#words can't describe the seen it made me feel

[shitpostingkats]

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When I tell you I fucking sobbed my eyes out.

[always-just-red]

Hii! I've seen some Pregnancy scenario with LaD's men, but I have this HC-- personally for Sylus. That when fem!reader got pregnant, he didn't really understand how the Pregnancy hormones work, until he experienced one and he got confused how he should act or react because it's feels like he's walking on landime, one wrong move/word, she'd throwing tantrum or being sulky at him

I've heard from my Friend who got pregnant before, when she craving something and her Husband showing any form that he can't fulfill what she's craves, she felt her heart broken, and she'd sulk and acted as if he just cheated on her. The problem is, she always craved something that didn't even exist at that moment😂, she's craving certain type of Mango while it's not even that Mango season, so nobody selling it. He literally being desperate to negotiate with her cravings

So... Can I request a scenario smiliar like that? It doesn't have to be mango, or any foods. Just... how Pregnancy hormones or Cravings could make Sylus got frustated lol

Aaaaa anon this is adorable, thank you! We love making Sylus suffer in cute and harmless ways. He's always asking for trouble, so let's give him some! 😌💅

Something Sweet

Sylus x Reader 🩸

Summary: Sylus knows how to get what he wants. Getting what you want might be a little more tricky...

Genre: fluff!

Warnings/Additional tags: female!reader, IMPLIED pregnant!reader (pregnancy not actually mentioned or described- just hormones being hormones ✌), established relationship, canon pet names, a lil bit of roleplay because Sylus refuses to leave his Mystic Adventure era

| Word count: 2.1k | Masterlist | Opt-in to my taglist here!

Disclaimer: Characters belong to Love and Deepspace. All work is my own, so please don't repost or plagiarise!

“Sy, d’you know what I’m craving right now?”

“Always, sweetie.” Sylus doesn’t look up from his book. “Not now, though. I’m tired.”

Morning sunlight streams through the gaps in your living room curtains, casting pale yellow shapes over the floor. A shard of it has been inching over the sofa towards Sylus, the sharp edge now grazing the side of his face. He shifts, ever so slightly, away from its touch. His eyes are open but heavy.

“No,” you scold, leaning forwards to swat at him with your book. “That’s not what I meant, you narcissist.”

He chuckles with his usual low timbre— his gaze still not lifting— and the sound is deeper for how close he is to sleep. He wants to give in to it, you can tell. When he turns a page, the movement is languid, soft. You’re losing him.

“Sy,” you say again, then with more of a whine: “Sylus.”

His eyes flutter closed as he draws in a deep breath. His hand raises, his fingers stretching to pull his reading glasses from his face. They’re set down on the arm of the chair beside him, along with the book, and he turns to you with a smile. “What are you craving, sweetie?”

You rest your book on your stomach. Your legs are stretched out over Sylus’s lap, and his hand finds one of your feet, massaging an ache from it as you begin your speech. “Do you remember that café we used to go to? The one we found when it started raining in the park that day? We didn’t think it was open, but then the owner knocked on the window and said we could—”

“Yeah?” His hand moves to your other foot.

“Well, they make these—”

“Macarons.”

“You remember?”

His smile widens like he remembers vividly. “Kitten, how could I forget? I’m still jealous of that sweet little treat. You’ve never made that face for me, and believe me—” he wiggles one of your toes— “I’ve tried.”

That had been one of the only times you’d truly caught him off-guard, back when your feelings for one another were unnamed and uncharted. The rain had been drumming against the café window, and you’d heaved Sylus’s damp coat from your shoulders— giggled at the raised eyebrow and the sarcastic ‘…thanks’ he’d given in turn. One hot drink later, you were lifting a pastel pink macaron to your lips, taking a delicate bite and failing to stifle a tiny, almost euphoric moan.

You remember realising yourself: blushing profusely and expecting some remark, some ridicule, but none ever came. Sylus’s eyes were wide, dark, fixed upon your still parted mouth.

After a few of the longest seconds of your life, he’d dragged the plate with the rest of the macarons away from you and muttered something about how you had better not do that again.

“They’re still the sweetest things I’ve ever tasted,” you tease now, just as you’d wrestled him for that plate back then, set on eating every last macaron.

He makes a hmph as he idly runs a finger over the part of your foot he knows is ticklish. His expression is distinctly grumpy, but it falters as you laugh and try to writhe away from him.

You’re quickly out of breath. “Sylus?”

“Mmm?”

He glances up at you and you smile sweetly, head tilting. “Please?”

His coat on a rainy day. The entire plate of macarons in the end; he’s never been very good at denying you anything. For the first time since you’d stirred him from his book, however, he appears genuinely regretful. “You’re forgetting something, sweetie,” he murmurs gently. “Why did we stop going to that café, hmm?”

You shrug.

“It closed, kitten,” he sighs. “Months ago.”

“What?”

Not only did you already know that— you actually visited the café on its final day. The owner was telling you stories: he was moving somewhere warmer, closer to family, and he needed all the funds he could get. Sylus had snuck an obscene amount of money into the man’s tip jar whilst you acted as a distraction. You both had fond memories of that place; it was nice to make one more.   

It's all coming back to you and you’re struck by a wave of nostalgia. You want to go back there. You can’t go back there. It doesn’t exist anymore, and you’ll never taste sweetness like that again.

Your mouth has gone dry.

“Sweetie?” Sylus prompts, because he notices you’re far away. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah,” your voice wobbles, “I just really wanted… I mean, I really needed one of those—”

“… Macarons?” he finishes for you.

You burst into tears, and one day, you’ll tally this as another time you took the man by surprise. His face drops instantly— lost, for a moment— before he slides your legs from his lap, allowing him to lean closer. “No, no, no,” he coos, “don’t cry, kitten, please. I didn’t mean to… well, I didn’t realise…”

He doesn’t know what to say, and he always knows what to say. He set you off with a single word and now he’s stuttering like sentences are all possible landmines. He tries his luck again, putting a foot forward: “Listen to me. I’ll go to the store. Would that be alright? Or perhaps there’s another café that could—”

You explode: sobbing even more viscerally. Your whole body shakes with it.

Sylus has frozen. He watches on helplessly as you cry, blabbering about the macarons you can’t have and the café you can’t return to. Across the room, even Mephisto has hunched down on his perch, though he issues a few, spirited squawks, maybe in solidarity with your breakdown, or maybe in protest of it.

It’s like a catalyst. You cry more: burying your face in your hands because what the hell is wrong with you? It’s not a big deal. It’s not a big deal, so why do you feel sick? And then there’s Sylus— your Sylus, devoted and adoring— and here you are, punishing him for something beyond his control.

You look up from your hands, desperate to apologise, but he’s gone. More shards of sunlight paint his empty seat and catch all that’s left of him: a few crow feathers, glistening like onyx. Mephisto is gone too, and the room is quiet, save for you snivelling and feeling sorry for yourself.

“Sylus?” you call out into the empty morning.

It isn’t his fault, not really. You wouldn’t want to be around you, either.

…

Something brushes over your cheek, and your tired eyes open.

The sun has ebbed back behind the curtains and the ceiling light has taken its place, casting artificial highlights over everything in reach: the coffee table, the closed-up flowers at its centre and a mug of tea that’s gone cold. Sylus is in front of you too, backlit and soft like a daydream, and he—

He left you.

“Sy?” you whisper warily, because the context is coming back to you slowly, piece by piece.

“Hey,” he coaxes, voice as honeyed as whatever’s turned the air sweet.

You blink, rubbing sleep from your eyes and relishing the warmth of his hand on your face. Then you slap his shoulder. “Hey, really? That’s all you’ve got— hey?”

He’s kneeling for you— on the floor, beside the couch— so you can meet his eyes. He settles his chin thoughtfully on the edge of the seat, his nose almost touching yours. “What would you prefer, sweetie?” His lips are close to yours too. “Good evening, my beloved? Greetings, my queen?”

“How about sorry?” you snap, because he isn’t cute and he isn’t charming.

He pouts. “Why sorry?”

“Because you left, Sylus!” You sit up straighter, and your phone tumbles out of your lap. Its screen is still lit-up from a few hours ago, showcasing a very one-sided conversation and a rant you never actually sent, because it’s still in the text box.

You vaguely recall writing it, so you try to snatch the phone from Sylus’s hand as he plucks it from the floor. He’s more alert than you. More co-ordinated. He keeps it out of your grasp as he reads the unsent message, an eyebrow raising.

It was a lot of things— colourful, creative— not entirely tasteful. “My, my, your highness,” he tuts, “so this is the treatment your valiant knight receives for undertaking your quest?”

“You’re not valiant,” you rebuke, and you manage to wrestle your phone from him. “You’re—”

“A heartless prick,” he finishes casually, quoting your message with a chuckle. He takes your free hand and kisses the back of it, refusing to let you pull away. “And whose fault is that, I wonder?”

“You can have your heart back.”

“Nope. You’re stuck with it, sweetie. With me, too. Now—” he sits back on his knees— “would you please ask me about my quest?”

The analogy is lost on you. You sit fully up, looking down at him. “What quest, oh valiant knight?”

His lips form a smirk; he just loves when you play along. “Close your eyes.”

You do— whether you’re queen or not. You hear him shifting aside, and then there’s a snap of his fingers. The air changes, warping like thick, liquid smoke, and you know he’s using his Evol. “Open,” he commands.

And there on the coffee table, freshly teleported, is a plate of macarons the colour of cherry blossoms. As if anticipating the comparison, Sylus pulls a handful of pink petals from his pocket and blows them up into the air so they can spiral down on the scene. He watches them. Then you. “Ta-da,” he proclaims, his tone dry but full of humour.

You’re prone to hyperbole nowadays, but this is without a doubt the best thing you have ever seen.

“Sylus,” you gasp in disbelief, “how did you—”

“It doesn’t matter,” he says; the story isn’t for today, and he’s very, very tired. A few weeks from now he’ll tell you about how he tracked down the contact information of the owner of the old café. How he spent an hour on the phone bargaining for a certain macaron recipe, and several more hours in the kitchen, trying to get them perfect. “Now, they might not be exactly the same, sweetie. But I did try to—”

You surge forwards, capturing his lips in a kiss. It’s so impulsive— so reckless— that you almost tumble down from the couch, but he catches you, steadies you, and your hand is gripping the soft of his hair as he kisses you back. Slowly, his mouth not leaving yours, he lifts you back into your seat.

“Easy, sweetie.” His voice is low as he pulls away, and though he turns his face from you, you can make out the blush on his cheeks. He settles back into his kneeling position on the floor. “I have one more surprise for you. Do try to control yourself.”

He retrieves a small, complete flower from his pocket, albeit one a little dreary from its journey. Sylus smiles triumphantly as he holds it out to you, and he was right; you do want to throw yourself at him. Instead, you take the flower and lean forwards, tucking it behind his ear before he can protest. He’d tilted closer to help you, and he sits back with an exasperated tsk when you’re done.

“It suits you,” you grin.

He yawns. “Everything does.”

You don’t want to get into trouble, so you shimmy to the very edge of your seat and carefully— showing tremendous restraint— reach out to take his face in your hands. “You’re amazing, Sy. Thank you for doing all of this for me, but…”

“But…?”

“I missed you. I like macarons, yeah,” you smile, “but I’d much rather have you.”

This time, he can’t hide his face and the way it goes pink, like the blossom behind his ear. His cheeks are warm beneath your palms. “You couldn’t have said that before I spent the whole day—”

His voice is strangled as you keel towards him— slow and deliberate— to thread your arms around him and pull him into a hug. He tenses for a moment, then wraps his arms around you too: holding you tightly, keeping you from falling any further. You can feel his hand stroking your back and he hums as you give him a gentle squeeze.

“Such a lovely moment, kitten,” he muses, your head on his shoulder. “I do hope it’s sincere, and not— say— an excuse for someone to get her paws on the macarons behind me.”

There’s another moment of quiet.

“Don’t be silly, Sy,” you retort, but your mouth is full, your cheeks are stuffed, and not a single word of it is intelligible.

[navybrat817]

I wish I had a smitten Bucky. Just sees me and wants me. 🥺

I know the feeling, nonnie.

Check Yes or No

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Summary: Bucky instantly falls for you, but waits to ask you out.

Word Count: Over 2.1k

Warnings: Fluff, could be seen as instalove on Bucky's side, attraction, slight insecurities, minor time jump, Alpine being the best, slight feels (it's me), Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?).

A/N: I can't send Bucky your way, lovelies, so I hope you enjoy this short, surprise fic! ❤️ Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

Bucky wasn't looking for love the day he met you, but it found him anyway.

“Hey, Buck,” Steve greeted from his seat when he walked into the conference rooms and nodded to the spot beside him that you occupied. “I’d like you to meet our newest transfer. She’s also moving into the Tower.”

He was a changed man the moment your eyes met. Breathtaking was a word to describe you given how he had forgotten to breathe. He had witnessed many sunrises and sunsets in his life, a kaleidoscope of colors painted in the sky to both soothe and awaken the soul. They paled in comparison to the beauty before him.

One glance and he belonged to you completely.

“Hi, Bucky. It’s nice to meet you.”

While he wasn't sure if Heaven existed, you speaking his name was like hearing the voice of an angel.

“I’m Bucky.”

Of all the things he could've said, reiterating his name was what his mouth went with.

Instead of giving him a weird look or brushing him off when he scowled at himself, you smiled. “I look forward to us working together.”

Bucky couldn't tell you what the meeting was about that day, but he remembered the details about you. The way you leaned forward in your seat to pay extra attention when someone else spoke, also giving him an ample view of your chest before he reminded himself not to stare. The slight crease in your forehead when you jotted down an important note. And the soft giggle you let out when Steve cracked a joke.

He suddenly wished he was funnier.

“Have a good rest of the day, Bucky,” you said when the meeting ended.

Bucky didn't have to try to smile with you. It just came naturally. When you smiled back, it was easy to imagine what it would be like if you were his girl.

“You, too,” he replied, giving himself a mental victory for not screwing up his words this time. “Wait!”

You paused and looked at him expectantly. “Yeah?”

Bucky realized he had no reason to keep you from leaving. He just didn't want you to go. “Do you need help moving your stuff in?”

“I actually got my things moved in late last night, but thanks for the offer,” you replied, checking the time with wide eyes. “I'm so sorry. I have to go. I’m in 2L if you need anything!”

“Bye,” he called after you, turning in his chair to watch you go.

How did he miss you already?

Though Steve had a knowing look in his eyes, he graciously kept his mouth shut as he left the room. He reminded him an hour later that he wouldn't break any bylaws by asking you out. The punk somehow knew that you weren't seeing anyone.

Which made him happy.

While he appreciated Steve looking out for happiness, he still had to get his head on straight.

“Once I completely trust my own mind, maybe I will,” Bucky said, even though the stuff was already out of his head. He owed it to himself to take his time. And you.

Imagine his surprise when he found a note from you on his door the next day.

Hey, Bucky! Lunch on me today? Check YES or NO.

The lopsided grin on his face wouldn't go away when he read it again. You must've been interested in him enough to ask about him. How else did you know his apartment number? Why else would you ask him to lunch?

He nearly shouted “YES” in the hall before he came to his senses and simply checked the option before he returned the note to your apartment door.

When he met up with you later, he told himself it wasn't a date. It couldn't be, right? It didn't keep his heart from stopping when you answered your door. Dressed down and casual, you looked like an angel went to Earth just for him.

“Hey, Bucky,” you smiled. “Ready to go?”

He hadn't said much on the way to the cafe since he was too busy hanging on to your every word, but it was like he had known you for ages as you carried on the conversation. Your questions weren't invasive and you didn't seem to mind the occasional short answers. It was also the shortest meal of his life, over too soon for his liking, and he also refused to let you pay for his meal.

He wanted to show you that gentlemen still existed.

“Lunch again next week?” You offered.

“Sure,” he answered, his head spinning from giddiness.

But it wasn't a date.

It was time to change that.

Today was the day. Six months from the day he met you. Six months of chatting with you between missions and slowly getting to know you over weekly lunches. Six months of falling for you more and more each day and he finally worked up the courage to ask you out.

But falling was the easy part. Confessing was an entirely different story. He would either crash to the ground and hope his wounds would later heal or you’d catch him as he fell. No matter what, he wouldn't let his nerves get the better of him.

“Just like we practiced, okay?” Bucky asked.

“Meow.”

Alpine nuzzled her head against Bucky’s with a gentle purr when he huffed. She was his little partner-in-crime through and through. Like you, even though you didn't realize it, the little white ball of fur helped save him. He was fairly certain he wasn't supposed to bring her to this floor, but any reprimand would be worth it.

Besides, the Tower, office, anywhere they operated should allow them to have their pets with them, especially for emotional support.

“I'm counting on you,” he teased, placing the folded up piece of paper in her mouth. “Go.”

He peeked around the corner when he set Alpine down. The sun illuminated you from where you sat in the lounge, curled up in your normal spot on the sofa. You liked to relax there occasionally to read. He wondered what book you had with you today.

Thankfully, no one was around to disturb you.

Except for him.

“Alpine, is that you?” You asked when you looked up, closing the book as the cat approached you. While the feline was cautious of some, she warmed up to you immediately when you met and solidified that you were the one for him. “Whatcha got there? Where’s Bucky?”

His name spilling from your lips was still one of his favorite sounds.

He held his breath when Alpine jumped up beside you, opened her mouth, and dropped the paper in your lap. He immediately began to second guess himself when you unfolded it with a furrowed brow. Why did he think this was a good idea? Why didn't he just ask you like a normal guy?

To be fair, he hadn't been normal for some time.

“Will you go out with me? Check YES or NO. Love, Bucky,” you read out loud with a huge smile, which was enough to make his heart race. You giggled a moment later when Alpine bumped your hand, the soft noise making his stomach do a funny sort of flip. “Okay, okay. Let me get my pen out of my bag.”

Bucky exhaled a little as he moved to stand in the doorway. You didn't toss the paper away, so that had to be a good sign. He carefully kept himself from showing any outward emotion when you met his gaze, but his knees nearly gave out. His palms also began to sweat when you gave him a half smile.

Just when he thought you couldn't look more beautiful than you had the day before, you proved him wrong.

He ran a hand through his hair and hoped he looked halfway decent since he hadn't brushed it. But you commented a few weeks back that you liked it long when you saw an old photo, so he wanted to grow it out. He lost count of how many times he imagined your fingers in his hair

Maybe one day.

Watching you grab your pen, it was like he was drowning. The tide pulled him under as you made a mark on the sheet. His lungs burned when you handed it back to Alpine. He couldn't come up for air. He couldn't breathe.

Until you smiled again.

“Thanks, Alpine,” you said.

His cat gracefully walked back to Bucky and he swore he caught you trying not to giggle as she climbed up his leg. His heart hammered in his chest when he took the slip of paper from her mouth. Meeting your tender gaze, he couldn't bring himself to open it though.

After he told himself he wouldn't let his nerves get the better of him.

“Not going to see what my answer is?” You asked as he carried Alpine into the lounge.

“I want to,” he replied, sighing as he took a seat beside you. His cat was perfectly content to lay in his lap. “But I’m questioning if I did this the right way.”

The note you gave him for a simple lunch request may have been a small gesture in your eyes, but it meant the world to him. He thought by asking you out this way that he could give you something meaningful in return. Something that only the two of you shared.

That was all he wanted.

You turned toward him, your knee touching his. The small touch sent heat down his spine. “Open it and you’ll find out.”

He nodded, thankful that his vibranium hand didn't shake as he lifted the sheet. “Wait, let me say something before I do.”

The corner of your lip tugged as you tried not to smile. “Bucky-”

“I like you. I really like you. I have since the day we met. And I'm going to like you tomorrow. And the day after that and the day after that,” he admitted in a rush, catching your sharp inhale as he looked into your eyes. “But I know my past isn't easy to deal with. If you just want to be a teammate or colleague, that’s okay. Just. Being a part of your life in some way is more than enough.”

Alpine lifted her head and looked between the two of you, as if she was waiting with baited breath to see what would happen next.

Bucky felt a crack in his heart when you didn't speak or react, his body slumping slightly into the couch. It was okay. He took a chance and told you how he felt. He wouldn't force you to reciprocate.

“Bucky?” You asked above a whisper, reaching over to help him unfold the paper. He gasped when he saw the checkmark beside “YES”, blinking rapidly to make sure you picked that box. “I really like you, too.”

“You do?” He exhaled, grasping your hand with renewed joy. He was careful not to squeeze too hard. Hurting you was the last thing he ever wanted to do.

“Yeah. Pretty much since the day I met you,” you admitted, glancing in your lap before you met his gaze again. He saw stars in your eyes. “And your past isn't your fault, Bucky. You aren't something to ‘deal with’, okay? You’re a good man. I can give you a whole list of reasons if you need it.”

Physically, Bucky’s body was in peak condition. Your confession, however, caused all of the air to leave his lungs and made him weak in the best possible way. A familiar warmth moved through Bucky’s veins as he breathed again and it dawned on him at that moment that he hadn't felt cold since you walked into his life.

Not once.

Your faith in him gave him strength. Your mere existence gave him the courage to try. And he didn't have to go it alone.

“Wow,” he breathed, relieved and elated as he gave you a small smile. “How about tomorrow night?”

“It’s a date,” you smiled.

“Great,” he smiled back. A date. He couldn't wait to see the look on Steve's face when he told him that he finally asked you out.

“And I think the note was purrfect,” you teased at Alpine before you scrunched up your face. “I ruined the moment, didn't I?”

Bucky brought your hand to his mouth, kissing it as gently as he possibly could. He could hear your heart race. So was his. “Not at all.”

He knew it was too soon to say he loved you and it was likely too soon for you to feel that way about him, but he felt hope in your smile that you would one day.

For now, he had a date to plan all because you checked “yes”.

We know it'll be the best date ever, right? Love and thanks for reading! 💙

Masterlist �� Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[wizardpink]

@iamanoccasionaldoodler

Okay so,

There seems to be this negative reaction to the finale from a lot of Devil's Minion fans and I don't understand it for a lot of reasons, but one of them is ... I don't get why people are upset that, when read at it's worst, Armand and Daniel are seemingly not on good terms after Daniel is turned. I keep seeing this belief that Armand "abandoned" him, which I think is fully pulled from y'alls collective ass, and a disappointment that Daniel would call Armand a "fucking asshole."

But the thing about Armand/Daniel everyone seems to be forgetting is that even in the source material, they first had to tear each other down to their bare bones before they could see each other well enough to love one another -- REALLY love one another. Because Armand is a russian nesting doll of lies, masks, and emotional walls, and with Daniel, idek if I can explain it properly, but I think its some combination of Armand needing to break him a bit to get him on his level of broken freakitude, and also Armand not being able to relate to the 20th Century Human period and needing to drill down into Daniel's core, straight down into the monkey brain that every homo sapien has shared for eons, before he can find something he understands.

If we were to ever get a proper Devil's Minion storyline on this show (and we will), they've laid the perfect groundwork by having Daniel EVISCERATE Armand right to his face, slicing his Gorgon's knot of lies and schemes in half and leaving it lay on that table. And Armand's face! HIS FACE! He can't believe it! Seventy-seven years with Louis who never could unravel all the strings, or simply didn't care to even bother. And THIS guy who seemingly hates him found Armand fascinating enough to try. AND succeed!

And why wouldn't he? Daniel may not have remembered until they were nearing the end of the interview, but Armand SHOWED Daniel what was beneath the mask years ago, the very first time they met. The jealous, insecure, desperate creature that was hiding under there, that IS Armand to Daniel.

