#when i tell you i was screaming last night

[requiemforthepoets]

the story we won’t tell is my greatest fantasy ⟢ LN4

PAIRINGS: lando norris x female!reader

SUMMARY: seven years. you and lando had been together for seven years, but it all went down the drain the moment he decided to come clean about the mistake that he did.

REMINDERS: this is purely fiction, the way how the character is portrayed in my story does not reflect the person that is portraying my character in real life. always separate fiction from reality, and do not repost or copy my work in any way.

WARNINGS: no use of y/n, breakup, cheating, cheater lando, pregnancy, secret child, mentions of nausea and vomiting, fainting, angst, open ending, math is not mathing (but i tried), some inaccuracies, named side characters (except for the reader), single!mom reader, and minor typographical errors

WORD COUNT: 7.2k

AUTHOR’S NOTE: this fic is inspired by niki’s song ‘apartment we won’t share,’ ik that we have diff interpretations for the songs, but i interpret it as the way how i wrote this fic. i’m not planning on doing a second part of this, and just leave it an open ending. but if someday i get inspired, i’ll try and make a part 2 for this, though for now, there will be no part 2 for this fic. i will be leaving the ending all up to you. you comments/reblogs is highly appreciated, and i hope that you’ll enjoy this one.

It had been a long and exhausting week. The lingering ache from your family emergency still tugged at your heart, so to keep off your mind from things, you had spent most of the day sorting through Lando’s things, folding clothes and making sure his suitcase was ready for his flight to another race weekend. It was the kind of task you had done so many times in the last seven years, but this time, it felt heavier, like there was something wrong that you couldn’t quite place.

When Lando returned to Monaco a few days later, you expected him to be his usual vibrant self, but something was off with him. Lando’s eyes seemed heavier, his posture slouched, and smile lacked the spark that you were used to.

“Hey, can we talk for a second?” he asked, voice unusually subdued.

You set down the shirt you had been folding, brows furrowing. “Sure, of course,” you replied, taking a seat on the couch. “What’s on your mind?”

Lando hesitated, hands fidgeting with the edge of his hoodie. He sat across from you, knees bouncing slightly as he stared at the floor. “You know I love you, right? More than anything.”

A faint smile crossed your lips. “I know, Lan, and you made sure to let me know everyday for seven years.”

He looked up briefly, gaze fleeting before dropping back to the floor. “I need to tell you something, I wanted to be completely honest with you…and it’s probably the hardest thing I’ve ever had to say.”

Your heart skipped a beat. Lando’s tone, demeanor—it was all wrong, and you were getting really nervous by now. “What is it?” you asked, voice quiet, wary.

Lando took a deep breath, his hands now gripping his knees as if to ground himself. “When I was out for a night with the guys a month ago…I messed up.”

Your stomach churned. You didn’t want to interrupt him, waiting for Lando to continue, though every fiber of your being wanted to scream at him, to demand some answers.

“There was…someone at the club that night,” he said, words slow and measured, like he was forcing them out of him. “It was stupid, an honest mistake. I was so drunk, caught up in everything, and I wasn’t thinking.”

You felt like the air had been sucked out of the room. “W-What are you saying?” you managed, voice barely above a whisper.

Lando finally looked at you, eyes glistening. “I accidentally slept with her. It was a one-time thing, I swear, then she called me last week—I don’t even know how she got my number, but she told me that she’s pregnant.

Pregnant.

The words hit you like a freight train. You stared at him, mind completely blank, unable to process what he had just said. Tears began to blur your vision, but you didn’t wipe them away.

“Lando…” you tried to speak up, but your voice cracked.

“I didn’t know how to tell you,” he said, voice shaking. “I didn’t know what to do. All I could think about was how much I’ve hurt you. But I can’t let my kid grow up without a family. I know how much family means to you, to me. I have to be there for them.”

Your heart shattered into pieces. You could see how much Lando was struggling, the guilt etched into every line of his face. But the pain of his betrayal was unbearable.

“I don’t…I don’t have anything to say anymore, honestly,” you said finally, voice trembling. “Because you had already made your decision—you’re choosing them.”

Lando shook his head vehemently. “No! No, I’m not choosing anyone over you. You’re the love of my life. That hasn’t changed and never will.”

“Lando, you can’t have both,” you said, tears streaming down your face. “I can’t stay here knowing all of these. I can’t be a part of this.”

He reached out as if to touch you, but you recoiled. You couldn’t bear his touch right now. “Please love,” he whispered, voice breaking. “I love you. I don’t ever want to lose you.”

“You already have,” you said softly, standing up and wiping your tears. “I won’t hold you back, Lando. You need to do what’s right for your child. They deserve a family, and I will not be the reason why they don’t have one.”

You walked to your shared bedroom, your movements mechanical as you began packing your things. Every item you placed in your suitcase felt like a dagger to your chest. This apartment had been your home, your safe haven, and now it was just a place you needed to escape from. Lando just stood in the doorway, watching you pack all of your things, his face pale and tear-streaked. He didn’t try to stop you—he knew that he couldn’t.

When you zipped up your suitcase and grabbed your bag, you turned to him one last time. “Take care of both of them,” you said, voice barely audible. “Be the father they need.

With that, you walked out of the apartment, out of the life you and Lando had built together. You had loved him for seven years, trusted him with every piece of your heart. But now, all you had was the emptiness of what could have been.

The crisp night air bit at your skin as you stood by the entrance of the apartment building, clutching the handle of your suitcase. Your ride to the airport was just a few minutes away, but the wait felt eternal. You stared blankly at the sidewalk, mind is a chaotic mess, the weight of everything that had happened tonight pressing heavily on your chest.

You heard familiar voices approaching before you saw them, their cheerful tones instantly recognizable. Quickly, you wiped at your cheeks, hoping your red-rimmed eyes wouldn’t give you away. Plastering on a smile, you turned towards Max and Kelly as they walked towards the entrance, hand in hand, their expressions bright despite the late hour.

“Hey! What are you doing out here so late?” Kelly asked, brows knitting in concern as she noticed the two large suitcases beside you.

You hesitated, forcing your smile to stay in place. “I, uh, have a family emergency,” you lied smoothly, voice steady even though your heart was pounding. “I need to head back home for a bit.”

Max tilted his head slightly, sharp blue eyes scanning you with the protective gaze you had come to know so well over the years. “Two large suitcases for just a quick trip? That seems a bit much,” he remarked lightly, though his tone carried a hint of suspicion.

You shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant. “It’s just…really complicated right now. I’m not sure how long I’ll be gone, so I packed extra, just in case.”

Kelly’s hand tightened on Max’s arm as she stepped closer to you, her concern evident. “Is Lando not home right now? Why didn’t you tell us earlier? We could’ve helped you pack, we can drive you to the airport.”

You shook your head quickly. “Lan’s already sleeping and I hate to wake him up, he just recently got back from his trip. I also didn’t want to bother you, I’ve already called a car, and it should be here any minute.”

They exchanged a look, clearly unconvinced but respectful enough not to press you further. “Well, we’re not leaving you out here alone,” Max said firmly. “We’ll wait with you until your ride gets here.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but the determined set of his jaw told you it would all be just pointless. Instead, you nodded, grateful for their presence even as it made it harder to hold yourself together.

Kelly gave you a warm smile, trying to ease the tension. “It’s late, but P was asking about you earlier,” she said softly. “She’s been begging to have another day with her favorite Auntie.”

Your heart clenched at the mention of Penelope, and you forced your smile to widen. “I’ll miss her so much,” you said, voice thick despite your best efforts. “Tell her I’ll see her soon.”

Kelly’s brow furrowed slightly at your words, but before she could say anything, your ride had pulled up to the curb. Relief and dread washed over you in equal measure. Max then stepped forward immediately, grabbing your suitcases with ease.

“I’ll load these up for you,” he said, tone gruff but kind.

“Thank you,” you murmured, watching as he placed your suitcases in the trunk of the car.

When Max turned back, Kelly pulled you into a tight hug, her familiar perfume bringing a rush of bittersweet comfort. “Take care of yourself, okay?” she whispered. “Whatever’s going on, we’re here for you.”

You nodded against her shoulder, your throat too tight to respond. When she pulled away, Max had stepped forward, wrapping you in a hug that was strong and protective, just like he always was.

“Be back soon, okay? P will be missing her favorite Aunt.” he said, chuckling. “If you need anything, you call me or Kelly. No excuses.”

“I will,” you promised, though you knew that you wouldn’t.

As you stepped back, Kelly offered you a gentle smile. “When you get back, P will be so excited to see you again. You know how much she loves spending time with you.”

The lump in your throat grew, and you could only nod in response. You managed a faint smile as you climbed into the car, giving them one final wave.

“Safe travels,” Kelly called out as Max closed the door for you.

You watched them through the window, standing together on the curb, their figures illuminated by the soft glow of the streetlights. They waved as the car pulled away, but you couldn’t bring yourself to wave back again. Instead, you turned your gaze forward, the city lights blurring through the tears that silently slid down your cheeks.

You didn’t look back. You couldn’t.

When you finally arrived back home, the weight of the long hour of flight clung to you like a heavy fog. You dragged your suitcases through the familiar front door, exhaustion etched into every inch of your body. The warm, welcoming scent of your childhood home did little to comfort you, instead, it only amplified the ache in your chest. All you wanted was to collapse into your bed and wake up to a world where none of this had ever happened—a world where your heart wasn’t shattered into pieces. But this was your reality, as cruel as it was.

You definitely hadn’t anticipated seeing your older sister, Noelle, and her husband, Mike, in the living room, seated across from your mother, their laughter filling the space. The sound abruptly stopped when they noticed you standing in the doorway, your pale face and tired eyes a huge giveaway of the turmoil you tried so desperately to hide.

“What are you doing here?” Noelle asked, rising from her seatc brows knitting together in concern. “You didn’t tell us that you were coming home.”

Noelle’s brows knit together as she took in your disheveled appearance, her sharp eyes catching every detail—dark circles under your eyes, stiffness in your movements, and the forced smile you mustered.

“Yeah,” you replied quietly, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “I, uh, needed to come home for a bit.”

Your mother rose from her seat as well, concern etched into her features. “Sweetheart, what’s wrong?” she asked softly, gaze darting between you and the suitcases you had left by the door.

You hesitated, throat tightening. You had been dreading this moment, knowing full well how much your family adored Lando so much. They had welcomed him with open arms from the start, treating him as one of their own. Now, you were about to break their hearts almost as much as he had broken yours.

“It’s nothing,” you said, forcing a smile that felt more like a grimace. “I just needed a change of scenery, that’s all.”

Noelle stood, arms crossed as she gave you a pointed look. “Don’t give me that kind of excuse. You don’t just show up unannounced looking like this for no reason. What really happened?”

You swallowed hard, avoiding Noelle’s gaze. “Lando and I broke up,” you said finally, your voice barely above a whisper.

The whole room fell silent, the weight of your words sinking in. Your mother’s hand flew to her mouth, eyes wide with shock. “Oh, my darling sweetheart,” she breathed.

Noelle, however, was not so subdued. “What?” she exclaimed, voice rising. “What do you mean you broke up? What happened? Did he do something stupid?”

“No!” you said quickly, shaking your head. “No, it wasn’t like that.”

“Then what was it like?” she pressed, tone sharp.

You took a deep breath, willing yourself to stay composed. “We just…fell out of love. The both of us,” you said, hating the words even as you said then. “We’ve been together for so long, and I guess we just realized that we weren’t the same people years ago anymore. It didn’t make sense to keep on pretending, we’ll just end up hurting ourselves in the long run.”

Noelle’s eyes narrowed, clearly unconvinced. “That doesn’t sound like Lando at all. The man adores you so much, even worships the ground you walk on.”

“He did,” you said softly, chest tightening. “And I adored him too. But people change, feelings change.”

Your mother stepped closer, her hands reaching for yours. “Are you sure this is what you wanted?” she asked gently.

You nodded, the lump in your throat growing. “It’s for the best,” you lied, voice cracking slightly.

Mike, who had been silent until now, placed a hand on Noelle’s shoulder. “If this is what she’s decided, we should respect it,” he said quietly, giving you a small, understanding nod.

Noelle just sighed, clearly torn between pressing you for further information and letting it go. Finally, she relented, though her expression was still skeptical.

“I just don’t want you to regret this,” she said, voice more softer now. “You two were so good together.”

You bit the inside of your cheek to keep you from breaking down. “I’ll be okay, eventually,” you said, words hollow.

Your mother pulled you into a tight embrace, her warmth briefly soothing the ache in your chest. “Whatever happens, we’re always here for you,” she murmured.

“Thanks, mommy,” you whispered, blinking back tears.

As you pulled away, your sister gave you a long look, her expression unreadable. “If he hurt you—” she started, but you cut her off.

“He didn’t,” you said firmly, voice steady despite the storm inside you. “It just didn’t work out. That’s all.”

Noelle still didn’t look convinced, but she nodded, clearly sensing that there’s more to it, and you didn’t want to talk about it anymore. “Alright,” she said quietly. “But if you ever want to talk, I’m here, okay? We’re all here.”

You gave her a small smile, though it didn’t reach your eyes like it used to. “Thank you,” you said, words barely audible.

Excusing yourself, you retreated to your old bedroom, closing the door behind you gently and sinking onto the comfort of your bed. The familiar surroundings brought no comfort, only a stark reminder of the life you had left behind. While you lay down, staring at the ceiling, the tears finally came, silent and unrelenting.

You had still protected Lando from your family’s anger, even though he did not deserve any of it, and now, you were left to pick up the pieces alone.

The Nausea hits you like clockwork every morning. You found yourself rushing to the bathroom, stomach twisting in protest against seemingly nothing. It had started a few weeks ago, and though you had initially dismissed it as a lingering flu or perhaps the stress with work finally catching up to you, it was becoming harder to ignore. Rest didn’t seem to help you, but you assured yourself that it wasn’t that serious. Besides, you have work to focus on, and that was enough to keep your mind occupied, most of the time.

Two months had already passed since you had left Monaco for good, and life had begun to settle into a new rhythm. Yes, the ache in your chest was still there, but it had been dulled into something manageable. You were slowly rebuilding yourself, piece by piece, though the nausea was an unwelcome distraction.

It was a normal afternoon, while you were curled up on the beanbag chair in your bedroom after a long and tiring day, your phone buzzed. The caller ID that was displayed on the screen made your breath catch for a moment—Kelly. You hesitated before answering, already bracing yourself for the conversation. Her face appeared on the screen, bright and concerned.

“Finally, I caught you!” she said with a smile, though her tone was tinged with worry. “I was starting to think you were avoiding me.”

You shook your head, chuckling and offered her a small smile. “I’m so sorry, Kelly. Things have been so busy with me lately.”

Kelly’s brow furrowed slightly as she studied your face. “You look tired. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, it’s just a silly flu,” you said quickly, but the faint edge in your voice didn’t go unnoticed.

“Don’t lie to me,” she said gently. “Max and I found out about it already, about you and Lando.”

Your chest tightened, but you forced yourself to stay calm. “Oh.”

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” she asked, expression softening. “We would’ve been there for you. You’ve been through this all alone.”

You sighed, your shoulders sagging. “I didn’t want to drag anyone else into the mess, and I didn’t even know what to say.”

Kelly’s voice grew firmer. “You didn’t have to say anything, we would’ve understood. Max is furious with Lando, you know. So is Carlos. I even have to break the two of them away from Lando.”

Your heart sank at the thought. “Please don’t be mad at him. It’s not worth it.”

Kelly shook her head, lips pressing into a thin line. “It is worth it. What Lando did to you was unforgivable. You didn’t deserve any of that.”

“It’s okay,” you murmured, though the words felt hollow. “I’ll move on, eventually.”

Kelly’s expression softened again, and she leaned closer to the camera. “I just wish you’d let us help you. You know we love you, right? You’ve always been family to us.”

“I know,” you whispered, tears pricking at your eyes.

Her face brightened slightly. “But speaking of family, someone’s been dying to talk to you!”

Before you could respond, the screen shifted, and Penelope’s little face appeared, her eyes lighting up when she saw you. “AUNTIE!” she exclaimed, voice high with excitement.

”Hi, P!” You said, heart aching at the sight of her.

“I miss you so much!” she said, pouting slightly. “When are you coming back? Mommy says you’re not in Monaco anymore.”

You hesitated, unsure of how to explain. “I miss you too, darling. I just…I had to be somewhere else for a while.”

“But you’ll come back, right?” she asked, her big eyes staring at you expectantly.

You swallowed hard, forcing a smile. “We’ll see, P. For now, you have to be good for your mommy and Maxie, okay?”

“I’m always good!” she declared, puffing out her chest.

Kelly’s voice chimed in from the background. “That’s debatable,” she teased, earning a giggle from Penelope.

You couldn’t help but smile, even as your chest tightened. “You’re the best, P. Don’t ever forget that.”

“Okay!” she said brightly before turning to Kelly. “Mommy, can we call Auntie again tomorrow?”

Kelly returned to the screen, giving you a knowing look. “We’ll let her rest for now, P. But yes, we’ll call Auntie again soon.”

“Promise?” Penelope asked, her eyes wide.

“Promise,” Kelly said, smiling before turning back to you. “Take care of yourself, okay? And if you need anything, anything, just call me.”

You nodded. “Thank you so much, Kelly. I will.”

After ending your facetime call with Kelly, you stumbled into the bathroom, your stomach churning violently. The moment you stepped inside, you collapsed in front of the toilet, heaving uncontrollably. It felt as though your insides were twisting, every muscle tensing in protest. When it finally subsided, you shakily wiped your mouth, staring at your reflection in the mirror. You looked pale—paler than usual, and eyes were bloodshot from the strain.

It took you a couple of minutes to compose yourself before heading to the kitchen, hoping the water would help settle your spinning head. Grabbing a glass from the cabinet, you poured the water, but as you lifted it to your lips, another wave of dizziness hit you. This time, it was stronger. Your grip faltered, and the glass slipped from your hand, shattering loudly as it hit the floor.

The sharp noise brought Noelle and Mike running into the kitchen. They froze when they saw you swaying on your feet, barely managing to stay upright. You blinked, trying to focus, but everything around you was growing hazier. Before you could say anything, your legs gave way beneath you, and you crumpled to the floor, your vision blackening as you began to lose consciousness. Noelle was by your side in an instant, her hands gentle but urgent as she checked your pulse.

“Don’t worry, she’s alive,” Noelle muttered, voice steady despite the fear in her eyes. “Mike, call an ambulance now!”

Mike didn’t hesitate, rushing to grab his phone and calling for help. You could hear Mike’s voice in the background, muffled and frantic as he spoke to the operator.

“Yes, we need an ambulance,” Mike said, tone clipped, almost too calm for the situation. “My sister-in-law collapsed, and we need help immediately.”

Noelle’s voice cut through your haze, trying to keep you steady. “Come on, stay with me, okay? Just hold on.”

You couldn’t respond, couldn’t even make a sound, but you could hear them both, voices blending with the rush of adrenaline in the air. Mike’s footsteps moved swiftly, his voice growing more distant as he spoke with the ambulance on the phone.

The minutes that followed felt like hours. The sound of the ambulance siren grew louder, and relief flooded Noelle’s face as the paramedics rushed into the house. They quickly assessed the situation, asking Noelle questions about your symptoms and recent health conditions.

“She’s been experiencing dizziness for weeks now,” Noelle explained. “She’s stubborn, didn’t want to see a doctor. This morning she was nauseous, and now she’s fainted.”

The paramedics nodded, lifting you onto the stretcher carefully. Noelle and Mike followed closely as they carried you out to the ambulance. “I’m coming with her to the hospital,” Noelle said firmly, climbing into the back of the ambulance without hesitation.

Mike stayed behind, watching the ambulance doors close with a worried expression. “Alright, I’ll be informing your mother when she arrives, but call me as soon as you know something,” he said to Noelle before they drove off.

Inside the ambulance, Noelle held your hand tightly, her fingers trembling against your own. “You’re going to be fine,” she said, though her voice was thick with concern. “Just breathe, okay? We’re almost there.”

You couldn’t focus on what Noelle was saying. The world had gone dark around you, only the pulse of your own heartbeat reminding you that you were still there, still fighting to stay conscious.

The steady beeping of the machines was the first thing you registered as you slowly opened your eyes, the sterile smell of the hospital room making everything feel surreal. Blinking against the harsh fluorescent light, your gaze landed on your sister, Noelle, sitting in one of the chairs beside your bed, her expression a mixture of worry and relief when she noticed you stirring.

“Noelle,” you croaked, voice hoarse from sleep and dryness.

She shot up almost instantly, coming to your side and helping you adjust into a sitting position in the hospital bed. Her hands were gentle but firm as she propped a pillow behind your back.

“Hey, take it easy, okay?” she said softly. She reached for a bottle of water on the bedside table, unscrewing the cap before handing it to you. “Here, drink up. Small sips.”

You followed her instructions, taking slow, careful sips, the cool water soothing your parched throat. “What happened? Why am I in the hospital?” you asked weakly, mind still foggy.

“You fainted in the kitchen,” Noelle explained, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face. “You scared the hell out of us. Mike called the ambulance, and I came with you here. Mom and Mike are both on their way. They’ll be here soon.”

Before you could respond, there was a knock at the door, a doctor entered, her expression professional but kind. Noelle immediately stepped aside, letting her approach you.

“I’m glad that you’re awake now, my dear,” she began, smiling at you. “We’ve run some tests to determine the cause of your fainting and other symptoms.”

You nodded slowly, stomach churning with apprehension. Noelle moved closer to your side, her presence grounding you.

“We’ve reviewed your results,” she continued, glancing at her clipboard before meeting your eyes. “The dizziness, nausea, and vomiting you’ve been experiencing for the past weeks are all consistent with early pregnancy symptoms. Congratulations, you’re seven weeks pregnant!”

Pregnant. Pregnant.

