#~~what’s her face doesn’t matter here~~

[sleepyhoon]

TWO MOONS - L.HS

pairing. plug!heeseung x reader

genre. smut, 18+ content, one shot, drabble. MDNI!

word count. 4k+

warnings. drug & alcohol consumption, partying, swearing, sex while intoxicated, short smut [ dry humping, multiple orgasms, oral (f. receiving), fingering ]

synopsis. based off of this hard thought! plug!heeseung who likes you so much that he's convinced himself that you're kinda evil.

a/n. sorry this took so long lol hope u enjoy regardless :) no part 2 so plss dont request it but maybe some drabbles!! also not fully proofread so pls disregard any typos or grammatical errors hehe

Never in his life did Heeseung predict he’d be getting bitched around by a girl arguably much shorter, physically weaker, and far less intimidating than him. And yet here he was, shirtless in his kitchen at two in the morning on his third attempt of baking edibles all because you were too scared to smoke a little weed. 

Fucking ridiculous.

It’s his own fault, really, he should’ve known that innocent, good girl persona you put on was all an act you use to control people – specifically men. Stirring the dessert batter in the mixing bowl, Heeseung shakes his head at the memory of you tilting your head and batting your eyelashes at him as you spoke, your perfectly manicured nails – that you probably got some desperate bitchboy to pay for – tracing and lightly scratching his bicep.

“So,” you started, dragging out the ‘o’, “how much do you charge for edibles?”

Heeseung shakes his head, tracing the rim of his half-empty red solo cup as he responds, “Edibles aren’t my forte. You don’t smoke?”

“Not my forte,” you say in a mocking tone, making Heeseung chuckle. “It’s just too much, you know? The smell, how quick it kicks in…not for me. But, uh, if you don’t make them I’ll stop wasting your time, then.” You give Heeseung a friendly pat on the shoulder before turning on your heels, fully prepared to disappear back into the party and find someone who actually meets your needs.

“Wait!” Heeseung stops you, tugging on your arm until you’re back to facing him. He can’t fucking believe this bullshit manipulation tactic you’re using on him is actually working, he’s literally pulling on your arm like a child so you won’t leave him.

You raise a brow at him as you wait for Heeseung to continue, taking note of his sudden nervousness, “Yeah?”

“Uh…are you into, like, brownies? Or…”

The smirk you gave in response said enough, you’ve got him exactly where you want him.

He’d spent the next few hours browsing the aisles of Target, checking his phone every so often and checking off each ingredient as he tossed them into the bright red shopping cart. To make matters worse, you hadn’t even requested normal brownies, you wanted some shit he’d hardly ever heard of before: blondies. 

It was bad enough that Heeseung already couldn’t bake for shit, and here you were demanding he’d make something he’d never even tasted before; you really are a master manipulator.

His third and final attempt at baking the blondies were a success, his three roommates taste-testing the fresh batch as a final confirmation.

“I can’t even taste it,” Jake says, his brows shooting up in delight, “you sure you’re not forgetting the main ingredient?”

“That’s the whole point,” Heeseung explains, cutting the remaining batch into neat squares, “YN doesn’t want the taste to be too strong, she likes when it’s more subtle and takes awhile to kick in.”

“Are you her wife or her plug?” Sunghoon jokes from his spot on the couch, taking a small bite of his own blondie.

“Neither,” Jay inserts himself into the conversation, taking a seat next to Sunghoon, “I’m sure he wants to be both, though.”

“Fuck off,” Heeseung snaps, momentarily narrowing his eyes at his roommates. “We just met, I’m just trying to get to know her.” He sets the knife down, reaching into the wooden cabinet to retrieve ziplock bags.

“You’re already her bitch, what else is there to know?” Sunghoon half-jokes, resting his feet on the ottoman.

“I am not her bitch.”

He totally is, if the way he’s hurrying to send you a picture of the freshly made blondies is anything to go by.

Heeseung * 2:47 AM

[Attachment: 1 Image] Yooo

YN * 9:06 AM

omggggg  ur the fucking best how much??

You didn’t respond until the following morning, causing Heeseung to nearly jump out of his skin once he woke up to your texts. He turns on his side, elbow propped up against the mattress as he formulates a response.

Heeseung * 10:31 AM

1 for 10 or 2 for 15. venmo or cashapp But lmk if you want more 

YN * 10:40 AM

no cash? :(

Heeseung’s about to go on a long winded explanation about how money transferring apps are quicker and more convenient than accepting cash when you interrupt him by sending a photo.

YN * 10:41 AM 

[Attachment: 1 Image] plsssss i don’t trust cashapp and ive been having issues w my venmo acc :(

It’s a photo of the bottom half of your face, lips formed into a cute pout with your camera angled low enough to show off your cleavage. You weren’t even trying to be discreet, setting your forearm underneath your chest to make your boobs sit higher, the cheetah print material of your bra peeking out from under your too-small tank top.

Heeseung swallows hard, staring down at the photo with his pupils blown wide as his trembling fingers type out a response.

Heeseung * 10:50 AM

Actually you know what don’t even worry about it lmao Consider it a gift When r u free for pickup Or i can bring to u Either or is fine lol

YN * 10:59 AM

omg :o are u sure?  don’t want u to lose out on money >.<

Heeseung * 11:11 AM

It’s fine dw about me baby U picking up? Or want me to drop off On campus is too risky

YN * 11:12 AM

thank u hee!!!!!!! im done with classes around 4:30 i’ll pick up around then if that works also u responded at 11:11…angel number u must be my angel :o

There you go again with your subtle manipulation tactics that Heeseung swears won’t work on him. If there really is angel out of the two of you, it definitely wouldn’t be you, but Heeseung’s not too sure he’d be considered one either. After all, in the twelve minutes it took him to respond to your message, he spent ten of them fucking into his fist as he stared at the photo you sent.

His mind conjured up countless scenarios; leaving hickeys and bite marks across your chest, slipping his dick between your tits as you held them together for him, cumming all over them, fucking anything. Desperate wasn’t even the word.

Heeseung * 11:13 AM

Must be :)

After a month and a half of being your personal baker slash bitchboy, Heeseung really is convinced that you’re using him, yet he doesn’t seem to mind. If anything he’s grateful, fully aware that if it weren’t for him being your plug, the two of you likely never would’ve crossed paths despite attending the same universities.

There wasn’t an ounce of school spirit in his body, so he had little to no urgency to attend any of the sporting events you cheered at or one of the many school-sponsored events you were required to attend. Meeting you at that party not too long ago had been his first encounter with you ever, and you clearly left him with a great first impression on him.

Since that night, he’s found himself conjuring up a new batch of edibles for you every week; brownies, cupcakes, cereal bars, whatever the fuck you wanted, and half the time he’d do it for free if it meant he got to give it to you in person.

He still hasn’t convinced you to actually smoke, though, but maybe it’s for the best. The mere thought of getting high with you and how you’d stare him down with half-lidded eyes was enough to make his dick hard — in fact, it already has. Several times.

Enough time has passed to the point where it’s obvious to everyone, yourself included, that Heeseung has genuine feelings for you that go beyond a physical and sexual attraction. Sure, he’s still convinced that you’re a little bit evil and definitely manipulative, but he considers it part of the fun. He’s also deluded himself into having the “I can fix her” mindset that he’s been using to justify his actions of ignoring your red flags.

However, even if he can’t “fix” you, it wouldn’t be a huge loss. Red is his favorite color, after all.

“You sound…crazy, and she sounds crazier,” Jake leans against the kitchen counter, raising a concerned brow at Heeseung as he takes a sip of his drink.

“I’m not crazy,” Heeseung corrects, “and YN is…I don’t know, honestly. Leave her alone, dipshit.”

Jake throws a hand up in defense, glaring when a fellow partygoer accidentally bumps into him, nearly causing him to spill his drink. “Rather be a dipshit than a bitchboy.” He mutters loud enough for Heeseung to hear before groaning, “Wow, speak of the devil.”

Heeseung turns, following Jake’s line of sight until he spots you walking through the front door. Stunning as always, your khaki mini skirt and black halter top fitting as if they were custom designed for you and only you.

Despite extending you an invitation to Sunghoon’s birthday party, Heeseung was fairly certain you wouldn’t show up tonight, assuming you’d be consumed with cheer practice or one of your many extracurricular activities to attend. Yet, here you were, a wicked grin on your face as you made eye contact with Heeseung.

He gulps in return, eyes wide as he watches you walk over to him and Jake.

You stand beside Heeseung, shooting him a quick smile before directing your attention to Jake, “Sunghoon! Happy birthday, king!”

Jake side-eyes you, briefly glancing at Heeseung before responding, “I’m not…you know what? Nevermind, thanks.” He takes this as an opportunity to exit the conversation, giving Heeseung a light pat on the shoulder as he leaves.

“Didn’t think you’d be here.” Heeseung comments, leaning against the kitchen countertop.

You shrug, “Wasn’t doing anything else, figured it wouldn’t hurt to stop by for a little. Besides, I wanted to see you.”

“Yeah?” Heeseung asks, tongue darting out to lick his lips.

“Yeah,” you respond, taking a step closer and resting your hand on his bicep, “got anything for me?”

Fuck, Heeseung knew he should’ve made another batch of brownies or some shit. He seriously hadn’t been expecting you to show up tonight, otherwise he would’ve been prepared.

He shakes his head, “Not this time, you should’ve told me you were coming; I would’ve made something.”

You groan, momentarily tilting your head back, “I just wanted to surprise you.”

“Consider me surprised,” his hand lands on your waist, pulling your body until your flush against him, “why won’t you just smoke with me?”

You grimace, shaking your head in response.

Heeseung rolls his eyes, “Just once? I know your first time wasn’t that great, but, I really think you’d like it if you tried again.”

“I don’t know, Hee…”

“Tell you what,” Heeseung starts, clearing his throat, “smoke with me just this once, and your next few purchases are on me.”

It isn’t much of an offer considering most of the shit he gave you was either free or already extremely discounted, but your eyes light up regardless. “Really?”

Heeseung nods, “I swear.”

You think it over for a moment, the pros instantly outweigh the cons and lead you to accept Heeseung’s desperate offer. 

A few minutes later, you find yourself in a comfortable lounge chair with Heeseung in his backyard, grateful that the remaining partygoers opted to stay indoors, giving you privacy and alone time with him.

You’re sitting sideways on his lap, trying your best to ignore the feeling of his dick pressing right against your ass, neatly rolled blunt in one hand as he uses the other to fish a lighter from his pocket. “You’re nervous,” he comments.

You shake your head, “I’m not.”

“You are, I feel you shaking.”

“I’m fine, just kinda cold. Go on.”

Heeseung studies you for a moment, eye contact strong and intimidating as ever as he brings the blunt to his parted lips. You watch carefully as he brings the lighter towards the tip, focusing entirely too much on the concentrated look on his face as he lights it. Slowly, he begins to rotate it as the end continues to burn, taking a few small puffs here and there.

Satisfied with his creation, Heeseung takes a long, slow drag, inhaling the smoke into his lungs before titling his head away to exhale.

“Your turn,” he says, offering you the blunt.

You hesitantly stare down at it before accepting; it was intimidating to say the least, the scent alone strong enough to make your head hurt. Heeseung watches you patiently, eyes darting between your lips and the blunt in silence.

Deciding you need a little bit of encouragement, he brings his thumb to your lips, parting them slightly as his free-hand wraps around your wrist, “You’ll be fine, trust me.” 

Under the guidance of his calloused hand, you finally bring the blunt up to your lips and briefly inhale before immediately exhaling.

Heeseung chuckles, shaking his head, “How’d that feel?”

You ponder for a moment, passing the blunt back to Heeseung, “I don’t feel anything. Literally nothing.”

“I mean, yeah, you didn’t even inhale it.”

You roll your eyes, “Why are there so many steps? This is why I prefer edibles.”

“I’m just showing you that you have other options, babe.”

“Yeah, well I’m sticking to my baked goods. You can have the rest of that, I don’t want anymore.”

Heeseung’s well aware that you’re a woman of your word, and the chances of you ever smoking again were a definite zero, so trying to get you to change your mind was pointless. However, there is one thing that may just work on you.

“Mind if I try something?”

You perk up, “Try what?”

“I do all the work but you still get high.”

You raise a brow, “That’s possible?”

He nods, “All you’d have to do is take deep breaths.”

Taking a deep breath, you accept Heeseung’s offer with a sigh, resting a hand on his shoulder as you adjust yourself on his lap. “Fine.”

Here goes nothing.

He guides the blunt back to his lips, taking a long drag as he holds the smoke in his mouth. He tilts his head upward towards you, taking your chin in his hand, signaling for you to part your lips. You follow his command and part your lips open, just enough for Heeseung to close the distance and allow the smoke into your mouth, his lips barely brushing against yours in the process.

You take in a deep breath, eyes closed shut and inhale the smoke, careful not to exhale too quickly and have a repeat of your previous attempt.

“How was that?” Heeseung asks, taking note of your sudden silence.

Truthfully, it wasn’t bad. The smell is still too strong for your liking and requires much more effort than biting off a piece of dessert and calling it a day, but it wasn’t bad. You’re certain that Heeseung shotgunning it into your mouth only added to the experience.

“Not bad,” you admit, “probably because you did all the work.”

He chuckles at that, “I’ll always take care of you, remember that.”

Heeseung is having the time of his life, thoroughly convinced that he finally has some power over you. Here you were sitting on his lap in his backyard letting him blow smoke into your mouth. Sure, it may have taken a lot of convincing and begging on his end to get to this point, but none of that matters; baby steps are still movement.

As if the night couldn’t have gotten any better, you’re asking Heeseung to shotgun more smoke into your mouth over and over. He’s careful to maintain a calm and nonchalant demeanor as he does so, not wanting to come off as too eager out of fear of scaring you away. Or even worse, giving you back that power you have over him.

On the fifth time, you swipe your tongue across Heeseung’s bottom lip when he passes the smoke into your mouth, a low groan escaping from him in the process. He’s fully hard in his jeans by now, and there’s no way you can’t feel his dick pressing right into you. Despite the cold weather, your entire body feels warm all over, Heeseung only adding to the pleasure.

You should’ve taken Heeseung a bit more seriously when he said you’d still get high from this; after a few minutes, your limbs were already starting to feel lighter and weaker. A delicate, cloud-like haze fills your head; your vision blurs slightly and it takes a few minutes for you to fully relax.

Heeseung, attentive as ever, remains silent and still has he watches you; primarily due to the fact that you squirming around on his lap is only adding to the uncomfortable tightness in his jeans. One wrong move, and he’d surely be cumming in his boxers.

You rest your forehead against Heeseung, pressing a firm hand against his chest when he moves to blow more smoke into your mouth. He hums, staring up at with a concerned look on his face.

You close your eyes, mumbling, “Heeseung…”

He hums again in response, still holding the smoke in his mouth.

You open your eyes briefly before closing them again, balling up the collar of his shirt in your fist as you lean down to press your lips against his. He opens his mouth on instinct, as if it were a second nature, parting his lips slightly and exhaling the smoke into your mouth once again.

Heeseung absentmindedly sets the blunt down, his hands moving to your waist to pull you closer to him until your tits are pressed right up against his chest. He groans into your mouth at the feelings, tilting his head to allow himself further into your mouth. 

You cup his face in your hands, hips moving forward as you slowly begin to grind yourself against him. “Fuck,” he moans in a low voice, “keep doing that.”

You grind down harsher this time, capturing his moan in your mouth in the process. With each movement of your hips, a shiver descends down your spine at the friction; Heeseung is painfully hard, and from what you could feel, he was definitely packing. Bigger than what you would’ve expected.

It all feels too good; you grinding against him, the state of his high, your tongue in his mouth. It’s all so overwhelmingly euphoric that Heeseung hardly realizes how close he is to literally cumming in his boxers.

His body was always overly sensitive whenever he got high, and often avoided any sort of intimacy that involved another person due to how embarrassingly quick he would finish, and tonight doesn't seem to be any different. What makes matters worse is the fact that Heeseung was already desperately attracted to you and had been dreaming of this moment since he’d first met you.

He pulls away quickly, cursing under his breath, “YN, h-hold on,” he stutters, “slow down, please.”

You don’t listen; in fact, you can barely even hear him with how caught up you were in your own head. “Hmm? Say that again?”

“S-slow – ah, fuck – slow down for a sec, baby.”

His grip on your waist tightens, and despite the urgency in his tone of wanting you to slow down, he makes no effort to still your hips move you off of him. Fuck it, it is what it is.

“Why?” You question, tilting your head, but you’re a few seconds too late.

Heeseung’s entire body shivers, hips jolting upwards as he comes on himself, making a mess of his boxers. While that alone was definitely embarrassing, Heeseung is more annoyed over the fact that you’ve regained your power over him. His priorities were definitely fucked, but he didn’t even care; he could clean himself up later, but the damage to his ego would take longer to repair.

Your hands fly to your mouth in shock, eyes widening as you process what’s just happened, “Oh, Heeseung…” you mumble into the palm of your hands.

He throws his head back, eyes squeezed shut as he runs a hand down his face, “You’ve gotta be fuckin’ kidding.”

“It’s okay! It happens! No big deal!” You try to reassure him, but it goes in one ear and out the other.

Sure it happens and maybe it isn’t a big deal, but it is for Heeseung. He’s not the type to bust a nut over someone squirming around in his lap for ten minutes, this shit was fucking insanity.

“I’m seriously not like this, I’m just overly-sensitive when I’m high. I swear, I-”

“It’s fine, Heeseung,” you interrupt, standing from his lap, “if anything, I’m flattered! Why don’t you, uh, get cleaned up and I’ll see you later?”

“YN, come on, don’t do this.” He pleads, following you and you make your way towards the sliding door. 

“I told you, it’s fine! I’m not like,” you pause, opening the door with a loud grunt, “mad or weirded out or anything.”

You slip back into the living room, Heeseung hot on your tail with every step. “Let me make it up to you!”

You sigh, “Honestly, I don’t think you have it in you to do that right now.”

“I do! Just let me, please.”

“Heeseung, please drop it. I said it’s fine.”

“It’s not fine, at least let me eat you out or something!”

“Heeseung!” Your eyes widen at his lewd, shameless offer, “Lower your voice! We’re in a fucking party surrounded by people!”

He smacks his teeth, “I don’t care. Please, YN.”

“You don’t have to make it up to me, you do not owe me anything.”

A beat of silence passes, then he says, “Then do it for me. Please.”

Even though Heeseung was the one literally begging to go down for you, there is a possibility of him having some sort of power over you; or maybe you just have a soft spot for him. Either way, you end up lying in his bed twenty minutes later, skirt bunched up around your waist as Heeseung’s wet tongue circles your clit, desperate attempt at coaxing a second orgasm from you.

He hadn’t even realized he’d grown hard again just from eating you out, and would likely end up cuuming in his boxers again just from doing this.

“Fuck,” he moans into your folds, pulling away slightly to pepper kisses on your inner thighs, “been waiting so fucking long for this.”

“Yeah?” You question, your grip on Heeseung’s hair tightening.

This earns a low groan from him as he nods against your skin, “You have no idea.”

Deciding he’s spent enough time away from your cunt, his lips make their way back onto you; his tongue falls flat against you, dragging your wetness upwards towards your swollen clit before wrapping his lips around the sensitive bud.

Your body shivers, a beam of sweat dripping down your forehead as your second orgasm approaches. You’ve been eaten out before, countless times, but never like this. It was almost as if Heeseung was doing it for his own pleasure rather than your.

He teases your entrance with his finger before sliding two of them in with ease, curling them upwards and immediately hitting the spot you needed him the most.

“H-Heeseung…hold on…”

He hums, but he’s not really listening, too occupied with kitten-licking your clit and pumping his fingers in and out of you. The knot in your stomach finally snaps and you’re gushing against his hands and mouth, Heeseung only takes this as a sign to continue lapping at your cunt. You have to literally grab him by the hair and drag him away from you.

He stares up at you, pupils blown wide and his chin coated in your juices, but he definitely looks happy. “What?” he asks.

You struggle to catch your breath, “You’re hard again?”

He looks down at his crotch momentarily before shrugging, “I guess.”

“You…don’t you wanna do something about that?”

His eyes flash down to your cunt for a split second, “It can wait.”

You scoff, “Well, I need a minute.”

Heeseung nods in agreement, impatiently drumming his fingers on his bed as you flop against his mattress. “Ready?” He asks once a minute has passed.

“No.”

He sighs, then sighs again, and again and again until you let out a frustrated groan. “Go get me a glass of fucking water.”

“Okay!” He shouts while standing, exiting the bedroom in a hurry. Maybe you really do treat him like a bitchboy, but he doesn’t seem to mind.