I'm getting off track here, but what I'm trying to say is that as much as Armand turning Daniel in the books is SUCH a flawless scene, ultimately, if you believe in the infinite and eternal nature of their love story, it doesn't matter whether Armand turned Daniel before they fell for each other, afterward, during a break-up or at the climax of their most romantic streak. Like Lestat said, "We'll be together ten thousand nights, a hundred thousand. What we're doing is hard."

So maybe Armand turned Daniel shortly after Daniel stripped him bare in front of Louis, and Louis was so disgusted by what he saw, he threw him into a stone wall. Daniel could have run, too. For some reason, he didnt. Armand could have killed him in an instant, sitting at that table or after Louis left. He didn't. Armand made a conscious decision to tie himself to this man who just exposed him for ETERNITY. Because as horrific an experience as it was, as devastating and life-altering, he was seen.

"It is difficult to explain how his words disarmed me, how efficiently succinct and impenetrable his argument was. All my conceptions, even my guilt and my wish to die, seemed utterly unimportant, and I completely forgot myself and the barbaric scene that surrounded me. For the first time in my life, I was seen."

Louis said those words about Lestat as he described being made a vampire, when he kissed Lestat on the altar.

That feeling, of someone cutting to the core of you and telling you exactly what you are as no one else has ever been able to understand, made Louis accept the Dark Gift from Lestat.

And it made Armand give that Gift to Daniel.

[loversdelusions]

Sylus Translation error that I CANT FORGIVE

Link to reddit post:

Reading the Sylus translation project by user readsubtextually on reddit and yes, he is characterized differently. I am a little pissed about this.

I have many things to say about the little notes to his character that we miss out on in EN, but the one in Grassland Romance pisses me off so much. I love poetic, old words that go beyond just an emotion and I can't possibly describe my disappointment when seeing this:

In reference to "Do you have a lover?"

and then in reference to "I need to show them I already have a lover."

Reading this has made me feel vindicated. In Chinese, he seems to have a harsher exterior that we don't really get to see in EN, and a furious loyalty that he indicates only belongs to MC. Also, the way he speaks and the words he uses give a different characterisation that I am pissed they didn't do a better job of including. I have seen characters similar to this, and I am a bit confused by some of the choices they made. I really suggest reading this translation I think it makes things make a lot more sense. It certainly cleared up some misunderstandings I had when I first read through the story. I will definitely come back to this every time there is an update.

[golden-cherry]

deal - cl16 (24/?)

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x Reader

Series Summary: Your whole life has gone to shit. Your boyfriend broke up with you, you just lost your job and the Monegasque, who suddenly stands in your doorway, claims that it’s his apartment.

Chapter Summary: Furniture shopping is more exciting when there's talks about buying new stuff - like a bed.

Warnings: 18+ (mentions of smut), fluff, Kika is the bestest friend on this planet

Word Count: 3.4k

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A/N: hello loves! part twenty-four is here and I hope you enjoy it! feedback is appreciated!!!

The fact that Kika is just lying on your bed instead of snuggling up completely in your fluffy blanket is a miracle. 

"I liked the light blue mom jeans best," she says as you stand in front of the large mirror leaning against the wall next to the door to your room and look at yourself. "With the white oversized turtleneck - smash."

You look at her through the mirror. "Haha."

"I'm serious." She leans on her elbows and tilts her head. "If you wear white sneakers with it, it'll even work with the sandwich method. I've seen it on TikTok. And I swear to you - people will turn their heads to look at you."

"I don't want people turning their heads at me," you confess quietly, adjusting the soft fabric of your top. "I just want to look halfway okay."

"Trust me. You look more than okay."

After Kika and Pierre have stormed your apartment with their spare key - which at first annoyed you, but in the next moment made you feel quite relieved - your girlfriend has taken it upon herself to unpack your suitcase and pick out an outfit for you that matches your trip to the furniture store.

Unpacking your suitcase simply consisted of pulling out one item at a time and tossing it aside if it didn't meet her expectations. The pile of clothes next to the bed is the result of her search.

" Let it go," she warns you as you adjust the position of the hem of the sweater on your shoulder. "You look good. When I think about my first outfit as Pierre's girlfriend - it was pure horror."

"But I'm not a girlfriend," you reply as you reach for the jeans Kika is holding out to you. "I'm his friend. His roommate. Nothing more," you exhale, "and nothing less."

The Portugese woman watches you slip into your pants. "Do you want to talk about it?"

Caught off guard, you look at her. Are your feelings for the Monegasque so obvious that she can even see it on your face? Is your affection written all over your forehead? You can't name your emotional state, you can't say a word that could even begin to describe what you feel for Charles - but there's no question that it's definitely something other than pure friendship. 

No matter how often and vehemently you try to convince yourself that Charles is your friend, you are an incredibly bad liar. 

"I remember being incredibly nervous the first time we went out in public. I think I changed outfits three or four times before I was halfway happy."

Oh.

You sit down on the edge of the bed with her. "I want all of this. I want him." You clear your throat as Kika gives you a meaningful look. "His friendship, that is. And I'm also willing to take the risk of people not liking me and talking badly about me." You clasp your hands in your lap.

Kika sits up straight. "But?"

You curl your lips into a thin line. "I - I don't know." How do you explain to her that you're worried that his fans could dislike you so much that they doubt Charles? You're going public as friends, something that bothers you a little more than it should. But the Monegasque has also said that people will think what they want. 

What if they hate you so much - your looks, your mediocrity, your being - that Charles catches on and he realizes they're right in their opinion?

"I just want to make a good impression."

Your friend reaches for your hand. "You will. And after all, you're just friends. The public's opinion isn't all that important." You don't see her look, which says so much more than what she actually says.

"Right."

Kika lets go of your hand and stands up from the bed. "I'll be with you the whole time. We'll work it out. I promise." She tosses her long hair over her shoulder. "So, let's get going. This room is pretty bleak and could use some color," she says before pulling you off the bed and out of the room.

As you slip into your shoes at the front door, the men join you.

"So, Pierre and I are sitting -" Charles begins, but suddenly stops when he sees you. His eyes wander over your body and goose bumps spread along their path. He remains silent until Pierre nudges him. "Uhm, sorry. Yes. We - um - we're both going to sit in the front of the car because -" He scratches the back of his neck nervously, but can't take his eyes off you. "The plan is for Kika and you to go through the furniture store together and Pierre is coming with me. Just so that we are seen together as little as possible, but are still out and about together," he explains. 

You understand why this is all going to happen. He wants to protect you and you want to let him, but you can't stop your heart from getting a little bruised. 

When Kika notices your offended look, she crosses her arms in front of her chest. "So much planning for simple shopping with friends? Is that really necessary?"

As you look up from your shoes, you look straight into Charles' beautiful green eyes. Something that looks exactly like how you feel flickers across his face. "It is." He stands up straight. "Shall we?"

Kika smiles gently at you. "Let's liven this place up a bit, then." She grabs Pierre's hand and together the two of them walk out of the apartment towards the elevator, while Charles and you stay behind. You both look after them. 

"Is everything all right?" asks the Monegasque and stands next to you. 

"Everything's fine," you answer him curtly. You don't dare look at him. 

"Y/N," he says as he gently grasps your wrist and turns you towards him. "Mon amour, you know why I'm doing this, don't you?" His hand slips a little lower so your fingers can intertwine.

"'Mh-hmm." 

"Hey." His other hand rests gently against your cheek, making you look at him. "Hey." His thumb gently strokes your cheekbone. "I'm trying to protect you. That's my priority. Making sure you're okay is my priority. And if that means we can't walk through any stores next to each other for now, just so the public can get used to you, then I'll put up with it." His gaze twitches briefly to your mouth. "Even if it's not what I want."

You nuzzle your face against his warm hand. "And what do you want?" you ask softly. 

"You." 

His answer makes the blood sizzle in your veins. It feels as if the warmth of his skin is burning through your face, as if the nerve endings under your skin are sending little electric shocks through your muscles and forcing your heart to stop. You take a deep breath.

"I want you near me." He squeezes your hand twice before pulling away. Your skin feels cooler without his touch. "But I'm responsible for what happens in public. And I don't want to risk anything happening to you because of me."

You nod weakly before wordlessly following the befriended couple. You hear Charles behind you, but you don't wait for him as you walk quickly to the others. The atmosphere in the elevator is tense as you are transported towards the underground garage, but no one tries to ease the tension. Kika and Pierre look at each other a little uncertainly, something that doesn't escape your gaze, and you can't blame them. The situation is just awful.

Pierre has thought far ahead, because when he presses a button on his car key, a large SUV opens up in the underground parking garage, sure to fit some decorative items. Charles' Ferrari, or God forbid your old Renault, might have been able to fit a picture frame, or at most a small mirror. 

You sit behind Charles, who has taken a seat in the passenger seat. Kika and Pierre are talking through the rear-view mirror while you look out of the window.

The longer you think about what Charles said - or didn't say - the more uncomfortable you feel. The hem of the sweater seems to have slipped, the collar feels too tight and the sleeves are scratching your elbows. You're not sure what you were hoping for, what the right answer would have been. But you're not particularly happy with the one you got. 

You also want to be close to him, permanently. And you can also understand why the plan involves you staying away from each other inside the furniture store. But is that really necessary if you're just friends? Has he done something similar with his other female friends, or are you the only one who has to put up with this fuss? 

Your thoughts are going round and round in your head, but as if by magic they suddenly come to a standstill. But it's not magic, it's Charles' hand that has squeezed past his seat on the right and is now gripping your leg. You feel his fingers slide under the fabric of your jeans, where they rest against your calf. 

You try to regulate your breathing, but you can hear the blood pounding in your ears. Charles touching you is nothing new. You've been touching each other non-stop since last night, which doesn't help your feelings or your friendship, but it still feels indescribably good. 

It feels right the way his calloused hand wraps around your soft calf. It felt right the way his thumb stroked your cheek. It felt right to lie half-naked next to him in bed. 

It felt right to want him as something more. More than a roommate. More than a friend. 

And that's exactly why you slide your foot towards the car door, so that Charles can touch you more easily. You block out the voice that keeps whispering hypocrite to you as best you can. And the warmer his skin feels on yours, the tighter his fingers close around your calf, the better it works. 

"I'll let you both out right at the entrance and we'll park in the back of the parking lot," Pierre interrupts your thoughts before they're no longer PG. "You can go inside and we'll follow. That's the easiest way."

"Thank you very much," Charles says. "I'm sorry we're shamelessly taking advantage of you."

Pierre has to grin. "You're welcome to give me a position in Bahrain, then we'd be even."

"You'd have to get close to me on the track first."

The two men argue amicably until the car comes to a halt in front of the deserted entrance. Just as you are about to open the door, Charles's fingers gently squeeze your leg twice and you have to suppress a smile, otherwise Kika would tease you endlessly. As you both get out and the car drives away, she latches on to you. 

"Are you ready?" she asks as you walk towards the glass door together. 

"Definitely."

Kika has very good taste in decorating and if she hadn't become a model, she could definitely have worked at Ikea putting together those fake rooms. As you push a shopping cart in front of you, she skips through the aisles, grabbing anything that matches in color or style. Picture frames, vases, mirrors and fake plants that would look good on the windowsill in your room. 

She's examining which of the candles in front of her would go better with the vases in the shopping cart when your cell phone vibrates in your pocket. 

Charles: If one of the candles burns down our apartment, I'll have to charge you rent. 

Confused, you read the message before looking up and around. Charles is standing about twenty meters away from you, smiling at you over the shelves. You bite the inside of your cheek.

You: You don't need my money, Mr. Ferrari. After all, you make millions a year. 

You raise an eyebrow challengingly as Charles reads your message. You can see his grin clearly, even from this distance. 

Charles: If you burn down my expensive apartment, I'll have to find a new one, and they're not exactly cheap in Monaco, as you know. 

You: I thought it was our apartment?

Charles: If you let it burn down, you're welcome to keep it.

You: So you'd let me keep it? Our apartment?

Charles: I'd give you anything, mon amour. You just have to ask for it. 

You don't have time to think about his answer because Kika throws a stuffed animal dinosaur in your face. 

"Are you done flirting?" she asks, playing annoyed. "I'm trying to decorate your room and you'd rather flirt than help me."

You feel the blood rush to your face. "Excuse me?"

Her grin almost reaches your ears. "Gotcha."

"You can't possibly have caught me doing something I wasn't doing," you try to wriggle out of it, but Kika has bitten down like a little terrier.

"And why are you looking like you've eaten the last spoonful of tiramisu without asking if anyone else wants the rest?" 

"I haven't eaten any tiramisu," you defend yourself and hug the green stuffed animal tightly to your chest. 

"Not yet," she says gently and puts one of the candles in the cart with the rest. "But I'm afraid you could get diabetic if you're not careful with the tiramisu. A small piece is fine, but a double portion could almost be too much." 

You narrow your eyes. "I haven't eaten any tiramisu." Without taking your eyes off her, you put the green dino in the shopping cart too. "And I don't intend to."

"You're a bad liar," she says and stands next to you, wrapping her arms tightly around you. "But that's all right. I still love you. And when your room looks really cool soon, I'll take the outfit pictures for my Instagram in front of your mirror."

She gives you a peck on the cheek and you roll your eyes. "Charles was right. We need to change the locks, then you can't disturb us anymore."

"Disturb? Disturbing what? Eating tiramisu?" she grins and you would have loved to suffocate her with the green dino. Apparently Kika can read minds, because she quickly lets go of your arms and continues to skip happily through the corridors while you follow her with the shopping cart. 

"How much do you think the things you picked out for me cost?" you ask her as she picks out more plants.

She takes a look at the shopping cart. "Something between two hundred and five hundred euros," she replies with a shrug.

"Kika, that's too much. Way too much," you try to stop her as she walks over to the rugs on display. "I can't pay for it. I'm unemployed, remember?" You're about to turn the shopping cart around and return the selected items to their rightful places, but Kika stands in your way. 

"Charles offered to pay for this," she says, confused, resting her perfectly manicured hands on the metal grille of the cart. 

"He what?" you ask, looking around in the hope of spotting Charles somewhere. But he's nowhere to be seen.

"Pierre sent me a text message to leave the car at the checkouts when we're done. He said that Charles wanted to pay for it and that we should wait outside for them," she explains, tilting her head. "I thought he would have told you. I know you're unemployed, but because of the text message, I thought that - I assumed we could just pick out nice items without looking at the price."

You run your tongue over your teeth. "Give me a moment, please," you say briefly and leave her standing there with the shopping cart. 

You walk through every aisle, looking over every shelf in the hope of seeing Charles standing somewhere. And when, after ten minutes, you spot his brown curls in the furthest corner of the store, you don't care if the two of you are seen together. He's standing in front of a gray, hip-high box spring, with nice, dark bedding and comfortable-looking pillows placed on it. When you stop next to him, he doesn't look at you.

"I want to buy a new bed," he begins the conversation. "The one I have now is too low for me. What do you think of this one? I've tried it out. It's really comfortable and the perfect height for -" He falls silent before he can finish the sentence. 

"Kika says you want to pay for my things," you change the subject without answering his question. You don't take your eyes off the bed either. 

"That's correct."

"I don't want that," you say tersely. "I don't want you to pay for it."

"But I want to," he replies, looking at you out of the corner of his eye. "Think of it as a gift."

"As a gift?" You raise an eyebrow. "As a gift for what?"

"For your friendship."

"You can have my friendship without buying me new things," you assure him, but you fall on deaf ears. 

"But I want to. I have so much money that I can't spend on my own, so I want to buy you nice things." He leans a little towards you so that your hands touch. "How expensive are the things? One thousand, two thousand euros?"

"Kika says five hundred at most."

"Then think of it as a small, early Christmas present," he says gently. Before you can object, he continues. "I want you to feel comfortable and if it costs me some money, then so be it. And it won't hurt my bank account in the slightest. So just say thank you and accept the gift."

"Thank you," you whisper reluctantly, but you know that it wouldn't do any good to go against his wishes. "Did you find something you want to buy?"

He smiles. "This bed, apparently. And bedding. And a mirror."

"Doesn't sound bad. I just hope you have as good a taste as Kika. After all, our things have to match," you joke.

Charles turns his head in your direction. "Then lie down on the bed, mon amour. I'd like to see how you look on it before I spend thousands of euros on it." As he says it and his fingers curl around your wrist, that feeling blossoms in your chest again.

You want to throw him on the bed in front of you, kiss him until you can't breathe and touch him until you can see stars. You want to feel his warm skin under your fingertips, feel his muscles tense as he pulls you on top of him and presses you against his firm body. You want to feel his weight on you as he lays you down on the bed and his lips trail down from your mouth. You want to - 

"Do you really think I'm going to try sleeping without you again when we've figured out that we both sleep better when we're together?" he asks, gently stroking the thin skin on your wrist with his thumb. You hope he can't feel your racing pulse underneath. "When we first met, you said that you hadn't had a decent night's sleep in a long time. And if it means I have to hold you in my arms so you can get a good night's sleep, then so be it. And it's not as if I don't enjoy having you close to me."

Before you can answer him, you feel a person standing at your other side and when you look, Kika is standing there. Her gaze flickers briefly to your hands before she turns to the bed as well. "Do any of you fancy a bite to eat?" she asks. "There's a restaurant nearby that serves incredibly good tiramisu. And it's never busy. We can go there if you like." She turns slightly in your direction and nudges you. "What about you? Do you want some tiramisu?"

More like a need than a want.

[livinginshambles]

You're ridiculous, you know | James Potter

Pairing: James Potter x fem!Reader

Word Count: 4.0k

Summary: Part one Masterlist

James sees you in a new light and wants to try to change the way you see him too, moment by moment. He is trying to win you over but understands that you're having a hard time believing that he's genuine about his feeling because of his sudden switch of focus from Lily to you (even though it gave him whiplash as well, but I guess he just accepted it faster.)

Notes: Best friend!James, he's less stupid, Lily is a sweet friend, fluff, pining, misunderstandings, (best) friends to lovers I guess, spelling mistakes probably because I typed this out on my phone.



______________________



With the hatch buried between you and James, you felt like you could finally properly breathe again. James had apologized again, of course and told you that he supported your new style.

Trying to balance your two friends groups however, did prove to be much more difficult than you thought. Neither of the two seemed very entertained by the thought of hanging out together as one group. Besides, James had become rather clingy as well, becoming his very own one man group to balance hanging out with.

"I now have abandonment fears," he jokingly defended when you raised your eyebrows at his arm, wrapped around your waist instead of your shoulder like usual while you two were walking down the open court yard.

"Right," you replied, seemingly not very impressed. You knew what he was trying to do, especially after your rejection. After all, save from Lily, he'd never actually been rejected. You assumed that this too, was a matter of pride. "You have nothing to prove you know," you told him and he merely hummed in reply.

"And anyway, you'll have to let me go now because my mum sent over some dresses for me. I'm planning on trying them on with the girls."

The grip on your waist tightened.

"No," he pleaded, "Don't leave me." He dramatically leaned his entire weight on you, dragging you down as well. Was he always this heavy? You incredulously thought.

"James, you'll make us both fall! Get up you're-"

"The earth is dragging me down. I can't help it, Love," he said in a playful, strained voice.

"Unless you want to spend the afternoon giving your opinion on dresses, I suggest you fight back against the earth, oh brave Gryffindor." You retorted, amusement clear in your voice.

James immediately straightened up. "Sure, I'll review your dresses," he happily replied.

‘Well’, you contemplated. You supposed it’s not as if you've never gotten dressed around eachother.”



Your mum had been very delighted at the news that she could go ahead and send over a dress through the mail. She went a tad bit overboard though, you thought as you looked at the heap of clothes on your bed.

James was sitting next to the said heap, waiting patiently for you to get changed in the bathroom. A pit formed in his stomach at the thought that he'd made things weird enough for you to want to get dressed in the bathroom. 'I mean, you've seen eachother naked before?' He thought. Not that he was aiming to see you naked of course.

His hands weaved through the beautiful clothes. He was sure they'd all look splendid on you. Would you go with him to the Yule Ball? His heart clenched. Probably not. You rejected a date with him to Hogsmeade. No way were you going to accept going to the ball together.

James stared out of the window, a lost feeling washing over him. How could he turn this around? Would you ever look at him that way?

The door opened and James' breath stopped, literally. It was simply perfect.

Mesmerizing, he thought.

'Merlin this was only the very first dress, how would his heart survive the dozen other dresses? You looked radiant. Like actually radiant. The dress made you glow with beauty and confidence. The color was what he could only describe as your color and made you look like bloody royalty.' He knew his opinion was biased, but it was still the truth, he thought.

And so his mind started racing. You were going to go to the ball, looking like that, with a date who was someone else. Jealousy flared up at the thought. He had to internally slap himself to shake him out of it.

You had taken his long silence as a negative opinion and quickly brought your arms to fold over your middle, covering yourself. "Not this one then?" You asked.

"No. I-I mean yes, sorry. I was distracted."

You felt slight disappointment at his words. Another sinking feeling in your stomach, but you reasoned with yourself that he just wasn’t used to doing this sort of activity with you. "You don't have to do this you know." You gently said and sat down next to him.

"Do you have a date to the ball?" He blurted out in response.

You were taken aback by the change of subject but shrugged. "There's been a few people who’ve asked, but I don't know. I've never talked to them before and it feels a little superficial that they only now would ask me out, just because they noticed I look and dress differently."

James could feel his heart plummet even lower if that was possible. Did you think that about him as well? You wouldn't be wrong of course. He'd only started to view you in a different light when you decided to go for a different style, and stopped only hanging out with the marauders after all. Guilt started to weigh his mind.

"Are you going to ask Lily out?" You tentatively asked.

"Of course," he automatically responded, without having processed the question. Your face fell a little. A confirmation, you thought. You were right. Maybe you'd have to accept one of the student' proposals for the Yule Ball after all.

James’ eyes widened and he quickly averted his eyes when you unzipped your dress right next to him. "The bathroom?!" He sqeaked out in panic.

You put on a grin. "Well, you look like you're bored and me taking my time in the bathroom will take too long. I guess I could just very quickly change here. Besides, you've seen me naked before."

James was somehow feeling more hurt at the prospect of you getting changed in front of him, than hiding in the bathroom. It meant that you really only saw him as a friend, he sighed.

You on the other hand, decided that you were hellbent on refusing to let your dynamic with James change because of unrequited feelings.



James was lying on his bed, wide awake. He couldn't sleep, mind wandering off to you, and he rolled around in frustration at himself and yelled into his pillow. Ashamed, he looked around if the he'daccidentally woken anyone up. He didn't.

He was restless. None of his subtle advances had apparently been noticed by you. And if they had, then you'd blatantly ignored them. James wasn't sure which option he liked better.

Tears of frustration and misery welled up in his eyes. He'd seen you get asked out by three different people today, and every time, his heart would stop, scared that you'd say yes.

The past few days, his eyes couldn't leave your figure as you went off to hang out with Lily, and he cursed himself for never having noticed you, too focused on Lily. He groaned and turned around again in his bed. "You're the perfect best friend," is what you had told him this morning when he had saved you from an awkward conversation with a seventh year Ravenclaw. His stomach had dropped.

'But you agreed to hang out with just him,' he kept telling himself in reassurance. Tomorrow was finally weekend and an off day which meant it was time for your not-date. At the thought, his heart lightened, and he managed to finally fall asleep.



You really weren't complaining at all. If anything you couldn't help your body from completely leaning into James who had once again wrapped his arms around your waist. Arms that were firmly holding on to you as if to not let you leave his side.

A week had passed since he asked you out on a date, and you and James were finally off to Hogsmeade together, your own heart both seering, as well as clenching at the thought that this was merely considered 'hanging out'.