For a moment, the words did not register. The hospital room seemed to grow impossibly still, the doctor’s voice fading into the background as you processed the news. Seven weeks. The timeline clicked into place, and your heart sank as realization hit. Seven weeks pregnant. You could hear the faint ringing in your ears, a sharp contrast to the quiet gasp from Noelle beside you.

“I…I’m sorry, what?” you managed to stammer, voice shaking.

“You’re pregnant, dear,” the doctor repeated gently. “Seven weeks along. Your vitals look good, but it’s important to start prenatal care as soon as possible. We’ve referred you to an OB-GYN who will guide you through the process and answer any questions you might have.”

You nodded numbly, unable to form any coherent response. The doctor continued to explain what you should expect in the coming weeks—dietary recommendations, plenty of rest, and the importance of regular check-ups. But her words felt very distant, as if you were hearing them through a fog.

When the doctor finally left, you were left staring blankly at the sterile white wall, the weight of the revelation crushing you. Seven weeks. You did the math in your head, mind racing. By now, you know that the woman Lando had gotten pregnant would be around three months into pregnancy.

Tears began to well up in your eyes, the enormity of the situation was starting to overwhelm you. You were carrying Lando’s child. That man had broken and shattered your heart into pieces, and who had chosen someone else, was now bound to you in a way that you could not escape.

“Noelle,” you whispered, voice breaking.

She knelt beside the bed, taking your trembling hands in hers. “I’m here. Don’t worry, I’m here, okay?” she said softly, her tone steady and reassuring.

“I don’t know what to do,” you cried, tears streaming down your face. “This wasn’t supposed to happen. How am I supposed to handle this?”

Noelle’s grip on your hands tightened slightly, eyes full of concern. “I don’t have all the answers,” she admitted, “but you don’t have to go through this alone. Whatever you decide to do, I’ll be here for you—Mom and Mike, too. We’ll all figure this out together, okay?”

Two years had already passed, and your life was a world away from where it had been. Astrid, your little ray of sunshine, was turning two today. She was the center of your universe, your whole life, her giggles filling every corner of the house you had worked so hard to call your own. It was a beautiful home, just three doors away from your mother’s home, ensuring that Astrid was always surrounded by the love and warmth of your family.

Noelle and Mike, ever the doting aunt and uncle, spoiled her endlessly. They brought over toys, books, and clothes—sometimes more than you thought Astrid needed, but you couldn’t deny the happiness on Astrid’s face when they arrived with surprise in hand.

It’s true that your pregnancy and the early days of motherhood had not been easy, but you were able to survive. More than that, you thrived. With a promotion to a top position at work and a comfortable life for you and Astrid, you finally felt at peace. The past—Lando, was no longer a wound, but now a distant memory you had learned to accept. Your family also had long stopped asking questions about the details of your breakup, and while they knew Lando was Astrid’s father, they never dwelled on it. Astrid had all the love she needed, and that was what mattered most.

But there was one part of your life you had not reconciled yet—Max and Kelly. Despite keeping in touch with Kelly through regular facetime calls, you had managed to keep Astrid a secret. It wasn’t that you didn’t trust them, it was just too complicated to explain everything. It was already enough that they found out what Lando had done that caused your breakup.

However, when Kelly had mentioned that they would be spending their vacation in your home country and would be arriving the day before Astrid’s second birthday, you had a window of opportunity. It was time to take a step forward. So you had invited them to what you described as a simple gathering at your home. You didn’t explicitly tell them that it would be Astrid’s birthday party—just that it would be a chance to catch up and spend time together.

As the day drew closer, you found yourself torn between excitement and anxiety. What would they say when they realized the gathering that you had talked about was actually a celebration for your daughter? Would they feel hurt that you had kept Astrid a secret for so long?

These thoughts lingered as you finalized the decorations, baked Astrid’s favorite cake, and prepared the house for your guests. But when you looked at Astrid, happily playing with her toys in the living room, the doubt began to fade. This was your life now—a life filled with love and laughter, even if it was different from what you had once imagined.

The backyard was a colorful dream, adorned with streamers, balloons, and a banner that read, Happy 2nd Birthday! and Astrid’s favorite colors painted every corner of the space, and the laughter of children filled the air as they played games and ran around laughing. Astrid herself was the picture of happiness, twirling in her pretty dress, a bright smile on her face as she clung to her grandmother’s hand.

You excused yourself from the backyard, your hands brushing against your dress nervously as you stepped back into the kitchen to double-check the desserts. Rows of cupcakes sat neatly on the counter, each one topped with swirls of frosting and sprinkles. You picked one up, turning it slightly to make sure everything was perfect. Then the doorbell rang.

Your heart skipped a beat, a wave of nerves rushing through you. It had to be Max, Kelly, and Penelope. You wiped your hands on a towel, took a deep breath, and walked to the front door, steadying yourself before opening it. The moment you opened the door, cheerful shouts of ‘surprise!’ had greeted you. Kelly was the first to throw her arms around you, pulling you into a warm hug.

“It’s so good to see you!” she exclaimed, stepping back as Max swooped in for a hug.

“You’ve been hiding!” Max teased lightly, squeezing your shoulder before stepping aside to let Penelope in.

“Hi Auntie!” Penelope chirped, small arms wrapping tightly around your waist as she hugged you with all her might.

You bent down to her level, pulling her into a proper hug. “Hi, darling. I missed you so much!”

Penelope pulled back, her face beaming. “I missed you too, Auntie! Can I see your house?”

Before you could respond, the sound of children’s laughter drifted in from the backyard, catching their attention. Kelly tilted her head curiously.

“What’s going on back there?” she asked, brows furrowed. “That sounds like a lot of kids.”

Max glanced at you, an eyebrow raised. “Is this the simple gathering you mentioned?”

A nervous smile tugged at your lips as you stepped back, gesturing for them to follow. “Come on, follow me.”

You led them through the hallway and out through the glass doors that lead to the backyard, where the yard was buzzing with activity. Children were playing games, some of them are having the time of their life on the bouncy castle, parents chatted near the tables of food, and Astrid was in the middle of it all, her laughter carrying above the noise.

Penelope gasped in delight. “Can I please go play?” she asked, bouncing on her toes as she looked up at Max and Kelly.

Kelly nodded with a smile. “Of course, go ahead.”

Penelope dashed off, her excitement blending seamlessly with the other children. Kelly and Max, however, stood frozen, their eyes scanning the scene. It wasn’t long before they realized that this was not just any gathering.

“Is this…” Kelly began, voice trailing off.

“A birthday party?” Max finished for her, tone laced with confusion.

You nodded slowly, your smile nervous. “Yes. Actually,” you glanced at Astrid, who was now in your mother’s arms, laughing as your mother tickled her sides. “It’s her birthday party.”

Their confusion deepened as they followed your gaze. Max opened his mouth to speak, but Kelly beat him to it. “Her?” she asked, voice soft, almost uncertain.

Taking a deep breath, you walked over to your mother and gently took Astrid from her arms. Astrid immediately snuggled into your shoulder, her tiny hands clutching at your dress as she peeked at the newcomers. Turning back to Max and Kelly, you smiled, though your heart was racing.

“Guys, this is Astrid,” you said softly. “My daughter.”

For a moment, there was only silence as Max and Kelly processed your words. Kelly’s hand flew to her mouth, eyes wide, while Max stared at you, his expression a mix of shock and something deeper.

“You have a daughter?” Kelly finally asked, voice trembling slightly.

You nodded, holding Astrid a little tighter. “I do.”

Max’s voice was careful, almost cautious. “Where’s her father?”

The question hung heavy in the air, heavy and unspoken truths lingering just beneath the surface. You looked down at Astrid, avoiding Max’s gaze as you shifted your weight uncomfortably.

“He’s…not in the picture anymore,” you said quietly.

Max’s eyes narrowed slightly, jaw tightening. It was clear he had pieced everything together, but decided not to press further. Instead, his gaze softened as he looked at Astrid, who was now peering curiously at him. Kelly stepped forward, her initial shock melting into warmth.

“Can I hold her?” she asked gently.

You nodded, carefully handing Astrid over. Kelly cradled her as if she had been waiting for this moment forever, her face lighting up as Astrid stared at her with wide, curious eyes.

“She’s so beautiful,” Kelly murmured, voice thick with emotion.

Max crouched down slightly to Astrid’s level, his serious expression softening. “Hey there, little one,” he said, playfully covering his eyes with his hands and then revealing them. “Peekaboo!”

Astrid blinked at him, tiny lips began curling into a smile as Max covered his face with his hand again and revealed it with a loud ‘boo!’ Astrid’s laughter was immediate and infectious, filling the air and making Max grin wider.

“She likes you,” Kelly said with a laugh, glancing at Max as she bounced Astrid gently.

Max looked up, his expression a mix of amusement and something more tender. “What can I say? Kids love me.”

Penelope had run up to you with little Astrid in tow, face glowing with excitement. “Auntie, can Astrid play with me? I promise that I’ll take care of her,” she said, her little hands clasped together as she gave you the most earnest look.

You smiled, crouching down to their level. “Alright,” you said gently, brushing a strand of hair out of Astrid’s face. “But remember, she’s still very small, so be careful with her, okay?”

“I promise!” Penelope chirped. “Come on Astrid, let’s play!” she took Astrid’s hand and led her back towards the group of children.

Once they were settled, you turned to Max and Kelly, who were waiting nearby, their expressions a mix of curiosity and seriousness. You gestured towards the patio table, and the three of you moved to sit down. For a brief moment, there was an awkward silence, only broken by the distant sound of children laughing.

It was Max who spoke first. “So,” he began, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, “are you going to tell Lando about Astrid?”

“No.” you said firmly, meeting his gaze.

Kelly’s brows furrowed. “No?” she repeated, voice a mix of confusion and concern. “You don’t plan on telling him that he has a daughter?”

“Telling him that he has a daughter is not included in my plans,” you said quietly, glancing briefly at Astrid, who was now sitting on the grass with Penelope, giggling as they played.

Max exhaled sharply, leaning back in his chair. “But why?” he asked, voice steady but tinged with disbelief. “Don’t you think he has the right to know?”

You looked at Max, expression calm but resolute. “He had already made his choice and I made mine,” you said softly. “By the time I found out that I was pregnant, he was already committed to building a life with someone else—for their child. I’m not that ignorant, I’ve seen the articles, Max. It’s clear as daylight that he’s happy with them, he’s being the father that the child needs.”

Max sighed. “This isn’t about the articles or public perception. It’s about Astrid. She has the right to know who her father is, and Lando has a right to know about her.”

Kelly nodded in agreement with what had Max just said. “And what happens when she grows up and starts asking questions?”

“I’ll tell Astrid,” you said. “I’ll tell her when the time is right, I’ll explain everything to her. But for now, I’m protecting her. I don’t want her to feel like she was a second thought or an obligation. I don’t want to make her feel unwanted.”

Max shook his head slightly. “It’s not fair to Astrid, or to Lando,” he said, voice low. “He deserves to know. He deserves the chance to be a part of her life.”

“And what if Lando doesn’t want to be a part of her life, Max?” you said, voice cracking slightly and gripping the edge of the table. “What if yes, I ended up telling him, and he rejected her? What if I ruin the good thing he has now, for nothing? I’m not going to be the person who will bring chaos to my daughter’s life by trying to force something that might not even work, and I most definitely won't be the one who will tear Lando’s life apart just to ease my conscience.”

Kelly reached out, placing a hand gently on yours. “I understand that you’re scared,” she said softly. “And I understand why you’ve made your choice. But you don’t have to do this alone. Whatever you decide, we’ll support you. But please, just think about it, okay?”

You nodded, though you knew that your decision was firm and wouldn’t change. “Thank you,” you said quietly, looking between Max and Kelly. “I just need you both to trust me on this one. Trust that I’m doing what’s best for Astrid.”

Max hesitated, then finally nodded. “We’ll be keeping this just between the three of us,” he said, though there was a note of reluctance in his voice. “But if you ever change your mind, you know where to find us.”

Kelly smiled faintly, her grip on your hand tightening briefly before she let go. “Astrid is lucky to have you as her mother,” she said, voice warm. “She’s amazing and gorgeous, you know. She’s already so full of life.”

You smiled softly at Kelly’s words. “She is,” you said. “She really is.”

Glancing back towards the yard, you watched Astrid and Penelope play together, the sound of Astrid’s uncontrollable laughter filled the air, warming your heart in a way that words could never even describe. Her happiness was infectious, an important reminder of everything good in your life despite the path it had taken to get where you are now. But as your eyes lingered on her, there was a familiar ache that settled deep in your chest.

You couldn’t deny it—Astrid’s features were very unmistakable. Her eyes, so full of wonder and innocence, were a mirror image of Lando’s. Every now and then, when she turned her head a certain way or smiled just so, it was like seeing a glimpse of Lando again. The resemblance was undeniable, and it only grew stronger as Astrid got older. It was a bittersweet reality you carried with you every day.

Yet, despite the pain that came with those reminders, you were happy. Truly, deeply happy. Astrid was surrounded by love—a love so abundant that it filled every corner of her little world. She didn’t need anything else, not when you, your whole family, and everyone who cherished her. That love was enough, it had to be enough.

Letting Lando go was not easy. It had taken every ounce of strength you had to accept that the life you once imagined with him was not meant to be. But you had done it, you had learned to let him go. You had made peace with the fact that you were not the one he chose, and the woman you would never be was the one who was not his.

Someday, you knew, the time might come when you were ready to tell Lando about Astrid, ready to introduce him to the child you both brought into this world. But that day was not today. For now, you would let him continue living the life he had chosen, with the person he had chosen. You wished him nothing but happiness, even if it wasn’t with you.

You also hoped that Lando would one day find everything he was searching for, that he would feel fulfilled and content in the life he was building. Even if it hurts, you wanted that for him, and while he was busy living that life, the daughter you both would not raise together would still be here—waiting for him, even if he didn’t know it yet.

The breakup, heartache, and the choices you made were not what you had wanted, but they were what you needed. Sometimes, it’s hard to accept the fact that love is not enough to keep two people together, and that’s okay. It didn’t make the love you once shared with Lando any less real.

But for now, everything else could wait.

[allpiesforourown]

You guys don't understand Lan Qiren like I do okay. It's the 50s. Your nephew Lan Wangji wears stupid glasses and has unfashionable hair. He's a total nerd, probably going to valedictorian of his high-school like his brother was. Enter Wei Wuxian. Your sweet innocent child is going on a DATE with this man who has a cigarette in his mouth and a gaudy leather jacket and a motorbike and flirty fuckboy words and Lan wangji hops onto it drunk on the idea of being a good girl in love with a bad boy

You try to tell him, there's plenty of other boys!! It doesn't have to be Wei wuxian!! But turns out there aren't actually that many other boys. Nie Huaisang is even worse than Wei Wuxian in terms of being bad (he's spent the last decade plotting a murder??) and when you try to set Wangji up with Jiang Cheng they just suicide bait each other all evening.

Eventually you cut your losses and realize whatever. As long as my nephew is happy. Wei Wuxian moves in and you listen to his screaming at night and realize oh God. Lan Wangji is the horny bad boy.

[sinofwriting]

Faking It - Max Verstappen

Words: 850 Summary: Max finds out his girlfriend faked an orgasm. Note(s): NSFW, Talks of Sex, Mention of Semi-Public Sex. Part of a kind series where drivers find out reader faked an orgasm.

Max pauses just before the entryway to the living room. “Have you ever y’know?” His brows furrow at the vague question from his girlfriend’s best friend.

“Have I ever what?”

“Faked it. Have you ever faked an orgasm?”

She scoffs, “Before Max, yes.”

His cheeks turn a bit pink at the conversation he was overhearing, but he also stands a bit taller.

He knew that their sex life was good, that she was getting orgasms, they had of course talked about it, but it was different hearing her talk to someone else about it with no idea he was there.

His brows furrowed in confusion when she speaks again, “well, I don’t really know if it counts as faking it.”

“What?”

“I mean, there’s been a few times when we’ve had sex where I didn’t orgasm.”

His mind starts screaming at him, because what? He always made sure she came, usually before he did.

“Not because it wasn’t good or because I didn’t want to. I just couldn’t.” He can practically see the shrug she gives. “The sex was still good though.”

“Y/N!” Her friend screeches and it breaks up a little through the phone.

The words replay in his head as he goes back to their bedroom, lying down on the bed. He tries to think of when she would have faked it but nothing comes to mind. He’s so wrapped up in his head he doesn’t hear her call his name or get onto the bed until she’s laying down on top of him, his arms instinctively wrapping themselves around her.

“What you thinking about?” She asks, pressing kisses to his jaw.

It normally relaxes the feeling of her lips pressed against his skin but not quite where he wants them, a lovely prelude to before she kisses him, but he can’t get past what he heard and he’s never been practically shy.

“When did you fake it? Having an orgasm with me?”

Her fingers pause where they had begun to lift his shirt to slide under. “Max, it’s not a big deal.”

His frown deepens and he’s pushing her upwards so they can look at each other. “Yes, it is. I always thought that I made you orgasm, usually first. And now I’ve found that isn’t true.”

She shakes her head. “You do! I promise you do.”

He doesn’t say anything and she sighs.

“It’s only happened twice.”

He doesn’t know if he’s relieved that it only happened twice or pissed that he failed twice. It should have never happened but twice was far too much.

“The first time was after the FIA gala last year.”

His eyebrows furrow, “But you talk about that night a lot.”

“It was a good night. I felt good, amazing. I loved everything we did, I just wasn’t able to orgasm. I didn’t feel unsatisfied or anything. Especially not with my wake-up call.”

He smirks at the reminder of the next morning. He had woken up just as the sun was rising and had ducked under the covers and ate her out until she was begging for him to stop. His jaw and tongue had ached for hours after, but it was worth it for the taste of her stayed just as long.

“The second time was in China. I just couldn’t stop thinking about what if someone walked in.”

“So, I didn’t fuck you good enough.”

She slaps his chest lightly, sending him a disbelieving look. “I was limping a little after. And you're lucky I was wearing those heels and everyone believed me when I said I twisted my ankle.”

“I’m sorry.” Max apologizes again, picking up her hand and kissing it. He still felt a little bad that their first foray into semi-public sex had been so rough. “Why didn’t you tell me though? That I didn’t make you come?”

“It wasn’t that big of a deal to me.” She tells him. “I love having sex with you, it always feels good regardless of me orgasming or not. And in those two instances I was just happy to be that close to you.”

He stares at her, looking deep into her eyes. He still feels like he’s failed but the way she’s looking at him, all gentle wide eyes filled with truth. “I’ll let it go.”

She snorts and he covers her mouth with his hand.

“But only if you tell me next time. Just so I can immediately make it up to you.” He says, removing his hand as he says the last word.

“Okay, I’ll tell you next time.”

“Thank you.” He murmurs, pressing their lips together.

She hums into the kiss, her one hand slipping out of his and returning to the hem of shirt, drawing it up so she can slip her hands underneath and his stomach flexes at the feeling of her fingertips and he’s rolling them over. Easily putting himself in between her legs.

“Feel like making a mess for me?”

She lets out a happy little sigh, teeth lightly sinking into her bottom lip as she nods. “Please?”

“Of course.”

[mojavebluez]

Carve - the salesman x fem!reader

Chapter 4

summary - after your personal promise not to call him, a month passes with no sign of him. You really think that you might be free from his torture, until you wake up in his apartment all over again. He isn’t going to let your actions go unpunished - so he makes sure that to do something that you will never forget.

tags - knifeplay, degradation kink, praise kink, dryhumping, grinding, blood kink, sub!reader, dom!salesman, making out, sadomasochism, non-con, porn with plot

a/n - can you tell I was really feeling this one?? It might be a little while until I can continue due to general workload so I hope this keeps you guys satisfied :) dw though, more things to come!

Series masterlist

4.5k words

You had entered a new stage of your life. You had taken a conscious effort after your last meet-up to avoid him completely, and were feeling the effects every day. You felt lighter. Blissful. You smiled for no reason in particular - the knowledge that he could not touch you anymore no longer weighed on you. The memory of his face, smirking at the sound of your screams, used to hang over you like a raging storm cloud. Without him, the storm had cleared, and the days seemed brighter.

In fact, that night when you returned home from your meeting, you found his number and blocked it from your phone completely. The only reminder of him were the scars on your thigh and the marks on your neck, which soon faded. You chilled at the memory of his hand on your throat, pressing down until you saw stars. No more. He couldn't hurt you now.

Nearly a month had passed since you'd last seen his face. One afternoon on your walk home, you feel a strange compelling urge to keep aware of your surrounding. You glance around, shoving your hands into your pockets and lengthening your stride. After a minute of walking, you relax, telling yourself the feeling was just your imagination - probably some sort of trauma response after all you had been through.

You pass through a quiet part of town. Parked cars devoid of drivers sit on the curb, and you walk past empty shops with hatched windows. You pick up your pace when you see yourself approaching the entrance to an alleyway, suddenly very aware of yourself. You are contemplating crossing over the street, just to be safe, but it's too late. A hand darts out, grabbing you by your hood and pulling you into the alley. Immediately, you scream, kicking your feet and waving your arms. A hand claps over your mouth, muffling your voice, as well as an arm hooked around your body. The hold is unfamiliar. You almost laugh at the irony. Imagine you die now at the hands of a stranger, and not him. You can practically see him punching the air.

You thrash around in an attempt to escape the strangers hold. The person is tall, very strong, and much, much bigger than you. Still, you don't give up, not losing hope. You'd survived this long.

After a moment, you grow tired, and the person takes it as an opportunity to shift you. They tighten their grasp, holding you upward until your feet hover from the ground. You swing your legs, only moving yourself slightly, before they move forward and out of the alley. Your eyes widen when you see a car opposite, its door wide open.

