She had Sebastian Sallow in every way except the one she wanted.

“If you stick around, I’ll walk you back to the castle after I shower,” Sebastian said, his eyes still on her.

Stick around? Merlin. If she stuck around, she was certain she’d end up embarrassing herself. Fainting in a towel in the middle of the quidditch locker room in front of Sebastian would be worse than losing any duel or falling asleep during class.

Still, Emilia’s thoughts inched closer to that fine line, teetering toward those maddening images of all the things she and Sebastian could do while alone in that locker room. Two towels, tossed haphazardly on the floor; skin pressed into the tile walls, the grout lines leaving divots in their flesh; the sounds of their moans echoing off the walls, drowned out by the rain outside.

But she didn’t want to wait for him. She wanted to join him.

He was going to be the death of her. Her heart hammered inside her chest and her palms began to sweat. Her body was betraying her. She needed to get out of that locker room sooner than later.

“I’ve got to get back,” she said as steadily as she could manage. “I’m already late for a study session with Ominis. You know how he is about punctuality.”

Sebastian tutted. “Another time then.”

And then she watched those broad shoulders turn and retreat toward the boys’ showers, each freckle growing smaller and more out of reach.

What she didn’t know was that Sebastian had to commit a similar act of sin in the showers the moment he was out of sight.

---

Emilia spent two days obsessing over what Sebastian had meant.

“Another time then?”

Another time for what? Surely she had simply misconstrued the context of it all, especially considering Sebastian behaved completely normal after that. 

She chalked it up to a simple slip of the tongue. She went about her days, teasing and laughing with her best friend like she hadn’t had to touch herself to the thought of him in the shower. It wasn’t the first time she’d fantasized over him and it certainly wouldn’t be the last – not when amortentia was the topic of the day’s Potions class.

Emilia was relieved to be paired with Ominis, but glanced around the classroom nervously. Sebastian had been paired with Imelda.

Emilia smelled leather and cinnamon in her amortentia potion immediately; leather because of Sebastian’s favorite chair in the Slytherin Common Room, where he’d often sit and read before bed; cinnamon for the way he took his tea each morning – with more cinnamon than most people could stand.

“What do you smell?” Ominis asked her as they put the final touches on their potion.

She pursed her lips, unsure how to answer. If she declined, surely someone would deduce that the source of her favorite scent was in the classroom. If she answered honestly, Ominis would surely know who she was referring to.

“I smell… leather and citrus,” she half lied. “And just a touch of something sweet. Pear, I think.”

Ominis appeared deep in thought as he considered her words, and she was grateful he couldn’t see the way her cheeks were flushed.

“What do you smell?” she finally asked. 

“Honey and hay,” Ominis answered. Emilia smiled to herself. He had just described Poppy Sweeting.

“Hay, you say,” Emilia mused. “Like someone who might spend quite a bit of time around creatures.”

Ominis scowled at her implications. Emilia had spent months trying to coax him to admit his feelings for her petite Hufflepuff friend. But Ominis remained silent on the matter, though she was certain the pair would be a perfect match.

“Maybe you should spend a little more time hanging around the Beasts classroom,” Emilia suggested with a soft smile. “Since you enjoy the scent of honey and hay so much.”

“Maybe you should keep your mouth shut about this unless you want me to rethink my stance on Unforgivable Curses,” Ominous hummed. Emilia cracked her bubblegum in delight.

“Oi, what if all I smell is the quidditch pitch?” they overheard Imelda ask.

Emilia snorted. “How typical,” she muttered.

“Sallow here won’t tell me what he smells!” Imelda continued. “I reckon it’s something embarrassing like sweaty socks.”

“Why the fuck would I enjoy sweaty socks?” Sebastian retorted. Emilia shot him an amused glance, to which he rolled his eyes. She blew a bubble with her gum and shook her head before returning her attention to her own potion.

But instead of stirring her brew, her focus was whisked away by more provocative daydreams. What did Sebastian smell in his amortentia? Which lucky witch was the object of his desires? Did he fantasize over anyone the way Emilia thought of him? Did he long to count the freckles on someone else’s skin?

Sebastian had engaged in his fair share of after-hours activities with Hogwarts’ female population. But he and Emilia rarely discussed their romances, at least not with much earnesty. Emilia herself had only recently ended things with Amit Thakkar after deciding they were better off as friends. She didn’t dare tell anyone that, even when her affections were supposed to belong to someone else, Sebastian was always her final thought before she fell asleep each night.

She wondered what occurred in Sebastian’s fantasies. Had he ever pictured someone while in the shower, visions of slick skin pressed against skin? Perhaps he was more into public displays, sneaking sinful acts that were hidden in plain view of passerby? Was he more of the dominant type? Surely he was, Emilia decided. Sebastian loved to be in control, a perfect contrast to her desire to be pinned down and put in her place.

A sudden gurgling stole Emilia from her reverie. Her cheeks were hot and she was grateful for the distraction happening on the other side of the classroom.

“Garreth!” Ominis groaned at the familiar sight of Garreth Weasley’s cauldron boiling over. Its contents hissed as they spilled over the brim, splashing over the table and floor.

“Weasley!” Professor Sharp barked. “See me after class, once you’ve cleaned your mess up. Class dismissed.”

Emilia nodded to Ominis and scooped up her books to hurry from the classroom. She didn’t want anyone to see her flushed face or jittery state as she made a beeline to the Slytherin Common Room.

She also didn’t hear Ominis and Sebastian discussing their amortentia potions on the way out.

“What did you smell in yours?” Ominis asked his best friend curiously.

Sebastian’s eyes swept the corridor before he ran a hand through his hair. “Vanilla,” he answered. “Vanilla and bubblegum.”

---

“Ow, Sebastian, you stepped on my foot!” Emilia hissed.

“Whoops, sorry.”

“Sorry? I ought to hex you. You’ve got to be more careful!”

“Yes, mum.”

“Ew, don’t call me that.”

“Yes, dear.”

“Don’t call me that either.”

“Shh! Here they come.”

Emilia and Sebastian were crouched beneath the bleachers of the quidditch pitch, disillusionment charms cast as their eyes peeked through the wooden tiers. Somehow, the pair had drawn the short straw from Imelda and was ordered to spy on the Gryffindor team during practice.

Emilia noted that what they were doing could be considered cheating, to which Sebastian shrugged and Imelda threatened to burn her house down. Not to mention she owed Imelda one for the time her captain covered for her to keep her out of detention. Imelda had only done it so Emilia wouldn’t miss quidditch practice, but Emilia was indebted to her all the same.

“This is ridiculous,” Emilia groaned as she crawled to a spot where she could see the entire pitch while remaining out of view, her disillusionment charm falling. She sat and pulled her knees to her chest as she watched the Gryffindor Chasers toss a quaffle back and forth.

“Could be worse,” Sebastian shrugged as he sat next to her. He fished through his pockets before he brandished a box of Bertie Bott’s Every Flavor Beans. He offered the open container to Emilia, who shook her head and cracked her bubblegum in response.

They watched the Gryffindors start their training drills, the students darting patterns through the air on their broomsticks overhead.

“Think we can beat them?” Sebastian asked.

Emilia tilted her head to look at him pointedly. “I think we can demolish them,” she answered blankly. “They’re bigger than most of us, but we’re faster.”

“They’ll play physical, especially up top,” Sebastian murmured. “We’ll need to keep an eye on you. They’re bound to mark you with double-coverage.”

“Don’t worry about me,” Emilia mused. “I can handle my own.”

“Trust me, I know you can.” 

They fell quiet again, making mental notes as they watched Gryffindor’s tactics. Sebastian’s attention span quickly subsided, his gaze falling closer and closer to the ground until he had clearly become lost in thought. 

Emilia studied him from the corner of her eye. He was wearing a white button-down shirt, the sleeves rolled up and his green tie loosely knotted around his neck. She wanted to grab that tie and pull him in closer. No one would see them. She could crawl into his lap, his hands inching beneath the hem of her skirt over her thighs as she kissed every fucking freckle on his face. As long as they remained quiet, no one would ever know.

She swallowed and forced her gaze to return to the Gryffindors zig-zagging above. 

“Think their Beaters will take a more offensive approach?” Emilia wondered. “If they remain back on defense, I doubt their Chasers will be quick enough to dodge all of us.”

Sebastian nodded in agreement. They watched as Garreth Weasley smacked a bludger through a goal hoop.

“Not to mention Weasley has the attention span of a niffler,” he added. Emilia smirked.

“That too,” she agreed.

“What’s this I hear about Weasley asking you to Hogsmeade, by the way?” Sebastian suddenly asked. Emilia’s head snapped to look at him, her eyes narrowing.

“How’d you hear about that?” she demanded.

“Ominis.”

Emilia hissed a sigh. “Traitor,” she muttered.

“What, you didn’t want me to know Weasley asked you out?”

“I couldn’t care less if you or anyone else knows,” Emilia said. “But it really isn’t anyone’s business. Especially because I turned him down anyway.”

“Why’d you say no?”

“Because I didn’t want to go out with him,” Emilia answered simply.

“You still getting over Thakkar?”

Emilia blinked. “What?” she asked, not bothering to mask her dumbfounded expression. “Amit and I broke up weeks ago.”

“Yeah, but… I mean, are you okay about it now? You’ve seemed alright but you aren’t exactly the type to ask for help,” Sebastian said.

“I’m fine, Seb,” Emilia assured. “It was never that serious with Amit to begin with.”

“Why’d you break up?”

Emilia stirred, unsure why Sebastian was suddenly peppering her with questions about her love life. It wasn’t that she had assumed he didn’t care, but romance wasn’t quite his preferred topic of discussion.

“I don’t know,” Emilia sighed. “Amit’s wonderful. Very kind and romantic, but I’m not sure any of that sickly sweet romance is for me.”

Sebastian blinked at her. “What woman doesn’t want a kind and romantic partner?” he asked, thoroughly confused. “I thought that was all you birds wanted.”

Emilia rolled her eyes. “Don’t be so daft. Sure, I like kindness and romance, but I also like a little assertiveness.” The admission made her cheeks grow rosy and she averted her gaze from him.

“Assertiveness?” Sebastian repeated, his box of candy forgotten beside him. Emilia could feel his eyes drilling into her profile, but she determinedly remained positively enthralled by Gryffindor’s training drills.

“Sebastian,” she warned with a huff.

“No, tell me,” Sebastian pushed. “What do you mean by that?”

Emilia finally dropped her gaze to meet his. Sunlight was peeking through the bleachers, the lines of light casting a spotlight on Sebastian’s freckles. Emilia hugged her knees closer to her chest while she stared at those freckles, as if they carried an explanation that wouldn’t leave her embarrassed beyond ruin. She knew Sebastian would never judge her, but she also didn’t want to reveal the nature of her desires.

After all, Sebastian was the one asserting himself in all her fantasies.

“It means exactly as it sounds,” Emilia said flatly. “Think about it. Amit is a wonderful person but he’s not exactly the type to take charge or take control.”

Sebastian leaned back against a wood post, his arms folded across his chest as the realization dawned on him. “So you like to be dominated,” he murmured.

Emilia fidgeted with the bandage on her arm. “Something like that,” she tried to say casually as she avoided her gaze again.

“Guess that shouldn’t surprise me,” Sebastian hummed.

“What? Why?” Emilia asked sharply, her mouth suddenly going dry as her eyes met his again.

Sebastian shrugged as a bludger whizzed nearby. “Because you’re a control freak in every other aspect of your life,” he replied. “You’re a goddamn hero, for Merlin’s sake. You’ve had the world on your shoulders. You dissect every person dumb enough to duel you. You get top marks in every class. Group projects make your hair curl because you’d rather do everything on your own.”

Emilia blinked. She certainly couldn’t deny any of that. Sebastian knew her better than anyone.

“You’re always in control, Em,” Sebastian continued. “So I guess it makes sense you’d prefer to… let go of some of that control in the bedroom.

“Sebastian!” Emilia hissed. The last thing she wanted to do was talk about her sexual preferences with the one person she wanted to indulge those desires. 

Sebastian chuckled. “It’s rather cute when you’re flustered,” he noted. “Not so in control now, are you?”

Emilia was certain he could hear her heartbeat slamming in her chest, despite the whoosh of broomsticks and batting of bludgers above them. He was right, though. She’d always been the epitome of composure. He was the only person who managed to make her lose her cool. And Merlin, was she hot.

“My sex life is none of your business,” she finally chided. 

“Oh, come on,” Sebastian laughed as he lifted his arms to rest them behind his head, his long legs stretching out. “We need to talk about something interesting while we pretend to give a damn about those Gryffindors.”

“Fine,” Emilia said simply. “What about you? I assume I already know the answer, but enlighten me anyway. Do you prefer to be in control or do you like your women to throw you around for a bit?”

Sebastian smirked, which only made Emilia’s stomach twist into a tighter knot.

“I wouldn’t turn my nose up at either of those scenarios,” he said with an air of smugness. “But if I had to choose, I always prefer to take control.”

Emilia swallowed. She had to be dying from dehydration given how parched she was. It was too bloody hot to be sitting outside, secluded with Sebastian and the topic of sex.

“Just as I figured,” Emilia said, hoping she sounded confident. She wanted so badly to match him, to challenge his arrogance. But she also wanted to be the submissive complement to his dominance. It was a maddening conflict.

“Oh? What makes you take me for the dominant type?”

Emilia snorted. “Oh, come on, Seb,” she said. “Everything about you screams dominant.”

“I like screaming.”

Emilia’s eyes nearly popped out of her head. Was there something in the air that was causing him to speak so flirtatiously? Sure, the pair flirted, teased and joked, but this felt much bolder than anything they’d previously discussed. Sebastian seemed to be pushing her buttons, testing her limits.

“You’re a downright pig,” Emilia said, though her laughing tone and smiling eyes stripped her of all seriousness. Sebastian merely grinned and shrugged a shoulder.

“You’re right, though,” he said. “There’s a lot to be said for the power that comes with taking control.”

“That’s not why you do it, though,” Emilia noted. “At least, it’s not the only reason.”

“Oh? Do tell.”

Emilia rolled her eyes, her sweaty palms tucked beneath her legs as she spoke. “You’re also a very giving person, Seb. You give everything your all. You don’t do anything halfway… Which is why you like to take control. It allows you to ensure your… partner is fully satisfied.”

Sebastian let out a low whistle. “I knew you were perceptive, but now I’m starting to suspect you’re a Legilimens,” he said. “Almost as if you’ve given this quite a bit of thought.”

Oh, if only he knew. The heat in Emilia’s cheeks was surely giving her away.

“You could only be so lucky,” she shot back. 

“Apparently,” Sebastian replied, his eyes glinting with amusement. They fell quiet and Emilia fidgeted with her skirt hem. When Sebastian noticed this, he nudged her gently in the side.

“No need to be so bashful about it, darling,” he said. “It’s just me.”

That was the problem. Emilia wasn’t the type to shy away from much of anything. Few things scared her, or even unsettled her. And even though she and Sebastian knew one another deeper than anyone, he was the one person who could unnerve her without even trying.

“You are distracting me from my scouting,” Emilia said, gesturing toward the quidditch pitch. Sebastian snorted.

“Please,” he drawled. “Like you’re worried about Gryffindor. Just flip your hair at Weasley or something and the game’s over.”

“Flip my hair? Sebastian, that’s awfully sexist of you.”

“Well, it’s true! I’d do it myself but I don’t think I’m Weasley’s type. He’s got it bad for you. Just do that thing where you draw your hair back with your hand and chew on your bottom lip. That’s enough to send anyone into a spiral.”

“ What thing?!”

“Nevermind.”