Yes, you'd very much wanted it to be a date. Exactly like James had described it. Just the two of you, together on a date, which in a way was kind of what you were doing right now, even if you denied calling it that.

And if you weren't absolutely sure that you were setting yourself up for disappointment and heartbreak at the prospect of not working out because of his feelings for Lily, you would've definitely agreed with the biggest grin on your face.

But you were sure that that's what you'd be setting yourself up for. And having conflict avoiding tendencies had you make rational decisions such as then. Besides, the fact that he was going to ask Lily out to the Yule Ball confirmed that you had made the right decision.

'Could've been a date though', your mind seemed to whisper, and you grimaced. 'And then what,' you thought. 'Even if he settles for me, it would just be unfair for both of us. He never gets to be truly happy and I never get to be truly loved.' You scoffed.

"You okay, Love?" James shook you out of your train of thoughts, a concerned look on his face and he slowed his pace to a stop to properly look at you. His hands found their way to the sides of your face, his eyes searching yours.

You turned your head to the left and stuck out your tongue. He jerked away in surprise with a loud laugh. "That's foul!" He yelled. He was about to wipe his hand on his trousers when he stopped and then looked contemplatively from his hand to you and back.

Your grin was wiped off your face at the sight of the mischievous twinkle in his eyes and wasted no time to sprint off.

"You keep that hand to yourself Potter!" You shouted with a laugh.

"Absolutely not, you get back here!"

"This is a new dress, no way I'm letting you wipe your hand on it!" You quickly shot back and looked behind you to see him quickly catching up on you.

You watched with a face of disdain as he calmly wiped his hands with your sleeves, holding you in a headlock. "So unfair", you muttered.

James childishly stuck his tongue out and released you from his grasp.

It had you tumbling to the ground. "Hey!"

"Alright truce?" He asked and he stuck his hand out, both to seal the deal as well as help you up.

When you moved to shake his hand, he smirked. 'Oh so naive. You should know better.'

You noticed the trap far too late and weren't able to pull your hand back fast enough-

"James! Now that's foul!" You shrieked at his wet hand. Undoubtedly, because he'd spit in it moments before.

James was doubling over in laughter, and you took the opportunity to wipe your hands on his sweater. He let you.

“You’re ridiculous you know,” you shook your head.

“And you not at all,” he grinned. James wrapped his arms securely around your waist again, and you continued to head to Hogsmeade.



James looked at you from the bar counter. He was waiting for the drinks he ordered and admired you from afar. You were already sitting at a table in the corner for two and were munching on some snacks you had fished out of your bag, waving at him with a warm smile when you caught his gaze.

Sure, up until recently, he’d always seen you as the cool best friend that he could share everything with, tackle to the ground, tell gross jokes to, or get shirtless around when changing clothes. He was used to not at all treating you differently than Sirius, Remus or Peter, because in his eyes, you belonged to the same category.

But now, even though James also absolutely didn’t want your dynamic to change, he was conflicted because he finally saw you in a different light. He just had to try and make you see him in a different light as well.

The bartender gave him his drinks and he walked over to you with a grin. “Pick one,” he told you, still standing next to you and holding the mugs behind his back.

“Left,” you chose without hesitation. He put the mug in front of you and you looked suspiciously in the mug. At the sight of the green liquid you squinted your eyes at him. He put his own mug down and you leaned over the table to peer into it as well. Blue.

“Are you trying to poison us both?”

James snorted and sat down in front of you, “You got me.”

You kicked his leg under the table and he pretended to be in excruciating pain. “You wound me, Love,” He groaned exaggeratedly, all the way slouched down his chair and gripping his leg to sell his point.

“Want me to kiss it better?”, you teased and then immediately awkwardly paused. See this would’ve been a normal thing to say if you said this a month ago, but now it just made things weird. James however was grinning from ear to ear, absolutely soaking in the thought and cheekily replied, “Oh, darling, you must.”

‘Alright cheeky bastard’, you thought. Shaking your head with a chuckle, you moved your chair back and ducked under the table. James' eyes widened in shock, especially when you grabbed his leg.

“Drinking all by yourself?” Frank’s voice had both of you freeze up.

You moved to get up from your crouched position, planning on using a fallen hair tie as an excuse when James blurted out a different excuse. “No, just waiting for Y/N, she went to the bathroom.” You groaned and hit your head repeatedly against James’ knee.

Great, now it would be weird if you just crawled out from under the table.

“Y/N? I was actually looking for her, I mean we’re partners for potions class. You know what, I’ll just wait with you then.”

‘No!” James said, a little too loud, before he could help himself. He cleared his throat. “I mean uh,” James leaned in towards Frank and quietly, as if he was telling a secret, gleefully added, “We’re actually on a date.”

You playfully slapped his leg in a scolding manner.

Frank immediately seemed to get it and wished him good luck before leaving the table.

You scrambled out quickly and when your eyes met, you both burst out in laughter.



Despite your fear that dynamics would change and your resolve that you wouldn't allow it, you didn't mind the change so much if this was how it was going to be from now on, you thought to yourself. James had dramatically thrown himself half on top of you, head buried right under your breasts.

"Rough Quidditch practice", he'd mumbled before collapsing and absolutely melting like snow for the sun into you when you weaved your fingers through his curly locks, the other hand rubbing at the nape of his neck.

When you had tried to pull your hands away to retrieve your book from the bag next to you to pass the time while James seemed passed out, James had whined in protest, grabbing your hands and placing them back on his head.

"Prongs," you tried after a long time but received no answer. you lifted your hands from his head again and finally got a grumbled "What."

"Supper,' you softly spoke.

"Five more minutes, please?"

As if you could deny that request. After another few 'five more minutes' you finally gently pushed him off, both of you sitting up. He looked around, dazed, his eyes drooping and hair messy.

You entered the great hall with James trailing behind you, holding your hand. Peter spotted you and waved you over. James squished himself between Sirius and you, ignoring the other spot front of you that the marauders had saved for him.

"Blimey Y/N, what have you done with Prongs?!" Sirius asked, a horriefied expression adorning his face when James lazily rested his face in your neck. You laughed at his antics and shrugged, getting complaints from James at your movements.

Remus handed you two plates of food. "We saved these for you two."

"Thanks Moony," you gratefully accepted them and poked James with a fork. "Eat, you big baby," you said and pushed the fork in his hand. James internally groaned. But he was so comfortable like this. Why couldn't he just stay like this forever? He reluctantly sat up straight and started eating. He was hungry after all.

"Hey Potter, mind if we steal Y/N for a second?"

"Go away McKinnon," he was quick to respond and stuck out his tongue pettily. "She stays with me, you already had her the entire day."

You amusedly watched them banter. "I think you'll find that I will choose myself where I go, Prongs." And got up from your seat, moving down the long table to sit next to Lily.

"So what the hell was that Prongs?" Sirius inquired as soon as you were out of hearing range. Peter and Remus curiously looked at him.

"Oh, did I forget to tell you guys that I fancy Y/N?"

"Yeah that too, even if it was absolutely obvious," Peter shrugged.

Remus laughed at James' gaping expression. "What Padfoot meant was are you guys like a thing now? Like did we miss something? I thought you said she kinda rejected a date with you?"

James sighed dejectedly. "Yeah, she did." He straightened up again. But I'm working on it though."

Lily nudged you. "So I don't know if I should thank you or pity you."

"Huh?"

"I mean, thank you for getting James to stop pursuing me, but I'm sorry you have to deal with him now," she laughed.

Marlene wiggled her eyebrows at you. "Unless you don't mind having to deal with him of course," she smirked. "You looked pretty comfy," she added.

Alice nodded her head in agreement. "Frank told me you two went on a date last week apparently."

Your friends gasped dramatically and you were quick to deny it. "No, James just said that so Frank would leave us alone," you said and swatted Dorcas when she suggestively wiggled her eyebrows at you. "Ugh, you guys, be nice to me," you complained while laughing. "We're just friends hanging out, besides he still likes you Lils, look he's still staring at you," you said that last part with a sigh.

Lily raised her eyebrows. "Not at me, he's not." She nudged you again. "Look," she urged you.

You turned your head to look at James and your eyes met. He couldn't help but wink and felt very victorious when you looked away flusteredly, a big smile on your face.

'Could it be?'



Over the course of the next few weeks, James and you had gotten a lot closer. By now, you and James walked through the hallways, his hand always touching you somehow, whether he was holding yours, had his arm slung around your shoulders, waist, or lower back.

You also found yourself hanging around the boys dormitory alone with James more often than ever before. You were laying horizontally across his bed, your head hanging off the side of the bed. James went to the bathroom and you were passing the time.

You kept sliding forward bit by bit and when you were hanging low enough to look under James' bed, a brilliant plan to jumpscare him popped up in your brain. Perfect. You quickly moved to hide under his bed. Your hands ready to grab his ankles when he returned.

The door opened and you held your breath in anticipation. You peeked from underneath the drapes, covering your body and saw him look around surprisedly before a mischievous grin appeared on his face.

He called out your name to be certain and when you didn't respond, he pumped his fist excitedly and hurried to hide inside the wardrobe on the other side of the room, undoubtedly having the same idea as you and you couldn't suppress your laugh anymore. You rolled out from under the bed grinning like an idiot.

James joined you on the floor, although he did seem a little bit bummed out that he hadn't been able to prank you. "I guess genius recognizes genius," he admitted with a laugh.

"I have to go to the library to study," you bit your lip while you said it. Disappointed at the thought of breaking the peace.

James turned his head and looked over at you. You were so close. For a moment, he closed his eyes, relishing in the moment of having you within arms reach like that.

When he reopened his eyes, they flickered over your face and rested a little longer on your lips. It wouldn't take more than him leaning in to easily capture your lips and it took everything in him not to. It almost pained him literally. You turned your head towards James due to the lack of response, checking if everything was alright and if he had heard you when you said you needed to go.

"You're mesmerizing," he whispered softly, the words always on the back of his mind since he saw you in the first dress. You chuckled at that. "Using big words now, huh," you whispered back teasingly, a fond expression on your face.

"No, really."

Those two words left you speechless in surprise. You don't know what it was. Perhaps the sincerity on his face or in his tone. Perhaps the way he emphasized that he really meant it. Or maybe even the way he was looking at you right then. 

Whatever it was, it made you throw your reservations and resolve straight out of the window.

Rational decisions were the last thing on your mind when your eyes locked with James' and then you were both leaning in, meeting each other halfway in a soft, fleeting kiss.

"I think you're mesmerizing as well," You murmured against his lips and you could feel them curl up in a smile.



"You're such an arsehole," you laughed, slapping his ice cold hands away. You ended up not going to the library to study. After all, who needs studying anyway? Instead you and James had curled up against each other on his bed, entangled together and James decided to slide his freezing hands under your shirt, resting on your stomach.

"No, I'm mesmerizing," he huffed and attempted to warm his hands again.

"Did you even wash your hands when you returned from the bathroom?"

There was a long pause and you stared up at him incredulously. "James Potter! You are disgusting," you exclaimed.

“Oh don’t tell me you’ve never forgotten to wash your hands after going to the toilet!”

“Yeah, but I don’t have to hold the- the thing.”

James laughed loudly.

“You suck,” you huffed.

He held his hands up in mock surrender. "I can't be that bad, I won you over in less than a month," he wore a triumphant smile on his face and you wanted nothing more than to smack it off. You didn't of course, and instead buried your face in his neck in embarrassment while grumbling about arrogance. You two hadn't really talked about the kiss that happened 10 minutes prior.

Absolutely refusing to let you pull back mentally and physically, James had been quick to mention how uncomfortable your position on the floor really was, and he proposed to lay down on his bed instead where he changed the topic while still getting comfortable with you. It was his way of letting you know that he wasn't trying to skim over the fact that you kissed or ignore the fact that it happened, but rather that he wanted to ease the tension by doing so.

You were relieved and thankful for him, knowing that that tension would have absolutely made things too awkward for you, and that you would've definitely fled from the room in denial.

"I think I fancy you, James," you eventually quietly admitted to him, your voice muffled as your face was still hidden away.

His grip on you tightened and he pulled you even closer, pressing a kiss to your forehead. "Yeah?" he breathed out, his heart soaring.

"Yeah."

"I fancy you too, Love." And with that you tilted your head up far enough to place your lips in a firm kiss right under his jaw.

There was another comfortable silence and then, "So, how about a proper date. You and me, us, together." He quickly clarified the last part.

You laughed out loud. "Yes please, Hogsmeade?"

"Actually, I was thinking maybe the Yule Ball."

[legandairy-horror]

Does anyone else feel a strange sort of dread waiting for new deltarune chapters?

It sounds crazy right? I admit it's a weird feeling for sure, and I'm not even 100% sure if dread is the right way to describe it. But as more info is revealed and the next chapter inevitably gets closer and closer to releasing I can't help but feel a strange sort of, melancholy? Longing? The only way I can describe it is "when you know the goodbye is coming". The strange somber feeling when you know you’re going to have to leave stuff behind, but aren't quite ready for it yet.

warning: words. Homestuck

In 3 months Chapter 1 will be 6 years old, and in 2 months Chapter 2 will be 3 years old. Deltarune is ostensibly in Early Access but this release schedule puts new chapters closer in time scale to whole sequals if anything, which they most assuredly are not trying to be. This has created a strange situation in the fanbase that I don't think I've ever truly seen anywhere else. One where, In the time between chapters It feels like everyone has had their own chance to decide what Deltarune is to them. To create their own version of this story, to write their own themes that they want to see explored, to imagine their own events and plot twists they want to see play out.

@lynxgriffin Paper Trail Comic Being an Alternate Story following off of chapter 1

@lilybug-02 The Chara Timeline Being one of many interpretations on the popular Asriel & Chara roommates headcannon.

@huecycles Andromeda Chapters being their interpretation on the full game

The innumerable Deltarune Theorists and analysts like HalfBreadChaos, Andrew Cunningham, Stuffed Alpaca, etc. etc.

@vyletbunni Deltatraveler being a whole ass fangame based around a chapter 2 meme that it has long since outlived

And that's kinda the thing isn't it? Once more deltarune comes out, a ton of these projects will just become outdated, it's an inevitability. So what will happen to them? will they become forgotten? maybe, maybe not, it's impossible to tell. but either way it feels kinda sad to think about yknow? that one day all the time and effort spent and all the memories made might one day just cease to exist.

There's a lot more I could say on this topic if given the chance but to keep this tumblr post from morphing into a 2 hour long video essay in text form let me leave off with this.

In the age of the internet and social media there will always be a fan of something. Nothing truly dies quite like it used to anymore, regardless of whatever influencers want you to believe. But that doesn't mean things stop changing, that there wasn't a past that has since been left behind. I'm a Homestuck fan. more specifically I'm a Late Homestuck fan, one who came in after the comic had already ended and it's peak in popularity was long behind it. The fandom's still around all these years later. But it'd be foolish to admit that, 8 years after the comics controversial end, the inescapable trend of new fans replacing old fans has left the fandom wholly disconnected from the monolith that it once was. the only remnants of which lie in decades old discourse and fanfiction. Like old relics of a long forgotten city, waiting to be excavated under a fine layer of dirt.

Before I close out here I just want to make it clear: I'm not saying that we should be trying to return to some nebulous "glorious past" that never really existed. I'm not trying to deride Toby Fox for not working in the sweatshop hard enough to produce more content™, or whatever you wanna try and spin-doctor this post into. It's just a thought that creeps into my head every now that I wanted to share, see if anyone feels the same, yknow?

Besides it's not all doom and gloom. For those of you OG Homestucks who read till the end. You remember Heinoustuck? Guidestuck? Nightfall? Fucking Ke$haStuck? yeah those are still going by the way! after years of inactivity they've now started back up again. some under new authors and some by the same author but still!

You could say a lot about that but to me at least, it makes me feels hopeful in a way. That, even if not everything will survive. we'll at least have some mementos to remember what came before.

[willowsnook]

hello can i can a scotch and coke in a tall class please??

oscar piastri x bsf!reader

just shut up and come here

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

Golden retriever and grumpy cat. That was how you would describe your friendship with Oscar. You saw the world through a golden tint, wearing your emotions on your sleeve and always making the best of things. Oscar on the other hand was different. A man of little words which you didn't mind much because you could talk for hours. He would just sit there nodding and to an outsider it would look like he wasn't paying attention but he often would bring things up that you had said weeks ago so you knew that wasn't the case.

The two of you had met in elementary school, becoming fast friends after you were the only one to beat him in a running race. For him, you made him feel better about things, always knew what to say, and loved him so unconditionally that he could never feel lonely. For you, he was your rock, always dependable and loyal, always ready to defend you against anyone.

Years of friendship had made it easy for you to tell what he was thinking even when others couldn't. The one thing you couldn't nail down though, was if he was interested in being more than friends with you. When you were 10 years old you told your mom that you were going to marry him and that feeling hadn't wavered one bit. But you really couldn't tell if he was planning on marrying you or not. The last girlfriend he had was in high school and you hadn't even seen him flirt with anyone. So you would stay delusional for now.

Right now you were watching him argue with his agent over the phone. You had been scheduled to fly to Miami 5 hours ago but due to weather, you kept getting delayed by his pilot. At this point, it was decided that you would just fly first class on a flight already scheduled to depart.

Oscar joined you back in the waiting area after he got off the phone and you stopped messing around on your phone.

"Everything okay?" You asked and he nodded.

"The hotel was overbooked but they are still giving us one room."

"We've shared a room before Osc, not a big deal," you said and he shot you look.

"King bed," he said simply and your eyes widened.

"Well as long as you don't spread eagle I think we'll be good," you said reassuringly. He nodded looking away. Well gee, don't act like this will kill you Oscar, you thought to yourself.

Boarding the flight, Oscar grabbed your bag from you and you admired the way his biceps bulged as he carried them in front of you. You were happy to see that you had a private cubicle-type thing with two seats that were basically recliners.

After eating the in-flight meal you started to feel the effects of the sleeping pill you had taken earlier. Because of the time zone difference, you needed to sleep the whole flight so that you would be kind of adjusted for Miami.

Oscar had already dozed off and you shifted around for what felt like hours trying to get comfortable. You opened your eyes when you heard Oscar let out a deep exhale and found him looking at you.

"What's wrong?" He asked groggily.

"I can't get comfortable."

He looked at you for a second before lifting the blanket and patting his lap.

"Come here," he said nonchalantly and your face flushed.

"No, that's weird," you whispered and he rolled his eyes.

"I can assure you that it will be way more comfortable," he said. "Your dog sleeps on me all the time."

"That's because he's a dog," you whisper shouted. "Plus the seat belt light is on."

"Just shut up and come here," he said sending you a glare and you sighed. Unbuckling your seatbelt, you climbed into his lap, curling up with your head resting on his chest. His arms wrapped around you and he rested his head back, closing his eyes.

"More comfortable?"

"Shut up," you grumbled, drifting off.

You woke up before the plane started to descend and climbed back into your seat. Neither of you said anything about the situation and you decided that you never would.

Landing in Miami it was 8am. Oscar had a bunch of stuff to do with McLaren so you took your luggage to drop off at the hotel before you went sight-seeing. You planned on staying out the whole day in order to not be able to go to bed till later that night.

When you got back to the hotel at 7 you were dead on your feet. Oscar was sitting on the couch eating takeout and he offered you some. He very briefly told you about his day and then let you yap on for a while about yours.

You both got ready for bed and as you were changing a thought occurred to you.

"I think I'm not going to unpack because I'll just ask the front desk if another room is open tomorrow morning," you told Oscar who was already laying in bed. His face scrunched in confusion.

"Why? This is fine," he said.

"Yeah for tonight, but you might want to bring someone back this weekend," you said nonchalantly.

"Who would I bring back?"

"I don't know Oscar, a girl maybe?" You said exhaustedly. He didn't say anything just looked at you for a minute.

"When have you ever seen me bring back a girl?"

"I'm not with you all the time so I don't know," you flushed. "If you want to bring back a guy that's fine too I guess."

He looked at you for another second shocked and then snorted throwing his head back against the pillow.

"This is so fucking stupid," he said and you crossed your arms starting to get annoyed with him.

"Please enlighten me Oscar on why me wanting to get another room is so stupid."

"How many girlfriends have I had since high school?" He asked.

"None," you replied.

"Have you ever seen me flirt back with a girl that has come up to me when we're out?"

You shook your head.

"Have I ever talked about any girl that I would be interested in?"

You shook your head again.

"Why do you think that is?" He questioned. "I mean I'm an F1 driver for god's sake, you'd think I could get anyone I wanted right?"

You didn't say anything, confused at where this was going. He ran a hand through his hand letting out a frustrated groan.

"I have been in love with you since you beat me in that race when we were five years old," he said and your heart stopped. "So no, I'm not too keen on letting you get another room when I finally have you in my bed next to me."

Your breath caught in your throat as his words sank in, disbelief and warmth swirling in your chest. "You... what?" you whispered, barely able to find your voice.

He chuckled softly, "I’ve loved you for as long as I can remember. Now will you please come to bed."

You slowly climbed into bed next to him, his eyes not leaving yours.

You leaned in, your hand resting on his chest as you pressed your lips to his—this time with no hesitation. His hand found the small of your back, pulling you closer, deepening the kiss. It was soft at first, but then something more surged between you, and the kiss grew hungry, like years of longing finally spilling over.

[incognit0slut]

Much Ado About Nothing (Act III, Scene V: The Temporary Bliss)

Your fleeting moment of happiness is quickly overshadowed as old wounds from the past resurface.

Part warning: (18+) fingering, protected sex (because helping him roll down a condom is hot), and, unfortunately, angst Words: 4.8k A/n: so this is the last part of Act III: The Deception, you might want to prepare yourself as we get closer to the truth

SERIES MASTERLIST | MAIN MASTERLIST

You were a coward. A fool. A mess. You didn’t know what to label yourself anymore, or if there were even words to describe the way you felt. But you did know one thing—you didn't have the strength to confront Spencer, you couldn't even see his face without feeling sick. So you did what you did best.

You avoided him. Plain and simple.

It was actually easier than you had expected. After that dreadful weekend, there seemed to be enough cases to distract you. You traveled across the state, one week in a new place, and another in a different city. By the end of the month, you hardly thought about him at all. Your friends seemed to be unaware of the underlying tension between you, and even if they did notice, they surprisingly kept their thoughts to themselves—everyone except Derek who teasingly pointed out that you seemed more focused on your work than usual.

You had shrugged off his comment with a forced laugh, brushing it off as if it was just a harmless observation. You told yourself that you were fine, that you had everything under control. But despite your efforts to stay distracted, the reality was different. The moment the plane landed back in Quantico, you knew you would have to face him again, especially when Emily suggested to hit the bar.

Her reason was to blow off steam after a gruesome few weeks, which was followed by a chorus of agreements from the team. Now you were left with no more excuses. Your eyes drifted toward him, his gaze slowly met yours, and that was how you found yourself in the same dingy, low-lit bar the team always gravitated to an hour later.

The familiar murmur of conversation and clinking of glasses greeted you as you entered the place. While the others settled to their usual spot in the corner, you quickly made a bee-line towards the bar. The bartender, a tall man with a slightly overgrown beard and sharp blue eyes, looked up as you approached.

He was cute, in a rugged, rough-around-the-edges kind of way. You would normally find yourself attracted to these types of men—confident, approachable, and with a certain easygoing charm. But apparently, your heart had other ideas, preferring a certain someone with a genius-level IQ with warm brown eyes.

“Hey, you're back," he greeted you, nodding his head. "Haven’t seen you in a while."