[shiimmer]

cherry kiss

sevika x f!stripper!reader

warnings! pole dancing (if that can be taken as a warning), public sex(??), fingering, orgasm denial, pussy slapping, slight choking, cunnilingus, masturbating, hair pulling, dom!sevika, sub!reader, sevika is a bit mean but we love it, she gets called ma’am once

no mentions of y/n, but reader is called by her stage name cherry

word count: 3.4k words (i got a little too passionate…)

ৎ୭ summary: sevika found herself in a strip club, only to end up getting a lot more than a simple lap dance.

note: wrote smut for the first time in years, and idk how to feel. excuse me if this is absolutely shit, i was sleep deprived every time i was writing this. sorry for any errors, english isn’t my first language. not proofread!!

it isn’t exactly the place sevika usually finds herself in. strip clubs are not her thing. she prefers action over mere watching, but today just wasn’t it. not even a good lay in babette’s brothel can save her sour mood, which is more than surprising even for her. she doesn’t even know why she’s here. she just needs a distraction, and she knows the quietness of her place would only deepen her stress, which is something she really does not want right now, no matter how well she can handle it.

so here she is, in a strip club, surrounded by cheap smelling perfume, neon signs casting some light around the dimly lit place. boasting laughter, cheers and all sorts of other noises she’d rather block out from men around her fill her ears as they watch women dancing on the stage and sway around the pole. sevika, however, is completely silent. almost eerily so.

she just watches. glares, more like as she sits in the booth, awaiting another stripper nicknamed cherry, as the announcer says. ‘silly choice of a name,’ she thinks. her leg bounces under the table, swirling the whisky she just took a sip of on her tongue as the curtain spreads open, revealing you, and her body goes still. it’s like a spell, and sevika isn’t quite sure what has her so mesmerized the second you appear on that long, runway-like stage, neon lights shining on your almost naked body, the way they enhance the confident aura you give out. her grey eyes are focused solely on you, almost as if she’s judging your every movement. from the sway of your hips, to the subtle bounce of your breasts in that skimpy red bra as you stride toward the pole and your fingers wrap around the metal one by one.

a low hum rumbles in the back of her throat, a mixture of curiosity and appreciation while watching you perform. you clearly know what you’re doing, that sevika can see, and it works. even on her. she’d rather die than admit it out loud to anyone, but you have your charm to you and she likes it.

it’s like she’s not even blinking, at least that’s how it feels to you. you notice the woman’s gaze the second you approach the pole, and how it never moves away, not even when she takes a sip of her whisky. your coworkers shared their experience whenever they left the stage, saying how sevika’s glare caused them to nearly mess up their performance. in all honesty, it had made you nervous yourself while you waited for your own turn. dancing before a woman of such power, it’s nothing like dancing for all those nobodies who salivate over a sliver of skin shown. but as you had taken a first step on that stage, with your gaze immediately falling on her, all of that vanishes into something else, something you just can’t explain with words.

you give it your all, making sure to give her the show she never forgets and possibly needs, based on the worn out look she wears on her face. your body moves to the rhythm of the same song you always have to dance to. the song you’re normally so sick of, now gives you a rush. you dance with newfound passion, happy to show off your skills and body to silco’s number two. you play with her, yet you give her the most of you. fingertips lingering on your skin a second longer as you caress your body, from your hips to your breasts. looking over your shoulder when you’re turned towards the pole, the corners of your lips twitching up when you bend forward, showing off your thong-clad rear. it’s all for her, and you are absolutely enjoying the attention.

the endless cheering and lewd comments from men are fully blocked in your mind, your goal as clear as piltover’s sky. you want to make this woman watch you until the very end, to have her gaze on you and you only.

and oh, does it work. sevika’s gaze does not move away from you even when your performance ends and you go back backstage, and you’re certain her eyes are focused on your thighs as you walk. the euphoria you feel after this dance was nothing you’ve ever experienced. for the first time since working here, you’re almost disappointed that you had to leave the stage. your theme song that usually drags on suddenly felt short. you want to give her more of you, all of you.

you sulk in your seat, fixing up your neatly done makeup. there isn’t any need to fix it, you just want to get your mind off of the woman, but it’s completely useless. her grey eyes pollute your brain, and you can still see them when you close your eyes. never in your life were you this desperate for someone, it’s almost embarrassing. you sigh and put the makeup brush done, pursing your lips together. you wonder if you’ll see her again, if you’ll get to dance for her just like you had just a moment ago. you would give her more than just a plain dance show, so much more.

your thoughts get abruptly interrupted by your boss, her voice loud and demanding as she calls out to you. all you can do is hold back an eye roll and get up from the chair, making her way over to her with a look that can only be described as ‘i don’t get paid enough for this.’

“you’re expected in the vip salon,” she bites, her wrinkles crinkling under that heavy layer of makeup. “it’s a very important guest. don’t fuck it up.”

she taps your chest with her point finger, long nail stabbing your skin, and leaves the backstage. you watch her arrogant stomp, scoffing under your breath as soon as she’s far enough from you to not hear it. she calls every guest important, even the scummiest man in zaun is a ‘special guest.’ you know why she says it, she wants you to do your best, to not embarrass her brand, but it quickly gets annoying than encouraging.

your heels thump against the floor as you walk slowly to the salon, your mind running at full speed. you can only hope it’s sevika, but a part of you doubts it. there is no way she liked your performance so much she’d pay for private dance, right?

oh, how wrong you were.

the second you open the fluffy curtain, you’re met with those same steel eyes, belonging to none other than sevika. you eye her up and down, taking in the way she sits on the couch, her muscular thighs spread open and her exposed arm thrown over the backrest. you linger on the bare part of her lower stomach, abs peeking out of the crop top and v-line disappearing under the waistband of her pants. it’s a downright sinful sight, almost picture worthy.

“i didn’t pay for you to just stand there, did i?” her deep voice catches you off guard, and your eyes travel back up to her face. she’s smirking at you, fully aware of your gawking.

you can only pray to janna to survive this dance, secluded in a small room with this dangerously sexy woman.

“right. sorry,” you give her a small apologetic grin while walking to the small music box in the corner to tune in a song.

your hands are shaking a little, but it’s hardly nervousness. it’s excitement, anticipation, maybe even a hint of arousal. your blood is running hot, and you can feel a kick of energy, as if dosed on shimmer. none of your customers made you feel this way, but her.

your hands are already wrapped around the silver pole with your back facing her, ready to move to the music until her voice echoed in your ears.

“come here.”

your whole body stiffens, the music blocked out in your mind. being a stripper for years, never had you actually danced in front of a client. it’s sort of a rule for you; just watch but no touch, but when it comes to sevika, you are more than ready to forget it all just to please her. you pull yourself away from the pole and walk up to her, hands running over your sides. her eyes never leave your face and, by the gods, shivers run down your spine in waves, running all the way between your legs.

three more steps, and you finally stand between her spread thighs, and only now that you stand so close you notice just how damn thick they are. she looked better up close, no art or photo of her could do her justice, that you are sure of. a smirk makes its way on sevika’s lips as she watches your hips sway, your fingertips tap and stroke your skin. she is so into it, her hand is practically itching to just grab you by the waist and drag you down on her thigh.

it’s as if your minds link for a moment, because your smaller hand finds hers, guiding it to your stomach. sevika doesn’t react, at least not visibly, though you can’t say that about yourself. the second her rough, calloused palm runs over your abdomen to your hip, your body reacts on its own, almost like it isn’t even connected to your brain. she pulls you down on her leg, chuckling under her breath as your breath hitches. she has you where she wants you, and you can only comply to her every wish.

“babette’s is a few blocks away, y’know?” you mutter breathlessly, and you can only curse yourself out for how affected you are by her mere presence. it’s embarrassing, humiliating even, but you are oh so close to not give a single fuck. “someone can catch us here.”

sevika chuckles once more, liking your slightly mouthy attitude. it makes her want to put you in your place, take out her bad mood on you in all the ways she can. “by the way you’re reacting, i doubt you even give a damn,” her voice fills your ears, laced with a playful biting tone. “cherry.”

you suddenly feel coldness of a metal on your arm, pointy ridges of metal fingers digging into the flesh. she moves you around like a rag doll, like you weight nothing to her, until you straddle both of her legs and your thighs are spread apart. “tell me, what kind of services can you offer for extra coin?” she teases you, her thick fingers toying and pulling on the string of your thongs, making it snap back to your skin. “besides a little lap dance.”

the air is thick with tension, pushing down on your shoulders. it’s an intense, sexual sensation, one you can barely get enough of. you feel as if you are getting dragged by the ankle into the deep pit of unbridled lust, and it bubbles deep in your belly. you crave her.

you yearn for her.

“for you? anything,” you muster up the last bits of your attitude and smirk at her, your hand coming up to her right shoulder to steady yourself. “free of charge.”

it’s all sevika needs, and in a matter of seconds, she pounces on you, her lips running along your pulse. she doesn’t kiss, not yet. she merely toys with you, shapes you to her liking until you are but a mess. every touch of hers has a purpose, and unlike in a brothel, she is taking her sweet damn time. she’s frustrating herself by this point, all of the shit she had to deal with were simmering under the lid and ready to leak out, but something in her told her to utterly wreck you.

the music continues to play, silencing every small noise that escapes from your mouth. her fingers start to travel lower, following the fabric of the lace until the fingertips hover just above your clothed clit. she doesn’t even brush over it, yet you can feel your cunt clench around nothing. you bit on your bottom lip as sevika’s fingers linger on your thong, cheap cherry taste of your lipstick hitting your tongue.

“means that i can do this, right?” she asks into your skin, finally putting pressure on your clit. you jump in her lap, the sudden touch making you flinch away.

sevika doesn’t let you move away. she only chuckles when her mechanical arm goes down to your hip, pinning you to her lap like you are her trophy. there is no way she’s letting you go now, she wants to see you tremble.

your mind is hazy, and so foggy you can barely think of anything other than her, and the feeling of her fingers circling over your sensitive clit.

“do anything you want. i’m here to give you a show, aren’t i?” you try to keep your bravado, but it collapses like a house of cards the second her hand slips under the fabric, touching your cunt.

“fuck, you’re wet,” she laughs at you, pulling away from the crook of your neck to look into your eyes. “are you that desperate, or what?”

you cry out in pleasure as an answer, which is all she needs. her fingers tease your clit, circling it, pinching it between her thumb and point finger, which only makes you wetter for her. it’s as if you’ve never had a good fuck in your life, and she is there to fix that.

sevika continues to tease you for a few lingering seconds, simply enjoying the sight of you crumbling beneath her touch, until she moves lower and leaves your swollen bundle of nerves twitching, yearning for contact. she doesn’t waste time to slip not one, but two of her fingers into your drenched hole, stretching it out.

“oh fuck,” you groan out once you feel her fingers move, pumping into you in a rough, but slow pace.

she keeps them curled just right, brushing over that sweet spot that makes your back arch and your eyes roll back. it’s clear that she is experienced, because she knows just how to touch you to keep you shivering in her lap. you drop your head to look at her hand moving between your legs, but sevika doesn’t allow you that for long.

her prosthetic hand shoots up to your neck, cocking your head upwards to keep you from looking away. she only applies little pressure to your throat, not hard enough to choke you out, but rather a little warning.

“eyes on me, cherry,” she rasps out, her eyes so intense it sends shivers down your spine. “be a good girl.”

her voice has you clenching around her fingers, pathetic mewls of pleasure rolling out of your mouth. you have no choice but to keep your gaze on her, your sight blurry and slightly unfocused as sevika’s fingers continue to fuck your cunt. as much as she enjoys the sounds you’re making, your voice is slowly starting to get louder than the music that still plays in the background.

with the metal hand on your throat, she tugs you forward, crashing her lips on your in a bruising kiss to swallow the moans you’re letting out. she doesn’t give you a chance to let you dominate the kiss as her tongue slides into your mouth. she is in charge, and she’s letting you know it.

the taste of hard liquor and smoke hits your tongue, but you’re too deep in pleasure to cringe at the taste. in all honesty it turns you on even more. the sensation of her thick fingers, pumping in and out of your drenched pussy combined with her mouth on yours make you go crazy. you are so close, your orgasm just a few thrusts away.

the way your walls clench and unclench tells sevika that you’re about to cum, but where is the fun in giving you what you want so early. she pulls her fingers out, and when you try to whine in protest, she lands a few hard smacks on your cunt. you can feel the slaps even through the fabric of your lingerie, that’s how rough she is.

“not yet, cherry. i’m far from done with you,” she mumbles when she pulls away from the kiss, her lips glistening with the mixture of your and her saliva. she grins, reaching for one of many fluffy cushions and throwing it on the floor underneath you. “on your knees.”

she lets go of your throat, letting you sink down on the floor. your knees nuzzle into the softness of the pillow, hands falling on the buckle of her belt to undo it. sevika lifts her hips when you unbutton her pants, letting you pull them down along with her underwear. she pulls one leg out to spread her legs more, giving you space to get closer.

you don’t dive in right away. instead, you run your tongue over her thighs, all while looking up at her. it’s like your little revenge on her for teasing you before, and for not letting you cum. sevika grits her teeth, her nostrils flaring a little. a woman normally with patience of steel is suddenly a ticking bomb, ready to explode.

her real hand moves to your hair, grabbing a fistful of the strands. she doesn’t pull at it, but her grip is tight. “don’t test my patience. not today.”

the tone of her voice, authoritative and commanding gives you chills, your cunt once again clenching around nothing. your eyes wander over her body until it stops on the wet mess between her muscular legs, and that’s all it takes to convince you to give her what she wants.

“yes, ma’am,” you whisper, and sevika’s grip on your hair loosens just enough for you to move.

with one final glance at her face, you delve your tongue into her cunt, moaning at the taste of her. your nose nudges against her swollen clit, which makes her let out a deep moan. her whole expression falters as you eat her out, curses and noises escaping her mouth like a mantra, a sinful prayer.

“you’re good, cherry,” she praises you breathlessly, fingers combing through your hair. “you sure you – oh, fuck – didn’t choose a wrong profession?”

you don’t give her an answer, your mouth being too busy with her pussy to talk. you eat her like a woman starved, like she is your last meal. you can feel her slick staining your chin, but you can hardly care. you only have one goal in mind, and that’s to take her over the edge.

your own cunt throbs whenever she moans, or accidentally tugs at your hair when your tongue laps at her clit. you’re desperate for release, just as you are desperate for her. your hand slowly slides into your panties, chasing your orgasm as your fingers rub your clit.

sevika can see what you’re doing, but all she can think about is how well your mouth pleases her. she tries to compose herself, to last longer, but the burning sensation in the pit of her stomach is getting unbearable, the coil ready to snap at any moment. all she needs is one final push.

and you give it to her. your lips wrap around her clit, sucking on it, which is what sends sevika over the edge. she throws her head back and moans out loud, not even caring who might hear outside of the salon. she cums into your mouth, her thighs squeezing your head. your own orgasm follows right after, and you whimper into her cunt. your back arches, you can’t pull away nor can you catch a breath, not when her muscular thighs keep you in a lock. your whole lower face is buried in her cunt for a few seconds, and you have to tap on her thigh to let you go, your lungs begging for air.

she looks down at you and realization hits her, her legs spreading apart again to let you move. you both gasp for air when you pull away, pants filling the room. the music stopped playing a while ago, and it dawns on you that your time with her should’ve ended minutes ago. yet you find yourself unable to actually leave the salon, not when you have just silco’s second-in-command cum like that.

sevika, who is not in a better state than you, feels the same. she grins down at you, her hand caressing your hair with gentleness that’s almost uncharacteristic to her.

“you may be a stripper, cherry, but i think you just found yourself a regular.”

[chrisbesitos]

ballerina!reader and dealer!chris that finally make amends and ballerina reader is happy until her mom comes over and doesn’t like Chris not like it matter to her or Chris

Now, you and Chris are officially dating. He asked you a couple weeks ago, you're having wonderful days. The dealer guy who was always flirting with girls at parties and having sex with them, now he's not available anymore and has a pretty big on his finger. You're not the type of jealous girlfriend, but it's good to know the girls are not going to flirt with your boyfriend. He's only yours.

Laying on the couch with your legs intertwined, you and Chris are watching a silly romcom movie — your choice, of course — on the TV. You two are almost falling asleep under the comfortable fluff blanket, suddenly the sound of the doorbell makes you get up. You huff, climbing out of the couch, Chris now is waking up, clearly annoyed by someone who's in the door, interrupting their cozy afternoon.

You walk until the door in lazy steps, praying to be someone who mistakes the house. Your heart starts to race when you open the door and face your mother, your eyebrows frowned in confusion.

"What are you doing here?" You ask, your voice cracking by the weirdo feeling on your chest. The weirdo feeling is actually fear. The last time you saw your mother, you ruined your non-relationship with Chris, but now you're dating and you don't want to ruin everything again by the fear you feel of you mom.

"Is this the way to treat your mother, Y/N?" She says, stepping in without permission. The familiar voice makes Chris pay attention to what's happening, he remembers your mother's voice and what happened the last time you saw her. Chris lifts from the couch, walking towards you and putting himself behind your body, embracing your waist. "Uh, you. What are you doing with this boy?"

"He's my boyfriend." You say, taking sharp breaths, you were always a coward around your mother, but not today. You'll never let her treat Chris badly again. You hold Chris' hands, lifting your chin to show your courage, your mother narrows her eyes, clearly not approving your relationship, but you're already a grown woman.

"Boyfriend? You deserve better than this."

"Goddamn it, mom! Leave me alone, it's my life and not yours, can you let me live my life? I can't handle you anymore, Chris is my boyfriend and I don't fucking care if you don't like him, because I do! And if you don't agree with this, you can do this away from me." You say, pushing Chris' hands and pointing your finger in your mother's face. Her eyes widened in shock, she never expected you to say this for her, but she's deserving to hear this for a long time. "You can leave now, we don't want you here."

She left without saying a word, you hold your breath until Chris closes the door. He cups your face with his hands, admiring your glassy eyes, he smiles at you.

"Don't cry, babydoll. You're so brave, you face your mother." Chris says, brushing your cheek with his thumb. You nod in agreement, you embrace his neck with your arms and hide your face on the crook of his neck. "I'm so proud of you, doll."

"I was keeping this for a long time, now I feel better." You mumble, Chris rubs your back, walking back to the couch with you. He throws you gently on the couch, laying by your side after, he kisses your cheek. You feel loved by Chris.

"My brave girl."

tags ; @lizzymacdonald06 @lushjunkie @sweetreliever @watercolorskyy @ivysturnss @brianna-grace12 @blahbel668 @gabri3la-sturns @stvrnzcherries @unknvhx @pvssychicken @all4l0vee @i4longhairchris @sluttybitchformattsturniolo @sophand4n4 @sturniololetstrip2 @zayluvss @sturnsmia @sofieeeeex @ifwdominicfike @planettori @jetaimevous @leclecwifey16 @mattswifeyx @joclyn240 @voqueflms @pepsicola-pussy @sturnobsessedwh0re @chrissturnioloswifeee @sturniolossss @imonlyhereformattfluff @sturniolosluttt

masterlist. | taglist.

[deliciousangelfestival]

You're The One - 3

Summary: A daughter uncovers the wild, untold story of how her parents’ marriage began—and it’s way better than any romance movie she’s ever watched.

Character: Husband!Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader

Genre: Romance, Comedy

Words Count : 1,654

Chapter 1 , Chapter 2 , Chapter 3 , -

Main Masterlist || If you enjoy my work, please consider buying me a coffee on Ko-fi 🙏🏻

Thank you to everyone who has read this chapter. Leave a comment and Reblog, please. I'd love to hear your thoughts. ❤️

Bucky stopped the car abruptly in front of an outdoor gear shop, cutting the engine with a purposeful click. He turned to you, his intense blue eyes meeting your confused expression. “We’re stopping here.”

“What are you doing?” you asked, shifting uncomfortably in your seat, your hands smoothing the delicate fabric of your wedding dress.

“You need to change your clothes,” he said, his voice calm but firm.

You crossed your arms defiantly, leaning back into the car seat. “No.”

He exhaled, pinching the bridge of his nose as if summoning patience. “Do you really want to go skydiving in that dress?”

You looked down at the intricate gown you wore—a masterpiece of lace and silk, designed by a famous designer and stitched by twenty skilled hands. It was beautiful, the one thing about this doomed wedding you truly appreciated. “This dress is stunning.”

“It is,” Bucky agreed, stepping out of the car with a smooth, deliberate motion. He shut the door with a firm thud and walked around to your side. His leather boots crunched against the gravel as he moved. “But it doesn’t say anything about you.”

Your brow furrowed as he opened your door. He leaned down slightly, his posture commanding but his tone gentle. “The dress owns you, not the other way around.” He extended his hand.

You hesitated, your fingers brushing against his hand before accepting his help. His grip was warm and steady as he helped you out of the car.

Together, you walked into the shop. The heavy door creaked as it swung open, and a bell jingled above. Heads turned immediately. Customers and employees froze mid-motion, their eyes widening at the sight of you in your elaborate wedding gown.

You felt the weight of their stares, instinctively clutching the skirt of your dress. Your cheeks flushed, but Bucky walked confidently ahead, completely unbothered. His broad shoulders cut through the crowd as he scanned the racks with a laser focus.

“Here.” He plucked a practical outfit from the racks and handed it to you with a decisive motion. “Put this on.”

You held the outfit at arm’s length, giving it a skeptical once-over. “Who’s paying for this?” you asked, raising an eyebrow. “I didn’t bring my wallet—or anything, for that matter.”

“Me,” he said simply, adding a pair of sturdy shoes to your pile without even checking the price tag.

Your brows shot up in disbelief. “Since when are you so generous? The Bucky I know pinches pennies.”

His lips curved into a small smirk, a glint of amusement in his eyes. “I’m rich,” he said, pointing to himself.

“You?” You folded your arms, tilting your head at him, clearly unconvinced.

“Yes, me,” he replied, leaning closer until his face was inches from yours. His voice dropped to a low murmur. “Now go change. We’re on a tight schedule.”

He stepped back and gestured toward the fitting rooms. You sighed dramatically but did as he asked. Inside the small, dimly lit room, you carefully slipped out of the wedding dress, taking your time to fold it neatly. Despite everything, you still hoped to return it. The new outfit fit perfectly, even the shoes, though you wondered how he’d known your size so precisely.

When you stepped out, Bucky was waiting, leaning casually against a rack of jackets. His eyes lit up as he saw you, and he gave you a playful double thumbs-up. “Much better,” he said, his voice warm.

You hugged the wedding dress to your chest. “What should I do with this? I want to return it.”

“Give it to me,” he said, stepping forward. His gloved hand brushed yours as he took the dress. “I’ll have someone deliver it to the church. Trust me.”

You hesitated, your fingers lingering on the fabric before letting it go. “Okay,” you said, though doubt flickered in your eyes.

“Now go pick out a jacket,” he said, his tone lighter as he nudged you gently toward another section of the store.

As you walked away, Bucky’s smile faded. He pulled out his phone and murmured something low and quick. Minutes later, a man appeared, dressed in an unassuming black jacket. Bucky handed him the wedding dress without a word. The man gave a curt nod and disappeared as quickly as he had arrived.

“Take it to goodwill. Now,” Bucky muttered, his eyes darting to where you were browsing jackets. “Don’t let her see you.”