“No, what the hell are you talking about?” Emilia was sitting straight up, her body turned to face Sebastian with full attention. 

“Forget I said anything.”

“No, tell me right now.” Emilia shoved a hand against his shoulder for emphasis.

“Hey, no need for physical violence!”

“Tell me!”

Sebastian sighed and tilted his head backward, resting it against the post as he peered upward into the bleachers for a moment.

“You do this thing,” he started carefully. “Where you pull your back into a ponytail and hold it in your hand. And then you chew on your bottom lip. You do it when you’re deep in concentration, like your hair in your face is a distraction or something. It’s just very… very alluring.”

Emilia tensed. “Alluring,” she repeated blankly. She didn’t know Sebastian could ever think of her that way. 

Sebastian nodded silently. “Perhaps even a bit provocative.”

Oh, Merlin. They were in for it now. Emilia could feel herself hurtling toward her demise, and Sebastian had been the one to push her from the ledge.

“Provocative,” she whispered.

It was Sebastian’s turn to shift uncomfortably. It was a rare act of vulnerability he couldn’t conceal. He had all but admitted outright to her that he’d envisioned her partaking in racy deeds that surely breached the boundaries of friendship. 

But the way the hem of her skirt had snaked its way above her knees had turned his brain to dust. There wasn’t a single coherent thought behind his eyes as she continued to mull his words over.

He prayed she wouldn’t sense his discomfort; the beads of sweat that had settled along his hairline; the clench of his jaw that made his teeth ache; the stiffening inside his trousers that threatened to ruin everything.

It suddenly dawned on them that their faces were much closer than usual. Sebastian could smell the sweetness of her bubblegum. Emilia could see every freckle with clarity. A few more inches and their lips could solve all their problems.

But the shrill whistle that signaled the end of Gryffindor’s practice made them both jump and sent them scrambling to their feet.

“They’re going to come this way,” Emilia hissed as she recast her disillusionment charm. All thoughts of indulging in any fantasy were abandoned as the pair scurried back toward the castle.

---

The evening before the Slytherin vs. Gryffindor match was met with tension. Imelda had been a downright tyrant during practice, screaming until she was hoarse. The team practiced for three hours in the rain, until Madam Kogawa showed up to bark orders at them to return to the castle.

“There won’t be a match tomorrow if you’ve all got pneumonia!” she scolded.

The remainder of the team showered and scampered back to the castle, eager to rest up for the evening. Emilia remained behind again, sitting quietly lost in thought on the locker room bench.

She wanted to claim her thoughts were focused on the next day’s match. She wished she could chalk it all up to nerves and her determination to win. She longed to be that dedicated to her team and sport.

In reality, her attempts at thinking about quidditch vanished the moment she realized she was alone. Those stupid, calamitous fantasies about those freckles surged through her brain again.

She and Sebastian hadn’t spoken in two days, not since the afternoon under the bleachers. Emilia had managed to avoid him at all costs, even slinking in late to their shared classes so he couldn’t sit by her.

It was all painfully immature, but Emilia had no other option. She was terrified by what her conversation with Sebastian meant – or didn’t mean. Was it shameless, silly flirting? It had to be, right? If Sebastian had ever been interested in her romantically, he would have said something or made a move by now, right?

Emilia was too cowardly to find out. She’d long ago come to terms with the conclusion that she and Sebastian would never venture beyond friendship, but it would splinter her heart to ever hear that confirmation out loud.

She’d rather suffer in silence than ever broach the subject that could dissolve her daydreams forever.

“Don’t tell me you got hurt again.”

Emilia’s head snapped up. “Sebastian,” she breathed. He leaned against an archway, still clad in his quidditch robes like her.

“What are you still doing here?” he asked. “You’ve missed dinner.”

“So have you,” Emilia pointed out.

“I was polishing my broomstick in the storage cupboard.” Emilia straightened in her seat, forcing Sebastian to bark a laugh. “Not like that,” he mused. “Get your mind out of the gutter.”

“You said it, not me,” Emilia mumbled.

Sebastian chuckled and pushed himself off the archway, slowly approaching until he stood in front of her. Her fingers dug into the tops of her knees.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” he said gently as he peered down at her.

“I’ve been busy.”

“Busy scrambling to get away from me.”

“Nonsense,” Emilia said, praying Sebastian hadn’t noticed the way her voice increased by an octave. “Seb, I’ve had a lot going on.”

“Oh? With Eric Northcott?”

“What?”

“I heard he was trying to get you alone in the Potions storeroom yesterday.”

“And you believed that?” Emilia asked incredulously.

“I believe he was trying to get you alone,” Sebastian answered. “Didn’t say anything about thinking you’d actually join him.”

“Good,” Emilia said with indignation. “Because our little… conversation the other day doesn’t mean I’m rabid with lust for every male to walk the halls of Hogwarts.”

“Oh believe me, I know. We all do.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Emilia demanded.

“It means that we’ve all noticed you, but most of us are too terrified of you to do anything about it.”

Emilia narrowed her eyes. “Terrified of me,” she scoffed. “Sebastian, please. I haven’t hexed anyone in the school since last term, and we all know Puffskein Duncan deserved it.”

“Maybe so, but you’re still pretty intimidating,” Sebastian noted.

“How am I possibly intimidating?” Emilia breathed. “Just because I’m powerful with a wand doesn’t mean I’m some bloodthirsty killer.”

“We’re not scared of you because you can kick our arses. We’ve known that for years now,” Sebastian said. “We’re scared of you because you’re too damn beautiful and none of us know how to handle it.”

The air vacated Emilia’s lungs immediately. It made her woozy and she couldn’t help but wonder if she’d slipped into one of her dreams. Perhaps she was sleepwalking, or maybe she’d been the victim of one of Garreth’s concoctions that made the drinker manic. She couldn’t fathom a lucid world where Sebastian Sallow thought she was beautiful. Sure, other boys fancied her dark hair and bright smile, but Sebastian had always appeared immune to her appearance. He never seemed to pay any mind to her softer, feminine side. 

“Sebastian, did you take a bludger to the head?” Emilia asked. “You’re talking crazy.”

He let out a pitchy laugh and sat on the bench next to her, close enough so that their thighs touched.

“You can play coy as much as you want,” he said. “Especially if that’s your thing.”

“My thing?”

Sebastian smirked at her. “You said you like it when someone else takes control in these situations. I’m merely listening to what I’ve learned.”

Emilia’s stomach did somersaults. This couldn’t be happening. She sat, her shoulders tense as her nails pressed tiny divots into her legs. 

“Sebastian,” she rasped. “What are you doing?”

“I’m taking control,” Sebastian said simply. “I’m tired of overhearing all these stupid little rumors about you and Northcott and Weasley. I’m claiming what’s mine.”

“What’s yours?”

“If you’ll have me.”

There were no words. Things like this didn’t happen to Emilia. Her life’s story was marred by tragedy – death, destruction, the fate of the wizarding world left within her hands. Wild, lustful romance was usually reserved for her imagination, far from reality. 

“Sebastian, are you sure? Do you even know what you’re saying? Have you been meddling with dark relics again?” 

Sebastian glowered at her and she couldn’t help but smile. “I know exactly what I’m saying,” he said. “It’s the same thing I’ve wanted to say for nearly three years.”

“What?”

“Come on, Emilia,” Sebastian sighed. “I’m trying to be seductive here.”

Emilia snorted. “Sebastian, this is ridiculous.” His face fell, to Emilia’s horror. “Not because I’m not… interested, but because you don’t need to seduce me.”

“I don’t?”

“No, idiot,” Emilia breathed with a laugh. “You could’ve just straight up told me.”

“Oh. Well I wasn’t sure-”

“Well now you are.”

“I am?”

“Sebastian?”

“Yeah?”

“For once in your life, stop talking. Shut the fuck up and kiss me.”

He obliged. 

Hands grasped hungrily at robes, pants and other articles of clothing as the pair refused to separate their lips. When they finally parted for a breath of air, Sebastian pulled away slightly to smile.

“Bubblegum,” he murmured.

“Huh?”

“Bubblegum. That’s what I smelled in my amortentia. Bubblegum and some sort of vanilla.”

“Oh,” Emilia smiled. “The vanilla is the soap I use in the shower.”

“Ah.”

“Care to see it?”

Within mere moments, Sebastian had her pinned against the wall of one of the girls’ showers. He kissed her hard, his tongue seeking more bubblegum flavor from hers as he peeled away the final bits of clothing that remained over her hips.

“Unreal,” he breathed as his eyes roamed her naked body. “You are so fucking beautiful.”

He stepped closer to her, his bare cock pressing against the flesh of her stomach as he kissed her again. She arched her back off the wall at the sensation, desperate to find out how hard he could get.

Sebastian reached for the faucet as he kept his lips crushed against hers, the hiss of hot water showering them as their fingers familiarized themselves with the other’s flesh.

Emilia reached for his cock but his hand found hers, curling around her wrist. He swept his arm upward, pinning her arm against the tile above her head.

“Didn’t say you could have the privilege of touching me just yet,” he said in her ear. His voice was a low, husky grumble.

They were only getting started and Emilia was already melting beneath the authority Sebastian was asserting. She was never going to be the same after this.

Sebastian pressed a kiss to her neck, drawing a low moan from her. His mouth moved across the ridge of her collar bone to the top of her breasts. 

“I can’t believe anyone was created so perfectly,” he mumbled against the swell of her right breast. He placed another kiss to it before his tongue slipped over her nipple. It made her breath hitch and core quiver.

Sebastian continued his trail of kisses downward as he sank to his own knees in front of her. He planted a kiss just below her belly button, then one on each hip bone before he flashed her a villainous smile. 

He placed one more kiss to the skin just above her slit before his tongue sank inward toward her entrance. It made Emilia gasp with fervor. Sebastian’s tongue glided over her clit, pressing into her folds. A low growl rumbled from his throat as he tasted her arousal.

“Sebastian,” she breathed, her eyes falling shut as his tongue flattened and flicked against her clit. Her hips jutted forward and one hand tangled in his hair.

Sebastian’s hands gripped her thighs as he lapped at her, desperate to know how she sounded when she fell apart.

His mouth engulfed her entire entrance, sucking against her flesh as he savored her taste. Emilia whimpered at the heat that coursed through her. It settled in her nerve endings, searing in the form of a familiar ache Emilia never thought Sebastian would ever relieve.

“Sebastian, I-”

Her words died as Sebastian traced spell patterns across her clit, a trick he’d learned from listening to the older boys during his early Hogwarts days. He drove his tongue harder against her until he could feel her thighs start to quake. They jiggled in his hands and he hummed at the sensation. 

The vibration made Emilia moan, her climax creeping to the surface. She grinded her hips against him, nudging her clit in quick, jerking motions against his tongue. The curtain of tension inside her fell and the swell of ecstasy started. It erupted through the bundle of nerves and made her toes curl as her back arched off the wall, a moan singing through the shower corridor.

She slumped over when it subsided, a fog clouding her thoughts as she recovered. Sebastian sat back on his heels as she caught her breath. 

“My turn,” he said as he stood. He propped himself against the wall with one hand as he leaned in to kiss her. Steam surrounded them as Sebastian’s hands rested on Emilia’s hips.

She melted into his kiss, her head still hazy until Sebastian drew her closer by the waist with a rough pull. He kissed her harder, one hand tangling in her hair until he gave it a sharp tug. Emilia’s head snapped back and he kissed her neck before he guided her away from the wall by the hair.

“I said, my turn,” he said quietly. He pulled his arm downward, forcing Emilia to her knees by her hair. She eyed his erection and reached for it with one hand until Sebastian swatted it away.

“Use your mouth,” he ordered. Emilia obliged. 

She took him into her mouth, her hands resting against his thighs as her head bobbed. Sebastian kept one hand fisted in her hair, pulling it away from her face in a ponytail. He smirked as the visions once confined to his daydreams came to life.

“You’re fucking incredible,” he murmured, his eyes holding affection as he admired the way her lips wrapped around his cock.

When his tip hit the back of her throat, he grunted at the plush warmth. Emilia gurgled around him, holding him in her throat as she nodded her head. When she pulled away, her lips dragged over his shaft, tongue flat against the bottom. The cold, pebbled floor left raw and red dimples over her knees.

She hollowed her cheeks as her lips tightened and pulled repeatedly, the sounds of wet lips sucking against flesh resounding over the shower stalls.

Sebastian drove his hips forward, his cock gliding in and out of her mouth as the movements of her head clashed with his thrusts. When his cock began to twitch, Sebastian yanked her makeshift ponytail backward, her lips separating from his cock with a soft pop.

“Stand up,” he ordered as he released her hair. 

Emilia rose to her feet and he pulled her into a long kiss. His hands explored her front, cupping her breasts until they drifted over the curve of her torso and squeezed her hips. His erection bobbed against her stomach, the hot water leaving him slick.

Sebastian eyed the bar of soap that sat on the tiny shelf of the shower, its scent so familiar and comforting. He swiped it over Emilia’s breasts, leaving a trail of milky vanilla. The sight of the soap suds cascading over her nipples made Sebastian chew at his lip in desire. He rubbed his soapy hands over her body, taking care to touch every inch of skin he possibly could. He watched with admiration as the shower streamed lines down her body, rinsing her clean.

“How are you so fucking perfect?” he murmured.

Sebastian pinned her against the wall again, one hand snaking between her thighs. His fingers dragged lazy lines over her clit, the moisture of her arousal combining with the shower water. 

Emilia was growing impatient. She’d take anything Sebastian was willing to give her, but her focus was on convincing him to fill her with his cock. She whined as he sank a finger inside her, her core swollen from her previous orgasm.

“Sebastian,” she begged. “Please, I need more.”

Sebastian tutted in her ear and curled his finger. “You’re going to have to ask nicer than that, darling.”

“Please,” Emilia rasped. Sebastian’s eyes met hers. They were dark with devilry. 

“No,” he said simply. “Not yet.”

Emilia gnawed on her bottom lip to withhold a scream of frustration. Sebastian added a second finger and pumped his hand hard. His fingers forced themselves against her front wall, plunging into her soft sweet spot. The sounds of water and arousal squelched with every motion, drowning out the tiny whimpers escaping Emilia’s throat.

Sebastian attacked her neck with forceful kisses as her breaths grew heavy and quick. They mounted in tandem with the wave inside her, her walls squeezing Sebastian’s fingers in search of release. Emilia’s hips beckoned it from his fingers, which Sebastian pulled upward at a merciless rate. He could feel her clamping tighter and tighter until her head snapped back and she released, her walls fluttering around his fingers as she cried out.

Sebastian smirked at how spent she looked, flushed and sweaty, her hair plastered to her face as the shower rained over her curves. The sight was so sinful, Sebastian’s cock began to throb.

He reached with one hand to shut the water off. The sound of water hitting the rough floor was replaced with the cool, quiet air of the still room. Emilia shivered. 

Sebastian wrapped her in his arms, pressing his body against hers for warmth. But just as she started to relax into the heat of his skin, he scooped her up, tossing her over his shoulder as he retreated to the locker room. 

“Sebastian!” she laughed, her breasts flattening against his back. “Put me down!” Sebastian smirked at the sight of her ass, hoisted in the air as her legs dangled in front of him.

When they reached the benches at the center of the locker room, Sebastian set Emilia on her feet. 

“I’ve had years to think about all the different ways I’d have you,” he murmured in her ear. “All the ways I’d make you moan. All the ways you’d take my cock. All the ways we’d both come. The possibilities are endless. But since you like me to be in control, I’ve decided there’s nothing I’d like more than to watch you fall apart beneath me. I want to take you on your knees.”