You use one last burst of energy to throw yourself forward. You briefly escape, catching a glimpse of your attacker before being shoved through the door. All the air is knocked out of you and you collapse onto the back seat. The door slams behind you, plunging you into darkness. Your mind starts to race. You scramble over the seat to the front of the car, but you never see the face of the driver. Something hard strikes down on your head, and it all goes black.

You emerge from the darkness aching and with a splitting headache. Immediately, you shoot upwards and try to get a sense of your surroundings. It's not at all what you expect. There's something strangely familiar about the room that you find yourself in. The sleek, monotone colour scheme. The wide window spanning from floor to ceiling. The comfortable hardness of the mattress beneath you. There's no doubt about it: it's his apartment.

You press a hand to your forehead, bringing it away to see blood staining your fingers. You must have blacked out back there, but you caught a brief look at who attacked you. It certainly wasn't him - is he really getting other people to do his dirty work now? You underestimated the extent of his obsession. You almost feel flattered at his efforts.

The whole room is dark aside from long streaks of lights being cast across the floor. You recognise the coffee table and chairs from your first meeting. It feels like so long ago, when, in reality it has been barely two months. You feel your heart thud regularly in your chest, though louder than normal. You know something is wrong. You can't be safe here. You sit up in his bed, trying your best to ignore the pain at your bleeding forehead. Glancing around, you open your mouth to say something.

Before you can talk, he emerges from the shadows with his hands clasped before him. Your breath catches in your throat. You had almost forgotten what he looked like, partly because your mind had blocked the memory of him to keep you safe. He was just the same as usual: perfect, symmetrical, tall and imposing. His presence immediately darkens the room.

His suit is a deep red paired with a matching tie. The colour brings unwelcome thoughts, and you can't help but think it was a conscious choice on his part. His hair is gelled back impeccably, not a single strand escapes.

"Long time no see," you say, voice dry. You feel every muscle in your body tense involuntarily as he steps towards you.

Half his figure is bathed in a red glow coming from the window, the other half shadowed. You contemplate pinching yourself to see if you are dreaming. This whole situation seems like a twisted fantasy your mind has conjured up as some sort of personal torture. It isn't until he speaks that you know it's real.

"Indeed," is all he says. His voice is velvety, not at all indicative of his nature. You press your back against the headboard, preparing yourself for whatever he is planning to do to you.

"I'm sorry I haven't called, I just-"

"No apologies," he holds up a hand, stopping you, "you've been very busy, haven't you? It's exam season."

"How did you..." you trail off, registering his words. He must have been keeping an eye on you. You scoff. How naive of you to think you could have escaped him so easily.

"You really expected me just to let you go?" His mouth curves into an uneven smirk, lips peeling back over his pearly teeth. "Who do you take me for?"

"I don't know," you whisper, hanging your head. Humiliation twists your insides uncomfortably. This really is your life now.

He steps closer, standing beside the bed, his figure hovering over you. You feel insignificant before him and incredibly vulnerable. Here, in his own apartment, and on his own bed, you are utterly at his mercy. Any prospect of hope quickly drains out of you. You try your hardest to keep some sort of distance between the two of you. You press your torso flush again the headboard, holding your head back to keep him fully in view. You can't let him catch you off guard.

"I'll admit, I'm disappointed. After everything I've done for you?" His tone is horrifyingly parental. You feel like a scolded child. "Not even one call?"

"I haven't had time-"

"Oh, but you have," his eyes spark, "all those nights out. And all those dates. You've been enjoying yourself, haven't you?"

It couldn't be - is he actually jealous? You feel a sudden surge of power. It isn't just him pulling the strings anymore. "You've been watching me."

"I have," he smiles, placing his hands by his sides as though preparing himself, "and I will continue to until you learn your lesson."

"And what lesson is that?"

"This."

He lunges forwards, throwing his body over you. You gasp as he grabs both of your wrists and pins them over your head, keeping you stuck there. He lays his full weight over you, placing one knee either side of your legs until you are caged in by his body. You arch your back, trying to squirm out of his grasp. His face is barely centimetres from yours. You can feel the heat of his breath on your face, but you don't dare to meet his eyes. You already know how terrifying they are.

You throw your head back and forth against the pillow, squeezing your eyes shut. You twist your body away from him until you're practically writhing around. Still, he doesn't move. He watches you with an amused look, gelled strands of hair falling over his forehead and tickling your face. You feel repulsed by his touch.

"I really thought," he says between heavy breaths, "you would know better by now."

"Let go-!"

"And yet, you still tried to get away," he tuts, shaking his head at you. You thrust your head back, summoning a scream, but he just laughs blatantly at your efforts.

"You really never learn, do you?" He leans his head forwards, bringing his lips to your ears. You make a little noise at the dampness of his breath. "No one can hear you."

He moves back to watch your expression fall. He's right, of course. The last time you were here you screamed until you lost your voice, and yet help never came. He would never let you in his apartment if he had overlooked a detail like that.

"I meant to call, I really did!" You lie, voice a faint whimper. He pouts his lips at you in mock-sympathy.

"And yet, you didn't," his voice loses all amusement. Your breath catches in your throat as you watch darkness melt over his features. His eyes become two flat, inky disks, bearing into you until your blood runs cold.

"Did you lose the card?" He spits through gritted teeth. His lips curl, and he moves his face so close to yours that you flinch when he speaks. "Did you forget the fucking number?"

"Please-"

"How can I make sure you remember it forever, huh? What can I do?"

"Don't-"

"Just shut the fuck up!" He yells, making you recoil back into the pillow. He's never shouted at you before. You feel yourself begin to tremble under his hold. You press your lips firmly shut, not having any desire to see that side of him again.

Something sinister burns in his eyes. You watch it catch light and spark into a flickering, black flame. He releases one hand, keeping the other locked over your wrists, which stay above your head. He brings the other to the breast pocket of his blazer, dipping his hand inside and bringing it back out to reveal what is inside.

"NO!" You scream, kicking your legs out and thrashing around on the bed. He presses the weight of his body down onto you until you struggle to fill your lungs fully.

"I said be quiet," his voice is flat, monotone. It's a warning. He is much worse when his anger is under control.

He presents the blade to you. The sight of it is sickeningly familiar. Its smooth surface reflects your face, and agonising memories flash in front of you. The scars on your thigh serve as a reminder of that night - you certainly don't want any more of them. You close your eyes, trying to shut him out.

"You can't escape this," you can feel his lips brush the skin of your neck and you shiver. It's an unfamiliar action on his part.

"Don't hurt me," your voice is barely a breath. All hope has left you.

"Oh, but I have to," he says it like he is fulfilling a duty, "it's the only way that you'll learn."

He sighs heavily as he pushes himself upward. You feel great relief as the weight of him is lifted, but that is soon replaced by dread when he moves your wrists, extending your arms fully above your head. Your blood starts to hum in your ears as you watch him, knelt over you, bring the blade to the skin of your arm. You brace yourself for the agony. And it comes, even worse than you expected.

He plunges the blade into the smooth skin of your inner arm, carving a deep line into the flesh. You scream louder than you thought possible. You feel his breath start to pick up as he starts to carve the first digit into you. Blood pools at the site of the wound, before dripping down and staining his white sheet with speckles of an alarming red. The pain is overwhelming. Tears well up in your eyes, blurring the world around you into a blend of colour. His curved, suited figure swirls into a mix of crimson.

You continue to scream between sobs, the tears becoming unstoppable rivers now. Your back arches as he pulls the knife out to examine the first number. He makes a low, satisfied noise, swiping away the blood with the side of his hand. He bends down to press a kiss on the wound, and you shriek, the unexpected pressure agonising. His lips come away dark red, teeth flashing in an appalling grin.

"No more, please-"

"I've barely started," he coos, furrowing his brows in concentration. You watch him with a distant, pained expression, his body arched over yours and neck bent. Blood stains his fingers, dripping down to the cuffs of his shirt. He briefly leans back, his knees straddling your hips, to take off his blazer jacket. Your eyes are blurry, but you see the wide v shape of his torso towering over you. He is so handsome that it aches. He discards the jacket and leans back down over your arm to continue, ignoring your whimpers of protest.

You groan in pain and general bodily exhaustion as he plunges the knife back in. A strange tingling sensation has built in your arm, only slightly numbing the suffering you would have felt. You try to focus on other things. The softness of the bedsheets. The sound of his breath, ragged and heavy as though he were already fucking you. You take small pleasure in imaging that, in some distant universe, you were a normal couple who made love and slept and existed like anyone else. That was not this universe.

You snap back to reality when he pulls the knife back out after successfully carving the second part. A sheen of sweat has built on his forehead, and drops trickle down the side of his face. You sob. He was taking 'blood, sweat and tears' far too literally. You observe him examining the blade, titling it so the light catches on the steel surface. From this angle, you can see every detail of his face. One of his eyes is twitching involuntarily. The mask is slipping.

"You're doing so well," he mutters, bending back down to continue without even looking at you. Your whole body shudders. You silently pray that you might pass out so the whole thing can end. But no - every time he sees you slipping, he places a harsh kiss on your wound, jolting you awake.

Your screams fade to weak, shrill noises as he resumes with the fourth number. He adjusts his position, and you feel a distinct tent in his trousers brush against your leg. You take in a sharp breath. He said it himself: he likes to watch you bleed. You remember how he lost his composure last time he cut you like this. You catch his eyes and see that they're practically dripping with lust. His mouth hangs open as he draws blood from you, his breaths coming hot and heavy, stirring your hair that fans out on the pillow. He sees the lifeless look in your eyes and pauses, loosening his tie.

"You have to understand," he pants, "this is your punishment. You shouldn't have ignored me. None of this would have to happen."

You work your jaw, trying to console your anger. "Last time... you just left me there." You gasp as he digs the blade back in, resuming his work. You curve your body, raising yourself off the bed.

He seems to think about your words before responding. "Ah, yes... it was something very important. I don't expect you to understand." The words make you feel almost juvenile.

"I nearly fucking died," you hiss.

He hears your words and his eyes seem to glitter. Without warning, he goes faster, the cuts deep and jagged. He finishes the number without wiping away the blood and moves directly onto the next. You cry out, tears welling and falling in an endless cycle.

"Such a slut," he says through gritted teeth. He seems to lose all thought processes, the words falling from his tongue. "You nearly died with my cock in your mouth."

The words tumble out without him thinking. He's losing himself now, grasping at the final threads of his sanity. You whimper in fear, and he goes deeper, his hands shaking. Blood pours from your arm, the pillow beneath you almost entirely red. You choke with sobs, unable to sit up and control yourself.

It feels like an eternity before he finishes. By the final part, he is soaked in sweat and his pupils are so dilated that his eyes are darker than they've ever been. You can no longer feel the lower part of your arm, and your hand hangs limp above your head. His grip on you has loosened, but you are still stuck in a starfish position with his body over yours. Stars dance past your vision, and you feel your consciousness slipping.

"There," he leans back, using his tie to wipe away the blood. The first few numbers have congealed slightly, allowing him to see the desired product.

He lets go and you flex your fingers. Your arm aches and stings but you're used to the sensation. You move your arm and hold it above your face to see what he has done to you. When your vision comes into focus, your heart sinks. It's his phone number. Carved into your arm so deep that you are certain it will scar for life.

"Now you'll never forget," his voice is thick and dripping with arousal. You collapse back, letting your arm drop over your face, not caring about the pouring blood. He straddles your hips, then takes a hold of your waist, lifting you upward. You let it happen. His hands circle your torso, controlling you easily despite your body being deadweight.

He turns himself around, leaning his back against the headboard and extending his legs before him. He lifts you onto his lap, letting your head lie on his shoulder. Your breaths are shallow. You hook your injured arm around his neck, holding on to him despite yourself. Whatever, you think, nothing matters anymore.

He places fluttering kisses over your neck, creating a wet line down to your collarbone. You let him. The sensation is a welcome distraction from the pain. You lean into his lips, consoling the affliction and focusing your breath. Eventually, you pull back to meet his eyes. He stares back at you, two shining onyx stones set into his skull.

You watch him, thinking. Then all thoughts leave you, and something new and sinister compels you to crash your lips into his. You feel the world melt around you - the pain along with it. He kisses back, lips fighting against yours. You've never kissed him before. His mouth is hot and wet and tastes of your own blood. You don't come back up for air. Your bodies seem to bleed into one another; you share the same breaths, the same thoughts. Your hands move searchingly up his torso, and you fan your fingers over the wide plane of his chest. He winds his own fingers through your hair, pulling lightly at your head and making you whimper.

Your tongue explores his lips, tracing wet lines and dipping into his mouth. He makes deep, pleased noises in his throat as he tastes you. The passion of your kiss is unexpected. You can feel yourself unraveling; he is stripping you down to nothing but flesh and blood. He gasps for air between kisses, lips flushed and swollen, eyes fluttering open and closed to watch your face. You don’t open your eyes. You’re afraid that he might pull away, or tell you to stop. So you just keep kissing him.

“I need you,” you gasp, barely thinking, “I need you.” You repeat it between kisses, voice muffled by the force of his mouth on yours. The pressure of his lips begins to hurt. You straddle his leg, driving your hips into his thigh. The need for friction is sudden and intense. You can feel your body come alight with desperation.

“Show me how much you need me,” his voice is low, a deep vibration in his throat. You pull away from his lips and rest your forehead against his, grinding your cunt into his leg. His lips part, eyes glancing down to watch you move over him. You feel yourself getting wetter with every movement.

He listens to your little gasps and moans, leaning back to get a full view of you using him to fuck yourself. Your hand is pressed on the wall beside his head, and he takes it, raking his heavy eyes over the wounds on your arm. He runs his tongue over the jagged carvings, making you wince slightly in pain. The cuts are still tender and leaking a steady stream of blood. Once he’s done with you, the bed will look like a crime scene.

You go faster, trying to build up friction. The need for him to fill you comes on fast, and you grab his tie to steady yourself. “I need you to fuck me,” the words come out as a needy sob. He chuckles darkly.

Heat builds inside of you. You can sense yourself nearing your orgasm, and you throw your head back. Your arousal soaks the fabric of his trousers. He watches you, eyes heavy lidded, then grabs your arm with agonising force. You cry out, stopping the momentum of your movements, feeling your orgasm slip away from you. Tears prick your eyes at the pain he has caused you.

“Not yet,” he growls, slowly uncurling his fingers one by one. Agony thuds in your arm like a dying heartbeat.

You make a confused noise. He lets you go, moving his hands to your waist again. His hands are wide, and his fingertips almost touch around you. He shifts your position over his lap. You can feel the hard shape of his bulge agains you, fighting against the fabric of his trousers. You are strangely pleased with yourself that you have managed to get him this turned on.

“Say the words,” he slowly bucks his hips against you, and you moan softly. Eagerly, you grind against his bulge, your whole body quivering.

“I need you,” you say breathlessly, building momentum.

He brings his lips to your neck, sucking at the skin. The slight discomfort makes you grind harder. You can feel his erection growing stiffer as you do. You want to please him so desperately that it hurts.

You gasp little moans of yes, yes, nuzzling your face into the hollow of his neck. He barely moves, but every so often he shifts his hips slightly, breaths ragged. You need him inside you; you need to fill that deep desire. You remember how his cock felt, filling you up until you could barely stand it. He makes no move to fuck you, though, seeming content with you using him yourself.

“Please, please-“ you gasp. You aren’t sure what you’re begging for anymore. You can feel a patch of precum stain his trousers, and you remember how his cock tasted in your mouth. Salty and heady. You sob quietly.

Your arousal coats the crotch of his trousers, staining the dark red fabric even darker. You can sense his eyes on you, drinking you up. The build up is far slower than you would like, but you keep grinding yourself onto him, praying for release. Fire seems to build inside you, and your breath picks up as it does, until your sighing hot, shallow gasps into his ear. He chews his lip, fighting the urge to rip you apart himself.

Finally, he lets you cum. Your body shudders into him as you release. You feel yourself go limp, entirely loose, melting into him like wax. He draws slow, tortuous circles with his nails in your lower back, letting you collapse over him. Your head hangs over his shoulder, and you squeeze your eyes shut, denying yourself. This cannot be real, your mind says, this is all a dream.

He lets you breathe for a moment before swiping two fingers over your panties. They come away slick and gleaming in the low light. A breathy laugh escapes from him. You prepare yourself for the degradation, the scolding. But it never comes. He lets you lie over him, a blanket of empty flesh. The clarity is sickening.

You untangle yourself from him, limbs loose and useless, falling beside him onto the other side of the bed. His bed is huge, and you are immediately swallowed by the blood soaked pillows. Your eyelids feel heavy and useless, but you use your last moments of strength to look at him. His shirt is rumpled, some buttons undone, revealing the skin of his chest underneath. His tie hangs loosely, the silky fabric mottled with dark bloodstains. Finally, your eyes reach his face. Your heart shudders irregularly.

Your final waking memory is of him staring at you. The look in his eyes was inhuman. Dark. Animalistic. You don’t remember what he did to you after you passed out - all you know is that you woke up in your own bed hours later, every part of you aching.

You blink your eyes open and sit up, feeling discomfort flood your body. You are wearing the same outfit from that day, but this time a thick bandage is looped around your lower arm. You jolt upright, running into your bathroom and flicking on the light switch. The brightness burns your retinas, but you don’t care, gripping the sink with your bandaged arm and using the other to unfurl the bindings.

The exterior layer is clinically white, but the more you peel back, the deeper red the bandages become. By the final layer you feel as though you are pulling away your own skin. You nearly stagger backwards at the sight of what is underneath. In thick, pink, ragged cuts:

his phone number.

You sit on the edge of the bathtub and cry into your hands until the sun rises. You know something had changed that night. This isn’t just a game anymore - this is your life.

[the-oblivious-writer]

Heavy

Tara Carpenter x Reader

One-Shot

Summary: After surviving a brutal attack that left you in a coma, you awaken to find the love of your life, Tara Carpenter, has vanished from your side despite the endless nights she spent holding your hand through the worst of it.

Warning(s): Trauma, no pronouns, references to past (Scream 6) violence, mental struggles, survivor's guilt, stalking, emotional manipulation (self-imposed), and PTSD.

Notes: I was listening to Red Hot Chili Peppers while writing this.

You never looked more beautiful than when you were dying.

That thought haunts Tara as she lies in her empty bed, tracing patterns on sheets that still smell faintly of your perfume. Three months since she last held your hand in that sterile hospital room. Three months of pretending she made the right choice.

The machines kept time with your heartbeat, a rhythm she memorized during those endless nights at your bedside. Sometimes, she still hears it in her dreams - that steady beeping that meant you were still fighting, still here, still hers. Until she decided you couldn't be hers anymore.

Sam stopped by earlier, concern etched in the corners of her eyes. "You're punishing yourself," she'd said, leaving a container of soup that now sits untouched on Tara's nightstand. Maybe she is. But isn't that better than the alternative? Better than waiting for the next masked figure to emerge from the shadows, seeking to add your name to the growing list of people she's lost?

Your coma lasted six weeks. Six weeks of Tara reading to you, singing softly when the nurses weren't around, telling you all the things she should have said before. How you made her feel safe in a world that had given her every reason not to be. How your laugh could chase away the darkness that sometimes threatened to swallow her whole. How you never treated her like she was broken, even when she felt held together by nothing but stubborn will and surgical tape.

She remembers the first time you kissed her, after that night at the bowling alley. You'd been so careful with her, like you understood without being told that touch wasn't always easy for her anymore. Your hands had framed her face like she was something precious, something worth protecting. If only you'd protected yourself from her instead.

The phone on her nightstand lights up with another missed call from Chad. He's been trying to get her to come out, insisting that isolation isn't the answer. But how can she explain that every time she closes her eyes, she sees you in that hospital bed? The bandages, the bruises, the way your chest rose and fell with mechanical precision because you couldn't breathe on your own. All because someone had wanted to hurt her, and you'd been brave enough - stupid enough - to step between her and the blade.

"I can't lose you," she had whispered to your unconscious form. "I won't survive it."

But when you finally opened your eyes, weak and confused but alive, Tara realized something worse than losing you to death: losing you by choice, pushing you away to keep you safe from the curse that seems to follow her like a shadow.

The breakup was clean, surgical - like so many of the scars that map her body. She'd practiced the words in front of her bathroom mirror until they stopped making her cry. "I can't do this anymore. I need space. I need to focus on healing." All the clichés that meant nothing and everything at once. You'd looked at her with those eyes that always saw too much, and for a moment, she thought you might fight her on it. Almost hoped you would.

But you didn't. You just nodded, pressed a kiss to her forehead that felt like goodbye, and walked away. Maybe you understood. Maybe you were tired of loving someone who carried death in her wake like a bitter perfume.

Tara rolls onto her side, pulling your old high school sweatshirt tighter around herself. It stopped smelling like you weeks ago, but she wears it anyway, a form of self-torture she can't seem to give up. On her desk, photographs mock her with frozen moments of happiness - you and her at the beach, your hair wild with salt air and sunshine. The two of you at The Twins' birthday party, your arm around her waist as she actually smiled for the camera. A quiet morning in your apartment, where you'd captured her making coffee in one of your oversized t-shirts, looking at peace in a way she rarely felt anymore.

Her friends tell her she's different now. Quieter. The spark that had started to return during your time together has dimmed again. Even Mindy, who never comments on anything serious, asked if she was okay the other day. Tara had wanted to laugh. Okay? How could she be when you're forced to bear wounds that were meant for her? When she spends her nights parked across from your apartment, engine off, watching the soft glow of your bedroom light like a moth drawn to flame?

She tells herself it's protection, not obsession. That someone needs to make sure you're safe, even if you don't know they're there. But the truth sits heavy in her chest as she watches your silhouette move behind curtains - the way you still favor your left side, a reminder of wounds that were meant for her. Sometimes, she catches glimpses of you leaving for work, and the sight of you walking alone makes her hands shake against the steering wheel. You look smaller somehow, or maybe that's just the distance she's forced between you.