“Sir…” A timid voice interrupted him. A young part-time employee stood nearby, her wide eyes darting nervously between him and the now-absent wedding dress. “Why… why was she wearing a wedding dress?”

Bucky turned his head slightly, his expression unreadable. A faint smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Life’s complicated,” he said, his tone leaving no room for further questions.

“I’m ready,” you said, returning with a jacket in hand. He turned to you, his smirk softening into something warmer as he helped you slip it on.

“Perfect,” he said. With a hand lightly resting on your lower back, he guided you toward the exit.

As the two of you left, the employees gathered near the counter, their voices hushed but urgent.

“Why was she wearing a wedding dress?” one whispered.

“I don’t know, but they didn’t seem like strangers,” another replied.

Then the television behind the counter blared a breaking news alert. “Bride-to-be of the Jordan heir kidnapped on her wedding day!” Your photo flashed across the screen. Gasps filled the room.

“Oh my God, it’s her!” a cashier exclaimed. “And that guy—he’s her kidnapper?”

“They seemed… close, though?”

“Should we call the news?"

Unbeknownst to you, the breaking news of your disappearance was plastered across headlines. But you and Bucky were completely oblivious as you headed to the skydiving site, the tension between you giving way to cautious curiosity.

In the car, you stole a glance at him. His hands gripped the steering wheel casually, his jaw set with a quiet determination. Finally, you broke the silence. “Where have you been all this time, Bucky?”

He didn’t look at you right away. Instead, his lips quirked into a small, almost mischievous smile. “Around.”

“Around?” You raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. “That’s not an answer.”

“I’ve been... working.” His voice was deliberately vague, but the slight tilt of his head as he glanced at you hinted at something more. “Made some money.”

You frowned. “Made some money how?”

“Does it matter?” he asked, brushing off your question with a shrug. “I’m here now, aren’t I?”

Before you could press further, the car pulled to a stop at the skydiving facility. The sight of the towering hangar and parachutes on display made your stomach flip. Your hands clenched into fists at your sides as you stepped out, staring at the planes in the distance.

“This was on your bucket list, wasn’t it?” Bucky said, walking up beside you. His voice was teasing, but his eyes held a knowing gleam.

“Yeah, but…” You glanced nervously at the sky. “That doesn’t mean I’m ready.”

“You’ll be fine,” he said, clapping a hand on your shoulder. His touch was warm and steady, grounding you despite the nerves swirling in your stomach.

Inside the hangar, you were fitted with a jumpsuit and harness, your nervousness growing with each passing moment. Bucky, already suited up, looked completely at ease, his confidence almost irritating.

On the plane, the hum of the engine filled the cabin. You sat next to Bucky, your fingers fidgeting with the straps of your harness. The plane vibrated slightly as it ascended, and your anxiety reached a peak.

“Wait…” You looked over at him, realizing something. “Why am I being tied to you?”

Bucky smirked, securing the straps that connected the two of you. “Because I’m already a certified instructor.”

“What?” Your eyes widened. “Since when?”

“Now.” He grinned just as the plane door opened, and without another word, he jumped, pulling you along with him.

“KYA!!” You screamed as the wind roared in your ears. Your stomach dropped as the world below turned into a blur of blue and green.

“Relax!” Bucky’s voice cut through the wind, calm and steady. “This is skydiving, Y/N!”

You squeezed your eyes shut, clutching at the straps holding you to him. “This is terrifying!” you yelled back, your voice shaky.

“Open your eyes!” he said, his tone softening. “Look around.”

Tentatively, you did. The endless expanse of sky stretched in every direction, the sun casting a golden glow over the clouds. It was breathtaking. The fear ebbed away, replaced by a quiet awe. The wind carried you like a whisper, and for a moment, it felt like freedom.

“It’s beautiful,” you murmured, your voice barely audible over the wind.

Bucky smiled, though you couldn’t see it. “Told you.”

Moments later, he deployed the parachute. The sudden jolt made you gasp, but then everything slowed. You floated gently toward the earth, the view below growing clearer with every passing second.

When your feet finally touched the ground, you stumbled a bit, your legs still shaky. Bucky steadied you, his hands firm on your arms.

“That was cool, wasn’t it?” he asked, his grin boyish and triumphant.

You glared at him, your chest heaving. Then, without warning, you shoved him hard. “You jerk! You scared me to death!”

Bucky chuckled, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “What? You survived, didn’t you?”

“You didn’t even warn me!” You jabbed a finger into his chest, which he didn’t even flinch at.

“Hey, I did tell you I was certified,” he said, still grinning.

“Certified idiot, maybe!” you shot back, crossing your arms.

He laughed at that, leaning closer. “But you had fun, admit it.”

“Fun isn’t the word I’d use!” you said, but the corners of your lips betrayed a small smile.

“You’re welcome,” he said smugly, clearly enjoying himself.

Before you could respond, a sharp voice cut through the air. “Y/N!”

Both of you froze mid-banter, turning toward the source of the voice. Your eyes widened as you saw a familiar figure storming toward you.

“Clark?” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

Clark didn’t stop. His face was a storm of fury, his fists clenched at his sides. Without hesitation, he swung, landing a punch squarely on Bucky’s jaw.

Bucky staggered back but caught himself quickly, his head snapping toward Clark with a cold, steely glare. His tongue darted out to swipe at the corner of his mouth, checking for blood.

“Nice to meet you too,” Bucky said, his voice low and sardonic.

🔔💍🔔💍

Present Day

“Oh my God! He hit you?” Jade exclaimed, her eyes wide as she leaned forward in disbelief.

“Yeah.” Bucky shrugged nonchalantly, rubbing his jaw as if recalling the punch. A faint smirk tugged at his lips. “I let him have that one.”

Jade tilted her head, her expression skeptical. “Then what happened? Did Mom follow him?”

Bucky leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. His gaze grew distant for a moment, as though replaying the memory. Finally, he met Jade’s eyes, his smirk widening.

“Well… that’s the end part of the story,” he said, his tone teasing, leaving her hanging on the edge of her seat.

Jade groaned, throwing her hands in the air. “Seriously, Dad?”

Author's Note:

What kind of wedding dress do you think she wore? Everyone reading this might picture something different. Share your ideas with Pinterest photos! 😊

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[dissapointu]

Arcane characters throwing a birthday party for the reader who has a bad memory and forgot his own birthday 😝

((my memory is rubbish, I can forget things I'm going to say/do In the same second , casual conversations, details and commitments 😔 planners are my best friends)

Happy birthday again 🥳

BABE. FIRST OF ALL.your faves would 1000000% throw you the most extra, heartfelt birthday party of all time because you deserve to feel loved and celebrated—memory or not.

So here’s how they’d handle it when you’re out here vibing, completely forgetting it’s your special day, and they’re like “Oh no, not on my watch.”

————————————————————————-

Jinx

Jinx is giving CHAOTIC ENERGY for this party. She’s not even subtle about it.

• You’d probably walk in and see her messing with some dangerous contraption, and she’d be like, “SURPRISE! You forgot your birthday, but I didn’t!”

• The party is WILD—explosions (small ones, probably), neon lights, spray-painted “HAPPY BIRTHDAY” signs, and cupcakes she may or may not have dropped at least once.

• She’s dragging you into every game and activity, yelling stuff like, “You don’t get to forget your own birthday, dummy! That’s what I’m here for!”

• By the end of the night, she’s probably passed out on the couch, holding a balloon, mumbling about how you’re “the best ever.”

Vi

Vi’s the type to keep it lowkey cool but still make it super special.

• She’d notice you forgot your own birthday and go, “Really? Guess I gotta take matters into my own hands.”

• She’d gather all your favorite people, decorate with some string lights and snacks, and surprise you like, “Told you I’d always have your back, didn’t I?”

• She’s keeping an eye on you all night, making sure you’re actually enjoying yourself and not overthinking anything.

• Before the night’s over, she’s pulling you aside for a quiet moment like, “Next time you forget your birthday, I’m just gonna tattoo it on your forehead.”

Sevika

Sevika pretends she doesn’t care, but she’s planning this whole thing in SECRET.

• She’s got a killer poker face, so when you’re like, “Wait, is today my birthday?” she’s just smirking like, “Guess you’ll find out.”

• The party is simple but PERFECT—her version of “lowkey” is making sure everything you love is there: your favorite food, drinks, and music.

• She acts all casual about it during the party, but at some point, she hands you a gift and says, “Don’t forget who made this happen.”

Silco

Silco would be so extra but act like it’s no big deal.

• He notices you forgot your birthday and immediately starts plotting. He’s like, “How does one forget their own existence? I’ll have to fix this.”

• The party is elegant AF—dim lighting, fancy food, and everything planned down to the smallest detail.

• He’s not a big “party” guy, but he’d be there in the corner, sipping his drink, watching you enjoy yourself, and thinking, “Yes, this is satisfactory.”

• At the end of the night, he’d come over and say something soft like, “Don’t forget your worth. I won’t.”

Vander

Vander would be the dad friend who makes your birthday feel like home.

• He’d figure out you forgot and immediately start pulling everyone together to plan something. He’s like, “We can’t let them go another year without feeling special.”

• The party would be warm and cozy—lots of laughter, good food, and a cake he baked himself (even if it’s a little lopsided).

• He’d give you a big hug at some point and say, “You’ve got a lot of people who care about you, even if you forget sometimes.”

• It’s the kind of party that leaves you feeling like you belong.

Ekko

Ekko would turn your forgotten birthday into an unforgettable NIGHT.

• He’d act all chill about it but secretly plan the coolest party ever. Firelight lanterns? Check. Music and dancing? Check. The BEST vibes? Double check.

• When you’re like, “Wait, is this for my birthday?” he’d laugh and say, “Yeah, you kinda forgot, but don’t worry—I didn’t.”

• He’d spend the whole night hyping you up, making sure you know how important you are to him and everyone else.

• By the end of the night, he’s handing you a handmade gift like, “Something to help you remember next time.”

Jayce

Jayce is going ALL OUT. No chill whatsoever.

• He’d throw a huge surprise party, complete with decorations, balloons, and probably a cake with your face on it. “You forgot your birthday? Not on my watch!”

• He’d spend the entire night making sure you’re having fun, constantly checking in like, “You good? Need anything?”

• He’d make a toast at some point, hyping you up in front of everyone. “To the best person I know. Happy birthday, even if you forgot it!”

• You’d leave feeling like the most important person in the world.

Viktor

Viktor would make your birthday feel quietly magical.

• He’d notice you forgot and gently remind you by planning a thoughtful little surprise. “I didn’t forget, so you don’t have to.”

• The party would be small and intimate, with everything tailored to your preferences. Soft lighting, good conversation, and maybe even a little tinkering if you’re into it.

• He’d give you a heartfelt gift, saying something like, “I know your memory gets the best of you, but you’re unforgettable to me.”

Caitlyn

Caitlyn would be the QUEEN of thoughtful birthday surprises.

• She’d find out you forgot your birthday and immediately start planning something sweet and meaningful.

• The party would be elegant but not over-the-top—just enough to make you feel special. She’d definitely include all your favorite things.

• At some point, she’d pull you aside and say, “You might forget your birthday, but I’ll always remember. You’re worth celebrating.”

Mel Medarda

Mel would throw the most glamorous birthday party you’ve ever seen.

• She’d notice you forgot and smile to herself like, “Looks like I’ll have to step in.”

• The party would be GORGEOUS—fancy decor, delicious food, and a vibe that screams “luxury.”

• She’d take a moment to toast to you, saying something poetic like, “To the person who deserves more than they remember to ask for.”

Ambessa Medarda

Ambessa would be direct but thoughtful.

• When she realizes you forgot your birthday, she’d be like, “How do you forget something like that? Never mind—I’ve got it handled.”

• The party would be practical but deeply meaningful—everything chosen with care to make sure you feel appreciated.

• She’d tell you at the end, “Don’t let yourself forget how much you mean to the people around you. We won’t let you.”

Heimerdinger

Heimerdinger would LOVE throwing you a surprise birthday party.

• He’d go all out with quirky decorations, fun activities, and maybe even a little invention to commemorate the day.

• “Ah, you forgot your birthday? No worries—I remembered for you!”

• The whole night would be filled with laughter and warmth, and he’d make sure you know just how much you’re appreciated.

Salo

Salo would be quiet but so sincere.

• He’d notice you forgot your birthday and take it upon himself to plan a small but meaningful celebration.

• The party would be simple but full of heart—just the right mix of people, good food, and a little reminder of how much you’re loved.

Scar

Scar would be CHAOTICALLY AMAZING.

• He’d be the one yelling, “YOU FORGOT YOUR BIRTHDAY? HOW???” while running around setting up decorations.

• The party would be loud, fun, and full of energy. He’d make sure you’re smiling the entire time, yelling stuff like, “This is YOUR day! Own it!”

Maddie Nolen

Maddie would be super sweet and thoughtful.

• She’d notice you forgot your birthday and plan something small but so full of love.

• She’d quietly make sure you’re comfortable and enjoying yourself, saying, “You might forget things sometimes, but I’ll never forget how special you are.”

Lest

Lest would be so kind and gentle about it.

• She’d realize you forgot and immediately start planning a little surprise to make you smile.

• The party would feel magical, like a fairytale, with every detail chosen just for you.

• She’d tell you at some point, “Even if your memory fails you, you have me to remind you.”

[machveil]

okay pookies!! I’m in a writers slump so I’m going to pop off some mini blurbs with Instagram links<3 because the words are not being written correctly for my wips [cries]🎀✨

Simon “Ghost” Riley

playing with his cat

admittedly, Simon is up at odd hours from bouts of insomnia. it doesn’t really bother him when his cat is up too, sitting in bed and flipping him around. it’s cute, more so funny when he flips his cat off and gets pounced on, not taking it seriously - one of the rare times he’ll let chuckle and crack a smile to himself

John Price:

pranking Price by telling him your tampon is stuck

John comes as soon as you call for him - what he wasn’t expecting was you telling him your tampons stuck. but John’s smart, he sees your phone in his peripheral and doesn’t say anything about it. he knows your pranking him, if it wasn’t obvious from your phone recording him and the way you giggle, well, “I know you’re cycle, love.”

driving around to see Christmas lights

John loves his dog, just a sweetheart. one thing his dog loves is seeing Christmas lights - John doesn’t really know why, but he’s more than happy to drive around so his puppy can see them all. it makes him chuckle seeing their tail wag, heater keeping the car nice and warm as they drive down a couple blocks

John “Soap” MacTavish:

bear hugging Johnny

you didn’t really know what Johnny was doing, you just knew you wanted to hug him. it’s out of the blue, catches him off guard in a way that has him asking if you’re okay - and you are. he doesn’t waste time, moving to scoop you up, hold you close and goof around. he had been organizing your books, just a little surprise

asking Recruiter!Johnny questions

Johnny didn’t want to be stuck recruiting people, but he somehow got picked to do it. what he wasn’t expecting was your question, “Are you hot?”. he wants to sputter out, try to be slick - respond with a, “Well, you can come find out.”, but he stops himself. he knows he’ll be telling the 141 about this, chest puffed up and a lopsided smile as he brags

showing off for the neighbors

Johnny is springy and flexible, his ass can dance. if you catch him while he’s on a jog he’ll flag you down and start flipping around. he’s a show off, it goes to his head how the neighborhood moms watch him. his show is for you, but he won’t turn down the ego boost he gets from others eyeing him up

“you know where the matter daddy is?”

Johnny’s a menace when it comes to the 141, calling Gaz for ‘help’. he can barely get the opener out without laughing, hitting the punchline takes a hot minute. Gaz can hear him sputtering on the other side, little bursts of laughter leaving him. it’s amazing that Gaz falls for the joke at all, Johnny laughing harder as he grips his phone

König:

playing with his cat

does König talk to his pretty kitty in German? of course he does, and he’ll goof around with them too. his favorite thing is pretend dialing on his cat’s toe beans. he’ll pretend to meow for his cat and voice the person ‘on the line’. totally straight faced, he takes business calls with his kitty very seriously

parenting his cat

sometimes being a parent is having human children, other times it’s cradling your baby kitty in your shirt while you make lunch. König is the latter, and he’ll always say how easy it is to be a parent. “Ja, she is a little thing. Here, I have photos—”, he carries printed photos of her in his wallet to show off, his favorite is of her swaddled in bed with her favorite blankie

walking his cat

König likes getting out, it’s natural for him. it gets a little lonely sometimes though… and boy is excited when he learns cat harnesses exist. weather permitting, he enjoys going on walks with his cat. sure, his kitty might wander into a bush here and there, but König will get them out before trailing down the block

[notpixl]

Realizing they’re in love with you! HSR Edition

(Ft. Robin, Acheron, Blackswan, Feixiao)

Y’all this came up to me while in class the voices told me to write this okay or else they’ll delete my accounts 🥲

Also, Beauty amidst Death will have an update. I’m just cringing at the fact that I decided leave it in strange place and am wondering how to continue it…

GN!Reader as usual. I want all sides to be happy

—————

———

—————

Robin

It’s… weird?

Well, she does get the usual fans declaring their love to her and all but somehow you’re different??? Like what-

Nowadays, whenever you two hug she’s always a blushing mess! And how come she just noticed that you’re… really, really close…

Too close…

There’s like this feeling on her stomach whenever you two are together. It doesn’t matter if it’s a call, a meetup, or just hanging out! It… It’s always there!

And whenever your name is mentioned her ears perk up! Like… what did do you to her?!

Eventually she’ll consult about these feelings with Sunday but he just chuckles it off, leaving her to guess what it is. (At least give her a hint!)

Though the answer would come knocking at her door

It was a simple gift

From you

There’s a little note etched into the cover

“For someone that means so much to me :)”

Opening it revealed a pretty little necklace

With a Dove as its Pendant

…come to think of it don’t they represent something?

She’s sure it was something about…

Peace…

Freedom…

And Love!

Wait…

Love…?

Oh

Oh

She slowly covers her face in embarrassment

Why… did it take her so long to figure this out?!

Aeons, she’s so dumb!

“All this time I was in love with them…”

Acheron

She’s met many people

Countless if you will

But why…?

Why is it that in this ever current flow of forgetting and remembering…

She just can’t seem to forget your lovely face?

She’ll rush to the libraries, read the news, heck, even threaten ask the greatest philosophers on what this feeling means!

Perhaps that Memokeeper knows something…?

Oh forget it!

She’ll tackle this head-on!

…by asking you herself.

“Ah… so that’s it is… Love.”

Black Swan

Hmm… what a quaint feeling she’s having when you’re around

Love, isn’t it?

She’s only seen and heard about it… but not once has she ever had the chance to have a feel…

…would you reciprocate these feeling as well?

Although that possibility comes in mind…

She’d rather hear it from you than face the harsh reality of rejection

Then again…

Would her as a whole be enough?

She’s never considered using her body to charm someone, let alone the person she has come to love…

Perhaps…

Perhaps you will

“The possibilities are endless… but I’ll never stop it from blooming.”

Feixiao

She’s rather perplexed

Wait- no… yeah no that actually works-

All it takes was one glance during her walk and now she’s stumbling on her way to work with this… strange feeling

There’s no point in running away, she already has Moze tracking you down

She’d talk to Jiaoqiu about this, only receiving a shrug and scraps of determination to “find it out herself.”

Cheeky Foxian…

Hmm…

Maybe she should ask from the source itself?

You lay in bed, already done with today’s schedule when you notice a shift in weight on your waist

Your eyes hesitate to open

“That’s not a good way to greet guests, isn’t it?”

Moving won’t help

“Look at me.”

You’re met with such a pair of eyes you can’t even begin to describe them

Scary? Beautiful? I think that shouldn’t be your main concern right now-

“I’ve got a question…”

Her grip tightens on your shoulders

“What did you do to me?”

—————

———

—————

Um… no comment down here

I hope you enjoyed/hated it

Asks are always open I guess if you want to force me to write and die and sob and and and a sn

[phthalomushroom]

The Family (7)

pairings: modern!mafia!aemondxreader

summary: You had left Kings Landing and the Targaryen family four years ago. Now back and living with your old roommate you realize that the life you had thought you escaped had seemingly been waiting for you. But will the family really let you go? Will the people you left behind forgive you? Can you forget the past and look to the future?

warnings: language, mentions of trauma, shooting, gunfight, injury, angst

word count: 1.2k

note: hi all, apologies for not posting for a bit, life got crazy and I low-key got the ick... as well as writers block... but I will persevere. Enjoy this chapter I will do my best to get back to weekly posts!

You couldn’t get those boxes out of your head. All the baby toys, the clothes, the crib. It was the only thing you could see as you stared at the dark wall across from where you sat on the bed. Luckily, you had texted Baela about the situation and she was on her way with Jace to come pick you up.

A part of you felt bad for ruining their date night but you were NOT going to stay the night here. 

Especially not in this room.

Aemond and Alys’s shared bedroom looked nothing like you would have imagined. Not that you would even think to imagine it- actually you never even thought that they’d actually live together at all.

Even though there seemed to be no evidence of Aemond’s fiancée downstairs, there was plenty of evidence in this room. Pictures of the two together littered the walls, the nightstands, the dresser. Evidence of their clearly real and loving relationship.

And to your dismay it fucking hurt. 

Alys would be a mother to Aemond’s child, she would be the strong wife he always needed and you would be a memory, a brief moment in his life. 

Nothing more than a highschool sweetheart.

A silent, cold anger seemed to fizzle in the pit of your stomach, like a rattling snake setting to strike.

You were just a phase but yet your life seemed to be in danger again. 

Lies were being told again. 

Secrets were being kept again.

The door to the room opened, Aemond coming in with mugs of something steaming. 

“I think I should go.” You crossed your arms, your tone rattled a warning.

Aemond looked up, brows furrowing. He set the mugs on the dresser and put his hands in his pockets. “I don’t want you to go.”

“I don’t care what you want.”

“What’s gotten into you?”

You uncrossed your arms ready to strike. “I’m tired of this shit.”