Emilia nodded in silent agreement, her eyes begging him to begin. Sebastian nudged her toward the bench, where she sank to her knees. Sebastian stood behind her and swiped at her entrance with one hand, the familiar warmth coating his fingers. His cock was so hard, it was damn near painful.

He lined himself against her entrance and pushed forward, the tip of his cock slipping into her folds until she stretched around him. He watched with heavy eyelids as her cunt swallowed his shaft until he was fully sheathed. 

He paused for a moment, swallowing at the searing heat surrounding his cock.

“You’re too fucking tight,” he said through gritted teeth. He had no idea how he was meant to last when she was so taut, so warm beneath him, her skin still glistening and wet. It was far more erotic than anything Sebastian could have imagined. His cock was already twitching.

Emilia’s fingers gripped the side of the bench for stability as Sebastian rocked against her, his cock dipping inward until he pulled it back. Emilia held her breath as her core stretched to accommodate him, the increasing friction making her walls clench.

Sebastian reached for her hair again, tugging backward until Emilia moaned. He watched the ridge of her spine curve as her head snapped backward and grunted at the sight.

He leaned forward to cup her breasts, his hips snapping forward in a harsh thrust. It nearly knocked the wind from Emilia. As Sebastian bent forward to press a kiss to the back of her neck, he murmured, “You’ll tell me if it’s too much?”

“It’s not enough,” Emilia breathed.

The atmosphere shifted like changing winds. Sebastian’s final pillar of hesitation and restraint crumbled like weathered concrete at her words. She was more than he’d even dreamed of and right now, she was his.

Sebastian straightened up, his hands gripping Emilia’s hips as he slammed his cock into her with a resounding smack. The rhythm carried throughout the locker room repeatedly as Sebastian grit his teeth so hard, his jaw ached. He didn’t care. Lightning could strike him down or the ground could collapse and swallow him whole at that moment. He’d die happily now that he knew how it felt to have her.

But if he was going to live, he decided he wasn’t going to do so unless he could have her again and again. He wanted the vision of her falling apart beneath him to be the last thing he saw each night, and he wanted the sound of her moans to fill his dreams until he could wake up and do it all over again.

He’d address that later. For now, he was content to simply have her in that moment, trusting him to take care of her and fulfill her. 

The more her arousal coated his cock, the quicker Sebastian thrusted. His cock drove upward into her, driving into her sweet spot. It was rapid and hard, the pressure mounting within Emilia’s core until it felt like her body might ignite from the heat. Each connection of Sebastian’s thighs against Emilia’s ass made her skin ripple, the waves symbolic of the rising tide within her. Finally, the wave broke and she cried his name, her cunt shuddering around his cock. 

“Fucking hell,” Sebastian groaned at the new sensation of her climax flooding around him. The sight of her spent body, now slack with satisfaction, was too much for him.

He pumped hard into her twice more before he let out a shout and his cock jerked and burst inside her. Emilia moaned at the warmth that coated her swollen core until Sebastian slumped over her back, panting breathlessly above her ear.

He didn’t want to separate from her. The warmth of her soft body felt like home to him. But as her arms shook from supporting her weight and the force of his thrusts, Sebastian pulled himself off of her, one arm tucked around her waist to pull her upright with him.

“All right?” he murmured softly in her ear. She nodded silently as she turned to face him, her hair wild and her eyelids heavy. Sebastian couldn’t help but smile at her sinful and disheveled appearance. “Come here,” he said as he pulled her into his arms. “Come sit.”

He guided her onto the bench where they sat, side by side. Sebastian draped an arm around Emilia, who cuddled up against him. Their bodies, still damp from the shower, seeped water onto the bench as they sat quietly.

Sebastian watched Emilia’s eyes fall shut as she rested against him. He pressed a kiss to her temple, his fingers tracing gentle patterns over her arms as he held her. When she opened her eyes again, she smiled softly, her eyes studying his freckles. She couldn’t believe she was able to study them so close, each speckle marking something unique and special.

“Imelda’s going to kill us if she finds out this happened,” Emilia mumbled.

Sebastian breathed a gentle laugh. “If we beat Gryffindor, Imelda will let us do whatever the hell we want,” he said. “She’d probably encourage this.”

“Perhaps we’ll have to do this on the desk in the captain’s office next time,” Emilia suggested.

Sebastian quirked an eyebrow at her. “Next time, huh?”

Emilia flushed. “Perhaps, if you want,” she said slowly. Was she naive for assuming this was meant to happen more than once? It wasn’t like she and Sebastian had spent any time discussing their intentions.

Sebastian laughed and gave her arm a gentle squeeze. “You’re mental if you think I’m letting you do this with anyone else, ever again,” he said.

When they finally gathered themselves up off the bench, they collected their clothes in silence. Sebastian kept his eyes on her the entire time, admiring her curves and their graceful movements once more before they became concealed by her uniform.

The only time he turned his back was to search for his belt. As he did so, Emilia memorized every freckle scattered across his back.

---

Perhaps the Slytherins slightly underestimated their Gryffindor rivals. Slytherin managed to nab a narrow victory over the lions, but not without a grueling fight.

The team gathered in a heap at the center of the quidditch pitch in celebration, the screams and cheers from their housemates ringing throughout the stadium. Sebastian, who was at the bottom of the pile, didn’t realize who was on top of him until he was met with the familiar scent of vanilla and bubblegum.

“Ow, Imelda!” Emilia squawked, well aware that she was facedown on top of Sebastian, who was on his back. “That was my head! Everyone get off, I’m getting crushed!”

“You’re getting crushed?” Sebastian exclaimed from beneath her. “What about me?”

“Sebastian, stop moving,” Emilia ordered. “Sebastian, that was my chest!”

“Oops, my mistake. Didn’t realize.”

“Liar.”

The bodies above them shifted until Sebastian and Emilia were the only ones left. The roar of activity around them faded to a background hum as Emilia remained sprawled on top of him, her face inches above his.

“We fucking won,” Sebastian murmured, dropping his voice so that only she could hear.

“Told you we would.”

“Told you Weasley would get distracted by you.”

He reached up and gently tugged her ponytail before she pressed a kiss to his freckled cheek.

[weirdgenetic-fuckup]

You’re like the best writer of smut here ☺️☺️☺️

Please I’m begging 90s James (can be any era) taking reader’s virginity? But he didn’t know she’s innocent and she thinks after all the groupies he fucked he’d be disappointed in her? But he’s actually super turned on, cause no one touched her and now he gets to ruin her??? So I guess corruption kink, purity kink, dirty talk, size kink (he’s big, we all know that)???

A/n: I've had this conversation with a friend a few times, my idea is that -going off of the picture of James on the record, we all know the one- he's roughly 5-7 inches (8 being a generous amount) because he's holding himself in his hand and there's still some poking out, plus he looks flaccid SO by my calculations I've come up with said lengths, let me know if you want to hear more of my thoughts on sixty year old mens dicks🫠

Warnings: Smut, size kink, dirty talk, fingering (f receiving), idk about corruption and purity kinks but I tried lol, if you think I missed anything let me know otherwise enjoy!

You straddled his lap, arms around his neck with your fingers laced in his hair. James's arms were around you, holding you close while he attacked your lips with your own, his tongue exploring your mouth.

You'd been dating for two months, getting closer to three, and you still hadn't told him he would be your first. You'd gone on a few dates, some highschool romances but those didn't mean anything really.

You were quiet and kept to yourself, you didn't go out, you didn't get dates, how you managed to get him was beyond you but here you were, in his bed, in his lap, in his arms with his hard on pressed firmly against your ass.

Honestly, you didn't think you'd make it this far with him. James was a rocker, the lead singer of a big band, he'd been with so many women it was hard to believe that he went cold turkey just because he met you.

"Sweetheart," he spoke, getting your attention, "what's wrong?" He asked, bringing a hand up to your face and thumbing your cheek in a soothing motion.

"What's wrong..?" You repeated softly, letting him move your face further away so he could look at you. "Nothing's wrong, why?"

"You were thinking about something." He said with a warm smile. "You stopped kissing me."

You gave a small nod, understanding why he was stopping now. "Right, sorry." You leaned closer to kiss him again but you only got a quick peck before he pushed you away again.

"What were you thinking about, sweetheart?" He asked, eyes flicking down to your red lips.

"Nothing." You assured.

James rolled his eyes. "It's not nothing, tell me." He said sternly, looking you in the eye. You chewed your cheek, he knew just what eyes to give to make your knees weak.

"I'm sorry." You finally said. "I know you're used to a lot of women, you're used to groupies, and I'm not them and I don't think it'll be good enough but I want to try, I just literally don't know how..?" You explained.

James blinked at you, expression blank. "Sweetheart, I mean this politely, what the fuck do you mean?" He couldn't hold back a small chuckle. "Are-are you saying you're scared you're not good enough at sex for me?"

Your mouth opened before the words came out. "Well, yeah but that's not exactly what I meant." You mumbled. "I mean... I-I might be lacking in the, um, sex...ual... intimacy? With, you know... others?"

James inhaled deeply, he gave a nod and rested his forehead on your shoulder. "Sweetheart, are you trying -and failing miserably, might I add- that you're a virgin?" You huffed at his comment but you had to nod.

"Yes." You mumbled, fingers curling in his hair to scratch his scalp. He gave a small hum and pulled away from you again, planting a soft kiss on your cheek as he did.

"Right, and I'd be upset because?" You thought for a while but whatever train of thought you were on was cutoff when you felt him twitching against your ass. "Sweetheart, we can take it slow, you just gotta talk to me."

You inhaled deeply, nodding along as he spoke. "Jamie," you started, "I-I want you to take me... my virginity..." Your voice fell to a mumble, embarrassed at actually saying it out loud, so bluntly as well. Straight to his face.

James smiled up at you. "Alright then." He said, hand going to undo your shorts.

Your face flushed as he did so. "What-what are you doing?" You asked, slight panic slipping into your voice.

"Don't worry, I told you we can take it slow." He assured, closing the gap between you for a moment as he helped you out of your shorts. "But that means I have to get you ready for me, sweetheart, it's not gonna be easy fitting me into you if you're not ready." While it made sense you didn't want to think too much about it.

James continued to pepper your face with kisses as he pushed your panties to the side. He ran a finger through your folds, giving a small hum of approval at how wet you were already. He pushed a finger into you, enjoying the soft gasp that left you when he did.

"Tell me, sweetheart, and be honest." He spoke. "You have touched yourself before, haven't you?" He asked, combing his free hand through your hair.

You hesitated before answering, cheeks already dusted a candy red colour. "Um, I-I have toys..." You mumbled, unable to look him in the eyes as you said it.

James's smile widened. "You do, do you?" He asked. "And when you use them, you think of me don't you?" He questioned further, started to pump his finger in and out of you.

Your breaths grew heavy, eyelids fluttering as his finger moved. "I think of you, Jamie." You said, but it wasn't enough, you were already going this far, you had more to get off your chest. "I-I think of you on top of me, I think of the faces you make and I think of what you sound like... I think of you naked, I think of-of what you'd look like with my-my hand around you... your cock... I think about what it-it looks like when you cum." Once you started you couldn't stop, all the filthy things you'd been thinking about coming out like dirty commandments.

James listened in slight shock, he hadn't known you to be so needy. "Filthy slut." He said with a smile, adding a second digit. "Keep talking." He urged. "I want to hear what else you think of when you're getting yourself off."

The addition of another finger made you whine but he slowed down to let you get used to the stretch. You swallowed thickly and nodded, mentally preparing yourself to continue.

You closed your eyes, letting his fingers resume the same motion, in and out, slow and curling to find what made you tick. "I think ah-about riding you, my-my hands on your chest while you tell me wh-ah- what to do, how-how good I'm doing."

"What kind of toys do you have, sweetheart?" He asked, pulling you from your thoughts. You bit your lip, he wasn't even supposed to know you touched yourself, now he was supposed to know what you're using to do it with? "C'mon, I won't judge." He said, kissing the tip of your nose as his fingers curled in you, making your eyes roll and he knew to hit that spot again.

"They-they're vibrators."

"They?" He repeated. "As in multiple?" Your eyes widened as the realization of what you'd admitted to. "Naughty girl." He curled his fingers again, bringing you closer to your already nearing release.

James added another finger, moving his hand faster now as he scissored your hole in an attempt to prep you for his cock. "When you're alone in bed with your toys, that's how you do it, isn't it?" He asked for confirmation.

You gave it willingly, nodding your head as more moans started falling from your lips.

"You're thinking about me." He continued. "What kind of vibrators?" He asked again. "You've never had anything inside you, sweetheart, right? I'll be the first?" You nodded, his fingers making it hard to focus on anything else. He chuckled as he saw how close you were. "That's it, that's my good girl, cum on my fingers."

Your gut tightened before bursting, your eyes rolled back. Your hands resting on his shoulder clutched his shirt in your fists as you came, a string of curses leaving you.

James groaned lowly at the sight, his fingers still moving in you and letting you ride out your high on them.

As you came down from it, though, he let you melt into him, slowly and carefully shifting you to lay on your back on the mattress. Your head fell back onto his pillow, his scent filling your nose, completely taking you over.

James hovered over you a moment, propping himself between your legs and holding himself up with his hands firmly planted on either side of your head. "Is this what you fantasize about, sweetheart?" You could only nod and let him undress you before following shortly after.

"I'll go slow, so just relax." He said, brushing some of your hair out of your face. "And if, for any reason, you want to stop, tell me. I want to know- I need to know if you're uncomfortable with anything for whatever reason, am I understood?" He asked firmly, cupping your cheek in the palm of his hand.

You nodded, staring right back at him as he used his other hand to line himself up with your cunt before pushing in. He did just what he said he would, moving slowly.

He stopped to pepper kisses all over your face and tell you how good you were doing. "That feels good, doesn't it? Feels good when I stretch you out like this." You nodded, arms wrapped around him, hands splayed out on his back.

"You-you're so big." You mumbled, looking down at him in hopes of catching a glimpse of where you both connected. Only, what you saw was a few more inches still needing to be pushed in.

James let out hearty laugh when he saw your eyes widen. "Only halfway, sweetheart, you'll know when I'm balls deep, don't worry."

You slowly relaxed back into the bed, staring blankly at the ceiling, mind full. "You're gonna tear me in two." You muttered to no one in particular, James was the only one there to hear and it made him laugh.

"Damn right I am." He agreed. "I'm going to ruin you for anyone else, sweetheart, no ones gonna stretch you out like this, no ones gonna make you theirs." His eyes flickered over your face, taking in your expression of wide eyes and the small pout on your lips. "No one else gets to be your first."

In a quick motion he pushed the rest of himself into you, burying his cock deep in your cunt. Your eyes rolled back, hands clawing at his back and making him groan. He looked down, grin only getting bigger as he saw the bulge he made in your stomach.

"No one else gets to do that." He purred, reaching a hand down to press on your stomach. A whine left you as he did, your legs tried to close but he was in the way. "Not so fast, sweetheart, we haven't even gotten started yet."

[startheskelaton]

So seeing that one One spark post, I have to ask, does Shockwave care that Soundblaster is in a relationship with Megatron's daughter? Or Nightflyer for that matter?

Shockwave’s relationship with his son is very complicated. Soundblaster was supposed to be the perfect replacement for Soundwave, from personality, to look, everything. However when he was finished, he looked only vaguely like him (this was because sharp features are considered attractive in Cybertonian society, so he pulled a Victor Frankenstein and tried to make him as beautiful as possible without realizing he was going overboard).

The thing was… he did create a pretty good Soundwave replacement, he loved music and art, he looked out for others and he loved his creator very much. But that wasn’t what Shockwave wanted. In reality, he wanted what he thought Soundwave was, cold, never speaking, calculating and mysterious. And he would force those traits onto Soundblaster.