You leaned over the bar. "It's been a busy month."

"Where did you go off to this time?"

"Chicago."

He whistled softly. "Chicago, huh? Must have been a big one to send you all the way there." He leaned in slightly, lowering his voice. “What did the bad guy do this time?”

You gave a small, secretive smile. "You know I can't talk about that. That's classified information."

The corner of his lips turned into a wide grin. “Can’t blame a guy for trying.” He picked up a glass and began wiping it down. “So, what’ll it be tonight? Your usual Margarita?”

You hesitated, shaking your head.

"Sex on the beach?"

Normally, you'd ask for either—you preferred something light and tangy, a drink that was strong enough to take the edge off without overwhelming you. But tonight was different. Tonight, you needed something with more kick.

“Give me a shot of tequila—no, make it two.”

A frown briefly crossed his face. “Are you sure?”

No.

“Yes,” you insisted. “I need something stronger tonight.”

The man studied your face for a moment before he nodded, pouring two generous shots in front of you. He turned to grab lime wedges from the small fridge under the counter but stopped abruptly when he noticed you’d already downed one of the shots.

"Wow, you weren't kidding.”

The strong liquor burned your throat. “That is disgusting.”

“That’s why you need this to chase it,” he said, sliding the lime wedge and a pinch of salt towards you. “Here.”

You purposely ignored him and brought the second glass to your lips, feeling the burn even before you swallowed.

“Here, take it.”

“No, I’m fine.” You pushed the now empty glass toward him, making a face. “Pour me another one.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Oh, come on! I’m here with the gang!” You gestured toward the corner where the team was sitting. “You don’t have to worry about me.”

He hesitated, glancing over your shoulder and then back at you. “Fine, but this is the last one,” he said, reluctantly pouring another shot.

You gave him a quick nod, grabbing the shot and lifting it to your lips, steeling yourself for the burn. Just as you were about to drink, you felt a firm hand on your wrist. Your body tensed, not because of the sudden interruption, but because you felt another hand resting at your back before it slowly slid across, settling just at the soft curve of your waist.

You didn’t have to turn your head to know who it was. His smell was unmistakable—clean, with a hint of soap and the faintest trace of coffee.

“I think you’ve had enough.”

You watched as Spencer took the glass from your grip, settling it on the counter. Your brows knit together in confusion. “What are you doing?”

But instead of answering you, his eyes were focused intently on the bartender. “You shouldn’t have given her another glass.”

The bartender’s eyes widened slightly, and he held up his hands. “Hey, she asked for it.”

You nodded along. “To be fair, he did offer me Sex on the Beach.”

That didn’t seem to help. Spencer’s grip tightened on your waist, and you could feel him pulling you slightly closer to him. “That’s not funny. We need to get you some water.”

“Reid, it’s just two shots—”

He cut you off, turning back to the bartender. “Can she get a glass of water?”

The bartender nodded, quickly grabbing a glass and filling it with water. He handed it to Spencer, who then turned his attention back to you. “Drink this, please.”

“Seriously, I’m fine,” you protested.

He placed the glass in your hand. “Drink it.”

“Two shots,” you argued, finally facing him. “It’s not a big deal. I’ve drunk a lot worse than this.”

“I'm aware.”

“Then why does it bother you so much?”

He went quiet for a moment, his eyes drifting between you, the glass of water, then back to you.

“Because I don’t like being the reason you’re drinking something you hate in the first place.”

You quickly downed the cool water. How could you even answer that? Your skin suddenly felt hot, and your palms grew clammy as he kept his hand on your waist. You looked away, unable to meet his gaze.

“It’s not because of you,” you said, shrugging as you set the glass down.

"Isn't it, though? Why else would you be reacting this way?"

“Maybe I just like tequila now. Did you ever think of that?”

“You hate tequila," he replied as if it was common knowledge.

“Yeah, well, maybe I’ve developed a taste for it.”

“So you’ve suddenly decided you like something you’ve been avoiding for years?”

“Maybe I’m trying new things,” you shot back, your tone sharp. “Maybe you should try it too.”

There was a moment of silence as he considered your words. "I am trying new things."

You felt him tug you slightly, letting your body fall against his. Your heart sped up as you stared up at him. Even in the dim light of the bar, his brown eyes seemed to catch the faint glow, looking lighter and more intense than usual. You watched as his gaze drifted slowly to your lips.

"Reid..."

"Hmm?"

"What are you doing?"

His expression softened as he looked back at you, his hand still resting lightly on your waist. "I'm trying to play the perfect boyfriend."

"So this is all an act?"

This was it, the moment of truth, the point where everything could change. He took a deep breath, his eyes never leaving yours. “No,” he said quietly, his thumb brushing against your hip.

Your hand fell to his chest, fingers pressing lightly to feel the rapid beat of his heart. It was pounding, just as fast as yours.

"Spencer..."

He let out a sigh—a sound that seemed to carry both relief and a touch of disbelief as it left his lips. "I thought I'd never hear you call me that again."

He was right. Ever since you drifted apart, calling him Reid felt safer, like a barrier that kept things distant and professional. Spencer was too personal, too intimate for the walls you had built around yourself. But now, standing so close, it felt like the past and present were colliding, making everything more confusing.

Your finger played with the knot of his tie, absentmindedly tracing the pattern. "You're making this more complicated."

He nodded. "I know."

"We're supposed to break this off."

"I know."

"We're supposed to stick to the plan."

He opened his mouth, then closed it, struggling for a moment before replying, “If that's what you want, then we'll go through it. But...”

You raised an eyebrow, waiting for him to continue. "But what?"

"But I need to know if it’s really what you want." His voice faltered slightly. "If you want me to leave, I will."

His question hung in the air like a thick fog, making it hard for you to think clearly. It was a simple choice, wasn't it? Stick to the plan, keep up the fake dating, and finally break it off. No mess, no complications. But why, then, did the thought of him leaving feel like a heavy weight in your chest?

You caught him nervously trailing his bottom lip with his tongue—a habit of his when he was deep in thought. The simple gesture made you feel an unexpected pull, and before you knew it, you found yourself pressing closer to him.

“Spence,” you murmured. “You’re making this really hard.”

“I don’t want to make it hard,” he said quietly. “I-I just I need to know where we stand.”

You hesitated, your heart pounding in your chest. The words felt heavy on your tongue, but you knew you needed to say them.

"I want you to leave," you started, watching as his expression shifted, a hint of pain flickering in his eyes as he slowly pulled away. But before he could step back, you tugged on his tie, pulling him back towards you. "But I'm leaving with you."

His eyes widened slightly. "What do you mean?"

And suddenly, a wave of embarrassment washed over you, and you looked away. "What I'm trying to say is... that—well..."

"Well?"

Your gaze focused somewhere beyond his shoulder, finding it easier to speak without meeting his eyes. "I want to finish what we started that morning."

He blinked, processing your words. "You mean... when we..."

"Yeah."

You noticed his Adam's apple bob as he swallowed hard. "Oh." He leaned in slightly, his hand moving to rest on the small of your back. "How drunk are you right now?"

You couldn't help but let a laugh escape your lips, finally looking back at him. "I had two shots!"

His expression softened, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "You know what this means, right?"

"What?"

"If we…" He trailed off, clearing his throat before continuing, "If we do this, it'll change everything."

You smoothed down his shirt, your fingers lingering on the fabric. "I know."

"And you still want that?"

"I do."

He took a deep breath, searching your eyes for any hesitation. "And you want to leave... right now?"

"Look, if you don't want to—"

He quickly cut you off, shaking his head with a slight, nervous chuckle. “No, I do. I just… I want to make sure you do too.”

"I wouldn't be saying this if I didn't mean it."

His eyes softened. “You’re right,” he said, the corners of his mouth lifting in a hesitant smile that looked almost like a grimace. “Okay. Okay. We’re doing this.”

Seeing him easily flustered was always amusing for you, and this time was no different. "Come on," you urged him, taking his hand in yours. "Let's get out of here."

"Wait, shouldn't we tell them we're leaving?"

You glanced back at your friends. "And tell them what? That we're going to have sex?"

He almost tripped over his own feet. "Well, when you put it that way…"

You squeezed his hand and flashed him a smile over your shoulder as you started toward the exit. With a quick, eager step, he followed behind.

Spencer’s apartment was just as you remembered—deep green walls, warm lighting, bookshelves lining every corner. But you barely had a moment to register your surroundings before he had his face buried in your neck.

His lips found the sensitive spot below your ear. Your fingers gripped the fabric of his shirt as his mouth trailed a wet path down your throat, and you had to push against his chest slightly because he was pressing you too hard against the door. For a man who spent most of his time buried in books, he seemed to have an unexpected strength that took you by surprise.

“Hey, hey,” you murmured, a soft giggle escaping as you tilted your head to look at him. “Slow down.”

He pulled back just enough to meet your eyes before leaning down again, his hands coming up to cup your face as he kissed you.

His lips were hot against yours, moving with an eager, almost desperate need. He sucked gently on your lower lip, pulling it into his mouth before releasing it with a soft, audible pop. The sudden absence of his mouth left your skin tingling, only to be followed by the gentle graze of his teeth, a playful nip that made you gasp and clutch his shirt tighter.

You felt lightheaded, melting under his touch as his tongue teased the seam of your lips, coaxing them open as his tongue teased the seam of your lips, coaxing them open. You let him in willingly, your tongue meeting his eagerly. The sensation left you feeling hot and dizzy, your entire body craving for more of his taste. It was as if his kiss was an intoxicating drug, leaving you utterly addicted. Even when he pulled away slightly to catch his breath, you grabbed him again, pressing your lips firmly against his.

Spencer sighed with pleasure as he held the back of your head, his fingers splaying against your scalp. You weren't sure how long you stayed like that, lost in the way his lips moved against yours, but the instant you felt his growing bulge brush your hip, you gently pushed him away.

A thin, glistening string of saliva followed you, and you reached up to wipe it from his mouth with a quick, almost embarrassed swipe. His breath came in ragged gasps as he looked down at you, his eyes wide in surprise.

"Sorry, I-I got carried away," he mumbled, letting his hand trail down your spine. "We don't have to do this if you don't want to."

You looked up at him, your eyes searching his. "You thought I pushed you away because I want us to stop?"

"Uh... maybe? I don't want to make you uncomfortable."

"No, Spencer," you said softly, reaching up to loosen the knot of his tie. "I pushed you away because I need you to take me to your bed."

He watched intently as you pulled off his tie, and when you pushed his suit jacket off his shoulders, his hands fell to his sides.

"Are you going to watch me undress you, or are you going to help?"

A slow smile spread across his face as he shrugged off the jacket completely, his hands moving to the buttons of his shirt. "I think I can manage that."

He started to unbutton his shirt, his fingers brushing against yours. The moment the last button was undone, he let the shirt fall to the floor with a soft rustle. Your palm glided over his chest as you took in his bare skin. You expected his body to be lean—he had long limbs, after all—but you didn't expect the subtle, defined muscles beneath your touch.

"Spencer, have you been working out?"

You could tell he was embarrassed by the way he shifted his gaze from you. "Morgan convinced me to stay in shape," he admitted with a shy smile. "He insists it's part of the job."

You plant a kiss right above his heart. "Well, it's definitely working."

The warmth of your lips seemed to ease his embarrassment, and he let out a soft sigh, his hands coming up to caress your back. You glanced up at him again. "Will you take me to your bed now?"

He quickly nodded and guided you towards his bedroom. Once inside, you pushed him down onto the edge of his bed. His hands roamed across your body as you slipped between his legs, slowly unbuttoning your blouse. The front of the fabric fell away and his gaze followed every movement, his hands eagerly helping you slide it off your shoulders.

Your bra came off next, the straps sliding down your arms as you tossed it aside. His eyes swept over you with admiration as he licked his lips, his gaze lingering on the exposed curve of your body. He pulled you closer, his hands gripping your waist as he pressed a series of hot, open-mouthed kisses along your collarbone and down to the swell of your breasts.

When he wrapped his lips around your nipple, a sharp, electrifying pleasure shot through you. His tongue flicked and teased, alternating between gentle suckles and soft nibbles that made you gasp and arch into his touch. You tangled your fingers in his hair, holding him to you as he continued his ministrations, moving from one breast to the other.

The hand on your back slid lower, his fingers finding the waistband of your pants. You felt him unbutton them, the fabric loosening around your hips. With a firm but gentle tug, he slipped your pants down your legs, followed closely by your panties, until both garments pooled around your feet.

His hand began running up your leg, fingers slipping between your thighs. He let go of your nipple and looked up at you with those brown eyes that seemed to gleam under the light. “Can I touch you?”

You brushed his hair back gently from his forehead. “You’ve touched me before.”

“I want to hear you say it.” 

You felt his fingertips brush so lightly over your clit and you nodded. “Yes,” you breathed out, “You can touch me.”

All you could do was sigh as his fingers moved again. He was so gentle, so careful, sliding his fingers up and down your folds, spreading your arousal with each teasing stroke. His eyes never left your face, watching every flicker of pleasure that crossed your features, drinking in the way your lips parted and your breath hitched with each touch.

"Th—That feels good," you cooed, your eyes fluttering low but not completely shut, wanting to see him as he worked over you. He followed your gaze where his fingers continued their exploration, gently pulling back the soft flesh to expose your clit. He traced light, feathery strokes over the sensitive skin and the motion left your legs shaking, nearly losing balance if he weren't holding you against him.

He grabbed the back of your thigh. “Put your leg up here.”

You complied and rested your feet on the bed, giving more access. The new position allowed him to press his fingers more deeply against your clit, his fingers moving in a steady rhythm. You were trembling, mind numb from the way he was touching you, and you almost couldn’t take it when he dipped his middle finger inside your cunt.

"God, Spencer,” you gasped, dropping a hand to the wrist that was nestled between your legs, nails digging into his skin. He slipped another finger inside you, and your eyes screwed shut this time. You could feel his fingers curling inside you, seeking, then finding, the tender spot that made you cry out in pleasure.

Everything became a blur after that. His fingers continued to thrust into you, and with each movement, you grew wetter, the slick sounds of your arousal echoing throughout his room. You clung to his shoulders for support, your breath coming in ragged gasps as he pressed soft kisses across your chest. His thumb then brushed against your clit, applying just the right amount of pressure in gentle circles.

"I'm…” Your eyes fluttered open when his mouth latched onto your hard nipple. “I'm gonna come... if you... keep doing that..." 

You weren't even sure why you were warning him, but you couldn’t stop yourself as your hips rolled against his hands. His thumb circled your clit faster in response, and the world around you began to spin. You gasped his name, the sound escaping your lips in a desperate, breathless moan.

When his teeth softly grazed your sensitive nipple, you finally snapped. Wave after wave of orgasm bliss rolled through your body, the pulse of pleasure sending your thighs trembling as he held you through all of it. It's all too much, too intense, and you were left completely spent, shaking, breathless, and needing to lay down immediately.

Spencer caught you as you collapsed on top of him, the force of your weight pushing him onto his back. You stayed like that for a moment, trying to catch your breath, your chest rising and falling rapidly against his. But it didn't last long when you felt his bulge press right between your thighs. Without thinking, you found yourself rolling your hips.

He let out a sharp gasp, his hands gripping your hips tightly as you moved against him. You could feel the heat radiating from him, the hardness of his erection pressing against you through the fabric of his pants as your face hovered above his, lips barely touching.

"So when are you going to fuck me?"

He bucked his hips against you. "I-I... I have a condom in my drawer."

His words made you falter. Why does he have a condom?

It was stupid, really, you knew why contraception was necessary. But the thought of him having an active sexual life with someone else after you had drifted apart stung deeply. It wasn’t technically your business, but knowing that he might have been with others hurt, especially when the last man you had been close to was him.

"Spence... why do you have a condom?"

You hated how small your voice sounded.

He gently brushed a strand of your hair behind your ear, his eyes searching yours as he weighed his words before letting out a sigh. "After… after that night, when we—almost… I just wanted to be prepared. I didn't know if… if we'd ever…"

You slowly relaxed. "So you haven't used any?"

He shook his head. "No, I haven't."

Your heart swelled at his words. You leaned in and kissed him softly, a sudden rush of affection washing over you. "Well, I think it's time we put it to use," you whispered against his lips, the hint of a smile playing at the corners of your mouth. "Where did you put it?"

"Bottom drawer, on the left."

You pulled away to reach over to his drawer, hearing the sound of his belt buckle unlatching behind you. Your eyes briefly flashed towards the book sitting on the nightstand, a glimpse of its cover catching your attention. But you didn’t dwell on it, you were too focused on rummaging through his things until your fingers brushed against the familiar texture of the wrapper.

He was completely naked as you turned to face him again, your eyes catching his cock resting perfectly against his stomach as he leaned back against the pillows. You crawled over to him and leaned down, placing a soft kiss on his bulging tip.

He let out a sharp hiss. "I-I don't think I can last long if you do that."

You smiled and straightened yourself, your fingers delicately tearing open the wrapper. You could feel his eyes on you, half-lidded with desire, his focus narrowing to the way your fingers brushed against his skin. His body tensed, and his breathing grew heavier, as you slowly slid the condom down his length.

The thin latex felt almost invisible under your fingertips, allowing the heat radiating from his body to seep through. He couldn't take his eyes off you, mesmerized by the way your fingers glided over him so effortlessly. Your touch was firm yet gentle, and when you finally reached the base, you gave him a final, possessive squeeze.

Spencer let out a shaky breath, his hands finding your hips as you positioned yourself over him. You hovered above his tip, teasingly brushing it against your entrance before slowly sinking down. You paused halfway, adjusting to his size, feeling lightheaded as he stretched you regardless of how wet you were. It was overwhelming, but the numbness was exactly the kind of rush you were seeking.

And finally, with a deep breath, you let gravity pull you down, taking him all the way in.

You both gasped at the sensation, the intense fullness causing your muscles to clench around him. His grip on your hips tightened, his fingers digging into your flesh as he steadied you. Then, slowly, you began to move, lifting yourself slightly before sinking back down.

Your breaths synchronized, shallow and quick, as you found a steady rhythm. Spencer’s hands guided you, his palms pressing firmly on your hips before trailing back to your ass, squeezing the soft flesh. You held onto his jaw as you leaned in, your lips meeting in a heated, breathless kiss. His tongue slid into your mouth and your brain turned to mush.

He kissed you hungrily while your hips continued to rise and fall, each movement driving him deeper inside you. You felt his hands roam your body, one sliding up your back to pull you closer, while the other remained on your ass, encouraging you. You moaned into his mouth, the sensation of his lips and his cock brushing your tight, inner walls making you tremble with pleasure.

You pulled back slightly, resting your forehead against his. "S-Spence..."

He nipped at your bottom lip, casually biting and pulling it between his teeth. "Mhm?"

You didn’t know why you had called out his name, only that you needed to. It was more of a reflex than anything else, a desperate need to connect as your pace quickened. He let out a low, throaty sound of pleasure as your walls clenched around him. And that was when you heard your name on his lips. It was soft, but it was enough to drive you to the edge. You rolled your hips urgently, trying to chase that familiar, blissful sensation but your thighs started to burn, your movements slowing down a little. He sensed your struggle and tightened his hands on your waist.

His fingers dug harshly into the tender skin of your sides, his hips bucking up to meet yours with force. His thrusts suddenly became more relentless, each powerful push driving him deeper inside you. The slick, wet sounds of his cock sliding in and out of your cunt filled the air, the squelch of your joined body punctuating with each thrust.

The pleasure built within you, coiling tighter and tighter until it was all-consuming. Finally, with one last, powerful thrust, you were both pushed over the edge. Your body convulsed with the force of your orgasm at the same time he spilled into you. His head fell back against the pillows, his eyes squeezed shut as your fingers dug into his shoulders, riding out every wave of your climax.

It took a few more minutes before you felt his body relax. You did the same, collapsing on top of him as he is hands softened their grip on you, gently caressing your back.

"Are you… okay?" You simply nodded, too tired to find your own voice. His thumb brushed your side. “Are you sure?”

You nodded again, snuggling yourself closer, feeling the weight of your body pressing down on him. He kissed the top of your head.

“I know you’re making yourself comfortable, but I really need to go to the bathroom.”

You lifted your head, meeting his eyes. “Would it bother you if I peed at the same time you clean yourself?”

The smile that spread across his face lit up his features. “Of course not.”

You pressed a soft kiss to his chest before reluctantly rolling off him. Spencer slid off the bed and reached for your hand, helping you up. You both moved to the bathroom, where Spencer headed for the sink to wash up while you made your way to the toilet.

As you sat there, you thought about how surprisingly natural this felt—almost as if you had done this before. The way he naturally kissed your cheek before exiting the bathroom didn’t feel awkward or out of place, it was oddly comforting. When you finally finished, he was already waiting for you in comfortable clothes. He stretched out his hand, and when you took it, he pulled you close. “Are you hungry?”

You found yourself nodding. “I could eat something.”

He smiled, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “I’ll make us some sandwiches, I think I have enough stuff in the fridge,” he suggested, and then added somewhat sheepishly, “I also, um, put some fresh clothes out for you to use. I hope that’s okay.”

Your heart might burst at how adorable he was. “Thank you, Spence. That’s really sweet.”

He gave your hand a gentle squeeze before heading to the kitchen. You picked up the clothes he had laid out for you—a soft t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants, but as you held them, your gaze drifted back to the book sitting on his nightstand. Curiosity got the better of you, and you picked up the book, studying the cover.

The Narrative of John Smith.

You opened it, noticing the handwritten quote on the first page.

“Love is our true destiny. We do not find the meaning of life by ourselves alone, we find it with another.” —Thomas Merton—

A sudden feeling of nausea hit you, as if you’d been punched in the gut. You flipped through the pages, trying to steady your breathing. It wasn’t the softness of the paper that greeted you as you slipped onto the next page, but the sharp edges of something hard brushing against your fingertips. You carefully pulled out what seemed to be a photograph, your heart sinking as you realized whose it was… Because right in your hand, Maeve was smiling back at you.

Maeve.

Maeve. Donovan.

Everything suddenly came crashing back, the past shooting straight to your heart. The memories, the pain, the confusion—it all flooded your mind in an instant. You remembered why you and Spencer had drifted apart, why that night had changed everything. The woman staring back at you was the reason you had shut yourself off from him in the first place.

No, it wasn’t all her fault—you’d be a heartless fool to blame a dead woman for something she couldn’t control. But she had consumed his mind. The presence she held in his life was enough to end the friendship you once had. And now, holding the photograph, you felt an overwhelming tightness in your chest that made it hard to breathe. The walls seemed to close in, the room feeling too small.

You needed to get out of here.

You quickly pulled on your clothes, the fabric feeling suffocating as you hurriedly dressed. Your movements were frantic, driven by a need to escape. You dashed out of his room, but Spencer was already standing by the bedroom door.

"I was just about to call you, the food is—hey, what's wrong?"

You walked past him, the pain constricting your chest so tightly that you could barely breathe, let alone speak. “I… I need to go,” you stammered out over your shoulder.

Spencer's face fell as he saw the distress in your eyes, his hands reaching out to stop you as you headed for the front door. He turned you to face him, and the moment he saw the tears threatening to spill, his own expression crumpled in worry.

"What happened?" he asked softly, his hands gently cupping your face. You flinched and shoved him away.

“Don’t touch me.”

You noticed the hurt in his eyes, but you barely looked at him, trying to control your own emotions. Your mind was a whirlwind of confusion. You felt the lingering warmth from the post-orgasmic rush, the serotonin still buzzing in your veins, but at the same time, the gut-wrenching pain was consuming you. The fleeting sensation you’d felt moments ago seemed like a cruel mockery now, as your heart twisted with every beat.