“What are you talking about?”

It wasn’t a lie, you did feel tired, tired of trying to be an adult and tired of being the bigger person. At some point you were bound to start telling the truth, you needed to. “She’s pregnant.”

He arched his brow. “What?”

You stood from the bed. “I saw the room, the boxes of baby stuff. I saw it all.”

He frowned. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

You stepped closer. “Don’t know what I’m talking about? I know that I’m talking about how you fucking proposed to Alys Rivers. I’m talking about how you asked me to marry you and that doesn’t seem to fucking matter anymore. I’m talking about the fact that you got her pregnant and now I’m going to have to fucking live in the same city as you, your wife and your child. And that none of what we went through together matters.” You took a deep breath. 

Why is it not me? Desperately you wanted to say it but you just couldn’t let yourself open up to him all the way yet. Not with the room full of a future that wasn’t yours next door.

He looked at you incredulously. “You… you never wanted this life.”

“But I always wanted you.”

He continued to stare at you, like he was looking at you for the first time since you had arrived back.

You began to feel self conscious, maybe you said too much. “Say something.” 

He rushed forward grabbing your face in his large hands and pressing his mouth against yours. You froze, not processing what was happening until his tongue pushed into your mouth and he tangled his hands in your hair pulling you even closer to him. Your arms instinctively reached up grabbing the front of his shirt as he was finally knocked out of his daze.

His arms moved down your body, grabbing and squeezing at whatever flesh he could find until he picked you up. You wrapped your legs around his waist as he walked you back towards the bed, setting you down- never breaking the kiss. 

He finally pulled away, allowing you to breathe, both of you panting trying to catch your breaths as you stared at one another.

Too familiar, this all felt too familiar. Your heart pounded as you let yourself fall into old habits. 

His gaze was soft as he reached out to caress your face, brushing a stray hair out of your face. “I will always want you too.”

Your chest tightened as he leaned closer, his kiss gentle this time. But as soon as it started it ended, Aemond pulling away to lean his forehead against yours to take a deep breathe. His hands rubbed soothing circles on your arms.

“But I made a promise to Alys and there’s things I need to take care of before-”

You fully pulled away, moving out from under him to get off of the bed. “What.”

“There are things that I need to do, promises I need to keep in order to-to make sure your safe, to make sure everything is safe and protected.”

You stared at him like he had three heads. “What the fuck are you talking about right now Aemond?”

He moved to get up to pull you to him but you stepped away. “I just need time, just give me time.”

“You had time, almost five years of it and it seems in that time you can’t even get your fucking lies straight.”

“It’s complicated okay, the less people know the better. Just try to trust me, please.”

You stared at him in disbelief. It was like you were having two different conversations. “Is this about business or is this about love?”

“What?”

“Is it business or is it love?”

“(Y/N)-”

“Is it business or is it love, Aemond, that’s all I want to know.” 

“It’s complicated.”

Your eyes burned. Fucking unbelievable. “Clearly. But the only person making it complicated here is you. Why can’t it ever be fucking easy with you Aemond? Why can’t you ever tell me the truth?” 

He tried to get closer to you. “You know nothing about what is going on. What I am trying to fix, what I am trying to build for-for us.” He reached out to take your hands in his. “I am doing everything in my power to make things right, to make us right but I need more time. Just a little more time.”

You shook your head. “She’s pregnant Aemond, you are out of time.”

Your phone chimed with a text, you quickly pulled it out of your pocket. “That’s Baela, she’s here with Jace.” 

“(Y/N)-”

“I am done with the nonsensical answers. I am done with the empty words. I am done with all of it. I never should have come back here, never should have taken that stupid fucking job. I certainly never should have ever let you into my life.”

Tears were beginning to fall now, tears that were long overdue. After so long of bottling it up, after so long of being okay it wasn’t okay anymore. You were broken. You turned to leave, going past the soon to be nursery, going down the stairs, grabbing your bags that you had left and walked straight out of Aemond and Aly’s home. 

When you got into Jace’s car, it took everything in you to not fully break down as Baela turned to you from the passenger's seat and asked you what was wrong. 

You just shook your head and simply said. “She’s pregnant.”

Tag List: @dixie-elocin @liannafae @toodlesxcuddles @watercolorskyy @zenka69 @bellaisasleep @namelesslosers @tssf-imagines @xcharlottemikaelsonx @yourbane @beary-rambles @a-beaverhausen @lightblindingme

[kurishiri]

Jude chapter 2 silly but kinda detailed summary

꒰ ִ ֺ ⊹ @ notice ⊹ ֺ ִ ꒱ any pretty translation you may see in here may not be 100% accurate or contain creative liberties due to characterization or narrative flow purposes. this is a sort of summary as well. if you enjoy, though, please consider reblogging, but please don’t repost these or claim these as your own!

for some ungodly reason jude and ellis r in kates room the moment she woke up and judes not lookin very appy hes like how long r ya gon sleep for ya bloody pleb and ellis is like haaii gm kate 🌸✨✨ and then jude like “get ready in 3 seconds” while holdin her chin. again, for some reason lmao

ok turns out we goin to their other jobs at a company called raven co

and ellis tells kate they got shops overseas too (wow jude got a boomin business) and they sell stuff in a lotta places and allat jazz. anw some dude greets kate and the others and thinks that kate is ellis gf. kates like umm no and hes like so ur the boss’ gf?

then he gets judes boot before kate can reply and judes like

Jude: It’s all yappin’ with ya so early in the mornin’, I see.

J: If ya gonna yap useless things, how ‘bout ya use that mouth o’ yours to do a bit more o’ your job?

J: If ya want a pay cut though, that’s a separate matter.

turns out the dudes name is theodore walker. 21 y/o. employee. first impression: bright dude

so kate asks ellis what his role is and hes like “hmm lets see, being a guard, preparing for guests, confirming clients, brewing up a storm…” and kate here thinkin wait a damn minute i have a feeling i heard smth real violent just now and then is like do you do anything else and well ellis responds with more violent words with a 😊 face. kate is like i thought i got myself into an evil org then jude comes in like

Jude: Well this evil company’s boss got some work cut out for ya.

she gotta sort out these letters (a loott of letters…) and judes like “if ya worked as a letter carrier ya mustve had to sort out letters before gettin breakfast”

ok so apparently judes kate just blurts out things w/o thinkin 💀 bc this time shes like well if hes gonna make fun of me (jude calls her princess but /neg) then challenge accepted! and then is like “ok bet i will get this done ez pz 🍋 squeezy” and judes got that shit eatin grin on his face like “that ya will do by the time i get back”

they r indeed still in their enemies era. her only saving grace now is ellis’ kind smile. ellis to the rescue! ⛓️🫶✨

omg ellis is actually an angel here he helps kate when he can sorting out letters and hes like gj today kate. you managed to do sm on ur own, u should be proud of urself and kate is like hes so kind… (yes he is!)

ah yes we cant escape the ellis is sweet as jam™️ allegations here

kate asks ellis why he joined crown and tldr its bc vic reached out to jude and jude said ok

Kate: But did you have to get caught up in all this too…?

Ellis: But——he made a promise with me.

As he said this, Ellis’ eyes narrowed softly.

Kate: …A promise?

Ellis: I’m waiting for Jude to reach the happiest moment of his life.

E: And I need to be by his side to see that moment.

[ insert some lines im too lazy to tl here ]

Ellis: But, it seems that moment just doesn’t want to come. …It’s like Jude is always unhappy.

jude comes in the door like yall so damn annoyin and is like stop yappin bout she don’t need to know. but ellis is like but its her job as fairytale keeper. and kate is like “i have a question for u too jude! why do u have ellis by ur side?” jude responds like “none ya damn business” but one tinie push from ellis and jude lets out a resigned sigh and speaks on it and is like hes got physical strength and a good ability. cant let that sorta value slip by. that said his heads got some screws loose so

and kate is like omg! he answered me!!

(So Jude has Ellis by his side so he can use his abilities at his convenience,)

(and Ellis wants Jude to fulfill his wish, I guess?)

They kept one another by each other’s side to help realize what the other wants.

——If I were to put into words what their relationship would be, it would be ‘a contractual relationship.’

That was the day I had gotten my hands on valuable information on Jude for the first time.

ko-fi☕️ ┊ comms🤍

NOTE: i forgot to mention that i can take comms to tl judes main story chapters, avatar mission stories, and his side stories in full, as ciele, the one whos gonna tl his story, said that i could tl chapters from his story too. the turnaround time per chapter is usually around 1–2 days from the time i start it. (for jude it might be closer to 2 days.)

[amethystarachnid]

hi! i’d like to request a loki x fem!reader

can you base it on “we can’t be friends” by ariana grande. something related to the music video in the sense that reader tries to erase her memory in order to “heal” after Loki turns into the god of stories and she is practically alone now. sorry its not angsty i can’t help myself 😩

hope this is okay! thanks queen

MEMORIES

⤷ LOKY LAUFEYSON

ᯓ★ Pairing: Loki Laufeyson x fem!reader

ᯓ★ Genre: romance, angst, like a lot of angst

ᯓ★ Requests status: open

ᯓ★ Story type: one shot

ᯓ★ Summary: You thought Loki was your forever, the man with who you'd spend the resto of your life with, but he becomes the God of Stories you are left with nothing but memories of him, maybe you should get rid of those too.

ᯓ★ Word count: 8k

ᯓ★ TW(s): hinted depression, sleeping a lot to stay in the dreams and not eating because of this so weight loss

ᯓ★ Okay so, I need to tell you all the truth...I haven't watched Loki...But!! I've started it and I'm currently on episode 2, truth is me and tv series don't really go hand in hand so I don't know if I'll actually finish it. But to write this fanfic I tried to get as much information as I could and I hope you like it!

ᯓ★ My Masterlist

ᯓ★ MARVEL Holiday Special

ᯓ★ MARVEL Multiverse - choose an AU, pair it with your favorite character and make a request!

ᯓ★ Songs & Superheroes tales - The Game (to make a request, follow the rules on the link!)

ᯓ★ MARVEL Bingo

ᯓ★ English isn’t my first language

The air is cool, tinged with the earthy scent of rain that had fallen just hours before, leaving the world fresh, like a new beginning. You sit on the balcony of your apartment, your legs tucked under you as you sip your coffee. The city below hums with the soft buzz of life, but up here, it's quiet. Just you and him.

Loki’s presence is a constant now. At first, it was a dangerous thrill — the God of Mischief, the trickster, the god of lies and chaos. But over time, you had come to know the man behind the myths, the one who spent far too many sleepless nights overthinking, doubting, and regretting. The one who, despite his flaws and his ever-conflicted nature, had let you in.

You can feel his gaze on you, even before you turn to face him. He's perched at the edge of the balcony, the golden light from the setting sun casting soft shadows on his face. His dark hair is tousled from the wind, and he’s watching you with that look — the one that makes you feel as though you’re the only thing in the universe that matters.

You smile, the warmth in your chest a stark contrast to the cool evening breeze. “What?”

He doesn’t answer at first. Instead, Loki steps closer, the air shifting around him in subtle, magical currents. He always has this way of bending the world to his whims. But right now, he’s just… himself. Not a god. Not a villain. Just Loki.

“Nothing,” he says, voice low, almost like a secret. “You just look… peaceful.”

You blink, surprised. Peaceful isn’t a word you’d ever associate with yourself, but you can’t help the way it feels with him beside you. It’s like the world is calm — for once, there’s no grand scheme or looming threat. Just him. And you.

“You’re the one who always looks so intense,” you tease, nudging him lightly with your elbow. “Like you’re plotting world domination.”

Loki’s eyes flicker with mischief, but there’s something softer in the way he regards you, something tender. “I don’t plot world domination. Not all the time.” He shrugs, as if the matter is trivial.

You laugh, but there’s a quiet moment between you, an unspoken understanding. You know what he means. Loki has always carried the weight of the world on his shoulders. The responsibility of his past, the expectations of his future. And yet, when it’s just the two of you, he lets it slip away.

You let your coffee rest on the railing and, without a word, turn to face him fully. Loki’s smile, small but genuine, tugs at something in your chest. You take a step closer to him, the distance between you shrinking as you reach out, your hand brushing against his.

It’s always like this, these quiet moments — when words are no longer necessary. His hand envelops yours effortlessly, and it’s like the universe settles into place. This is the calm you didn’t know you needed, the simple comfort of being in each other’s space.

“Do you ever think about the future?” you ask, your voice hesitant, unsure if you’re ready for the answer.

He watches you carefully, as if weighing your words. There’s a flicker of uncertainty in his gaze, a crack in the façade of the god you’re so used to. He tilts his head, his fingers gently tracing the back of your hand.

“Of course, I think about it,” he admits softly. “But I’ve spent so many lifetimes running from it, from the choices that will define me. The future… It’s complicated.”

You can hear the hesitation in his voice, the way he never fully commits to what’s ahead. Loki is a god of chaos, after all. He’s never been good with stability, with the idea of permanence. His eyes search yours, as though trying to read your mind.

“And you?” he asks, his voice almost a whisper.

You swallow, a lump forming in your throat. “I think about it too, but… I don’t know. The future feels like a blurry mess sometimes.”

He steps closer, his thumb brushing against your wrist in a soothing motion. “Whatever happens, we’ll face it together.”

There’s a sincerity in his words that takes you by surprise. Loki, the god who’d always kept everyone at arm’s length, including his own family, is now standing before you, offering his loyalty in a way that feels… real. No tricks, no games, just the promise of something honest.

“Together,” you repeat softly, the word tasting different on your lips when it comes from him.

His eyes flicker to the horizon, as though he’s considering something, before he looks back at you with a soft chuckle. “And if the future is full of chaos, we’ll make it our own chaos.”

You laugh, but there’s something in your chest that tightens at the thought of a future with Loki — with all that he represents, with all the uncertainty and danger that follow him like a dark cloud. But in this moment, you push it aside. There’s no room for fear when he’s beside you.

Loki takes your hand and leads you toward the edge of the balcony, his fingers never leaving yours. “Come,” he says, his voice low and gentle. “Let’s watch the sunset. Together.”

As you sit side by side, the sun dips below the horizon, painting the sky in warm shades of pink and gold. The world around you may be shifting, always changing, but here, in this moment, everything feels still. The weight of time feels distant. The future feels like a far-off dream that you can’t quite touch.

You rest your head against his shoulder, the soft sound of his breath steadying your own. Loki shifts slightly, his hand coming to rest on your back in an almost protective gesture. The quiet between you stretches, neither of you needing to speak.

For a moment, everything is perfect. The world, the chaos, the future — it all fades into the background, and all that remains is the calm. The love.

But deep down, you can’t ignore the feeling that this peace is fragile. Like glass, it’s delicate, and even though you’re holding onto it, you wonder how long it can last.

That peace doesn’t last forever.

The memory of that moment — the quiet between you, the warmth of his hand in yours — is the last thing you want to hold on to.

After everything has crumbled, after everything has changed, you find yourself sitting in a quiet, empty room, staring at the walls. The apartment feels hollow now, the silence too loud. The city outside moves on, unaware of the storm raging inside you.

It wasn’t supposed to end like this.

But Loki had become the God of Stories, and with that title came unimaginable power. The ability to rewrite fate itself, to shape reality, to weave his own narrative — and in the process, he’d lost himself. Or maybe it was you who had lost him. Maybe you were the one who didn’t fit into his new story.

You can still hear his voice in your mind, soft and warm, whispering that you would face the future together. But how could you face the future with him now? How could you stand by his side when he was no longer the Loki you knew?

It’s a bitter thought. One that claws at your chest. And the worst part is — you still love him. Even after everything. Even after the gods, after the chaos, after the mistakes, you still want him.

But it’s too much. The memories are too vivid, too painful. You can’t bear to remember him — not when every time you close your eyes, you see his face, and it’s like a stab to your heart.

You’ve made up your mind.

You’ll erase it all. Every memory of him.

The love. The pain. The warmth.

You’re not sure how, but you’ll do it. Because if you don’t, you’ll never move on. You’ll never be free.

The box feels heavier than it should as you lower it to the floor, your knees protesting the motion. A single lamp casts its warm glow across your apartment, but the light feels muted, swallowed by the shadows pressing in from every corner. It’s late, and the city outside seems quieter than usual, as if the world knows the significance of what you’re about to do.

Loki’s things are scattered around you in a mess of memories. A black scarf you once teased him about for being far too dramatic, a small leather-bound notebook filled with strange symbols and half-formed ideas, a gold trinket he’d magicked into existence one lazy afternoon to make you laugh. Each item holds a piece of him, of you, of you and him.

Your breath catches as you sit back on your heels, staring at the pile with a sinking feeling in your chest. It’s almost funny. You thought gathering his belongings would make it easier, like pulling off a bandage quickly to avoid the sting. But it’s worse. So much worse.

Your fingers tremble as they brush over the scarf. You remember the first time he wore it — the way it swept dramatically over his shoulder as he smirked at your teasing.

“Trying to impress me, Mischief?” you’d asked, a playful lilt to your voice.

Loki had leaned closer, that familiar spark of mischief lighting his green eyes. “Is it working?”

You’d laughed, shoving him lightly, but your heart had skipped a beat all the same. He had a way of doing that — making the smallest, most mundane moments feel like they belonged in an epic tale.

You shake your head, pulling yourself back to the present. The memory is too vivid, too sharp, and it slices through you like glass. That was before everything changed. Before he became something… unreachable.

Your fingers curl around the scarf, tightening as the memory threatens to drag you under. For a moment, you consider keeping it. Just this one thing. But no. You can’t. If you start keeping pieces of him, you’ll never let go.

You toss the scarf into the box, the action more forceful than you intended. It lands atop the notebook, the trinket, and the small collection of Loki’s things that have woven themselves into your life.

The notebook catches your eye again, and before you can stop yourself, you’re flipping it open. The pages are filled with Loki’s handwriting — sharp and elegant, like the man himself. Most of it is incomprehensible to you, written in Asgardian runes or some ancient language you don’t recognize. But on one page, near the middle, you find something familiar.

It’s your name.

Your breath hitches as you stare at the word, the letters carved into the page with a deliberate hand. Beneath it, a single line in English:

"You are my home."

The tears come then, hot and relentless, streaming down your cheeks before you can stop them. You clutch the notebook to your chest, your body shaking as the weight of it all crashes over you. He said those words to you once, late at night, when the world had felt quiet and safe.

You remember lying in bed together, his arm draped lazily over your waist, his voice a soft murmur against your ear. “You are my home,” he’d said, the words carrying a vulnerability he rarely allowed himself to show. “In all the realms, in all the chaos, I find my peace in you.”

And you had believed him. God, you’d believed him.

The notebook slips from your hands as you bury your face in your palms, sobs wracking your body. You’d thought you were strong enough to do this, to let him go, but the memories won’t stop. They cling to you like shadows, refusing to release their grip.

It’s not fair. He had no right to carve himself into your soul like this, to leave behind pieces of himself in every corner of your life. How are you supposed to erase someone who’s become a part of you?

You sit there for what feels like hours, the box of Loki’s things staring back at you like a silent witness to your unraveling. Eventually, the tears subside, leaving you hollow and exhausted. Your eyes sting, and your throat feels raw, but you force yourself to move.

Gathering the box, you rise to your feet, your legs unsteady. The plan is simple: take it to the small clearing behind the building, set it ablaze, and watch the memories burn. Maybe then the pain will ease. Maybe then you’ll finally be free.

You step outside, the cool night air biting against your skin. The clearing is quiet, save for the distant hum of the city. You place the box in the center, your fingers brushing over the edges one last time.

You light the match.

The flame flickers to life, small and fragile in your hand. You hesitate, the weight of the moment pressing down on you. This is it. This is the final goodbye.

But as you stare at the flame, something inside you cracks. You think of the sunsets you watched together, the way he’d tuck your hair behind your ear when he thought you weren’t paying attention, the soft, unguarded moments that made you fall in love with him in the first place.

Can you really do this?

Your hand shakes as you lower the match, the flame dancing dangerously close to the edge of the box. The scent of sulfur fills the air, and for a moment, you think you’ll go through with it. You’ll let it all burn.

But then, the match falls from your fingers, the flame snuffing out as it hits the damp grass.

You drop to your knees, the box still untouched, your chest heaving with uneven breaths. You can’t do it. You can’t erase him, no matter how much it hurts to remember. Because the memories aren’t just painful. They’re beautiful, too.

And maybe that’s the cruelest part of all.

The bar is crowded, the kind of loud and bustling place you would never have chosen for yourself, but your friends insisted. “You need to get out,” they had said. “Meet people. Forget about him.”

Forget about him.

As if it were that simple.

You sit at a small, high table near the back, a drink cradled in your hand. The music pulses through the air, the bass thrumming in your chest, but it does nothing to drown out the thoughts that swirl endlessly in your mind. Around you, your friends laugh and chatter, their voices a blur of encouragement and reassurances.

It’s been months since Loki left — or, more accurately, since he became something else, someone you could no longer reach. Months since you tried to burn his things and failed, the box now tucked away in the corner of your closet like a secret you can’t bear to part with.

And yet, even with all the time and distance, the memories still haunt you. He’s still there, in the quiet moments, in the back of your mind, a shadow you can’t escape.

A new drink appears in front of you, courtesy of one of your friends. “He’s cute, isn’t he?” she whispers, nudging you with her elbow. You glance toward the bar, where a man stands with a confident smile and sharp cheekbones. He’s attractive, you suppose. Objectively. But as your gaze lingers, the comparisons begin, unbidden and unstoppable.

His hair isn’t as dark as Loki’s. His eyes aren’t as piercing. And when he smiles, it doesn’t make your chest tighten the way Loki’s did when he let his walls down and gave you that rare, genuine look that was only for you.

“Go talk to him,” your friend urges, her tone light and encouraging. You hesitate, but the expectant looks from the rest of your group leave you feeling cornered. With a reluctant sigh, you slide off your stool and make your way toward the bar.