Basically all the conflicted feelings Shockwave had towards Soundwave, he took them out on his son. So any relationship he had, Shockwave would try and reinforce any resentment that might exist.

Nightflyer is getting closer to Soundblaster? Let’s show him how much Nightflyer is loved by the public and his family. He’s in a relationship with Sparkplug? Let’s remind him of how she’s still very in love with Nightflyer and tell him she could leave him at any time.

However he’s a more aggressive when it comes to Sparkplug, he actually liked Nightflyer due to his ability to overlook some moral ethics in the name of science. Sparkplug is the daughter of the man that stole Soundwave away from him, she has a strict moral code, she’s even flanked by Rumble and frenzy a lot of the time. He fucking despises her.

With Nightflyer, he just wanted to make sure his son died sad and alone like him. With Sparkplug, he had to try and stop history from repeating itself.

[parker-artio]

I have a head cold rn so here’s how I think the Batfamily is when they’re sick

Bruce: He acts like he’s okay. If no one clicked the fact he’s sick he will continue patrolling, he will keep moving and patrolling until he can’t move, and even then he still moves because he can’t let anyone be right.

Dick: he’s just like Bruce. But as soon as someone calls him out for being sick he crumbles and finally decides to try and get better. He will still patrol but he’ll carry like a full liter of liquid of like NyQuil of a massive bottle of ibuprofen. (He will swallow five pills dry and laugh in the face of a thug two minutes later.)

Cass: Once again, she’s like Bruce, but not as bad. She will admit she’s sick, and take medication the right way. She’ll drink water and get enough sleep, but the second someone needs even a slightest bit of help on patrol she’s out there.

Jason: He’s a bit like Dick, but better, he’ll get the sleep and medicine he needs (and stick to a strict schedule of when he takes what medication and when) but he won’t try to find out the exacts. If he finds out he’s sick he’ll just start pounding down on the vitamin C. If you open the fridge in any of his safe houses when he’s sick you just see cartons of orange juice, dozens of lemon’s, and like three heads of broccoli. He’ll miss patrol but only when Bruce asks him to patrol.

Tim: He doesn’t have a choice. He’s locked in his room with the windows locked. He’s not allowed any of his energy drinks or anything with too much sugar. He isn’t allowed to go out without taking medication either. He’s forced to wear a medical mask around his family anytime they’re sick and when he’s sick. He won’t go on patrol but he will work on cases until the medication kicks in and he falls asleep

Duke: He’s reasonable enough when he’s sick, kinda like Jason he stays on top of his vitamins but instead of eating food with it he just carries around a bottle of vitamin C. He will not miss patrol since he’s the only person on day time patrol. He sleeps at night unlike everyone else. He drinks so much water and takes a nap after patrol. (Honestly with him being a meta he might not get sick that easy- or even at all, but I can’t remember too much about metas rn.)

Damian: He’s terrible. He’s a second Dick in the making. But hes got a bit more rational so he takes medicine in a more structured way than Dick just taking it whenever. He won’t skip patrol until someone benches him. It’s always Alfred, Dick, or Bruce- in that order.

Steph: She’s happy to skip patrol when she’s sick. School on the other hand she doesn’t. This girl is a college student (depending on what timeline you’re looking at) if she misses one class she’s behind for the next month. She takes her medication and naps frequently.

Barbara: If she’s sick no one knows. She’ll just put a voice changer over the comms if her voice is hoarse enough to get noticed. She definitely doesn’t get the sleep she should, but she takes her medicine and eats and drinks enough. Which she thinks is enough (at least until she can’t look at her screens without a migraine coming full force every two minutes)

Alfred: He never gets sick. Never.

[igotanidea]

(7) Cheater: Dick Grayson x reader

part 1/ part 2 / part 3 / part 4/ part 5 / part 6

A/N: ladies and gentlemen I give you : THE FINALE! happy early b-day @pookieisme4life 🎁🎁 (I was about to wait till 24th but it turned out impossible I am so excited to post it!!!)

***

„Who the hell are you?”

Honestly, he could care less about the ID of the mystery person, nor he hoped for the actual answer, but the initial shock did just that.

They were driving towards some unknown destination that was allegedly the location of the place Y/N was taken to.

“Nice try, Nightwing. Keep dreaming” the person, who was already deemed as a woman, laughed, swirling abruptly yet skillfully.

“Seriously you can’t just expect me to address you in a hey, you way.”

“Valid point. For the sake of it, let’s settle on calling me Shadow.”

“Fine. Whatever. Now why are you helping me?”

“I did some bad things In my life. Maybe this is my way of making up for them.”

“Huh. Seeking redemption?”

“Pretty nice trope, isn’t it?” she laughed. It was actually pretty nice to be able to use humor even in dire situations. “I was always a sucker for the character who wants to do better in their life.”

“Yeah. At least you chose a better way to do so than my brother.”

“You mean Red Hood?”

“For someone I don’t know shit about, you seem awfully knowledgeable about my family ties.”

“Intel is everything, Nightwing. And yes, I know what your other brother, Red Robin, might say.”

“Who the hell are you?!” At this point Dick was really getting curious.

“A friend.” She responded, looking right at him, her eyes shining from behind the mask.

***

“Let me go!!”

“Easy princess. Behave or this might actually get worse for you.”

“LET ME GO!!” she struggled against the binding on her wrist and the sack put on her head.

“What did I tell you, you bitch!?” She was abruptly pulled out of the car and thrown onto the ground. “Do you have a death wish?!”

“Fuck you!”

“If I were you, I’d cooperate, you little slut. Otherwise we might have to scar that pretty face of yours more than it’s necessary.”

With a sharp movement the sack was torn off her head and she had to squint her eyes from the light that hit her eyes with excessive force, reinforced by the fact she had just spent god knows how much time in a dark car with eyes covered.

“Shit…” there was no possibility to hold back the hiss and a few tears rolling down her cheeks.

“Yes. Yes sunshine, you’re in deep shit.” The kidnapper kneeled to her level and caressed her cheek in a condescending gesture, obviously misreading her tears as a sign of fear and submission. “So pretty…”

“Piss off!” she acted instinctively, ending up with a slap on the cheek and stinging sensation that only added to her anger.

“Didn’t I tell you to behave?”

“I had a stinking sack on my head, maybe there was something wrong with my hearing at the time and – “ her head spun to the side as another slap, this time far harder landed on her cheek.

“Well you definitely heard me now. And if you didn’t I won’t hesitate to remind you again. Now get up, we’re taking you to the boss.”

Great.

She was in a freaking video game, when two brainless thugs captured her for a reason that was still a mystery to her and was now taking her to the den of a final boss on the level.

***

“Y/N Y/L/N.”

Should she even be surprised that said den had a design of a video game? Dark, cold, adjourned with different kinds of weapons scattered here and there, huge desk in the middle and three monitors that took up the entire wall?

Almost grotesque.

But hey, who was she to judge the taste of Gotham’s criminals, right?

She probably should have been terrified, praying to every higher power to be saved by Batman, Red Hood, Robin or – damn – even Poison Ivy in the worst case, but for some reason she couldn’t bring herself to that particular emotion. It was like her brain refused to anchor in reality and everything turned into a freaking dream she was sure to wake up from any second now.

Though maybe getting back to reality in which Dick was still with Sienna and she was brokenhearted wasn’t really a good alternative.

Right. Dick.

Did he even notice her gone? Or was he too busy patching things up with his girlfriend, already forgetting about Y/N? The girl he claimed to love?

A kick in the back of the knees that send her to the floor (again) made her realize that while getting lost in her thoughts she missed the obviously very important and very detailed speech of the villain who was describing his wicked plan to take over the world and –

“Ouch!”

“Stupid bitch.”

“It hurts!” she tried to squirm away from the kicking but it was immensely hard with her hands still bound.

“Hold the fire, boys. Easy. The lady is our guest after all and this is not how we treat guests, is it?” The goons chuckled darkly, because clearly guests were deserving of a far more cruel and brutal treatment. “Now, now, don’t be scared little one. We won’t hurt you. Much. At least not until you give us what we want.”

The owner of a deep, husky voice, who clearly was the host of the party finally decided to step forward and show his face.

Well.

Not exactly showing his face.

***

 “Could you at least tell me who we’re dealing with here?!” Dick muttered, keeping his voice low as he and Shadow pulled at the abandoned building on the outskirts of Gotham. “Do you even know?”

“Why? Does it matter?” Shadow joked “Would you use a different contingency plan for Riddler and another one for Two Face?”

“Could you please stop joking about it? This is my girlfriend we’re talking about!”

The emotions started to come to the surface, and Nightwing started becoming uncharacteristically scatter-brained.

“Idiot. Keep it down!” Shadow hissed, pulling him behind the corridor crease, miraculously avoiding the watchful gaze of the guardian. “Here’s what I get for putting myself at risk. Nightwing announcing his presence to the entire compound filled with criminals. Get yourself together. Or is it too hard for you?!”

Dick grimaced. He hated himself at the moment. For both losing his cool, especially in front of someone who could hold it against him and for missing on precious time since every second counted.

“Y/N. Think about Y/N.” he muttered to himself “She needs your help. Now more than ever.”

He took a few deep breaths, calming down the storm inside him to the point where he was actually in control and capable of turning the fear and concern into anger.

If anyone touched his Y/N….

“You back?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m back.” He opened his eyes, completely focused, eyes sharp, instincts on high alert. “Tell me who’s the fucker who dared to take her.”

“Black Mask.”

“Fucker.” The word left Dick’s lips without the involvement of his brain. That was how much he loved her. The golden boy, teasing, joking and playful nightwing turned into a machine, swearing and ready to freaking kill, almost Red Hood like.

“So? Ready to kick some asses?”

“After you.” The predatory smirk blooming on his face was a sign of incoming violence and spilling blood.

***

Her screams mixed with the ones coming from the corridor in a beautiful, gory cacophony of sounds. An ode painted with blood and pain. Maybe that was why for a longer moment no one in the room actually paid attention nor was willing to try and differentiate the sources of notes in the song.

 Or maybe it was the fact that the goons’ cries were extremely high-pitched, almost reaching the same key as the yelling of a woman trapped in the torture machine, losing strength with every passing second.

“Oh no, no, no, no.” Black Mask laughed cruelly “you don’t get to pass out on me yet. Info first.” The iron grip on her wrist tightened even more, as if that was even possible, cutting into skin and muscle, amplifying the blood loss.

For the last whatever-time-passed she was kept on the edge of consciousness as if Black Mask was hoping that choking, hurting and injecting with some substance would cause her to lose inhibitions and finally blurt out the information he was so dead set on getting.

Who is Nightwing.

Who is Batman.

Any piece of information would turn out to be useful, but since the beginning of the questioning it became painfully clear that that stupid girl was either too weak or too strong to answer.

Too weak because it seemed that even the slightest amount of pain made her repeatedly pass out and too strong because on those intermittent periods where she actually was conscious and aware of the surroundings enough to talk was the one making her extremely stubborn and uncooperative.

And Black Mask was losing his patience.

Here he was, gracing that little scum with his presence instead of submitting her to the treatment of his lower men, with less than gracious methods and she had the audacity to be bratty.

A vicious circle in which he was using the moments to get information only to be refused, beating her again and ending up with a thoughtless body, achieving nothing, over and over again.  

He should have just stuck to using his rat, skillfully planted in Gotham.  

“Fuck!” he yelled seeing as once again she went limp on the chair only because he pulled her nail. “Stupid bitch!”

“Mmmmm…” Y/N muttered and for a moment the room was completely quiet save from her little whimpering.

And then –

“OUCH!”

“FUCK!”

“RETREAT!”

“The hell?” Black Mask walked to the door and looked through the peephole. “Fuck!” Seeing his guards and men being thrown in different directions, sounds of yelling and snapping bones alongside with blood streaming on the floor was not the best view before 7 p.m. and definitely not the best without his favorite drink. Under any other circumstances he would be giving zero fucks about the violence outside the safe door, but now – he had a plan to complete and no one, fucking no one would prevent him from succeeding.

The loud sound of a door’s guard crashing with the metal surface and pictorially sliding down with crushed skull caused Sionis to quickly recalibrate his plan.

Seemed like Red Hood was in the house. And not that Sionis was scared, but-

“Hold them back!” he yelled, grabbing the limp body of Y/N and rushing towards the safety exit, to the roof where his private jet was landed just in case of emergencies.

And this was clearly an emergency.

***

The door broke about 30 seconds after Black Mask rushed to the passage.

“You carry explosives with you everywhere?” Dick muttered, equally impressed and shocked.

“What? It comes in handy and -”

“AAAAH!” Both goons rushed at the two vigilantes before Shadow could finish a sentence, but their brave loud cries quickly turned to quiet, broken sobbing as they were laid down.

“Be a sweetheart and tell me where he went?” Nightwing leaned over the goon with an almost soft smile.

“mhm…” inert waving towards the passage was enough of an answer.

“Good boy. Thanks.”

***

“NO!!” she yelled as Black Mask was dragging her through the roof. Sudden realization of all the things that could go wrong making her much more valiant and strong. As long as she was still in Gotham and not exported to another city or – god forbid – country – could result in being deemed as another missing-without-trail- person.

That is – if someone was even looking for her in the first place.

Tears pricked in the corner of her eyes at the thought that she could be so easily forgotten.

And the terror she was holding back for so long, since the moment of being dragged into that black SUV, finally found a way out…

“NIGHTWING!!!”

***

“Y/N!!”

A dead man would hear that cry and even a dead man would rise from the dead at the sheer desperation beaming from the voice.

“Y/N!!! I’m coming!”

***

“You’re becoming a trouble!” Black Mask hissed, slapping her repeatedly, drawing another stream of blood this time from the broken lip.

“I – “

“I’m so done with you. Should have just killed you the second you turned out to be of zero significance to the cause. Now come here you little bitch-“

“No!!”

She blindly started to run away, only to trip (obviously) and ending up back in Sionis’ grip.

“NO!!”

He was too strong and she was too scared and stiff to fight anymore. Digging heels into the ground did no harm and was definitely no hindrance in being pulled towards the ledge of the 10-stories building.

“NO!!!!”

“Y/N!!”

Both the girl and Sionis froze for a moment as another male voice cut into the screaming match.

But it was too late.

***

“Go!” Shadow was probably the only one who didn’t lose cold blood.  “GO!”

***

She was falling.

And it was beautiful.

Knowing that she would finally be free of all the pain, of all the heartbreak, of the guilt coming with betraying another girl by sleeping with someone else’s boyfriend. Liberated from being stuck in the memories of the past when she was actually happy, before everything went to shit.

“I love you Dick…” she whispered, finally crashing to the ground.

***

“Who the hell are you?!”

“Oh, come on, not this again!” Shadow hissed, extremely dissatisfied with the fact that everyone she encountered was far more interested in getting to know her personality, rather than fearing her killer skills.

For Black Mask it took a record time of ten minutes before calling defeat and ending up bound and being taken by the GCPD.

***

“Y/N.”

She opened one eye and much to her surprise found out that she was not a celestial body looking at her bloodied pulp of a body on the pavement.

“I love you too…” the warm embrace around her was welcomed but in time started to become a little suffocating and her battered body refused to be squeezed.

“Dickie…”

“Shh… shh, I got you.” He whispered again, caressing her hair, kissing her forehead, doing everything to assure both her and himself that it was all over and that he got her, that she was safe and he would never let it happen again. Never.

“H-How? W-what happened-? I – I thought-“

“You thought so little of me, didn’t you?”

“Idiot.”

“Hey!”