“You’re really leaving?”

You slowly nodded, refusing to meet his gaze.

“Just like that, after tonight?”

You remained silent, your mouth shut tight. Then you heard him mutter something under his breath, barely audible but unmistakable.

“That’s what you always do, isn’t it?”

Your eyes snapped to him. “What is that supposed to mean?”

There was a heavy silence, a beat of rising tension as his eyes narrowed at you. “You run away when things get hard.”

You stared back at him in surprise. “Is that what you think I’m doing?”

“Yes,” he said sharply. “Every time we get to a point where we might actually resolve something, you disappear.”

Was that really how he saw you? Someone who ran away at the first sign of trouble? The thought was a bitter pill, one that left a heavy, sour taste in your mouth.

“That’s not fair,” you protested, shaking your head as you felt the sting of tears at the corner of your eyes.

“Well, you know what’s not fair?” His voice suddenly turned a pitch higher, each word cutting through the air. “Pulling me into this—this whole fake relationship thing and then running away when it starts to mean something real.”

“What?” The accusation stung, a sharp jab to your already fragile heart. “You think this was easy for me? You think I didn’t have doubts?”

"I think you dragged me into this and now you’re scared because it’s not just a game anymore," he pressed, his eyes flashing with frustration as he stepped closer. “Every time l show that l actually care, you run away.”

“I don’t run away.”

“Yes, you do. You always bail on me,” he argued, his tone growing sharper with each word. “Just like that morning, just like now, and just like that night—”

You finally had enough.

"Don’t you dare bring that up!” You snapped. “You don’t get to use that against me. You know exactly why I had to leave!”

Spencer flinched as if he was struck. The impact of your words hit him hard, and you could see the hurt and realization dawning in his eyes. His posture sagged, the tension in his shoulders melting away as the anger drained from his face. “I know, I know,” he whispered, the regret clear in his voice. “I-I’m sorry.”

Your heart ached, the pain of old wounds reopening. The memories of that night, the way you felt invisible and helpless—it all came crashing back. You shook your head, taking a step back, needing to put distance between you. “No, I can’t do this right now.”

You turned away, desperate to escape. The walls felt like they were closing in, your chest tightening with every breath.

“Wait,” he called after you. “I’m sorry. Please… I don’t… stay, please.”

You paused slightly, but you couldn’t let yourself give in. Not when every painful memory from that night seemed to claw its way back to the surface. Not when the fear of getting hurt again loomed so large. Not when you knew if you turned back now, you might never find the strength to walk away again.

“We should end this whole thing,” you said quietly, each word feeling like a knife twisting in your heart. “I’ll tell Hotch first thing in the morning.”

The words hung in the air, heavy and final. The reality of what you had said sank in, and for a moment, it felt like time itself had frozen. His face fell, a look of utter devastation crossed his features as his eyes searched yours, trying to grasp at the fragments of what was left. He opened his mouth to speak, but you couldn’t bear to face him any longer.

You slowly reached for the door, wrenching it open before stepping into the cold night. You left him standing there, watching helplessly as you walked away for what felt like the hundredth time.

[everestgale]

Whatever you're trying to do right now, you don't have to do it alone.

------

Happy New Year's Eve, Slay the Princess community!

A long, long message and credits to the designs are under the cut.

[Please excuse any awkward sentences, weird repetitions, and grammatical mistakes, I've been awake for 20 hours or so]

I cannot describe how much joy I feel right now, finally getting this drawing done. I feel nothing but joy when I think about Slay the Princess, and I feel nothing but pure adoration when I think about and spend time in this community. This game and this community truly brought a lot of happiness to me and made this otherwise unremarkable, maybe even depressing, year that much brighter. I wish I had more and better words to describe what I'm feeling right now! Genuinely, I don't have words to describe how much gratitude I feel right now.

And so for my final piece of 2024, I wanted to make a thank you drawing to this community and hopefully express the fraction of love and gratitude I feel right now. And I decided to make that drawing a group photo of 30 different Heroes! It ended up being 29 Heroes and one Opportunist, but I promise there is a reason for that-

If I had more time and energy, I would've included even more people, there are so many skilled artists, writers, and wonderful people in general who ended up excluded, especially due to this drawing being a voice-centered piece. But I'm glad I at least get to highlight some of the wonderful creators and artists in this community! Please check them out and support their work! They are all amazing <3

If you wanted to know who is the author behind each design, I made an annotated version! Sorry if the text is too small, I tried my best to write it as large as I could T-T

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Now onto the message to the people in the drawing:

First! I sincerely apologize if I missed some details with your Hero design, or if I used an outdated version of it. I wanted to keep this a surprise, and for some of these, I had to dive into the depths of Tumblr to find (hopefully) relevant references. And yes, if you've received a DM from me about your Hero in the past few weeks or so, this project was the reason why! And if you've received an anonymous ask about your Hero, there is a quite good chance it was from me, too <3

And second! I have a message for each and every one of you:

@acethekenku: Your designs are so well-made and awesome! Especially adore your Broken and Contrarian, there's something about them that just immediately catches my eye! Your Contrarian's fashion and DIY skills are also immaculate :]

@artificial-radiance: Your art is absolutely wonderful, whether it's Slay the Princess, Destiny 2, or sonas! I wish I had a better word to describe your art, but the best I got is "delicious" /lh

@beartitled: I adore your StP comics! I adore your drawings of male!Princesses! I adore your non-StP work! Everything you make is so charming, and it's always a joy to see your work <3

@bubblybloob: One of my favorite fanart memes, to this day, is your old "I do not control the speed at which princesses die" meme. I still go re-read it sometimes when I'm not feeling great, it always puts a smile on my face (yes, this is my kind of humor). Though, your new voice designs are SO creative and unique! Love the fluffy Para and the prophetic cage Skeptic especially, but they are all so good <3

@coldranger: Your lads! So simple and yet so well-designed and expressive! That roadrunner Hunted you shared yesterday is so adorable, I can't with him! It is always wonderful to see more of your drawings. Also thanks for gushing with me over mod Owl's designs <3

@cookiealchemieart: I recently mentioned that you are one of my first Tumblr follows, and it's for a good reason! You made a lot of wonderful illustrations, and your three fan princesses are some of my favorites of all the ones I've seen before! And your voice designs, gosh, I am hugging your Contrarian-

@dampfur: Your art is unbelievably charming! And when I saw your Burned Bridges post with redesigns for Cold and Smittten, I absolutely fell in love with them. I will use this space to gush about just how simple and yet adorable and recognizable they are!

@glitchh1337: Always love seeing what you are up to on Discord! Whether it's design concepts for voices or little pixel art animations, they are all wonderful :]

@justcherryqwq: Your animations!!! Cherry, your animations are pure gold. The way you draw voices as little guys flying around the scene/the Long Quiet is just too perfect. I am also grabbing and petting your Paranoid, gently, of course!

@occatorcreator: You have one of the most unique voice designs/representations I've ever seen! Especially in that one post where you drew voices taking over Long Quiet's body, the way you drew the "possession" is just... so unique, so cool! I wish I had better words!

@orcatnip: I cannot describe how much delight your sketches bring me whenever they show up on my dash! And the way you wrote about voices appearing as fractures in Long Quiet's soul! Oh! Genuinely obsessed!!!

@pareidolla: Your voice designs are very pretty and very adorable! As you can see, I immediately had to try drawing your current iteration of Hero because he is SO PRETTY! I couldn't help myself. Sorry if I was too hasty in my decision to include an in-progress design, but I wanted you to be included here-

@remaking-machine: Rema!!! Your voices!!! They are so precious and charming! Love your Cheated, love your Hero, love your Skeptic! You were one of the first people I found & followed on Tumblr, and it's been such a joy to see what you're up to <3 [Also, I still would like a tray of Hero cookies-]

@salty-an-disco: Your writing, at least from what I've seen of it, is awesome! I genuinely wish I had the attention span to read your Heathens AU because whenever I see you talk about it, or draw anything for it, I love it a lot! Hopefully one day I will, but for now, I am here to admire your art :]

@sorry-not-feeling-it-right-now: Hey, who let this bird-fox into this gathering of Heroes-

Jokes aside, I am absolutely obsessed with your voice designs, and I really, really wanted to include you in this drawing, despite the fact that you are still working on your Hero design. Thank you for letting me include your Opportunist in this drawing, I cannot WAIT to see your Hero design <3

@tai-janai: Your drawings are so delightful, and I love the way you draw your voices! Your voice shipping sketches are also so adorable, and your HeA-inspired ParaHero sketch sometimes decides to show up in my head and not pay any rent (I love it a lot)!

@voiceofthebroken: Remember how I mentioned that your Cheated post inspired one of my upcoming projects? Yes, it was this one. You are responsible for this /lh

Don't want to repeat myself too much from the ask I sent yesterday, but I will once again say that I love your voice designs, and I will once again compliment your Cheated and Hunted. They are precious! <3

@wysteriaisapenguin: Your art is so charming and so recognizable! Your most recent HeA drawing is absolutely stealing my heart in a way that I cannot describe!!! I also really like your Hero design, he was an absolute joy to draw <3

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Oh look, there's more, too!

@sonjalikestodraw: Sonja! Oh Sonja, everything you make is just SO PERFECT, your pieces are always so stellar and carefully crafted, and your voice designs are so thoughtful and so iconic, I love it every time you make a post with a little write-up of your design notes! It's always such a joy to read!!

0th: To say that your designs and your writing inspired my own would be saying nothing at all, they were some of the first I've seen! They will always have a special place in my heart as "the designs" that greatly contributed to my own final designs! And your Swap AU still is one of my favorites in the whole fandom, love all the unique designs you made for it!! Noble my beloved <3

@itsonlypolite: The way your voices ingrained themselves in my brain, I cannot describe it! Your designs are truly some of the most unique, most recognizable designs in the fandom. You deserve every single positive comment and compliment on your art and designs!!! I also love how you reply to people's asks with little drawings of your own. It's so charming and welcoming <3 It's also always pure joy talking to you!

@cammie-yammie: I am very glad that I got over my anxiety and started talking more and hanging out in your thread! I love your art, always so charming, so distinctly you, just such joy to look at, and I'm glad I got to engage with it more, and with you as a person!!! Damn, these sentences are confusing lol Long story short, love your art, love talking to you, and it's just pure joy either way <3

@lavb-b: I am not kidding when I say that your Businessman animation rewired something in my brain, whenever I watch it, I cannot stop myself from laughing, even though at this point I've seen it like 20+ times already. Besides that, your art in general is just such high-quality work, and I love talking to you on the Discord server! Welcoming you with open arms to EG's Yap Central Station /lh

@phantasmatoucan (mod Owl): OWL HOW DO YOU KEEP GETTING AWAY WITH THIS- You have no idea how obsessed I am with your art, you have SUCH a distinct, awesome style, and the way you designed your voices brings me so, so much joy. And not only are you a skilled artist with amazing voice designs, but you are also just such a positive person, too!!! How is this possible!!! What's your secret!!!

@hello-universe-lovers: Your reblog comments always make me happy, and I absolutely love chatting with you!!! The little interaction you wrote between our Cheateds brought me so much joy as I was finishing this project <3 And even besides that, your art is so charming, and also apparently you are a wizard who draws everything with your finger- I cannot understand such witchcraft /lh

@neverpathia: You are the reason I QPR-ship ParaHero! You got these birds in my brain, and I can't get them out, how dare you (/lh). Jokes aside, I really like your writing, especially the way you write voices, and your art is also very pretty, I love it a lot! It's also such a joy to have you hang out in my art thread, thanks for doing that :]

@disarraydoodlez: Jam! And Kiri! Your art is so iconic, Kiri's desire for perfection never goes unnoticed, and Jam's chaotic silly ideas are always such a highlight (I'm still waiting for you to finish that one Den idea. The one we kept laughing about for like 30 minutes. That one). Thanks for inviting me to the PotC one-shot, I had a lot of fun playing it, and I'm glad we still hang out and chat sometime! Love everything you make, regardless of the fandom, and I can't wait to see what you both will make next <3

@s3viien (they mostly exist on BSky, check them out there!): Sev! My partner in crime! One of my biggest cheerleaders, you have no idea how much how dearly I appreciate it. I love sharing all my random ideas with you, and I love hearing about all of yours! Your art, your videos, and your music are all PEAK, and I'm always happy to see what you've been up to! To our friendship for as long as it lasts <3

@inkedout: And last but certainly and absolutely not least, Ink, my friend, you are one of the big reasons why I feel as comfortable writing all of this right now as I am right now. I cannot put into words just how much I appreciate you as a friend!! it is always such a joy to talk to you, whether it's about StP, or ATR, or a different fandom, or just life in general! I love seeing all your art, your OCs, and anything else you might have <3

Also voice shipping. There are certain ships, you probably know which ones, that are now stuck in my head because of you. I blame you /lh

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I believe that should be all I have to say! Happy New Year's Eve again, and I will see you all in 2025!

[sun-kissy]

espresso | j.p

james potter x sunshine!reader

summary: james sees you at a cafe, and is enamoured by your brightness. you pay for his drink, and he can't help falling in love.

cw: fluff

James Potter could count the number of times he’d been told he was bright with both hands – what a ray of sunshine he was, how he lit up the room with his smile – and he still wouldn’t have enough fingers. 

But one look at you made him question every such compliment he’d been given. If he was sunshine, you were the whole goddamn sun. 

So close, yet so far; you stood just a few feet in front of him in the queue to the café counter. And he was lying if he said he wasn’t already enamoured.

James thought the word pretty must’ve been made to describe you, all soft curves, sweet smiles, daisies in your braid and little white dress. You were laughing brightly, phone clutched to your ear. He felt a small pang of envy for not being the one to elicit it. 

But he felt lucky to even be able to see you like this — in all your beauty and light and gentleness. It wasn’t even winter, and he’d gotten so close to warmth. What a great day.

You step forward for your turn, and James shamelessly gazes at you. He sees you beam at the barista and order your drink, before jerking your thumb backwards. He steps forward curiously.

“... yeah, I’d like to pay for the person behind me, if that’s okay,” you smile and nod. 

His heart does a little somersault in his chest, and he feels the affection pool like honey in his throat. So you didn’t just look the part, you really were sweetness personified.

James steps up to order next, clearing his throat. You’re stood beside him, patiently waiting for your drink as you type away on your phone. Maybe this is his chance.

He clears his throat and looks at the barista. “Hi.” Loud. Too loud. “Um… I’d like to get an espresso, please.”

“Okay, anything else? Your drink’s been paid for by the person in front of you.”

“Oh, wow,” he tries to look surprised, nervous fingers going to rub the nape of his neck. “Wow, that’s… that’s really nice. Um, I’d like to pay for the person behind me too,” he says slightly louder than he would’ve. 

You hear, just like James wanted you to, and turn to give him a small smile. He feels like doing a victory lap around the block.

That’s until a confused Sirius pokes his head out from behind James, giving him a strange look. “Prongs, weren’t you gonna pay for me anyway?”

James internally smacks his palm to his forehead. Instead, he turns to glare at Sirius, hoping it conveys everything he wants it to. Sirius just blinks.

He sighs and turns back to the barista embarrassedly, hoping you hadn’t noticed.

He’s about to open his mouth to wave it off when he hears you giggle, and swivels to look at you. It’s like everything in him instantly softens, seeing the sparkle in your eyes and the bashful way you press your hand to your mouth. You’re looking at him like he just said something really funny. He thinks maybe he’d be the butt of every joke if it meant getting to see that smile.

James mindlessly pays for his drink before eagerly stepping towards you. His heart feels like it’s going to start doing jumping jacks, or maybe he might, to get rid of this insane amount of anxiety. “Hi.” He hopes he doesn’t sound as nervous as he feels.

“Hi,” you smile sweetly, slurping on your drink.

“You owe me one,” he blurts out.

“Huh?”

God, now he’s really messed up. “No, no, I meant –” he runs his hand through his hair, “– I owe you one. For, you know, the coffee?”

“Oh,” you laugh softly, easing up a little. He releases the breath he didn’t even know he was holding. “No, you don’t. That was the whole point of it.”

“Let me take you out.”

He almost lets out a squeak after having said that, immediately pressing his palm to his mouth like he’d just revealed a national secret. What was wrong with him? He watches your reaction carefully.

You smile, and turn the loveliest shade of pink he’s ever seen. “You don’t even know me.”

“I want to know you.”

His tongue seemed to be speaking of its own accord. Maybe he’d give it a tongue-lashing later, but for now, he’d let it get him a date.

You consider him for a while, smile widening slightly. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay,” he exhales with a grin, running his fingers through his curls again. “Okay, sunshine. I’m James.”

You blush at the term of endearment. “Hi, James. I’m Y/n.”

“Hi,” he mumbles. “Hi, Y/n.”

You both stare shyly at each other for a moment, like you’re taking the other in. Getting to know them, even though you weren’t, really. Maybe that’s how it had always been; the sun knew of its sunshine even though it couldn’t see the rays itself.

You clear your throat bashfully. “I have to go.”

“Oh, um – okay, wait –” James scrambles in his pocket for his phone before holding it out to you. “Your number?”

Your face lights up as you take it and type your number in. You hand it back to him. “Does tomorrow work?”

He nods enthusiastically. “Yup, tomorrow works. Same place?”

“Same place.”

“Okay, then,” he exhales, unable to stop the smile on his lips. “Bye, sunshine.”

“Bye,” you grin shyly and wave, pressing your straw to your lips as you turn around to leave.

A daisy falls out of your hair, landing softly on the wooden tiles. James picks it up and tucks it into the shirt pocket next to his heart.

[patchworkcuddlebug]

A Parasite

Norae was always... resistant to having a doll. Her covenmates tell her about theirs like they're little slave-things, always wandering around your house and doing things you should be doing on your own. It's creepy, and (she would never say this out loud) enabling laziness.

But as her power grows, so does her manor. She begins noticing hallways stretching out longer than they once did, with protrusions shaped like doorknobs emerging from the walls. There's already a set of stairs leading uselessly into the ceiling, no doubt where the second story will begin to grow.

The effort she put into keeping things in order used to be paltry for a witch as powerful as her, but she's starting to get annoyed by the distractions. She is growing tired of pruning new furniture like weeds.

She knows nothing of clockwork, and she never developed her skills in magical dollcraft for obvious reasons. But she will sometimes catch sight of a stray, trying to find purpose in picking the wild berries just beyond her yard. She wonders if she'll be helpful enough, before quietly correcting herself and wondering if it will be helpful enough.

She told her coven how she was thinking about leaving a sort of trap for it, a cup of tea under a cardboard box held up with a stick, only half serious. Regardless, they told her that dolls are much more trusting and docile than she was assuming, and that she simply needed to approach and talk to it.

She waited with a book, just on the edges of her property. The wide brim of her hat helped block the glare of the sun as she'd occasionally look off through the trees. Soon, it came walking past her unceremoniously, seeming as if it's trying to ignore her. It's walking to the bush. There's already a few ripe berries piled neatly in its hand.

It was made with porcelain, with a more tattered version of the maid dress they all seem to wear, walking with just as much rigidity and poise. But this is the first doll she's seen with a wind-up key. It slowly turned just a few degrees for every moment that passed. She could see a little rope tied to one of the sides, presumably so that one could wind it on her own.

"Excuse me? ...Doll?" Just as she starts speaking, it perks up, looking ready to leap into action. "Y... yes, Miss?" Its voice is timid, but eager.

"Would you like to, uh..." She hesitates for a moment, feeling ridiculous. This is the first time she's had to say something like this out loud. "Belong to me? I have tea."

It gasps. "Yes! Oh, yes, thank you Miss!" She runs up to the witch as if to give her a hug, only to skitter to a last-second stop just in front of her and give a polite bow, with proper curtsy.

"Right. Um, follow me, then." She closes her book and begins walking back to her door, her movements awkward as the doll followed close behind. She can't stop looking back at it, at its bizarrely serene face and excited steps. "So, do you have a name?"

"This one's old witch called it Lullaby, Miss!" It seems so happy to say.

"That's... still your name then, I think."

"Yay! Thank you Miss!"

. . . . .

Colloquially, the word "doll" is often used to describe any construct that obeys a witch, with considerable variation thereupon. Perhaps the most infamous among these variants in classification is the combat doll. These ones can often be identified by their more metallic exterior, such that they can easily be confused for androids at first glance, but there also exists combat dolls that

"Excuse this one, Miss?" the thing knocks at the door to the witch's study. It lingers in the doorway, not wanting to intrude further.

Norae tries to stifle a sigh of annoyance as she turns away from her book. "Yes, Lullaby?" She just noticed that her its hair just a little dishevelled from working, but it's not nearly as matted and gnarled as it was earlier today. She's glad it looks so much more... healthy.

"This one has finished sweeping the first floor, Miss!" The doll smiled, clearly proud of herself. The witch is caught in her own head for only a moment, ruminating on owning someone... something so close to a human. "What would you like it to do next?"

"You..." it takes her a moment to stifle her shock. She's read enough to know that such a task is to be expected from dolls, but it still seemed to work so hard so fast. "Then you've completed your chores. Treat yourself to some tea." She tells it matter-of-factly and turns back to her book, trying to match the professionalism of her literature.

"But, Miss!" The doll says. Norae turns back, and sees the doll has a very human, very concerned look. "This one has barely worked today! Would you like it to scrub the floors as well? Or organize your bookshelf? It can cook for you, Miss!"

"Hey, calm down, it's alright." The doll's owner tries to sound reassuring, as one would to a friend. "I don't know how your last witch did it, but I don't want to overwork you. Do you like to read? I have a library."

The doll tried to swallow its apprehensive look. "This one will read for you, Miss." It nods dutifully and runs along.

That... went well, she thinks. She understands that dolls are... eager, to a certain degree, but she's sincere about not wanting to exhaust the poor girl thing. She also thinks about her own autonomy, and how listless she'd feel if left without her own chores.

. . . . .

Norae lets out a bored sigh as she watched the vegetables sizzle in their pan. She tries to stir them around, spreading them evenly in the oil, but it's more to entertain herself than to properly cook.

She hears Lullaby quickly, yet still with a polite reservation, hurry up the stairs.

"Miss!" It calls out, drowning out its footsteps before it turns the corner. As it emerges into the kitchen, it looks... mortified. "It's so sorry, let this one, good dolls should-"

"Lullaby, it's okay!" She holds the frying pan up, higher than the doll can reach. "You don't have to do everything for me just because you're a doll."

"But, Miss, this one wants to!" It looks desperate and pleading. "Please, Miss, you've been so nice, and this-"

"Hey, calm down, there's no need for that." Norae tries to sound reassuring. She sets the pan down and turns to give Lullaby her full attention, kneeling to match her its eye level and placing a hand on its shoulder. "I know you want to help, but I enjoy being able to take care of myself, too. You already do plenty, and you should be proud of that."

The doll trembles, only as much as its docility will allow. "Yes Miss, Thank you Miss." After a quick bow, it gets out of Miss's way, leaving her to return to her monotonous stove-watching.

Lullaby takes a seat on Miss's couch. eyes forward and hands on its lap. It's so comfortable, the soft cushioning much more enveloping that the stumps it was used to sitting on. It tries to find a place to rest its eyes. On Miss's roaring fire, magically permeating a tender warmth through the room? On the door to the maid's quarters, where Miss had cleaned it and told it all it had to know? On Miss's beautiful and intricate grandfather clock, which it is letting collect a thin layer of dust?

It shouldn't cry. Miss is being nice, after all.

. . . . .