Last week, you almost saw her. You were collecting mail from your box, and something made you turn, scanning the street with that sixth sense you always seemed to have. Tara had ducked down so fast she'd knocked her head against the dashboard, heart thundering so loud she was sure you'd hear it even from across the street. When she finally dared to look again, you were gone, but she could have sworn there were tears on your cheeks.

She knows it's wrong. Knows that if Sam or Chad found out about these nightly vigils, they'd tell her she's sliding back into old patterns, letting trauma dictate her choices. But how can she explain that sleeping is impossible unless she knows you're safe? That every time she closes her eyes without checking on you, her nightmares paint your death in vivid technicolor?

It's only a matter of time before you two cross paths again. It happens at the corner market three blocks from your old shared apartment. The same place where you used to buy cookie dough ice cream at midnight, where Tara would pretend to complain about enabling your sweet tooth while secretly loving how your kisses tasted afterward. She's reaching for coffee - your brand, though she'll never admit it - when she hears the soft intake of breath behind her.

Time stretches like taffy, sticky and overwhelming. Your reflection in the freezer glass is both familiar and foreign - thinner maybe, or just holding yourself differently. The scar above your collarbone peeks out from your shirt collar, a silvery reminder of everything she's tried to forget.

"Tara."

Her name in your mouth still sounds like coming home. She forces herself to turn, to face the reality of you standing three feet away with a basket of groceries hanging from your arm. The fluorescent lights cast shadows under your eyes that weren't there before, and she wonders if you're sleeping any better than she is.

"You look..." The words tangle in her throat. Alive. Beautiful. Like everything I've been running from. "...good."

Your laugh is hollow, nothing like the sound she keeps locked away in her memory. "Liar." You shift your weight, and she catches the slight wince - another reminder of what loving her cost you. "You've lost weight."

"Haven't been hungry much." The confession slips out before she can stop it.

Something flashes across your face - concern, maybe anger. You take a step forward, and she matches it with a step back, her spine hitting the cold glass of the freezer door. The coffee can in her hands shakes slightly.

"Don't," she whispers, but she's not sure if she's talking to you or herself.

"Don't what, Tara? Don't care? Don't worry? Because I tried that. It doesn't work." Your voice cracks on the last word, and she watches you swallow hard. "I see your car, you know. Outside my apartment."

The confession lands like a physical blow. Heat crawls up her neck as shame mingles with something else - relief, maybe, that you still know her well enough to notice. That some part of you is still watching for her too.

"I just..." She closes her eyes, unable to bear the weight of your gaze. "I need to know you're safe."

"Safe?" Now there's definitely anger in your voice. "You want me safe? Then stop making decisions for both of us. Stop deciding what I can and can't handle. Stop-" Your voice breaks, and when she opens her eyes, there are tears tracking down your cheeks. "Stop acting like your love is a death sentence."

The coffee can clatters to the floor, forgotten. Her hands ache to reach for you, to wipe away those tears she caused. But she forces them to stay at her sides, nails digging crescents into her palms.

"You almost died," she says, the words tasting like copper in her mouth. "Because of me. Because I thought I could have this - have you - without danger following. I was wrong."

"No." You step closer, and this time she can't make herself move away. "I almost died because some psychopath decided to come after us with a knife. Not because of you. Never because of you."

Your hand reaches out, hovering just shy of touching her face. She can feel the heat of it, the promise of contact that makes her chest tight with wanting. The market's muzak plays faintly in the background, some old love song that feels like mockery.

"I miss you," you whisper, and it's the gentlest violence she's ever experienced. "I miss you, and I'm not sleeping, and sometimes I think I see you everywhere, only to turn around and find empty space. And then I realized I wasn't imagining it - you were actually there, watching over me like some heartbroken guardian angel."

A sob builds in her throat. "I don't know how to stop loving you."

"Then don't." Your hand finally makes contact, cupping her cheek, and Tara breaks. "Don't stop. Just... come home."

She leans into your touch for one heartbeat, two, allowing herself to remember what it feels like to be held by hands that know all her scars. Then she steps back, away from your warmth, your forgiveness, your love that feels too much like salvation.

"I can't." The words taste like ash. "I'm sorry. I can't."

She runs. Past the dropped coffee, past the concerned clerk, past everything but the sound of you calling her name. It follows her all the way home, where she collapses against her front door and finally lets herself cry for everything she keeps choosing to lose.

The worst part is knowing that if she could do it all over again - live another life, make different choices - she'd still choose you. Still fall for the way you dance off-beat to every song, still melt at how you bring her coffee just the way she likes it, still love you with every broken piece of herself. She'd just do a better job of staying away before you could love her back.

Night settles around her like a familiar weight. In the darkness, she can almost pretend you're still here, that this is just another evening where you'll wrap your arms around her and keep the nightmares at bay. But the bed stays empty, and the shadows stay thick, and somewhere across town, you're probably sleeping peacefully for the first time since you met her.

"I love you," she whispers to the empty room, words she never said enough when she had the chance. "I love you, and that's why I can't keep you."

The silence offers no comfort, no contradiction. Just the steady tick of her bedside clock, counting down the moments until another day without you begins. Another day of being strong enough to keep her distance, of choosing your safety over her happiness. Another day of remembering that sometimes love means knowing when to let go, even when every cell in your body screams to hold on tighter.

Sleep will come eventually, bringing dreams of your smile, your touch, the way you used to look at her like she hung the stars. And tomorrow, she'll wake up and do it all again - loving you from afar, keeping you safe the only way she knows how. Because that's what love is to Tara Carpenter now: not a fairy tale, not a happy ending, but a sacrifice she makes every day to keep you breathing.

Even if it means she can barely breathe herself.

-----------

A/N: the meaning behind The Maria's "Heavy" inspired this.

[cupcakedieabetes]

Dumpster Baby Part 3

<<First, <-Previous

Dick, as Robin, huffed in anger, scouting out the rooftops alone as he had ran from Batman after an argument.

Batman thought he was so incompetent because he was still young, Dick would show him for sure when he finds THE kidnapper.

The kidnapper had been showing mostly in poorer parts. Nobody knew if it was a group, but most testimonies either didn't want to talk about it, or they didn't even know that their children disappeared in the first place.

Dick thought, it would be a great idea to show Batman that he was competent by being bait without his help. Dick was still young enough to be one of the targets, either as his civilian form or as Robin, so he could go as either, anyways.

Despite being alone, Dick knows that Batman still has trackers and cameras on Robin, so he could use this as proof so that Batman didn't have to be so annoying with his nagging.

It was kind of chilly in the middle of the night, so Robin huddled on a rooftop, peering below to observe a potential kidnapping.

"B̸̫̐̚á̶̝͝b̶̦͌̔ẙ̸̢͈???"

Robin whirled around, eyes widened, and screamed

-------------------------------------------------------

Batman rushed to the area where Robin was, having just observed him from far when the cameras on him, both visual and audio went fuzzy.

But what he can tell last was Robin screaming in terror. Batman didn't know what exactly did Robin encountered, but whatever it was, he didn't want to be too late for whatever it is.

This was why he kept trying to bench Robin. He didn't want a dead child on his hand, something that was entirely preventable if he was stricter..

The tracker on Robin was also untrackable, so Batman went the classic way of tracing his last whereabouts through the cameras, finding the fuzzyness that lead him to a warehouse.

He slammed open the door to the entrance, weapons ready to attack, but found it empty. But not quite.

Batman cautiously entered into the warehouse, finding transparent glowing people ignoring him. Apparitions? There were so many, and what fo-

He whirled around, feeling that someone was staring at him, only to see an eyeball staring at him.

He threw a Batarang at the eyeball, only for it to pass through. So he decided to launch himself at it, kicking it and punching it, but still it went through the eyeball.

Long glowing green hands extended from the floor and restricted his movements. Batman struggled against the hands, even resorting to biting it, but found that he could not get out of the bindings.

The hands started bringing him somewhere with the eyeball leading. Eyeballs. More and more eyeball started appearing, all to stare at him.

"BATMAN!!!" His head whirled around to spot Robin, safe and unharmed, and most of all, FREE, running towards him.

"It's okay!! Batman is just worried about me!!!" Dick looked at an eyeball.

The eyeball just kept on staring alongside the other eyeballs, but the hands slowly removed itselves from him.

"Batman! I found the kidnapper! And you wouldn't believe it!!!" Dick dragged Batman by the arm, but the adult was firm in place.

"Explain. Otherwise, I'll be telling this to Agent A."

Robin winced and whined.

"That's why!!! I'm dragging youuuuu to show youuuuuu." Robin tilted back while hanging onto his arms.

Batman let himself be led by Robin to a room. And for the first time in a while since his debut as Batman, did he get shocked at something he had never encountered before.

I wrote this in a way that Dick still isn't able to separate himself from 'Robin' and 'Dick' while Batman is able to separate the identities completely.

[suzukiblu]

WIP excerpt for derpsheep behind the cut; “a fake cryptid and a real romantic”. (( chrono || non-chrono ))

Tim is having a terrible night, by which he means the Batman is currently looming over him like a creepy eldritch nightmare of a gargoyle while he’s trying to go meet Superboy for the patrol/hunting-date they scheduled and the Batman is not at all taking the “go away, I have a date” hint. 

Said “hint” for the record, was Tim explicitly saying the words, “go away, I have a date”. The Batman apparently thought that meant Calendar Man was causing trouble, though, so now Tim’s being Bat-stalked and has the Batman in his shadow, which is just really, really embarrassing in this situation. Like getting dropped off for a date by your weird neighbor who used to babysit you sometimes or something, he doesn’t know. 

Definitely embarrassing, yeah. Just–way too many kinds of embarrassing. He bets Superman isn’t dropping Superboy off right now. 

Ugh.

“Look, I promise, this is not a ‘Bat’ thing,” he says. “In no way whatsoever is this in fact a Bat thing.” 

leaving Gotham? the Batman asks. 

“No,” Tim says with a sigh, because he knows the Batman’s answer to them not leaving Gotham is gonna be– 

Bat thing, the Batman says, inexorable and inarguable as a snapped grapple and the force of gravity. 

Tim suffers.

“It’s just a date, B,” he says in exasperation. “I don’t follow you to go see Catwoman or Talia al Ghul, do I?” 

you do, the Batman says. 

. . . dammit, Tim thinks. The Batman wasn’t supposed to notice that. 

“Okay but Superboy is not a criminal who’s trying to use me to case a place for a thematic jewel heist!” he protests, puffing up Robin’s feathers indignantly. Most of the time the Batman understands Robin’s body language better than anything, really, and Tim has to admit there is something sort of satisfying about being able to flare up to twice his size when he’s irritated. At least on some level, anyway. “Or an assassin who might wanna feed me to her evil dad’s weird magic pit!” 

not feed, the Batman says. awaken. 

“That answer is no less creepy and unnerving than the last four times, I hope you know,” Tim tells him. “Not in the least because you’ve never clarified if the League is trying to awaken something in you or something in the pit.” 

“Tt,” the Batman says, which is honestly even more creepy and unnerving, given how rarely he actually makes actual noises. Or, like–correction: makes actual noises that sound, like–human, almost. The screeching and wailing and screaming is all pretty standard, but human noises . . . yeah, no. 

Tim already doesn’t like to talk to the Batman when he’s in his “human” aspect as it is. He isn’t some self-absorbed socialite or smarmy politician or shallow asshole with no genuine interest in other people, is the thing; when the Batman actually uses his voice, Tim can hear what that voice actually sounds like. 

As far as Tim knows, when it comes to humans, literally only Dick’s ever been able to stand the actual sound of the Batman’s voice. Jason apparently just, like–could grit his teeth through it, or hide behind Pennyworth. Tim, personally, forgets he has teeth, when he can actually hear the sound of the Batman’s voice. He doesn’t even know what Selina hears, but he does know she does most of the talking when she and the Batman are out together. And he still feels bad for Superman, after the sister-city gala incident with Metropolis.

Definitely he still feels bad for Superman after that.

[marscardigan]

through the valley, part iii

ellie williams x reader

part i part ii part iv

summary: what if Joel didn’t lie? what if there was more people immune? more people like ellie? more people like you?

word count: 9.7k

warnings: this fic doesn’t follow the original plot from tlou part II. canon typical violence. homophobia. mentions of blood and brutal murder. mentions of strong religious themes. abuse.

Five summers ago

Natalie's hand ran down your abdomen, making your eyes squint. "This is bad. We shouldn't-" The blonde silenced you with a kiss, which you whimpered at. She smiled at you, and suddenly all your bad thoughts disappeared. Still, the knot inside your chest was there. "This isn't bad" She whispered, pecking soft kisses into your jaw. "We love each other. What's wrong with that?"

You and Nat met two years before, when her father, Hugh, and her younger brother came after hearing the charismatic sermons your mother did. You soon noticed that although the teen followed and respected the Seraphite traditions, she did question them. As you did, in secret. So when you and her started becoming friends, you felt nervous around her. She didn't treat you like a sacred goddess, like the rest of the commune. She treated you like a normal being. But was it normal when she sought for your warmth? When she kissed you on the lips? You didn't know. Or maybe you knew, and yet still did it. "Your mother's thoughts about this is what's wrong. Why can men and women do this, and we can't?"

You couldn't answer that question. So, instead, you kissed her again. Because every time you did, your chest stopped hurting. Everything stopped hurting.

Everything changed two months later. You remember it all too well. Natalie didn't come that night though your window, as she always did. You didn't see her all day, either, and you started thinking she may have gone with her father for patrol. But something didn't feel right. You were about to escape to find out where she was, when your two guards opened your door, grabbing your arms and forcing you to walk. You screamed for your mother, pleading to her as tears threatened to come out. What was happening? Why Alec and Rosemary grabbed your wrists so tight?

They took you to the coast of the island, everyone was there, with torches in their hand and forming a circle around a big stick of wood. Nat was there. She was tied up with a rope, unconscious. You remember seeing her father, begging and crying at your mother. She nodded at Jason, and with a swift movement, he cut Hugh's throat. You remember screaming. You remember watching your mother speak about loyalty to the commune. About what to believe. About what was right, and what was wrong. You remember everyone throwing their torches at Natalie. You remember seeing her body burning. You remember screaming and throwing up. The last thing you remember was completely dark.

You woke up later, gasping or air. You were locked inside the chokey; a small, pitch-dark closet with broken glass and nails stuck to the walls. You mourned your friend's death. After hours of crying, you screamed for help. It was your mother who opened the casket you were trapped in. You hugged her tight, but she didn't say anything. Trying to look at her for comfort, you only saw disappointment. She whispered your name, "You need to tell your sins to me"

So you did. For every misdemeanor you did with Natalie, a strong whip was felt on your back. You didn't try to complain, because it is what you deserved. The thing about the whipping was that it would leave a path of notorious marks along your body, so every time you saw them, you would remember your mistakes. Your shouts were heard in every corner of the island.

After telling her everything, she dropped the lash, and made you turn back to her so you could see her. "The lord gave you another chance" Her warm hand found your cheek. "Don't ruin it in misdeeds. You are our salvation, don't ever forget that"

You nodded, and let her take you back to your room. The looks of disgust stopped after a month. They were able to forgive you for what you did. But you weren't sure if you could forgive them.

"Hey" The voice of Ellie brought you back. "You zoomed out for a while there"

You weren't in Haven anymore. You were in a boat with a stranger you just met two days ago. "Sorry, it's just been years since I left"

Ellie nodded, looking at your eyes as if she could read them, "It's okay" You avoided her gaze, focusing on the view behind her. "We're getting close to the harbor. Grab your backpack"

Both of you started your way back to Ellie's first mission: to end Abby and all of her friends. You realized not asking why the redhead wanted that. You weren't sure you wanted to know, either. Hours passed and you followed quietly the girl. It wasn't an uncomfortable silence, at least for you, but Ellie hated silence. So she tried to make you talk. Somehow, your voice soothed her. "You knew those two, right?"

She was talking about Lyra and Edmund. "Yeah, yeah, I know them"

"You are quite popular out there" She giggled. Her smile made you shiver. "You could say that" Was all your voice said.

When the night came, you and Ellie searched for a place to sleep. After making a bonfire, Ellie turned to face you, seeing if you could sleep. She pouted after seeing your winced expression. Ellie lifted her fingers and almost, almost, reached your face to comfort your pain, to try to take it away. But she removed before she made contact with your soft skin.

The sun came up and Ellie woke up, alone. You were gone, and your stuff was too. She looked rapidly at her own backpack, but everything was in its place. She started spiraling, thinking about when you could have left, why did you go, and where could you be now. But every question answered itself when you came back to her eyesight.

"Hey. Brought food" You raised your hand to show her the rabbit you hunted.

Somehow, Ellie felt like she could breathe again since she woke up. She tried not to look too close into this new emotion that jumped inside her chest every time she saw you. "Good, good. Bring it here"

Later, Ellie couldn't stop looking at you, like she wanted to say something. So, you encouraged her to speak. "It's nothing, just... You could've waited f'me. To go hunt together"

You shrugged, "You needed to sleep. I wanted to be useful while you rested". At the commune, no one let you do anything, because everything was already done by everyone else. However, outside the commune, you could show that you werent just the chosen one. You were much more than that. And you wanted to exhibit that with Ellie.

She wanted to tell you that you were useful, and you didn't need to prove yourself. You just needed to stay. But Ellie didn't say anything. She just finished her food. And you were back at the road.

You adored the silence. And being with Ellie didn't change that. What it did change, however, was how much you seem to like the girl's rants and bad jokes. It helped your chest to stop hurting for a bit.

You passed through a familiar face painted in a wall. You stopped in front of it. It felt weird, how much time it had passed since you saw her, and yet you could feel and see her everywhere. Every mural portrayed her perfectly. Ellie stopped too, just behind you. She was afraid to speak. But she could still see how your fear came back to the surface. Her hand reached for your shoulder, but you moved away from her touch. "We should move on" You continued your way. And Ellie still followed. She didn't comment on how the canvas looked exactly like you.

Your head still ranted. And with your head ranting, your senses became blurry, provoking you to not notice a runner close. Ellie screamed your name. You were fast to react, though, grabbing your machete, and driving into its head. You gasped for air, returning to reality. "That was close"

"No shit" Ellie even seem angry for your slip. Maybe she did see you as a burden instead of a companion. If that's what you even were. Both of you were quiet after that.

You and Ellie tried the shortcut you knew to go where Abby was supposed to be, finding a few infected along the way. Ellie showed you her ability with the shotgun, and she discovered how good you were hiding and killing quietly. Turns out you two were a pretty good team, after all.

Between one of those fights, Ellie ran out of ammo, leaving her unarmed and harmless. You were killing a runner when you saw her. Her hand covering her mouth to not make a sound. A clicker was within centimeters from her face. You tried to think fast, and pushed away the fear that rested inside your chest. Throwing a brick on the clicker's head maybe wasn't the brightest idea you had that day. But at least it left her alone. Now that fuck face was coming towards you. You didn't have your bow, and your machete was too far. You only had a gun that Ellie gave you.

You hated guns, everyone you knew loathed them. You also weren't familiar with their use, being raised only using melee weapons. But you needed to protect yourself. To protect her. So you pulled the trigger and fired three shots into his head, and the clicker fell dead on the ground. You ran towards Ellie, who was nastily injured. "Ain't no way that's your first time with a gun" She breathed out. "You are too good"

Scoffing, you took off your shirt, and pressed it on her wound. You didn't notice it, but Ellie's cheeks burned. She preferred to think that it was because of the pain from the injury, and not for the sight in front of her. The white undershirt turned red in a matter of seconds.

"We will have to stay here until that wound is healed"

"But-" "No" Ellie closed her eyes, already tired of your stubbornness. "I am perfectly capab-" "Nuh-uh" "Hey, it's not even that bad"

"Ellie" You warned. "I'll clear the zone so we can stay here for the rest of the day" You got up, and grabbed your bow. The redhead called softly your name, almost like a plea. You waited. "Could you stay here with me?”

You hesitated. You should look for more possible threaths. For more food, more supplies, more-

"Please?”

So you stayed.

taglist!

@vahnilla

[burningembers91]

Birthday Girl - Cho Sang-Woo x Fem!Reader (NSFW)

Follow up piece to:

Biggest Regret

What Makes You Happy

Not Like You

Synopsis: it’s your birthday, but everything about the day reminds you of the man who left you. When he shows up to your party, emotions reach boiling point.

It was your birthday today. You’d always loved your special day, and Cho Sang-Woo had always enjoyed spoiling you when it came around. He remembered your last birthday together; he was up to his neck in debt but he still wanted you to have the best day. He bought you a bouquet of flowers and a necklace from a boutique that you liked. He cooked for you because he couldn’t afford to take you out, and then he made love to you in the bed you’d shared, his tongue tracing circles over your clit as you fell apart for him again and again.

He thought about that day a lot. Thought about how beautiful you’d looked, how sweet you’d sounded as he drew your pleasure from you in shuddering moans. He wondered what you’d be doing today, whether Jason would be taking you out. He hadn’t seen you since you’d kissed him, since he’d rejected you yet again and walked away. It had broken his heart to do it, and for a while he’d seriously wondered what the point was in continuing life. He couldn’t face this world without you; he’d been nothing but a shell for the last two years. You had been everything to him, you still were, and he’d walked away from you.

He’d overheard his mum saying you were planning on going out tonight. She’d seen you around a few times, and couldn’t resist meddling. You were both so unhappy, the light faded from your eyes, and it broke her heart. You and her son were meant to be together, but you were both too stubborn to realise it.

“I heard she’s headed to that bar she likes. What’s it called again? Glow, or something like that?”

Sang-Woo had spent many a night in there with you, drinking cocktails and dancing. He hated dancing, hated it with a fiery burning passion but you made it seem more bearable. When money had been good, he’d buy your friends the most expensive champagne, toasting to you. He’d give anything to be back on that dance floor with you, just one more time.