“Fucking prick! I swear if it wasn’t for this – “ she swung her injured arm in the air “I’d slap the hell out of you!”

“I saved you!”

“I almost died and you’re making jokes!”

Oh. Right. Maybe, just maybe given the circumstances it was slightly inappropriate.

“Sorry.”

“Yeah. You better.” She pouted, but he knew better, wiping the unshed tears. “It’s over.”

“Promise?”

“I promise.”

“What happened?”

“I’m an acrobat, remember? I jumped. And damn, I wish someone had that on video because it was really one of my best – Ouch! Ouch! Ok, ok! Stop it! Point taken!”

***

“How are we doing here?”

Once Sionis was seated in the back of a police car, hands were shaken and words of gratitude exchanged Shadow walked towards Dick and Y/n.

“I think she’ll live.” Dick teased with a smirk, predictably moving a safe distance away from his -- .

Right.

Maybe there was no happy ending after all with that messed up relationship thing hanging over their heads like a freaking axe.

“Can’t say the same about Nightwing though” Y/N pushed the thought away, settling on sending him a death stare for making fun of her again.

“Good. I’m glad.”

“I think you made up for whatever crime you were trying to redeem, Shadow. Thank you. I owe you. You saved my –“

“Girlfriend?” Shadow prompted, looking between Y/N and Dick, making them both blush in a bit of embarrassment.

“It’s complicated-“ they both said at the same time.

“Oh, trust me, it’s not complicated at all!” Shadow laughed

“What do you mean? You don’t know-“

“I know more than you think. Haven’t I proved that already?” Shadow turned around, making sure no one was watching and slowly took of her mask.

***

Fast forward. One week later.

Y/N was walking out of the hospital. It seemed like her arm was healing nicely and there were no complications, though her doctor was very stern while telling her she was supposed to rest and not get herself involved in any form of physical activity.

If he only knew that she was in a relationship with Gotham’s and Bludhaven vigilante.

“Y/N!”

Speaking of which, said vigilante was now honking at her from his Porsche.

“Showoff!”

“Get in loser, we’re going shopping!

She laughed and jumped inside the vehicle.

“You’re supposed to hold the doors open for me!”

“Mh. Missed you too, sunshine.” He leaned over the gearbox kissing her with a cheeky grin. “How’s the hand?”

“She’ll live.”

“Quoting me already, princess? Careful, I might think you consider me a superstar or something.”

“Idiot!”

“Ouch! You’re hurting me. But I’m willing to forgive you, giving the circumstances of late.”

He started the engine and took the way to the city.

“Yeah. Crazy, right?” her head fell onto the car’s headrest and she sighed heavily. “I mean – who would have thought…”

***

Flashback

“S-Sienna!?”

“Hey you two.”

“h-hey? What do you mean “hey”?! What is this?! Some sick joke?!”

In her stupor Y/N missed the fact that Dick was as shocked (if not more) as her. Hence it couldn’t have been any conspiracy against Y/N’s mental health.

“Whoa! Whoa! Relax!” Shadow Sienna raised her hands in surrender “Dick-“

“The hell?! How do you know? Damn it-!” he forgot about all the rules of safety and tore off his mask. Getting to the bottom of this shit was far more important.

“- I meant what I said. Really! About that redemption arc! Just – just listen to me!”

“Five minutes.”

“It was all a scheme-“

“Well let me tell you, your explanation is starting off the wrong foot” Dick groaned, pulling Y/N to his side to strengthen her mentally.

“I am Black Mask’s niece in the second line!” Sienna explained dramatically “wait-! Wait-! I have no loyalty to him! Not anymore!”

“One minute left.” Dick hissed

“It was all a plan. He had some vague idea about the ties between the one Dick Grayson and Batman and Y/N and wanted to use all of you against each other.”

“Thirty seconds.”

“Yes, fine! I was his spy for a moment, but then you two-. God! You love each other! And I just couldn’t- I couldn’t-“

Y/N wriggled out of Dick’s embrace and walked to Sienna, grabbing both her hands in her healthy one.

“Thank you.”

End of flashback

***

 “I really hope you took your golden visa with you, cause I am about to go crazy with this shopping spree.”

“Hey. No limits on Bruce’s cards. He won’t even notice the loss of a couple thousands and I got my girl back, so-“

“I think we should send-“

“I already took care of that.”

After all the trouble and drama they got their happy ending.

***

In another part of town a certain girl found a fruit and sweet basket on her doorstep. With a little, but meaningful card.

It seemed like she found her happy ending too.

One in which she was no longer used by anyone and treated as a villain.

With the view for a future of freedom.

@miraculous-panic @fullbelieverheart @xlatinaaxx @ietss @arfrona

@gracescor3 @jaysgirlx @fuzzym4m4 @peachmartini @xenop0p @madness1999sworld

@leovergurl

[beloveds-embrace]

I’m sorry this is gonna be long but i was just listening to “Labour” by Paris Paloma and it reminded me so much of the angst DukeDom AU you are writing (which is absolutely fire, you are so good, i love it very very much)

Cause the “emotional torture from the head of your high table” part hit me so hard because that’s literally (in my head) John Price in your AU with how deliberately ignorant he became to Reader’s suffering.

���Who fetches the water from the rocky mountain spring? And walk back down again to feel your words and their sharp sting” it reminded me so much about the angst part where Reader catches cold and later looses limb. But also…Kyle (I’m sorry) because once you wrote that he brushed reader off and treated her like he couldn’t be bothered to answer her questions and yk my brain made connection.

And oh my god the “I’m getting fucking tired” verse of the song is literally (again, in my head, I’m not trying to say i know your AU better than you do, it’s your baby, I’m just having fever thoughts) Reader when she gets fed up with them.

I especially love the “The capillaries in my eyes are bursting. If our love died would that be the worst thing?” because it feels a lot like her when the fire inside of her starts to finally dim because everything has just been too much and she doesn’t handle it well, because her cookie duchy is crumbling on her head.

“For somebody I thought was my saviour you sure make me do a whole lot of labour” reminds me a lot about the way she probably arrived to the duchy at first, getting married to John and not knowing what was actually waiting for her. And in all honesty, it’s not her fault he married her. But it somehow became her responsibility once everyone’s (stuff, the rest of 141, John himself) disapproval and blatant disregard started to pile up.

“I know you’re a smart man, and weaponise the false incompetence, it’s dominance under a guise” which may not fit fully but the way i felt like reaching through the screen and shaking John Price sometimes because yeah, you brought Reader into your home, your duty was to care for them and take care of her and you DIDNT. And worst of all, you allowed others treat her like nothing.

“If we had a daughter, I’d watch and could not save her the emotional torture from the head of your high table. She’d do what you taught her, she’d meet the same cruel fate” and it’s purely my thought but what if in angst branch of your AU Reader was actually feeling glad that John never came to consummate the marriage thinking about fate that could meet her baby. Especially if it was a girl (oh my god, my Sheila).

“So now I’ve gotta run so i can undo this mistake. At least I’ve gotta try” reminded me a lot about your Reader running away in some parts of this AU because yeah, she was looking for different life (rightfully so) and the realisation that the things as they are might never change actually pushed her towards moving into entirely different directions.

I love love LOVE that song, so to have my writing compared to it in any way? 😩 I’m amazed, thank you so much for your thoughts anon!! 🫶🏻💕

[insert-random-account-name]

Crappy Character Analysis, part 6

I've been putting off this one, simply because I love Contrarian, everyone loves Contrarian, and I was worried I wouldn't do him justice. BTW, if you haven't read any others, I'd recommend at least reading Cold and Stubborn before this one.

part 1 (Broken)

part 2 (Skeptic)

part 3 (Cold)

part 4 (Paranoid)

part 5 (Stubborn

VOICE OF THE CONTRARIAN

Contrarian is my favorite voice, so let’s just get that out of the way. I’m doing my best to give him a fair analysis, but if there are any flaws, that’s probably why. I’d say a good 40% of Contrarian content was added after the Pristine Cut, probably because the fandom loved him so much. He basically lives up to his name. Any time someone says something, he immediately tries to counter it. Slay the Princess? No thanks. The world beyond yours is beautiful? Eh, it ain’t all that. Take the knife? Only to throw it out the window! In fact, throwing the knife out the window is his MO, seeing as he does it in three separate chapters (Stranger, Razor (No Way Out), and Fury (through Adversary)) and the only reason he doesn’t do it in the other two chapters he shows up in is because there are no windows for the blade to go out of. He also dabbles in bending reality, working together with Stubborn to keep you moving without your muscles. He is also, objectively, kind of a jerk. He calls Hero a baby for being upset at whatever abomination you see in the Stranger, refuses to give the Narrator vital information, antagonizes Stubborn by calling him weak, and then proceeds to manipulate him into throwing away your weapon, and then delivers the line that goes to the affect of “Oh, are we lying? I’m happy to be here, and I like all of you.” Of course, he does turn a new leaf at the end of the Stranger, and if you get the Stranger’s cabin at the end, he seems to have matured since the last time you’ve seen him.Contrarian exists to amuse himself. You get him by not taking the consequences of your actions seriously (not going to the cabin, fighting the Adversary unarmed, not taking the blade/stabbing yourself in the Razor, cutting your throat in the Tower). This attitude makes him careless. He wants to sow chaos, start conflicts, and just have fun. His commitment to the bit helps you survive and fight in the Apotheosis and the Fury. Who cares if you die? You were going to anyway. Contrarian doesn’t fully realize the effects his recklessness has on others until it is far too late. In the Razor, if he throws the knife out the window, he thinks of it as a funny bit. But after he realizes that there will be no getting it back, he admits he might have acted too hastily. Something similar happens in the Stranger. There may be a more deep-seated root to his nature, as well. One that most people miss. Contrarian is a contrarian out of frustration. You tried running away from the problem, and now it got worse. Now you have to face it, and he isn’t happy. If he has to confront his own mistakes, well, he isn’t going to make it easy. If he has to be miserable, so does everyone else. He reminds me of Cold, in a way. One turns to indifference, while the other turns to indignation. This point is accentuated by a line in the Stranger ending, where he confesses that he thinks of himself as the worst part of you. In the Stranger, it takes the entire world collapsing in on itself for Contrarian to fully realize the harm he’s caused. Once he sees the bigger picture, he shows remorse, and suggests that you try and help the Princess. In the Stranger ending, when you return to her cabin, he’s had more time to cool down and reflect, and he shows a surprising maturity, holding back on yeeting the blade. This may be the only voice who got significantly more content in the Pristine Cut, yet whose depth lies in pre-Pristine Cut content.

[jomiddlemarch]

Five Times Aristocrats Shared a Bed and One Time They Didn’t*

(*where “they” have delusions of grandeur)

1.

“If it is your preference, I shall give you your privacy and I will seek your permission before entering your chamber,” Fitzwilliam said stiffly, reminding Elizabeth so much of the aloof stranger she’d first seen at a Meryton dance that she could not keep from laughing.

“Madam?” he asked, taken aback.

She had learnt him well enough to wait to speak until she’d laid her hand upon his chest, where he could not fail to see his ring upon her finger.

“I’ve never slept alone in my life and I shouldn’t like to start now,” she said. “I warn you and Jane will confirm it, my feet get cold but I despise bed-socks.”

“It will be my pleasure to keep you warm, Elizabeth,” he said.

2.

“I’ve made sure your suite was entirely redecorated, all in the loveliest shades of green and indigo, and I spoke with your housekeeper, to ensure your mattress here is just as you like it,” Emma said.

George raised an eyebrow in inquiry. It was quite the most devilish expression and she wished she were capable of matching it.

“You have already undertaken so much, leaving Donwell Abbey and coming to live at Hartfield, you deserved to have a place of your own, a retreat when you cannot bear another second of Papa’s exhortations about the risk of cold lettuce on a young man’s chest or my silly prattling,” she explained.

“Mrs. Knightley, what I cannot bear is to be apart from you at night,” he said, moving closer as he spoke. “To wake without you in my arms.”

“Well, you needn’t,” she said, while she could. 

She was not sorry when she couldn’t. Not one bit.

3.

“If you’d like, my dear, I’ll sleep in my dressing room,” Charles said. “I know aristocrats don’t share a bed. My parents did but of course, Father was in trade, for all that Caroline wants to pretend we’re the obscure cadet branch of some viscount from the North. I asked Darcy and he turned rather puce but he did say it was so—”

“We’re not aristocrats, Charles,” Jane replied.

“You’re a gentleman’s daughter, Jane, a lady to the very tips of your toes,” Charles replied.

“Whoever the Bingleys are, we’re only Charles and Jane here,” she said. “And whatever you consider the tips of my toes, I’m your wife first and last.”

“You’ll send me to my dressing room if I snore, though. You must promise me that, you’re too good a creature to complain about anything but I shan’t have you exhausted,” Charles said.

“If you snore, I promise, I’ll wake you,” Jane said.

She’d learnt quite quickly how her husband took his tea and how to lie to him.

4.

“When we choose an estate, I’ll make sure there’s a separate chamber for you, sweetheart,” Frederick said softly. “You’ll want that after being crammed into this crowded little cabin—”

“It’s snug,” Anne said, turning slightly so she might see his dear face better. The moonlight from the porthole took him from the epitome of a British sea-captain and changed him into a figure of romance or myth, a god all silver and shadow. “I shouldn’t like anything better than this, this perfect refuge that’s ours alone and the sound of the waves.”

“We’ll choose a place by the sea,” he said. “A house with a view, plenty of space, light and airy.”

“But I don’t care to sleep apart, no matter had bad Ton it is,” she said. “We were apart long enough.”

5.

“Don’t say we must be stuffy aristocrats about it and sleep in separate rooms and you’re to knock at my door and wait there in a banyan and slippers for me to bid you enter,” Marianne said in a rush, exhilarated by the fresh air, the vista before them, Colonel Brandon’s arm around her waist. He did not yet believe she was steady on her feet after her illness and she could not convince him otherwise, had she been inclined to try. “There is nothing romantic about that, nothing ravishing—”

“There will be ravishing, my dear,” he replied. “In one room, one bed, if that’s what you want.”

“I quite fancy the contrast, how splendidly massive Delaford is and then to imagine the two of us tucked away, almost in a garret,” she said dreamily.

“I draw the line at a garret,” he said. “And I do wear a banyan and slippers when it’s chilly.”

6.

“Some would say we’ve pretentions beyond our station, Mrs. Collins, yes, some would say that very thing, but for someone, if you will, attached to a lady as elevated as Lady Catherine de Bourgh, for a clergyman with refined taste and a sense of elegant delicacy derived from a close association with an aristocrat like her Ladyship, well, it hardly seems the argument that we’re aping our betters should be given the least credence,” Mr. Collins declared, speaking much as he would giving one of his sermons. Anything to do with Lady Catherine called for that tone of voice, a fact Charlotte had gleaned after three days in the vicarage.

“As you say, Mr. Collins,” Charlotte replied.

“It’s a squeeze, I’m quite aware of that, but I had the box room fitted out and the alcove in the larger room can serve as a dressing room, if it comes to it,” he said.

“I’ve no complaints, sir,” Charlotte replied. 

Indeed, her husband’s announcement that they would have separate sleeping chambers had made her nearly as happy as his offer to wed and might very well be her salvation.

Posted late for Janeuary 2025 @janeuary-month Day 21, prompt: aristocracy

[zeroseuniverse]

Colors Of Hope

Word Count: 1.3K Summary: “It’s not that simple,” he said quietly, his eyes meeting hers. “This place, these walls—they’re more than just paint and stone. They’re proof that beauty can exist even here.” “Beauty doesn’t matter if you’re dead, Sunoo.” Pairing: Sunoo X Fem Reader

Disclaimer: Please be aware that this is apart of the from the ashes series. This series will have aspects of violence, weapons, angst, blood, injuries, killing, and will heavily focus on oppression and segregation of mutants, Look after your mental state if any of these make you uncomfortable please.