The doll shakes itself from a stupor. It wasn't still; there was no comfort in its emptiness, just effortful restraint fading into a half-present miasma.

Norae gestures for it to face away, gently guiding its shoulders to face where she sat on the couch. "Lean forward, please."

"It's okay, Miss." The doll sounded groggy, words tumbling heavily out of its mouth. "You don't have to if you don't want to."

The witch leaned to the side, showing the sympathetic look she had on her face. "Why wouldn't I wind you up? It's no trouble at all, and... I can't just let you pass out."

Lullaby slowly, heavily, shook its head. It wanted to be polite, to word itself delicately and reserve itself, but its clockwork was moving too slowly to stop it before it spoke. "No, please. It's a bother. This one doesn't do enough, it's not worth it."

Miss places a hand on its shoulder. "Oh, Lullaby, no, that's not true at all. You do just as much as you need to."

"It's not enough." The doll rested its elbows on its knees, leaning forward and cupping its face in its hands. "Miss is so nice, and this one just... takes it all in without giving enough back. It feels so useless, and pathetic, and... i-it just wants to be helpful." Its voice falters just at the end, hitching into a repressed sob.

Norae felt a pang in her heart that deepened with every word. Of course, she's been such an idiot. She feels like a bum when she doesn't keep herself busy, how would a being purpose-made to be helpful feel? It finally dawns on her, what the extent of a doll's inhumanity means.

"I'm so sorry, I... had no idea you felt that way." There's a sincere sorrow in her voice, the doll hearing Miss's confidence drop for the first time. "I never meant to hurt you, I just didn't want to be too hard on you."

She placed a hand on her doll's back, careful to leave room for its key to turn. "From now on, you get to do whatever you like. Cooking, cleaning, anything. I might still make you take some breaks so I can do something myself, but I'll never leave you with nothing to do."

Lullaby slowly, hopefully, lifts its head to look at Miss. "This one doesn't want to make you do anything you don't want, Miss, it can-"

"Lullaby, if you do everything you can to never feel like this again, you'll make me the happiest witch in the world." She put on a reassuring smile.

Norae didn't have time to see the grin widening on her doll's face before it latched on for a hug. All it could say was thank you as its tears left wet marks on the witch's dress.

"I'm just happy that you're happy." Miss hugged back, making the doll feel more loved than it could remember. "Now let's get you wound up, you've got some dishes to do."

[itwasntimethatdidit40]

Eyes on the mirror - part 2.

Pairing: neighbor!Frankie Morales x f!reader Rating: +18, NSFW Words count: 3814 Summary: Dinner at Frankie's mom's is a disaster, she doesn't like you at all but her son doesn't fail to show you how much he likes you instead. Tags/Warnings: POV second person, no use of y/n, reader wears a dress and heels, she has hair but it's not described, no mention of her skin tone, she doesn't blush, she understands Spanish (but I didn't write sentences in Spanish because I don't know how to do it and I don't want to do it badly when I'm already writing in a language that is not my native), Frankie's mom is pretty conservative, traditionalist and closed-minded and she's mean towards reader, unprotected p in v (do better irl, please), sex in front of a mirror, oral (m receiving), Frankie is a good man ❤︎ and we love that for him. A/N: It's an emotional work, it's smut, but it's smut with feelings and I think I put a lot of myself into it. So I ask you to be especially delicate. This Frankie is the same guy from You look like a fun place to sit and Give me more. Thanks again @aurorawritestoescape and @arcanefox207 for your precious help and advices ❤️ I made a few changes from the first draft, English is not my first language, any mistake is still on me, so if you come across one I’m very sorry. @joelmillerisapunk just 🥹🥹🥹💖 Part 1 ⎮ Frankie Masterlist ⎮ Masterlist

Frankie's mom has the same eyes as her son, brown, big and deep, but there is a sharpness in them that does not belong to Frankie's. 

She has a simple, well-groomed appearance, wearing a white tunic dress that comes down to her knee, her hands are slightly cracked but her manicured nails are painted a pearly pink. 

She is a short, thin woman with the haughty, imperious appearance of someone who doesn’t let anyone step on her toes, a woman ready to bargain, to work hard, to take care of an entire household without anyone's help.

She's a tough lady and you're pretty sure she hates your guts.

 She addresses you rather nicely but you can tell something is wrong.

Her tone of voice sounds mocking and she's constantly whispering things to Frankie in Spanish that you don't hear well but you're pretty sure aren't anything nice.

“So what do you do, dear?” she asks you with a forced smile, sitting at the head of the table as she has arranged you and Frankie facing each other.

“I…um…work in a graphic design studio,” you mutter.

Frankie quickly adds, “She's so good at her job!” 

The way he’s trying to enhance your skills since you arrived moves you, but his mom doesn’t seem impressed.

Mrs Morales is intimidating, staring at you like she’s trying to catch every single flaw you have.

You can't even use your usual sarcasm because she would surely think you were insolent and certainly not right for his son.

“Have you done anything that I might have seen? Any national commercials?” she prods.

“Um, I don't think so, we're a pretty small studio at the moment, we've mostly worked on graphics for local stores and websites for professionals here, you know.” 

“Oh.” She raises her eyebrow. ”I see.”

Trying to compliment her, you say the food is delicious, the best you've ever eaten, and she reserves a cold “thank you”

Then she presses you again, “Can you cook?”

You lower your gaze to your plate and admit, “no, actually, I'm not very good at cooking.” 

“What do you usually eat?” she asks suspiciously. 

"Um...well...I can cook pasta and eggs..." you try to say and she looks at you in shock as if you just said donkeys can fly.

“Mom, please” Frankie tries to calm her down and she hisses at him “she will starve you!”

He hisses in turn “I am not perished! And she’s adorable, she’s smart, kind, funny and beautiful”

You feel Frankie's sorry look comforting you from across the table, he's doing what he can and you are truly grateful, but right now there’s nothing that can make you feel happy to be here.

You don't want to fight with her because you love Frankie and you know he loves his mother, you don't want to lose him because of scowling at her.

You see her giggling and shaking her head and you feel like crying but you don't, you don't want her to add ‘pathetic’ as one of your flaws.

She turns to Frankie and says something like, “How can you be with someone like that?” in Spanish. 

Frankie leans over the table and reprimands her, “Mom, stop it.”

She responds irritated in Spanish, “why? She is no good at cooking, and that job? Tsk, you don't want to marry her, do you?”

Frankie rolls his eyes and hisses, “Mom!”

You understand Spanish just fine but all this whispering is putting a strain on you, you just want her to see how much you care about Frankie and for her to like something about you. 

Even the dress didn't have the effect you had hoped for, she looked down on you even though her son had chosen it.

You brought her flowers and a cake to be nice and she huffed about the flowers because she would have to find a suitable vase to put them in and as for the cake, you bought it, so obviously it’s another proof of your failures in the culinary field.

She waves her hand at Frankie to shush him and turns back to you.

“Do you want anything else, sweetheart?” nodding at the serving dishes in the center of the table with another fake smile. 

Your stomach churns and you respond politely that you are full.

She turns back to Frankie, squinting her eyes, "she won't even eat! how is she going to give me grandchildren?!”

You look at your hands resting on your lap, feeling lousy and tired. 

Frankie must see this clearly because he finally blurts out, “Mom, if you don't stop now, we're leaving! She has done nothing wrong to you to be treated like this”

Mrs. Morales brings a hand to her chest, a shocked grimace is painted on her face. 

 “How dare you address your mother like that! I'm just trying to protect you, she's clearly not good for you!” She no longer even bothers to say it whispering in Spanish so that you wouldn't understand, in fact you think she said it loud and in English precisely so that her disappointment would be clear to you. 

You get up while they are still busy arguing and lock yourself in the bathroom. 

You knew this evening would be a disaster, but you hoped so hard that you were wrong. 

You’re glad Frankie stood up for you but you never wanted him to fight with his mother because of you. 

You hear their angry voices in the distance as they continue to argue and you feel so guilty.

You sit on the floor on the turquoise tiles in Mrs. Morales' bathroom, thinking only about how much you want to get out of here.

After a few minutes you hear a knock on the door. 

 “Honey, open up, it's me” You get up and reluctantly open the door.

“Hey, come here” Frankie says to you as soon as he sees your eyes on to the brink of tears.

He closes the door behind him and takes you in his arms, holding you tightly. 

You hide your face in his chest, letting the soothing warmth of his body envelop you. 

He strokes your back and whispers, “I'm so sorry, you don't deserve any of this.”

“I wanted her to like me so much,” you sob. 

“I know, honey, it's not your fault. She is fixated on things I don't care about. But you don't have to worry, everything will be fine.”

You pull away from him “I don't want you to fight over me”

"She can’t treat you like that, I'm the one who wants to be with you, and I like you the way you are.”

“Yeah, but…it’s still your mum,” you murmur.

“I gave her a little speech, don’t worry, you’ll be fine now,” 

Frankie smiles, leaving a kiss on your forehead and caressing your cheek, wiping away your tears. “Don’t cry.”

“What did you say to her? You didn't threaten her not to visit again, did you?” you ask worriedly. His eyes become a little shy, he’s quiet for a moment and then whispers to you, “no, I didn't tell her that.” 

“What then?” his enigmatic expression that doesn't let anything out intrigues and agitates you. 

He looks straight into your eyes and candidly admits, "I told her that I love you." 

You've felt it in the air for some time but now that you've heard it come out of his mouth, plain and simple, you are stunned. 

“Do you mean it?” You ask in a low shaking voice, looking into his big brown eyes for evidence of his sincerity. 

"I've never been so serious, miss," he smiles at you, expectantly. 

And then you feel you can say it, no matter how scary it is for you, “I love you too.” 

It doesn't seem real to you that you have just made yourself so vulnerable in front of him, your neighbor who until a few months ago was bothering you while now you feel you have a total and deep connection with him, no matter how much you poke and bicker at each other, your heart sings every time you are with him and you feel it loud and clear in your chest as it skips a beat every time Frankie looks at you a certain way, smiling with his eyes, with those little wrinkles around them and that dimple on his cheek that you adore. 

You love the way he mumbles in the morning as soon as he wakes up, the way he stretches under the covers and then again as soon as he gets up, his golden skin under the morning light, his playfully mischievous eyes that settle on you while you're still lying down trying to wake up, the way he always leans down to give you a kiss, whispering, “Good morning, princess.”

You also love how he keeps that silly little cap glued to his head at every opportunity.

You like kissing him and feeling his lips tasting like coffee, you like the way he hugs you as if he wants to shield you with his body and protect you from the world, you like the way his eyes become attentive and receptive when they rest on you and the way he listens to you, remaining silent and caressing your hand as if to invite you to tell him anything that is on your mind. 

You love how loyal he is to his friends, how he takes care of people, you love when he tries to make you breakfast even though he leaves a mess in your kitchen as if a barbarian invasion passed through.

And you love him now, standing in his mother's bathroom, hugging you as if only you existed in the world. 

“I love you,” you repeat and he looks at your face as if he wants to study the map of how much you truly care about him on it.

His hands slide down your back to your butt and he pushes you hard against him without breaking eye contact. 

His eyes are dark, his pupils dilated, he squeezes your butt tightly and then kisses you. 

You know exactly what he wants and you whisper into his mouth as soon as you break away from the passionate, deep kiss in which he engulfed you, “Not here, come on, take me home.”

He turns to the door and locks it still holding you close. 

“Let it go, baby, it’s okay” he replies and winks at you.

Feeling so desired by him is a real relief after feeling stupid and unfitting all night.

He turns you to the large mirror above the sink, leans to your ear and whispers, “Look at yourself.”

His hands move up your back, reach for the zipper of your dress, and begin to pull it down.

You look at him and he rebukes you, “eyes on the mirror, honey. Watch yourself while I do it.”

He slides off your dress breathing on your skin while you keep your eyes fixed on the mirror. 

You remain in your bra and panties. 

He brushes against your skin, rising on your arms only with his fingertips, climbing up your shoulders, your collarbone, the point where your shoulders and your neck meet and up to the column of your neck until he reaches your jaw. He tilts your head a bit and holds your chin to make sure you’re going to watch the entire time.

He holds you so that you can lean against him, and with his other hand he reaches down to your stomach, touching the hem of your panties.

You sigh happily as he slides two fingers under the fabric and caresses your folds, slides down the sides to the bottom and pushes upward. 

You moan softly, “Frankie, please” 

“Don’t be impatient, babe” he reprimands.

He curls your panties between his fingers and starts brushing them over your folds, you whine at the sensation as he tilts your head down a little bit to make sure you’re seeing what he’s doing. However you would not be able to watch anything but his movements. Right, left, right, left Frankie's fingers expertly maneuver the fabric over your pussy.

Your inhibitions are long gone, everything is faded and far away. 

There is only you and Frankie.

He suddenly lets go of your panties and massages you over them, soaking the material in your juices. You’re so wet that it doesn’t take much for his fingers to get wet too. 

Your breath becomes shallow as his hand slithers under the fabric and he begins circling your clit.

You can already feel your legs going weak so you raise your arm and place your hand behind his neck to keep yourself more stable against him. 

“Yeah, just like that honey. You want me to make you feel real good, huh?” Frankie’s voice vibrates against your neck and you mewl a yes feeling your body mold for him. 

Your eyes are fixed on the mirror.

You see your hot and bothered face, your lips parted, your pleading eyes and your body impossibly tense against him. 

It’s all painted there, the amount of desire and hunger that you have for him, a grimace of lust and need spread out on your features. 

“Fuck me,” you babble.

“Yeah? You want my big cock inside, baby? Want me to fill you to the brim?” Frankie’s smirk is wide on his face, you see his eyes focused on you, and his commanding tone sends shivers down your spine as he doesn’t stop rubbing on your clit. 

“Yes” you breathe “please”

Your legs wobble as you try to stand on your feet while he undresses. 

His shirt falls on his mother’s bathroom tiles, he unbuckles his belt and places it on the countertop, he kicks off his boots, unbuttons his jeans and slides them down his legs, stamping on them to get them off his feet.

Through the mirror you see him standing behind you, wearing only his boxers, the muscles of his chest highlighted by the lights, his soft belly just above his boxers that makes your mouth water, the happy trail that goes to hide inside, his strong thighs and the imperious erection that grows between them.

 It's a perfect picture of everything that makes your head spin.

“On your knees, baby, I want to feel your mouth first,” he orders you. 

You immediately kneel, feeling your heart flutter in your chest, the coolness of the tiles on your shins, and his simmering gaze dominating you from above.

You caress his hips, pulling down his boxers, and taking them off, and his cock finally springs free and almost smacks your face towering before your eyes. 

You take him in your hand, feeling that familiar warmth, the softness of his skin, the pulsing of his veins, as he leaks pre cum within an inch of your lips.

As soon as it slips on your tongue you feel a new slick of arousal dripping on your panties.

You lace your gaze with his, your open mouth curved at the edges in a smirk as you let him in, you love doing this to him. 

You usually take in as much as you can while taking care of the rest with your hand but tonight you want to feel it all the way down, so you relax your throat as much as you can and keep sliding it until you feel the tip touch the bottom. 

You have a slight hint of a gag reflex that you manage to quell right away and you keep him there, nestled inside you, pulsing on your tongue as he looks at you raptly and whispers, “God, you're amazing.”

And then you begin to suck him, slowly, enjoying every moan and every involuntary twitch of his hips, cocooning him with your tongue.

You’re fully immersed in the act, intent on giving him all the lustful pleasure you can, licking his tip like a lollipop, swirling your tongue around and collecting his oozing pre cum.

And then you go down again, spreading it on his shaft, mixing it with your saliva, hollowing your cheeks to suck him as deep as you can.

Frankie is whimpering and you know how much he’s close to the edge.

Your hand caresses his base, then you move it to his balls, with every intention of getting him to finish in your mouth and swallow everything he gives you but he grabs your wrist, stopping you.

You let him out with a pop, passing the tip over your lips and smacking it against them twice, wetting them with his pleasure.

You give him a mock pout for stopping you but the truth is you can't wait to feel him split you in two. 

He smiles at you, taking your hand and helping you up, you give him a kiss with your mouth still smeared with him. 

He turns you back towards the mirror and gently orders, “bend over the sink”

He slides your panties down your legs, exposing your drenched pussy, bending down to admire it, “So fucking wet…it’s all for me, baby?”

“Just for you, always,” you turn to look at him and see him leaning behind you as he reaches down and licks your folds, a long deep lick that makes you gasp.

“So good, honey, I would never get tired of this perfect pussy.” His voice vibrates on your skin sending a thrill all over your body.  “It’s the only part of you that I like to see weep for me” 

His rough voice charged with ardor and his words send you into a frenzy.

He comes back to stand behind you and looks at you in the mirror, resting his large hands on your hips, “You are so fucking beautiful like this.”

You feel his cock rub against your folds, and you throb intensely overwhelmed by your craving, you mewl at him and he finally aligns with your entrance and starts to push in. 

You slowly stretch around him, he groans as he slides into you, every inch of his length parting your walls.

His hands still clasp your hips, holding you steady as he gives you a moment to adjust. 

You're full of him and you wouldn't want to be any other way.

Frankie holds you firmly as he sinks into you, slowly at first and then increasing the pace as your moans grow rougher and closer, his balls slamming against your ass in a feverish rush.

“Fuck, baby, you’re squeezing my cock so hard.”

He pulls you toward him, his fingers reaching for your nipples, tweaking and tugging.

You can't help but look in the mirror now and what you see is the most exciting sight you've ever had before your eyes.

Your body is completely surrendered to him, your skin glistening with tiny droplets of sweat, your hair disheveled, your expression ecstatic, Frankie's hands firmly clinging to your hips as the wet, squelching sounds of his cock pounding incessantly in your cunt fill the room along with your moans and Frankie's groans.

And Frankie is literally a dream, his broad figure towering over you, his mouth roaming your neck, his hands enveloping your tits, squeezing them so right. 

He’s completely lost in you, his eyes half-closed, his tongue darting out from time to time soothing your sweaty skin. 

Now you know that you have never experienced such strong feelings in your life. 

You thought so, but you were wrong. 

It’s not the usual cliché of feeling complete with someone else, you are already a whole. 

It’s the fact of knowing that you can share with him, that you do not have to be afraid to be who you are with him. It is the fact that he knows how to understand the workings of your brain and unravel the skein that tangles it. It is the fact that you can feel that there is nothing you cannot face together. It is the fact of feeling seen, perceived for who you really are and held close for it.

It's knowing that wherever you run, Frankie will pick up the crumbs you leave on the road and bring them back to you.

And you had no idea that it could really be like this.

You always thought, it's only 4 months, don't push it when in the meantime he proceeded to tiptoe into your heart without even being noticed and sat there, waiting for both of you to be ready to say the most terrifying words out loud. 

Not "I need you" but "I'm so damn happy you're here", not "you're mine" but "I love holding your hand as I navigate my life.”

Not by owning, but by letting you do your own thing while you look at each other and think, “this is the person I love and I am proud of them.”

You're just out there being the most fragile human sometimes but you're never afraid to break down next to him.

Frankie comes, dripping onto your walls, his orgasm and whimpers shuddering against your body.

He wraps one of his big, strong arms around your hips and holds you up against him.

And you're safe, really safe, being vulnerable in front of a mirror, watching yourself come apart for him, feeling every inch of your body catching fire while Frankie is the match and the water at the same time. 

He holds you tight until you both recover normal breathing, still nestled inside you. 

He pulls out and embraces you, leaving small kisses on the soft skin near your ear, his large hands caressing your back. 

“I love you so much” he whispers once you make eye contact again.

“I love you too, Morales” you smile, tracing his cheek with your fingertips.

You both get dressed and leave the bathroom. 

You walk down the hallway leading to the living area as you wonder how much his mother heard. You cannot even quantify how long you were locked in the bathroom but it was worth every second. 

You find her in the living room, watching TV with the volume on full blast.

Frankie approaches his mother, without saying anything, rests his hand on hers while she has her eyes fixed on the telenovela you watched with your granny. 

“Do you think Javier will finally be able to confess his feelings to Lola?” you ask quietly. 

She turns, just for a moment, and finally gives you a genuine smile.

For the first time you feel that maybe, after all, despite the way you and her son just desecrated her bathroom, all is not lost. 

general tag list: @baronessvonglitter , @milla-frenchy , @almostempty , @harriedandharassed , @thundermartini If you want to be added or removed just let me know, thank you so much for reading!

Archive tag: @pedrostories ♥️

[neverfilth]

"Bloberta made Clay drink so-"

OKAY, BUT DO YOU KNOW WHY?

Let me explain

'Help'.

A very important word when describing Bloberta.

First, it is integral to understand that Bloberta feels torturously alone and unwanted. Her friends are all getting married while she has no one.

She isn't clever enough to help Censordoll.

Her own family leaves her out of the family choir. 

And the only crumb of validation she is offered is from her mother.

“Why don't you help me out and… Clean your room?” Note even the slight pause her mother has, as if she doesn't even know what to do with Bloberta.

Next, we see her trudge to her room. And what does she hide under the covers of her bed?

A flask.

She turns to alcohol when she is confronted with how unwanted she is. But where did that draw to alcohol come from?

We know she comes from a home where she is ultimately ignored and seen as valueless by everyone except one person.

Her Father.

I have a lot of thoughts about Bloberta and Raymond's relationship (the one scene where they interact just UGH LIVES IN MY HEAD) but the main thing to get away from it is that she associates the act of drinking with her Father.

A man who, without alcohol, is unable to speak his mind at all. He drinks to better tolerate his situation and his wife, who clearly doesn't value his words or opinions.

But Bloberta is very receptive to her Father, she greatly values his company and his thoughts and she finds comfort in being around him. She feels like someone cares about her and values her even if she knows he can't change anything.

Notice that despite her desperation to speak with her father, to form that connection that would validate her, she can't even touch him because she knows doing so would break the frail connection they have currently. Her Father is so reserved that at this point, any unexpected emotional reach would immediately cause him to shut down and retreat. Demonstrated just by him closing up immediately after she told him she loved him.

So how does this affect Blobertas perception of alcohol?

Well she says it herself.

"I think it helps us to be better people".

This rationality was reinforced by the small acts of kindness her father would show her.

And we don't have any reason to believe she is lying about this because up until the night of the reception, she's experienced nothing that contradicts this belief.

Bloberta's reliance on alcohol can be seen as her reaching for a solution to her need to feel wanted. She knows she's left out, both by friends and family. But if she believes drinking can make you become a better person? Then of course she would drink, because maybe then someone will want her.

What does she say directly after that?

"My Father drinks.”

Further insinuating her belief that he is good and he is the main reason she sees alcohol as a positive force.

She thought it would genuinely help Clay.

There's that word again.

Importantly, notice her clear anxiety and tenseness in her beginning interactions with Clay. From her first question, their conversation began falling apart.

So what happened?

Just after the wedding, she was almost suave in the way she invited Clay to the reception.

Why was she so nervous now?

Well, in her eyes, this was her chance.

After an undisclosed time of having no luck she finally convinces a handsome single man to have some semblance of a date with her.

She NEEDS this to go well.

So she's obviously anxious and stressed, and that's showing, but she figures that some drinks will make it easier for both of them. She's full panicking because she feels it's just so normal to drink, especially socially, and she can't understand why he wouldn't drink. She has no frame of reference for that mindset.

Things are already awkward between them once they settle in, and its not getting better. So of course she is going to fall back on what makes things easier for her.

And initially things are looking up.

Suddenly Clay's more talkative, and more receptive to what she's saying.

He's complimenting her.

He says she helped him.

The one thing she wants more than anything is to feel useful, she wants to be able to fit into that role that everyone expects her to so that she can be of worth to someone.

She isn't worth it to her peers,

she isn't worth it to her family,

but she could be worth it to him.

This only reinforces her resolve. 

This is it.

She is going to finally find her place to fit in, and everyone will welcome her with open arms as she finally finds her place in the role society has chosen for her.

But it's not that simple.

Things go south quickly, Clay doesn't want these things that Bloberta has to have. 

But she needs them.

To Bloberta, those things are proof of your value. The value society, friends, and family place on you.

Who would she be if she couldn't attain that value?

We again recognize that Bloberta has a fixation on being helpful. Helpfulness is the clearest indication of one's value, after all.

After being turned away by Clay, she immediately returns to a default ‘helpful’ act, cleaning. Just like her mother would tell her to do. But this was still her only chance, and Clay had already told her she had helped him. If she could only help him again, then maybe she had a chance at the real value she craved.

Once her anger passes and Clay sobers up, she returns to him and paints herself as ‘helpful’ as possible. She's desperate for that validation again, and if he would agree to her help then everything would certainly be fine.

She is practically begging him, help becomes a plea for him to save her from the pain of her day to day.

She hopes more than anything he will accept her and make all her pain go away.

He does accept, but in exchange, her previous world view is shattered.

Drinks don't help you become a better person.

They just help your true nature come out.

[laneywrld]

things lost and things found | Lewis Hamilton

part two

word count: 10k

warnings: smut, smut, more smut, fluff.

A man not made for commitment also doesn’t know how to communicate

It's safe to say that since that night in Cannes nearly two months ago, the lines have blurred.

Every night Clem spends with Lewis ends with her falling asleep nestled in his arms.

Some nights, they don't even have sex; he just calls her up to see him. 

Their outings are no longer limited to his bedroom or whatever hotel he's shacked up in. They're often found all over tabloids and fan pages, seen out at clubs or dinners or even on simple excursions such as shopping or taking walks.

Clementine tries her hardest to remember that Lewis was noncommittal. He would never ever even think about dating her or taking her seriously. That realization and his vocally telling her to not make things weird every time he can see that he catches her off guard keeps her on track. 

Clem knew what she signed up for; quite literally, the NDA she signed entailed every component of their relationship.

Besides the weird butterflies she got around Lewis, life was only getting better and better.  

Being around someone who understands her fully and allows her to completely unravel herself to them has really been good for Clem socially and career-wise.

She was less awakward around people, less reserved and she felt like hey, this man has accepted me for my every little flaw, why wouldn't other people. 

She was moving up in the world, and people loved her for who she was, and for the first time ever, she did too.

She's won an emmy for her netflix show, her movie was breaking records, and she was finally stepping out of her box and showcasing other skills she had.

Along with this new burst of confidence came new relationships. 

She's been trying to go out on dates to see if now was finally the time for her to try to settle down and find something serious.

That what she was doing currently, at dinner sitting across from some NBA players as he rambles on and on about different shots he couldve taken during the game, that he most definitely lost.

Clem hums, eyes feigning interest as he describes how he actually wasn't open when he tried to go for a three-pointer. Shocker, he missed.

When he excuses himself to run to the bathroom, she whips out her phone, seeing that Lewis texted her. 

Lewis 🏁

How's your date?

She shakes her head, typing out her response.

dense. how's silverstone? 

Lewis 🏁

Nerve-wracking, my car is still shit.

i'm sorry 😞  

Lewis 🏁

I'm going to need you tonight.

Lewis, i'm on a date.

Clem scoffs, but the smile on her face as she presses send is misleading.

Lewis 🏁

Is he getting lucky tonight?

NO!

Lewis 🏁

So why can't I?

Clem feels the familiar tingle in her core and places her phone face down on the table just as her date takes his seat in front of her again. 

She can't help the incredulous eyebrow raise she gives him as she sees a powdery substance painting his nostril.

"Yeah, it was nice meeting you, love." She smiles politely as she stands and motions for him to wipe his nose. He lifts his camera just as Clem drops enough money to cover her bill and tip the waitress generously. 

She hops into the black SUV, thanking her driver for helping her into the back. She unlocks her phone and sees another message from Lewis.

Lewis 🏁

My jet will be waiting for you.

That is precisely how Clementine ended up in Lewis' hotel room, waiting for him on the bed as he took a quick shower. 

When he emerges from the bathroom she can only offer him an uplifting smile, he looks so tired and so stressed. 

It helps, it always does which is why Lewis wanted her here in the first place. She was like sunrise after the darkest of nights.

"Hi," she coos, opening her arms for the muscly man.

He falls into her arms, his torso bare and his bottom half swaddled in a towel. He lays his head in her lap as she sits against the headboard. He looks up at her face as she stares down at his, and she physically pouts as she brings her fingers up to massage the stress lines from his face.

"That bad?" she whispers as his eyes flutter closed. Lewis sighs, grumbling out a faint "Yeah."

"You don't have to go through it much longer, at least." She tries and she knows it does nothing to take the heavy weight of mercedes off of his shoulders.

"You feel like you're carrying the weight of the world." She hums, her hands traveling down to rub the tension out of his neck. Her fist rubs up and down from the sides of his neck to the crook of his shoulders.

Lewis lets out a relaxed sigh, letting her work on him. 

She doesn't know how long she sits there with him snuggled into her lap as she kneads the tension from his body. 

After a while, she connects to his speaker and plays music. She has Lewis turn over onto his stomach as she slips from underneath him.

She hums as she sits on his bottom and begins massaging his back. "Your back is bruised."

"I was bouncing around like crazy in that fucking car." He curses.

Clementine bends down, pressing kisses around his back on the purple and red marks adorning his skin. 

Lewis closes his eyes, relishing in the comfort she gives him.

Lewis has noticed it, too, the turn their dynamic has taken. He is aware that he has given slight leeway to the emotional part of their relationship. 

He finds himself thinking about Clem plenty throughout the days. Buys things he thinks she'll like. He's grown accustomed to placing delicate pecks on her lips and face randomly throughout their time together; he can't help it.

Something about her has him wanting her all of the time, not even in th physical way. He just wants her to be with him.

"Can you come out to the race tomorrow?" He rasps.

She sits up, her legs still encaging his body. "Hmm, I don't think your publicity team will like that, people are already speculating about us."

"I don't care." Lewis argues, "It's about time you come to a race, wanna see you immediately not wait to get to the hotel and then see you."

His words make her heart thump harsher, and suddenly, all of the warnings from her publicist dissipate.

"Okay." 

Lewis didn't initiate sex between them that night. He simply turns over with her still on top of him and places his hands on her thighs.

"Come here," he whispers, reaching up to tug her head down to his face.

Their lips lock and it's not rushed or leading to anything. It's like how he kissed her in France. It's just sweet?

She can feel his heart against her chest as she is pressed against him, beating rampantly. "Thank you for showing up for me." He mutters against her lips. She grins against him as she remembers the words she scribbled onto the note she'd given him with her gift.

"Always." she breathes, diving back in to kiss him. One hand travels to her waist, and the other has a soft grip on the back of her neck. 

She feels his member poke against her thigh, and she sits up as much as she can with his hand on her neck, ready to free him from the towel, but the hand he had on her waist stops her actions with a grip on her wrist.

"I just want to lay with you tonight, if that's okay?"

Just when she thought she was safe from her tom-foolish thoughts, she felt her suppressed feelings for Lewis take light again. Don't make it weird, she thinks to herself. "Okay." 

Lewis sits up, his hand returning to her hip; she is sat in his lap, legs folded, and his body pushes her slightly back as he tugs on the comforter. He falls back taking her with him and pulls the thick comforter over her body which lays against his chest.

"What's one thing that surprised you about me?"

Clem traces her fingers on his chest in deep thought, "that you don't do relationships."

"Why that?"

"You're a lover boy at heart." Clem chortled, "Literally just a sweetheart. Most men who can't see themselves being with someone don't act as affectionate with women."

Lewis lets out a hmm sound, his hand still gliding up and down her back beneath his t-shirt that she wore.

"Is that a good thing or a bad thing?"

"Good, there's nothing wrong with being a sweetheart; bad if someone gets the wrong idea; I have a feeling you're an easy man to fall in love with."

Lewis presses a kiss to her hairline, butterflies doing summersaults in his belly. 

-

They wake up the next morning in the same position, with Clem's face nestled in the crook of his neck. Lewis smiles as he reaches over to turn off his alarm.

"Gotta get up, Clem." He soothes, rubbing up and down her back. 

"Mhmm." She moans in denial, cuddling deeper into him. "No."

"Come on, beautiful."

He sits up, forcing her up with him.

She flutters her eyes open and wraps her arms around his neck. 

He chuckles at her defiance, throwing his legs over the side of the bed and standing. He taps her thigh and she gets the message, wrapping them around his waist.

He walks her into the bathroom and sits her down on the bathroom counter. "Sit here, be careful." He orders, unraveling her from his body. He almost gives up and tucks her back into bed as she whines at him.

He leaves the bathroom and returns with a small bag of hers. She slumps against the mirror as she hears him rustling about. When she hears the faucet turn on and then feels his big hands massage circles into her cheeks, she opens her eyes.

There, she sees Lewis standing there with a cheeky smile, his hands lathered in her face soap as he massages the suds onto her face.

"Going to have to get my girl ready myself, huh?" He questions.

She only smirks at him and closes her eyes, letting him work through her skincare routine step by step, laughing as he inquires about every product.

When he finishes, he washes his own face and then passes her toothbrush to her. He stands between her legs as they both brush their teeth. Both of them stare at each other with googly eyes, laughing as foam bubbles from their mouths. When she leans over to spit into the sink, he follows shortly after and then pours a capful of mouthwash for her and them himself. And again, they stare into each other's eyes, giggly and gleaming, as they swish the liquid between their puffy cheeks.

This is where Clementine struggled with the status of their agreement. These weren't the actions of a man who didn't intend to be in a relationship. But she had heard of Lewis and his many flings and "friends" and she knew that he was a very affectionate person so once again she willed away the thought that there was any chnace of Lewis ever straying away from his bachelor lifestyle. 

She pats his shoulder beckoning him to step away, when he does she hops down and releases the last of the contents from her mouth into the sink and stepping aside so Lewis can do the same. 

"I'm going to grab my clothes." She informs.

As she lays her outfit options across the bed, she hears a vibration beneath her shirt, and she leans over the bed, patting until she finds the culprit. When she feels the device, she pulls it from underneath and sees that it's not her phone but Lewis'.

The screen lights up with notifications. 

One catches her eye from, Natalie.

Lewis did feel comfortable enough to disclose his other flings to her, and she nearly shit herself when he associated them all with cities. She remembers the way he laughed when she asked if she needed to get tested. Then she asked if he had referred to her as Clementine, NYC.

Natalie, Silverstone. She recalls.

It wasn't like she was intentionally snooping, but as the screen lit up in her hand again, she couldn't help but read the message as it appeared.

Still on for tomorrow?

At first, she feels a pang in her chest, but then she remembers her place, and she gently sits his phone on the nightstand, allowing the screen to turn off.

"Hey, you okay?" Lewis questioned, poking his head from the bathroom, realizing that she had stopped responding to him. 

She is stood facing the bed with her hands on her hips, scanning her oufits. "Yeah," she smiles though it doesn't quite meet her eyes. 

He eyes her quizically, but when she chuckles at his facial expression, pulls her outfit from the bed, and saunters into the bathroom with him, he relaxes.

Clem is in her head, and she hopes it's not obvious to Lewis.

But she can't help but wonder why he would fly her out just to make plans to sleep with another woman in the span of two days.

She's hurt, and she's jealous, and she knows she shouldn't be, but a part of her wants to slap the shit out of him. 

Instead, she refrains and plays into whatever sick bullshit he was playing with her heart unintentionally.

-

She arrives to the paddock with Lewis and she tries not to grimace as he tells a journalist that he brings friends with him to races all of the time, as they pass by.

He opens the door to the Mercedes motorhome like the proper gentleman he is and directs her into his room.

"I'm just going to change into my suit, and then we can head to the garage, okay?"

She nods and pulls out her phone. Already, she sees that they are trending. 

Lewis steps out of the room and leaves the door open. A few minutes pass before she hears an audible gasp.

When she looks up, she sees a bright-eyed George Russell.

"Hello, Hi! I'm George, I'm a big fan." He enters the compact room, his hand outstretched before him. She stands from Lewis' bed and accepts his hand.

"Hi, George, I'm Clem."

"I know who you are. What are you doing here?" He wonders.

"I'm a friend of Lewis'. I wanted to see you guys race today."

George stutters out a wow, beginning to ramble on before he is interrupted by a throat clearing at the door. There stands Lewis, with a burning look on his face that makes George immediately drop her hand.

"Lewis." He gasps, "How do you literally know everyone, man?"

She smiles, raising her eyebrows behind Lewis as George rambles about her.

Lewis claps his hands against George's shoulder before speaking, "I love you, kid. But we've got to get going."

And then he reached his arm around George and latched onto Clem and pulled her from behind him.

George stammers out a quick bye, and Clem waves sweetly at him as Lewis pulls her from the motorhome and towards the garage.

"He's so sweet," Clem coos, and Lewis only grunts out a "yeah."

"He looks like a literal prince charming." She extends.

Lewis doesn't want to hear her call his teammate any more kinds of cute, so he opts not to respond.

When they finally reach the garage, he is sitting her down beside Toto, who introduces himself with a warm and welcoming smile.

She accepts his hand, gently shaking it, and in return, Lewis gets whisked away.

She enjoys her time in the garage, whilst Lewis talk to his strategist she is sat beside Toto and a few engineers and she feels like she is on a field trip as they explain the many different parts of their setup. Finally Lewis appears at her side again, beckoning her to follow him. She accepts his hand, lifting from her seat and walking hand in hand with him to his car.

"Wow." she gasps as she studies the racing car.

"You want to get in?" Lewis questions. She turns to him with wide eyes, and Lewis can see the excitement in her dark orbs.

"You don't like people in your car." She reminds, peering back down at it.

"I said I don't let just anyone in my car, are you just anyone?" He is staring at her so intensely it has her body on fire.

She felt shy underneath his gaze as he stepped closer to her.

She stands tall, looking up at him through her lashes. He's nearly bumping chests with her as he looms over her.

"There's an entire team in here, Lewis, and cameras." She whispers only loud enough for the two of them to hear.

He doesn't care. He leans down, his mouth near her ear, "Are you just anyone to me, Clementine?"

She swallows nervously as he takes a step back, "No."

"Then get in the fucking car."

Toto watches on from his seat in amazement as Lewis lifts her frame into the car. He then turns and looks into the camera with his eyebrows raised as to show his impressment. 

He put two and two together that she was a personal guest for Lewis. It was obvious since Mercedes had already planned for Tom Cruise and Damson Idris' arrival for the race today.

Lewis leans into the car as he motions to different parts on the inside of the automobile. 

Clem honestly couldn't give two fucks about the car, but she was relishing in how passionate Lewis looked and sounded as he spoke about every aspect of it. She hadn't moved her eyes from his face not once, and Lewis froze as he turned to face her and saw the wanting look adorning her features.

It has him hard instantly.

"Behave." He warns, turning his head to survey their surroundings.

"You're fine as fuck when you're talking cars."

Lewis chuckles, and a blush comes up to cover his cheeks. He lifts his hand, his knuckles skimming along her jaw.

"I want to kiss you, but people will see."

She drops her face against his hand, puckering her bottom lip out at him.

"Aw, too bad." She whispers seductively, and Lewis whispers out a quiet "fuck." as she tugs her bottom lip between her teeth. His thumb reaches up and drags it back out.

"Gotta be nice to me right now, Clem. Hmm?" He hums, not bothering to remove his thumb from her lip. He smears his finger across, watching as it pops back into place. 

"Help me out of this car." She smirks, lifting her arms, "Before you do something you'll regret, there are cameras around."

"I don't give a fuck about the cameras." He rasps and breaks out into a grin when she bursts into a fit of laughter. He smacks his teeth, standing up straight, preparing to get her out.

"You like fucking with me." He declares.

Lewis helps her from the car, his hands probably lingering on her lower back for far too long once she's back on the ground.

"Lewis." He hears, and when he turns around, he sees Tom and Damson.

He pulls Clem with him, introducing her to the pair. He instantly regrets it when he sees the way Damson eyes her down like she's a refreshing tall glass of water.

 Tom starts up a conversation with Lew about the business they need to handle for his upcoming movie, but his eyes can't leave Clem's frame, and how Damson brings her hand up to his lips. 

He feels like a suicidal maniac when he watches her laugh and smile at whatever he is saying.

He'd met him before, and trust, whatever he was saying couldn't possibly be that funny.

Lewis wants to rip Toto's head off as he directs the two of them into a set of empty seats. He was less than present during the conversation with Tom, and he hoped he hadn't noticed. His arms are folded over his chest, and his foot is tapping the ground anxiously. He tries not to make it obvious when he directs Tom to his spot and takes his in order to keep an eye on Clem.

When the time for the start of the race gets closer he is thankful to see Tom take his place beside Toto. 

He saunters over to the still chatty pair and stands in front of Clem. He waits for her to notice him, and when she doesn't, he clears his throat rather dramatically. 

She stands when she notices him, shooting Damson an apologetic smile that has him ready to drag her off. Which he does.

He pulls her to a corner of the garage and up the stairs into a random office and locks the door. 

"You okay." Clem questions, stepping towards him and placing her hands on his waist. "Lewis." she tries again when he doesn't answer.

He looks stressed and zoned out.

"I- uh yeah." he coughs and suddenly he feels better having her away from Damson. "i'm fine, pre-race jitters." He lies.

Her hands slide up his chest until they settle on the sides of his head.

She tilts his head so that he's staring into her eyes. 

"You sure?"

"Yeah."

"Okay."

"I'm regretting this." He admits and her eyes squint, "bringing you here, I mean."

That does nothing to alleviate her hurt expression, so he continues, "My car is still shit, I don't want you to watch me lose."

She scoffs, gently slapping her hand against his shoulder before returning it to its place caressing his beard. "Would’ve watched you lose at home too, what's the difference. I'm going to support you all the same."

Lewis leans down and presses a short, soft kiss to her plump lips.

Her eyes flutter closed as he stares down at her, and finally, his hands raised to her hips, pulling her into him. "I don't think that I tell you thank you enough for all of the ways you help me, Clem."

"You don't have to," she whispers, dropping her forehead against his chest. He rests his chin on top of her head, putting his arms over her shoulders as hers wraps around his torso.

Lewis likes this. He thinks he can start every race for the rest of his career like this. When he hears a knock on the door, he groans but shoots Clem a warning look as she chuckles at him.

"Big baby." she teases, moving around him to unlock the door. He maneuvers behind her, reaching to open it, and when he does, he sees Toto there with a knowing smirk.

"Time to race, Lewis."

She allows Lewis to pull her from the office hand in hand, and she knows her publicist is probably in New York and stressed running through cigarettes. She always joked that this Lewis rendezvous would result in her smoking her stress away.

Lewis knows something is wrong with him for sure when he realizes that he doesn't care about the camera or who's watching him show Clem his affection. He knows they're going to be the main topic of every tabloid tomorrow, and he just doesn't care.

She stands in front of him beside his car as the crew bustles around them.

When it's time for Lewis to finish his preparation, he motions his head towards Clem, and suddenly, her hands are stuffed with a balaclava and a pair of gloves. 

She turns to the man who handed them to her and he offers her a small smile. 

She turns to Lewis, and he can tell she's trying to fight off the grin that desperately wants to appear.

She reaches for his right hand, tugging the glove onto his hand gently, she checks each finger and pulls to make sure the fit is snug. She repeats her actions on his left hand and then Lewis firmly places his hands on her waist. He's looking at her with those sparkly eyes and a loving smile.

She turns the balaclava in her hands, trying to figure out which way to pull it over his head. When she sees the opening, she lets out an "Aahh" that has Lewis chuckling at her.

She stands on her tiptoes, freeing his braids from the ponytail and pushing them back. She hums to herself as she pulls the balaclava over his head. 

She settles back on her feet, and she can only see his eyes, but it does something to her. 

She reaches between them pulling the upper half of his suit up his body, giggling when he grunts realizing he's got to let go of her to push his arms through the sleeves.

His hands are back on her in an instant, like by not physically touching her he'd fly away.

Clem reaches between them again; this time, her fingers latch onto the zipper, and she tugs it up from his pelvis all the way up his chest until it's set in place. 

"I don't know, Lew. I think we've at least got a podium." She whispers, accepting the helmet.

She steps back, allowing his hands to fall, and then hands him the helmet.

"I can feel it in my bones." 

"Oh," Lewis laughs, "Can feel it in your bones?" He sticks out his free hand, tickling at her.

Clementine laughs, stepping back and gripping his arm, "Stop!" 

He listens, pulling on his helmet and looking back at his car.

"Well, that's me."

Clem feels like a lovesick puppy as she watches his eyelashes flutter with every blink of his eyes.

"Podium." She reminds him, lifting her pinky.

"Podium." He declares, wrapping his own against hers. He lifts their conjoined hands and places them against his helmet where his mouth would be, and she swoons.

"Get in the car, Hamilton."

She's a giddy mess as she steps away from him and finds herself accepting a seat from one of the crew members.

She sighed while watching the screen as Lewis started in P5. He is quickly into P4. She feels her adrenaline kick in as the crew cheers excitedly watching him overtake into third. When he overtakes two other drives all in the same lap the garage erupts in shouts of excitement, just for that to be taken away just as fast when they see a car barrel through off od the track and into the fence.

Clem gasps, her hand coming up to cup her mouth.

She knew Formula One was a dangerous sport, but watching a wreck like that happen in real-time has her mind reeling on just how much danger Lewis puts himself in.

"Is he okay?" She hears as the crew all talk amongst themselves.

"George is out of the race. The other driver is okay." Toto announces, "We're restarting."

Lewis is back in the garage, and he is irritated.

Clem stays back and out of his way as she watches him angrily rant. "That is not right, Toto." He snaps, "back in fifth?"

She watches as Toto nods at him, and Lewis turns to his assistant, rolling his eyes. He looks so frustrated as he throws his hand out, "fucking fifth."

Clem knew that when she was angry that she didn't like to be bothered, so she stayed in her seat. She feels a body plop down beside her, and she turns to see Damson.

"Intense, yeah?" He questions.

"Most definitely." She sighs, "My adrenaline is off the charts right now."

"First time coming to a race?"

She nods, returning the question, "Nah, this is like the NFL to Brits."

She laughs, "Right."

The two chat whilst the rest of the garage is in shambles, and Lewis watches the two with slits in his eyes. 

He knows he shouldn't be jealous. Clem was nothing to him but a friend who he enjoys fucking. It's what he tells himself as Damson passes his phone to her. She was just his friend. He'd even encouraged her to get out there and find her person.

But that was before he realized how differently she made his heartbeat.

Lewis doesn't bother going over to her before the race restarts, he can feel her lingering eyes as he manuevers around the garage, avoiding her.

Lewis feels a bit enraged. Initially, it was just the FIA and their stupid fucking rules, then it was the car, and now it was Clementine and the stupid British actor drooling over each other in his face.

It was all piling on top of him, and he hadn't felt so unsettled ever before a race. 

He hops back into his car, not sparing Clem a glance, and rolls out into P5.

This time the only thing on his mind is how fucking mad he is. 

That anger got him P3. 

He doesn't know why he doesn't approach Clem as she waits for him patiently in her seat. He goes around and thanks the crew and the engineers and has a brief talk with Toto and Tom. And then he leaves to go to the podium, all without even glancing at her.

Clem, always aware, remains silent and tries to keep the pout from taking place on her face.

She tries not to take Lewis' actions personal, it's obvious he's wound up. She doesn't know if it's something she did or if he's still frustrated by the race restart. Logically it's the second, she's learned that not everyone's behaviors have to do with her. It's taken years of her enternalizing other people's moods to realize that 9/10 people are just feeling things. She hasn't done anything, she's sure of it.

She is directed into the motorhome whilst Lewis handles other business and she sits in his room on his bed waiting patiently.

When Lewis had brought up the idea of bringing her to the race yesterday, he raved on and on about how she'd be able to walk the track, wait with his team whilst he's on the podium (if he got one), and get the classic guest experience. She hadn't gotten that, which was a letdown since she really wanted to experience Lewis' world, but she understood why that wasn't possible today after seeing Lewis' mood.

But still, it would have been nice not to sit in his motorhome and then the garage all day, just to end up back in his motorhome alone for hours. 

When Lewis emerges into the tiny room he is clean and dressed in comfortable clothes. He had been on the phone in the office preparing a few arrangements for the past hour. He sighs as he sees her frame sprawled across the tiny bed. 

There are soft puffs of air escaping her, and her phone is clutched loosely in her hand.

He can tell she fell asleep scrolling through her phone.

He sits on the foot of the bed at her feet and drops his head into his hands.

He doesn't know what he's doing. But he does know he can't keep going on like this. Lewis didn't like relationships, he didn't like being tied down, it wasn't fair of him to only want Clem to himself when she would never get all of him. 

"C'mon Clem, let's get you back."

Like the sleepy girl she is, she whines as Lewis pulls her body from the bed, placing her on her feet. 

"Can you walk?" 

She only nods, reaching over to grab her bag and her phone. She doesn't speak to Lewis quite yet, still unsure of his mood. She lets him direct her from the motorhome, his hand tight in hers as he leads her through the paddock. It is so late at night that there are rarely any people hanging around. When they exit and get to his car, the flashes from the cameras wake her up even more, and she uses the back of her hand to block the lights. 

Lewis walks her to the passenger side, waiting for her to slip in before he closes the door gently and goes around to his seat.

He pulls out cautiously and begins their trek to the hotel.

Clem forces herself to stay awake, knowing that it's only a short drive.

Still, she is waiting for Lewis to speak, but he doesn't. 

"I had fun," she announces.

"I'm glad."

"You got podium." She cheers lowly.

Lewis only offers her a small smile, and uncertainty settles in her gut. Something's not right.

She gives up trying to talk to him after that. 

The car is filled with tension and awkward silence. It's so unlike them.

When they pull into the hotel, Clem doesn't wait for the valet to open her door. She clambers out and thanks god as the night breeze fills her lungs. She's never felt so suffocated around Lewis.

As Lewis exchanges formalities with the man she rushes into the hotel and onto the elevator, when she reaches the room she unlocks it with the secondary key taking a moment to gulp down a glass of water.

Lewis follows in behind her shortly after, paying her no mind as he goes to the bathroom and emerges with his shirt and jewelry off.

"You got an attitude?" Lewis questions, standing in the doorframe.

"No, I don't." 

"I know you, Clementine." Lewis rasps, coming to stand over her as she sits on the bed.

"You're the one with the nasty ass attitude." She huffs, reaching up to nudge him away from her. He doesn't budge.

"Lose the attitude, Clem." He orders, and she rolls her eyes. 

"Or what, Lewis?" She pushes.

Lewis' hand is at her neck in a second. His grip is not tight at all, just holding her in place as he ravishes her mouth. Just as frustrated as he is, she returns the kiss.

"Got something for that attitude," Lewis grunts, pushing her onto her back.

She gasps as he roughly pulls at her pants.

He has them off before she knows it, and his hand lets go of her neck and travels down to pull at her panties. He rips them off of her with a hunger in his eyes like no other. 

"Gotta fuck it out of you, Clem?" He asks. 

He doesn't give her time to answer as he sinks down to his knees at the end of the bed and pulls her down with him. He lifts her legs over him and wraps his arms around her thighs. His hands settle on her thighs, keeping them apart, and he stares up at her one last time before connecting his mouth to her clit.

She jumps, but his hands hold her in place.

He removes his lips from her bundle of nerves, his tongue traveling down to swipe through her crease. She moans lightly as she fists at the sheets. His fingers travel up to replace his mouth, and he digs them deep into her core, his tongue flicking against her clit before he presses it flat and moves up and down.

Clem gasps as he curls his fingers inside her and suckles extra hard on her. Her hand shoots down to push him away, but he catches her wrist in his free hand, holding it against the mattress. 

He stares up at Clem, the whole scene naughty and erotic. He lets her other hand come down to rest in his hair. 

Lewis moans into her, his mouth sending a wave of vibrations through her body. Lewis never took his eyes off of her, watching as she writhed above him. He was showing her no mercy as the gushy sounds filled the room. 

She tasted so good.

Lewis worked his tongue around her clit, teasing her only for a minute before he smushed his mouth over it again and suckled just the right amount, his fingers still thrust in and out of her, driving her absolutely insane. He moans into her pussy and trails his mouth down to swallow where she is oozing. 

Lewis lets her captivating moans egg him on as he devours her like a starved man. He can feel it when she comes when her tight, spongy pussy constricts around his fingers. He happily licks up the juices she releases as she comes undone. 

He pulls his fingers from her core and stands, quickly turning her body over. She lands on her stomach with a slight "oomph" noise and turns to look back at Lewis.

He wastes no time hammering into her from behind. He grabs her arms pulling them behind her back and crossing her wrists; with one hand, he holds them against her back, and with the other, he swats at her ass. Groaning as he watches it ripple.

"Fuck."

Clem can do nothing but pant underneath him and let out pathetic mewls as his hand repeatedly strikes her ass. It hurts so good.

Lewis keeps pounding into her hard, his heart racing as he chases his own orgasm. He sees her phone light up beside him, and a message from Damson appears. 

When he sees this, he speeds up his thrusts, gliding his thick member in and out of her suffocating walls. 

She can only blubber out useless moans as he plummets in and out of her.

He lets go of her wrist, pulling her up onto all fours. 

"You get a thrill out of pissing me off?" He grunts, his hand going up to grip her hair.

"No!" she whines, gripping the covers.

"I think you do." 

His other hand is gripping her waist, pulling her back to him every time she falls forward.

"Nuh-unh." He orders from behind her, letting go of her hair and holding on to her waist tightly with both hands now.

"Don't run from it, baby. You wanted this, huh? This what you want?"

Clem rasps out a choked yes, her head falling at the intense pleasure running through her veins.

Lewis sounds like a beast behind her, all strangled up and growling out praises at her. 

He feels so possessive as his hand lifts and smacks at her ass again. "Fucking, mine." He growls, and Clem falls forward. He doesn't stop as her legs give in, and she drops to the bed again. He climbs behind her, still keeping his pace, and throws his head back as she quivers around him like a candle on fire. 

He can feel the heat building in his core, and it eggs him on as he places his hands on her ass, holding her in place.

Clementine spasms beneath him, never experiencing an orgasm like this before. Her heart feels like it's beating outside of her chest as her ears ring and her eyes roll to the back of her head. She can only curse over and over as she feels Lewis drag out of her and return again with much more force. 

This was the best sex she'd ever gotten in her life.

Her walls clenched around him, her breath hitching as he moved aimlessly in and out of her.

Lewis shuddered at the feeling, sucking in a sharp breath at the sensation. She is face down, panting into the mattress as he pants above her.

She can't count how many times she has come undone underneath him, but as she feels another orgasm approaching, she can't help the way her thighs tremble underneath Lewis. 

Lewis is an incoherent, mumbling and moaning mess above her as he allows himself to succumb to her squeezing cunt, clamping over him. Lewis falls into the abyss, pleasure washing over both of them as he spills into her.

He pulls out with a hiss, shuddering at his sensitivity, and falls over beside Clementine, who rolls onto her back.

"Woah." she pants.

Lewis feels her phone vibrate and he watches as she scambled down the bed to get it, he feels green as he watches her smile at the screen.

Just as she moves to lie beside him again, he speaks up with words that make her feel dismayed.

"I booked you a room."

He turns away from her, staring at the ceiling.

"I- What?" She stutters, turning to face him.  

"It's just a floor below, suite 909."

Clem is distraught, and it shows on her face as she jumps away from the bed as if Lewis has burned her. "Lewis, what-"

Her words are cut off as her phone vibrates in her hand. Lewis chuckles dryly, finally tilting his head to face her. Suddenly Clem feels like a little girl again, wondering why her parents never made an effort in her life, wondering why it was so easy for them to push her aside like they didn't care that she existed.

"What's the matter? Are we okay?" She rambles.

Stop talking, Lewis. He thinks to himself as he watches Clem's eyes flash with wetness. Even sad, she has doe eyes, still shining, but this time, there are tears in her eyes and an intense sadness. 

"Yeah," he should’ve stopped there, but he kept going. "I'll probably see you tomorrow. If not, it'll be the next time I need you." He motions to the bed.

Clem frowns, letting out an exhale as she bends down to tug on her pants. As she maneuvers around the room collecting her suitcase, Lewis calls out to her. "I put the room key beside your toiletry bag."

She slips into the bathroom, picking up her small bag, and sure enough, the keycard is there. She grasps it in her hand and walks out. She wants to scream at him, tell him how big of a dick he's being, but she's not that kind of person.

She is graceful. But it's taking everything in her to channel the lessons her grandpa has taught her when she is this mad, this hurt. 

Clem avoids looking at Lewis as she latches onto her suitcase. 

 "Maybe you should start considering finding someone who's serious, Clementine."

Is this what this is about? She knew the blurred lines would come back to bite her in the ass eventually.

She freezes, her back turned to him as her hand pauses on the door handle. And her body shakes slightly as a her frown deepens, she feels a stream of tears flow down her cheeks.

And just when Lewis thinks that Clem is going to turn around and argue with him, probably throw something at him and shout at him, she doesn't.

She lifts one hand, swiping at her face, and then softly opens the door and leaves without so much as looking back at him. The door clicks shut behind her, and she walks on down the hallway towards the elevator. 

The words don't react, echoing over and over in her head, but as she hears the wheel rolling on her suitcase, she can't help but feel the trembling in her body. She presses her lips together, stepping onto the elevator, and as the doors close, she lets out a gutwrenching sob. 

She sniffles as she steps into the suite. Rushing to the bathroom to shed her clothes, she showers wiping all traces of Lewis Hamilton from her body the way she wishes she can erase him from her mind. She scrubs harshly, eyes still full with tears, between the scorchingly hot water, steam and the tears she can barely see anything as she scrubs severely.

For the first time since agreeing to this arrangement, she feels used by Lewis. She's never felt so dirty in her life. As she sank down to her knees, feeling the wails rip through her body with force, she realized why exactly his words and actions hurt her so much. 

It didn't matter how much she showed up for him or how much she allows herself to be his shrink and him hers, it'd always be a bad religion, loving someone who'd never love you back.

Lewis is in the same position he has been in since she left, flat on his back with his hands covering his face. His body is quivering as sobs rack through his body.

It was a tough decision, but it was one that had to be made. He could never give Clem what she deserved; he wasn't a committed person. Seven years on and off with the same person is proof of that. He could never be okay with putting her through that.

-

Lewis wakes up the next morning with a pounding headache and lingering loneliness. 

He always felt like this when he woke up without Clem in his arms. As he sits up and swipes his hands over his face, his heart aches when he notices her ripped panties thrown on the floor.

He regrets his actions. 

He wishes he would've sat her down nicely and explained how things were getting too deep for him. It's Clem, she would've understood. 

He realizes just how bad he fucked up when her giddiness to lay beside him last night flickers through his mind like a clip from a movie.

"What if we lay in bed after every meetup and we just talk?"

He feels like he's been shot when her hurt face replays over and over. He treated her like shit last night, all because he was scared of what she made him feel. 

He was a mess during yesterday's race; all he could think about down every straight and around every curve was how much he liked Clem, how good she made him feel, and bad she could make him feel just as easily.

He realized that the woman had too much control over his heart yesterday, and he couldn't take that. This was supposed to be fun, casual fun. He never inteded to catch feeling for Clementine Russell, but she was the kind of girl who made you drop to her feet.

He never stood a chance against her charm.

He scrambled from the king-sized bed, rushing to his phone.

-

When he hears a knock on his door, he opens it in a rush; he sees the butler there and offers him a finger to signal to hold on. He rushes to his table, picking up the bouquet of flowers, an array of red, yellow, and orange orchids, dahlias, and marigolds. 

"Can you take these down to suite 909?" Lewis pants pushing the boquet towards the man, there is a note nestled between the pedals.

The man tilts his head, pushing the flowers back towards Lewis.

"I am sorry, Sir Hamilton, Ms Russell has checked out already in the early hours of Midnight."

Lewis feels his heart crumble as he steps away from the man, the giant bouquet firm in his hold.

Lewis says nothing as he closes the door and walks away. 

-

Clem had left that night, not long after leaving Lewis' room. After her shower, she was on the first flight home, and she hadn't spoken to Lewis since. 

Lewis misses Clementine. It's a realization that he came to rather quickly but refused to admit.

Lewis pulls himself out of the leggy woman he picked up at the end of his race. She drops down beside him in heavy pants. 

"That was fun." She exhales.

He doesn't know why when he turns his head, he expects to see Clem staring back at him with her dark eyes and cute smile. 

This woman is no Clementine, and that's for sure. 

He doesn't know why he tries it, but he does. "You can go anywhere in the world under one condition. You'd have to stay there forever; everything is unchanged, and nothing new will ever come. Where do you choose?"

He watches as her eyes scrunch momentarily in confusion.

"I don't know. It's probably Paris. I'm obsessed with their lifestyle, honestly."

Lewis turns his head back to the ceiling.

He wants her to leave. And he wants Clementine to be in her place.

It's quiet and awkward, and she doesn't even try to ask him. 

He already knows his answer. He'd be with Clem in his bed, hands connected as they lie naked underneath his covers, heads turned to each other as they talk. He'd watch on as the moonlight supersedes the darkness and the moonbeams are replaced with sun rays. And he'd listen to her feel things like she made him. And he'd be happy and content with spending eternity like that.

Everything unchanged, nothing new.

Lewis begins to think that maybe casual sex isn't for him anymore. Perhaps he's taking Clem's absence extra hard because he yearned for the other form of intimacy, the emotional aspect of being with a woman.

So he tries dating. 

And he comes to the same conclusion, date after date.

Their eyes don't gleam like hers.

They don't understand his humor.

They don't care about why losing his favorite toy as a kid was an integral part of the man he became.

They can't carry on discussions like Clem or even talk like Clem.

They don't have her precious smile and her deep dimples. They're not gracious and benevolent.

They aren't Clem, no one ever will be.

Lewis craves Clem; he misses her with every fiber of his being.

And he regrets letting her up from his bed. He regrets telling her to pursue another man. 

When Lewis returns to New York, his thumb lingers over the send button.

clemmy 🪂

I need to see you, where are you?

He doesn't send the message; he drops his phone with a sigh, knuckling at his eyes. Why was it so fucking hard? He'd never felt this troubled in his life, especially over a woman he'd never even dated.

He sighs in distress, picks up his phone, stares at the message begging to be sent, and clicks off of the app. Instead, he opens his Instagram. As he goes to search for Clem's name, he sees that she is still his top search, and he feels like a loser as he enters her profile.

He'd take any sight of her he could get.

-

Clementine wouldn't say she was necessarily religious. Her grandpa would probably drop dead of a heart attack if he heard that. But it was the truth. She thought it was fairytale-like sometimes. Yes, she had faith, but she wasn't as devout as many people. 

If she was being honest, she thought religion began as something beautiful, putting your complete trust and faith into another person, with the idea that they were quite literally the holy grail. Over time, it's been skewed and manipulated, some for great purposes and others for very wrong reasons. 

She thought most religious people were hypocrites. Lewis was a hypocrite for sure, giving her an inch and then taking a mile. Now that she has had time to ponder over it, Lewis Hamilton is actually a sick man. Pouring affection into her and poisoning her heart. 

How did he expect her not to fall for him when he treated her the way he did? She feels like a fool herself, too, thinking back to the conversation she had with him the night before it all went to shit. 

"You're a lover boy at heart." Clem chortled, "Literally just a sweetheart. Most men who can't see themselves being with someone don't act as affectionate with women."

Lewis lets out a hmm sound, his hand still gliding up and down her back beneath his t-shirt that she wore.

"Is that a good thing or a bad thing?"

"Good, there's nothing wrong with being a sweetheart; bad if someone gets the wrong idea; I have a feeling you're an easy man to fall in love with."

Lewis was a hypocrite, and she was too. 

But the truth is religion gave people purpose. She'd never felt it firmly in a spiritual sense, but she had experienced that strong urge to follow someone's every command. She's believed every word that tumbles from his mouth. Given the opportunity, she would surely drop to her knees at his feet. She's only ever felt the need to praise and put her limited faith and her secured trust into one person. Sure, she had faith, just in a bad religion. She admired one man, Lewis Hamilton, but there was one problem, she could never make him love her the way she loved him.

Clem took his advice. She branched off, presented herself in new ways, made new friends, developed herself, and found someone who would take her seriously, though that didn't last long at all. 

clementine

liked by feliciathegoat, pharrell, and 12,898,465 others

clementine so, they've helped me make an album? Clementine, NYC out now on all streaming platforms !! 

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feliciathegoat Cool kids doing cool shit 🏌🏿

clementine the coolest 😎

lilyachty ALBUM OF THE FUCKING YEAR

clementine 🤸🏾‍♀️🤸🏾‍♀️🤸🏾‍♀️🤸🏾‍♀️

user no bc who did my girl like that

clementine no really, it's okay though builds character 😃

user builds character my ass, go beat his ass

user A MOVIE AND MUSIC IN THE SAME YEAR ASVJHKHK WHEN DO WE GET SEASON 2???

clementine yk im filming girl 🙄

clementine

liked by danielricciardo, justinbieber, and 10,898,465 others

clementine two post in one day bc why not, what's everyone's favorite song from Clementine, NYC?!?

danielricciardo In your hands slaps

clementine you sir, have great taste 😘

user daniel what are you doing here 😭

user No really, weird ass crossover episode

user the blue hair to match the album cover the movie * chefs kiss*, your creativity is unmatched queen

clementine you noticing the small details >>>

justinbieber posting us arguing over the order is killing me

clementine no bc we both look so over it 😂

user I love her and Tyler's friendship sm

feliciathegoat i love my bestie

clementine and I love u T 🥹

-

Lewis instantly throws in his airpods and starts the album, one by one he listens to each song. Sure enough every song has small anecdotes about their time together that only he'd know.

He was aware that he was blurring the lines between just benefits and true feelings, but he didn't know that he wasn't the only one feeling strongly about it. He never took her feelings into account.

Just when he thought he couldn't feel any worse about the situation, that realization dawned on him. Clementine Russell loved him and he threw her to the curb like a bag of trash. 

He's throwing on whatever clothes he sees first as he rushes from his door. 

He doesn't bother calling his driver as he treks block after block; he has one destination in mind, Clem's townhome. 

He's there before he knows it, his fist urgently banging against her door. 

He sees a light flicker on through the window, and then her door swings open.

She's in her nightshirt with her hair wrapped in a scarf, and her eyes are puffy from sleep. When she sees Lewis, she begins to swing the door back closed, but his hand pushes against it.

"No, Lewis." She snarls, swinging the door open again. She is looking at him like he's the devil himself. "I don't want to see you, I don't want to talk to you, I don't even want to think of you."

"Clem, please." He begs, "Please, I can't take it."

She pauses at the door, taking her time to study the man in front of her. He looks bad, simply put.

His eyes are bloodshot and droopy with bags, his braids are disheveled and clearly in need of a touch-up, and he just looks all around miserable.

She almost gives in until she thinks back to the last eight months where she had been miserable herself. She smacks her teeth swinging the door closed until she hears Lewis shout out three words that take her back to when the roads got foggy, Cannes. When she realized the difference in how she actually felt for Lewis.

"I love you."

She peels the door back open and stares at him intensely. "What did you say?"

He looks like he's watched his whole world get taken away from him as he repeats himself, "I love you. Don't shut the door, please."

"It's not fair, Lewis." She fumes.

"I know." He whispers, and his voice cracks.

"You don't get to do this to me." Clem snapped. "You can't just make me feel things for you and then push me away. You can't make me love you and then hurt me and tell me you love me when it's too late."

"I'm sorry."

"Sorry, isn't enough." She hissed angrily, approaching him and poking his chest. 

He reaches up and grabs her hand, holding it close to his chest. She feels him shudder underneath her touch, and his body begins to shake.

"Clem, I'm sorry." his voice is hoarse and thick as he peers down at her, and she cracks when she feels a teardrop against their connected hands. "I'm sorry."

Her forehead drops against his chest, and he wraps his arms around her. "You didn't deserve that; I should have just told you; I was scared; you broke all of my walls, Clem; I didn't know what to do. I didn't want to hurt you in the end."

"But you did, " she cries.

"I know, I did; I was scared of commitment, was scared I would ruin us further down the line." He presses a kiss to the top of her head, "I'm not scared of commitment, Clem, not anymore. I just don't want to be committed if it's not to you."

"You don't mean that." Clem breathes. 

"I promise I do, Clem."

She steps back from him, letting his arms fall to his side. "You made me feel dirty."

He opens his mouth, and she puts up her hand, "Let me talk. I let you disrespect me, Lewis. I should be done with you. I should be over you. I don't care how much I feel for you; if you ever, and I mean ever, speak to me that way or treat me like I'm nothing ever again, all gracefulness is out of the fucking window."

"I understand." He breathes, "I will never, Clem, and I mean never treat you like that again."

It's ironic, the two of them standing infront of each other as the sky illuminates in yellow and orange hues. 

"It's six in the morning." Clem sighs.

"I couldn't stop thinking about you."

"I wasn't supposed to be here today; you almost missed me," Clem informs.

"I would've found you. Lost you once already. I didn't know how much I cherished what we had until I no longer had it. Until I lost it. I don't want to lose you forever, too."

"It's almost spring," Clem announces. 

"Gonna take you to that mountain, Clem." He promises, pulling her into his arms again.

"I've missed you so much. There were so many things I wanted to talk to you about. I missed talking to you." She admits and Lewis holds her tighter.

"I missed listening to you. Swear I did." 

"Are we still friends?"

"No, we're more than that. We should’ve never been friends. Always meant to be more." 

"I wrote an album about you." She sighs.

She feels Lewis hum against her. "It's beautiful."

"I talked so much shit about you, I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry for feeling Clem, I was a shit person to you." 

"My hair is blue." She announces, and he chuckles; there she was, his Clem talking his head off.

"Starting over, right?"

"Yeah, starting over."

Although they weren't laying in bed on their backs hands connected and staring through the ceiling like it was their sky. Things felt familiar to the two as the sun rose and light beamed around them.

Lewis was her sunset, the beauty that comes after a hard and blaring day. To him, she was the sunrise. After the darkness, it will always be light again. She was his light source, and he knew that now. He could never lose something that's always shining. 

"Thank you for showing up for me."

Not proofread

the album:

bad religion - frank ocean

in your hands - halle

i think- tyler, the creator

saturn- sza

broken is the man- jorja smith

everything is gonna be alright- infinity song

everything- kehlani

mine- beyonce ft drake

poison- beyonce

are we still friends- tyler, the creator

eternal sunshine- jhene aiko

<3