The man notices you immediately, his smile widening as you approach. He introduces himself — James, or Jake, or something that doesn’t stick in your memory. You force a polite smile, nodding as he talks about his job, his hobbies, his plans for the weekend.

But you’re not really listening.

Instead, you’re thinking about how different he is. Loki’s voice had a way of wrapping around you, rich and velvety, with an edge that hinted at mischief or danger. His words weren’t just conversations; they were an invitation to step into his world, to see the universe through his eyes.

This man — James, Jake, whoever — is ordinary. Normal. And maybe that’s what you’re supposed to want now, but it feels hollow.

He says something that makes you chuckle politely, and for a moment, you catch yourself wondering what Loki would think if he saw you now. Would he be amused, watching you try to piece yourself back together with someone so utterly unremarkable? Or would he feel that flicker of jealousy, the possessiveness he always tried to hide but never fully could?

The thought twists something in your chest, and you excuse yourself quickly, claiming you need to get back to your friends.

“Not your type?” one of them teases when you return, her grin playful.

“No,” you say simply, sipping your drink. But the truth is more complicated than that. It’s not that he wasn’t your type. It’s that he wasn’t Loki.

The pattern repeats itself over the following weeks.

Your friends take you to new places, introduce you to new people, all with the hope that one of them will spark something in you. And each time, it ends the same way.

You meet someone kind, someone charming, someone your friends swear would be perfect for you. And each time, you find yourself comparing them to him.

No one holds a candle to Loki.

No one has that sharp wit, that clever tongue that made even the most mundane conversations feel electric. No one carries themselves with that effortless grace, the confidence of a god who knows he’s meant for greatness but still chooses to share himself with you. No one looks at you the way Loki did, like you were a puzzle he was desperate to solve, a mystery he could never quite unravel.

And the worst part is, you know it’s unfair. You know these men deserve more than your half-hearted attempts at connection. But no matter how hard you try, you can’t stop measuring them against him.

One evening, your closest friend pulls you aside after another failed attempt at setting you up. “You’re not giving them a chance,” she says gently, her concern evident.

“I am,” you argue, but even as the words leave your mouth, you know they’re not entirely true.

She sighs, placing a comforting hand on your arm. “I know it’s hard. I know you miss him. But you deserve to be happy, too. He’s not coming back, and holding onto him like this… it’s only hurting you.”

Her words cut deeper than you expect, and you find yourself blinking back tears. She’s right, of course. Loki isn’t coming back. The man you loved is gone, and the person he’s become is far beyond your reach.

But how do you let go of someone who’s etched into your soul? How do you move on when every part of you still aches for him?

“I’ll try,” you whisper, though you’re not sure if it’s a promise you can keep.

Your friend nods, giving your arm a reassuring squeeze. “That’s all anyone can ask.”

But as the night goes on, as the world moves around you, you find yourself retreating into your thoughts, into the memories of a man who can never truly be replaced.

And in the quiet corners of your heart, you know the truth: no one will ever compare.

The apartment feels colder than it should, the kind of chill that creeps into your bones and refuses to let go. You sit curled up on the couch, staring at the flickering glow of the television, though you’re not really watching it. The sound is just there to fill the silence, to keep the walls from closing in.

But it doesn’t work. Not really.

Because even in the noise, you can hear his voice.

It starts small, the whispers of his tone weaving into the spaces between your thoughts. At first, you think it’s your imagination. Of course it is. Loki isn’t here. He’s not coming back. You’ve told yourself this a thousand times, clinging to the words like a mantra.

And yet…

The scent of leather and the faint trace of cedar linger in the air. The couch dips slightly beside you, a barely-there weight, but enough to make you glance to your right.

He’s there. Sitting casually with one arm draped over the back of the couch, his long legs crossed, and that infuriatingly familiar smirk playing at his lips.

“Miss me, darling?” he asks, his voice smooth and teasing, as if he hasn’t been gone for months. As if you hadn’t been tearing yourself apart trying to forget him.

Your heart lurches, and for a moment, you let yourself believe it’s real. You can’t help it. The sight of him is so vivid, so perfect. The sharp angle of his jaw, the glint of mischief in his green eyes — it’s exactly how you remember.

“Loki…” The name slips from your lips before you can stop it, a mixture of disbelief and yearning.

He tilts his head, his expression softening. “Yes, my love?”

The words hit you like a wave, the tenderness in his tone unraveling you completely. Your vision blurs with tears, and you reach out, your hand trembling as it moves toward him. But the moment your fingers brush the air where his hand should be, the illusion shatters.

He’s gone.

The couch is empty. The room is still. The silence is deafening.

You pull your hand back slowly, your chest heaving as you struggle to catch your breath. “No,” you whisper to yourself, shaking your head. “No, no, no.”

Your voice breaks, the sound foreign to your ears. You clutch at the blanket draped over your lap, holding it tightly as if it could anchor you to reality. But it doesn’t. Nothing does.

“Why are you doing this to me?” you murmur into the empty room, your voice raw with anger and grief. “Why can’t I let you go?”

There’s no answer, of course. Just the echo of your own voice bouncing off the walls. But that doesn’t stop you from talking. It’s becoming a habit now, these conversations with no one.

Some nights, you sit at the dining table, setting out two glasses of wine even though you know the second will remain untouched. You’ll tell stories about your day, laughing softly at jokes that only you can hear. You’ll look toward the chair opposite you, expecting to see him lounging there, his sharp wit ready to match yours.

And some nights, like tonight, you’ll sit on the couch and swear you can feel him beside you.

“Loki,” you whisper again, the name tasting like salt on your tongue. “Why did you leave me?”

The apartment remains silent, but in your mind, you can hear his response. You can hear him apologizing, explaining that it wasn’t his choice, that becoming the God of Stories meant giving up everything he loved.

But it’s a lie. A lie you tell yourself to make the ache in your chest bearable. Because deep down, you know the truth: he could have stayed. He could have chosen you.

And yet, he didn’t.

The illusions get worse as the weeks pass.

At first, they’re fleeting — a glimpse of him out of the corner of your eye, a phantom touch brushing against your shoulder. But soon, they’re more vivid. More real.

You’ll hear his voice calling your name, soft and intimate, like he’s standing right behind you. You’ll turn around, your heart leaping with hope, only to find nothing but empty air.

And then there are the nights when you swear you feel his arms around you, holding you close as you drift off to sleep. Those nights are the worst, because when you wake up, the loneliness is suffocating.

Your friends notice the change in you, though you try to hide it. They don’t understand. How could they? They never knew him the way you did. They never loved him the way you do.

“You’re spiraling,” one of them says gently, her voice laced with concern. “You need help, Y/N. This… this isn’t normal.”

You nod, pretending to agree, but you don’t believe her. How could you need help when the only thing keeping you sane is the thought of him? When the illusions are the only moments you feel whole again?

One evening, you sit on the floor of your living room, surrounded by the box of Loki’s things you couldn’t bring yourself to burn. You pull out the scarf, holding it close to your chest as tears spill down your cheeks.

“I can’t do this without you,” you whisper into the fabric, your voice shaking. “I don’t know how.”

The room feels colder than ever, but as you close your eyes, you imagine his warmth enveloping you. You imagine him kneeling beside you, his hand brushing your hair back as he murmurs reassurances in that velvety voice.

But when you open your eyes, you’re still alone. And the scarf in your hands feels unbearably heavy.

You clutch it tighter, rocking slightly as the weight of your grief crashes over you. The world outside continues on, indifferent to your pain, but in this moment, all you can feel is the absence of him.

It’s a pain that no one else can understand, a loss that no one else can ease. And as the illusions pull you deeper into their grasp, you can’t help but wonder if letting go of him is even possible — or if you’re destined to carry this ache forever.

The dream begins the same way every time.

You’re standing in a golden field, the tall grass swaying gently in a breeze that carries the faintest scent of lavender. The sky above is painted in soft hues of orange and pink, a perpetual sunset that feels both warm and surreal. And there he is, waiting for you.

Loki.

He’s standing a few paces away, his silhouette sharp against the dreamy backdrop. His dark hair is tousled just so, and when he sees you, that familiar, crooked smile lights up his face. He opens his arms, and you run to him, your heart soaring in a way it hasn’t in what feels like forever.

In your dreams, there are no goodbyes, no insurmountable barriers. Here, you are just two people who love each other, untouched by the weight of reality.

“Missed me, darling?” he asks, his voice teasing yet warm as he pulls you into his arms.

“Always,” you murmur, burying your face in his chest. His scent surrounds you — leather and cedar, with a hint of something uniquely him. It’s intoxicating, grounding, and you never want to let go.

The dreams are your sanctuary, the only place where the ache in your chest quiets, where you feel whole again. You wake up every morning wishing you could stay there forever. And slowly, without realizing it, you begin to chase that feeling.

At first, it’s subtle. You let yourself sleep a little longer each morning, lingering in bed even as the sunlight streams through your window. Then you start skipping plans with your friends, feigning exhaustion or sickness so you can curl back under the covers.

The more time you spend in your dreams, the less you care about the waking world. Food becomes an afterthought, meals skipped in favor of lying in bed, hoping to drift off again. Even your appearance begins to change — your cheeks hollowing, your skin growing pale. But you hardly notice. All that matters is Loki.

Your friends notice the change in you long before you do.

“You’ve barely eaten,” one of them points out during a rare outing, her eyes scanning your face with obvious concern. “You’re so thin, Y/N. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” you reply automatically, forcing a smile. But your voice lacks conviction, and you can tell she doesn’t believe you.

“You don’t look fine.” Her tone softens, but there’s a firmness beneath it. “We’re worried about you. You’ve been isolating yourself, skipping meals, avoiding everyone…”

“I’m just tired,” you say, cutting her off. “That’s all.”

The words hang in the air, heavy with unspoken truths. You can see the worry etched into her features, but you’re too far gone to care. You’re tired of the concern, the pity, the endless attempts to pull you out of the darkness when all you want is to stay there, wrapped in the illusion of Loki’s presence.

One night, your friend shows up at your apartment unannounced. The moment she steps inside, she freezes, her eyes widening as she takes in the state of the place.

It’s a mess. Dishes piled in the sink, unopened mail scattered across the counter, curtains drawn tightly to keep out the daylight. And there you are, curled up on the couch in a hoodie that hangs off your frame, your eyes hollow and distant.

“Y/N,” she breathes, her voice breaking.

You barely look at her, your gaze fixed on the floor.

She sits down beside you, reaching for your hand. “You’re not okay,” she says, her voice trembling. “Please, let us help you.”

“I don’t need help,” you whisper, but even as you say it, tears spill down your cheeks.

“Yes, you do,” she insists, squeezing your hand. “You’ve been shutting us out, and it’s killing you. You’re wasting away, Y/N. I don’t know what’s going on, but you don’t have to face it alone.”

Her words pierce through the fog in your mind, and for a moment, you consider telling her the truth. Telling her about the dreams, about Loki, about the impossible grief that has consumed you. But the thought of saying it out loud feels like admitting he’s truly gone.

“I just need to sleep,” you say instead, pulling your hand away.

Her eyes fill with tears, but she doesn’t press you further. She stands, her shoulders slumping in defeat. “I can’t force you to let us in,” she says softly. “But I’m not giving up on you.”

After she leaves, you crawl back into bed, pulling the covers over your head. The dreams are waiting for you, and that’s all that matters.

But even the dreams begin to shift.

The golden fields grow dimmer, the sunsets less vibrant. Loki’s voice, once so warm and reassuring, takes on a melancholy edge. He holds you close, but there’s a sadness in his eyes that wasn’t there before.

“Why are you doing this to yourself?” he asks one night, his voice soft but filled with anguish.

“What do you mean?” you reply, confused.

“You’re losing yourself,” he says, his hands cradling your face. “This isn’t what I wanted for you.”

Tears stream down your cheeks as you shake your head. “I don’t care,” you whisper. “I just want to be with you.”

Loki’s expression breaks, his own tears shimmering in his eyes. “But at what cost, my love? You’re fading away.”

The dream dissolves into darkness, leaving you gasping as you wake up. For the first time, the comfort of sleep feels like a betrayal, a reminder of how deeply you’ve sunk into the illusion.

And yet, the waking world offers no solace. You lie in bed, staring at the ceiling, your heart aching with the weight of it all.

Because no matter where you are — asleep or awake — the pain remains. And you don’t know how to escape it.

It’s late afternoon when your friend arrives at your apartment, a determined look on her face as she steps inside. She doesn’t bother to hide her shock at the state of you. You’re sitting on the couch, knees pulled to your chest, staring blankly at the television. Your hoodie hangs loosely on your frail frame, and your skin is pale, almost translucent under the dim lighting.

“Y/N,” she begins, closing the door behind her and walking toward you. There’s no judgment in her tone, only a desperate kind of concern. “I’ve been doing some research… and I think I found something that could help.”

You glance at her, your expression unreadable. “Help?”

“Yes.” She sits down beside you, her movements careful, as though she’s afraid you might shatter. “It’s… unconventional, but it’s worth considering.”

From her bag, she pulls out a pamphlet and places it on the coffee table. The bold lettering on the front reads: The Haven Institute: A New Beginning.

You eye it warily, your stomach twisting with unease. “What is this?”

She hesitates, then takes a deep breath. “It’s a clinic. They specialize in memory modification. They… they can help you forget him.”

The words hit you like a punch to the gut, and for a moment, you can’t breathe. Forget him? The idea is so foreign, so unimaginable, that it feels like an affront to everything you’ve been holding onto.

“No,” you say quickly, your voice trembling. “Absolutely not.”

“Y/N, please just listen—”

“No!” You push yourself up from the couch, pacing the room with frantic energy. “I can’t. I won’t. He’s all I have left. If I forget him, then what? What’s left of me?”

Tears fill your friend’s eyes, but she doesn’t back down. “What’s left of you now?” she asks softly, her voice breaking. “Look at yourself, Y/N. You’re not living. You’re barely surviving. This… this isn’t what he would want for you.”

Her words strike a chord, but you shake your head, unwilling to let them sink in.

“I can’t,” you whisper, your voice cracking. “I can’t lose him again.”

That night, you dream of Loki again. But this time, the dream isn’t a golden field or a serene sunset. It’s your apartment, dimly lit and suffocatingly quiet.

He’s sitting across from you, his posture relaxed but his expression serious. There’s a weight to his gaze, a sadness that mirrors your own.

“You know she’s right,” he says, his voice gentle but firm.

You shake your head, tears streaming down your face. “No. Don’t say that. Don’t you dare say that.”

Loki leans forward, his elbows resting on his knees as he studies you. “Do you think this is what I want for you? To see you like this, wasting away, consumed by grief?”

“I’m not wasting away,” you argue, but your voice lacks conviction.

He tilts his head, his expression softening. “Aren’t you? Look at yourself, darling. You’re a shadow of the person I fell in love with. And it’s my fault. I see that now.”

“No,” you choke out, clutching at the fabric of your hoodie. “It’s not your fault. It’s mine. I’m the one who can’t let go.”

“And that’s why you need to let me go,” he says, his voice breaking. “Not because you don’t love me, but because you do. Because holding onto me is killing you.”

You collapse onto the floor, sobbing into your hands as the weight of his words crashes over you. “I don’t know how,” you whisper. “I don’t know how to let you go.”

Loki kneels beside you, his hands cupping your face as he looks into your eyes. “You can,” he says firmly. “You’re stronger than you think. And if erasing me is the only way to save you… then so be it.”

The dream begins to fade, his voice lingering in your mind even as the golden light dissolves into darkness.

You wake up gasping, tears soaking your pillow. The words from your dream replay over and over in your head, like a mantra you can’t escape: You need to let me go.

For the first time, you take a long, hard look at yourself. You walk to the bathroom and flick on the light, wincing at the reflection staring back at you. Your cheeks are hollow, your eyes dull, your once-vibrant presence reduced to a frail shadow.

Your hand trembles as you press it against the mirror, your breath fogging the glass. This isn’t you. This isn’t the person you used to be.

And Loki — whether he’s a dream, an illusion, or a memory too stubborn to fade — is right. You’ve let your grief consume you, and if you don’t do something soon, there won’t be anything left to save.

The next morning, you call your friend.

“I’ll do it,” you say quietly, your voice barely above a whisper. “I’ll go to the clinic.”

There’s a pause on the other end of the line, and when she speaks, her voice is thick with emotion. “Are you sure?”

“No,” you admit. “But I can’t keep living like this.”

Your friend comes over that afternoon, and for the first time in what feels like forever, you let her hold you as you cry. It’s a small step, but it’s a step nonetheless.

The pamphlet sits on the coffee table, a reminder of what’s to come. And as you stare at it, a part of you wonders if this is the right choice — if erasing Loki from your mind will truly set you free, or if it will only leave another kind of emptiness in its place.

But for now, you cling to the hope that it might bring you peace. That maybe you can find a way to start over.

The clinic is sterile, unnervingly clean, and entirely too quiet. The hum of the fluorescent lights overhead sets your teeth on edge as you sit in the waiting area, clutching the scarf in your lap like a lifeline. It still smells faintly of him, though the scent is fading. You know it’s your imagination more than anything else, but you don’t care. It’s all you have left.

The receptionist calls your name, and you stand, legs trembling as you follow her down a long corridor. Your friend is waiting outside in the car, insisting she couldn’t bear to come in. You told her you’d be fine, but now, as the door to the consultation room closes behind you, you’re not so sure.

The doctor is kind, their voice calm and reassuring as they explain the procedure once again. You listen, nodding at the appropriate times, but your mind is elsewhere — lost in the memories you’re about to give up.

“Do you have the belongings?” the doctor asks gently, gesturing to the small box you’ve brought with you.

You nod, setting it on the table with shaking hands. Inside are the remnants of your life with Loki: a book he loved to read aloud from, a pair of cufflinks he’d left on your dresser, and the scarf you’ve been holding onto for dear life.

The doctor notices your grip on the scarf and tilts their head. “You don’t have to let go of everything,” they say, their tone encouraging. “We can modify the memory tied to an object if you’d prefer to keep it.”

You glance down at the soft fabric, your fingers tracing the intricate weave. The thought of losing this piece of him entirely feels unbearable, but the idea of it being tied to him — tied to your grief — is equally suffocating.

“Can you… can you change the memory?” you ask hesitantly. “Make it something else?”

The doctor nods. “Of course. What would you like it to mean?”

You think for a moment, your mind swirling with possibilities. Finally, you settle on something simple, something that feels safe. “A lucky charm,” you say quietly. “It’s a scarf I’ve had for years, and I keep it for good luck.”

The doctor smiles gently. “We can do that.”

Before the procedure, they give you a moment alone to say goodbye — not to the belongings, but to the memories themselves.

You sit on the chair in the dimly lit room, the scarf draped across your lap. The illusion of Loki appears before you, as vivid as ever, his expression unreadable.

“So, this is it,” he says softly, his voice tinged with sadness.

You nod, tears welling in your eyes. “I guess it is.”

Loki steps closer, his gaze searching yours. “Are you sure this is what you want, my love?”

“I don’t want it,” you admit, your voice trembling. “But I need it. I need to move on. And I can’t… not like this.”

He reaches out, his fingers ghosting over your cheek, though you can’t feel his touch. “You’ve always been stronger than you know,” he murmurs. “Stronger than me, even.”

You let out a shaky laugh, fresh tears spilling over. “That’s not true.”

“It is,” he insists, his eyes glinting with that familiar intensity. “And now, you’ll prove it.”

For a moment, neither of you speaks. You simply look at him, memorizing every detail of his face, every nuance of his expression.

“Goodbye, Loki,” you whisper, your voice breaking.

His smile is soft, bittersweet. “Goodbye, my love.”

He fades slowly, the edges of his figure dissolving into the air until there’s nothing left but an empty room.

The doctor guides you into the operating chair, the soft hum of machinery filling the space. They place a device over your temples, adjusting the settings as they explain what to expect. You barely hear them, your mind still caught in the aftershocks of saying goodbye.

“This will be painless,” the doctor says gently. “You may experience flashes of the memories as they’re removed, but it will be quick.”

You nod, gripping the scarf tightly.

The machine begins to whir, and the first memory surfaces.

It’s the night you met him, his sharp wit and charming smile disarming you instantly. You remember the way he looked at you, like you were the only person in the room.

The memory dissolves, and another takes its place.

Loki teaching you magic, his laughter filling the room when you accidentally summon a puff of smoke instead of a flame. “We’ll make a sorceress of you yet,” he had said, pride gleaming in his eyes.

That memory fades, too, replaced by the time he held you under a canopy of stars, his voice a soft murmur as he told you stories of Asgard.

One by one, the memories play out, each one tugging at your heart until it feels like it might break entirely. But you let them go, because you have to.

The last memory is the hardest. It’s the day he left, his hand brushing against yours for the final time. You see the pain in his eyes, the love he couldn’t put into words, and it nearly undoes you.

“Be happy,” he had whispered, his voice cracking. “For both of us.”

As the memory fades, you feel a strange sense of peace. The pain is still there, but it’s muted now, distant.

When the procedure is over, the doctor removes the device and places the scarf in your hands. “It’s done,” they say gently.

You hold the scarf close, feeling its softness against your skin. It’s just a scarf now — a lucky charm, nothing more.

And as you leave the clinic, the weight on your chest feels a little lighter, the world a little brighter.

It’s not a perfect ending, but it’s a new beginning. And for now, that’s enough.

Life after the clinic is quieter, simpler.

You wake up each morning to sunlight streaming through your window, the warmth of it brushing your face. Your days are filled with routines now — a job you’ve rediscovered a passion for, weekend brunches with friends who are no longer burdened with worry over you, and quiet evenings spent reading or listening to music.

On the surface, everything seems fine. You smile more, laugh more. Your friends notice the change and comment on how much better you look. “It’s so good to have you back,” one of them says during a coffee date, her eyes brimming with relief.

You nod, sipping your latte, and try to believe her.

But there’s an ache in your chest that you can’t quite place. A dull, persistent tug that makes itself known when the world grows quiet — when you’re walking home alone in the evening or lying in bed just before sleep takes you. It’s not sharp or overwhelming, just… there. A void you can’t fill, no matter how hard you try.