You weren’t looking forward to your birthday this year. Your meeting with Sang-Woo had broken you, and you’d spent the last few weeks being an absolute bitch. You were a bitch to Jason, a bitch to your friends, and a bitch to your colleagues. He’d rejected you again and it had hurt more than the first time had. You and Jason were constantly fighting, screaming matches that lasted into the early hours of the morning. You weren’t happy with him, but you couldn’t bring yourself to let him go. It was selfish of you, but you were scared to be on your own.

Despite your less than stellar attitude, your friends were determined to take you out. You hadn’t told them about Sang-Woo because you knew exactly what they’d say, but not being able to tell anyone was killing you. They were taking you to Glow, the place you’d used to love so much. But now it held nothing but heartache for you, full of memories of you and Sang-Woo.

But you forced yourself to get ready, applying your makeup while you downed half a bottle of wine. Jason was coming too, persuaded by your friends. He knew the relationship was ending, but like you, he didn’t want to be alone.

You drank more than you should have that night, you and Jason getting into yet another screaming match. Your friends didn’t know what to do, didn’t know how to help. They hadn’t seen you like this since you’d been left at the altar and they didn’t know how to help you.

Sang-Woo was sitting outside the club, a cigarette perched between his lips. He didn’t know why he was here, but it was like his feet automatically guided him to you. He was trying to get up the courage to go in, to see if he could find you. He didn’t know exactly what he’d say, but he couldn’t seem to leave you alone. It was torture, the self-inflicted kind that ripped at his soul, tearing him in two. He’d left you twice, and yet he was unable to stay away.

You stormed out of the front doors, tears streaming down your face. You were so angry, so upset and the fact you couldn’t tell anyone was killing you. You felt like you were about to implode, the weight of your emotions suffocating you. You’d left your friends and you boyfriend staring dumbstruck after you, watching you stagger off the dance floor. The song you always danced to with Sang-Woo had started playing, and that had been the final straw.

He saw you exit the club, saw you tumble down the stone steps. He ran forward, hoisting you to your feet, his eyes full of concern.

“What are you doing here?” You cried, “can’t you just leave me alone?”

“I’m sorry,” he said, holding his hands up in surrender. “I just… my mum told me where you were and I… I couldn’t help myself.” He took in your tear streaked face, your makeup smudged and your hair out of place. Had he done this to you?

“What do you want from me?” You sighed, sitting down on the pavement and reaching up for a drag of his cigarette. You hated smoking, but tonight you just needed something to take the edge off and alcohol alone wasn’t cutting it.

“I want you,” he whispered, “but I’m so scared. I can’t give you what you need. I’ll never be able to own a house, or have nice cars, or even go on vacation. That’s not the kind of person you want to be with.”

“How many times do I have to tell you?” You cried, throwing your hands up in the air. “I don’t care about money, or nice cars, or having a big home. All I ever wanted was you. But you always assumed you had to provide me with this life of luxury. I never wanted that.”

You sat staring at each other, the base from the club reverberating through your chest. Even when you cried, you looked so beautiful, and Sang-Woo couldn’t resist.

His lips were on yours in an instant, his teeth grazing your bottom lip as you clung to each other. You tasted like tequila, your tears soaking his cheeks as your fingers gripped his hair.

“Come home with me,” you whispered. “Please.”

Jason didn’t live with you, and after tonight you were pretty sure your relationship was done. But in that moment, you didn’t care; you only wanted Sang-Woo, and in the safety of your apartment, you didn’t need to hide the desperation you felt for him. You didn’t need to worry about being caught.

You hailed a taxi, your lips on each other as soon as you were seated. You tore his jacket from his shoulders, his hands snaking over your thighs and under your mini dress. He could feel the lace of your underwear against the tips of his fingers, could hear you moaning in his ear as he teased you through the delicate fabric.

It took you an age to open the front door, your fingers fumbling with the codes as Sang-Woo kissed your lips, jawline and neck. You were seeing stars, so overwhelmed by the feel of his skin on yours that you couldn’t concentrate.

Stumbling into your apartment, you began removing his shirt, your fingers shaky as you undid the buttons. You gave up three buttons in, ripping his shirt open instead. He was still toned, his muscles still as taut you remembered. You ran your fingers tips over his skin, tracing each line of toned muscle.

“I’ve missed you,” you whispered, pulling his shirt down over him arms before discarding it in a heap on the floor.

“I’ve missed you too,” his whispered, his arms snaking round your waist, his fingers searching for the zip of your dress. “I’ve missed you so much.”

He removed the chiffon fabric from your body, admiring your curves with awe. You’d somehow become even more beautiful since he’d last seen you naked, your delicate skin so soft to the touch. Your black lace underwear was all that remained, and he could see you tremble as he hooked his forefingers over the top of the fabric, pulling them down.

He sank to his knees before you, his tongue tracing patters through your slick folds. Your hands clung to his hair for support, hooking one knee over his shoulder to grant him better access to your tight, wet core. You were shaking, your moans falling in breathy gasps as he slid his fingers inside of you.

“I need more,” you begged, desperate to feel himself inside of you. His tongue, his fingers weren’t enough. You needed all of him.

Sang-Woo picked you up, making his way to your bed before placing you gently down on the mattress.

“I know you need more.” He soothed, trailing his fingers up the soft skin of your inner thighs. “But I need to show you how much I missed you.”

He buried himself between your thighs, his tongue pressing powerful strokes against your clit. You could hear him moan as he tasted you, could feel his urgency in the way his fingers slid in and out of your tight core. He’d always been able to make you feel pleasure beyond anything you’d ever known. You could feel the fire in your belly burn, could feel the wave of ecstasy building. Your legs shook, your hands grasping your silk sheets as you fell apart for him.

Your moans were fucking heavenly, so loud and unabashed as you shook with the intensity of your orgasm.

“Now you can have all of me,” he growled, pulling his pants off before lining himself up against you.

“I need you to fuck me hard,” you whispered. “Don’t hold back.”

The force with which he entered you was on the precipice of pleasure and pain. He stretched you out so deliciously, your moans swallowed as his mouth met yours. He thrust into you hard and fast, the mattress squeaking as you moved together.

It was like you’d never been apart, your bodies so in sync. His teeth grazed your lower lip, his hands braced against your pillow and headboard as he fucked into you again and again.

He could feel himself about to lose control, the edges of his vision blurring as he neared the edge.

“Fuck,” he groaned, pulling you into him as he spilled himself inside of you. You could feel him tremble through the sheer force of his release, could hear his whimpers of pleasure as he made sure you took every last drop of him.

You stay entwined together on your sheets, your lips against his as you waited for your heart rates to return to normal. Sang-Woo couldn’t believe he’d ever left you, couldn’t believe he’d walked away from the woman who brought him so much pleasure.

“Stay with me,” you whispered, pushing yourself further into his body, your head nestled on his chest.

“Always,” he promised you. “I’ll never leave you again, I swear.”

This thing between was you was messy and imperfect. Sang-Woo had a lot of making up to do, a lot of atoning for his sins that had to be done. The road wouldn’t be easy, but you were worth fighting for.

You were made for each other. He only regretted it had taken him so long to realise that nothing could keep you apart.

[aliceinborderlandsquidgame]

Detective!Jun-ho as Yandere/Obsess with you |

Warnings: OOC - Mixed Jun-ho with Midnight K-drama Personality - Stalking - Manipulation - Violence - Blood - Abuse of power - NSFW  -

He is quiet sadistic and takes pleasure when arresting criminals. Has been acussed of using brutal force but thanks to his connections never something came out of it.

His hates stalkers and creeps. And its with a case like it that he comes to know you. Turns out your ex-partner could not take a "no" and now was not only waiting for you outside work but also Stalking your social media and leaving hate comments.

He hates to say this but he cant do a thing unless the creep does something first. He can see your face fall at it. And he knows lots of cases like this one ends with the stalked being hurt.

He is not suprised to see you two days later at the station, crying because your ex just sent a intimate video of the two of you to your work and that made you unployeed. Now he can work with that and actually go after the fucker.

There is just one problem. Its that he cant stop watching the video. He likes it, well likes you. Likes the way you moan and cry, the way your body moves. He wishes it was him making you feel that way.

Once he meets your ex with the warrant order he almost loses it because of the smug face they have.

Did he always think on killing a person ? Well yes, this is not a first and he did get help to manage these thoughts. However no meditation or workout can help him by now.

He passes some days thinking about you, checking your social media to see how you are doing. He tells himself its just to make sure you are safe. Like any other victim.

Then why does he ends outside your home ? At night ? Looking at your window at how you prepare dinner, or how you seem to be looking for a new job. Do you like candles? What smell ? He has seen you light up some.

It becomes a routine that he hates and loves. He hates himself for this. Becoming the exact thing he did swear to fight against but he also loves it. There is something catching, on looking at you without you knowing it. Its like he gets to see a movie, in this case you are the star of it.

He is used to stay long hours awake, its easy for him to watch you all night till morning comes. And dear, you should get better curtains he can see the form of your body when you change clothes and drives him wild.

Since you got fired from your last job he casually sends mails using a burning account to your mail with different Jobs that he thinks may fit you.

Gets a hold on your most personal details. If you have no criminal record he will think you are an angel. Will investigate your family and Friends to see if any of them can cause you problems.

"Casually" finds you on the streets and since you think he is just a good person you are happy to see him.

Invites you for a coffee since he wants to hear everything from you. Maybe he already knows how your week as been but your voice its like music to him.

He records the conversation to listen to it later.

Offers to walk you home or towards your next stop and if you say yes then he turns into a puppy. Literally follows you (walks besides you) and has the most dumb smile ever.

If you say no, then he fakes that he is alright with it but follows you anyway.

If you start to see someone then he becomes more possessive.

Uses the fact that your ex its still out on the streets and fakes being him. Breaks into your home to leave you "love" notes. Sends you gifts and calls you using a burning phone number.

And since all points to your ex, Jun-ho its safe. He keeps doing this since he feels like he can express himself and also you just happen to be scared again and start to pass over the station to ask if there is something they can do.

"Im sorry (Y/N), only if he does direct damage to you we can take action"

"He broke into my house!! Sends me disgusting gifts, what more do you fuckers need?" You pretty much scream at him.

"I understand your pain and im sorry you are going throw this. About the incident at your home...we have no evidence that it was him. And...do you find the gifts digusting?"

Yes he got hurt by that comment and ends pulling more efforts into what you like. Its not that he is getting your likes bad, but the fact that he cant see to understand how much privacy he is breaking.

Oh, when he did break into your home he also left cameras there. He watchs you when he has time and knows your work hours by memory now.

If he sees you taking a Man back to your place he becomes furious and may break the phone.

That same men its later arrested for something he did not do but its only to cause him trouble.

In fact, anyone who gets close to you or tries to get romantically involved starts to suffer.

You soon are know by being cursed.

Jun-ho admits he is not proud, and it breaks his heart when he sees you crying alone. How he wishes to be there and comfort you.

He only acts when he knows you are insolated and also...when your ex decides to make a new move.

This time he is violent, Jun-ho luckly was passing by and stopped him and also used this chance to arrest him and even uses some force on him.

He wants you to see that he can protect you.

A trial against your ex may start and Jun-ho will use it to now go to your home almost everyday, to make sure you are safe and doing well.

Slowly gets in your head and heart by commenting small things about you and since you are so emotional tired you dont notice how he seems to know things you two never shared.

You two are not even close.

The day Jun-ho gets your phone number (not like he did not have it) he is the happiest man. Stares down at your contact pic for hours while thinking in he should message you or not.

He also starts to act like a boyfriend ti at least make you see how good he could be. Could care less if any other person gives him attention, he only wants yours.

If your ex ends free and does not go to prision then Jun-ho would personally kill him or at least leave him so damaged that the Man would never think of going near you again.

"Yes is mine, you better stay away"

Does this means he is out of your life? No. Jun-ho now acts like a friend, picks you at work, its polite with your Friends and even appears at your aparment when your family its visiting.

By accident of course.

He installs himself in your life in a way you cant see. Soon Friends and family are asking what you two are, leading to you asking the same.

Its a slow process till you decide to try and give him a chance. And Jun-ho its over the moon.

He does everytning right. And makes you depend on him. Tells you horrible details of different cases so you end scared and feel like only he can protect you. He can be quiet brutal sometimes and sadistic, finding some type of joy on seeing you scared. He knows how to read body language at perfection so when you start to tremble or cant Express your words he is almost smiling.

And he loves how you hug him and thank him for being there with you. For putting up with such a complex situation from your ex to the people that told Jun-ho you were "cursed" and bad things would happen to him if he dated you.

They dont know it was all because of him.

NSFW:

Since he has cameras at your home, if you happen to be giving you self pleasure he uses that to jerk himself off.

Remember how he saw that video at first? Well after the first time you two have sex he records it without you knowing it and keeps it on a special pendrive for himself.

Has lots of photos of you. Normal ones and intimated ones. Its his personal altar for you.

He is a bit sadistic and that goes to sex. He does not like to inflict pain on you but making you cry ? And overstimulating you ? Yes. He does that and if you tell him that it hurts it only makes him go harder on you.

[tannedalien]

summary: shinsou x afab reader

warning: nsfw themes, please no one under 18+ interacting.

part 1 , part 2

after the messages you and shinsou exchanged, nothing happened. you woke up the next morning dreading the hounding you was about to get from aizawa for not doing your homework. You put on your uniform and remembered the incident that happened a few hours before waking up from your 3 hour sleep.

you where so embarassed but shocked? shinsou made some pretty flirty comments about the photo you accidentally sent, saying that you should ask him for maths help more... did he like it? was he joking? is this shinsou's humour?

after all, you didn't know too much about him. you've never really had a proper conversation with him in person before, you kind of just hovered around him when your friends where talking to him. You saw him as more of the quiet and shy type but in the messages his came of as really forward. You just prayed to All might that you wouldn't see him today or that he didn't talk to you.

in class he sat a few seats in front of you, you stared at him pretty much all the time. you took the time to memorise his face, the way his nose curved, the rugged hair style he managed to pull off everyday- what was he doing to you?

you've never been so attached to someone you don't even know so what was different now? why was you admiring every inch of him?

"Y/N?? you alright?"

you where shot out of your day dream by ochako sitting next to you, she had a concerned look on her face.

"mm-hUH?- oh yeah yeah I'm fine... just didn't get a lot of sleep last night.."

she giggled and gave you a little smile as she went back to her work.

he was distracting you too much, you needed to get your mind off of him.

Lunch break came around and you went to go get food with your friends mina, jirou, kaminari and hagakure. The five of you sat down with your lunch trays, laughing obnoxiously about something funny that happened over the weekend.

you had completely forgotten about Hitoshi and your little incident with him up to now, until kaminari decided to open his mouth.

"soooo y/n.... shinsou yeah?"

your eyes widened as you looked up at the yellow haired boy, almost spitting out your soda you was drinking.

"man.. I don't know what your talking about"

"oh come on! me and ashido saw you staring at him in class. we can TELL you've got a thing for him!!.. y'know, I'm friends with him, I can put a good word in for you huh-"

"OH MY GOD NO"

you nearly died then and there, everything keeps getting more and more embarrassing.

"ugh come onnn, he's never had a girlfriend before, I bet he'd be into you"

kaminari sent a wink your way, encouraging you to engage in the purple haired boy. your cheeks flushed, you where just starting to forget about the messages between you and him until dunce face opened his mouth.

it wasn't till you stopped scream laughing at kaminari that you realised your phone was buzzing incoming messages. you pulled out your phone to see messages from shinsou, your heart fell right to your balls at this point.

Before opening the messages, you moved your phone to an angle where no one could see it.

[ghost-proofbaby]

FLASHES OF THE BATTLE COME BACK TO ME IN A BLUR. ALL THAT BLOODSHED, CRIMSON CLOVER - SWEET DREAM WAS OVER. MY HAND WAS THE ONE YOU REACHED FOR.

☆ pairings: rockstar!eddie munson x fem!reader

☆ warnings: no use of y/n, strong language, angst, i cannot emphasize the angst warning enough - it's a sad one for our boy, sugar is spoken of inappropriately by roadies with sexual undertones, mentions of drug use beyond just weed (specifically sleeping pills as well as allusion to heavier drugs being acquired), minors dni

☆ WC: 6.7K+

☆ AN: i'm not even sorry at this point. let's get into it, shall we? or should i say - let's fight.

thank you to my love @hellfire--cult for the divider!

masterlist

“Alright. Let’s fight.”

There was a certain point in Eddie Munson’s life, approximately one year ago, in which he had come to the acceptance that sometimes harsh words exchanged were better than silence. 

It had taken a lot out of him, that night – another drink tossed down his throat, another hit from his sour joint, another sigh passing his lips that was the closest he could come to communicating all that nostalgia and guilt building up within his chest. He had been terribly far gone, and he swears, at some point he had heard your voice call out his name. 

And for a second there, he had believed you really were there.

It wasn’t because you had called out his name so sweetly, it wasn’t because there had been some sort of longing in your tone that echoed in his ears. No, he had heard your voice, and you had been angry. Furious, venomous in the way you had spit out his name. Each echo of it in that empty hotel room had felt like a residual punch to the gut, and for a second, he truly believed you were there with him. You were there, and you were angry, and all he could feel in his inebriated state was sheer happiness at the thought of seeing you again. He didn’t care if you screamed in his face. He didn’t care if you shot nothing but insults his way. It would be enough if you were there. He just wanted you to be there. 

It had been a sore disappointment when he’d sat straight up in the bed that wasn’t his, in a room he wouldn’t see again after the night passed, and found himself to still be entirely and utterly alone. 

He had wished you were there. He had wished that he could fight with you rather than drown out his sorrows. 

And the Universe is funny in granting wishes, because now, he’s getting exactly what he had yearned for that night. 

Your eyes are wide, pupils blown out, chest heaving with rapid breaths are you both simply stare. He doesn’t know where to start – but he remembers where it had ended the last time. 

“You stopped saying you loved me.”

It’s already an unfair fight, uneven playing ground. Because how does he explain that? How does he explain how even if the words stopped leaving his lips, the feeling never paused its growth in his bones? You were rooted too deeply within him, even once your presence had been replaced with your absence, and he can’t imagine a day coming where he doesn’t love you. 

He clears his throat awkwardly, “Would you like-”

“It was more than the physical leaving,” you interrupt him, “It was the… emotional leaving. That’s where we left off before Matt came into the studio.”

Straight to the point then, so it seems. 

You stopped saying you loved me.

He did, didn’t he? He couldn’t fight against facts. 

I never needed elaborate metaphors or pretty words, Eddie.

And he had been well aware of that. Perhaps that’s exactly why he’d gone and overdone it with the songs, with the lyrics, with the poetry. He gave you everything he had left, everything he knew you wouldn’t need. 

I just needed to know you still fucking loved me.

And what is crueler than finally telling you how he knew that? That at the time, he had been so well aware that’s exactly what you had needed to hear, and perhaps that was exactly why he stopped saying it. 

Keep you at an arm’s distance. Keep you safe and sound, miles away from the disaster of impending doom. 

Miles away from him.

I can explain, he nearly says, but he doesn’t want to lie to you. His explanation is hardly palpable, and surely not something you would be able to stomach. He can hardly stomach it. 

Instead, he tries to stand his ground, as if he could ever stand a chance against you, “What else was I supposed to do?” 

Wrong choice of words.

“What else?” you parrot back in disbelief, finally looking less sad, less broken. This could work, he thinks. To see you fiery and alive, even in all your anger against him, rather than some broken thing, “Would you like to me to list out all of the fucking options you had?” 

It’s a rhetorical question, but when he doesn’t respond, you decide to answer the obvious. 

“You could have taken ten extra seconds on the phone to say love you, babe. You could have texted me the damn words. You could have- just- you could have just told me if you were getting sick of me!” 

He doesn’t know which is a bloodier catastrophe – the shaking in your voice as you yell out the last part, or the twist of his stomach at hearing it. 

Sick of you. You had thought he was sick of you. 

“I wasn’t sick of you,” it comes out snappier than intended, but all that his tongue seems to care about is that the words are out there – no care in the fragility of tone. “I was- it was just a lot. It was our biggest tour yet, and-”

“Oh!” you laugh out, and his blood is beginning to go cold. All the warmth is leaking out, and all he can think about is twenty four hours ago. How warm it had been beneath his covers, your body curled against his, not a worry in the world. “Oh, I’m sorry. It was a lot? I’m so glad, in that case, that I took the stress of our relationship off your plate,” your voice is still cracking with every syllable. All he can think about is how it had sounded breathing out against his ear, “I just- Jesus, you ask me why I left? That’s why. Forget the bullshit about loving me. Maybe I just felt like a burden. Have you considered that?”

Sweet memories of the night before snaps away like elastic, back out of reach, your words yanking him back down to reality abruptly. 

You, of all people, felt like a burden. To him. 

The person he saw a future with – the person he wanted a future with. The only one he had wanted to see at the end of each wearing day on tour, tears clogging his throat up to the point where he pretended to be asleep so he could avoid having to try and chat with his bandmates. The only one who could have soothed whatever ferocious ache that had materialized deep within him while on the road, that he had foolishly tried to replace with a million different things that only ended up leaving him more empty. The only cure to a homesickness that had ruined him in the end. 

You had never been a burden. But he was fucking it all up, and he was watching the weight of that belief fall down upon your shoulders again. 

“I didn’t mean to make you feel like that!” he’s desperate now, struggling to find ways to fix this. There was a fine line when it came to the fight, a dance between seeing you alive and willing to put up your fists for whatever was left of the two of you versus seeing you broken and unwilling to help him fix it, and he’s sure he’s crossed it. Irreversible damage is being done, and he doesn’t know how to fix it, “It wasn’t- You weren’t- The problem was never…. Never….”

Fix it, fix it, fix it. 

“Don’t say that the problem wasn’t me,” you huff out, almost laughing, looking right at him. Dead in the eyes, but still putting up the fight, “If I weren’t the problem, you wouldn’t have pushed me away. You would have- I don’t know, just let me in. We were supposed to be a team.”