Series Masterlist

She crouched low, her fingers brushing against the cold asphalt as she inspected the latest find—a piece of polished glass, still intact despite its jagged edges. She slipped it into her satchel alongside bits of wire and scraps of metal, treasures that might serve her community.

Navigating the crumbling maze of the city required skill and silence. Her steps were careful, her breaths shallow as she avoided the shadows that hid both predators and prey. It wasn’t until she rounded a corner that she noticed something strange—a faint burst of color cutting through the monochrome.

Curiosity outweighed caution. She crept closer, her pulse quickening. What she found left her breathless.

The studio was tucked into the shell of an old warehouse, its walls painted with vibrant murals that seemed to glow even in the dim light filtering through shattered windows. Images of soaring birds, blooming flowers, and outstretched hands formed a kaleidoscope of life and hope.

She stepped inside, her boots crunching on broken glass, and froze. Someone was watching her.

A young man stood in the doorway, his head tilted slightly, a smudge of blue paint on his cheek. His dark eyes flickered with surprise, but not fear.

“You’re the first person to find this place without an invitation,” he said, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “Did the colors give me away?”

She straightened, one hand instinctively hovering near her belt knife. “Kind of hard to miss the rainbow in a city of gray.”

Instead of retreating, the man stepped forward, his smile widening. “I suppose subtlety isn’t my strong suit. I’m Sunoo.”

She hesitated before answering. “Y/N.”

Sunoo gestured to the room around them. “Well, now that you’ve found my little sanctuary, would you like a tour? Or are you here to criticize my color palette?”

Despite herself, she laughed, a rare sound in this world. “It’s bold, I’ll give you that.”

She followed him deeper into the studio, marveling at the sculptures made from twisted metal and shattered glass, the paintings that transformed discarded scraps into masterpieces. For a moment, she forgot about the dangers outside, lost in the beauty Sunoo had created.

But the world didn’t let anyone forget for long. The first time she brought Sunoo something—a handful of colorful shards she’d found near an abandoned train yard—she told herself it was nothing. Just something he might find useful. But when she saw his face light up as he turned the pieces over in his hands, she felt something stir within her.

“These are perfect,” he said, his voice filled with awe. “Do you know how rare it is to find glass like this?”

She shrugged. “It was just lying around.”

He smiled at her, warm and genuine. “You didn’t have to bring it, though. Thank you.”

That was the beginning of their exchange. Over time, her scavenging runs became as much about survival as they were about finding materials for Sunoo. In return, he started leaving small paintings or sketches for her to find—a flower tucked into her bag, a sunrise etched onto a piece of scrap wood.

“You should try painting sometime,” he said one day as they sat together, watching the light shift across the murals.

She shook her head. “I don’t have the time. Or patience.”

He chuckled. “That’s what you think. But art doesn’t have to be perfect. It just has to mean something.”

For the first time in years, she wondered if there was more to life than just surviving.

Sunoo’s studio became a second home, a rare refuge from the unrelenting hardships of the city. She found herself returning often, drawn by Sunoo’s warmth and the vibrant world he created within those crumbling walls.

One day, as she brought him a bundle of old wiring and a cracked mirror, she noticed the strain in his features. He hadn’t greeted her with his usual teasing smile, and his brushstrokes were slower, less confident.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, leaning against the table piled with half-finished sculptures.

He hesitated, his fingers gripping the brush tightly. “I heard rumors yesterday. The regime’s been cracking down harder on anything they think spreads... hope.”

Her stomach tightened. “Hope?”

He nodded, setting the brush down with a sigh. “Art, music, stories—anything that reminds people there’s more to life than fear. They’re calling it ‘subversive.’” His gaze fell to the mural he’d been working on, a depiction of hands reaching toward a glowing light. “It’s only a matter of time before they find me.”

Her voice hardened. “Then you need to be ready to leave. This place isn’t worth your life.”

“It’s not that simple,” he said quietly, his eyes meeting hers. “This place, these walls—they’re more than just paint and stone. They’re proof that beauty can exist even here.”

“Beauty doesn’t matter if you’re dead, Sunoo.”

His lips pressed into a thin line, and for a moment, she thought she’d pushed him too far. But then he sighed, leaning back against the wall. “Maybe you’re right. But leaving this place feels like giving up.”

“You’re not giving up,” she said, stepping closer. “You’re surviving. And you can keep creating somewhere safer. The people you’ve inspired—they’ll remember. And they’ll keep fighting.”

For the first time, she saw a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes. “You really believe that?”

“I do,” she said firmly. “And if you don’t, I’ll make you believe it.”

The regime’s crackdown came sooner than either of them expected. Sunoo’s studio wasn’t just a hidden sanctuary anymore—it had become a beacon for the community, a place where people dared to gather and dream.

When patrols began sweeping the area, she knew they were running out of time.

“We have to go,” she said, her voice urgent as she packed his tools and smaller sculptures into a bag.

Sunoo hesitated, his gaze darting to the murals that covered the walls. “I can’t leave them behind. If they destroy this...”

“They’ll destroy it whether you’re here or not,” she snapped. “The only way to save any of this is to save yourself. You can start again, Sunoo. You can rebuild.”

His shoulders slumped, but he nodded, his resolve crumbling under her words. “What’s the plan?”

“We’ll take what we can carry,” she said. “The rest... we’ll have to trust the people you’ve inspired to remember. To keep it alive.”

As they worked quickly, packing supplies and dismantling portable pieces, they heard the distant rumble of boots on the street outside.

“They’re close,” Sunoo whispered, fear flickering in his eyes.

She grabbed his hand, squeezing it tightly. “Then we move now.”

She led Sunoo through the city’s twisting alleys, her familiarity with its hidden routes keeping them one step ahead of the patrols. The bag of supplies weighed heavily on her back, but she didn’t slow down, her grip firm on Sunoo’s wrist.

When they reached the edge of the city, where the rubble gave way to the overgrown remains of a park, she finally let them rest.

Sunoo collapsed onto the ground, his chest heaving. “We made it.”

“For now,” she said, scanning the area for signs of pursuit. “But we need to keep moving. The safe house isn’t far.”

He looked at her, his expression a mix of gratitude and exhaustion. “I wouldn’t have made it without you.”

“You don’t have to thank me,” she said, her voice soft. “I believe in what you’re doing, Sunoo. That’s why I couldn’t let them take you.”

For a moment, they sat in silence, the weight of everything they’d left behind settling over them. Then Sunoo reached into the bag he’d insisted on carrying and pulled out a small, rolled-up canvas.

“What’s that?” she asked.

“A piece of the mural,” he said, unrolling it to reveal a fragment of the hands reaching toward the light. “I couldn’t save it all, but I couldn’t leave this behind.”

Her throat tightened as she looked at the painting. “It’s beautiful.”

“It’s a reminder,” he said, his voice quiet. “That even in the darkest places, there’s always something worth reaching for.”

She met his gaze, and for the first time, she let herself believe that maybe, just maybe, they could find something more than survival in this broken world.

[call-sign-shark]

Pairing: The Darkling x Heartrender!You || The Darkling x HeartrenderOC!Reader

Summary: After weeks of treating you coldly, you learn that Aleksander decided to bring you to the King's Court without your consent. Frustrated, you decide to face him and poke at his insecurities... Little you know it only makes him fall harder for you.

Words: 5k.

TW: unhealthy relationship, controlling behavior, strong pinning, argument, vague sexual innuendo, hurt/comfort, tooth-rotting fluff that will give you cavities.

Notes: A quieter chapter 'cause you're not ready for the epicness of the next one! Enjoy! Please comment or reblog if you want more.

Part VII - Dangerous

Previous || Masterlist || Next

The worn-out parchment trembled in your hand, the wax seal already broken. For a moment you stood still with your big crystal eyes riveted on the paper, hoping you misread what had been carefully hand-written on the letter. You read its content for the third time, feeling your heart pounding harder with every word: By order of His Majesty, King Pyotr, you are summoned to appear at the Grand Court.

The weeks that separated your nightly encounter with General Kirigan in the dimly lit map room from this cold afternoon had blurred into a strange rhythm. While still charged, they seemed to flow slower than ever. Though both you and Aleksander had returned to your respective roles without any trouble besides fleeting glances, the air between you buzzed with the weight of what was almost done in that room. An aborted kiss. Kirigan could have kissed you, your plump lips on the verge of meeting his in a scorching embrace, hadn’t he suddenly changed his mind and dismissed your presence with the coldest demeanor possible. 

Even though you were haunted by this experience, your mind momentarily obliterated it at the sight of the parchment’s words, stark and unforgiving. Their implications sent a chill down your spine: why did the King himself want to see you? 

Rushing through the door of your bedroom, you hurried to find Genya. If there was one person who had answers regarding everything, it was certainly her. Not only answers but also a soothing, angelic calm that might ground you a little. You had thought to seek Fedyor for a brief instant, a close friend of yours, but considering how extra he would be about it you knew he would panic even more than you and end up stressing you further.

Fortunately enough, you didn’t have to search too long. You found Genya in her usual spot, seated by the tall window in a stream of golden sunlight. Her sumptuous and wavy red hair, arranged in an elegant hairstyle, gleamed like a wild fire as she worked deftly with needle and thread on an elegant white kefta adorned with gold cuff. The garment was for a servant of the Grand Palace, just like hers when she worked as the Queen’s personal Tailor. The sight of her, serene and focused on her task, tamed your fury a little.

“Genya,” You blurted, clutching the letter as if it might burn you,” This – what does this mean? Why am I being summoned to the King’s Court?” In the sake of having a proper answer to your questions, you were trying hard to control your natural bluntness and the ice of your tone but it wasn’t really conclusive.

Genya glanced up, not bringing up the fact you didn’t greet her nor your lack of proper etiquette when addressing someone with a higher rank. Her golden eyes narrowed slightly as she noticed your disheveled state, and how dilated your dark pupils were, stretching like black holes surrounded by a thin ring of shiny frost. Setting her embroidery down, she reached out to take the letter without a word and proceeded to read it. 

“This is…” She began carefully, handing it back. You grabbed the letter and tossed it on the wooden furniture next to you, “It’s an invitation. Or rather, a summons.”

“Oh, thank you for this interesting output. I wouldn’t have figured it out myself.” You replied in a rasping tone, dripping with sarcasm. Genya raised an eyebrow, catching sight of how the corner of your enticing lips twitched in frustration, “What for? I didn’t ask to go to the Court. What could they possibly want with me?”

Her gaze softened a little, for she could relate how stressful she was herself when General Kirigan had brought her to the Grand Palace the very first time, though she didn’t know what she had to fear was not the Court, but being alone at night with the King. She shook her head slightly at the unpleasant memory, a flicker of unease in her eyes, “I don’t know the exact details,” she said gently.

“But you know the broad picture.” You retorted with a controlled but sharp smile that betrayed the anger that was building up within.

“The General requested an audience with the King on your behalf”, she corrected.

You froze, “Aleksander did this?”

“Aleksander?”

You stopped an instant, realizing what you have called him. Aleksander… The name melted on your tongue like cotton candy, the sweetness of it filling your mouth with saccharine. During this fleeting time frame, Genya had noticed the subtle change in your expression but said nothing. She hesitated, then came back to the initial topic of your conversation.

“He’s been… advocating for your freedom,” she explained but her sentence still sounded bitter despite her best efforts. How ironic it was that the General was fighting for your freedom while all he did was enslave her by turning her into a stupid gift for the Queen. 

The words hit you like a blow before you could grasp the irony of her statement. 

Aleksander had said little to you since your conversation in the map room, two weeks prior, even though his presence in your life had remained constant – watching, guiding, intoxicating… Always close but so distant at once. You could still feel his hot breath mingling with yours and this thumb caressing the apple of your cheek with utter tenderness each time you’d close your eyes.

“Why?” You asked, your voice turning into a mere whisper – the revelation had really caught you off guard. Only after a few long seconds did you connect the dots: your indenture. The last words exchanged with him had been about your indenture, to which he had replied that he would handle it.  That was why he had asked the King on your behalf.

Now that the reason for his acts was crystal clear, a second question popped into your mind, “Why would he risk involving the King for me?”

Genya hesitated again, her tongue quickly moistening her lips before she pressed them into a thin line, debating how much to say and how much to keep for herself. The silence that stretched between you felt like a dull eternity, “Heaven, you must understand… The General sees something in you. He values you more than you can think, and he doesn’t let go of what he values.” She said with a quiet but warm empathy though she fidgeted nervously with one of her red locks of hair.

“That’s not comforting,” You suddenly lamented, your natural coldness moving on to an irresistible childish pout, “That’s not comforting at all!” Unable to stay still any longer, you paced in the room as your mind raced, trying to come up with a plan to avoid meeting the King. 

Jumping out the window had never been so tempting.

“It wasn’t meant to be,” Genya stated as softly as before, though she was clearly amused by the sight of you acting more… human. More made in flesh and bones rather than carved out of the chillest ice. Was it Aleksander’s mention that had softened you a bit, she wondered.

“Maybe if I bash my head against the wall and knock myself out…” 

Genya reached for your hand, stopping you mid-step and cutting off your mumbling, “Hey, listen to me. Whatever happens at Court, you’ll have the General by your side. He won’t let harm come to you.” Because he doesn’t see you as a disposable thing for some obscure reason, she almost added but kept herself from doing so, “I guess he wants to show the King how valuable you are”.

You pulled your freezing little hand back, your chest tightening, “But he’s the one putting me in this unpleasant situation. He’s the one pressuring me!” 

The one intoxicating me, haunting my every thought, lightening up my every fiber.

“What if I do something wrong? What if I fail to do what they ask me to do? What if–” 

“You won’t fail,” Genya interrupted firmly, “I’ve seen what you can do, Hev. We all have. You’re far stronger than you think. In fact, you’re terrifyingly strong.” 

You swallowed hard, the lump in your throat making it difficult to breathe properly. Yet, her encouragement had some effects upon you, “And if the King decides I’m not worth the trouble? What then?”  Would he kick you back to the Menagerie, where Tante Heleen’s punishment would outperform everything she has done to you already?

A long exhale escaped Genya’s nostrils before the red-haired Grisha offered a faint, reassuring smile, “Whatever it is, the General will be with you. He won’t let anything, any-bloody-thing happen to you. Trust him.”  As she said this, Genya’s eyes glowed with utter sincerity. While she didn’t know the full extent of Kirigan’s determination or schemes, she had seen enough to understand his fierce protectiveness over you. Behind closed doors, Aleksander had left no room for doubt: anyone who dared to harm or endanger his little Heartrender would face his merciless wrath. Zoya’s case had been merely a sample of what he was capable of doing for you. This was an unspoken truth that even Ivan didn’t question. And so, when she spoke to you, it wasn’t words just said in reassurance – it was the undeniable certainty of a promise Aleksander had silently vowed. And not so silently conveyed to the rest of the second Army.

Trust him. It echoed in your mind, accompanied by a recollection of all the moments the Black General had, indeed, been worthy of your thrust by saving you and protecting your honor. But how mad you were about that summon! 

“Maybe I can create a special outfit for you? It won’t change your situation but at least you’ll make an impression.” She suggested. As everyone else here, Genya had noticed that you refused to wear the Heartrenders’ red kefta, and she doubted you’d agree to do so in preparation for your meeting with the King. Her surprising yet kind suggestion put a faint but genuine smile on your rosy lips.

“You would do that?”