Your apartment is different now. Cleaner, brighter. The curtains are drawn back to let in the sunlight, and the once-cluttered surfaces are neatly organized. You’ve even picked up a few plants, their green leaves adding life to the space.

And yet, sometimes, when you walk into the living room, you pause, your eyes lingering on the empty chair by the window. For a moment, you feel like something — or someone — should be there. But the thought slips away as quickly as it comes, leaving you puzzled but not overly concerned.

The scarf has become a part of your everyday life. You wear it on days when you need a little extra confidence, its soft fabric a comforting weight around your neck. It’s your lucky charm, though you can’t quite remember where you got it or why it feels so important.

One afternoon, as you’re folding laundry, you find yourself holding the scarf a little longer than necessary. A strange, bittersweet feeling washes over you, like you’re on the verge of remembering something — or someone — just out of reach.

You shake it off, folding the scarf neatly and tucking it away in your drawer.

Dreams come to you occasionally, hazy and fragmented. They’re filled with flashes of green and gold, the sound of laughter you can’t place, and the sensation of strong arms wrapping around you.

You wake from these dreams with a strange mixture of comfort and longing, your heart aching for something — or someone — you can’t name. But the feeling fades as the day goes on, replaced by the mundanity of everyday life.

One evening, as you’re walking home from work, a sudden gust of wind whips through the street, tugging at your scarf. You clutch it tightly, a shiver running down your spine despite the warmth of your coat.

For a brief moment, you feel as though you’re being watched, as though someone is standing just behind you, their presence familiar and reassuring. You turn quickly, your eyes scanning the empty street, but there’s no one there.

You laugh at yourself, shaking your head as you continue walking. But the feeling lingers, a warmth in your chest that stays with you for the rest of the night.

Time passes, and the ache in your heart becomes easier to ignore. You focus on the present, on the life you’ve rebuilt. You’re content, if not entirely happy.

But every now and then, when the world grows quiet, you find yourself staring into the distance, your fingers brushing absentmindedly over the scarf around your neck.

You don’t know what it is you’re searching for.

And maybe you never will.

ah yes, the angst! I love it, I've been crying for the last 2k words lol

[atopvisenyashill]

@amethyinst wait let’s TALK ABOUT IT bc everything you’re saying is CORRECT and OBVIOUS, and i wasn’t expecting it to be SO OBVIOUS and YET i feel like it gets really glossed over!

the “harsh journey across barren wasteland” thing is practically jumping off the page here, down to bran losing rickon & osha early in the journey and dany losing doreah early in hers, & the kicking off point being a fight between several factions of what’s left of drogo’s khalasar & dany’s, and the final sack of Winterfell being this kind of three way issue between what’s left of the iron islanders, the stark loyalists theon left alive, & ramsay. dany & bran really escape death here through like, oodles of luck and quick thinking from the people around them.

but ALSO you have dany currently on the dothraki sea and bran in the far north, and both of them are just kind of looking away when meat of a questionable source is given to them. and i think there’s something more here, in that dany shows up to qarth & it’s an oasis in the sea, only every door is shut in her face and the warlocks are there ~lurking. meanwhile you have bran showing up to the far north hoping for a miracle cure to his legs and to get all the magical answers he seeks only to get some very shitty answers from the cotf while bloodraven is ~lurking. this is why i think there’s a chance bran is leaving the cave p quickly in twow - like dany in the dothraki sea, he’s going to have an extended journey where it’s just him (and maybe Summer) using his warging abilities and trying to get his body to the wall. probably doing a lot of reflecting, and possibly learning the wrong lesson as he reflects!

and there’s a lot between hotu & the cave too - learning the old gods are just greenseers, seeing with his own eyes that the first men sacrificed people to fuel their magic, seeing his father talking about jon, seeing lyanna & benjen spar. meanwhile dany is having visions that include her brother talking about tptwp, her father yelling to burn everyone,and the “false wizards” who try to trick her. both of them being shown but not quite processing that all their visions are linked to their own history. there’s the elusive, suspicious way the warlocks & quaithe speak with dany, always in riddles, and bloodraven is equally suspicious and cagey. but they’re both learning, they’re both progressing in their magic, and they’re both really struggling with placing where ~the line is morally when it comes to how they use their magic - but look at their mentors lmao, they have the world’s shadiest teachers.

and YEAH everyone loves to talk about the targaryen connection & jon and dany both being born towards the end of the rebellion, but i think it’s glossed over that both dany & bran are kinda In The Shit when their parents get murdered during a succession war and have to go underground or get killed. dany’s fondest memories are the ones from when she’s bran’s age and younger, with willem darry there to care for her (like the ONLY capable adult she ever interacts with 😭). and you have osha, who like willem darry isn’t really a sworn sword type, they’re just very loyal people who were close at hand and did what they could for the children in their care. there’s something that links them when it comes to, idk exactly how to phrase it, but physical trauma & their magic coming in, basically. both of their childhoods whittling their support systems down until they’re alone - only when they’ve experienced physical traumas & lost everything can they access magic on a stronger scale. and the fact that they both reach for it sooo readily! jon doesn’t want anything to do with it, he’s spent nearly every book actively running from it, but dany and bran turn right into the arms of their magic as a refuge.

they’re also just both clearly the prophecy children lol no offense to jon (or tyrion for that matter) but i think even IF jon or tyrion or aegon (or euron 💀) manage to get a dragon, the capital p Prophecy Children are dany & bran as the last dragon and the last greenseer. and they’re so much THERE too - bran looks like an andal & dreamt more ~andal-ish dreams but inherits the legacy of the first men’s magic after being disabled and socially de masculinized bc of that disability, while dany looks a consummate valyrian but she’s a girl and inherits the mantle of last dragon after every man in her line fails. everyone wants to be THEM but they are the only ones capable of that power - and that’s a good thing but also a very bad thing.

[fairyberkshire]

FALLING FOR SHADOWS | RAFE CAMERON AU

pairings: frat!rafe cameron x female!reader

a/n: here's some texts ! this chapter takes place the day after the party ! i hope you all enjoy !

parts: 2 . . . 3 . . . 4 . . .

There you were, off to the side in a bar, nursing a drink. The music and chatter of people all just a blur in the background to you as you feel disconnected from the crowd– the world. And, as you sit here surrounded by the crowd of the bar, you can’t help but feel isolated.

Your thoughts drifting back to your father…You had earlier had a conversation with Kiara, about her father and how he was always hovered a lot in her life…And you couldn’t help but feel…sad.

Sure, your relationship with your father was long gone. Always having been complicated. And you no longer wanted him in your life…but it didn’t mean it didn’t hurt at times. 

Rafe soon strolls into the bar, spotting you almost instantly from across the room, a smirk on his lips as he walks closer to you…But when he gets closer he notices you're alone and that you seem slightly off. Shoulders slumped, and eyes distant.

And, he hesitates for a moment questioning if he should turn around or not. Wondering if it’s overstepping if he sees what’s wrong…Wasn’t even sure if you’d want his help or want him there.

After all, you two had only known each other for a short period of time…but at the same time. But another part of him– it makes him want to go and comfort you. So he does.

“So…what’s got you standing all alone?” Rafe starts, deciding to go with a more casual start, and you look up at him slightly startled, before quickly brushing off her discomfort with a laugh…But Rafe doesn’t but it, picking up fully that something is wrong. He knows you aren’t acting like yourself.The girl he’s seen before who’s witty and playful. 

And, as he doesn’t say anything back, you just give him a weak smile, dropping your gaze to your drink to avoid having to look at him. 

“Are…you alright? Sorry– you just don’t look like you’re having much fun” He says, and her eyes, flicker up to meet his, before dropping back down, giving him a small shrug.

“Just not my scene,” You say it, but he knows you’re lying. Sure, it wasn’t your scene…but neither were a few other places, and you hadn’t seemed like these before.

“Something’s off– Can tell. You can talk to me, you know” He says, reaching for your drink, gently taking it from you, not even waiting for you to protest. 

“Rafe– really. I’m fine. I just…need some space. Please” Rafe knows you’re trying to push him away, maybe as a defense mechanism…so he doesn’t take it personally. 

“I’m not going anywhere. You don’t have to give me details– I know some things up. But I’m here…”  Rafe says this, and you just slightly roll your eye, but you can already feel yourself slipping to want to tell him. To let him in. But questioning if you should.

“Why do you even care, Rafe?” Your voice wavers slightly, and the crack in it…the vulnerability he can sense slip through…it hits Rafe harder than he expects. So, he pulls you with him to a table, sitting down with you, and for a moment he doesn’t respond, just watches you silently– this isn’t exactly what he’s used to…caring like this.

And sure, he’s been there for his sister at times…but with you, it feels different. “I care– I care because no matter what’s going on right now…I can sure as hell tell you I was probably in worse…And that look you had? The one that tells me that you felt like the world was moving on without you. Like you’re just…stuck. Yeah– I’ve been there. And it’s not something you should face alone…trust me” He admits, and it’s when you look at him, tears welling in your eyes that he feels his heart break.

“It’s stupid…Doesn’t matter–” “If you’re sitting here like this it matters…” His words hold the truth obviously, making you stare at your drink for a long moment, your fingers fidgeting with the rim of the glass, making the condensation smear against the…the words tight in your throat making you feel suffoacated– but his gaze makes it feel like you can say what you need to.

“It’s my father…” You softly say, and his brows furrow slightly, but he doesn’t say anything, giving you the time to say something more. “When uhm…When I was born…he didn’t want anything to do with me. Told my mom that– or some bullshit like that. He just…left. And I– I was okay with that, you know? Like, I told myself that I didn’t need him” You pause, your voice cracking slightly as the next words spill out.

“But then, he’d occasionally just pop into my life out of nowhere– and then when I was fifteen…He decided he wanted to come into my life again…more permanently, like he wanted to make up for all this lost time, making all these promises. And stupid me– stupid me believed him. I believed him. I thought…I thought maybe I was enough..”

You start again, but your hands start to tremble slightly, and all while yours do, Rafe’s do the same under the table…his chest becoming tight as his own mind flickers to his family. The pressure and expectations he’d felt growing up– how his father was never what he needed in a father…So Rafe pulls his hand from under the table, reaching out and letting his fingers softly brush yours to provide you (and himself) some sort of comfort…and it does.

“But then…he’d leave again…And now here I am. I’m 19...I’ve had him out of my life for a while. Blocked. And I don’t even want anything to do with him– But…It still hurts, Rafe” You say, tears falling, as you pause.

“What– What is so wrong with me that I couldn’t stay?.. Why– why wasn’t I enough? Why am I not enough…” Rafe’s jaw tightens as he processes your words, and he’s quiet for a moment, making you wonder if you’ve said too much, but then he starts to speak, and it’s steady and sure.

“There is nothing wrong with you, y/n. Nothing. If your dad couldn’t see how lucky he was to have you in his life he’s an idiot, and that’s on him– not you. That’s his failure. Not at all yours” He says, it, and you blink at him, his words hitting you like a truck.

“And for what it’s worth?...You’re amazing. So amazing. Hell, you barely know me and you’ve already put up with my crap more than most would” You give him a smile, and it’s the first one you’ve given him all night, even as the tears fall down your cheeks…and he too smiles, shifting closer to you, his hand now fully holding yours…

And when he does this, the heaviness in your chest starts to lift,  just a little, and he stays by you– not letting go of your hand as you both just sit in the quiet corner of the bar, and for once, you feel like you aren’t alone.

[thescarletwitchsapprentice]

I Am Your Destiny (Yandere!Rio Vidal x female!reader)

Summary: You had recently gotten engaged and you couldn’t be happier. But someone you’re close with has taken it upon herself to ensure that that will never come to pass, that you are hers and hers alone….

Prompts taken from the Yandere Writing List by @yandere-daze

67. " Nothing can separate us now."

38. "Only look at me with these pretty eyes of yours."

(CW: Kidnapping, forced kiss, potential murder implications, (kinda up to interpretation) restraint, (just on the ankle) possible drugging)

Author’s Note: I actually managed to get one of my ideas out of my head and into a story, holy shit!

Reader is, of course, 18+.

Your eyes shoot open as a soft breeze brushes against you.

“Where the hell am I?” you whisper fearfully as your eyes dart around. It looks like a clearing in the moonlight surrounded by a thick forest, but….it feels unnatural. 

The last thing you remember is preparing your wedding invitations. Your partner of seven years had proposed to you and you’d been nose-deep in preparations despite the date being far off. But there’s bigger fish to fry.

Your heart pounds, your breathing quickens; is this a kidnapping? You try to stand up, but something’s keeping you down on your knees. Looking behind you, you see a rope of green light surrounding your ankle, the other end tied to a tree. This escape clearly isn’t going to be easy.

Suddenly you hear a familiar chuckle from the forest.

“Finally, you’re awake, my love.”

Your blood freezes as a shadow slowly strides out of the forest, unveiling their identity; dressed in a black off-shoulder gown with a crown on her head, her dark hair flowing in the light breeze.

“R-Rio?!” you gasp out.

Hearing this, her smile grows.

“Ah, my little bird….how I love hearing you say my name.”

She glides closer until she’s hovering above you, like a hawk hovering over its prey. 

“What’s going on?” you choke out.

She doesn’t answer, instead slowly kneeling down in front of you. 

“What’s going on?” she repeats before shrugging. “Nothing much, just…..claiming what’s mine.”

The drop on her volume at the end sends chills through you. 

“Wh…what are you talking about?” you gasp out.

Rio coos in response. “Oh darling….don’t tell me you’re really this clueless.” Reaching out, she slowly tucks a bit of hair behind your ear. “It’s so obvious; you and I are meant to be together.”

Upon hearing this, you have to do a double-take. No….there’s no way you heard that right; Rio’s your best friend, the first one you told about your partner’s proposal, the one you told all your secrets to. Of course you know she’s Death, that she’s the original Green Witch, but you never considered her as anything more than your best friend. 

“Rio, don’t talk nonsense,” you chuckle nervously, praying that this is just a joke, just a terrifying joke.

“….Who said it’s nonsense?” Her face betrays no sign of deception, that just makes you feel even more horrified. “What’s nonsense is believing that you’re not meant to be mine, by my side for all eternity.”

“Okay, that’s enough, Rio,” you pant. “Just…..cut the bullshit and let me go.”

Hearing this, her eyes harden. 

“Let you go?” Her tone drops as she leans in close, her face only a few inches from yours. “Do you think I’d be insane enough to do that? When I have what I want here and now? Don’t make me laugh. Besides I’ve waited long enough for this moment, and when things arose, I decided to take matters into my own hands.”

Once again, you try to stand up, but within a millisecond, you’re back on the ground. 

“Don’t even bother, it’s cosmic-grade magic,” she huffs. “I can’t have you running off; besides, you wouldn’t even know the way out.”

A lump forms in your throat as you remember just how powerful Rio actually in.

“Why are you here?”

She doesn’t answer for a hot second. “Well….it’s pretty simple; I want to ensure this destiny is fulfilled, and one way to do that is soul-binding.”

“Soul….binding?” you gasp out.

“Soul-binding,” she repeats. “A ritual that connects the souls of two people to the point where the mere thought of being separate from them gives one a sense of absolute dread. It is a bond that nothing is able to sever.”

Gently she cups your cheek, brushing her thumb against it in a slow circular motion.

“Once the ritual is performed, our souls will become one. We’ll sense each other’s thoughts…feelings…desires…we’ll develop a deep desire to be with each other, a desire that will grow into a compulsion. We’ll sense each other’s wants and needs, we’ll be able to communicate telepathically, among many, many benefits; best of all…”

She slowly cups both sides of your face with one hand.

“….Our life forces will be connected,” she whispers. 

Your blood goes beyond frozen; Rio, being Death herself, cannot die. If you become connected to her…..

“Rio, you’re insane!”

She just grins and nods.

“Insanely in love, in particular.”

“This isn’t love, it’s obsession!”

Rio merely chuckles. “I see them as one and the same. Anyway, let’s not waste anymore time. Our souls will soon be one.”

You’re in the biggest panic of your life.

“Rio, you can’t do this; you know about the proposal!”

Upon hearing this, Rio gives a bitter chuckle. “Of course I know…..why do you think I’m doing this now? They don’t deserve you. They’re not your destiny; I am.”

“But…..they’re gonna wonder where I am!” you stammer.

She sighs. “Oh, my love…..you’re truly so naive. Did you think I wouldn’t be prepared for that? I’ve already taken care of the problem.”

All of your trembling that you’re trying to hide freezes at that moment. “….what did you do to them?” you gasp.

“Nothing to worry your pretty little head about, my little bird,” she says. “Enough diversions; it’s time to bind.”

In an attempt to avoid the ritual, you turn away, but Rio grabs your head and yanks it back to face her.

“There’s no use fighting it, my love,” she purrs. “This is what’s meant to be.”

“If you do this to me, I’ll hate you forever!” you snap.

However Rio just laughs. “Oh, I beg to differ, my love. Once the ritual is complete, you’ll be so enamored that you’ll only look at me with these pretty eyes of yours. I guarantee it.

Keeping her hands on both sides of your face, she leans forward and locks her lips onto yours. You try to pull away, but Rio’s grip on you is too strong. Her lips give off the taste of mint, one that’s almost….alluring….

You begin to feel your mind fog up and your muscles begin to loosen. But you know you need to get away…..right? The mint taste and scent is beginning to overtake you; at the same time, you feel a strange sensation enter your body, which brings back your alertness slightly. You sense yourself torn between the need to break out and the desire to succumb. However the more you’re exposed to this delicate but intoxicating aroma, the more you lean towards the latter. The strange sensation strengthens, but it’s strange in a euphoric way. Even as that little voice in the back of your mind tries to bring you back, the euphoria and mint both nearly have you. The voice is slowly fading away….until all there is is the euphoria and mint.

You reach up and grab Rio’s face, burying yourself deeper into the kiss. A deep primal desire awakens in you, a desire to be closer than humanly possible; and the more you two kiss, the stronger the euphoria becomes until it’s one of the only things on your mind.

After some time, Rio slowly pulls her lips away from you before giving a chuckle. The two of you lock eyes and you feel as though everything else has faded. As far as you’re concerned, nothing exists but your beloved Rio….

“There…. Nothing can separate us now,” she whispers. 

Reaching over, she places her hand just above your chest, the touch making you feel…whole.

“You can feel it too, can’t you?” she chuckles. “Our souls are now one, bound together eternally.”

You focus, and sure enough, you feel as though your souls have practically merged into one, and you love it. It just feels…..right. Seeing this, Rio releases the bind on your ankle and brings you in close. Her warmth immediately puts you at peace as your head settles on her chest. 

As you settle in, Rio whispers in your ear, her warmth breath caressing your ear. “You’re safe with me, my love. I’ll protect you, cherish you, treasure you as the precious gem you are. You will want for nothing. All you have to do is stay with me….can you do that for me?”

Without hesitating you nod, an enamored smile forming on your face, and Rio chuckles.

“That’s it. You’ll stay with me like the good girl you are. You don’t need anyone else. I am all you need…..”

As her warmth encompasses you, you feel your eyes begin to flutter shut, the echoing sounds of the waterfall, along with the rise and fall of Rio’s chest, lulling you into a peaceful slumber. Nothing can make this more perfect for you. You know you’re exactly where you need to be, where you want to be. You simply can’t imagine being anywhere else, except with your beloved Rio. And just before you drift off, you hear her whisper into your ear.

“I am your destiny….”

[thedeathdeelers]

miracle

“no regrets.” he takes in a shuddering breath, trying hard to suppress yet another sob clawing its way out of his throat.

julie vigorously shakes her head at his words, even as the desperation in her eyes slowly shifts into defeated acceptance.

he knew she would get him — she always did — even if it pained the both of them.

he looks at her, takes in her slumped shoulders — her glassy eyes, wet cheeks and quivering lips.

luke swallows down another sob at the sight, fingers curling into fists at his sides as he holds it all in. he doesn’t want to break down in front of her and make this harder on her — not when she was already struggling.

he couldn’t.

especially here, now, when this might be the last time they see each other.

he needed to be there for her, to reassure her, up until the every end.

he walks closer towards her, as close as he could get, suddenly too aware of the space between them. because no matter how close he got to her, she still felt so out of reach.

what he would do to be able to bridge that gap — to hold her, to wrap his arms around her and keep her close, even if just once- even if it was the last thing he ever did-

and now, in this moment, he could almost picture it — the feel of her against him, feeling the air rush out of his lungs as she runs into his arms, her own wrapping tightly around his neck as she holds him close.

it felt so natural, it felt so real- almost terrifyingly so. was this the end? was he to spend his last moments of existence dreaming of a world where he could hold her?

luke closes his eyes, drowning in his own hallucination.

“i love you guys.”

if this was the end, then so be it.

let this be the last thing his mind conjures up.

but as the dream he thinks he’s having starts to move away, luke opens his eyes in panic to find julie just a few inches away from his face, her eyes too bright and too real to be a figment of his imagination. he stares at her in awe and confusion as she pulls away just enough to trail her fingers down his arms.

warm soft skin brushing against his own.

“h-how can i..feel you?” she asks, voice barely above a whisper as she looks up at him in wonder.

“i-i-“ he stutters out, too distracted by..everything. by her proximity, her warmth - by her. “i don’t know,” he finally manages to say, tears blurring his vision.

julie reaches out towards him at his words, almost as if in a desperate hurry to confirm that this wasn’t a fluke — that it wasn’t a dream, an illusion.

he immediately feels the warmth of her skin against his as she cups his face in her hands, her fingers stroking his cheeks and wiping away his tears.

he doesn’t know what to feel, what to think, what to say-

he continues to stare at her in disbelief, his body suddenly moving of its own accord as he mirrors her movements, hands moving up to the soft warmth of her cheeks.