He can’t deny a single word falling from your mouth. You’re right – he knows you’re right, sure as he knows the sun sets in the West, and he knows there’s nothing to be said that can fix this. 

He chose to break this. This wasn’t some terrible accident; Eddie had gripped the wheel with both hands, shaking white knuckles in control, and had driven the two of you straight off the road. 

—

He can’t breathe. 

It’s all he could think about the moment he saw your contact light up the screen of his phone, as he swiped to answer, as he said his pitiful hello. Your voice doesn’t unlatch the tightness from around his lungs, your sweet words do nothing to lighten the load upon his chest. If anything, he almost swears you’re making it worse.

He can’t breathe, because he can’t handle you making it worse. 

It wasn’t supposed to go this way. He wasn’t supposed to dread the phone calls. He wasn’t supposed to come up with lies about how his day has gone. He’s not supposed to be jumping through hoops to guarantee you can’t find out the truth.

Whenever he’d imagined these calls amidst his daydreams for this very life, give or take, he’d always assumed they’d be boiling over with the truth. That spilling out the mundane details of his day would come naturally, that he’d probably make you laugh by making sure you knew exactly which pair of mismatched socks he’d thrown on for the day. He thought he’d be honest; he’d be happy, and he’d be honest.

At the end of the day, he supposes he’d always thought the truth would have been something different. 

He’s staring at the bottle of pills recently prescribed to him through whatever low-profile doctor his manager had found for him, meant to help him sleep these days after he’d had an entire private breakdown over his restlessness and a proper scolding for his ever-growing use of plain pot, and your voice prattling on about something is entirely lost on him.

When did that happen? When did he zone out when you, of all people, spoke to him?

You’re mid sentence when he cuts you off, “Hey, baby.” 

A pause that feels like eternity to him, but probably goes unnoticed by you. He’s gotten good at that – he’s gotten good at churning out little infinities for himself amongst the seconds for others. Time to ruminate, time to rot, time to decay. A coping mechanism since privacy has become a foreign thing. 

“I’m sorry, but they need me for soundcheck,” he says the lie so easily, it scares him. His palms shake at the realization that it was so simple, so second nature to him now. 

Lying to you. He was lying to you. A realization that twists his gut painfully as it settles deep within him. 

Soundcheck had finished over an hour ago. Showtime wasn’t for another two. He had the time for you – he had specifically made sure to have the time for you after dancing around your texts and calls the last week. 

Why was he making up an excuse to end the call? He’d made the time. Why?

“Oh.” 

He can’t fucking breathe. He can hear the disappointment, and he can’t fucking breathe.

One little word. Two insignificant letters. They ruin him in too many ways to formulate. 

“Oh, that’s fine!” your desperate attempt at a recovery doesn’t fool him for a second, but maybe you had sensed his mind being so far away. Maybe you had assumed he’d fall for the nauseatingly fake mask of joy, “Go, they need you.” 

Do they, though? Do they truly, genuinely need him? 

It had been a question keeping him up lately. The very question that was meant to be quieted by the Zolpidem that he continues to burn holes through the bottle of with his heavy eyes. 

Lately, it had felt a lot less like they needed him, and more like everyone around him needed the idea of him. They needed the rockstar, the frontman. They needed the man who would get on stage every night and sing his heart out, who would smirk at a crowd of adoring fans and wink at them in order to send their hearts racing. The charming trickster who could produce honey words both over a record and over interviews, luring in new fans at every corner. 

They needed his hands, only so that they may write words across pages and play instruments across tracking. 

They needed his vocal chords, to sing the lyrics to market, and to smooth talk the early morning show host. 

They needed his heart, so they could tear it apart and devour it right in front of him, uncaring that they would leave him with nothing but a bloody mess by the end of it. 

“Yeah,” he chuckles, and he knows you won’t be able to taste the dryness of it. His entire tone has been flat – the laugh is no different. “Rockstar duties and all. We’ll talk more later?” 

He hates rockstar duties. He hates it all. 

He hates the lights that are always too warm while he’s up on stage, gasping with every breath to try and find the joy once more in his tired bones. He hates the tight schedule, and the way he can’t even have enough free time to leave his hotel room to see half the cities he’s visited. He hates the flashing phones across the crowd, all vying for a photo more than they are a connection.

He’s being drained dry. He has nothing left to give – by the time he’s meant to come home to you, he will have less than nothing. 

“Of course. Go give ‘em Hell.” 

His fingers can’t work fast enough. Your soft oh had broken him, but this shatters him. 

Because that’s what they want, isn’t it? They want him to give them Hell, packaged in the euphoria of a false Heaven. And yet, at the end of the day, the only one receiving the fires of the Hell is him. The loneliness, the demanding weight of the world, the bottom of a parched well. Everyone else lives in a dream from what he can give them, but Eddie? 

Eddie is left with nothing. 

He hangs up just in time for the first sob to leave him. Dry as he felt, dry as his laughter. He couldn’t even choke out a pathetic love you. And his ears are ringing, and somewhere in the buzz, he tries to decipher out the last time he had said those words to you. He knows the sound of your sweet tongue awarding him the affection – you say it at every chance you get – but he can’t recall when he’d last offered you that piece of his soul. 

Did he still love you? 

Yes, the violent thing in him sobs as he lets out another croak, doubling over and tossing his phone away blindly, I do. And that’s the issue. 

He was a ticking time bomb now. He knew there was an inevitable end coming for him, and he was terrified he wouldn’t survive this tour. 

And you – his darling light, the one he was supposed to race home to and was supposed to hold close to his heart as motivation to make it through so that this tour would not be the end – wouldn’t survive it either. The blast radius, the implosion. You were something too soft, too gentle to handle that. He couldn’t do that to you. 

He couldn’t ruin you. And so he was pushing you away. 

Somewhere through the gasping breaths and shake of his shoulders, he reaches to find his phone again. His eyes burn, but no tears come as he stares down at a now cracked screen. He’s hyperventilating – he can’t catch his breath, no matter how wide his chest and lungs try to expand. It’s been stolen from him.

All of it has been stolen from him. His happiness, his dreams, you. 

A month back, he had to change his lockscreen from his favorite photo of you. It had been at a party, and one of the sleazes dressed in leather and cigarette smoke had thrown his arm around Eddie just in time to get a peek at his lockscreen. 

‘Take a load of that,’ the stranger had commented with a low whistle, whiskey on his breath suffocating. 

Eddie had tried to not judge him the entire night. Sometimes, when he was looking at him, he saw the reflection of himself these days. 

‘What?’ Eddie had tried to laugh off, looking more properly through his drunkenness at that vibrant photo of you. His girl, the one he wanted to go home to. All big smiles and aching cheeks, laughing probably at something stupid he had done. 

He could see your bare thighs brushing the sheets of your shared bed back home – it started a hollow ache of longing to feel them wrap him up again. The sheets, your thighs, your arms. 

The small bunks on the bus and the hotel rooms didn’t compare to sleeping next to you. He thought if you had been there, if you had been with him, maybe this all would have been easier. 

‘That fine piece of meat on your screen, man,’ the guy motioned vaguely with a deep chuckle. ‘Fuck, is that what’s waiting for you back home?’

The sinking feeling had started then. The urge to flip his phone over and hide you away began to accumulate, his hand twitching with it. 

‘Yeah, that’s my girlfriend,’ he had said. Choked the words out. Tried to brush off his worry.

That’s just how the guys on the road had spoken. It was fine. It would be fine. 

‘Shoulda brought her on the road,’ the man had sighed. ‘Then we all could have gone a few rounds with her.’

Eddie had never leapt up from a couch quicker. He had also never vomited up more of his guts in a stranger’s plants than he did immediately upon running out the back door. 

Your photo had been exchanged for a stock image the next day. 

The memory still makes him sick. 

He swipes right over that very stock image, one he never cared enough to change because the only photo worth replacing it with was one he could no longer share with this world, to unlock his screen to find his texts with you already open. 

His thumbs are shaking, alien, almost unwilling as he commands them to type a message. 

Maybe, just maybe, he shouldn’t be pushing you away. He shouldn’t be sinking deeper into this crowd of uncaring faces, of people who only want him for what he can give them. 

Maybe he should come crawling back to the one who wants him for his hands, and the way you could hold them out in your lap as you traced the softest of patterns over sensitive skin, a secret message of adoration poured from your own fingertips. 

Maybe he should confide more in the one who wants him for his vocal chords, and for the conversations that could be had in the middle of the night, upholding his opinions on anything and everything with the most importance. And in the shield of the night, sometimes even the day, he couldn’t possibly say the wrong thing – not with you. 

Maybe he should remember to love the one who wanted his heart, simply to handle it with care instead of devourment. 

The simple message of I love you is typed out. His thumb hovers over the small send button. 

Maybe he should let you back in. Maybe he could survive this. 

His thumb diverts suddenly, backing out of the conversation, back into the rows of texts awaiting to be opened and read. Left to smolder just like all his missed calls, missed birthdays, missed holidays. Friends from back when everything felt real, and more sleazes in leather and cigarette smoke. People who devour. People who want what he gives, never what he is. 

Wayne, somewhere amongst the missed connections, just asking if Eddie is alive. If his boy is okay. 

He goes ignored, just as you had as of late, and for all the same reasons. Same lump stuck in Eddie’s throat, same weight on his chest. 

The thumb finds its way to a text chain with someone who can’t fill the hole in Eddie’s chest, but he certainly had offered something at one of those after parties that might be a good place to start. 

Maybe Eddie should just get more of that, more sweet releases without a prescription, something to send his mind swirling until he forgets that you, that Wayne, that even he exists. Yes, that might be the best idea he’s had all week – he types out a message and hits send without hesitation this time to a stranger with his worst interests in mind, asking if he might have any more of that snow in the dead of July he’d been offered at the party. 

His text to you, unfortunately, is never sent.

—

“You want me to let you in?” Eddie suddenly says as he snaps back into his body, into his current mind and current situation. 

He can’t change the past. He’d give anything – God, he’d give everything – to go back to that night and make different choices, better choices, but he can’t. 

All he really has is the here and now. This version of him, and this version of you. The current you, who hates him and absolutely should. The current him, who’s six weeks sober yet has finally seen the light. 

The past doesn’t matter, and yet the past is the entire reason for this. 

“Yes,” you laugh as dryly as he had that night during that final call, throwing your head back in your own desperation, “Jesus Christ, yes. That’s all I ever wanted, all I fucking asked f-” 

He cuts you off by suddenly storming off, but it’s not away from the situation. Not this time. 

Down the hallway, through the door only himself and you have ever passed through. Across the carpeted floors and straight for the stack of notebooks scattered beside the couch. 

Somewhere in the mess, he finds the notebook he’s looking for, right on top of his laptop he needs. 

You trail in behind him, seemingly stunned by his rash actions – except they’re not that rash. He may be moving fast, erratically even, but this is the most sane he’s ever felt with how he’s handling the situation that has become the two of you. 

“You want me to let you in?” he repeats, and you stare with confused eyes, mouth barely agape, entirely lost for a moment, “Fine. I’ll let you in.”

He throws the notebook your way, and your reflexes are your savior as you catch the flutter conglomeration of paper between your palms. The laptop, however, he’s smarter about. 

“Clearly, you’ve already seen my notebook of lyrics,” he says as he huffs, setting the laptop up on the coffee table, rummaging for a pair of headphones he knows he’s left somewhere in this mess, “Why not take it a step further, yeah? I have the demos right here, on my laptop. I’ve been recording them for ages, and having copies of any we try out in the studio sent over to me. I want you to listen to them, because obviously, just reading everything I wanted to say to you doesn’t wo-”

You nearly fling the notebook right back at him, slamming it down against the side of your thigh, “I don’t want songs!” 

He pauses, looks up at you, nearly deranged. “No? You just asked me to let you in, and this is me letting you in.” 

“That’s not- this isn’t-” you stutter over your words and he can see your eyes begin to sparkle with tears as you approach him, just as frustrated as he was now. “I want you to speak to me, Eddie! I’m tired of listening to second-hand accounts and I’m tired of all the versions of you, of this fight, in my head! Use your words,” you make your way between him and the table, the laptop, falling to your knees slowly, the notebook being tossed away for a moment as both your palms come to grip his knees. He can’t tell if you’re trying to ground him, or yourself, “I am here. Right fucking here, right in front of you. And after all this time, you still can’t talk to me.”

He feels the way you shake with those gentle palms on his bruised knees. He’s terrified – the rough fabric of his jeans isn’t thick enough to keep you away. There’s not enough layers of any fabric on this planet that could ever be thick enough to keep you from feeling that rot. And you must feel it – you must feel all those holes that have whittled away at the man you once knew. 

The man you once loved. 

He doesn’t think he can ever be that man again. They did more than break his spirit over the years, or crush his childhood dreams. 

Something snapped in the foundation of him. 

“I…”A lump he’s felt as though he’s lived a lifetime without finally returns. The same one from that terrible night in which he made every wrong choice possible. “I don’t know what you want me to say.” 

Your face falls, ever so slightly. “It’s not about what I want-” 

“Yes,” he stops you, hands coming down to press over yours. Your skin is warmer than his, and he fights the urge to flip your palms up. Press the softest of your skin against the roughest of his, intertwining unworthy fingers between slots unmeant for him, “It is. It absolutely is.”

Just how silently can a heart break? 

You don’t pull back from his touch, and it almost feels like progress. Silent shattering can almost be mended with the way you only let your left palm weakly squeeze at his knee once, twice. 

He waits for the third squeeze, but it never comes. 

“Then there’s where we start,” you whisper, looking down at where his hands hover over yours.

“Start with what?”

“Fixing things.” 

You finally pull your hand away, a slow drag that sends shivers up his spine. He has half the mind to try and capture your hand in his to prevent it; one last desperate attempt to cling to you and all the ways you could heal him. All the ways you could love him. A world of possibility, another time in the Universe where you adore him and he’s never hurt you. Where his shelves are filled with photos of the two of you, together. Where he doesn’t fold you out of the frame, and where his walls are just a little less cold. 

A time, a world, where home feels like home again. 

“We need to stop saying what we think the other person wants to hear,” you croak out as you stand up, almost ashamed. As if realization has finally washed over you of just what you had done – gotten down on your knees and begged him, pleaded with him. “If this is going to work, that…. It has to stop.” 

We need to stop being what we think the other needs. We don’t know what the other needs. 

The unspoken truth you don’t need to say to him. He gets it, he really does. 

This entire relationship, this entire situation the two of you have stumbled into headfirst, needs to be a fresh start. As far as either of you should be concerned, you need to be strangers. No history, no marks, no dust. 

It’s a challenge Eddie would have balked at a mere six weeks ago, but that he faces head-on now. The thought of forgetting you, untangling your soul from his, in order to make new knots doesn’t scare him as much as he should. It’s his chance to start over; his chance to start fresh and new, a clean slate he’d begged for every night amidst every new mistake he had made in your absence. 

He could do this. And by the look on your face, you could also do this. 

“Agreed,” he finally stands up from the couch, nodding more to himself than to you, “Start new. Start fresh. Some inspirational quote from those fucking Facebook moms I hate.” 

A smile nearly cracks on your face, “You hate Facebook moms?” 

“Oh, I loathe them,” he leans in a bit closer, as though he might be letting you in on a secret. Really, he’s just trying to distract you from his wound – that terrible gash in his chest this fight had opened back up, a slice from the past he’ll need the night to stitch back together, “It’s okay, though. The feeling’s mutual.”

Your laugh is weak, and it’s proof enough that it isn’t forced. “Figured as much. I guess the Satanic panic wasn’t just a Hawkins’ thing, huh?” 

Hawkins. God, he hadn’t spoken about Hawkins with anyone, any single soul, in so long that the name of the town almost felt foreign. 

“Guess not,” he quirks his mouth, tilting his head at you, trying to chase away the reeling you’re sending him on. If he thinks too hard about Hawkins, he’ll think too hard about more names he hasn’t uttered in a year. More people left behind, more memories left to burn, “So… Now what?” 

He needs to change the topic, to run away one last time. There’s other nights ahead for the two of you to open those wounds of his. Tonight is not the night. 

You shrug, looking around the room, “I mean… we have a contract to fulfill.” 

“I’m sure my people will get in touch with your people.” 

“I also have work tomorrow.” 

“I’m sure I could call a cab for you in the morning.” 

“Eddie.” 

A selfish part of him had hoped if he’d given in and fought, you might stay another night. That maybe the fight would give him everything he had wanted, and then some. 

Another night. Another clean slate. Another chance to prove himself. 

But by the break in your voice as you say his name, he knows he was clearly delusional. 

“Or I could call you one tonight,” he secedes softly, failing at hiding most of his disappointment. It doesn’t matter – it doesn’t change a thing. “You’ll probably need your beauty sleep. No need for some aggravating rockstar to interrupt all your rest with his lousy guitar playing.” 

“Stop that,” you insist, face falling a bit too serious for his liking. He had been trying to joke around, “I- Your guitar playing is not lousy. We both know that.”

“Lousy or legendary, it still keeps you up.” 

He watches the contort of your face, and his chest constricts. He wants to be able to read your mind, look past that sudden stoic wall that falls over your eyes and flat lips. Chip past the marble facade to understand why those words seemingly sucked all the air out of the room just now. 

“Yeah,” you say, but you sound miles away, looking over his shoulder, breaths a bit unsteady. “Yeah… You’re, uh, you’re right. I don’t mind calling my cab-”

“I insist,” he rushes out, still scanning your face, still grasping for straws to get a glimpse inside your brain. 

What did he do wrong? What had he said? 

“You really don’t-” 

“Consider it done.” 

His phone is already in hand, and the number already half dialed into it isn’t just the city’s taxi service. It’s his driver’s.

His personal driver. Is that what had made you uncomfortable? Had you realized that before he’d even called for one of those SUVs to be your ride home? 

Was he coming on too strong for all this talk of a fresh start? 

You pick your battles, and just as he had lost the war to have you stay, you let him dial the number. Wander to the corner of the room as he talks to the man only he’s familiar with over his cell phone, fingers tracing over the few instruments littering the space. He wonders if you take note of which ones you pull away from with a smudge of dust on the pad of your finger, and if you can see the desperate wear worn into others from late nights like the night before. If you can see the scratch marks covering guitars from violent strumming, or rough circles over the keys of a keyboard he’s propped against the wall after it had stopped emitting noise due to being kicked off its stand after a particularly rough session. 

He wonders if tears can stain, and if you could see any of his panic and regret at that burst of violence. It was the night he swore off vodka. 

With confirmation of the SUV being on its way, he turns all his attention back on you, “See anything you like?”

You’d been staring at one specific acoustic guitar, one that had gathered more dust than any other instrument in the room. A stunning guitar polished to perfection, to the point of still being able to see your reflection in the onyx abyss of it below the layer of neglect. 

He knows exactly where your eyes have caught. A perfect carving of his initials, deeply cut into the rosewood right below the strings at the top of the neck. Dust had covered up the deep red painted into the hand-carved letters. 

“What?” you look over suddenly, almost as though you wanted to pretend you hadn’t seen it. But he knows you did, and he knows you had a good guess, an accurate guess, as to where that guitar came from. “I- No- I mean, yes! Sorry, I just… A lot of instruments, I guess?” 

You’re biting your lip, clearly nervous, as he forces a smile, “Yeah. Always swore I’d have a room like this when we- I had a place of my own someday.”

He knows the blood has drained from his face at his slip up. Feels the cold creep into his cheeks, as he clears his throat awkwardly. 

“You did,” you grant him the grace of ignoring it. Save him the embarrassment, and move right along, “What kind of guitar is that one?” you pause, turning back to the guitar you’d locked your sights on and jut your chin in it’s direction, “A… Yamaha, right?” 

“Yamaha F335,” he confirms, walking up behind you, looking at the dark beauty, “Nothing extravagant, but…”

“You always said Yamaha never felt cheap,” you murmur under your breath, smiling as if lost in a memory, “Under two hundred bucks, and you still sounded like Kirk Hammett when you hammered out those solos over Master of Puppets.” 

He wishes you wouldn’t do this. Not now, not when you aren’t spending the night. Not when a car is coming to take you away, and not when he knows your knees are still raw from falling to them and begging him of all people to just talk to you. 

“It was a crime,” he chokes out in a tight tone, having to cough a little to loosen up his words before continuing, “Playing such a metal album on an acoustic. Always sounded better on Sweetheart.” 

You continue to tear him open, rib by rib, as you softly say, “Yeah, but Wayne always seemed to like that music a little better when you played it that way instead.”

It feels as though it’s finally his turn to fall to his knees. 

You don’t even notice the unraveling, reaching up to caress over the strings covering the simple cursive EM on the neck. Almost out of reach from where the guitar sways on the wall mount. 

“Does she have a name?” 

He has to gather himself before he can reply, “What?” 

“The guitar,” you glance over your shoulder, eyes shining just a bit. He thinks he knows why you wouldn’t face him now. Why you’d kept your back to him, “You always named your guitar. Don’t tell me you grew out of that, Munson.”

This smile isn’t quite as forced, but it quivers all the same on his lips and cheeks, “Never. His name’s Nelson.”

Your face scrunches a bit, “Nelson? His name’s Nelson?”

“Yep.” 

He can’t help the way the word comes out so short, so quipped. You’re both treading in very dangerous territory now. 

“That’s…” you nod, deep in thought as you trail off, and he wonders if you caught on, “Odd. But I like it. What was the inspiration?” 

He has to lie. He can’t admit it to you. There is only so much blood left in his body to bleed out tonight, and he simply cannot give you the full truth now. 

“A bit of a nod to the person who gifted it to me,” he offers as much of the truth he can, but if you ask him for any more specifics, he simply can’t.

You look between him and the guitar, a small smile growing, and it breaks his heart, “Oh? And who- I mean… may I ask who gifted it?” 