“Of course, but can I ask you a favor in exchange?” 

“Yes?” You raised an eyebrow.

Genya’s gaze turned surprisingly sharp. The amber of her eyes gleamed with a spark of mischief, “Please, do make an impression .” The way she spoke, slow and low, made you frown. All your senses tingled as they sensed the venom of hatred seeping from every syllable, “When you stand before them, let them see what they should fear — what they cannot control.”

The morning came too quickly for once, the faint and pale light of dawn creeping into the wide horizon as you stood outside the Little Palace, your packed bag slung over one shoulder. Before exiting the building, you had made a detour to collect the outfit Genya created for you. Carefully folded and hidden in silk, you didn’t get to look at it and rather shoved it quickly in your bag. 

A frozen gust of wind blew to your face, biting at your cheeks as the crisp smell of winter filled your senses. Your seraphic face, ivory as the shy morning sun, was taunted with displeasure, echoing the wild spirit that simmered beneath your icy exterior. Even though you had remained quite passive since your arrival here — well, relatively passive considering you almost killed two people and brought a bit of chaos in the Little Palace’s organized routine as well as in the General’s heart — your fierceness had remained. It had always been there, seething, clawing at your ribcage, and, today, it showed. 

You watched, head slightly tilted, as other Grisha began to gather, their joyful chattering carried with the wind while the carriages were prepared. Clutching the leather strap of your bag, you bit your lower lip and weighed whether or not you should join them. Maybe it would do some good to mingle with them? Maybe you could try to befriend them, just to show that you weren’t some kind of empty killing machine – a reputation you really wanted to avoid –? 

You had barely made the first step toward the bunch of young Grisha, resolved to join them when General Kirigan erupted from the shadows nearby. His long black kefta floated behind him at the breeze’s discretion with each of his steps. He contrasted with the bright morning, but even the light couldn’t diminish his massive aura. As he walked to you, it felt like night followed him, ready to devour the sun with a single snap of his fingers. 

He stopped a few paces away from you, his expression unfathomable as always. He, who hadn’t spoken a single word to you in two weeks, finally deigned to do so.

“Heaven,” he said softly, a tilt of his head beckoning you to follow him. 

You didn’t move, but your frown deepened, “I assume I’m not traveling with them.” You stated coldly, nodding toward the group of Grisha for emphasis. To be honest, you didn’t mean to welcome him with such freezing greetings but the unexpected — and unsought — trip to the King’s palace had soured your mood.  This, and the silent treatment of these past two weeks. So when he came to seclude you from the rest of the herd, you felt a wave of injustice washing over you.

“You’re not,” The tall darkness replied simply with a firm tone. All the tenderness and affection he had displayed in the map room seemed to be gone for good, “You’ll ride with me.”

A muscle in your jaw tightened as his command collided against your free spirit: if there was something you had learned to despise following your escape from the Menagerie it was decisions made for you without so much as a word of consultation. Without the slightest interest nor care for your opinion. The need to retort something hovered on the top of your tongue, ready to slice, but you swallowed it down. Instead, you managed a curt nod, your defiance still forming a lump in your throat. Then, you followed him to the black carriage waiting nearby.

The interior of it was lavish, lined with dark velvet and polished wood. A little “oh” fell from your lips when you discovered how luxurious it was but you didn’t dawdle and climbed inside without wasting time. As you did, you shifted to take the seat opposite to Aleksander but his large hand gently pressed on the small of your back to guide you next to him. The way he did it was light, almost imperceptible, but it carried his silent command and steered you with a subtlety that betrayed his need to control. Having no other choice — and being weak whenever he touched you—, you obliged. 

Once sat, you crossed your arms over your small breasts.

For the first hour of the journey, you stayed silent, your head resting against the window while Aleksander read a pile of boring-looking papers. Because of how stubborn you were, you didn’t pay attention to him for that whole hour,  each passing mile deepening the chasm. The chill that emanated from you was almost tangible.

“You’re angry.” Kirigan remarked at last, his sultry voice breaking the quiet like a stone thrown at a window. His void-like irises were still focused on the pages he was holding in his gloved hands when he talked to you.

Your eyes snapped to his attractive face, “No.” 

“Well, if not, why does it feel like you are sulking?” His mouth twisted in a half smile before it vanished, vaguely amused by the sudden display of emotions that contrasted with your usual iciness. His soft lilt carried a subtle condescension though, which had become a second nature by dint of always having centuries of difference with the other people around him.

Your heart drummed as his words echoed in the confined space of the carriage. The term “sulking” struck a nerve for it was trivializing your feelings and reducing your genuine hurt to a child’s petty tantrum. But a tantrum it wasn’t — it was asking for basic consideration. All your life your voice was dismissed, your choice stripped away, leaving you feeling like an object devoid of agency. Devoid of soul. That summons to the King’s Court, decided without your consent nor your awareness, only mirrored those past indignities.

”You arranged all of this without even asking me,” Your voice sounded like the whistling of an axe slicing through the air, “What if I didn’t want to go?”

Aleksander finally dropped his paperwork next to him and looked at you, one eyebrow lifted. His amusement faltered when he realized that you were genuinely hurt — something he hadn’t even considered. “Would you have refused?”

“That’s not the point,” You dared shoot back, “You know, I’m not a weapon or piece on your board.” You let out. Genya might have explained that the reason behind it was in your best interest but the way it had been done clearly left a bitter taste in your mouth, leading you to wonder if Aleksander’s attention wasn’t purely selfish and calculated. Moreover, his sudden distant demeanor didn’t help.

His gaze suddenly darkened at your accusations, shadows shaped like a cloud of black smoke rising frighteningly in the tight, suffocating space of the carriage. It was what you were supposed to be, wasn’t it? A carefully placed pawn in his long, strategic game. But, admittedly, your words stung in a way he didn’t anticipate. A painful pang in his long-thought-dead heart he couldn’t explain.

“You misunderstand my intentions,” He explained softly, with a steady tone though it held something sharp, “This is about your freedom, Heaven. Your future. The King is the only one who can officially cancel your indenture and make you a free citizen of Ravka, protected by its law and men. Would you rather stay shackled to a past that doesn’t deserve you?”

You replied with a short, humorless snort, “You’re fighting for my freedom but don't give me the freedom to know about it. Nor to voice my opinion…” Sighing, your shoulders slumped down, “With all due respect General, from where I’m sitting, it looks like a puppet show. You pulling my strings and me dancing for the King’s Court.” 

Aleksander’s jaw kept tightening but he didn’t interrupt.  Then, he shifted in his seat to turn to you, his crushing aura causing your heart to miss a beat, but you didn’t waver, “And what would you have me do? Leave you vulnerable and bound to a slave's contract?” Kirigan’s pitch-black eyes narrowed as they dived into yours with such intensity that you briefly thought about lowering your gaze — but it was out of question, “You’re implying that I wish to control you, but perhaps you mistake protection for control.” He breathed, always deathly calm.

“So you’re trying to protect me?” You raised a brow, doubting.

“Exactly.” Aleksander’s hands flexed against his thighs. He took a measured, controlled breath, “And you don’t know what I’ve sacrificed for what I wished to protect. What I’m willing to sacrifice for you.”

You purse your lips because you weren’t convinced. Something still felt… wrong. Protection might have justified the King’s summon, but not his behavior toward you since that near-kiss in the map room.

“So why have you been so distant lately?” You asked abruptly.

His expression flickered to an unguarded, fleeting surprise, “Distant?” He repeated though it wasn’t a question.

“Yes.” Your voice was steadier now despite the thunder in your heart, “You make these decisions, talk about sacrifices and protection, but you’ve been pulling away. Ever since…” The words caught in your throat for the steamy memory of his lips almost brushing yours seared through your mind, exhilarating. The unspoken end of your sentence lingered.

He didn’t answer immediately, rather looking away – his charming profile sharp in the light that passed through the window, “You wouldn’t understand”.

“Try me,” You challenged, leaning forward slightly, “ I don’t think you behave like this to protect me– you pull away to protect yourself, aren’t you?”

His head snapped back to you, and for a brief instant you thought you’d gone too far when his onyx irises darkened, the expression veiling his seductive face becoming almost threatening. But there was no malice in his gaze – only something raw. Something that made you understand that you were spot on.

“You think I’m… afraid?” He said with a raspy voice.

“I do,” You straight off replied, refusing to back down even though Fedyor would have probably slapped your face and screamed with a high-pitched ‘Have you gone crazy?!’ for talking to the General with such insolence, “I think you’re afraid of letting someone get close. Someone sees past the shadows. Maybe afraid of what they might see.” 

Another silence. Aleksander’s eyes burned into yours, unflinching, but the vulnerability beneath it was impossible to ignore. How could you, a little Heartrender from nowhere, understand him so well? How could you read his soul like an open book while no one, not even his own mother, was able to do so? 

“You don’t know what you’re saying.” He growled, though his voice lacked its usual edge. To be fair, he was too astounded by your clairvoyance – and seduced by your brattiness. 

“Do I?” You pressed, “I’m pretty sure I do when I say that you’ve been distant lately because you’re afraid to let me in and afraid that I’ll see you.” 

His throat worked as he swallowed, the movement of his apple bobbing up and down drawing your attention. While his hands had been previously clenching in frustration, the General seemed to relax a bit. 

When he finally spoke again after a long silence, his voice was rich and smooth like silk, “Does that mean you wish me to let you in?” You sensed a hint of teasing that hadn’t been there before. His ink eyes, gleaming with both amusement and intrigue, fell to your lips. 

 “You’re bold, I must admit…” 

Aleksander leaned forward ever so slightly to reduce the space between you. It was only when he saw your body reacted with surprise, knowing his sudden proximity had caught you off guard, that his lips curled into a faint, almost predatory smile, “I can’t decide whether to be impressed or…” He tilted his head to the side, “whether to remind you who you’re speaking to.” 

“Well, my mother used to call me dangerous but I guess bold also seemed fitting, General.”  Your voice had turned into a brave but trembling whisper, your eyes never breaking contact with his.

The Black General chuckled, low and deep, the sound of it sending pleasant chills down your spine, “Oh Heaven…” He shook his head a bit, the melody of his voice so smooth your own name felt like a caress, “What if I don’t like how freely you’ve decided to challenge me?” The playful threat in his words made your cheeks flush, heat creeping up to your neck and spreading through your entire body. 

And just like that, with his face close and his large hand unexpectedly resting on your thigh, your defiance faltered. In the narrow space of the carriage, his presence seemed to consume all the air around you, making it hard to breathe. His fingers gently bore into your flesh, his thumb caressing you in a circular motion. The feeling sent electric surges through your veins. For a moment, you couldn’t find your voice – his intense stare and threatening grin rendering you speechless. 

Finally, Aleksander leaned back, a satisfied smirk tugging at his lips as he noted your silence – and the irresistible pink hue on your cheek, “That’s what I thought.”  He concluded, his voice laced with a quiet triumph.

You turned your gaze away, your heart hammering in your chest, cursing yourself for letting him unnerve you so easily. But the way his low chuckle had echoed in the confined space left you with the unmistakable feeling that he knew exactly the effect he had on you—and that he wasn’t done playing this game. 

Sulking for real this time, you turned back to the window with an adorable pout etched on your face.

Silence settled for another hour.

The rhythmic clatter of the carriage wheels eventually dulled your anger. Each movement, each echo of the horses’ hooves hitting the ground, worked as a peaceful lullaby. Fatigue was slowly but surely creeping in. After all, you had merely slept last night, too stressed by the encounter with the King. You finally let out a reluctant sigh.  Beaten down by fatigue, your body, stiff for hours, sunk slightly into the comfortable seat. As minutes flew by, your eyelids grew heavy and your head tipped forward. Fuck! You jolted awake and met the General’s gaze.

He had been watching you falling asleep closely, his expression softening at your sleepy doll face.

“Don’t fight it,” He murmured, his tenderness coming back, “You’re sleepy.”

“I’m not.” You mumbled like a child, still very much flustered by the way he had teased you and how he had managed to have the last word of your conversation. You glanced at him, a sulking pout still etched on your angelic face, but you couldn’t deny how right he was. The fatigue of months of training and restless nights weighed heavily and resisting it wasn’t an easy task now that the carriage was gently rocking you. 

“You know that I summon shadows and not sleep, don’t you?” His remark was playful, “Would you let it go if I apologize for not taking your opinion into account?”

“Yes.”

“I’m sorry, then. For this, and also for messing with you earlier. Please come here.” 

You had wanted to protest, stubborn as you were, but Kirigan shifted, opened his arm, and invited you to lean against him before you could do so. 

“Alright…”

Tentatively, you moved under his arm before resting your head on his shoulder, just like you did the night he brought you to the Little Palace, wrapped in his black coat and kept safe by his protecting hands. You slowly exhaled through your nostrils, comforted by his warmth and sweet perfume. The tension finally eased.

“Better?” He asked quietly, closing his grip around you to keep you all snuggled against him in an intimate, sheltering embrace.

“Hm.”  You hummed, eyes already closed and sleep winning the silent battle it had fought against you. The last thing you felt was the steady rise and fall of his chest as he breathed.

The tranquil rhythm of the carriage wheels over the cobblestone roads had pulled you deep into Morpheus’ arms. It didn’t take long for you to surrender to sleep, your head still resting lightly against Aleksander’s shoulders. As the carriage exited a thick forest, sunlight came to hit your heavenly appearance and formed a golden ring around you. There, bathed in the sun and blessed with a peaceful sleep, you seemed completely innocent. Fragile. Pure as freshly fallen snow. The sharp edges of your face were softened, your frown smoothed, and your seraphic traits freed from the usual tension.

Kirigan’s eyes, as black as soot like the remnant of a raging fire and dying amber, indulged in your drop-dead pulchritude. The fascination he had for you was so overwhelming that he lost the notion of time though he couldn’t care more. How could he focus on something else when every synapse of his brain, every fiber of his being, every nerve of his flesh, was occupied by you?  

Soon, studying your face wasn’t enough anymore. He needed to feel you. The General shifted slightly, careful not to disturb you in your sleep, only to pull you closer in a real hug. Now that you were closely tangled with him, the faint scent of your hair — crisp like winter yet surprisingly floral, reminding him of lily-of-the-valley flowers — reached him and tightened the knot of longing in his stomach. 

Aleksander buried his face in your ivory mane for a brief moment and wondered how you had managed to carve your way into his thoughts. How you had destroyed his carefully constructed walls he had spent centuries building high enough to discourage anyone. But you were unlike anyone he had ever known, weren’t you? Unpredictable and fierce like a firestorm even he couldn’t control.  

His hand hovered near your shoulder, hesitating. The conflict he experienced within was still tearing him apart. 

You will break her, Aleksander. Baghra’s sermon played on repeat in the back of his mind.

Rather than stroking your shoulder, Kirigan slowly, cautiously brushed a strand of hair from your face. His fingertips grazed your cold skin with utter gentleness, which made you stirred slightly. Your lips parted as if on the verge of waking, but you settled again, too embedded in sleep to bother. Yes, you were definitely unique, he thought. Destruction wrapped in a pretty bow. Apocalypse concealed in a tiny body made of frost and light. And yet, here the murderous creature was, leaning on him, soothed by his presence. Docile.

Or she will break you.

You wriggled again, unconsciously bringing your face closer to his in your sleep.

Aleksander’s jaw clenched for your plump, glossy lips were far too close to his — calling him. And while he tried to keep his willpower adamant, his body betrayed itself by starting to tremble lightly. He could feel his control fraying, the part of him that craves you warring with the part that knew better. 

You don’t see it, do you? She’s already in your heart, boy. 

A shaky breath escaped his famished mouth.

He shouldn’t allow himself this — this proximity, this vulnerability — but the sight of you, peaceful and unguarded, made him ache in a way he hadn’t thought possible. An ache that was spreading like fire through his veins, every detail of you feeding a yearning he had buried for multiple lives. Fuck, he swore in his mind, he craved you as a drowning man craved air: desperately. 

“You were right. You’re dangerous.” He whispered to the stillness as his fingers explored the fragile skin of your throat and relished the sensation of your pulse. The defiance you carried, your fury, your everything, it all drew him like a moth to a flame and the burn of it was equally ecstatic and painful, “Far more dangerous for me than you think, zyoma maya olya*...” (*moon of my life)

His lips brushed your forehead and laid a light kiss on it, light as a whisper, lingering just long enough to feel the coolness of your skin against his. It was a fleeting but spoke volume of that longing he struggled to contain. It was in these moments, when your walls were down, that resisting you became unbearable, his resolve slipping and his thought spiraling around the idea of how good it would be to touch you without hesitation. To grab you possessively and claim every inch of your skin with his hands and mouth. 

Aleksander gently pressed his forehead against yours then, his eyes shut tight for an instant as he chased away the following thought: What would it be to kiss you? The question scorched his mind, stoking the flames of a desire he couldn’t tame. Suddenly, the tall darkness clenched his fist until his nails bit into his palm, doing so in the desperate hope that physical pain could ground him. Could hold him back from the abyss he teetered on. 

For centuries, loneliness had been his shield — but now, with you so near, it felt like a prison.

“Slow, boys! Slow!” 

The distant sound of the cab man as well as the echo of hooves on stone snatched him from his trance: the King’s Court was nearby. Aleksander let out a long exhale and reopened his eyes, casting one last glance at your enthralling face before straightening his posture while still ensuring that you remained comfortably nestled against him. 

“Time to wake,” He finally said, his voice gentler than he intended.

“Are we there yet?” You asked, your drowsy eyes meeting his and, for a fleeting instant, he thought he saw a flicker of genuine trust in the vast desert of your irises. 

“We are.” His arms left your shoulders to let you brace yourself.

Straightening, you smoothed your hair anxiously and quickly rubbed the Sandman’s dust out of your eyes. 

“One last thing…” Aleksander started.

“Yes, my General?” You asked, your voice raspy with sleepiness.

“I beg you to keep in mind that whatever might happen, whatever the King would say, I’ll be by your side. Through the best and the worst.”

Forever and always.

☾ Please consider interacting if you want the story to continue. It is what motivates writers to write the next chapters.

☾ Taglist: @lunawants , @emtaz-art, @lightinbug, @kmc1989, @thepassionatereader @mystic-mara @m-riaa @kallista-diune @meadows5 @kasagia @watersquirtpewpewboomm @the-sweet-psycho @sarahsobsession @elizabethblood9 @ritzzzzz

[itstobias149]

Oc Song Associations

Okay so- I don't have the brain cells to draw everybody's oc SOOO in just gonna tag you and explain! This will probably be a multi part thing!

This is songs that Marie would associate with you oc, and sure some are modern songs, so wouldn’t fit the the time line, but they slap- so fight me. I hope you guys enjoy! Cause I had a lot of fun doing this. This also contains some headcanons about your charters cause, I think they are neat! Some might have more than other, it’s currently like 3am-4am so-I’m super eppy so please excuse any gramma mistakes 👉👈✨

Ps: Marie is a simp, also question:

It’s 3am, rainy, and cold. Why does your character show up outside her door?

(Just need to know for art reasons)

Clementine

Clementine is @bazooka-overkill oc who is the manager for Mr.Sandman. I feel (hope) Marie and Clem are good friends. Clem helps Marie step away from time to time and regather herself. I feel that Marie would feel some type of bond, couldn’t place a finger on it though. I feel that he is just a good person who can be really grounding in all the chaos. Why this song? I… I really can’t explain it. It just makes sense in my mind, it oddly gives me grounding vibes. It’s a good chill out and look at the calling song.

Jacko

Jacko is a Greek boxer who belongs to @star-bliss8 ! Super loving kind guy, he’s a hugger not a fighter. (He’s a boxer lol) I feel like he’s a big pleasure to work with and has a high emotional intelligence, regardless of language barriers. I think Jacko and Marie definitely hang out outside of the rink, maybe had lunch from time to time. I assigned Se Thello, which is like one of my favorite songs. Antique is a really good early 2000s Greek group, highly recommend if you like pop it love songs. They have songs in both English and Greek.

Garcia

Garcia is a Mexican boxer who belongs to @hol-ymoly ! I sense a confident and collected man, friendly and committed. I feel like Garcia is one of Marie’s favorite boxers to work with because he is respectful. I feel like he’s keeps his opinions to himself and plays the bigger man. He definitely also always smells nice, I feel like he just looks like the kinda guy who smells good. So I assigned another one of my favorite songs. I think it’s to the correlation of handling emotions.

Barry

This man, creature- belongs to @stonedragonisnthere . Barry is a just a corrupt talk show honest, what more is there to say. He’s a smooth talker, quick witted (can be), and slick. I feel like Marie wouldn’t really consume his media, but as soon as she found out, she would be mad. But soon enough she would just roll her eyes and sigh, it’s how the world works. She wouldn’t agree with what he does, but would definitely be interested in the why. So she would definitely bring him around to pick his brain. Boom- the whisky blues vibes match his personality in her mind, plus he has to have a dark heart to do what he does.

Marie

Marie who is @nai418 character is a red in training! I love this character so much, definitely one of my favorites. Marie is shy, and kind, and sadly gets pushed around way too much. Marie(mine) would definitely stand up for her, and patch her up when things go south. I also could see things hanging out a lot. The Marie’s would be funny, someone calls out ‘Marie!’ And they both would come running. I would say Magnolia would be a good song, I feel like Marie(my Marie) adores her, definitely in a platonic way.

Pilsner

Pilsner is a Czech boxer who belongs to @thorkelsongirl . I love this man. Marie would love this man, doesn’t matter how hard he tries to be be tough, she would see through it. He is definitely a guy she would check on. Knowing he has stuff going on she would always try to comfort him, maybe not infront of the others cause she wouldn’t want to embarrass him. She would definitely stay up talking to him, even if it takes every language translating app or book. She would wanna know his story. She would associate ‘she will be loved’ with him, no matter what if he needed her, she would be there. End of story.

Mary Ryan

Mary Ryan is the sibling of Aran Ryan, created by @artformationcoreir . Love this little rascal! So spunky, so full of life and energy. Once Marie met Mary she would spoil her. She would definitely hype the girl up, glad that she has confidence. Marie would probably take her out for girls days to get her out and about. Definitely would associate Mary with Just a girl by no doubt! Good vibes, matches Mary’s energy big time-

Perry

Mm, yes. YOUSIF- Perry belongs to @abigblackfly and is Aran Ryan’s manager. Definitely off the walls sarcastic guy. But a good guy at heart, regardless of how much he is dragged up the wall. Marie would definitely be friends with Perry, especially when she had a decent friendship with Ryan. Marie and Perry would probably play pool together and talk about the weekly drama. Perry would remind her of “my alcoholic friends”which has that sarcastic energy he carries.

Roxy

Roxy is an Australian boxer that belongs to @luc1ano03 . I really like the design! I feel they are a pretty chill person but still bring the chaos energy. They are the goblincore alt friend to Marie, and Marie is here for it. I feel like Marie can be a little more comfortable in her alt grandmacore way around them. Have her hair down, put in her piercings, and just hang out other. ‘Ripe’ by screaming females, just screaming females in general would remind Marie of them, it’s a good band!

Pale Phantom

Pale phantom is a boxer charater created by @shykittensoul . I love his design and he seems so sweet honestly. I think Marie would see him and just be like,”This is my child now… thanks-“. He seems to be just a sweet kid character, and she would just adore that. She would probably make him stuff all the time like scarfs, sweaters, and so on. I feel like “not while I’m around” from Sweeney Todd would be how she is like, ‘this is my baby, and I shall protect him-‘

Wolf

Wolf Viking (Luke) is a Swedish boxer created by @leonscottwolfkennedy . Love the big locked in eyes tbh. Marie would do her best to calm his anxiety, and definitely try to help him find some ways to cope. Definitely another person who would be welcome anytime, into her home. She would be very gentle with him. One of the boxers she would bring things like snacks for. I think Marie would associate ‘Forward Beckons Rebounds’ by Adrianne Lenker. (I reached the song limit, sorry I couldn’t add it.) it definitely has the caring feel she would have.

Anyways I hope you guys liked this! Might do more, idk. I’m gonna sleep now-

[mirainwonderland]

Summary: you have an anxiety attack and he comforts you

Content: depictions of anxiety and panic, comfort, fluff, established relationship. Brief mentions of blood but nothing graphic

A/N / Disclaimer: I lowkey hate this 🥲 but if you struggle sometimes like I do, here’s how I think Leon would help you (I think he knows what he’s doing because he’s been through them too 🥺). Little disclaimer that everyone is probably different and I just wrote based on the anxiety experiences I have. Sending love and hugs to anyone who deals with anxiety everything’s gonna be ok <3 muah k luv you bye

· · ────── ·𖥸· ────── · ·

Longest day of your life. You’re more exhausted than a mother of five in a coffee shortage. Yet here you are, lying awake, stiff as a board in your bed, staring at the ceiling. A car goes by on the street outside, the light filtering in through the blinds and casting shadowed stripes across the walls and ceiling. You swear you can hear the ticking of the clock in the kitchen from here, and you let out a puff of air through pursed lips.

It’s driving you insane.

How many hours past midnight have you counted again? Oh right, 20 minutes. You feel like you’ve been lying here for eons, counting the even breathes beside you. You’re a little jealous watching Leon sleep peacefully beside you. Usually this is a him problem, and not yours. Not even the consistent, rhythmic rise and fall of his chest has calmed you. Usually his presence made you relax, and from there you’d grow sleepy.

But not tonight for god knows what reason.

You really do know, though. The day you’ve had keeps replaying over and over in your mind. Everything seemed to go wrong, your anxiety was horrible, and to add insult to injury you’re pretty sure your period is coming in a couple of days.

The joys of womanhood. Isn’t it fun?

You blow another breath through your mouth. All jokes aside, you feel like you’ve been doing worse lately. And the worst part about that is that you feel like you haven’t been able to tell Leon about it. You don’t really know why. It feels kind of humiliating to admit you’re not doing good, and you can’t figure out how to even broach the subject in the first place.

So you stay quiet, suffering alone in your silence like a devoted martyr to your anxiety. You wonder how holy you’d be by now if constant internal panic was measured in penance of some sort.

Leon hates it when you do that. He’s told you so many times to just come talk to him. And even though you want to, you can’t seem to break down your wall of pride and let him in. Even though the little girl in you is screaming for someone to hold her when the room goes dark, you still can’t bring yourself to tug on his sleeve and ask for help. You feel like a pick me begging for attention.

You sigh and sit up. You can’t stand your thought process anymore as it drifts to this uncomfortable territory, and you throw back the covers to go get a drink of water. It’s your own greatest enemy, your mind. And the worst part is, you can only run from it for so long. Because no matter how much you bottle things in, it will catch up with you sooner than you think.

You flip on the soft oven light for a little guidance, but not enough to chase away any traces of sleepiness that might be lingering as you fill a glass with cold water from the sink. Your head kind of hurts as you turn to rest against the counter and take a sip of water. Your chest tightens as soon as the water hits your stomach and you don’t really feel good.

You try to brush it off at first as low blood sugar or something. But it doesn’t go away, and becomes a little more insistent, and suddenly your chest aches.

Shit.

Your hands start to shake as that familiar feeling creeps back in to compress on your ribs. It’s a sick feeling, like you’ve eaten too much cake or like you’re really thirsty but no amount of water can help. As it gets worse, you feel like you can’t breathe. You hadn’t had an episode in a while, but all that stuffing your feelings nonsense got to you. Not healthy.

You go to set the glass down on the counter, but you don’t quite clear the edge and it knocks the water out of your hands. The loud noise of it shattering on the tile irritates you more, and your shoulders jolt. Every nerve feels on needle-point edge, the sudden overstimulation making your head feel like it’s gonna explode.

You press a hand against your chest, breathing having grown rapid as your vision blurs around the edges.

“Hey.” You don’t even see or hear him until Leon has your shoulders and speaks right in front of your face. Your shoulders jerk again when he grabs you, and your hands fly out to grab at something. They find his arms.

“I-I… I can’t breathe…!” You tremble, your head growing light and tingly from the shallow panting.

“I know… I know, easy.” Avoiding the broken glass, Leon lifts you effortlessly onto the counter. He’s calm, his voice deep and even and a little rough from sleep.

“I-… I can’t—“

“Don’t think about it.” His voice an anchor somewhere in the haze of reality you’re struggling to get back to. “Take a breath.”

You try. Your lungs are shaking. It hitches, and you almost feel worse. He takes your hand and lays your palm flat agains his chest.

“Like this.” He sucks in a deep demonstrative breath through his nose, out through his mouth, making sure you can feel the way his chest rises and falls with the motion. “You know how, baby.”

“I-I can’t!”

“You can. Do it with me, c’mon.”

You focus your energy and your frayed concentration on the way his chest feels under your hand, the way the warmth creeps up your arm. On the way his breath sounds and feels. On the way the air feels spilling into your own lungs.

Gradually you regain control.

Leon tilts his head, trying to get a look at your face in the dimness of the stove light.

“‘Okay?” He murmurs, and you nod, letting your eyes crack open and your head fall back forward to look at him. You’re suddenly aware that your feet hurt and feel kinda sticky.

“C’mon.” He reaches for you, and you wrap your arms around his neck as he carries you carefully out of the kitchen and down the hall to the bathroom.

The light blinds you when he turns it on, and you squint and blink as he sets you on the counter, and your feet in the sink. The amount of blood on your feet scares and sickens you, but Leon lays a warm, gentle hand on the back of your head as he sets the first aid kit next to you.

“It’s okay. Don’t look.”

He makes sure there’s no shards of glass in your skin, he cleans the cuts gently and disinfects them. You watch quietly as he bandages them up, wrapping up the balls of one of your feet.

The silence is a little unsettling. Is he mad? Obviously he’s probably not too mad about the glass. He’d probably say it’s replaceable. But now he kinda knows there was something bothering you, and you clearly didn’t talk to him about it before it got bad.

“Sooo… what no lecture?” You finally blurt as he ties off the gauze. He glances up at you as he lowers your foot from the counter.

“For what?” You watch as he washes his hands in the sink and puts the first aid kit away.

“You know… for not… talking to you sooner, I guess.”

He gathers you into his arms again and you wrap yours around his neck as he flips off the light and carries you back to bed. He kisses your temple on the way back down the hall, watching as your eyelids droop sleepily when you don’t sense any tension in his body.

“Maybe tomorrow morning.”

He carries you back to bed and tucks you in. Laying down beside you, he holds his arm out for you to come a little closer and curl up under it. You scooch.

He rests his hand on the back of your head, his thumb brushing your hair behind your ear.

“I will say this though…” He murmurs deeply as you look up at him from your little spot in the sanctuary of his arms. “You know you can come to me, you know you’re not a burden and I like being there for you.”

He smoothes his thumb over your hair.

“I love you… k?” He presses a kiss to your forehead.

“Okay.” You reply in a little voice. You know he’s right. You know he means what he says. Leon’s not the type to waste words on sentiments he doesn’t mean. And hearing it again makes you feel a little silly for overthinking it.

“Okay.” Another kiss. “Get some sleep, yeah?”

This time, you’re out like a light.