“i-“ he must be dreaming, this can’t be true; a moment ago he was an inch away from being wiped out of this world, and now he is suddenly holding his entire world in the palms of his hands?

this was…this was a miracle.

he could touch her.

she could touch him.

laughing in bewilderment, luke pulls julie in closer and rests his forehead against hers. he closes his eyes at the soft touch, and takes a deep breath, breathing her in and letting her fill his lungs until he could no longer keep it in.

slowly breathing out, he flexes his fingers against her skin, feeling the friction beneath his fingertips as strands of her hair tickle his skin.

it felt surreal. every single part of her, of this moment — like it was all just a dream.

almost as if to prove him wrong, julie moves beneath his hands, head tilting up towards him just enough for her nose to bump against his own.

she was real.

luke breathes out another laugh at the contact, still in absolutely awe of everything that she is. he takes his time to savour the moment, feeling her breath brush against his lips.

he doesn’t know how long they stand there, holding onto each other in this dreamlike stance, but when he eventually opens his eyes, the first thing that greets him is her smile — a smile full of love and joy and wonder and hope.

this was truly a miracle.

she was a miracle.

[redux-iterum]

Charred Legacy: Chapter Thirty-Four

(AO3 counterpart here.)

It was a miserable load to bear, and every step closer to home took increasing effort. Somehow, Fireheart reflected as he stood outside the barrier of camp, he would have preferred staying in the woods where the dogs could find him.

He led Ravenwing through the tunnel and into the clearing, opening onto a sorry sight. Frostfur and her children sat in a circle, ringed around Brightpaw below the meeting stump. Their heads hung low and they whispered to each other, completely unaware of the newcomers. The elders and seers sat together with Bluestar, trying to keep her occupied with conversation while her head roamed aimlessly back and forth. Goldenflower was crouched beside Cloudpaw and Aspenpaw, the pair of apprentices huddled into each other, cheeks pressed together as Aspenpaw trembled miserably and Cloudpaw stared distantly at nothing, his eyes somehow drained of color.

The warrior toms quietly set Ashpaw’s remains down about a body’s length away from Brightpaw, just as Goldenflower noticed them and whispered something to Aspenpaw. Her head shot up and she stared at her brother’s halves for a stunned moment before letting out an incoherent scream of grief and scrambling to her feet, rushing to him.

“Ashpaw!” she cried, circling his head and pawing at him like he was going to wake up fine before collapsing and clawing at her own face and ears. “Oh, I’m so sorry– stars, I’m such an idiot, why didn’t I say anything, this is my fault—”

“Easy,” Fireheart said softly, using a careful paw to pull her claws off her head. “It’s not your fault.”

“It’s all my fault!” she wailed. “I should’ve told someone and now– and now he’s dead and Brightpaw’s dying and—”

She broke herself off with an agonized whimper and buried her nose in her paws. Goldenflower caught up to her and started grooming her neck and head, purring soothingly.

Cloudpaw, Fireheart noticed, had not moved. All he had done was slightly turn his head forward. He still had that faded, shaken look in his eyes. Even his fur was perfectly still.

“I’m sorry,” Fireheart said to Aspenpaw. He bumped his head on Goldenflower’s cheek, which she returned, before walking to his nephew. He said nothing, just crouched beside him and mimicked Goldenflower, though he couldn’t bring himself to purr. Cloudpaw said nothing, but he did relax a tiny bit.  

The other search parties returned together some time later, all with gasps and shouts of shock. Fireheart reported his group’s findings to Speckletail without really paying attention to what he was saying. He must’ve made sense, because Speckletail simply nodded unhappily and went to check on the elders and Bluestar.

“Poor things,” Willowpelt murmured, resting a paw on Ashpaw’s neck. She almost wobbled, a bit queasy, before looking at Fireheart. “Where’s Swifttail?”

“Greystripe and Mousefur are looking for him,” he replied dully.

“Mousefur must be in agony right now about Brightpaw.” Teaselfoot shivered, his face deeply troubled. As Darkstripe stalked past him, he added to the older warrior, “I’m sorry about your apprentice, too. I can’t imagine—”

“Doesn’t matter,” Darkstripe said shortly. “He was an idiot; it couldn’t be helped.”

The entire camp went silent and every eye turned to Darkstripe. Cloudpaw’s hairs slowly rose along his back, the first movement since Fireheart had sat with him.

“Excuse me?” Goldenflower growled.

“What?” Darkstripe gave her an incredulous look. “He ran out to fight an entire pack of dogs. That’s the stupidest thing a cat could do. He walked right into his death.”

“How can you talk about your own apprentice like that?!” Cinderpaw shouted, standing up and lashing her tail. “He was your responsibility!”

“It’s not my fault the little idiot got such a dumb idea in his head.” Darkstripe rolled his eyes at the increasingly furious faces around him, unaware that Aspenpaw had gotten up and was moving towards him. “And after his mother died the same way, you’d think—”

He cut himself off with a sharp, high yelp as a delicate grey paw slashed across his face. An impressively-sized spray of blood flung itself to the right and splashed the snow and sand with red. Darkstripe tumbled backwards, a paw clutching at his face and over his left eye as blood seeped out of several deep scratches. Fireheart stood up in alarm, just in time to grab Cloudpaw by the scruff as the apprentice tried to launch himself forward with a snarl. Darkstripe howled in anger and pain, falling onto his haunches and pawing at his wounds.

Aspenpaw stood quietly, shaking with rage down to the tip of her tail. No one shouted at her or got up to pull her away.

“Speckletail!” Darkstripe shrieked, using his uncovered eye to glare at the deputy. “Control your apprentice! She got my eye! I can’t see!”

Speckletail calmly lifted her tail over her back. “And hopefully you won’t be seeing out of that eye for a few days. If you’re going to say such horrible things about the cat you should have been taking care of, you can go to the warrior’s den and stay there for the rest of the night.”

Darkstripe stared at her. “Are you seriously not going to punish—”

“No,” Speckletail said. “I’m not. Go.”

Cloudpaw stopped struggling in Fireheart’s grip, shaking as hard as his sister. With every witness there, Darkstripe had no choice but to obey, storming into the warrior’s den with a hiss. A single bloody footprint from the paw he’d held to his face darkened the snow on the way to the den.

“Absolute slitprick,” Sandstorm growled. “He should be kicked out of camp for that.”

Speckletail sighed. “Unfortunately, being a slitprick isn’t a criminal offense, just a personal one. He’ll have to do worse to earn isolation.”

“I can probably get him to.” Sandstorm’s claws glinted in what dim light was over camp. “Bring him back out here, we’ll have him in the woods alone in a heartbeat.”

“We won’t be doing that,” Speckletail said, with a look in her eye like she very much wanted to. She shook out her fur and approached her apprentice, her voice turning gentle. “You okay, little dove?”

Aspenpaw, still trembling, took in a very deep breath. She copied her mentor’s shake and looked up at her. “I’ll live.”

Speckletail didn’t speak, but she touched her nose to Aspenpaw’s forehead. The apprentice’s fur smoothed out a little.

“Is anyone home?” a familiar voice called through the tunnel.

Immediately, attention turned and Speckletail left her apprentice’s side to hurry to the entrance. “Yes, we’re all back. Is that you, Mousefur?”

A dusky brown head popped into camp with a soft, “Unfortunately.”

She emerged completely, followed by Greystripe. He was lugging a broken black body over his back, the head dangling from an overstretched neck as his own hung morosely.

Cinderpaw and Willowpelt cried out in unison, followed by Lizardtail, rushing to Greystripe and Mousefur as the pair carefully set Swifttail’s corpse down close to Ashpaw’s. His coat was torn here and there, but hardly, like the dogs had been content to snap his neck and leave him to die. The tail was broken as well, right in the middle, and one paw had dark, short fur sticking to its claws.

“He wasn’t far from where we left you,” Greystripe explained sadly to Fireheart and Ravenwing as they approached. “They must have caught him out there. The snow covered up the pawprints, mostly, but we think they headed off towards the Houses.”

Speckletail grit her teeth and sighed, head down for a moment before she looked at Ravenwing. “Do you think he died with the apprentices?”

Ravenwing, to his credit, reacted quickly. His eyes flickered a bit side-to-side as he thought before he answered. “I would hazard a guess that he found the apprentices and the dogs were still there. He might have run to escape them, but they caught him.”

“That would make sense.” Speckletail nodded wearily. “He must not have thought to climb a tree.”

“I don’t know…” Ravenwing pointed to his broken tail. “He might’ve started up one and they dragged him back down. That burnt bark falls off so quickly, he could have slipped on his way up.”

By this time, the Clan was slowly gathering around the different bodies, some whispering something to them, some just touching them and shutting their eyes in prayer.

“Three dead in one night…” Dustpelt murmured with a shiver.

“Brightpaw’s still breathing,” Frostfur said sharply. “She’s alive. She’ll make it.”

“I hope so, too,” Dustpelt said carefully. “It’s just, she’s very battered—”

“She’ll make it,” Frostfur growled.

That was the end of the conversation. Cats now simply went up to Brightpaw’s brothers and expressed sympathy and hopes that she would live before returning to Ashpaw and Swifttail.

Slowly, after the majority of the grievers had stepped away, Bluestar stood up and tottered over to the dead toms. She stared down at them blankly, hardly able to stand straight.

“At least Swifttail died with his name,” Cinderpaw choked, Yellowfang leaning against her on one side and her mother on the other. “But Ashpaw, he’ll never…”

“Fear not for him, girl,” Yellowfang said in a rare soothing tone. “They will name him in StarClan.”

Willowpelt looked over Cinderpaw’s head and blinked at the old cat gratefully, asking, “Can you see if Swifttail’s made it there yet?”

Yellowfang sat up, head turned skyward with her buggy eyes squeezed shut. After a moment, she opened them again and looked back at Willowpelt. “If he is not there now, he will be shortly. His soul does not cling to his body.” Her gaze went to Aspenpaw and Cloudpaw. “Mayhaps he waits for his friend to join him.”

“We…” Cinderpaw swallowed thickly. “We can seek them out in our dreams. Make sure they’re okay.”

Yellowfang rested what little chin she had on her apprentice’s head. “When it is time.”

Lizardtail, with his forehead braced against his apprentice’s shoulder, shuddered. Fireheart couldn’t see his face, but he knew exactly what he was thinking. Not that it was hard to guess.

As Bluestar wobbled enough to scuff the snow with a paw to stay standing, Cinderpaw looked to her. “Well… Brightpaw… in case she– in case she doesn’t make it… can’t we give her a name ourselves?”

Frostfur jolted, but looked up at Bluestar with a mix of hope and dread.

Bluestar gave Cinderpaw a delayed, puzzled expression. “She isn’t old enough to be a warrior.” She turned to Speckletail. “Is she?”

“Er…” Speckletail cleared her throat. “No, but we can make an exception for her…”

Bluestar shook her head slightly. “We can’t do that.”

“Bluestar, she’s dying,” Cinderpaw protested, standing up and nearly knocking Yellowfang away. “She deserves a name. You made Ashpaw an apprentice too early—can’t you make an exception for Brightpaw, too?”

A horribly tense silence fell over camp. Fireheart’s belly was colder than the snow around him.

Bluestar blinked dumbly and shook her head again. “No, no, she must be old enough. We can’t send her into battle like this.”

“We won’t be sending her into battle at all!” Frostfur leaped to her feet, bristling. “Look at her! She’s missing an eye! She’s shredded from nose to tail-tip!”

Bluestar spoke on like Frostfur hadn’t said anything. “She’ll stay an apprentice for now. She needs to finish training before she gets her name. Of course she does.”

The silence again, even worse than before, punctuated by Frostfur’s hissing, harsh breath between clenched teeth. Bluestar ambled past the shocked crowd.

“I will be in my den,” she said, calm and casual. “Speak to me if…”

She left camp alone, walking like she was in a dream. 

Everyone stared at each other, horror and grief and anger swirling through their faces. Even Speckletail looked a little lost.

Eventually, she turned to Frostfur and murmured, “We’ll see how she does tonight. If she starts to… to go, I can take authority and name her.”

Still through gritted teeth, Frostfur growled, “You should have taken that months ago.”

Speckletail did not respond, but her eyes turned mournful. She stepped away and started for the camp entrance, saying, “I’ll make sure she doesn’t wander off.”

The Clan slowly started speaking again, in whispers and mutterings. Not a few angry glances were tossed in the direction of the warrior’s den. Fireheart took the opportunity to approach Yellowfang, who caught sight of him quickly and stood, meeting him halfway.

“Are you alright?” he asked immediately.

Yellowfang gave him narrowed eyes, dry but serious. “I worry more for the girl. Her friend and her brother lay in their own blood tonight.”

“Can…” Fireheart glanced at Frostfur and her family. “Can you see if Brightpaw will survive?”

A small harrumph, but Yellowfang did follow his line of sight, gazing at them a long moment before turning back. “I know that not. But experience tells me she has a chance. Others have survived worse in my time. Lost tails, lost fights when outnumbered…” Her face turned solemn. “Even lost minds.”

A spark of hope lit Fireheart’s chest for just a heartbeat. “Then… is it possible Bluestar will recover?”

That hope died the instant Yellowfang’s expression went in that unusual kind way. Her gravely voice softened to something chalkier. “There is nothing that will fix her, boy. Naught but the journey to StarClan we all take in time. We can only care for her until that day comes.” She hesitated for a moment, only as long as it took to keep Fireheart’s eyes on hers. “You have done all you can, as have the deputy and her nephew. I see you wanting to hope for a miracle. There will be none, and that is not your fault.”

Fireheart resisted the urge to wail, opting to hang his head instead. After a pause, a small, longhaired paw landed on his shoulder, prompting him to look up weakly again.

“Mourn her as you like,” Yellowfang said gently. “But swallow that truth.”

Fireheart said nothing. He just lifted his head again with a wavering sigh.

Yellowfang stayed with him, her eyes now turned to her apprentice. Almost under her breath, she muttered, “She speaks true… perhaps it is time for her to earn her name, too.” She made a rocky noise in her throat. “When it is safe to make that journey.”

Forcing himself to speak, Fireheart asked in a pathetic attempt at a warm voice, “Do you have her suffix picked out already?”

“That I do.” Yellowfang stuck out her jaw. “She’ll be fond of it. If she cares not to change her name entirely, as she did when she was hurt.”

Fireheart nodded unenthusiastically. “Well… whatever name she gets, I’m sure it’ll be great.”

Yellowfang tilted her head at him, scanning his face. For once in his life, he strongly wanted to look away. Whatever she was thinking, she didn’t say it, only went back to watching her apprentice limp over to Brightpaw and her brothers, where Brackenpaw scooted out of the way to let Cinderpaw nose the unconscious apprentice and start quietly praying over her.

Some very bitter part of Fireheart, a small voice, snipped, Like prayer’s going to do anything. If it can’t fix Bluestar, it won’t fix Brightpaw.

Shut up, Fireheart thought back, the briefest flare of anger in his chest at his own mind.

The bitterness went silent, but it clung on to his stomach, churning his guts and making him shrink in on himself a little.

…Just shut up, he thought again.

It didn’t help this time.

[seitmai]

You don’t know fully why playing in the rain was the best thing, but it was almost magical. Maybe it was just your best friend being with you. Maybe it was because the noise of the life of the rich stopped for a few minutes, and the water washed away all your etiquette. A time where the two of you could just be kids.

This just sounds so beautiful 🥰

“No,” you sigh. You love Carter. There are some adjustments that you’ll have to continue to get used to. Things have moved rapidly since the engagement. And he still hadn’t met the most important person in your life. The second most important — that just didn’t seem right. But Carter should be the first, right?

I would say yes, so questioning this is saying a lot 🫣

“You’re just leaving when we should be planning our wedding,” he looks down at your hand, twisting around the too big ring he placed on your finger. What was your sister thinking? Or did he ask? Too bad he didn’t ask Ransom what would be the perfect ring.

Ransom pulls out the invite. His eyes move over the pristine and gaudy paper before he lets it fall back to the table. Looking into the distance with even more confusion than ever. “She’d never agree to get married at the Liberty,” Linda shrugs as she walks to the other end of the table. “She was going to get married under our tree.” “Ahh, you see the problem with that statement?” Ransom’s face turns up in disgust as he shakes his head. “‘Our tree’ and she’s marrying another man?”

Linda is telling Ransom the facts that he needed to hear

Did he know that you didn’t like the city? That you’d prefer to wear Ransom’s sweaters than fancy dresses? Did he know how many children you wanted to have? And how they would have unique names that he helped pick out? Did he know that you haven’t been the same since your mother passed? Did he know that you hate people, and use him as a shield against that? That you’re painfully shy, and get so exhausted after being around a crowd, and dance helped you? Did Carter even know that you hated your birthstone, so claimed smokey quartz as yours because of its protective qualities?

🥺🥺🥺

Ransom nods his head, still looking at you, and Linda already sees the too far gone look. “Here,” she pulls out a bag from the pharmacist, and lays it on his dresser. “Be careful. And I’m not condoning this, I just need you to be smart with this one.” “Nothing happened,” he’s barely audible. He wished his mother would just leave so he could soak you up. You were exhausted. “And I wasn’t born yesterday. That’s a Plan B pill. She needs to take it today. Gerald would not be happy with his baby girl winding up pregnant before she went to NYU. He wants to see her dance just like her mom,” Ransom rolls his eyes. Whispering for her to go. “I mean it, son.”

Haha I love Linda 😅

Nothing else matters in this world but the way Ransom is railing into you. The way he grunts with every thrust. The girls he’s probably fucked didn’t matter because there’s no way he fucks them the way he does you. There’s no way that he stares at their cunt like it could solve the world’s problems. And there’s no way that he feels about them the way he feels about you.

I'm sure he doesn't 🤭😮‍💨

“Watching myself leak out of someone for the first time. And yeah, that thing I did last night is cleaning you up. Never settle for a man that doesn’t want to give you the best aftercare, and cuddle afterwards,” oh. So he was still in the mindset of this was just practice amongst friends. You can be, too. He was right after all, a messy breakup wasn’t worth losing a friendship.

Damn that hurt

When The Rain Gathers..., Part 1

Summary: You thought that things with Ransom were simple. They were supposed to be. So why when you announce your marriage to Carter Baizen, and the now fast approaching wedding did things get so complicated? It was supposed to be you and Ransom versus the world. And now everyone wants to split the two of you apart. Ransom is your best friend, the man that had all your firsts. And even if people, and Carter are trying to pull you apart, you're not ready to say goodbye to the best thing in your life...

Pairings: Ransom Drysdale X Reader, Carter Baizen X Reader

Rating: explicit

Warnings:  explicit language, explicit sexual content, unprotected sex, mentions of loss of innocence, teasing, slight possessiveness, pining, creampie, Plan B, 18+ ONLY

Word Count: 5.6K

Series Masterlist

You take in a full, deep inhale. Sensing and smelling the impending rain with a smile on your face. Ignoring the packed boxes behind you because your family home has always been the best place. Your bedroom and all the secret ways to get out of this castle that led you straight next door. You bite on your lip, trying to hide the grin that spreads on your face as you see his little boy bedroom. Memories flooding into your mind of the most amazing childhood with him.

You can see two kids, hand in hand, running away from these houses, and further into a fairytale world. A world where everything was so much simpler. A world of running to the highest hill in the area with the biggest and best climbing tree, and waiting. Watching as the sky got a bit darker. Time stops until that moment of the first drop of rain, and you and Ransom would chase each other. Dance. Sing at the top of your lungs. The rain creating an invisibility cloak around you.

You don’t know fully why playing in the rain was the best thing, but it was almost magical. Maybe it was just your best friend being with you. Maybe it was because the noise of the life of the rich stopped for a few minutes, and the water washed away all your etiquette. A time where the two of you could just be kids.

If the rain went on too long, the two of you would mosey on up to Harlan’s house. If the rain wasn’t long enough, you’d climb that giant oak tree, and sit and talk about the future. Your feet dangling off that perfect branch, while you held each other’s hands and talked about what you wanted in life.

“Sweetheart,” this is not where you saw yourself. His hands slide from your back all the way around your middle, connecting at the hands before he pulls you into his front. Carter rests his chin on your head as he looks at the distant house, and right into Ransom’s old bedroom. His parents have long since left that house. Now it was your parents’ turn, and everything feels like it’s changing.

“Are you about to finish here?” Conveniently Carter had a business call that stole his time away from going through your childhood memories or even plan your wedding. You aren’t sure if you were hearing things, but it sounded as if he scoffed at the many photos of you and Ransom in here before he hugged you.

“Yeah, and you’re about ready to fly out of town?”

“That would be part of the job,” he spins you around to look at him. His steel blue eyes raking over your face. “Are you angry?”

“No,” you sigh. You love Carter. There are some adjustments that you’ll have to continue to get used to. Things have moved rapidly since the engagement. And he still hadn’t met the most important person in your life. The second most important — that just didn’t seem right. But Carter should be the first, right?

“You’re just leaving when we should be planning our wedding,” he looks down at your hand, twisting around the too big ring he placed on your finger. What was your sister thinking? Or did he ask? Too bad he didn’t ask Ransom what would be the perfect ring. Ransom knew in detail, because he had the gall to ask during your first year in college, and you divulged everything that you wanted.

“You won’t get to be there for flowers, cake, and you won’t get to see the location site,” Carter releases an annoyed huff of air. “You’ve never even seen Harlan’s estate.”

“Why would we get married there?” This is one thing that annoyed you. He never understood the importance of Harlan’s property. “Under a tree that my fiancé dangled her little legs on, sitting next to a man that is in love with you.”

“No, he’s not. Ransom is my best friend,” Carter rolls his eyes, but maintains his smile. “He is,” you laugh because this conversation kept happening, and he had never met Ransom. He didn’t know the dynamic between the two of you. “It’s been a dream of mine to get married there.”

“We’ll talk about it some other time. I’m not heading to the airport with this as our last conversation,” if Carter said no, it wouldn’t matter anyways. He and his family would get what they wanted with the wedding, but at least you were getting him as a husband. But time is running out to find a location elsewhere.

“Then could you at least just think about it and consider it? Please? Pretty pretty please?” Carter chuckles, pulling you closer to him to give you a chaste kiss. “At least look at it?”

“Yes, I’ll consider it. You can show me in a FaceTime call, but I still deep down don’t think it’s our best option. I want everyone to feel comfortable, and I don’t think my family would feel that there. So can you respect that?” You smile, wiggling around, and nodding your head. Yes, you can respect that, as long as he will look at it, and give it a chance. A FaceTime won’t do the property justice. Harlan’s estate meant and still means so much to you. It’s the thing that never changes.

“Okay, tell me you love me,” his voice hits that beautiful tone that makes you want to jump into his arms.

“I love you, and do we have time…”

“No, we don’t. I wish. I could use the feeling of you on me before I traveled to work. Love you, and I’ll see you in a couple of weeks, okay?” He walks backwards, his hand starting to slide out of your own, and you nod. A couple of weeks wouldn’t be so bad. And then a week. And then a marriage. That was the bad part. No, the scary part. No…intimidating part.

You still didn’t understand why he and his mother felt the need to rush this marriage. What could possibly be done in that little amount of time? You guessed with enough money, anything is possible.

Linda walks by her son at the table, stalling while she stares at him. Looking at nothing with his chin resting on his hands is all he ever does now. She walks back towards a table, and grabs up a beautifully intricate invitation and drops it on the table in front of her son. “Is this what’s bothering you?”

“What is this?” He looks at her confused. Flipping over the envelope he sees a broken wax seal with a giant B on it. “Mother?”

“I’m a bit confused on why you wouldn’t know. Open it.”

Ransom pulls out the invite. His eyes move over the pristine and gaudy paper before he lets it fall back to the table. Looking into the distance with even more confusion than ever. “She’d never agree to get married at the Liberty,” Linda shrugs as she walks to the other end of the table. “She was going to get married under our tree.”

“Ahh, you see the problem with that statement?” Ransom’s face turns up in disgust as he shakes his head. “‘Our tree’ and she’s marrying another man?”

“I figured she would always marry another man,” Linda rolls her eyes as she cuts her steak. “What?”

“Because you didn’t admit your true feelings to her.”

“She has never felt anything romantic towards me,” Ransom bitterly rolls his eyes as he stuffs a bite of food into his mouth.

“Who was her first kiss?” Ransom rolls his eyes again, taking a long drink of his beer. “Her first sexual encounter? Did you forget telling me the next evening that she begged you to have sex with her because she didn’t want to go to university as a virgin?”

“I — it wasn’t like that.”

“Okay,” Linda finishes, taking a bite of her food, but Ransom still stews. “You didn’t get an invitation?” He shakes his head no. His eyes glaring at the stupid piece of paper. It was too pure and white. It wasn’t you at all. Your sister, maybe, but not you. “You can be my plus one then. Also, she invited me to go shopping with her for the dress. Since her mother passed, she wants someone that knows her. She said she was calling you.”

“I just found out that she was engaged, and she mentioned going dress shopping, but…this date, it’s too soon. What the fuck is going on?” Linda clears her throat. “Don’t act like you don’t use profanity.”

“I am trying to do better. At least at the dinner table. And the Baizens don’t like long engagements,” Ransom groans. The Baizens. “Yeah, she’ll be moving to New York. She’ll look beautiful on his arm,” but will he play in the rain with you? Will he know that Ransom explored your virginal folds and you told him what you liked when it came to oral sex? Does Carter Francis Baizen III know that you liked your clit to be nipped?

Did he know that you didn’t like the city? That you’d prefer to wear Ransom’s sweaters than fancy dresses? Did he know how many children you wanted to have? And how they would have unique names that he helped pick out? Did he know that you haven’t been the same since your mother passed? Did he know that you hate people, and use him as a shield against that? That you’re painfully shy, and get so exhausted after being around a crowd, and dance helped you? Did Carter even know that you hated your birthstone, so claimed smokey quartz as yours because of its protective qualities?

He doubted Carter knows anything about you with how quickly this relationship has happened. Did you even know yourself anymore? “Did you give her your ring?”

Linda sighs, waiting on Ransom to look up at her before shaking her head. “It didn’t feel right.”

“Why?”

“He didn’t ask me for it, and I always thought I’d be giving it to you for when you got your head out of your ass and proposed to the best fucking thing that’s ever happened to you,” Ransom looks up at her pouting. “Oh don’t be daft, Ransom. Everyone knows you carry a torch for that girl. You’d marry her tomorrow if she asked. The problem is you wait on her to ask, and she’s never going to. Because she’s too stubborn to admit that she’s in love with you, too.”

Ransom takes a bite of his food, looking at his less than desirable plate. Everything his mom is saying is a lie. You didn’t have any romantic feelings for him. He knew it that next morning. He knew then he was madly in love with you, and you had just been using him as a teacher, and if that’s the only way he could have you in that way, he’d take it

Ransom peers over your spent body. How had it only been a few hours since he finally got to have you in the most intimate of ways. Watch you as your walls came tumbling down, and you gripped tight on more than just his dick. Your hands clung to him. Your eyes couldn’t look away. Capturing him in a way that literally stole his breath away.

And after he cleaned you up, all you wanted was his worn in sweater. It swallowed you whole, and then you put on the most beautiful delicate panties. And now you’re in his bed in a fetal position with your ass right at his crotch. Perfect in ways he didn’t even realize. You were made for him in more ways than he realized.

Sweetly whimpering, you gazed down at where the two of you connected as he pushed through your walls. Nothing but skin on skin, and your wide innocent eyes. Gasping and choking as he slid all the way home. Your squirming wasn’t enough to deter him. You begged, and pleaded for him to show you what the big deal was with sex, and even he couldn’t explain it, until he had you. And everything was otherworldly.

You were overwhelmed, and he couldn’t regulate his breathing. But now that you’re lying next to him blissed out with your post-coital glow, it all makes sense. You may not know it, but you were made for him. You wiggle closer to him, exposing those sinful innocent panties even more, and he places a hand on your hip. Sliding it up and down over your stomach.

He loved you, but now he is completely, utterly, and unapologetically in love with you. He doesn’t even take his eyes off you when the door slowly opens. Linda peeks through the room, and shakes her head sighing. “Your father and I are going to head out for the day. Be smart.”

Ransom nods his head, still looking at you, and Linda already sees the too far gone look. “Here,” she pulls out a bag from the pharmacist, and lays it on his dresser. “Be careful. And I’m not condoning this, I just need you to be smart with this one.”

“Nothing happened,” he’s barely audible. He wished his mother would just leave so he could soak you up. You were exhausted.

“And I wasn’t born yesterday. That’s a Plan B pill. She needs to take it today. Gerald would not be happy with his baby girl winding up pregnant before she went to NYU. He wants to see her dance just like her mom,” Ransom rolls his eyes. Whispering for her to go. “I mean it, son.”

He didn’t care what she thought, he cared what you thought. If you told him today that you didn’t want to go into the city, and didn’t want to strap on another pair of pointe shoes, and didn’t know how to tell your dad, he’d grab your hand, and flee to whatever country you wanted to go to.

He’s not sure how long he lays here, watching you. Kissing over your exposed shoulder. Rubbing over your skin, and maybe selfishing touching your heated mound. But it would never be long enough. This is what he wants for life. You yawn, stirring more before sitting up. Wincing as you do, and you turn back to find Ransom snickering.

“You’re not that big.”

“And just how many cocks have you seen, Belle?” You turn back to look at the door. You should leave soon. You’re surprised that Linda hadn’t come in to tell you it was time to go home. “Mom and dad left. You want to watch a movie?”

He rolls over to his back, and suddenly you feel so empty. So alone, and he’s right there. Things feel the same, and also so very different because whatever last night was you want to do it again. Want to feel him pushing into you, feel his heated breath on your skin, see the sweat beading around his hair. And you asked him so many questions last night. Embarrassing questions, but he answered earnestly.

“They’re gone?” Maybe you didn’t have to leave. You didn’t want to. What you wanted was to try sex again.

“Yeah, she left you a Plan B over there,” you hide your face as every part of you heats up. “It’s fine. She thinks we’ve been sleeping together since we were fifteen years old.”

“That doesn’t help,” you whine, still cowering behind your hands. You had a thought, and then it was squashed.

“At least now you don’t have to go buy one,” you had mentioned it, but Ransom still pulled out of you. You wanted to give all of Ransom your firsts, not sure of why, but you felt like he owned all of them; deserved all your firsts. “Just watch a movie with me. Cuddle with me, and forget we ever had sex, okay?”

“Fine,” you harrumph, twisting over to your other side and face Ransom. Just like normal you lay your head and a hand on his chest. He wraps an arm around you, pulling you closer, and you caress his bare stomach. Everything is just like normal.

Ransom starts a movie, and you can't focus on anything but him. One time wasn’t enough to learn anything. You were awkward, and stayed in one position. You didn’t try anything. Nothing. This whore of a man stayed having sex, while you waited on him to finish, and would sneak into your bedroom, or you’d sneak into his once you saw the car leave.

Clearly he is feeling the same thing, judging by the tent lifting the blanket, but he says nothing. Not a damn thing. Your body is so heated and wet, you’re ready to burst. You want to try other positions. You want to ride him — ride a dick. You want to fuck in doggy style. And you want to feel cum inside you, not on your stomach.

“Ran,” you make your voice so sweet, and he swats your ass. “Hugh!”

“No! I fucking feel your pussy throbbing on my thigh, and it’s making me hard. It’s my body’s response. Don’t ask!”

“But you’re hard, and you didn’t show me nearly enough,” he spanks your ass again, growling when you whimper. “The Plan B is right over there,” you say loudly, sitting up in bed. “You're hard, I’m wet, and I don’t know how to ride dick. Or how to do it doggy style.”

“Get on all fours. It’s not complicated,” why is he denying you what you want? You wrap your arms around yourself pouting, and he looks back to the movie. Ignoring you completely. He’d fuck girls all weekend, but is denying his best friend. It’s cruel. What do they do that make him not want to stop? They were more aggressive.

Smiling, you clamor over top of him, straddling him as you demand attention. “Look at me.”

“I am. There’s literally nothing else to look at.”

Reaching to the bottom hemline of his sweater, you pull it off you, “Look at me,” he’s looking everywhere but your face. Eyes glossing over as he stares at your tits. It feels nice sitting like this. There’s so much — heat. You need friction. Movement. Think of porn. How do they move on someone? You roll your hips, getting a loud groan from Ransom, so you keep going.

“Touch me,” you whimper, pulling up his hands to place on your tits. “Grope me. Show me what you do to those other girls.”

“No,” he responds flatly.

“Why?” Even though he says no, his hands knead your breasts. Pinching and pulling your nipples as he starts sitting up in the bed. His mouth moving closer to your tits.

“Because I didn’t care about them. They were just a wet hole,” you push him back down onto the bed, and he laughs.

“It’s not funny. What if someone treated me like that?” His face darkens as he looks up at you through his lashes. He is nearly baring his teeth like a wild dog. “What if some man at college uses me just for sex? I don’t want sex to be like that for me. I want it with someone I love.”

“It’s a dangerous game we’re playing,” you know it is. But if you have to play a game, it is going to be with Ransom.

“Just today. Until your parents get back. I want you to explore me. Teach me. Show me. Tell me how to know if a man wants my body or if he wants my heart,” Ransom sits up abruptly, moving his hands to cup your tits. Leaning forward his mouth circles around the sensitive bud, and his teeth scrape over the area, and you arch your back, pushing more into him.

“You’re too eager, and too sensitive. Minimum of five dates before anything moves past your mouths, not even oral. Clothes stay on,” you nod as he moves to the other nipple, and he sucks roughly. His tongue is able to circle around the peak before he pulls off with a pop.

“Remember you deserve the world. Don’t settle for some idiot at a bodega. You need someone that can give you a life of travel, wandering the world, and not having to worry about money. You nod again as he taps your leg, “Lift up a bit.”

Enthusiastically you completely get off him. Standing up on the floor where you shimmy out of your panties. Watching as he slides his boxers down, and you’re already bouncing back to the bed. “Easy. Don’t act like this for others. They’ll take advantage of you. Alright, straddle me, and grab the base of my cock.”

You listen, and start sinking over him. “No, guide me through your wetness. Use your body as lube,” you follow his directions, moving his head through your folds. “Now, find your hole, and slowly sink down. There ya go. Keep going, Belle. Keep taking me,” you sink, chest heaving as you feel him inside you. “Just like that, baby. Just like that. Take all of me. Don’t stop.”

You don’t. You keep taking all of him, until you’ve seated yourself back on top of him. “Now, just let your body adjust to me. Breathe in and out,” he holds up his hands, and you weave your fingers into his. Focusing on breathing, instead of the intense stretch he’s giving your body. You can feel him up to your ears. What is the normal size of a dick? Or is it everything else? Because he’s your Ransom.

“Belle,” his sickeningly sweet nickname for you rings up into your ears, and you can’t help but to roll your hips. “Fuck,” Ransom whispers as you start a slow pace of grinding on him. You look down at him smiling, “What?”

“This doesn’t feel the same,” this feels weaker than whatever he was doing to you last night.

“Because you’re on top, and there’s really not any thrusting,” you curl your nose as you look at him. “It feels amazing, sweetheart, but it’s just stimulating your clit.”

His hands grope the globs of your ass, and he lifts you up, only to let your cunt suck him back up, and a pleasured sigh releases from your mouth. “See. Try it. But just move to make it feel good. I’m enjoying the view of these little bitty titties. Maybe you can make them bounce.”

“You’re so gross.”

You awkwardly move over him a few times, glad it’s Ransom and not some random man that would realize how inexperienced you are. “Here,” he grabs your hands, placing them on his chest, “This anchors yourself, but also makes those tits look phenomenal. Arch your back, and pop your ass, and then contract it. Don’t overcomplicate the movement. And add pressure to me. It won’t hurt, I promise.”

“Pinky promise?”

He smiles, smacking your ass. His face lighting up when you yip, “I promise, now ride that dick,” you want to make a comment to him, but instead it comes out in a weird moan. “You like that, huh?”

“Like what?”

Ransom gets the most devious look on his face, and he grabs your hips, assisting a slow bounce on top of him. “You like someone talking dirty to you? Like hearing that your pussy is so fucking tight hugging my fat cock? Do you like knowing you look like a beautiful little slut, instead of a perfectly poised ballerina? Your training is better suited riding my cock like you own it.”

Your legs tremble with his words. You feel that you’re killing Ransom with how much pressure you have on his chest, but still he talks too filthy to you. “You’re taking me extra deep at this angle, huh? And if you want me to fuck you into the bed, you better make yourself come first.”

“Ransom,” you mewl, finding the most perfect rhythm to take him. Bouncing on top of him quickly. “Hugh,” you feel his cock throb inside of you, and fall on top of his chest, continuing to buck your hips on him. “I feel your heartbeat.”

“You’re laying on my chest, Belle, of course you do. You’re taking me so good, too.”

“No,” his hands smooth up and down your arms, and you feel so safe. Protected in ways that nobody else could. Ransom has always been your best friend. You're solid. The best thing that’s ever happened to you. You would share everything with him. Your life, your dreams, and now your body. “I feel your heart inside of me.”

You sling yourself off Ransom’s stomach, watching his handsome face contort. “Do I feel good?”

“This is best pussy I have ever felt,” he whispers. His fingers create bruises on your skin with how tightly he holds you. “Let me know if I hurt you. I’m trying not to come yet,” you nod, continuing to move over top of him. Whimpering at the sounds the your two wet bodies make in his quiet bedroom. “It’s the best, Belle. Because I actually love you. Put your hands on my thighs, and back.”

“But…you’re going to see everything.”

“That’s the point,” he lifts your hands off his chest. His crooked smirk makes him look more boyish than manlike. “We like seeing your body, but also seeing us slipping into you,” with your mouth turning into an ‘O’, and you do as he asked. Keeping your eyes on him, but he stares at your cunt swallowing him whole.

He looks beautiful watching you. You could almost see a life with the two of you as more than friends, but as lovers. Waking up and riding him every morning. Could anyone make you feel as comfortable as Ransom? Could they know the right things to say and when to say it? Could they also tease you, but never go too far? But if you chose that path with Ransom would it ruin the most perfect thing in your life? Would it be worth it to not have him in your life?

You hated to think about a life without Ransom. Without being the only one to make him smile. You were just as special to him as he was to you. And you cherish him. Even in this lewd act of the two of you changing your relationship in a way, but it feels right. It doesn’t seem grotesque of Ransom to watch your pussy. Even the way he pushes his thumb against your bundle of nerves and creates tight little circles on your skin, it seems to be for your enjoyment. He always makes everything about him.

He adds more pressure. Going faster. Faster. Smiling as your movements become harsh. Rapid. Too much. Body shivering as you set ablaze. Throwing your head back to look up at the ceiling as you sob out his name.

“Beautiful,” he whispers, but it’s so soft, like he doesn’t want you to hear.

You look back down at Ransom, and he gazes up at you like you’re a goddess. “Ran…”

”Get on your knees,” shimmying your shoulders, you position yourself like he asked. Waiting and watching as he climbs behind you. “Lean forward, and closer to the bed. Arch your back,” you do as you're told, but keep your eyes on him. He studies you like you’re a work of art. Running the tip of his head through your folds, you sink even lower, “There’s a good girl. Do you know how swollen your pussy is?”

“Is that a good thing?”

“Uh huh,” he slams himself into your warmth, and you cling to the blankets, crying out. “And I’m about to make her even more puffy,” his movements are all shocking. Skyrocketing your body further up the bed, and making your toes curl in pleasurable agony. Something so rough, shouldn’t feel this good, and yet it’s made you speechless, and gives you a loss of function in your body. It’s just euphoria.

Nothing else matters in this world but the way Ransom is railing into you. The way he grunts with every thrust. The girls he’s probably fucked didn’t matter because there’s no way he fucks them the way he does you. There’s no way that he stares at their cunt like it could solve the world’s problems. And there’s no way that he feels about them the way he feels about you.

You’ve always known that Ransom and you belonged together, but is being together this way so wrong? Is the way that he’s lighting you up, so fucking bad? You’ll probably feel differently when this is over, but right now this is too good to be wrong or a bad idea. This is everything. He’s everything. Everything with you.

“And when you want the best angle,” his arm goes under your stomach, and he pulls your back up to his chest, and somehow manages to fuck into you harder. “I get to see these perfect tits bounce around,” a hand goes around your neck, and you yearn for more pressure. “You have to tell me. Give me permission.”

“Own me. I’m yours,” he adds enough pressure around your neck, so that stars glitter in front of you. His other hand moves down your front where he stimulates your clit, and you scream, “Ransom!”

“I see all of you,” Ransom attaches his mouth to your neck, nipping, and sucking over the column until your eyes are rolling to the back of your head. Your stomach swimming with pleasure.

“I feel all of you,” you can’t stop the sounds from pouring out of your body, and the fluids. My god, why is everything so wet and sloppy? “My perfect, sloppy little slut. You know, I have a secret to tell you.”

“Come inside of me,” you’d hear about the secret later. “Your mom brought the pill. Just do it!” Everything happens so fast. His hands move around your body. Pulling, pinching, slapping, squeezing. What is this? What even is happening besides heaven?

You can’t take it anymore. This much pleasure can’t be good for one person, and you let go. Giving into the salacious pleasure, “No one has ever taken my entire cock,” Ransom says on your neck, and your walls clench down, holding him in a vice grip. Pulsing and fluttering around his body, until warm ribbons of cum burst into your belly, and you sigh. Relaxing in his embrace.

Nobody ever would feel this absolute. Because you were made for Ransom. He is so gentle as he lays you down on his bed. Walking into his en-suite with his cute tush bare to you. “Where are you going?”

He returns with a wet washcloth, and you roll over onto your back, “You’re doing that thing you did last night. What are you staring at?”

“Watching myself leak out of someone for the first time. And yeah, that thing I did last night is cleaning you up. Never settle for a man that doesn’t want to give you the best aftercare, and cuddle afterwards,” oh. So he was still in the mindset of this was just practice amongst friends. You can be, too. He was right after all, a messy breakup wasn’t worth losing a friendship.

He tosses the rag into his hamper before dropping down onto the bed, “What’s the next lesson, Ran?”

“Sucking cock like a porn star. You want to watch porn together?” you giggle, rolling your eyes at him before plopping onto the bed. Scooting closer to him.

“What?” You snuggle in closer with him. Desiring nothing more than his sticky skin on yours.

“How will you know what you want, if you don’t see what else is out there?” There is a bit of logic to this, but watching porn with Ransom would be weird, right?

“We can watch porn, if you promise to try it out with me. Just to see if I like it?” Ransom shrugs as he smiles, clicking on his phone a bit. “I’m serious!”

“You’re addicted to sex, and to my cock. Careful, Belle, I might have to dump you like the rest of them,” rolling your eyes, you settle back beside Ransom, clicking on a video before it casts to his tv. “Seriously? My stepsister let me creampie her tight little pussy?”

“No! I just clicked on something!” Mortified, you hide your face in his chest.

“You’ve ruined the algorithm now. It’s going to be step sibling porn the rest of the evening now.”

“What about best friends?”

“Is that we are?” You nod your head, and Ransom ignores you, clicking on his phone. “Here, playing truth or dare with my best friend until she lets me fuck her until I bust a load. This should satisfy your filthy self.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t be so good at sex.”

“Just promise me you won’t just fuck random guys. You deserve a relationship, okay?” You hold up a pinky, and Ransom wraps his own around yours. “Alright, slut, and I mean that in the most nice way possible,” and please, don’t fall in love with anyone but Ransom.

“Whore.”

“Ransom!” Ransom stares up at his mom, scowling. Years without you had hardened him. Years without your softness, and giggles, and private performances on a daily basis, and years without the way you felt on top of him. It’d been miserable. But he was trying to be happy that you had found your one.

“She’s in town,” Ransom shrugs. “Rain is in the forecast,” he smirks, pushing his chair back. “Be nice.”

“I’m always nice.”

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