His entire body aches as he forces out, “An old friend.”

Eddie Munson hates himself. More than he ever believed possible, to the point of a stomach churning with sheer sickness as you nod at the oddly quiet answer, finally taking the hint. 

He hates himself. He hates what he has become. He hates what he has destroyed. 

“Sounds-” you’re cut off by the ringing of his phone, incessant chiming from his driver to announce his arrival. 

The conversation ends there. Eddie informs you your ride is here, and he trails after you slowly as you gather your things. He feels the apartment drop colder and colder as each article of you is snatched up, no malicious intent but painful all the same, until he’s finally walking you to the elevator with his hands shoved in his pockets. 

“So,” you nearly stumble over your own two feet as you try to face him in the final few steps, clumsy and nervous as ever. Even if the fight has cleared some of the air, offered some clean slate, some things never change, “I guess your people will call my people?” 

He only nods, discreetly tucking his hand back away that had shot out, ready to catch you. 

“Okay,” you nod, eyeing him as though you have more to say. A million words, a million questions, a million topics to avoid. He really wishes you would spend the night. “Well, then…. See you around, I guess?” 

Bruised knees, avoidant eyes, tight throats. The two of you are such a mess, it’s no longer funny. 

“See you around, Sugar.” 

The elevator dings with its arrival, and Eddie doesn’t let you get another word in before he’s motioning you in. Away from him, away from the damage, away from the impending explosion. 

He almost wonders if you had the same look on your face the final day you’d left your shared apartment with him as he watches the two doors slide shut. 

He doesn’t linger, though. The moment you’re locked away from him, he’s rushing back to his apartment. The only one on the entire floor, entirely secluded in his tower, cursed to solitude as a private punishment. Whenever anyone had asked in the past, it had always been the excuse of privacy – but he knows better. 

Eddie Munson had torn himself limb by limb, cutting every lifeline ever tied to him, long before he’d moved into this chilling penthouse. 

He avoids the urge to run to one of his panoramic windows, trying to remind himself he won’t be able to see thirteen floors down to the street where you’re surely rushing into that familiar black SUV. He takes a sharp turn down his hallway, feeling almost robotic, returning back to that cursed room the two of you had just broken each other inside moments before. 

Straight to the back wall, and straight to the black Yamaha guitar. Straight to Nelson.

His hands shake as he pulls the instrument away from the wall just enough to see a note that barely clings to hand-polished wood, tape aged and paper crumbled. Yet the ink is still visible. The scar, it seems, is not quite healed as he reads over the messy scrawl. 

For my boy. Give them Hell, kid. And maybe give your old man a call. 

Love, Wayne.

[earthtoharlow]

HIT THE LIGHTS

Sequel to Flashing Lights series, must read Flashing Lights & Don’t Like The Lights first to understand

Series Masterlist

1. I Didn’t Mean to Fall in Love

Maryse stirred awake, stretching her arms above her head before turning over to face Jack, who had gotten home late the night before from a business trip in New York.

She blinked sleepily at him, ready to say good morning, but before she could, he pulled her closer, a sly grin on his face.

He gently placed a finger to her lips and whispered, “Do you hear that?”

Maryse frowned slightly, her ears straining to catch whatever sound he was talking about. “Hear what?” she whispered back.

He leaned in, his voice low. “Exactly. The babies are still asleep for once.”

Her eyes widened as realization dawned, and she let out a soft laugh. “Wait… no crying? No babbling? No toys getting thrown?”

“Not a peep,” he said, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “It’s like a miracle. A small, peaceful miracle.”

Maryse giggled, burying her face in his chest. “Don’t jinx it. They’ll probably be up any minute now.”

Jack laughed quietly, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “You’re probably right. But for now, let’s enjoy the silence. It’s rare these days.”

She hummed in agreement, nuzzling closer to him. Jack grinned, pulling her even closer as he rested his chin on top of her head. “You know, you could just skip that meeting and that interview today and stay in bed with me all day. Like we used to. No meetings, no emails—just us.”

Maryse laughed softly, tilting her head back to look at him. “Oh, yeah? And what about the twins? You think they’re just gonna let us lounge around like we’re on vacation?”

He shrugged with a smirk. “They’re still asleep. We’ve got at least… fifteen more minutes of peace. Maybe twenty if we’re lucky.”

She raised an eyebrow. “And when they wake up screaming for breakfast, then what?”

He leaned down, brushing his lips against hers. “Then I’ll handle it. Diapers, bottles, the works. You just stay here and relax.”

Maryse laughed again, shaking her head. “You really think we can just pretend we’re not parents for a day?”

“Why not?” he said with mock seriousness. “I’m pretty sure they owe us for all those sleepless nights.”

She playfully swatted his chest. “You’re impossible. I can’t skip the meeting or that interview, and you know it.”

He sighed dramatically, flopping onto his back like a kid who didn’t get his way. “Fine. Go be responsible and productive. But I’m telling you, one of these days, you’re skipping everything, and we’re staying in bed all day. No excuses.”

Maryse leaned over and kissed his cheek. “Deal. But until then, welcome to parenthood baby daddy.”

She started to stretch again, she paused and turned to him, resting her head on her hand. “How was your meeting yesterday? You didn’t say much about it last night.”

Jack shrugged, his fingers absentmindedly tracing circles on her arm. “It was good. We talked about the next era, ideas, plans. I’m excited… but I don’t know. I feel like I’ve made some great music, but I still don’t think I’ve dropped anything incredible yet. You know, something that no one can argue about.”

She frowned slightly, shifting closer to him. “What are you talking about? People love your music. You’ve had plenty of hits. Why are you so hard on yourself?”

He sighed, staring up at the ceiling. “I’m proud of everything I’ve done. I really am. But there’s always that little voice in the back of my head saying, ‘You can do better.’ I want the next era to be undeniable. Like, no debate—it’s legendary.”

Maryse reached out, cupping his cheek and turning his face toward her. “You’re already legendary to me. And I know whatever you do next will be incredible because you don’t settle for anything less.”

He smiled softly, leaning into her touch. “Thanks, babe. That means a lot.”

She smirked, brushing her thumb over his cheek. “Now, since I’ve boosted your ego, you can get up and make me tea before I have to get ready.”

He chuckled, pulling her into a quick kiss. “Anything for my number one fan.”

****

After getting showered and dressed, Maryse heard the unmistakable sounds of childish screams and giggles echoing from the kitchen. She smiled to herself, knowing the twins were up and in full swing, and Jack was likely handling their breakfast routine.

When she walked downstairs, her heart melted at the scene before her. London was bouncing happily in her baby bouncer, squealing every time she swung forward. Across the room, Jack was seated at the kitchen table with Noah on his lap. Noah was holding a slice of apple in his tiny hands, gnawing at it while Jack rapped quietly to himself, his phone in one hand as he quickly typed lyrics with his free fingers.

Maryse leaned against the doorway, soaking it all in. The sound of Noah’s laughter and London’s squeals, coupled with the soft cadence of Jack’s voice, filled the kitchen with a warmth she adored. Mornings like this were loud and chaotic, but they were everything to her. She almost didn’t want to leave for her meeting.

Jack glanced up from his phone and caught her watching. He gave her a lopsided grin, his voice softening. “You just gonna stand there and stare, or you gonna come say good morning?”

She walked over, pressing a kiss to Noah’s chubby cheek before running a hand through Jack’s hair. “Good morning, my favorite boys. What’s on the breakfast menu today?”

Jack laughed, nodding toward the half-empty plate of apple slices as Maryse walked over to London to give her kisses. “Apples and vibes. We’re keeping it simple.”

Maryse shook her head with a laugh. “I almost don’t want to leave.”

Jack raised an eyebrow, his grin turning mischievous. “Then don’t. I told you, skip the meeting.”

She giggled, kissing his forehead before slipping on her blazer. “Tempting. But duty calls.”

Maryse gave herself one last look in the mirror when she noticed London in the background, who was still bouncing around when something caught her eye—the tiny shoes on her feet.

Her eyes widen as she takes in the shoes: they’re miniature versions of the New Balance sneakers Jack recently designed. She crouches down and gently lifts London’s tiny foot to get a better look, her heart melting at the sight.

“Jack, when did you get these?” she asked him, her voice tinged with surprise.

He looks up from his phone, grinning. “I had them made a couple weeks ago. Wanted the twins to be rocking the best, you know?”

Maryse shakes her head with a laugh, her eyes still glued to the tiny sneakers. “They’re so adorable. I can’t believe you didn’t tell me.”

“I wanted it to be a surprise,” he says with a shrug, leaning back against the kitchen chair. “Look at them, though. Don’t they look fly?”

“They do,” she agrees, her voice softening as she gazes at her children. “Too cute for their own good.”

She leans in and kisses London on the cheek, then ruffles Noah’s hair before standing up. “Alright, I really have to go now, or I’m going to be late.”

Jack watches her grab her bag, a playful grin on his face. “Last chance to stay here with us today

Maryse rolls her eyes with a smile as she heads toward the door. “I’ll be back soon.”

***

Maryse was in the bathroom stall, changing her outfit after she spilled tea on the shirt right before her video interview with The Breakfast Club. The door swung open, and two women walked in, their voices bouncing off the tiled walls.

“I just don’t get it,” one of them said, her tone dripping with judgment. “Have you noticed he never posts the kids’ faces? That’s probably because he’s embarrassed.”

Maryse’s heart dropped, and her grip on her bag tightened.

“Exactly,” the other woman chimed in. “I mean, he’s this huge rapper, and now he’s stuck with twins? He’s probably second-guessing everything. Honestly, I wouldn’t blame him. She’s the one who trapped him.”

She shook her head in disbelief, her jaw clenching as their cruel words filled the small space. She knew exactly why she and Jack didn’t post the twins’ faces—it was to protect them from people like this. People who were so judgmental, invasive, and downright rude.

“And the thing is,” the first woman continued, lowering her voice, “it’s not like she’s some stay-at-home mom. She’s always off doing something. Does she even spend time with them?”

“I don’t know,” the second replied with a sarcastic laugh. “Maybe that’s why he doesn’t seem in any rush to marry her. Can you imagine all the baggage she’s bringing?”

Maryse bit her lip, willing herself not to react. She refused to give them the satisfaction of knowing they had gotten under her skin.

When the women finally left, their laughter echoing behind them, Maryse stepped out of the stall and stared at her reflection in the mirror. Her face was full of frustration and hurt, but mostly anger. She freshened up her makeup, trying to shake off their cruel words.

She reminded herself of why they made the choices they did—to protect their babies from this exact type of negativity. And while she knew it in her heart, it still stung to hear strangers twist their lives into such ugly narratives.

As she stepped out of the bathroom, her manager, CoCo was waiting just outside, scrolling through her phone. When she glanced up and saw Maryse’s face, her expression shifted immediately.

“Are you okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” her manager said, concern etched into her tone.

Maryse forced a small smile, hoping it would be convincing. “I’m fine. Just… a lot on my mind, I guess.”

Her manager gave her a skeptical look but didn’t push. “Alright. Well, the room’s ready for your interview. You sure you’re good to go?”

Maryse nodded quickly, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “Yeah, let’s do it.”

As they walked toward the empty office room, she focused on steadying her breathing and keeping her emotions in check. She didn’t want CoCo—or anyone else—to sense how rattled she was by what she’d overheard.

She watched as CoCo set up her laptop on the desk, glancing at the clock. The interview with The Breakfast Club was about to start. Taking a deep breath, she adjusted the camera angle, brushed her hair back, and tried to focus.

The hosts greeted her warmly as the video feed connected. “We’ve got Maryse Monet in the building—or, well, virtually, but you get the idea,” Charlamagne said with a grin.

Maryse smiled, offering her own warm greeting, though the hurt from earlier still simmered under the surface. They started with lighthearted topics—her music, her kids, and balancing work with motherhood.

But then Charlamagne shifted gears. “So, there’s been a lot of chatter online lately about you and Jack Harlow,” he began, his tone slightly more serious. “Specifically, people talking about the fact that y’all have two kids but no ring yet. What’s your take on that?”

Her heart sank. It was almost as if he’d been in the bathroom earlier. For a split second, she considered brushing it off, but she knew she couldn’t let the narrative continue without addressing it.

Sitting up straighter, she kept her voice calm but firm. “You know, I think people are way too invested in things that have absolutely nothing to do with them,” she said evenly. “My business with Jack is just that—our business. We’re both happy, we’re both blessed, and we’re raising two amazing kids together. That’s all that matters.”

DJ Envy nodded in agreement. “That’s a great perspective. Social media really does have a way of making people feel entitled to your personal life.”

“Exactly,” Maryse replied. “We’ve got a beautiful life, and we’re doing things on our own terms. People should focus on their own happiness instead of worrying about ours.”

As the interview progressed, Jess Hilarious leaned forward with a mischievous glint in her eye. “Alright, so you said it’s your business, and I respect that. But I gotta ask—have you and Jack talked about marriage? You guys have been together for three years now..”

Maryse paused, her heart skipping a beat. Of course, Jess had to be messy—it was her signature style. She took a slow, calming breath, refusing to let the question rattle her.

“Jess, you’re really good at asking the questions no one should be asking,” she said with a playful but pointed smile. “But honestly, we talk about a lot of things. What we decide to do about marriage—or anything else—is between us. We’ve built a beautiful life together, and that’s what’s important.”

DJ Envy chimed in, trying to diffuse the moment. “I mean, two kids and two amazing careers. That’s as solid as it gets.”

“Exactly,” Maryse said, nodding. “We’re building something real, and we don’t feel the need to rush into anything just because people think we should. What matters is that we’re happy, and our kids are loved.”

Jess raised his hands in mock surrender. “Fair enough, fair enough. Just had to ask!”

Maryse laughed softly, her calm demeanor unwavering. “Well, there’s your answer. You and fans can stop speculating now.”

The conversation shifts back to lighter topics, but as the interview ends and she logs off, Maryse takes a moment to exhale deeply. It wasn’t easy keeping her emotions in check, but she feels proud of how she handled it.

CoCo stepped over, shaking her head in frustration.

“I swear, I hate The Breakfast Club sometimes,” she said, crossing her arms. “They’re so invasive, always fishing for drama. But you—you handled it perfectly. Seriously, you answered those questions like a pro.”

Maryse gave a small smile, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Learned from the best,” she murmured, standing up and gathering her things.

CoCo’s expression softened as she looked at her. “You sure you’re okay? You’ve been a little off today.”

She hesitated, her hand tightening around the strap of her bag. “Yeah, I’m good,” she said with a forced lightness. “Just tired, I guess. It’s been a long day.”

CoCo didn’t seem entirely convinced but decided not to press. “Alright. Just let me know if you need anything, okay?”

Maryse nodded, offering a quick smile before heading out. As she walked to her car, the weight of the day finally started to settle on her shoulders.

***

While Maryse was gone, Jack was at home with the twins when his phone buzzed. Seeing his mom’s name on the screen, he smiled and answered.

“Hey, Ma,” he greeted, balancing London on his hip as Noah sat nearby, playing with a stack of blocks.

“Hey, baby,” she replied warmly. “Just calling to check on you and my grandbabies. How are they?”

“They’re good. London’s all clingy today, and Noah’s tearing through these blocks like a little bulldozer,” he said, chuckling as London babbled in his ear.

“Sounds about right,” she laughed before her tone shifted. “So… when are you going to marry that girl, Jack?”

Jack nearly dropped the phone. “Whoa, Mom, where’d that come from?”

“Don’t play dumb,” she said, her voice light but firm. “I know you two are happy, but you’ve got two babies together now. What are you waiting for? She’s been more than patient, and you know she deserves it.”

He sighed, setting London down gently next to her brother. “It’s not that simple, Mom. I’m trying to make sure everything’s right—our lives, our careers, everything. I want to give her the world when that time comes, not just a ring.”

His mom wasn’t letting up. “Jack, that girl loves you, and she doesn’t care about all the flashy stuff. She just wants you. You’re not waiting for things to be perfect, are you? Because life is never going to be perfect.”

He rubbed the back of his neck, leaning against the counter. “I hear you, Ma. I really do. And trust me, I think about it all the time. I just…” He trailed off, trying to find the right words.

“You’re scared,” his mom said knowingly.

Jack didn’t reply right away, but her words hit home.

“Listen,” she continued. “You’re already living like you’re married. You’ve got your little family, and she’s out here holding you down. Don’t let fear stop you from doing what you know in your heart is right.”

He nodded, even though she couldn’t see him. “I get it, Ma. I’ll figure it out.”

“Okay son, I’m not telling you what to do. Just want to give you something to think about.”

“I know.”

“Good,” she replied. “Now go kiss those babies and think about what I said.”

“I will, Ma. Love you.”

“Love you too, baby.”

As he hung up, Jack glanced at the twins, who were now playing together. His mom’s words echoed in his mind, stirring emotions he wasn’t quite ready to unpack. But one thing was clear—he needed to start seriously thinking about the next step.

Do I really need to rush into this? he thought, running a hand through his hair. He kind of liked the way things were now—comfortable, happy, and stable. They had a rhythm, even if it wasn’t always perfect. He and Maryse were building something solid, raising two amazing kids, and balancing their careers. Did they really need to add the pressure of a wedding to all of that?

Of course, he wanted to marry her—one day. He gave her a promise ring for Christ’s sake. But was now the right time? Between juggling music, parenting, and their lives being constantly under public scrutiny, he wondered if Maryse even wanted to get married right now. Maybe she was just as happy with how things were.

She’d never pressured him or dropped hints, and they’d never had a serious conversation about it since having Noah and London.

As he sank deeper into his thoughts, he felt a block hit his lower leg. Turning around, he saw both Noah and London giggling mischievously, clearly proud of themselves, and he couldn’t help but smile despite the sting.

“Alright, alright, I get it. No overthinking,” he said, getting down on the floor with them, both of them crawled towards him immediately. Noah reached him first, reaching up to grab his face this time, and he held him close, thinking about how lucky he was to have this life. Maybe his mom was right—life didn’t have to be perfect to take the next step. But for now, he decided to let the idea sit, focusing instead on the moment in front of him.

The rest of the day went by smoothly. By the time Maryse came home, the twins were fed, bathed, and put to bed with a little teamwork. Jack felt a sense of peace settling over the house, but as the quiet evening stretched on, he realized Maryse had disappeared.

Curious, he wandered through their home, checking room by room until he heard the soft, melodic sound of the piano drifting from the music room. He stopped in his tracks, drawn in by the familiar voice singing a song he hadn’t heard before.

I didn't mean to fall in love

Now that I need you, baby

Tell me we'll never be apart

Leaning against the doorframe, Jack watched her. She was seated at the piano, her fingers moving gracefully over the keys as she poured her heart into the lyrics. Her voice was raw, full of emotion, and he felt every word as though she were speaking directly to him.

He didn’t say anything, not wanting to interrupt the moment. Instead, he crossed his arms and stayed quiet, letting the song wash over him. It was rare for him to see her this vulnerable—just her and the music, unfiltered and honest.

Jack’s gaze dropped to her hands on the keys. That’s when he noticed it—the promise ring, back on her finger. She’d worn it as a necklace during her pregnancy when her fingers were too swollen, but now it was back where it belonged. The sight stirred something in him, the faintest twinge of guilt for the thoughts that had been weighing on him all day.

When she finished, her hands lingered on the keys, the final note fading into the room. She looked up and noticed him standing there, his face unreadable.

“Didn’t mean to eavesdrop,” he said softly, pushing off the doorframe. “What was that?”

Maryse shrugged, her lips curving into a small, almost shy smile. “Just something I’ve been working on.”

“It’s beautiful,” he said, stepping closer. “You okay?”

Her eyes flicked to the piano keys for a moment before meeting his gaze. “Yeah. Just had some things on my mind.”

“Do you wanna talk about it?”

She hesitated, then leaned into him. “Maybe. Later.”

He pressed a kiss to her temple. “Take your time. I’m here.”

Jack’s arm stayed draped over her shoulders, his thumb absentmindedly tracing patterns on her sleeve. He leaned in, pressing a kiss to her shoulder. “I missed you today,” he murmured, his voice low and warm.

Maryse tilted her head, a small smile tugging at her lips. “I missed you too.”

He nuzzled closer, his lips brushing her ear as he added, “How about we go to bed, my Kentucky bad girl?”

She froze for a second before bursting into laughter, wrinkling her nose in playful disgust. She pushed his shoulder lightly. “Please don’t ever say that again.”

He grinned, amused by her reaction. “What? You don’t like it?”

She shook her head, still giggling. “Absolutely not. I’m a New Yorker at heart, remember? No ‘Kentucky bad girl’ nonsense for me.”

Jack threw his head back with a chuckle, clearly enjoying himself. “Alright, alright. I won’t say it again. But you can’t deny you’ve got a little Kentucky in you now.”

She rolled her eyes, standing up from the piano bench and stretching. “Unfortunately.”

Jack immediately pinched her sides making her giggle pulling her back down for a quick kiss.

“Let’s call it a night.”

She smiled, letting him lead her toward their room.

Hours later Maryse laid awake in bed, the soft sound of Jack’s breathing steady beside her as he slept peacefully. She scrolled through her phone, reading the flood of comments from her interview earlier.

While some were supportive, praising her for standing her ground and protecting her privacy, others weren’t as kind.

“She’s just gonna be his baby mama forever.”

“That promise ring? Just a way to keep her quiet.”

“He doesn’t actually want to marry her—if he did, he would’ve done it by now.”

Her chest tightened as she read comment after comment, the words cutting deeper than she wanted to admit. She turned off her phone and set it on the nightstand, staring up at the ceiling.

The weight of the comments clung to her, making her question things she hadn’t doubted before. Did people really see her like that? Did they think her relationship wasn’t enough just because they weren’t married yet?

She glanced at Jack, his face relaxed in sleep, and thought about how much love he showed her and the kids every day. She knew their relationship was strong, but the doubts stirred by strangers still lingered in her mind.

She sighed softly, shifting onto her side and pulling the blanket tighter around her. “Fuck it,” she thought.

“Why should I care what strangers think?” she whispered to herself, though the question felt hollow.

Maryse picked her phone back up and scrolled her camera roll finding the photos Urban took of them after she got home from the hospital.

Her finger hovered over the “post” button for a moment, and then she whispered, “Yeah, Fuck it.”

LIFEOFMONET

liked by urbanwyatt, chloebailey, druski, latto, torikelly, saweetie, and 856,789 others

LifeOfMonet: my whole entire world

liked by 10,577 comments

user: ahhhhhhh

Latto: BIG MAMA FR 😍

user: they’re so little 🥹

user: who cares where’s the music

user: Maryse were you even in the room they look just like Jack

saweetie: AUNTIES BABIES!!!! 😍

user: finally showing their face lol

user: we gotta get you a ring next girl

dojacat: hot mom era

As soon as the post went up, she immediately felt guilty she knew she should’ve discussed it with Jack first—they’d agreed to keep the kids off social media for the most part—but something in her needed to push back against the negativity.

Sliding her phone onto the nightstand, she settled back into bed, telling herself she’d deal with the fallout tomorrow.

The next morning, Jack woke up early, lying in bed with his arm draped across Maryse’s waist as she slept. He reached for his phone, and called Urban who picked up almost immediately.

“Yo, what’s up?” Urban said.

“I was thinking,” Jack began, his voice low so he didn’t wake Maryse. “I wanna take a trip to New York to shoot a video for this freestyle I’ve been working on…”

“You already know I’m in,” Urban replied. “When you thinking of heading out?”

“Soon, maybe next week. I just—”

“Aw, Maryse finally posted that photoshoot I did of her and the twins, huh?” Urban interrupted, chuckling.

Jack furrowed his brow, sitting up straighter. “What’re you talking about?”

“The one we did after the twins were born,” Urban clarified. “You didn’t see? It’s all over my feed. She posted it last night.”

Jack’s jaw tightened slightly as he quickly opened Instagram. Sure enough, Maryse’s post was there, front and center: the photo of her holding the twins.

He stared at the post for a moment, his emotions conflicted. On one hand, the picture was beautiful, he had that exact photo as his screensaver since Urban sent it to him. On the other, they had agreed to be cautious about sharing too much of their kids online.

“Yeah, I see it,” he finally said.

“That shot of her and the twins is adorable,” Urban added.

“Yeah… it is,” Jack admitted, his voice softer.

He hung up a few minutes later and laid there, phone still in hand, staring at the photo. He knew Maryse must’ve been feeling some type of way to go against their usual decision. With a sigh, he leaned over and gently kissed her temple, whispering, “You’re gonna make me work hard to stay mad at you, aren’t you?”

Maryse stirred awake, feeling Jack’s gaze on her. She opened one eye and saw him looking down at her, his face relaxed, a faint smirk tugging at his lips.

“What a beautiful sight to wake up to in the morning,” she joked, her voice groggy as she stretched.

Jack chuckled. “You don’t sound so sure.”

She laughed softly and leaned up to give him a kiss, her hand resting on his chest. “Good morning to you too.”

He smiled against her lips, pulling her closer for another quick peck before leaning back slightly. “So… how’d the meeting go yesterday? We didn’t get to talk about it.”

Her stomach tightened at the question, but she forced a small smile and nodded. “It was fine. Nothing crazy, just the usual.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Fine, huh?”

“Yep, totally fine,” she said, her voice a little too cheerful.

“Uh-huh,” he replied, his tone skeptical. He let it hang for a beat before adding casually, “Oh yeah? So why’d you post the twins last night?”

Maryse froze for a moment, her lips parting in surprise before she let out an exaggerated yawn and turned over. “Hmm? I’m sorry, I think I’m still asleep. Can’t hear you.”

Jack laughed, shaking his head. “Oh, so now you’re asleep, huh?”

She didn’t respond, burying her face into the pillow dramatically.

He leaned over and pinched her sides, making her yelp and squirm away. “Answer me!”

“Okay, okay!” she squealed, swatting at his hands. “I just… felt like posting it, that’s all.”

He gave her a look, clearly not buying it. “At two in the morning?”

She sighed, sitting up and running a hand through her messy hair. “I don’t know. I was in my feelings or something. Can we just leave it at that?”

Jack studied her face for a moment, his expression softening. “You sure that’s all it was?”

She nodded, her smile small but genuine. “Yeah, I promise.”

“Alright,” he said, leaning over to kiss her forehead. “But next time, just talk to me before you post something like that, okay?”

“Okay,” she murmured, leaning her head on his shoulder.

“Good, ’cause now the whole world knows how cute our kids are,” he said with a grin, making her laugh softly as the tension eased between them.

“And I know you’re not telling me the whole truth,” he said gently.

Maryse’s heart skipped a beat, but she kept her face neutral, avoiding his eyes.

“I’m not gonna push you,” he continued, his tone reassuring.

A small smile tugged at her lips despite the knot in her chest. “Okay,” she murmured.

Maryse couldn’t ignore the guilt tugging at her heart. This man loved her so deeply, so unconditionally, and yet here she was, lying to him—keeping something that clearly affected her bottled up.

She thought back to the incident in the bathroom and the interview right after. She knew she should probably tell him, let him in on what had her feeling so unsettled. But every time she thought about it, the words of those women replayed in her head, stoking her insecurities.

What if he thought she was pressuring him to marry her? What if he thought she cared too much about what people said? She didn’t want to seem weak or like the comments had shaken her. And the last thing she wanted was for him to think she didn’t trust his love.

Her fingers absentmindedly traced the promise ring on her hand as she wrestled with her thoughts.

She looked up at him and managed a small smile. “I love you.”

He smiled back, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “Thank God. ‘Cause I love you more than anything.”

She nodded, holding onto his words, even as her inner turmoil continued to churn. She wasn’t ready to tell him yet, but she knew deep down that she couldn’t keep it from him forever.

***

AN: Flashing Lights is officially a trilogy crazyyyyy!! Tell me what you think and thank you for reading 

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[mooneggtarts]

New AU got me thinking about the concept of TSC asking Alan if his school friends could come spend the night and Alan agreeing despite knowing full well he's not the one who's gonna take care of them, and all the chaos that would happen afterwards.

P.S If someone were to make fanart for your AVA AUs, would your preferred way of getting them be via submit or just a tag after being posted?

I still like to do some parallel on my AUs with the canon stuff that's been happening. So to me, the first time Sec ask if his friends are allowed to visit is to Vic first (cause Vic was like, the most responsible older figure in his eyes).

Vic was nervous, cause they all never have other people in their home before, and he doesn't know what Alan would even think (no matter how "changed" Alan thinks of himself), so he gently have to tell Sec "no".

But Sec was being a bit rebelious, and sneak his friends into his room while his brothers are busy outside.

Unknowingly since Alan never had anyone else ever visit in his place, nor has anyone else told him that someone will be visiting, it's natural that he'd be reacting immediately and darting towards Sec's room when he heard a scream that was NOT Sec's- nor his other brothers' and was shocked to see other sticks besides his kids.

Seeing other kids, in a room that was just an utter mess, and one of them— including Sec—was tackling eachother. Alan, whom has been so out of toych with his kids' social life and social life in general. Ofc he'd think that the CG are intruders.

Then he snaps them away, poof, dissapears (yes actually, they all still have their canon powers, just not allowed to use them in house or in the public. Unless it's an emergency. Like now) right in front of Sec's very eyes before he could tell Alan to stop.

Sec, ofc, cried and angrily hitting Alan (which was surprising cause he didn't expect Sec could hit really hard) babbling how those were his friends and that he killed them, and Alan's words got cut in every hit in trying to reassure Sec something.

Until Sec heard familiar shouts outside. And he darts towards his room window and see his friends all okay and well, waving their hands at him, jumping up and down.

Alan didn't kill them. He just teleports them outside. To say that things got slightly awkward afterward would be an understatement but it didn't last a day.

And for the fanarts? Up to you! You can always submit or tag me in a post whatever you like! Whatever makes you more comfortable with, I'll always love to see them either way!

[paradlselost]

ֹ ⑅᜔ ׄ ݊ ݂ ONE MORE NIGHT ۪ ֹ ᮫

the salesman x female reader

⎨ 𝐀𝐍 ⎬SORRY THIS ONES KINDA CRAZY 💔 i wrote this in like an hour after seeing mettatons_highheel ‘s headcanons about him on tiktok so please don’t kill me over any spelling mistakes . and yes i’m still working on national anthem ! i’m just taking a quick break from phosphorus because squid game is consuming my life . also one more night by maroon five is so great i wish adam levine wasn’t a horrible person .

⎨ 𝐂𝐖 ⎬ probably the worst smut i’ve written so far ! mentioned / described abuse , degrading kink , pet names ( puppy ) , slapping , biting ++ marking , mentioned blood , oral ( f receiving ) , overstimulation , cnc sorta ? vibrator , punishment , hate sex ! ! fingering ( f receiving ) , choking . dacryphilia , the salesman just being a fucking freak in general

“You’re a fucking psycho.”

He doesn’t reply, his hand wrapped tightly around your neck if only just to watch the tears that stream from your eyes. His head tilts to the side, mocking, condescending. That stupid smile plastered on his face as you spit in it.

“Shhh. I don’t keep you around so you can push my buttons, puppy.”

His wrists are bruised and bleeding, you scratch at his skin and tearing it up, getting him under your nails. Under you, on top of you, inside you. What’s the difference? He doesn’t flinch; doesn’t move. If anything his grip tightens as black floods the corner of your vision, cutting off your peripheral.

You’re a scared dog under him, tail tucked between your pretty legs that his knee spreads, digging between your thighs. It’s hardly the first time this has happened - you couldn’t count on one hand the amount of times you said you’d leave him. The amount of times you claimed it was the last.

But god, his knee brushing against your core felt so so good, and you’re so so weak for him.

It’s easy to tell yourself that it’s over between the two of you when he isn’t home. When he leaves you for days so the next time he opens the door you’ll crawl to him; begging for him. It’s easy to argue over the phone, but your mouth feels dry and words get stuck in your throat when he’s around.

He fucks you till you’re stupid. Brain dead and pliant for him, pressed against his sheets and inhaling his scent. You’ll babble for him, words jumbled and incoherent between wanton moans and whimpers. Sometimes, if you think hard enough with that brain he turns to mush you can manage to say his name til he shoves his fingers in your mouth.

“Oh shh, you poor baby. Don’t cry.”

You hadn’t realized tears were streaming from your eyes till he pointed them out, mocking you as he went to move the hand that wasn’t pinning you to the wall to wipe your tears. Your grip, however, kept him there; nails digging deeper into his flesh. A soft tsk falls from his lips before he simply moves to lick the salty tears from your cheeks.

Your breathing turns shallow, chest heaving as you attempt to suck in the air around you. It’s futile, his hands only tightening more. His tongue laps at your skin before his lips travel down, tracing your collarbone before biting down harshly against your shoulder.

If you had any air left in your lungs you would’ve screamed, his teeth drawing blood from your flesh as your back arches off the wall. You can’t even pretend to hate it, to hate him. He knows it, too, relishes in how you squirm and writhe under him; desperate to simply breathe again.

He’ll loosen his grip when he notices you begin to fall limp, reaching up to slap you, bruising your tear stained cheeks and causing you to jolt forward. It only serves to turn him on more, how he can play with your life in his hands. That at any moment he could snap that cord and kill you and he’d get away with it, too. His teeth graze over your neck, humming.

You suck in a few breaths, allowing air to fill your lungs once more as your feet touch the ground again. His knee presses against you more, rubbing against your clothed cunt and drinking in the way you grind back against him. A needy slut, all for him. It’s how he knows you’ll never actually leave him - who else could treat you the way you liked? Your head rests back against the wall as you hear the clinking of his belt.

Within a moment the leather is pressed between your teeth, a makeshift gag as he sinks to the floor in front of you. You can only watch, tilt your head down at him as he works your pretty skirt off your hips. His fingers trail over your panties, circling the wetness that pools against the fabric.

“Just can’t control yourself, can you puppy?” He grins, fingers hooking around your underwear and pulling it off as well. He hums in contentment, slipping them into his suit pocket. It would be almost attractive if not for the slap to your folds that followed right after.

Once more, you find your back arching off the wall - moans muffled by the leather belt gagging you. He’s not gentle in the slightest, not kind or sweet as he slips his fingers into your cunt, thrusting harsh enough to make your legs shake while his lips wrap around your needy clit.

The dark kitchen of your shared apartment is filled with gushing, wet noises that echo from you. You’d be ashamed if not from the assault he was laying on your body. His hands grip at your sides roughly, just above your hips and leaving bruising marks in their wake. You’re nothing more than a doll for him, and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

“Please please… fuck-“

“Shut the fuck up.”

Your voice is muffled by the gag, though the words that manage to be comprehendible are cut off by his snapping. He doesn’t want to hear your voice, doesn’t want to hear you speak as he’s focused on the noises your cunt makes. Needy and gummy walls tightening around his fingers. You can feel yourself teetering on the edge, ready to spill for him.

He doesn’t miss the way your legs tremble as your cunt pulsates around his fingers into rhythm with his thrusting. His tongue laps over your swollen clit as your fingers press against his shoulders, holding yourself up as your legs fail you. He doesn’t stop even as you begin to cry once more, begging him through the belt to stop.

Your legs shake even more violently, one hand moving to trace up and down the back of them. He relishes in how you fall apart, how you go from playing tough with him to a broken doll he needs to glue back together. Your hands feebly push at his head, trying to get him off.

When he does stop, he stands in front of you and wipes his lips with the back of his hand. His fingers trailing up to your lips before slipping inside your mouth, making you taste yourself. A smug smirk plays on his face, one that reminds you that after all this he’ll be gone again and you’ll go back to hating him.

But for now, he leads you to your bedroom despite your legs that refuse to work - practically dragging you there and throwing you onto the bed. He’s quick to reach underneath the frame, pulling out a box and rummaging through it before he finds what he was looking for.

He pushes the buttons on the black vibrator he holds in his hands now, the toy drumming to life under his touch, much like you. He looms over your shaky body, grinning down at your form.

“Open your legs again, puppy.” The hand not on the toy kneads your thighs apart, humming at the slick that paints your flesh. “There we go, just like that. Because of that mouth you have on you were not going to stop til you’ve given me everything you got. Okay doll?”

[cyb3rk1tt13g1rl]

If we’re gonna do anything, we might as well just fuck

Summary: You and Hamzah are best friends, but after a smoke sesh leads to a conversation about sex, feelings arise between the two of you.

Warnings: NSFW, MDNI, usage of weed, oral (m and f receiving), p in v, choking, dirty talk, toys, gagging

Author's note: This is my first time writing in YEARS. The last time I wrote a fic was in like middle school. Due to the lack of hamzah fanfiction (I’ve literally read all of them), I’ve decided to take matters into my own hands😈. I also made it fast paced cause I struggle with building up to the moment so forgive me💔. I also didn’t proofread so forgive me for that as well.

Word count: 1399

“I just think that sex is a beautiful thing. I mean, it's two people coming together with their only goal being pleasure” I say after taking a hit of the joint Hamzah rolled for me. He never lets me roll, in his defense I am pretty shit at it. 

“I feel like everytime we’re high, all we seem to do is talk about sex” Hamzah replies, shortly after also taking a hit of his joint.

“Maybe we can do more than just talk about it?” I say with a slight smirk on my face.

Hamzah looks at me, smoke slightly blocking the view of his eyes. The truth is, I’ve always had a bit of a crush on him. I mean, how could someone not? He’s kind, funny, understanding, and has amazing biceps. Sometimes at night when I masterbate I imagine his bicep around my throat as he’s pounding into me relentlessly.

”Y/n… you’re high.”

”So? You’re telling me that you’ve never wanted to see naked? I mean come on, if we’re gonna do anything… we might as well just fuck.”

”God…” Hamzah says, blowing out a sigh. 

“You have no idea what you do to me, y/n.” 

In a flash, he’s on top of me. My back is pressed onto my living room floor, the spot we always sit at when we have our smoke sessions. His chest presses up against me, and I can feel his bulge start to grow. As his lips meet mine harshly, my hips start to grind on him, desperately searching for any form of friction.

”If you keep doing that, we won't make it to the bedroom.” He says as he places his hands on my waist, locking them in place.

Biting my lip, “That’s ok, the floor is comfy enough” I replied.

His lips meet mine again, even harsher this time somehow. My hands start to roam around his body, trying to memorize every muscle. My hands slowly make their way down to his cock. Teasingly, I slide two fingers slightly into the elastic of his underwear.

”Ok, that’s enough” he says as he lifts me up, and starts making his way to my bedroom.

Without remorse, he shoves me onto the bed, and rips off my pajama shorts, along with my lacy underwear.

“God, y/n. Even more perfect than what I imagined.”

”Please, do something” I beg him.

”So needy, aren’t you? What do you need from me? Huh? Tell me, baby.”

”Please, please, I need your tongue on my clit. So bad. Need it so bad, H.”

With that, he kneels down, kissing the inside of my thighs teasingly.

”Hamzah, I need you right now.”

His eyes meet mine while he’s still leaving wet kisses on my thighs.

”I see you don’t like it slow.” He says as his mouth finally makes contact with my needy clit.

”Oh my god, Hamzah, yes.” I moan out. 

His mouth and tongue work relentlessly, and when he enters a finger inside me, I scream out his name.

”Yes, y/n. Scream out my name. Let the neighbors know who this pussy belongs to.”

”Yes, Hamzah. Like that, don’t change anything. Gonna cum.” I groan out as my hands find their way to his curls. My head falls back involuntarily, with my eyes closed.

”Keep your eyes on me. Want to see your face as you cum. Wouldn’t want to punish you, would we?” He tells me.

Oh, but we would.

Refusing to look back at him,  he rips his finger out of me, along with removing his mouth from my nerves.

He slaps my pussy, making me moan out even louder.

“Oh, you like that? Why doesn’t that surprise me?”, he says, slapping it again.

His mouth finds its way back to where I need him most, and with a few more licks, and sucks, I cum.

”Fuck, Hamzah!” I scream out as he helps me ride through my orgasm.

”Please fuck me. I need your cock in me so bad. Want to be your slut.” I beg.

Without saying a word, he rips his pants off, then takes off my shirt, following with my bra.

”Fuck, y/n.” He says as he eyes me up and down.

”Get on the bed. Want to ride you.” I say.

As Hamzah gets on the bed next to me, I straddle him. Before I since I sit on him, I scoot myself down a bit so that my face is perpendicular to his hard cock. 

“This is a sight I could get used to”, Hamzah tells me as his hands grab my hair, makeshiftting a hair tie.

Taking his length into my hand, I pump him a few times before my tongue makes contact with his tip. 

Rolling my tongue around in circles for a bit, I finally but my mouth around his tip.

”Jesus fuck, y/n. That’s so good.”

Due to his praise, I move my mouth further down until it hits the back of my throat, making my eyes water. With a slight gag, I remove my mouth, pumping him with the saliva left over.

He looks so good. His eyes are red and glossed over. Hair a little messy from my hands. 

Removing my hand, I finally straddle him.

Before he enters me, I reach over to my nightstand.

”Oh, I have a condom in my wallet.” He says as he tries to get up. My hands push him down, forcing him to lie back down.

”That's ok. I wasn’t looking for a condom” I reply, pulling out my vibrator.

”Are you on the pill?”

”Yes. And I haven’t had sex with anyone without a condom. I’m ok with not using a condom if you are.” I reply, as I fidget with the vibrator.

”Yes, absolutely yes I’m ok with that. I also haven’t had unprotected sex so I’m clean.”

“Perfect.” I smile at him.

FInally, I positioned his tip to my opening.

”Oh, god” I moan as I feel him stretching me out.

”Fuck y/n. You’re so beautiful. So perfect.”

Bouncing on him, I get more comfortable and turn on my vibrator.

Positioning it on my clit, my head falls back.

”Fuck y/n. I love being inside you. So fucking perfect. Like your pussy was made just for me.”

As I continue riding him, he notices that I start getting tired as my thrusts get slower.

He grabs my hips and flips us over so that my back is against my bed. He stands on his knees, grabbing my left ankle, and placing it on his right shoulder. 

I’ve never had sex like this. It’s like he can read my mind about everything I want. 

As he grabs my throat with his left hand, I’m convinced he’s actually a mind reader.

The feeling of him thrusting into me without mercy, the vibrator on my clit, and his hand on my throat makes the familiar unraveling euphoria build.

My hands grab his wrist that’s on my throat, and with that he strengthens his grip.

”You’re so pretty, y/n. Don’t know how I’ve held back for this long. Could cum just thinkin’ about you.”

“Please don’t don’t stop, gonna cum” I scream out.

”Hold on just a bit, I’m almost there.”

When his thrusts start to slow and he starts to groan more and more, i place my hands on his chest, slightly scratching him with my nails.

When he groans louder in response, I scratch harder.

”Fuck y/n. You’re gonna make me cum.”

He places a hand on my tit, with my nipple in between in pointer and middle as if it was the joint he was smoking earlier.

With the last few thrusts, I cum, and shortly after he does too.

”Fuck, could stay here forever.” Hamzah tells me.

”I’m fine with that.” I reply with a dazed smile.

When he tries to exit from me, i wrap my legs around his waist, pushing him back in, making him wince in pain  and pleasure.

”Stay in me, please. Feels nice.”  I ask

”Ok” he says with a toothy smile.

He bends down, kissing at my neck and tits interchangeably until his head meets my chest.

”I never want to move from here.” I told him.

”Let’s just sleep like this.” He replies, kissing my skin afterwards.

And sleep like that we do.

Another authors note: please be nice y’all this is my first time writing smut❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹.