#but at the same time i love the people who are counting on me

[formulawolff]

x. bringing the heat in miami - t.w.

pairing: female driver! x toto wolff

word count: 3.6k

warnings: cursing, mentions of sex, mentions of masturbation, lewd humor, age gap relationship, ANGST, naughty text messages, banter, light flirting, toto being down astronomically bad (like actually in the trenches) yadayadayada

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party in the city where the heat is on 

all night, on the beach till the break of dawn

“welcome to miami”

“bienvenidos a miami"

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will smith’s infamous track fills your ears as you stroll in through the main gate of the track, fans clustered in thick waves. your name is called more times than you can count. posters, caps, shirts, you name it, wave about, begging to be signed. 

the sun shines overhead, casting bright, fiery light all around. although it was only around eight in the morning, humidity clung to the air, creating a sticky, dewy sensation on your exposed skin. fluffy clouds drift along, carried by a breeze as it rolls through. 

god, the weather was perfect.

hopefully it would be like this on race day.

“welcome to miamiiii,” alex bobs his head, singing along to the music, “are you excited? it is your home turf, after all.”

“if we were in phoenix, i think i would feel a little closer to home,” you suppress a giggle, “but yes, i am really fucking excited. everyone loves a race in their home country.”

“we’ll be in austin soon enough in october,,” alex shrugs, “when we’re in austin, i need you to show me how to ride a bull and teach me how to perfect that smooth texas drawl. i want to be like one of those little aunties who always say, ‘y’all come back now!’ like dolly parton! ” 

“you’re ridiculous,” the giggles blossom into a full-on laugh, “you don’t just start speaking with a southern accent. that’s not how that works.”

“sure it is,” alex nods, “hey, your parents are coming out for the race, right?”

“yes sir! they will finally get to see their baby girl in action!”

“they didn’t come out for a single grand prix last year?” alex raises a brow.

“i wasn’t winning races last year,” you counter, “i told them not to worry about spending that money during my rookie year. not everyone’s parents are loaded, you know.”

which, was a true statement. 

your parents had invested their time, hard-earned cash, weekends off, and a portion of their lives to get you here. you didn’t expect them to fly out for every single grand prix, make every event, or pay another dime towards your expenses. 

unlike many of the drivers, you were not born into an extremely lavish lifestyle. your parents were modest people, who happened to have a child later in life. ever since you were born, they lived in the same house, drove the same vehicles, and got by adequately. since they both worked full-time, getting you into the racing world was no simple feat. 

yet, they were determined to make your dreams become a reality. after years of careful coordination to the karting tracks, weekends devoted to races, and thousands upon thousands of dollars spent, you were offered a contract with williams racing. of course, you accepted that offer graciously. 

now, you were steadily paying your parents back for their dedication. once you signed your contract and those zeroes hit your bank account, you went out to the nearest dealership, purchasing a suburu wrx. with the premium package, at that. 

you would never forget your dad’s face the moment you pulled into the driveway, beaming as you placed the keys in his hand. 

that was one of the only moments you had ever watched him cry, wrapping you up in a tight, loving embrace.

“you didn’t have to do this. being your father is a gift in itself.”

“but you deserve it. you’ve sacrificed so much so that i could be in this position.”

“and you deserve nothing but the best, baby girl. you are going to be one of the greatest drivers formula one has ever seen. you make us so proud. keep making us proud. keep defying those odds. keep making history, baby girl.”

keep making history, baby girl.

as you stroll into the paddock, greeting the engineers, pit crew, and other team members, you can’t shake that feeling brewing deep within. 

it’s is a fiery desire, setting you ablaze with determination. 

you were going to keep making history. 

you were going to be the first american to win the miami grand prix. 

you were going to be the first woman to win two consecutive grand prixes. 

you were going to be the first woman to earn that title of world champion. 

you were going to chase that high. by any means possible. 

and nothing was going to stop you now. 

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“look at him,” lewis hamilton shakes his head, “he looks absolutely pitiful.”

“you think his little relationship is on the rocks?” 

“quite the contrary mate,” lewis remarks, folding his arms across his chest, “i think it’s more like the poor man is depraved. obviously the euphoria has worn off. he’s come down from that high. the man is craving more. plain and simple. a hand can only do–”

“i don’t need the mental image of my team principal wanking off,” george russell scoffs, rubbing his temple, “fuck, that is disgusting, lewis.”

toto wolff stood a few meters away from the drivers, engaged in deep conversation with bono and members of the crew. now that lewis knew the truth, he couldn’t help but notice how much power that american girl held over the team principal. it was almost as if he were deep in a trance, under some sort of spell. 

it was pitiful, really. just the sight of her was enough to send the team principal spiraling, intoxicated off her alluring aura. not like lewis could blame toto, though. there was no denying that the woman was extremely breathtaking. 

with her stunning features, witty mouth, unapologetic personality, and angelic presence, she was practically miss america.

well, not practically. 

she was miss america.  

everyone adored her. lewis could barely go throughout his morning without hearing her name being mentioned. whether it was fans, journalists, social media, even members of the mercedes crew, she was the hot topic of formula one, taking the world by storm.

toto was a lucky man. an extremely lucky man. 

if only she was into men her age. 

“my apologies mate,” lewis nudges george with his elbow playfully, “did we have anything going on today? any obligations?”

george’s brow furrow, sunglasses perched on the bridge of his nose, “if we’re being honest, i can’t really remember. i think something to do with monster energy, maybe.”

“perfect,” lewis licks his lower lip, fishing his phone out of his pocket. 

time to text that little assistant. 

in all seriousness, he felt horrible for taking advantage of that young girl. she was only nineteen for fuck’s sakes, a fresh face to mercedes at the start of the 2024 season. that made her the perfect target to do his bidding. 

well, it wasn’t really bidding. 

more like investigative journalism. 

at least, that’s what lewis told himself to feel a little less guilty for what he was about to do. 

hey, do you by chance know toto’s schedule today?

seconds later, little text bubbles appear. 

he was meeting with you guys this morning, then he has an interview with the press around two-thirty p.m. it’s nothing super serious, just a brief session entailing his thoughts for the weekend. at four, he has a zoom call with a few of the mercedes execs. after that, he told me he was going to be out for the remainder of the evening. why? 

hmmm. how convenient. 

i was just curious. thanks for letting me know! i appreciate you, natila. 

of course, mr. hamilton! let me know if you need anything else! :))) 

it was now or never. go time.

after the meeting with the mercedes executives, lewis hamilton was going to knock on toto wolff’s door. he was going to stroll into that office, settling into one of those plush leather chairs. and before toto had the opportunity to speak, lewis was going to confront him about that american girl. 

how he was going to start that conversation, he had no idea. that would come to him in time as he went about his day, meeting with sponsors, flashing that lovely lewis smile, flirting with the reporters just a little. not too much so that it was obvious, but enough to make them blush a tad, giggling as they scrambled to stick to their script. 

but for now, it was time to focus on the matters at hand. 

across the track, a dutch driver strolls through the crowds, a jersey in one hand, phone in the other. glancing down at his screen, he curses under his breath at the throng of people. why were there so many people? where did they all come from? 

pausing for a moment, he taps his screen, thumb gliding through his contacts. 

“hey, where are you again?”

“we’re in the williams paddock!” her voice is an octave higher than usual, more than likely from anticipation, “we’ll see you soon!”

“sounds good,” max verstappen stifles a chuckle as he hears a voice on the other end, the words firm, demanding almost.  

“honey, who are you talking to? who’s coming over here?” 

“mom, please, just let me be on the phone for two seconds,” she exhales, “okay, i have to go. i’ll see you soon!” 

the walk to the williams paddock was excruciating, as max had to bob and weave through the masses to avoid reporters, potential sponsors, and any individual who called his name. it’s not like he didn’t like the fame that came with his success, it’s just that he didn’t like the constant cameras in his face. the prying questions. the intrusive comments. 

sometimes he wished he could just blend in, be like any other face in the crowd. yet, how could he when he was max verstappen? 

yet, as he steps into the paddock, he makes out the williams driver, her parents hovering around her as she introduces them to various members of the crew. at the sight, max can’t help but feel the corners of his lips curl into a smile as he notices the sheer and utter pride plastered across their faces. 

and they had every right to be proud of you. 

you earned it. 

“goedemorgen,” max clears his throat, raising his hand for a small wave, “i just came to stop by.”

the instant your mom realizes who is standing before her in the paddock, her eyes widen, lips parting, “oh my gosh – honey. look who it is!” 

“good morning max,” your laughter rings like bells as you cross over to the dutch driver, “how are you?”

“pretty good,” he nods, sticking out his right hand, “hallo, i’m max.”

your dad shakes his hand, squeezing it firmly, “nice to meet ya, max. i’m tony. this is my wife, heather.”

“pleased to meet you,” max beams, turning to your mom, “i brought something for you today. your daughter mentioned that you were a big fan of mine. so, i brought this jersey for you. she let me know your shirt size, so it should fit perfectly. my signature is on there somewhere, but i just can’t quite remember where.”

graciously, heather accepts the jersey, her eyes glossy, shifting to you as she wipes a tear, “oh, honey, you planned this?”

“of course i did,” wrapping an arm around her shoulders, you pull her in for a hug, “i couldn’t bear the thought of you guys attending the race without meeting any of my friends. besides, you deserve an all-inclusive experience at your first grand prix.”

“besides,” max shoots you a wink, “i wanted to meet the woman who crafted such a talented driver.”

at max’s compliment, your mom’s face flushes, “oh please! i can barely make it on the freeway without having a nervous breakdown. i don’t know how she can drive these things. it amazes me how confident she is and–.”

“i could show you,” max offers, “i have some free time tomorrow. i’m sure we could all meet up somewhere and i could take you for a spin, show you the ropes. how does that sound?”

“oh max,” your mom waves a hand, “you do not–”

“but i want to. it’s no issue. no issue at all.” 

“then it’s a plan,” you can’t help but grin as your moms’ eyes light up, “what time works for you, max? since it’s only thursday, we’ll have some time in the morning before the practice laps. or, we could go after. whatever works for you.”

“let’s go in the morning,” max suggests, checking his phone, “i think i can make a few calls. have someone bring in a car. we’ll take it out on the track.”

“is that allowed?” your mom arches a brow, “i just don’t want you two to get in any sort of trouble. 

“oh mom,” you roll your eyes playfully, gesturing to max, “that is max verstappen. whatever max verstappen wants, max verstappen gets.”

“she’s not wrong.”

“okay fine,” your mom nods, and you feel a giggle forming at her overprotective nature. 

“just don’t give me a heart attack out there, max. i have a very important race to watch on sunday.”

as your parents talk to max, alex making his way into the conversation, you feel the buzz of your phone in your pocket. carefully, you fish it out, ensuring to shield your screen from your mom’s wandering gaze. 

this is unbearable. i need to see you tonight. are you going to have any free time? i vaguely recall you mentioning that your parents were going to be here. i will take no offense if you would like to spend time with them. i know you do not get to see them often. 

i need to be inside you, schatzi. i can’t think straight right now because the only thing i can think about is fucking that perfect pussy of yours. 

i miss my golden girl. more than anything. 

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“lewis? this is a pleasant surprise.”

“how’s it going mate?” lewis hamilton bears a quaint smile as he settles into a chair, face-to-face with the team principal, “things going well?”

“eh,” toto shrugs, his head bowed as he types away on his phone, “same old shit, you know.” 

“things going well with the horseback rider?”

oh, so he wasn’t going to drop it. silently, toto curses the attentive nature of his british driver, “they’re fine.”

“so,” lewis leans back, folding his arms across his chest, “when were you going to fess up and admit that your little girlfriend doesn’t ride horses?”

“i don’t understand what you–”

lewis scoffs, clicking his tongue, “i know exactly who your little girlfriend is because she’s a few spaces ahead of me on the grid.”

shit.

the expression painting lewis’ features is brimmed with satisfaction, his gaze piercing right through the team principal as he shifts uneasily in his desk chair, running a hand through his hair. 

toto was well aware that lewis had completely blindsided him, pinning him in a corner. it was quite literally perfect timing, as the team principal was merely minutes away from organizing his things, shutting down his computer, and heading out the door, well on his way to his golden girl. 

well played, lewis. well played. 

yet, he had to maintain his composure. he had to maintain that poker face as lewis cocks his head, prompting him to formulate some sort of witty retort. 

“i’m not sure what you’re talking about.”

“bullshit,” lewis shakes his head, “you’re not a very good liar, toto. you of all people should know that i can read you like a bloody book. how long has this been going on?”

well, he had to fess up now. lewis would continue to call him out on his shit if he kept up with the lies. letting out a shaky breath, the team principal hangs his head in defeat, his heart thumping against his rib-cage, wiping his damp palms on his slacks.

no going back now. time to come clean. 

“since she won in jeddah. but if we’re being technical, it started in bahrain.”

“wait,” lewis sticks his hands up, squeezing his eyes shut, “pause. this has been going on since the start of the season? for weeks you’ve been sneaking around, meeting up with her in secret or something? was she the one who came to brackley between melbourne and suzuka?”

with all of the questions pouring from lewis’ mouth, toto’s mind reeled, a swirling torrent of anxiety, fear, and disappointment. his cheeks burn with shame, tinged pink. 

“yes, she was.”

tilting his head, lewis’ lips purse, “you like her?”

“well isn’t that blatantly fucking obvious,” propping his elbows on the desk, he massages his temples with his fingers, “how did you find out?”

“it wasn’t hard,” lewis shrugs, “i mean, i see the way you look at her.” 

toto’s eyes narrow at lewis’ vague response, “how. did. you. find. out?”

“natila texted me about it,” lewis coughs, averting the team principal’s beady stare, “she may have heard a conversation or two.” 

“regarding?” toto presses, satisfaction pumping in his veins as lewis starts to crack, shifting in the chair, “come on, lewis. you can’t just march in here and demand answers from me without sharing your sources. what did natila hear?”

“she heard the entire conversation you had with the drive to survive crew while we were in suzuka. they mentioned that they had footage of you walking over to her motorhome. that’s all natila heard. don’t fire the poor girl,” the words were rushed, breathy, “it was my fault. i asked her what she heard. i told her i would pay her if she told me what she knew.”

“well,” toto blinks, swallowing thickly, “did you end up paying her?”

“only like five thousand.”

“that’s quite a large sum over something you could have just asked me about personally,” clasping his hands together, toto raises a brow, “why didn’t you just come to me instead?”

“because you got so fucking defensive the first time i asked about it!” 

lewis did have a point. 

a good point, at that.

it was not like the team principal would have withheld information regarding his developing relationship with the williams driver. it was more like he feared what would ensue if he did share what had transpired. he trusted lewis, he really did. additionally, it wasn’t like this was just some average woman. his career, her future, and so much more were at stake. the benefits of keeping it all under wraps greatly outweighed the risk of discovery. 

more importantly, he was protective of his golden girl. 

she was his little escape from it all. a breath of fresh air after excruciatingly long nights in the paddock or disappointing days on the track. she was his sun, shining her vivid, warm, golden rays into his dreary and dull life. 

sure, toto was a billionaire. but money was not everything. 

nearly every day, toto’s mind wandered to their time spent together in brackley. the way she felt against his skin. the way her shy smile was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. the way her fingers felt intertwined with his. the way her lashes fluttered as she slept, lips parted ever so slightly. the way his hands roamed her curves, relishing the softness of her. 

that memory alone was worth far more than the number of zeroes in his bank account. 

“you’re falling in love, aren’t you?”

lewis’ voice is low, dangerously quiet. yet, there’s a curious glint in his eyes, the bitterness and anger no longer present. his body language is more relaxed, legs crossed, the driver fiddling with his thumbs. 

“i –” toto stutters, scrambling to find the right words, “yes, i am.”

“does she know?” 

“no,” he inhales sharply, “she doesn’t.”

“you want to tell her though, don’t you?”

“it would just feel rushed,” the team principal dismisses lewis’ inquiry, his voice hardening, “i have to be realistic here. no one falls in love that quickly. that’s just petulant.”

“well look at it this way,” lewis offers, “if you’ve had your eye on her for some time, then it’s really not that rushed. clearly, if you’re feeling those emotions so deeply, then it’s accumulated over time. i don’t want to pry, but how long have you been attracted to her?”

“you don’t want to know,” a chuckle rumbles in the team principal’s chest, “it’s embarrassing, really.”

“no, no, no,” lewis tuts, “tell me, toto. how long?”

“december 2022, when she signed her contract with williams. when i saw that photo of her, i knew i had to have her. last summer, in monaco, i may have slipped up and approached her at the afterparty. i flirted with her, but she dismissed me. so, i kept my distance. however, it was just growing harder and harder to stay away. it was impulsive, that night in bahrain. but i wanted to make a move before anyone else got to her.”

as toto finishes, he can’t help but notice lewis’ smirk, “holy shit, toto. you’ve been wrapped around her finger for quite some time then, yeah?”

“i wouldn’t say that–” toto begins, clicking his tongue, yet, he’s swiftly cut off as a new figure cracks open the door. 

george russell leans against the doorframe, arms folded across his chest. his lips are pressed together, forming a tightly wound frown. 

“way to include me in the gossip session, guys. what did i miss? clearly, quite a lot. if you don’t mind, i would like to join the conversation. toto, would you start from the top? even though i’ve already heard most of it, when were you going to bring it to my attention that you were fucking that bloody williams driver?”

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taglist: @younxii @toldyouitwasamelodrama @kravitzwhore @persona1lies @pucksandpower @k3ira13 @prettiest-at-the-party @martwll @annewithaneofthegreengable @zoeyjadetice2010  @sinners-98-world @laura-naruto-fan1998 @nebarious @joalslibrary @swifth0lic

as always, if i forgot to include you, please let me know! thank you all for the continuous support! i love y'all sm!! <33

#toto wolff #f1 #formula 1 #toto wolff x reader #formula one #alkaline series #f1 x reader #formula one x reader #toto wolff x y/n #toto wolff x you #alkaline: female driver! x toto wolff #female driver au #formula 1 x reader #formula 1 x you #miami gp 2024 #max verstappen #george russell #lewis hamilton #alex albon #williams racing #mercedes amg petronas

[chosows]

CLIPPED WINGS - AO3

Convict Sukuna x Fem Psychologist Reader

Summary: Routine visits to different prisons and psych wards are mainly what your life consists of. You’ve encountered many unique individuals who express differences in their personalities, physical behaviours, and personal attributes. It was your field of study and you excelled at it, one of the best in your workforce in this small city. Forensic psychology was something you were compelled to do from a young age, you’re now 26 years old and pursuing your dream.

After your last client had lost his life in a gang-related incident, you were assigned a new inmate. You were warned before you accepted, this prisoner was uncooperative and notoriously violent. It is your goal to break through them obstacles and find out the truth behind all of the gruesome crimes of Ryomen Sukuna once and for all.

Current word count: 120K (ongoing)

Contains: Heavy topics, descriptions of violence, toxic love, manipulation, mind games, love bombing, trust issues, attachment issues, loss of a parent (not described, just mentioned. Happened before current plot took place), extreme felonies, traumatic events, smut, technically a slow burn but not in the most positive aspect

THANK YOU!

Thank you for 40k hits; Clipped Wings takes its reign as my most popular fanfic. It’s my baby, and I treasure it dearly. Though it contains many, I won’t water it down, extreme topics, I hope those who read understand the deeper meaning I slip between the lines. A vast majority of the subjects I write on are personal; many dialogue pieces from my fics are based around conversations I have had in my life (minus the crime-y ones, obviously). Life isn’t easy when you are going through tough times, and that essentially is what this fic proves to tell. It’s okay to make mistakes—some make bigger than others, but that doesn’t render you any better or worse than another person. As long as you allow yourself the opportunity to redeem yourself, you have improved. Take small steps and build them up—your life is much more than a straight one-way path; don’t be afraid to skew a different way.

If you would like to read, click here — that should direct you to the correct place. If not, the link to my AO3 profile is in my bio. I have already said thank you, but I would like to say it again to the lovely people who comment and look forward to updates. Your comments mean the world to me and I do try my best to reply to them all when I find time. I would love to branch off from this fic maintaining the same relationship between the reader and Sukuna, so: if you would like to see any additional scenes, feel free to request them (anonymously or not) and I will make them into oneshots.

#sukuna x reader #sukuna fic #sukuna smut #jjk sukuna #ryomen sukuna #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #jjk smut #smut #ao3 #ao3 fanfic #sukuna x you #sukuna x y/n #sukuna #jujutsu kaisen sukuna

[haikyu-mp4]

Sponsored

word count; 742 – gn!reader who likes makeup

“Sugarpill… what is this?” Kenma mumbled as he opened another PR package. This one was a bright pink box, on the smaller side. He scrunched his nose as he opened it, finding a little flyer and something square with a pixelated cat on the front. “Fun size… eyeshadow palette?” he read off the label and looked up as the chat suddenly went crazy.

kozuluvr: omg its makeup

kenkenspudding: will we finally get beauty guru kodzuken?

raginggamergirl: I dont even use makeup n I want this palette

Kenma hummed under his breath, shrugging his shoulders. “I don’t know why they would send me this,” he said honestly, twisting and turning the palette in his hands before opening it and showing the bright colours to the livestream, also doing his best to read off the names, which were all gaming related.

urfavkuroo: makeup tutorial for your next follower special?

He looked down at the palette, seemingly studying it. “The names are cool.”

When you came home from work, you kicked your shoes off and sighed loudly as you strolled into the kitchen. You knew Kenma was playing on livestream, so you picked up two juice boxes from the fridge and went to his office.

“Hey, baby,” you cooed, waving at the camera as you stepped up beside Kenma and pressed a kiss to his cheek. You two announced your relationship a long time ago, and after getting through the short period of intense hate comments, most of his fans seemed to get over it. They realised that you were kind of awesome.

“Hi, how was work?” Kenma asked, taking the juice box from you with a small thanks after pausing the game.

“Same old, same old.” You glanced at the screen and then back to him. “And yours?” you asked back with a teasing tone. “Looks tough.” Kenma scoffed and pinched your thigh, making you giggle. He ignored your question in favour of leaning across his desk to pick up the pink package.

“Look what I got in my sponsored mail,” was all he said, handing it to you and watching for your reaction with a small smile on his face. He really likes it when you get home.

People started posting suggested makeup looks with his name on Twitter and you even responded to a couple of them from your account, agreeing with what would suit him and what would not.

That’s why you two agreed that you would do the makeup on him, announcing on Kodzuken’s channels that if they got him to his next follower milestone, they would get a makeup special.

And what do you know, Kenma got a follower boost from all the posts his fans made about him and the palette.

You happily helped him set up to film in your living room, so you could sit cross-legged and face each other on the couch where the lighting was a bit nicer. In preparation, you cleaned your eyeshadow brushes and put Kenma’s hair in a nicer bun so the camera could properly catch whatever you did.

He raised a brow as you held up the eyeshadow palette to the camera and put your hand behind it, explaining the product. “What are you even doing?” he asked you, pointer finger drawing stars on your knee while he watched you affectionately.

“This is what us beauty gurus do,” you said in a jokingly posh voice, also telling him “You wouldn’t understand.”

“This is my channel, you know,” he teased, using his other hand to tap your cheek. If he focused more on you, he didn’t think too much about how much more exposed he was to his viewers in a video like this compared to what he was used to.

“Shh, I’m talking to my devoted followers,” you said before laughing, picking up the next colour on a new brush and putting a quick kiss on his lips before you continued with the makeup. “We’re all Kodzuken fans here.”

Kenma knew some people expected him to act annoyed, but he also knew there was no way to hide how much he loved your soft touches and the concentrated look on your face as your brushes ticked his skin to give him a (supposedly trendy) “rainbow blush”.

There were even more mentions of him online after the video was posted. Now the fans shared screenshots and video clips of him and his partner, discussing how adorable you were together. Couple goals.

masterlist

#haikyu #haikyuu #haikyu x reader #hq x reader #haikyuu x reader #fanfiction #hq #haikyuu x you #haikyuu fluff #haikyu fluff #kenma fluff #kozume kenma #kenma #kenma x reader #hq kenma #kodzuken

[paddlescuddlesbubblesgurgles]

A Series Of Firsts

I remember the first time my scale read ‘error’. It ticked up to 408lbs and then the dreaded letters appeared. 

I remember the first time I ate enough for more than 3 people. Just 3 is somewhat common for me. 

I remember the first time my knees hurt just from trying to stand up. I’m really heavy. That was 40lbs ago. 

I remember the first time I became so full my overhang was lifted slightly off my fatpad. So full I was distended to absurdity. 

I remember the first time I learned if I lifted up my gut with my arms, it relieved my lower back pain. 

I remember the first time a chair broke beneath my weight, I would also end up breaking a couch, and a bed. Then a toilet cracked beneath my weight. 

I remember the first time a car noticeably sunk and the metal squealed when I sat inside it, and then the reverse when I got out.

I remember the first time my belly popped a button off a shirt, then it would rip one. Same for my waist breaking buttons off pants, and my thighs ripped holes in the legs. I have also destroyed a few pairs of underwear when I’ve sat down.

I remember the first time I realized my chest is bigger than many others’ chests. Usually mine are bigger. 

I remember the first time my side profile in the mirror shocked me. Can I be this wide? That is constant now.

I remember the first time I became winded just bending over it squatting down for longer than a minute or two. 

I remember the first time someone implied I need an extended mechanical grabber to pick things up because I’m so fat that my belly prevents me. 

I remember the first time I realized I’m getting too fat for easy penetration. 

I remember the first time I needed to lift up my belly and get my arm underneath it to pleasure myself. 

I remember the first time I was so stuffed full I couldn’t reach. My belly was stopping my completely no matter the position.

I remember the first time I realized nothing in most clothing stores fits me. I cannot shop in person usually. 

I remember the first time I outgrew my favorite shirt. This happens constantly now. 

I remember the first time I was out of breath from simply standing up after stuffing myself. This would create an inescapable pattern.

I remember the first time I ate an entire cake at once. I actually bought 2, couldn’t finish the second. 

I remember the first time I ate so much I fell asleep trying to digest it. An extra large pizza from a local place that I ate 90% of. 

I remember the first time I cured my insomnia by eating so much I couldn’t stay awake. 

I remember the first time I learned my body was desirable, that there are people who love pigs. They love gigantic, overfed bellies. 

I remember the first time I started trying to belch to make more room inside my gut. Pretty much every meal now. 

I remember the first time I realized a single thigh of mine is bigger than most people’s entire torsos. My belly can threaten someone’s entire body in size. 

I remember the first time I ate 15 cookies in a row. Regular habit now. 

I remember the first time someone told me to count calories and start overeating every meal. I had 7-10k every single day for 12 days straight. 

I remember the first time I ate enough for 8 people. An entire pizza, and 3 entrees completely inside my belly, with a 2 liter Diet Coke. 

I remember the first time I ate so much I couldn’t swallow anymore, and my jaw hurt, and I was actively fighting to keep it down. More common now. 

I remember the first time I ate an entire tailgater tray from a fast food restaurant. 

I remember the first time I ate 8 combos worth of food. Almost the entire menu. 

I remember the first time I smothered someone with just my belly. Completely enveloped their head in my overhang. 

I remember the first time someone made fun of me and called me fat in public. Unprompted stranger. That hurt. 

I remember the first time I wanted my belly to hang to my knees, and become so much bigger than it is now. That was 30lbs ago or so. 

I remember the first time I considered myself too fat, too heavy for myself.

I remember the first time I strongly considered going much further past my max weight, just because someone asked me to.

I remember the first time I outgrew a measuring tape. Those 60”s just aren’t enough for my body now. 

I remember the first time I realized I am living to eat. 

#feeding kink #ffa bhm #gaining weight on purpose #glorify obesity #extreme feederism #feedee encouragement #bhm weight gain #fatty getting fatter #feedee belly #feedee feeder #feedee piggy #feederist #feed me #overweight #overeating #too fat #stuffed fatty #stuffed piggy #stuffed feedee #fat belly #fatty #fatty piggy #fat piggy #gaining weight #male wg #wg text #bhm wg #wg encouragement #wg #fat

[the-falling-star]

Astrology observation

All about your north node and your future spouse

Part 2

we will be starting by speaking about North node in the 8th house since it's a Scorpio ruled house deep meaningful love is seen here however the longevity of married life it's going to depend on your and future spouse healthy habits attitude towards life, for example you and your future spouse should do healthy diet or start eating vegetarian food also doing physical activity together will make the bond between you two stronger your future spouse is going to be loaded, financially speaking you will have a decent life with them you may even get inheritance after they die since the north note is two houses after your 7th house so it represents the second house of your future spouse chart your future spouse is one of the people who worked very hard to get what they want in life they're beginning wasn't really great so maybe this is a sign that when you meet your future spouse he will have the story about transformation from poverty to richness, your in-laws will play significant role in your married life this can cause some troubles because everybody's going to be in your business. Before getting into a relationship with any person you should pay attention to what they are hiding the eighth house is all about secrets and I know people who had their north node in their eighth House and after getting a relationship with someone they figured out that at the same time they had another girlfriend or a child they're hiding Etc so you need to pay attention to ask questions before you get married. Also your future spouse could have relationship to politics or military or work in it. You could meet your future spouse while doing research on a specific subject(cult, stock market, lawns).

No let's talk about North node in your 10th house it is fourth houses from your 7th house which typically represent the fourth house in your future spouse chart and the fourth house is all about family the mother Homeland Etc so if future spouse is going to be family oriented person in some cases your mom will have a great relationship with either your future spouse or she will know the family if your future spouse already, your future spouse coul be working in their family business or maybe they took over their family, here's the twist the mother of your future spouse will have significant role in your marriage if their mother is present in their life you better know that they are their mommy child however if the mother is not present they will count on you acting like their mother they will search mother Love In you another thing this person could have a mom that is working hard since the day they were born and these kind of people will expect you to kind of be like their mom they want someone who wants to work and work hard if this is a woman you are looking for then this woman is counting on you working hard and if you are looking for men this man will want you to work hard ,they will want you to be independent, this person could live near you you may be me this person while you working , also the 10th house is relay is ruled naturally by Saturn so an older partner is seen of course if Saturn is not placed positively in your chart your future spouse could be younger than you however the way they think and the way they act is much older than their age.

Now if your north node is in the 12th house you could have this type of love story when you hate your future spouse at first and then you fall in love with them your future spouse could have bullied you first, the 12th house is sixth house away from the 7th house so it represent the sixth house in your future spouse chart and it's not normally ruled by the sign of Leo therefore ruled by the Sun, The 6th house represent enemies, warriors, diseases and Etc when I'm getting is that your future spouse could have been through a huge transformation in their life for example you know these people who like overweight and they work hard at the gym to become healthy or these people who felt a lot with certain disease and then they got out of it Victorious, your partner will get your back and frankly your future spouse could be your soulmate they are intuitive and emotional, however the 12th house is the house of Hidden enemies so at some point your future spouse can get really annoyed with you and they may keep their anger to themselves to the point where they will explode on you so maybe try to talk about problems and not bottle them up, because obviously you don't want to be in marriage that can mess with your mental health. Your future spouse could be wearing in the health sector , therapist, artist , Physic or a policeman a fireman I mean they supposedly working to keep people safe.

Part 1

Do not Copy or rewrite my shit without asking for my permission.

#astrology #the falling star #12th house #north node #10th house #8th house

[hornychristianprincess]

wasted (leehan x fem reader) pt. 1

paring: leehan x fem reader genre: smut, fluff, angst, fuckboy!leehan, college au word count: 6k summary: hooking up with a stranger at a party is fun when said stranger is a tall, attractive philosophy major whose name you don’t learn until weeks later. warnings: explicit sex scenes, oral (female and male receiving), a lil butt action but nothing too crazy

ao3 link can be found HERE.

“You’re a new face,” remarked the rich, husky voice belonging to the stranger who had just approached you. In a house party that was relatively packed, you thought you were blending in by sticking to the wall and enjoying your solo cup full of unlabeled liquor. And yet, here was the approaching figure of a man so tall you had to crane your neck to face him, knowing nothing about you and yet still managing to observe how out of place you seemed.

“That obvious, is it?”

“Don’t worry. It’s nothing about you, per se. It’s just, these things are usually pretty tight-knit; the same people come every time. So when someone’s new, you notice,” he tells you, his slow, calm way of talking making you feel relieved and deeply curious at the same time. “Do you go to school here?” 

You nod your head in confirmation, though it feels foreign to do so when parts of you still feel more like a visitor than a student. “I just transferred here.”

He smiles hospitably at this, gesturing his arms out towards the room of people who surround you. “Welcome to our vibrant community. Please enjoy your stay. Refreshments are in the back and the ice machine is down the hall.”

You giggle genuinely at him and the sort of clumsy, awkward way his words seem to land on you. He’s the kind of person you were expecting to meet when you transferred from your rural state school to this smaller liberal arts college. There’s something almost dorky and strange about him, from the way he dresses in an oversized cardigan and big round glasses to the way he holds eye contact with you for what you deem longer than normal. And yet, his self-assuredness is crystal clear to you. It’s at this moment that you acknowledge to yourself how attractive you find him.

“Did you come here with someone?” he asks you, his posture changing so that he’s leaning into you just slightly.

“Yeah. My roommate is here somewhere—” you gesture aimlessly around you, “—probably getting tongued down in someone’s bathroom.”

At this point, you had been fighting off the inclination to assume that the man in front of you was chatting you up for any reason outside of sincere curiosity. But his intentions are made crystal clear when he replies, “Yeah? Care to follow suit?”

You laugh both out of amusement and shock at his forwardness, and even he seems taken aback by his own candor as he smiles in a sheepish, apologetic sort of way. Still, the way that his piercing dark eyes never seem to cease their burning into you, there’s no doubt in your mind that he meant every implication embedded in that response.

“You know, you never told me your name,” you point out, not sure why you are prolonging what feels like the inevitable moment tonight when you’ll find yourself tangled in bed with the handsome man in front of you. Perhaps you’d just like to talk to him for a little bit longer, enjoy the gratification of his attention. Or maybe it’s just fun to tease him and watch the way his eyes crinkle in bashful embarrassment.

You’re pleased when he seems no less interested in you even as you divert from his advances. In fact, he perks up at your observation. “That I did not. Call me pretentious, but I like to think that learning my name is a privilege.”

You show your disinterest in this notion with a scoff, something the stranger seems to take in stride. “Is a man’s name not all that he has in this world, from birth to death?” he asserts with a prideful smirk.

“Philosophical. That your major?”

“How’d you know?”

You’re starting to feel a little scared with just how much you’re beginning to love the sound of your overlapping laughter. When it dies down, you bask in the brief moments of silence where neither of you knows what to say next and instead just stare at each other’s faces in an almost innocent, child-like way. It’s so different from what you’re both feeling inside, anticipation and lust and desire swirling in a mix that makes your bodies feel charged.

“So since you’re not telling me your name, should I tell you mine?”

“Only if you feel I’m worthy of it,” he replies. The game that he’s playing confounds you but you see no harm in playing into it, something tantalizing and freeing about not being bound to the expectations of each other’s names.

“That, my friend,” you reply, “is yet to be decided.” You raise your hand to push against his shoulder, surprised at how sturdy the skin under his cardigan feels. He ricochets dramatically against the force of your hand, and when his body returns to yours, it’s closer than before. He rests his hand on the wall just above your head, the way he’s angled making him appear even taller than he did before.

“You know, I was exploring this house earlier, and there’s a room in the back with a comfortable-looking king-sized bed,” he says, words that would sound fuckboyish and crude if anyone else said them, but come out dorky and amusing when he does, especially when his next statement is, “And the entire time I was in there, all I could think was, wouldn’t it be nice to have someone to pillow fight with?”

You smile, the expression mirrored on the stranger’s handsome face as he watches you react to his off-putting way of flirting. You decide to help him out by being more direct. “Are you asking me to pillow fight with you, stranger?” you ask, voice tilted in your best attempt at sounding seductive.

“Only if you’d be willing, stranger.”

When your roomate convinced you to go out with her tonight, you were intrigued by the notion of getting to know this new campus community, plus the always-tempting chance to get a few drinks in your system. You weren’t thinking that you would be in this position, about to hook up with a guy who won’t even tell you his name. 

You’ve been feigning confidence up until this point, an easy enough task when the man in front of you is good-looking and talkative. But now, as you prepare to follow him with the pretty certain chance of having sex, you have to finish off the remnants of your drink first, allowing the heat of liquid courage to wash over you like a warm blanket.

“Lead the way,” you tell him, taking the hand that he offers you before being led through the crowd of partygoers.

He takes you into a bedroom that’s on the ground floor, allowing you to settle in in front of him as he takes heed to lock the door. The bass from the loud music outside vibrates against the enclosed walls of the room. You’re grateful that it’s not completely silent, otherwise this would feel more awkward. 

“See,” the stranger says, walking over to face you. “I wasn’t lying about the king-sized bed.”

With the way he’s standing over you, combined with the looming implications of what you’re about to do – or rather, what you’re about to let him do to you – you’re too anxious to laugh. Instead, you stare at him, waiting for him to make the first move.

“Do you like to kiss when you hook up?” he asks you, straight-forward and to the point. You like that. You’ve never understood people who don’t like to kiss those they’re having sex with. Is the act of kissing somehow more intimate than letting someone inside you?

“Depends,” you reply, already moving to cradle the side of his face with your hand. “Are you a good kisser?”

He doesn’t answer verbally, moving instead to lean in so that your lips meet. Everything about this man feels like a paradox. Your interactions thus far have felt innocent, awkward even, and yet they still led to you following him into a stranger’s bedroom with the intention of having sex. And now, though his looks and the way he carries himself feel so clumsy, the way he kisses you is intense, all-consuming. 

He wastes no time trying to build up to something intense. Without pretense, his tongue is invading the wetness of your mouth, forcing your lips open as an audible whimper of surprise spills out. One of his hands comes up to lace itself into your hair, and in another act that surprises you, he pulls on it so that your faces come even closer. You’ve never found the taste of liquor on someone’s lips more addicting than you do now. 

You pull away to find a smirk on his lips, cockiness written all over his expression as he asks, “What do you think?”

It’s hard to conjure up any words when his hand is still in your hair, tipping your head back so that his eyes can comfortably rake over your face and particularly linger on your reddened lips. “I think I really, really want you to fuck me,” is what you manage, and even if you were the type to feel shameful at such remarks, it would be hard to when your words visibly light up his handsome expression until he’s kissing you again.

Your lips melt into his in a kiss so passionate it has you both walking backward in an eager effort to get each other onto the bed. You waste no time in pawing the clothes off of his slender body, satisfied as you hear his jeans then his cardigan hit the carpeted floor with a soft plop.

He does the same when it comes to your dress, a flowy, strapless piece that required you to go braless for it to work. Once it’s off and you’re both down to just underwear, you’re met with the feeling of his bare skin against your bare skin, your bare chest against his bare chest, and more relieving than anything else, the feeling of the bed frame meeting the back of your thighs as you finally reach the bed.

Pushing you up onto the edge of the bed, he lets his hands wander the expanse of your body, enjoying the feeling of your tits squeezed in the palms of his hands. You lean into his touch, moaning a little in his mouth as he never stops kissing you, even as he reaches down to breach the waistband of your underwear. 

You don’t realize how wet you are until his slender fingers push out to separate your folds, a task made difficult as your sticky arousal glues your lips together. But he manages it dextrously, wasting no time in finding your clit and drawing slow, teasing circles with the pads of his fingers.

His other hand, which had up until this point been palming your breast idly, now comes up to hold your face as he regretfully pulls his lips from yours. He studies your expressions with furrowed eyebrows, a teasing lilt in his voice as he asks, “Do you like it when I touch you here?” 

Just as soon as you part your lips to respond, his fingers dip lower until he’s sliding two of them into your fluttering hole. Your wetness provides no resistance, and now he’s coiling them deep inside of you. “Or here?”

You can’t think or respond when he’s pumping his long, slender fingers in and out of you, an act made more intense as he forces you to look at him with his hand on your jaw keeping your head in place. 

If you had to describe sex you’ve had in the past, vulnerable isn’t a word you’d use. 

And yet, it’s exactly how you feel as his eyes never leave your face, overseeing every expression you make from overwhelmed to whimpering to having your lips parted in a moan. 

A faint part of you wonders if you should feel more uncomfortable with how intimate this sex feels. 

And yet, you don’t think you’ve ever felt more pent up just with someone's fingers inside of you than right now, especially when he opens his mouth to praise you in his deep voice.

“You’re so fucking pretty,” he says, his breezy tone of voice reminiscent of a lullaby. “I’m so glad I met you tonight. Can’t wait to fuck you.”

He fucks his fingers deeper inside of you as he says this, causing you to mewl as you throw your head back in his hands. “Don’t make me wait, then,” you challenge, gripping his arm to steady yourself as another moan threatens its way to your lips.

“Such a needy girl, aren’t you?” he wolfishly remarks. “Well, if you insist.”

With am amused smile on his face, he pulls his fingers out of you, raising them between your two faces so that you both can look on at the wetness which coats them. You’re not at all surprised when he brings them to his lips, only turned on as he sucks both fingers clean with a wet smack.

“Wanna know what you taste like?” he proposes, his expression and tone of voice far too innocent for what he’s just done. You don’t respond, only pull him into you for a kiss so lewd it makes your insides jump. You reach your hand between your bodies as you kiss him, attaching your fingers to the bulge protruding from his boxers. You enjoy the feel of his clothed cock, large and substantial in your hands, before he’s pulling away to sigh against your lips. 

Your hand leaves his body as he moves away from you. “Don’t go anywhere. Need to grab a condom.”

You watch him in amusement as he goes to hunch over his discarded jeans. In his absence, you relax on your stomach, facing him on the edge of the bed. “Where would I go, stranger?”

“I don’t know,” he intones, returning to you with a silver packet in between his fingers. “But If I could freeze you like this forever, so pretty and waiting for me to fuck you, I would.”

The stranger’s way with words has your body responding once more, a ripple of electricity traveling up your legs and even more so when he takes off his boxers in front of you. You’re not ashamed at whatever expression of suprise is surely showing up on your face at the sight. 

You’d likely use the word pretty to describe his dick, veins bulging out of it like little vines and a tip that matches the rosy color of his lips. You decide then that he’s the biggest you’ve ever taken, though you suppose you should save that judgment for when he’s actually managed to fit inside of you.

Your thoughts are broken by his touch as he lifts your chin up with his hands, a smirk ever so prominent on his puffy lips. “My eyes are up here, you know.”

You both giggle at his cheekiness, a moment of humour that is promptly ended when the opening of the condom packet grabs your attention. You reach out to cease his movements with a hand on his wrist. He meets your gaze with a cute, confused look on his face. “Wanna taste you first, stranger” you assert with a blink.

“You’re so cute,” he remarks enjoyably, “But I won’t last if you do.”

You look up at him through your eyelashes, batting them extra hard as you say, “Just a peck?”

As you already suspected from the lack of conviction in his earlier refusal, he’s not at all stern as he moves to rub his thumb across your cheek. “Since you asked so nicely,” he replies permissively.

You barely have to lean forward off the bed for your mouth to reach his cock, tall and straight and hard in front of your face. Wetting your lips with your tongue, you press a kiss just underneath his tip, making eye contact as you pull away to watch as a heavy sigh leaves his lips. You don’t stop at just one peck, peppering them all along his shaft and enjoying the smoothness of his skin against your lips.

“I thought you said just a peck?” he reminds you when he notices what you’re doing, placing a hand on your hair but making no effort to push you away.

“Am I not pecking?” you ask, relishing in the groan he lets out when you wrap your puckered lips over his reddened tip. You’re just about to open your mouth fully before he finally shows some restraint, pulling you off of him with a tug of your hair.

“That’s enough,” he asserts, the mattress dipping from his weight as he hops onto the bed behind you. “If I’m not inside of you within the next 5 seconds, I’m gonna lose my mind.”

Conscious of his presence behind you, you raise your body into an arch and feel pleased when he immediately grabs at your hips to pull you in closer. He ignores the impatient little wiggles of your ass that you do in attempt to get him to fuck you, prefering instead to spread your pussy open with his fingers and groan as he watches arousal spill out of you. “You’re so fucking wet,” he remarks dreamily, sliding a languid finger inside of you in a way that makes your arch deepen. “And it’s all for me, isn’t it, baby?”

His vocal tone has taken a shift so that he sounds less adoring and more sadistic, the observance of your arousal being just for him stated almost matter-a-factly. You don’t know why it turns you on even more than before, but it does, especially as he plays idly with pussy as if he forgets it belongs to a living, breathing you.

You’re fighting off whimpers as his fingers continue their exploration of your entrance. You hear him let out a long, drawn out “Fuck,” under his breath before he’s withdrawing from you entirely and asking, “Can I eat you out?”

Images of his plump, rosy lips flash through your mind like a movie sequence before you’re humming out affirmatively, excitement of what’s to come making your body tense as you feel him laying down on the bed, feel his breath against your mound as he becomes level with your pussy, feel his lips against your clit as he goes in to take all of you in his mouth.

The sounds that fill the room now are nothing but a lewd combination of your moans, his slurping, and the continued blaring of music coming from outside the walls. The way that he eats pussy is almost just as clumsy and unsure as he is, but he somehow manages to make you cry out as his tongue expertly flicks against your clit, or he licks into your entrance to taste the arousal there. 

You feel yourself becoming lightheaded and breathless as he licks you closer into orgasm. Already worked up from all the time he spent fingering you, what feels like the last straw is when he experimentally licks upward and brushes his tongue against the tight skin of your asshole. Noticing how it makes you moan and reach back to pull at his long hair, he keeps going, wetting your ass with his tongue. 

Alternating between this and your cunt, it’s only a matter of time when you find yourself mewling and tensing as your orgasm takes over your body. Your thighs are shaking and your hands are pulling so hard at his hair that you’re afraid you’ll rip it, but nonetheless he holds you up with two large hands against your ass and groans as you come all over his face. 

When he finally pulls away from you, your body collapses against the bed, all the marks of a good orgasm hitting you at once – ringing ears, tensed limbs, rising chest. You’re brought back to Earth by the feeling of faint, fleeting kisses being left on the expanse of your spine, the stranger’s body pressed against yours before he’s level with you and moving to pull your head to face his.

“Can I kiss you?” he asks, sweet and innocent in yet another moment of tenderness that feels inappropriate for the setting you’re in. Nonetheless, you nod and relish in the feeling of his mouth against yours once more, acknowledging faintly to yourself that he just might be the best kisser you’ve ever been with.

He brings your body back to life by snaking his arms underneath you, grabbing at your boobs and almost making you feel ticklish as he gently caresses your stomach. Pulling away from your lips, he mutters the command of, “Turn around,” against your lips that you follow with zeal.

Flat on your back, you’re brought face to face with the man who has exceeded your expectations in almost every way compared to anyone else you’ve slept with so casually. Long locks of dark hair drape against the sides of face as he holds himself above you, making him look intense, but only briefly before he’s asking through an impish smile, “Are you intimidated by eye contact?”

He says it to you like it’s a challenge, like he hopes you’ll be shy so that he can guide you through it anyway. You shake your head stubbornly. “No,” you answer, “But I’m intimated by you.” It’s true. You’ve definitely never met a person like him, never had sex feel so intimate with a complete stranger. It scares you.

“Don’t be. I’m really a softie,” he assures, a childlike expression of excitement lighting up his handsome features. He presses a hand against your cheek in a gesture of affection, lips curling into a grin. “Only, my dick is as hard as a rock right now. Kinda wanna bury it inside of you.”

“What’s stopping you?”

You’re surprised when, in reply, he adjusts his body so that he’s lined up perfectly with your entrance, his latex covered tip pressing just slightly into you. “That’s a great question,” he quips, and without any further pretense, he slots himself inside of you.

You let out identical sounding sighs as his cock is engulfed by the sensitive, wet inside of your pussy. He presses his hips against you, making sure he’s as deep as he possibly can be before looking down at you for your approval. “Feels good?”

“Yes. Oh god, yes,” you’re whimpering in reply, head already thrown back as you get used to the feeling of his girth filling you. 

Hearing you express how good you feel is all the stranger needs to hear before he’s pulling out of you, methodically ensuring that just the tip is left inside before pushing back in. His vigor catches you by surprise, leaving you no time to adjust as he continues at a feverish pace. Unintelligible, broken-sounding cries spill out from your lips with each moment his hips meet yours.

“You have such pretty eyes,” he remarks as he watches you, a compliment you don’t think you’ve ever heard before while being fucked into the next dimesion. “And a pretty mouth, too,” he adds, his thumb breaching the wet insides of your lips before he’s leaning down to kiss you. The kiss is messy as you struggle to meet each other’s mouths, devolving into a mixture of tongue and spit and broken breath.

“Talk to me. Tell me how good I’m fucking you,” he groans against your mouth, sitting up on his knees to fuck you in an angle that’s deeper that before. With the pounding that he’s giving you, you’re just barely able to catch your breath, let alone form the words to respond to him.

“Can’t…scream your name if I don’t know it,” you manage to say in a teasing sort-of-way, your smirk widening into an open-mouthed cry as you’re sure he grazes your g-spot with a particualrly deep drive of his hips. 

He chuckles at your way of trying to get him to share his name, and whether he’s truly serious in wanting to withhold it from you or because he just wants to tease you, he says, “Come on my cock, and maybe I’ll tell you.”

“Fuck me harder, and I will,” you reply tauntingly, not because he’s not already, but because even through the haze of your approaching orgasm, you want to see how he’ll respond to your challenge.

He smiles at this request, though while maintaining his same pace. “But I don’t wanna break you, sweet girl,” he remarks, and if he weren’t, too, about to crash into his approaching climax, he’d surely make it a point to tease you for how you clench at the pet name. Instead, he opts to slot a hand between your legs and make work of your clit, rubbing it in tantalizing circles. “Does this help?”

Just as you were sure this sex couldn’t get any better, the added stimulation to your clit has your entire body reeling with pleasure. “Oh god, yes. Don’t stop.”

With each approaching second, you can feel yourself about to fall apart, a condition only worsened when the stranger pulls you down by your hips, bringing him even deeper inside of you. You love the sound of his deep voice from above you, sounding almost far-away and dreamlike as he mumbles remarks like, “Keep making those pretty noises for me, baby,” that shoot straight to your core, only adding to your wetness.

“Fuck, you’re killing me baby,” is what he says as his own pleasure begins to reach it’s peak. You love the expressions he makes, the almost painful look on his face as he says, “Wish I could come inside this tight little pussy.”

Even with the knowledge that he put a condom on, you can’t help but react positively to the notion of being filled with his hot, sticky release. And without intending it, your walls close tightly around his cock in tandem with the loud moan that on its own revealed just how much you enjoyed that little tidbit of dirty talk. And without fail, the stranger is quick to pick up on it and tease you for it, though through his own gritted teeth and groans as he inches closer to release.

“Yeah, you’d like that wouldn’t you? If I filled you up with my cum? You wanna have my baby and you don’t even know my name?’

It’s the half-degrading, half-awe-inspired tone of voice he uses that throws you over the edge, your thighs shaking in anticipation of what you’re sure will be an earth-shattering orgasm. “I’m close,” you confess through baited breath.

“I know you are,” he acknowledges in reply, and without warning, your body convulses with the strength of your climax. “That’s it. Come on my dick.”

You don’t think you’ve ever felt anything quite like the overwhelming pleasure that washes over you in a series of pulsating, neverending waves. The stranger fucks you through it without any alteration in speed, and it’s just as you’re about to squirm away in overstimulation that he finishes with one last, deep thrust inside of you. The sound of his groans are just as melodic and husky as his voice is, sending little afterschocks of arousal up your belly until finally, he pulls out of you with a grunt.

Looking up at the ceiling, you feel the mattress dip beside you as he collapses onto the bed. Usually, this would be the point where the post-nut clarity hits you and you’d begin to regret another series of bad decisions that led you to a stranger's bed. Instead, as you lock eyes with who might possibly be the most beautiful man you’ve ever seen, you only wonder what you did to deserve such good fortune to have met him tonight.

“That was fucking amazing, stranger,” he remarks, putting voice to your own exact thoughts as he rolls over so that he can stroke your cheek idly. You try to hold off the pestering inclination to blink so that you can take in the rosy-cheeked, delicately striking state his orgasm has left him in. 

You thought that after giving you what was surely the best pounding of your life that you’d be less inclined to view him as a total weirdo. Instead, there is something so innocent now about the way he looks at you, as he can’t even believe this happened. Wanting to tease him, you reply, “Good enough for me to learn your name?”

He considers your question with an impish chuckle, and though you’re not at all desperate to know his name, you’re still surprised when he replies, “Will you forgive me if I say something tells me I want to keep you hanging for just a little while longer?”

There is an air of mysteriousness to his words that you pick up on but have trouble interpreting. And while you itch to know what’s going on in that big brain of his, you decide not to question him any further, instead just appreciating the ease and contentment of this moment. 

“You’re the strangest person I’ve ever met,” you tell him candidly, leaning in so that the tip of your noses touch. “But I’m glad I met you tonight.”

You’re not embarrassed at all when you lean in to kiss him, because even though the sex is over, you just want to feel his lips against yours one last time before you go back to being two strangers who will likely never see each other after this. He reciprocates, seemingly ignorant to the idea of kissing someone chastely as he pulls you in and slips his tongue into your mouth.

Nevertheless, when you pull away, you know the moment is over when he says, “Walk of shame out the door together?”

You’re not sad, only content as you turn to him and answer. “Let’s.”

It’s a cozy Thursday morning on your campus as you step outside to meet with your friend, Jaehyun. When you had allowed him to borrow your computations textbook, you had no idea it would lead you to his apartment complex, where he swore he had left the book on accident.

“I promise you, I thought I brought it with me to class, but I must’ve left it in my room,” he explained sheepishly, patting his pockets as he searched for his apartment key. With his straight-cut bangs and habit of forgetfulness, Jaehyun was about the closest thing to a friend that you had since transferring. You went to the same high school together, congregating in the same social circles but ultimately going two separate ways after graduation. 

It wasn’t until your first day at this new school that you sat down for your morning class and discovered that Myeong Jaehyun went here, too. Since that moment of recognition on both of your ends, he’s been your only piece of relative familiarly in a place that still feels new to you.

“Here we are,” mumbled a disgruntled Jaehyun as he finally managed to unlock the door to his apartment. It was your first time seeing the place, and as far as student housing went, you were impressed. The space was populated with nice-enough-looking furniture and boyish decorations that you could tell belonged to Jaehyun and whoever his roommate was.

“I’m gonna go get your textbook from my room. You can wait out here,” said Jaehyun, turning to head into the hallway where the rooms were. You were just about to get comfortable, maybe sit on his couch and chill as he invariably spent ages looking for your textbook, until the noise of a door opening startled you into attention.

“Oh hey,” said Jaehyun casually to a familiar silhouette that appeared into the hallway. “Y/N, this is my roommate, Leehan.”

You fought the urge to laugh out loud as you were met with the image of the stranger who, just a few weeks ago, was drilling his cock into you in some of the most mind-blowing sex of your life. When he first came out and hadn’t noticed you yet, he simply looked curious, as if he was coming out of his room to see what was causing the noise. But now, he barely fights off a smirk as he, too, processes your presence. All of this goes unnoticed by an unsuspecting Jaehyun, who proceeds into his room to rummage for your textbook.

Left alone with the boy who you can now identify as Leehan, you look him up and down, taking in his casual appearance and hair that has only grown longer in the time since you last met. He leans against his doorframe, looking you over with a gaze just as intrusive before saying, “So. Y/N, huh?”

Both of you laugh out loud at the same time, the humor and awkwardness of the situation hitting you all at once. The smile on Leehan’s face forces his eyes into crescent shapes that you faintly acknowledge as endearing. 

“Leehan,” you state with a grin, returning the preceding instance of acknowledging each other’s names. “It suits you. Although, I’m not sure it’s special enough to justify you withholding it.”

He shrugs indifferently at that, looking not even a little embarrassed as he replies jokingly, “What can I say? I prefer an air of anonymity when conducting my one-night stands.”

“Is that what that was?” you quip back with a tilt of your head. You know exactly that that’s what it was, but playing coy about it is how you save yourself from the embarrassment of having to address the weird sexual-tension-mixed-with-awkwardness that lingers between the two of you.

He runs a hand through his hair, maintaining the smile on his face as he shrugs noncommittally and replies, “I don’t know, I was too drunk to remember. In fact, who are you again?”

You both giggle, the atmosphere and banter between the two of you surprisingly easy, even outside the context of being drunk at a house party. You can faintly hear the sounds of Jaehyun’s rummaging becoming louder a few doors away, letting you know he’s no closer to finding your textbook. To your own internal surprise, a tiny part of you is relieved to have the time to see where this interaction with Leehan will go.

“So, you’re friends with Myeong Jaehyun?” he asks, gesturing his head in the direction of his roommate’s door just a few feet away. You notice how he slips his hands into the pockets of his sweatpants and straightens his posture, a move somehow making him look 10x taller.

“It’s a love/hate sort of thing. But yes, I’ve known him since high school.”

The corner of Leehan’s lips switch into a half-smile, something foreboding in his tone as he then says, “Then I guess I should expect to see you much more often, Y/N.”

You raise a questioning eyebrow, and through a confused grin, ask, “Why do you say that so ominously?”

Leehan doesn’t answer at first and instead just maintains his piercing gaze on your face. He’s so strange, but what’s even stranger is that you find yourself attracted to him. Attracted to him and his weirdly crooked smile and habit of staring at people for longer than normal. His shaggy brown hair and pouty lips that you can’t forget were once meshed with yours.

“No reason,” he finally answers, and before you can question such obviously purposeful ambiguity, it’s just then that Jaehyun comes out with your textbook.

“Found your book,” he says, cradling the thick textbook underneath his arm. Looking over at Leehan, whose open-mouthed expression obviously reveals he was in the middle of saying something, he pauses. “You good, Leehan?”

Leehan maintains a passive expression, though the hints of a smirk just barely bleed onto his lips as he gestures his head in your direction. “Yeah, just talking to Y/N.”

Jaehuun exchanges an inquisitive look between the two of you. “You guys know each other?”

Not sure how to answer that question, you look to Leehan for any non-verbal guidance. And funnily enough, he looks to you with the same sort of expecting look, and now you’re staring at each other for longer than normal, fighting back laughter as a confused Jaehyun looks on.

“You could say that,” Leehan replies, nodding his head affirmatively.

part 2 coming soon

taglist: @lailols @papichulomacy @0310s

comment or send an ask to be added to the taglist!

#leehan #boynextdoor #leehan smut #boynextdoor smut #leehan x reader #leehan fluff #leehan angst #boynextdoor fics #hornychristianprincess #donghyun boynextdoor #boy next door smut #donghyun smut #donghyun boy next door smut #kpop smut #kpop angst #kpop fluff

[pazziville]

Can I Be Him — A Pazzi Fic

Wherein Paige Bueckers, UConn’s prolific point guard, has been in love with Azzi Fudd, her longtime best friend and current teammate for the longest time. The persistence in scouting the girl to the huskies was not for nothing. But of course, Paige kept this fact to herself. Yet, even after all these years, behind the basketball star’s confident and cocky-like attitude, lies insecurities for seemingly not being enough for Azzi.  Azzi constantly reminding Paige of the reality that she may never have feelings for the girl the same way the girl has for her when she repeatedly talks to Paige about her boy problems, deflates the latter’s self-esteem, while Azzi remains unaware. With the next season around the corner and Paige’s newfound courage to move on from Azzi, what would become of their relationship?

CHAPTER 2.

word count: 1548

Chapter 1

“You have got to stop pacing around, Az. If it’s not making you dizzy, it definitely is making me.” Ice annoyingly tells off Azzi and goes back to munching on her popcorn while watching a TV show from the bed.

Azzi flops herself back first on the bed, covers her face with both hands and screams.

Ice flinches causing some of her popcorn to fall to the bed, “Girl what is wrong with you?!”

The girl gets back up and goes back to pacing, earning a ‘what the fuck’ look from her roommate who is considering calling 911 at the sight she’s currently witnessing.

“I messed up. I messed up. I messed up. I messe–” Azzi chanted while pacing before being held and stopped by Ice who was forced to now stand alongside her if she wanted her much wanted peace and quiet.

“What did you do?” Ice sternly asks her as if she was an interrogator trying to get the truth out from a criminal, which in this case was Azzi.

“I swear I didn’t mean to do it–” Azzi found herself avoiding the topic altogether.

Ice grew impatient, tightening her grip on Azzi’s arms, “Spill or none of us are gonna shit done here.”

It was Azzi’s turn to hold on to Ice’s arms as if it was a call for help, “I called Paige stupid and reckless.”

The two stayed in the same position for quite some time while keeping their eye contact intact.

A laugh from Ice breaks the silence between them and Azzi whines, “Ice, this is not funny!”

“It might not be for you but it for sure is for me.” Ice’s laughter grows louder as she further thinks about the situation.

Ice’s laughter fades slowly as she lets out a question, “Were the insults justified at least? To be fair knowing Paige, she can definitely be stupid and reckless sometimes.”

Azzi stomps her feet in regret as she recalls what she did, “That’s the thing, Ice. I think I definitely went too far with what I said.”

“Alright alright, let’s sit down first and get the whole picture. For sure you had your reasons. Now, tell me. What happened that led up to you saying those words to Paige?” Ice sits down and taps on the bed, signaling Azzi to sit down with her.

Ice knew Azzi had the tendency to be extremely sensitive to the people around her, making her confused as to why the girl could have uttered such insensitive words to someone, let alone to her best friend Paige. 

Heck, at times when opponents would say even the slightest dirt to the girl, Azzi would take it personal, as if she was the one talked trash to, immediately doing her best to distract Paige. Usually it didn’t take much for Azzi to get Paige to smile. Paige needed as little as Azzi looking at her with concern to make her smile from ear to ear.

Something didn’t add up. Seeing how stressed Azzi currently is, Ice knew there was more than meets the eye and she was determined to get whatever this is out of Azzi’s system.

Azzi was hesitant and Ice realized this, caressing the girl’s shoulder as a means of assurance that whatever is said in the room stays in the room, getting her trust and getting her to finally talk, “I don’t know what got to me. I saw Nika and Paige playing King of The Court. Even by then I was already pissed at Paige and I don’t even know why myself. My anger elevated the moment Nika got hurt. Then I saw Paige taking care of Nika. Then the words just slipped out my mouth and I just…” Azzi covered her face with her hands once again but this time in relief that she finally got that out her chest.

“So let me get this straight…” Even though there was nothing straight about what Azzi just told her. Ice thought. “Nika and Paige were just playing King of The Court, you were mad at Paige for no apparent reason. When Nika got hurt and you saw Paige taking care of her you got even more angry and let your emotions talk. Am I right?”

Azzi nodded, now looking at Ice with puppy eyes, desperately looking for advice. 

“Yeah, uhm. Have you maybe thought of the fact that you could be jealous of Paige being with Nika?” Ice suggests, eliciting quite a violent reaction from Azzi.

“What?! That’s insane! Why would I be?!” Ms. Curly Hair becomes defensive.

“Hey hey, calm down. When I say you’re jealous, I don’t mean romantically. Maybe you could be jealous your best friend is caring for someone other than you. You know, the platonic kind of jealousy.” Ice explains herself, earning an “oh” from Azzi.

“Unless…” Ice teased. It obviously worked on Azzi as she playfully hits Ice’s arm.

Azzi stands up with an enlightened face, realizing Ice is probably right. She rushes out the room, eager to fix things between her and Paige, “Thank you, Ice! I owe you one big time! Love you!”

Ice shakes her head and sighs, “At this rate they’re gonna hurt each other immensely before realizing.”

Azzi had no idea where Paige currently was. The girl had gone radio silent. Not a single annoying text and random call popped up from the blonde on Azzi’s phone. But despite this, she thinks she knows her best friend enough to trust her instincts. Paige, when not preoccupied in bothering Azzi, always turned to basketball. She’s also had enough fights with Paige to know she beats herself up with practice right after their fights.

Azzi’s guess was proven right while she was walking down the UCONN gym hallways. The sound she heard coming from a single person’s shoes was enough to confirm it. She knew Paige doesn’t like practicing with other people when she was getting her personal practices in. Of course team practices were a different story. Maybe that’s why the sight of Nika practicing with Paige a while ago bothered Azzi? She brushes this thought away and proceeds to enter the indoor court.

A sweaty and out of breath Paige is what Azzi met the second she entered. But despite Paige looking like she just finished a triathlon, the UConn point guard still showed no signs of stopping. The girl was doing everything. Shooting from everywhere on the court, grabbing her own rebounds, then running up and down the court whenever she failed to make a shot.

Paige was so locked in she didn’t even notice Azzi’s presence on the court and Azzi couldn’t help but feel even more guilty as she recalled a memory of her and high school Paige.

“Why are you so worked up in these personal practices of yours for the past few weeks?” High school Azzi innocently asks the hard-working senior from Hopkins.

Paige looked at her with a vulnerable expression, something only reserved for Azzi, “If I can’t get you to commit to UConn, that must mean I’m not good enough as a player for you to trust me.”

Azzi connects the dots, “So you’re working extra hard so you’ll earn my trust and hopefully play for UConn?”

“I care about what you think.” Paige sincerely says in a soft tone, making Azzi’s heart beat slightly faster, “So if me being good enough is what it takes to earn your trust, I’ll do it in a heartbeat.”

So if me being good enough is what it takes to earn your trust, I’ll do it in a heartbeat. Paige’s words repeat in Azzi’s mind like a tape loop, affecting her after seeing Paige go back to doubting her capabilities because of her.

Azzi slowly makes her way near Paige who was currently attempting a three from the top of the key. Paige’s shot attempt clanked at the rim and went straight to Azzi’s direction, forcing her to catch the ball.

As Paige turned around to try and retrieve the ball, she was met with the shorter, curly haired girl, and brown eyed girl she was so desperately trying to run away from, mentally and physically.

“You’re doing it again.” Azzi worriedly says, receiving a weak chuckle from Paige.

“In a heartbeat.” Paige gets closer and Azzi swears she stopped breathing the moment the first step was made.

“I’m sorry.” Azzi apologizes, waiting for Paige’s reaction or response, but once she said those two words, Paige stopped getting closer.

“If that’s all, you can go now. I’ve already forgiven you since you said those words.” Paige says, slowly grabbing the ball from Azzi’s hands.

Azzi feels a pang in her chest when Paige seemingly wants to scoot her away, “You know you can just say you want me to stay away from you, Paige.”

“But I don’t, Azzi.” Paige says, “I don’t want you to leave me here but I’m assuming you’re the one who doesn’t want to see me and is just forcing yourself to apologize to me and I just don’t know what to do–” She addedly rambled but then gets cut off by Azzi suddenly hugging her.

“I fucked up, P.” Azzi tightens her embrace around the older girl, “Let me make it up to you.”

a/n: here's chapter two for everyone! hopefully the pacing and understandability's still alright by this point. suggestions and feedbacks are highly appreciated. please do know that english is not my first language and the chapters are mostly not proofread, so any part of the story that may need revisions, kindly tell me. thank you! hoping everyone's having a great day so far! much love. <3

#pazzi #azzi fudd #paige bueckers #uconn wbb #wbb #uconn huskies #wlw #Spotify #paige bueckers x azzi fudd

[renren-006]

Y'all did know? - Daryl x fem reader

Anon: i absolutely fucking love your fics, i read so many fanfics i don’t always remember authors but i for sure remember and recognize you and your work partially bc i reread it often❤️ after reading your last daryl fic at 4 am bc i couldn’t sleep i had an idea for a fic for him. what if it was slightly the opposite thing, like daryl and reader got together early on, maybe the knew each other before hand like reader was a bartender at merle’s favorite bar bc we all know daryl takes time to warm up to be ppl, and the cdc happens, while drinking they make their confession and get together officially, but readers like daryl with the fact they’re kinda shy and take a while to warm up to ppl so they don’t do pda and stuff publicly, not really intending to hide it but also not wanting the attention, and maybe they assume their ppl from their group know (this is where the set up for that last fic got me bc i can see this being a long timeline)......

original ask: Ask

a/n: hey anon!! i decided to copy some of what you wrote here but it was a massive request and I absolutely enjoyed reading it and writing it!!! thank you for the kind words!! you guys are why i love writing and helping make your stories become reality! hope you all enjoy reading it! word count: 3107

taglist: @rosecentury

Before World Ended:

You met the Dixon brothers a few years before the world ended. You were a bartender at a small driver's roadside bar off Atlanta I-85. You started working there after you graduated from college, hoping to make some money to put away to get out of Atlanta. 

Merle was always a loud drunk and a loud customer throughout the day. Daryl, however, was a kinder soul, apologizing for his brother before seating himself directly in the center of the bar area. The two of you chatted through your shift, mostly about who comes in, how his day was, and what the weather for the week would be like. It was small talk, but with the other rednecks checking you out, you felt comforted by him. Daryl never made any plans to put any moves on you in the three years he knew you, but when the world ended, and you almost got killed, he knew he had to.

"I like ya," he said aloud. You looked over at him. He was gazing up at the sky, a beer between his knees. You just sat there watching the man. 

“What the hell does that mean?” you asked, slightly annoyed. You not only had almost died by an undead customer, but also it was an undead customer. The idea that people could die and come back to life as something unlike themselves was utterly unbelievable. You watched blow you as that undead walked around without noticing you and Daryl on the bar's roof. Merle was blocking the rest of the bar to keep everyone out. All three of you knew you would have to leave soon, but it didn't matter; the summer breeze was still blowing, and the beer was still cold for now. 

“It means…ya almost died and the shit of the world, so… I like ya.”

“You are a master with your words,” you told him sarcastically. You've known Daryl for years now; the two of you spoke the same language with people. You were always shy, and Daryl just took a while to open up to people. You both were a lot alike, and that's what kept you together and attracted you to one another. “I like you too.”

GEORGIA:

The two of you never addressed your relationship with each other, not that anyone really needed to know. Nor did the two of you showcase it. Since both of you were shy and had a bit of a more rigid exterior about letting people in, you just figured when you were alone with each other was the time to be closer, but out in the world hand, holding, loving looks, and conversation were the way to go about it. 

Merle knew, of course; he figured it out quickly. He was the only one learning about the two of you and not caring. Daryl acted the same as he had, except he didn't dare flirt with you. Daryl had given him one look on the road when you walked ahead, and he was staring at your ass that he never tried again. Merle may be mean to Daryl, but he never would cross-touch what were his brothers. Everyone thought it was a word.

“He doesn't flirt with you, does he?” Andrea asked you a few months into living together. You shook her your head. “Weird, he never stopped with me.”

“Maybe you're just his type, Andrea.”

“And you're not? Anything with tits and an ass and Merles all over it,” she said to you, not noticing the slight touch of hands with Daryl as he walked by and the smile you gave. She kept running on about Merle's annoyance, not noticing anything else around her. 

FARM:

“You crazy bitch” you yelled towards Andrea. She had run over far behind your form and Ricks. The two of you dashed towards the fallen man without a second thought in your mind. You ran towards your man, who was lying in the grass, groaning in pain. Daryl was barely speaking in Rick's arms as they carried him off. 

“Don't worry, your man will be fine,” Shane said, keeping you from absolutely bashing Andreas' face in. She took one look at your anger and held her hands up, walking backward towards Dale. “Don't bite her head off for this.”

“Whatever,” you said, shoving him off and walking up towards the house, where Daryl was now being brought inside. You didn't even consider Shanes's words that day, “your man.” it never crossed your mind that he was teasing you. Shane was a dick; everyone knew it more recently. You could see Shane's vacant eyes glancing at everyone in a way that made your skin crawl. You thought the only reason he was acting like that towards you was this asshole was flirting. He knew you were taken, right? You were mistaken. 

ROAD AGAIN:

You handed over a can of soda to Daryl. You had only found two in the house you searched.  Surprisingly, the can was left in a cabinet, meaning you could drink it if you wanted to. Daryl and Rick approached you once they entered the house. They both came to help you in the bigger house. You placed the soda in Daryl's hand.

“It's not beer, but I know you'll enjoy it anyway,” you said to him before heading up the stairs. 

“She's sweet on you,” Rick said with a smile, teasing the man beside him about you as you skipped the last few steps. 

“I know,” Daryl said as he went to look for other things inside the house. Rick looked back and forth between the stars and where Daryl had gone off, too. He laughed slightly.

“Those idiots,” Rick said, thinking they both had no clue about the other's feelings when everyone else was oblivious to their known feelings. 

PRISON:

You stood on the watchtower, scouting the land ahead. Daryl and a few others had gone on another trip to look for supplies. You had your rifle on the railing as you watched, and then you set up their gear and trucks. Maggie slid in next to you. She watched you watch Daryl move around in the ground, setting up his motorcycle. He looked good down there; the way his body moved, his mussels, and even the way his hair was falling was driving you wild. Maggie caught a glimpse of you checking him out.

“You're so obvious,” she told you. You laughed slightly.

“Sorry,” you apologized; you knew you were obsessed with watching him, but how could you not? You’ve known Daryl for so many years now it was impossible not to watch or admire the man before you. You loved him, and he knew that. Daryl was also quite aware of your joys of watching him, sometimes he would put on more of a show of stretching or giving you those lustful eyes you knew would mean the two of you wouldn't get any sleep that night. It was his favorite thing to do to get you worked up throughout the day. 

PRISON:

Daryl knew he was forgetting something before he even shut the truck's door. He heard her voice before she even reached the hill in the Prison. 

“Wait.” Daryl glanced out the window of the truck, putting his arm out and waving. He knew she was smiling from that before her face popped up in his vision. “You forgot your water bottle!” Smiling up at him was you, his girl—Rick snickers from the seat beside Daryl. 

“Thanks,” He said, grabbing the water bottle from your hand, “saving my ass.”

“Always am,” you responded, giving him a wink. Have a safe trip out.” As you said it, you turned with a wave and walked back up the hill. Swaying our hips bit as you did, you gave Daryl a show that you knew would make him come back to you tonight with a mission. 

Daryl and Rick headed off on their scout to a new town they had spotted on the map, a few miles away from the other town they had picked clean. As the two looked around the houses, Daryl went through many jewelry cases for anything that might seem like something you would wear. Rick came in on him, picking through when he had found the perfect thing.

“She would love this,” Daryl said. Rick came up next to him, observing the (silver/gold) necklace with a bird on the end of the chain swinging in the air. 

“Do you think about anything but her?” Rick asked, laughing as he exited the room to look in the one next to it. Daryl chuckled and shook his head. No, you were always on his mind. 

Little did he know, Rick assumed Daryl had a massive crush on you, not that he had any suspicions you two were already together.

When they returned and Daryl was back sitting next to you on that mattress on the floor, he pulled out the necklace. 

“I found it,” he told you, handing it over to you so you could see it. “I know how much ya miss these types of things.”

“Haha, did you know I missed jewelry?” You asked him, shocked he somehow knew how much you missed having something to wear around your neck. He nodded his head.

“I knew, ya mentioned it a while ago. Been looking for something for ya”

“Daryl,” you said with admiration. He put it around your neck; the man who you had met in a bar all those years ago was now putting a necklace on your neck in a run-down prison at the end of the world. 

AFTER PRISON FALL:

“Daryl?” You said, besides Carol, who had just completed her job of destroying a massive facility of cannibal people. You had been with her, the girls, and Tyreese since the fall and had been so scared that Daryl didn't make it out of the prison. You had run out of the hut and left Tyrese once you heard the explosion. You had found Carol and walked over to the others and saw him. 

Daryl didn't hesitate to run straight for you. You hugged me so tight you felt the air in your lungs stop for a moment, but you didn't care.

“I miss ta. I thought ya died,” Daryl said as he clung to your body. He had gone through hell to fight and find you, and here you were, not a scratch on you and in his arms again. That necklace still hung around your neck, a form of commitment to the both of you about who you were with.

“I'm alive. I'm alive,” you said as you held the man in your arms. The others stood and watched your reunion, no one thinking anything- “Wow, they must care for each other a lot.”

Once he broke off the hug, it was like looking into the eyes of the world again. You could see color, purpose, and meaning. He was everything to you.

 

AFTER TERMINUS:

After the terminus, Daryl stuck to your side. The two of you walked together, ate together, slept near each other, and went on runs together. When Carol and Daryl went to Atlanta, so did you. 

“How long have you two been together?” she asked as you walked through another building in Atlanta. Daryl casually answered as he passed an office door with a walker trying to get out.

“Since Atlanta fell,” he answered. Carol stopped, turning back to the two of you.

“You've been together for more than three years?” She asked the two of you. “How did no one pick up on it?”

“Wait, what?” you asked, shocked, “How does no one know Daryl and me are together?”

“You two have never been very…affectionate,” she told the two of you. Darly glanced your way. The two of you laughed a little at that.

“Yea, that makes sense,” Daryl said. This was the moment the two of you started looking towards the others for any answers if they knew you were together. For the last few months on the road, getting to Alexandria yielded you the response that no one knew a thing. It caused a bit of agitation for the two of you about how maybe your attitudes about being affectionate were causing more harm than good. 

ALEXANDRIA:

Once you all had gotten settled in and jobs were assigned, you all started to try and live a normal life again.Since moving into the two houses, you shared a space with Miccone, Rick, Carol, Daryl, and the kids. You and Darly took a room downstairs along with Carol down the hall, and the rest were split in the rooms upstairs. No one questioned you staying with Daryl or even looked at the fact that there was only one king bed in that room with the two of you. 

While Darly was assigned to go on runs to look for people, you were assigned daycare and teacher duty at the house designated for the school. It kept you busy while Darly was away, and on the days you had off or no one showed, you hung around with Crol or took watch. Many days, you walked around the complex, taking in the signs and the ability to walk in peace. That was until one day.

“Hey, you're one of the women from the new group, right?” a man asked as you walked back to your shared house. You could see Daryl on the porch talking with Carol, but he had not seen you yet. 

“Uh yeah,” you said, continuing to walk back; the man pulled your arm to face him.

“You know it's rude to keep walking when someone is talking to you. Or did you forget that after living in the wild for so long?”

“I didn't forget anything; I just don't want to talk to you,” you told the man, shaking your arm out of his grasp and walking faster towards the house. Finally, you made eye contact with Daryl. The way his face looked, you knew it was because he had heard. The man didn't stop trying. 

“Hey, don't walk away from me,” he said, running back up to you, grabbing your arm so hard and pulling and making you stumble back. “What if I'm not good enough for you? Can’t a man ask a girl for some action or what?” he said, pulling you closer to him. 

“Stop it,” you yelled back, but you didn't have to fight hard. Daryl was a flash before being by your side, and the man's face was flush against his fist.

“Touch me woman again, and that's the least I'll do to ya,” he said. The man froze as he looked up at you from the ground. That was the day you realized the longer people didn't know either of you was together, the more people would try and come up to you, assuming you were not. 

Daryl went to bed that night, angry. You knew it wasn't towards you, but the coldness in the room made you feel like the world was ending if you and him couldn't be more open. 

ALEXANDRIA:

‘What if you two just got married?” Carol asked as she was cooking in the kitchen. You paused your reading from the chair in the living room to look into the kitchen at Carol. 

“What?’ You asked, shocked by her expression. She turned away from what she was cooking on the stove to talk to you. 

“Well, since the people in Alexandria won't take the hint you've taken, and Daryl's upset, and also the issue of our own family not knowing…maybe you should just go out, find some rings, and get married.”

“I…hadn't thought of that,” you told her. “You think Daryl would be okay with that?”

“I think Daryl is more on board with that idea than you think, y/n,” Carol told you. She knew about the distance that had been caused by the repetitive men hitting on you. The guy whose nose was broken never once tried to come up to you and denied anything happening with you when others asked. No one knew what Darly had said that day apart from those there. The decision was made, at least on your part. You stomped your way over to Aaron's house. When he answered the door, you stomped in. 

“Need Daryl,” was all you said before heading to the back of his house to the garage. There, Daryl's bike sat as he tinkered with it. You slammed the door open, causing Daryl's head to look towards the door. A shutter went through the house.

“The hell, woman..” Darly almost got out. 

“Marry me,” you said when he was almost done speaking. Daryl's mouth closed, looking at you. “Do you need me to repeat myself? Daryl Dixion, marry me.”

“Ya no, I heard ya y/n,” he said, standing up, “why?’

“Why? Because I love you, and no one can even tell I do or that we have been together for more than four years,” you told him, frustrated by the string of events of the past year. 

“You want to marry me?” Daryl asked, taking your face in his grease-covered hands.

“Yes,” you told him, smiling.

EVERYONE'S REACTIONS:

Rick was holding a dinner for the family that night. Carol completed a large spread, and everyone showed up. You and Daryl were late. When you showed up, the two of you were holding hands. Michone was the first to welcome the new development.

“You guys waited long enough,” she joked, causing other heads to turn. Daryl looked down at his feet, and you just let out a sigh.

“We didn't, though,” you told them. Everyone looked twords you two in confusion. 

“Didn't what?” Michone asked, clearly confused by what was happening. 

“We've been together for four years,” Darly said, “And we just got married to prove it.” He lifted his hand to show the gold band on his finger, and yours lifted as well, showing the (silver/gold) band with a few small diamonds on it. The two of you had found a jewelry store and had fun picking out your ring, while Darly wanted something simple. 

“Holy shit,” Abraham said. 

“Wait, what? '' Carl shouted, clearly confused about how his uncle had been together with you for so long, and he didn't know.

“Congratulations,” Carol answered. Everyone else was shocked. “Oh, I've known about them for a while.”

“Tonight's dinner story is how the two of you got together,” Rick said as he motioned for the others to sit, “And no one is leaving out any details.”

#daryl dixion imagine #daryl dixon x reader #daryl fanfiction #the walking dead imagine #daryl dixion #the walking dead daryl #twd daryl #daryl dixon #fanfic #daryl x reader

[lovelynim]

All's fair in love and war

Honkai Star Rail - Aventurine x Caelus

A/N: This time I'm happy to post an official commission for none other than @eliankrios himself. Thanks for being such a kind customer and for your patience and understanding!!! I hope you like it!

Summary: Countering Aventurine's luck takes more than just skill, but if you're going to play dirty, you shouldn't let yourself get caught...

Word count: 2975 words

Caelus was ticklish - a fact that Aventurine happened to discover by accident, but one that he was particularly interested in. 

The problem, however, resided in the fact that there wasn’t a way to test it by himself. Aventurine had met Caelus not long ago during his business trip in Penacony and his interactions with the mr. Stellaron were limited to a few flirts or really-well-intended gifts. Tickle him was not an option - at least, not until now.

“W-what?” Caelus gasped, nearly choking on the SoulGlad - which Aventurine bought him - and smiling shyly, looking at the man next to him. “You’re kidding me, right?”

“No,” Aventurine chuckled charmingly, resting his head on his hand. “I’m just curious about it, my friend, and I decided to make a move. Maybe 20.000 will do, then?” He smirked, loving the flustered face on the other guy’s face. This was a bold move, but Caelus didn’t push him away so… there could be a chance. And who better than Aventurine in taking risks?

“I-I’m not talking about money,” Caelus mumbled, placing the bottle down on the counter. “You can’t… buy your way into tickling me, that would be weird,” he explained, surprised at the words that were coming out of his mouth. Caelus never expected to use them in the same sentence, but here he was.

“Hmm, would it?” Aventurine looked away, pretending to think about it. Of course he expected Caelus to refuse such an offer - he wasn’t really the prude kind of guy, but being offered money in exchange for getting tickled would set anyone off. “I apologize then, friend. Could there be another way?”

“Another… way? Of tickling me?” Caelus’s upper lip twitched slightly, only finding this situation more and more confusing. No one ever needed… a way. It would be just him fooling around his friends and it happened. And Aventurine was his friend. Why couldn’t he just do it… normally? “I…”

Aventurine chuckled again, sitting upright before finishing his drink, placing the cup over a couple of bills. “Hahah, your face is priceless. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to weird you out. Forge-”

“Wait,” Caelus said, with a hint of excitement in his voice. His eyes sparkled, as if he just had an idea. 

Aventurine arched his eyebrow, tilting his glasses a bit and looking over them to meet Caelus’s eyes. “Hm? Do you want another drink, my friend?”

“No, not that,” Caelus chuckled, shaking his head, “you can tickle-”

A gasp left Aventurine’s mouth, unable to hide the content he felt by hearing those words. “Oh, really? Hahah, why did you change your mind, my-”

Just as he was about to reach for Caelus, he moved his hands around and grabbed Aventurine’s wrist instead. The confidence in his smirk sent a shiver down Aventurine’s eyes - he knew that kind of expression. It was the kind of expression people made when betting all the chips in their hands. The blonde felt his heart skip a beat and looked down to Caelus’s hand tightly holding his wrist.

“If,” Caelus added, “you can beat me in a game.”

“...oh,” Aventurine couldn’t deny he was impressed. When did Caelus get so bold? Not that he disliked it or anything, but it certainly did something to the chemistry of his brain. “Is that so?”

“Yes,” Caelus nodded, letting go of Aventurine’s hand and resting his own over his hips. “But! If you can’t, then I will tickle you instead.”

This was getting interesting. To think Caelus would deny his money for a game… “If you want to play, my friend, then I'm more than happy to be your opponent, but I will need you to state the terms more clearly,” Aventurine mused, sitting back down and crossing one knee over the other, “I can’t join a game if I don’t know the rules, after all.”

“Hmm… just one round,” Caelus explained, gazing into the distance as he tried to think. He was slowly starting to regret just suggesting it without thinking twice. “A-and the winner gets to… tickle the other for as long as he wants. Sounds good, no?”

“Hahah, it does, my friend,” Aventurine laughed, amused. He was thinking of a couple of minutes for that amount of money, but Caelus’s offer proved to be even better. “Still, one question remains: what game are we playing? Poker? Roulette? Baccarat?”

Caelus's eyes widened. He should’ve really thought about it before.

He had nearly zero experience in that kind of game - he just came in contact with it recently thanks to Aventurine, who always managed to sneak a round or two while they hung out together. Still, those times were enough for him to know that Aventurine was incredibly lucky and never - or, at least, rarely - lost.

If they were to play something like that, Caelus knew he didn’t stand a chance. He needed to turn the tides in his favor. Unless…

“Poker. A round of poker will do, right?”

“Mhm,” Aventurine nodded, taking off his glasses, “I think I have a spare game in my room. Would you accompany me, my friend? We can play there and… let the victor enjoy his prize there as well, away from the curious eyes, hm?”

“S-sounds good,” Caelus chirped, hoping his plan would work out…

…

How?

Aventurine looked at the cards in his hands and at the ones Caelus just showed him. It didn’t make sense, he could swear Caelus was bluffing just now and-

“W-woah, beginners’ luck! Hahah,” Caelus giggled brightly, letting himself fall back in Aventurine’s bed, enjoying the comfort of the soft mattress. “I could swear I was going to lose that, you looked so scary!”

“B-but…” Aventurine muttered, slowly taking off his glasses and double checking the cards: an ace, a king, a queen, a jack and a ten. Royal Flush. A perfect victory for mr. Stellaron. “H-how did you get this hand?!”

“Hm?” Caelus muttered, lifting his body and supporting it on his elbows as he looked at the blonde. “I was just lucky, I guess.” He moved his shoulders slightly, shrugging at it. Aventurine pressed his lips shut, his hands clenching at the bedsheets.

He couldn’t believe that outcome. Was Caelus actually an experienced player all this time? Did he fail to notice something? Just as Aventurine was about to start to overthink, his eyes caught a glimpse of Caelus throwing the cards away, shoving them off the bed.

“Cae-”

“So,” the guy positioned himself between Aventurine’s legs, resting his hands over his knees. His face, inches apart from the blonde’s, had a smirk instead of his friendly smile playing on his lips. “Do I get to enjoy my prize now?”

Aventurine widened his eyes in realization. “W-well, I- hngh!”

A strangled squeal left his mouth before he could voice any concern. Aventurine quickly eyed Caelus’s hands squeezing his legs, just above his knee caps. His touch felt almost electric, the sensation running from where Caelus’s fingers touched him straight up to his brain.

Aventurine jerked his legs, throwing himself back in a vain attempt to escape the other man’s touch. Caelus seemed amused and, if it wasn’t for the fact that he was about to pay the price for losing their bet, he would be flustered by the sight. 

“Oh, so you are ticklish!” Caelus cheered, crawling a little closer to Aventurine and cornering him against the soft mountain of pillows behind his back. “I wasn’t so sure about it because of how quickly you agreed to play.”

“C-Caelus, wait a sec- aAHAH!” An uncharming, loud cackle echoed around the bedroom when Caelus grabbed Aventurine by his waist, pulling the blonde a little closer. “I-I wahahant another- ahAHAh, r-round!”

“No happening,” Caelus smirked, his fingers slowly picking up the pace and starting to wiggle against Aventurine’s sides, fiddling with the thin, delicate fabric of Aventurine’s shirt. 

Caelus’s touch was curious, fitting for someone who was treating that moment as some sort of experiment. The idea of Aventurine being ticklish didn’t really cross his mind until the man himself inquired about it.

Beginning to dig into Aventurine’s lower sides, Caelus couldn’t help but let out small gasps of surprise when the other’s reaction exceeded his expectations. “Heheh, is Churin a little ticklish right heeeere? ~” He cooed, his hands taking turns between poking and clawing, covering all the extent from Aventurine’s hips to his lowest set of ribs with gentle, playful tickles.

And, for the Amber Lord, how much it tickled. Barely seconds having his body touched like that were enough to make Aventurine’s facade crumble. Added to the tickling, the teasing made his cheeks flush, contrasting the color of his golden hair. “S-slohohow dahAHAHAWN!!” He whined, gritting his teeth while hoping it would help him control his reactions.

But it didn’t.

Each poke and each stroke sent a new wave of that funny feeling - not exactly pain nor pleasure, but something that made his stomach swirl with butterflies and his head spin, leaving Aventurine laughing and euphoric.

Caelus, who had already made himself comfortable in Aventurine’s lap by that time, was also surprised, yet amused. Maybe it was thanks to the drinks the blonde had earlier, but tickling Aventurine was rather… easy. Not because of how ticklish he was, but there was almost… no resistance. “Churin,” Caelus cooed, almost pouting as if he was disappointed, “why are you not fighting back? Do you just want me to keep tickling you that bad? ~”

 Of course, the only answer he could get out of Aventurine at that point was him shaking his head frantically. Still, if he would dare to speak the truth, maybe he wouldn’t deny the accusation so promptly. “C-CahAHAhaelus!! W-wahahait a sec- ahAHa, s-second!” He pleaded, struggling to keep up with the energetic pace of the other’s hands, that seemed to flee from one spot to the other.

In a moment, Caelus was pinching Aventurine’s waist, making his legs kick out in reflex and throw any remaining cards off the mattress. Then, if he tried to reach for those nimble hands and stop them, they would quickly move to his stomach, poking around his navel in a way that made Aventurine whine in his laughter.

If Aventurine, after that, tried to suck in his stomach and curl up to defend his poor, ticklish body, Caelus’s hands would climb up his ribs, clawing at them and playing them as some sort of loud, but - according to Caelus - somehow cute, instrument. Of course, trying to stop his hands there would inevitably end with Caelus tickling Aventurine’s underarms, prodding and vibrating his fingers into that soft spot and making the blonde literally shriek, turning his cheeks even redder.

All this was happening too fast, cycling over and over before Aventurine could get used to any of that.

“AHAhahah, p-plehehease!” Aventurine laughed, weakly tapping at the back of Caelus’s arms, “I c-cahan’t breheh- eheh, breathe!” He gasped, feeling small tears of mirth clinging onto his lashes and hanging on the corner of his eyes. 

Aeons, why did he even agree with such terms in the first place?

Maybe because he was blinded by the confidence in his trust and didn’t properly consider the negative outcome - which was clearly proving itself to be more than he could handle. Maybe he, indeed, allowed the alcohol to get the best of him and his rational side ended up left in reality.

Or, last but not least, his crush for Caelus made him stupid enough to think he would be able to handle getting tickled. After all, besides him, Caelus was also smiling, laughing and even trying to tease him with that silly nickname he came up with during one of the nights they hung out.

Well, whatever it may be, the fact was that Aventurine was also ticklish. Perhaps even more than Caelus. And letting himself simply get tickled like that… definitely wasn’t the best of his ideas.

“What’s wrong, Chu~ rin~?” Caelus mumbled, finally showing the blonde some mercy and, instead of restlessly ravaging his torso, changing his hands’ motion to just some light squeezing on Aventurine’s sides. “Does it tickle a lot?”

“I-it dohohohes!” He groaned, his rest resting tiredly against the pillows. His cheeks were already feeling a tad sore and Aventurine couldn’t remember the last time he laughed so much. “C-Cahahaelus, you- hnngh, ah! C-c’mohohon!” 

“No no no,” Caelus teased with a grin, not letting Aventurine get too comfortable as he shifted his focus back to his ribs. “I won the bet fair and square! And I want to tickle you more!”

He sounded like a spoiled brat acting like that - not that Aventurine didn’t enjoy spoiling him rotten whenever they went shopping, but this request in particular was just too hard to attend! “J-just- ahAHaha, just a breheheak! You can t-tihihickle m- ahAhAHA, I wahAhahasn’t done tahahalking!”

Caelus stuck his tongue out while grinning cheekily, moving his hands to tickle Aventurine under his arms again. The terms were clear, there was no room for negotiating breaks or things like that now. Caelus was having just too much fun with this new fancy squeaky toy to consider a break.

Whether or not it was possible to die inside a dream, Aventurine felt like he was going to find out the answer really soon if he didn’t get Caelus to stop. His limbs, already weakened, couldn't do much against the restless fingers roaming and tickling his body, making his head spin - probably because of the lack of air.

Then, with what seemed to be one last desperate attempt of saving himself, Aventurine tugged at Caelus’s jacket, pulling him with all the strength he had left. He wasn’t exactly sure what he would do after that, but as long as it gave him a break, it should be enough.

What followed, whoever, seemed to be another episode of Aventurine’s luck saving his skin. As Caelus planted his hands against the bedpost to avoid crashing into Aventurine, something slipped out of his sleeve. Judging by mr. Stellaron’s desperate expression, that was…

“...a-a card?” Aventurine mumbled, holding the card between his fingers. 

“W-what?!” Caelus squeaked, nervous and not-suspicious-at-all. “H-how did it end up there? Hahah…”

Aventurine smirked and a chuckle escaped his lips. He tossed the card aside and couldn’t help but to laugh a little louder. “Ah, my friend… you never fail to amaze me, do you?”

Cheating.

Right, how did he not think about something like that earlier? It probably happened when he was too distracted by Caelus’s clumsy and cute card shuffling tricks to notice that the cards that “accidentally” fell off the bed didn’t return to the stack.

When Aventurine sighed, done laughing at the picture that just formed inside his head, he looked up to meet Caelus’s gaze, filled with anxiety and fear. “S-so… you’re not mad?”

“Of course not, my friend,” Aventurine smiled, cupping one of Caelus’s cheeks. “Remember? ‘Go ahead, use me as you wish, even stab me in the back when you see fit. Exploitation and treachery are simply tools of the trade’... and so is cheating, I suppose.”

Caelus sighed in relief, making the mistake to already jump to the conclusion that his actions wouldn’t have consequences. Of course, he was wrong.

Aventurine moved his hands down, from Caelus’s cheek to his shoulder, and pushed the guy back, making him fall back-first in the mattress. “But, my friend, you forgot that I don’t make deals that don’t pay off.”

“C-Churin, wait a sehEHEHCOND!” Caelus cackled, quickly shooting his arms down and pressing them against his body when Aventurine tickled his armpits. “AHAHA- I’M SOHOHORRY!” 

“Hm? What for?” Aventurine tilted his head, faking a confused expression as he savored both the taste of revenge and sound of Caelus’s laughter, along with the feeling of having him giggling under his touch. “I need you to elaborate, my friend, loud and clear. What are you sorry for?”

“F-For cheheheating! AhAHAah, C-Chuhuhurin!” Caelus squealed, his voice cracking slightly when Aventurine’s other hand began to target his waist, making him trash and giggle like a little kid.

Unlike Caelus, Aventurine wasn’t so energetic or nimble when it came to tickling. Instead, he was going to spot after spot, making sure to put them through some extensive testing and enjoying how each of them made Caelus laugh differently.

Tickling Caelus under his arms would make him cackle loudly and, sometimes, even make his laughter go quiet. Down to his ribs and side, Caelus’s reactions were less extreme, but it was still so easy to get him laughing and squirming around - it also made him look the cutest in Aventurine’s opinion.

His favorite one, so far, were his thighs. As Aventurine sat on top of Caelus’s knees, his hands could claw and pinch at every inch of Caelus’s thighs. Tickling him there was surprisingly fun since he would try to reach for Aventurine's hands, only to fall back in a fit of laughter when he noticed he couldn’t reach them. Of course, it was also the perfect chance to tease and touch him there.

While putting all his body through a test, Aventurine also managed to squeeze a couple secrets out of Caelus, getting to know even more than he first planned to. “Sigh, so you planned cheating in our game from the very beginning, my friend?”

“Y-yehehes!” Caelus cried out softly, giggling tiredly as Aventurine’s thumbs dug deep into the sides of his legs. “B-but thahahahat’s all! I prohoHOhomise!”

“My, ‘that’s all’? Of course it is, it’s everything we did today, my friend. And you were cheating the whole game!” Aventurine feigned an offended tone, sneaking one hand under Caelus’s leg to pinch the back of his thigh while the other pinched his knee cap. “Since you’re so eager about my games, maybe it’s time for you to learn how we deal with cheaters in the casino ~”

#honkai star rail #honkai star rail tickling #caelus #aventurine #caelus x aventurine #avencae #ticklish!aventurine #lee!aventurine #switch!aventurine #ler!aventurine #lee!caelus #ticklish!caelus #switch!caelus #ler!caelus #tickle fic #commission #nim's coffee shop #to: eliankrios

[brf-rumortrackinganon]

Some observations

I was perusing the local Barnes and Noble (as one does when she needs to kill time) and discovered this magazine in the periodicals section:

I thought it was interesting that Meghan wasn't included on the cover. Say what you want about her, she still holds a pretty significant place in the royal family: the first person of color to marry a senior royal and give birth to children of color. One would also argue that she also counts as a noteworthy person for the BRF because she was the "first" divorcee bride to marry in (that is, the first divorcee marrying a single not-married-before royal).

The table of contents:

The first mention of Meghan is in their timeline, within context of Kate and Charlotte appearing together:

Meghan's second appearance comes in the "Modern History" section, which talks about royal marriages becoming "modern" when divorces were first permitted. First the article talks about Margaret's groundbreaking divorce, then how Anne pushed the royal bar on divorce further by remarrying, leading to the following section:

But reference of Meghan is essentially a throwaway. She's not even a whole sentence. But she does get two pictures in this section, so progress!

So after the "Modern History" section, we start getting mini-biographies of the royal ladies. There are "chapters" each for Kate, The late Queen, Camilla, their fashion, Anne, and Diana. Then we get to "The Other Royals"...a catch-all for royal women who aren't important, I guess, or noteworthy of their own standalone chapters.

In this chapter are the Yorkies - they don't even get their own sections, they're just all lumped in together, Sarah Chatto (Margaret's daughter), and finally, Meghan, who is also featured with Lili.

What I find really interesting about this publication is how and where they've placed Meghan. And I think it shows how shortsighted she was about joining the royal family. If her ultimate goal was global fame and fortune, then all she had to do was bide her time. After all, Sophie gets her own chapter - but of course, Sophie worked 31 years to get it (6 years dating + 25 years married) - and so does Zara, for her career accomplishments in sport, which Meghan could've had as well. But Meghan wanted everything and she wanted it now, no waiting, no toiling, no practicing, no working. And the result is that she's lumped in with the Yorkies and Sarah Chatto.

But the placement is also unfair to the Yorkies and to Sarah. Because remember, Meghan quit. Yes, technically Sarah Ferguson quit too (when she divorced Andrew), but her quitting came after 10 years and despite it, she still turns up to support the BRF when called. Same with Beatrice, Eugenie, and Sarah Chatto; they support the BRF and they work for the BRF when they're called to do so. To lump them in with Meghan, who doesn't work for the BRF when called, who doesn't show up when they ask for her, and who doesn't support the BRF, it doesn't bring Meghan "up to their level," or however you want to phrase it. It brings them down to Meghan's level. They don't deserve that.

But probably most importantly, this placement of Meghan proves that despite what her PR tries to convince us, more and more people are seeing her as the Fergie/Yorkie equivalent, not the Diana equivalent she wants us to see her as.

Personally, I think the sooner Meghan abandons her vision of Diana-like permanent A+ elite success and embraces the Fergie/Yorkie vibe (especially the "laugh at your own self" and "be gracious, be humble, be thankful" parts), the greater her chances are for stability and long-lasting staying power on the C-List.

(Also. I've never liked the sapphire tiara on The Queen but I love it on Camilla. Camilla's big fluffy hairstyle 100% suits the tiara and it looks like the tiara was made for her. The Queen wore her hair too...tightly (for lack of a better word) and that hairstyle with such a sculptural tiara made a strange look for me.)

#brf #sussexes

[thisgirlnamedblusy]

My beautiful, stupid maid

Pairing: Donna Beneviento x Fem! Maid! Reader

Warnings: G!P Donna, smut, Minors DNI, slightly dark themes, Donna's POV

Word count: 5,080

Summary: I don't know why I don't want you to leave...

N/A: Sorry about the language mistakes!! Requests are open!! I love you all!!!

I thought I like to be alone.

Everyone told me: you need some company. They don’t know me. My family, as they call themselves, care about me, or so they think they do. I don't need helpless maids running through the halls. I don't need to waste time on people I don't care about. My life doesn’t revolve around achieving power, around needing the feeling of being above others, like my siblings do.

I was always a lonely woman, and Mother Miranda's gift could change many things, but not that. Not that.

Angie was everything I needed.

I know what they think about me, what they talk about: “Poor Donna, she's so lonely…” “She's not mentally developed,” “she only cares about her stupid dolls…” Comments that they think I don't hear.

To be honest, I never cared about that. I know what I’m, what place in the world there was for me. My dolls, my house, my loneliness. Sometimes I lose my mind and cry without wanting to. Sometimes I want to end the meaninglessness that my life has become. Angie takes me away from those thoughts, she calms me down. I didn't need anything but to keep serene and continue existing.

At least I thought I didn't need anything else.

Then you showed up.

“Mother Miranda has granted me the honor of working for you, Lady Beneviento,” you said, appearing in my house, in my territory. In all this time, many villagers had been stupid enough to approach my house.

None of them returned. Thanks to the gift that was given to me, I could enjoy seeing the fear in their eyes, seeing how terrible their thoughts are. At first I had to admit that I was even afraid of myself.

The human mind is so fragile... How much people can suffer just with their own memories is incredible. For some reason, I didn't feel the need to torture you.

You seemed shy, but you didn't stop smiling, even with my fervent refusal. I couldn't disobey Mother Miranda, and I couldn't stop looking into those bright, strange eyes.

Angie was just a lost part of my consciousness, some thoughts that left my mind when I granted her the gift of life. She thought that for you to work for me was a good idea. Not me.

I didn't even know your name, but I opened the doors of my house to you. Who was I to argue with Mother Miranda's demands? Maybe I just got carried away with Angie.

I tried to avoid you. I didn't want to think that you were here, with me, that I was no longer alone. But you... You came to me, like a fly to a light trap, blinded, surely by your innocence, heading towards danger.

“Is everything to your liking, my lady?” “Would you like me to make you some tea, my lady?” Always those stupid questions. Hearing your voice was nothing but torture for me, a reminder that you were still there, that, no matter how much your presence bothered me, I was not capable of throwing you out or of making you hallucinate so you would run away from here, so you would never come back.

Silence was always my response, the affirmation that I didn't want you to be here. I have never had the ability or the need to talk to anyone, not even to my siblings. You were not going to be an exception.

My lady... What stupidity is that? I didn't want to be your lady. I didn't want you to consider yourself my property. I was alone, and I liked it.

Unfortunately, time only revealed your annoying presence. My routine is always the same and to trip with you was inevitable. I curse the Black Gods for turning my gaze towards yours.

What a maid... You were clumsy. You didn't know how to clean properly. You served no purpose other than to disrupt my existence. But I could never hurt you. It didn't matter how many vases you broke, how many times you burned the food. I felt incapable of scolding you, of throwing you out of my house.

Someday I woke up with the decision to put an end to that stuff, to make you suffer and disappear forever. Those thoughts faded the moment my hidden gaze met yours again.

That smile, those eyes... That messy hair and the dress that framed your figure made me back away, give you another chance. Chance? I didn't want you to be here. I never wanted you to come to my house. I didn't want to see your stupid smile. I didn't want to, and yet, I felt the need to see you.

Are you also a creation of Mother Miranda?

I know that she experiments on villagers, that she creates aberrations. Could you be one of them? What exactly has the Cadou done to you? Were you some kind of sorceress?

I've read too many books about witches, about mermaids who trick sailors into taking their souls. I always thought they were stupid stories to scare children. But the more I look at you, the more I think you're like a witch from those stories, or like a mermaid. Do you want to trick me into taking my soul? Too late, girl, it's been a long time since I had a soul.

“Good morning, my lady, did you sleep well?” you asked every morning. My ability to ignore you faltered over time. Anyway, I couldn't lose anything by nodding.

That was my worst mistake, making you believe that I was somehow communicating with you. That small gesture gave you more confidence in yourself. It made you believe that you could annoy me even more.

One night I tried to relax, sit by the fireplace and read another of those mermaid stories. Suddenly, I felt the need to know more about these creatures. Somehow, I was afraid that you were one of them. That the movement my head made, forcing me to follow you with my gaze, was some kind of spell from you.

“Excuse me, my lady,” you said to me, with the nerve to put a hand on my shoulder. I was startled, but I knew how to hide it so you wouldn't notice.

I nodded for you to talk, even though I didn't want you to, what is happening to me?

“I'm a bit bored, I was wondering if you could recommend me a book,” you said with your hands together in front of your body, with that formality that I knew you didn't have.

I was thoughtful for a moment. My hands shook as they held Homer's Odyssey. Your mermaid song was not going to be able to defeat me, you stupid maid.

“A book?” I asked without realizing it, letting out my voice, a voice that I hadn't used for a long time and that I didn't want to use precisely with you. I had to calm down, or you would trick me.

“Yes, well... Books about plants are interesting but...” You said, looking away from my hateful gaze.

Did you mean to joke? What made you think you could joke with me? Moron.

“I've been looking for something a bit more entertaining but I can't find anything. Also, most of them are in Italian and I… Well, I can’t read them.”

I shook my head. Fortunately, you couldn't see my face. A smile involuntarily spread across it.

“My family was Italian,” I said in a hoarse voice, giving her an absurd explanation, which she certainly didn’t deserve.

“Oh, okay,” you whispered nervously.

Why were you nervous? Oh, sure... In these three months and five days you hadn't heard me speak. I have a horrible voice, right? I'm sure you hate me even more now. Everybody hates me.

The light from the fireplace rested on your face, dancing in your eyes, on your skin. Have you hypnotized me? I couldn’t stop looking at you.

I sighed listlessly, looking for an excuse for your eyes to stop enchanting me. I got up from the couch, looking for something that would keep you entertained, quiet. Your voice is beautiful, but I don't want to hear it. Beautiful?

“For whom the bell tolls... Ernest Hemingway,” you said when I finally gave you a book so you would leave me alone. You just had to take the damn book and get out of my sight. It wasn't that difficult, was it? “It’s a good one?”

“Yes, it is,” I responded with a dry throat, nervous about the subtle contact my hand made brushing against yours. When I touched you, the porcelain of my dolls came to my mind. Soft, delicate…

“Thank you, I promise that tomorrow I won't burn the toast,” you said amused, were you trying to make me laugh? Good luck with that.

Something had changed in your attitude. I wondered if hearing me talk had anything to do with it. I didn't want you to be here. I hate you, stupid maid.

Time passed slowly. I found myself counting the days, the hours you spent with me. Your overconfidence was disgusting. Some nights, you sat next to me, reading that book, commenting each of the things that seemed curious to you. I have already read it, you silly maid. I don't need to hear your... Your beautiful voice.

I've never been right in the head, I know that. Since I was little I had problems. Problems with my appearance, with people... I have never gotten over it and I never will. My past is a field of thorns that stick into my skin every night when I try to sleep.

But... My demons were not keeping me awake, your eyes were, those two beautiful pearls that you had on your face, ones that I couldn't stop looking at. What are you doing to me? What is happening to me? I feel weak, tired. I'm not hungry, I'm not sleepy. I don't feel like getting out of my bed, to face your gaze again.

Sitting at my old dressing table, I look at my deformed face in a mirror. I'm a monster. I should have gotten used to seeing myself like that, to having that horrible thing on my face, just as I got used to the changes in my body when I became Mother Miranda's daughter.

I felt my heart sink as I looked at myself in that mirror. A deformed monster, a strange creature, an aberration. Those statements that were going through my head were more present than ever.

“What's wrong, Donna?” Angie asked, climbing onto my lap. My sweet and faithful Angie, I don't know what I would have done without you.

“I'm a monster, Angie,” I murmured, with a tear running down my untouched cheek. I can't tell how many times I have burst into tears because of that. That night was different.

“No, no, that's not true,” the doll said. I wish I could believe her words. Angie was my creation. She was part of my consciousness. She would never hurt me... I don't even know what Angie is exactly anymore. “The maid likes you…”

“What?” I said startled.

I know Angie wanted to make me feel better, but she was never particularly good at it.

She couldn't lie to me. She didn't have the ability to do so.

Do you like me? What nonsense. I know you don’t. I know it's impossible. Anyway…why am I worried? Why I didn’t stop thinking about those words?

Love is a luxury that I could never enjoy. Loving a woman, being loved... Those were just fantasies in my head, a fictitious feeling that, like mermaids, only lived in my books.

Every day I kept seeing your stupid… Beautiful… Smile. You were still here, you hadn't left. I couldn't say when I started to worry about you leaving. I didn’t want you to be here but... I didn't want you to leave. I had never felt so many contradictions at the same time. I had never suffered so many anxiety attacks in the safety of my room.

You never saw me lose my temper. I didn't want you to see me like that. For some reason, I didn't want to.

I tried to push you away, but you were getting closer, touching me with your dress, touching my hand when you handed me a cup of tea. Were you really the one who did it? Was my hand subtly caressing your skin? It didn't seem to bother you either.

You were still here, like every day, torturing me with your eyes, with your smile, with your movements when you walked near me. Your gaze was tender and respectful, but your body wasn’t. Your body caused sensations that I always ignored in me.

“That doll is beautiful, Donna,” you whispered, taking my tea to the workshop. That place was always a refuge, the only place in the house where my thoughts were not focused on you.

“Thank you,” I said. To let my voice speak for me didn’t take long. I had been doing it for so long that I no longer stopped to think why it wasn't difficult for me to do it with you.

“Look, it has my eyes,” you said amused, gently picking up the newly made doll.

A heaviness in my head said there was something wrong. Yes, you were right. That damn doll had your beautiful eyes. Wait, shouldn't I say: That beautiful doll had your damn eyes?

“Yes, well, I...” I stammered, confused. I hadn't even realized it. Even without thinking about you, I was doing it. Even when I made my dolls, I put your same hair to them, your eyes, the marks that I could see on your skin… I was no longer safe even in my own workshop.

“It's very nice,” you whispered, returning the doll to me with a sigh. “Anyway, I think I should start making the soup… You liked it with a bit of dill, right?”

“Yes... I... Yes, yes,” I stammered, nodding, but without looking at your face. I was just looking at the doll, at your vivid portrait made unconsciously. I could no longer deny how obsessed I was with you, that I thought about you even without doing it.

I refused to believe it was love or anything like that. At night I tossed and turned in bed, thinking about what spell you had used on me. Your eyes stopped appearing in my nightmares, and now they were present in my most beautiful dreams. In them I see you, I see us together, close, with our hands intertwined. They were just dreams... Dreams in which I don't have that horrible thing on my face, in which your eyes shine when you look at me, in which your lips... In which your lips are too close to mine.

I felt unable to ignore the sensations that the mere fact of being close to you caused me. Love is something absurd, a waste of time. Everyone wants to hurt you, Donna, don't forget that.

My head fought with my heart, with the trembling of my hands when I was close to yours. You always were here with that smile, with that look, making me unable to think about anything but in your lips on mine, in your body very close to mine.

The nights got worse. Drawing your image in my thoughts usually helped me to stay calm and sleep, dreaming about you. Not anymore. I can no longer let myself be carried away by my feelings. The sensations were different, physical, overwhelming. I no longer imagined your smile, or a simple kiss. No, now your body was naked next to mine, now my caresses no longer wandered over your face, but over your chest, your waist, your legs…

Lust is a sin, or so my parents said. I was never ignorant, or stupid. My body had needs, and even more so after the change that Cadou produced in me. I thought it was routine, something necessary...

One more task to be calm, to relax. My mind traveled to unknown places, imagining faceless women while I soothed myself with my hands. It was pleasant, but empty, lacking in feelings or the desire to do it. I simply wanted to relieve my body so that my mind wouldn't become destabilized.

That night, my body was calling me again. No matter how much I tried to get my excitement to relax, I wasn't able to do so. I wanted something, my body wanted something, and I had to give that to it.

My hands moved down my nightclothes to my trembling erection, stroking it gently. Maybe it was my impression, but I could feel much more than other times... The difference? There were no longer faceless women in my head or erotic stories hidden in one of my books. I was thinking about you.

I felt the need to end that discomfort between my legs as quickly as possible and for some reason, I thought that including you in my lascivious thoughts might help. Quite the opposite. The pleasure of my hand going up and down, the gasps that came out of my mouth involuntarily made me want to go slower. I wanted to keep thinking about what it would be like to be inside of you, to hear you moan with your mermaid voice, to see you closing those bright eyes while I made you mine.

My movements were fast, but intense. My head was imagining how good it would feel to have the images in my head come true. To release myself didn't take long, but I felt I enjoyed doing it too much.

Cleaning myself in the bathroom, I looked the mirror again. My face was red and my breathing was labored. I wiped my hands with a towel and stood there, looking at my reflection, feeling a pang in my heart at the thought that everything I dream of were just fantasies.

I felt guilty for enjoying myself at your expense, for masturbating thinking about you, but... I also felt frustrated by how absurd was to think about how far my feelings had gone. So much so that I lost the little decency I had, the deal I made with myself not to fall in love, not to feel the need to hug a human body instead of a porcelain doll.

In my incipient desperation, I called my sister Alcina, telling her everything that was happening to me. Angie gave me nothing but absurd advices. I needed the opinion of someone more... Experienced.

It was of no use to me. According to her, my need to make that stupid maid mine was absurd. “You are a powerful woman, Donna. If you want something from that girl, just take it. She will never contradict you, for her own sake.”

Everything was so easy for a woman like Alcina...

A dark part of my mind seriously considered following her advice. I never felt remorse for torturing those stupid villagers, why would I feel remorse for taking what I want to make mine?

But no, that part of me that I'm ashamed of had to shut up. I couldn't just… No, I couldn't do it. I didn't want to do it, but I wanted to. I wanted you in an unbearable way.

The nights were torture, the days were even worse. At least at night I just had to imagine you, I didn't have to feel you, I didn't have to touch your hand. Yes, you kept rubbing your hand with mine. Have you ever done that? It was me? I wouldn't know how to answer. I would like to ask you, but I don't dare to do it.

You are killing me, you stupid, beautiful maid. You kill me slowly, you make me fall in love with you without mercy, you look at me, you talk to me... You are here with me. I’m here with you. You don't want to leave. I don't want you to leave.

One afternoon, I tried to escape from my carnal desires, from the feelings that filled my head. I was painting dolls, sewing without rest. I had been doing it for hours, I didn't know how many.

“Sorry for bothering you,” you said politely, entering disrespectfully, interrupting my bitterness.

“What do you want? I'm busy,” my words were cold, lacking that softness with which they always spoke to you.

“I'm sorry, it's just that... It's just that I... I have to clean this up. It's the last room before being able to rest,” you said shyly. Was it me or your cheeks were blushing? What were you thinking about? You were thinking about another way to fool me? Stop it. You've already done it. I feel that if I were a sailor, I would already be drifting, desperately searching to hear your siren song again.

“Okay,” I said briefly, avoiding your tender smile, looking at that doll, looking at your eyes on it again.

As you moved around my workshop, my clumsy and trembling hands made the task of painting correctly impossible. With you here, to concentrate was impossible for me.

My thoughts began to spin out of control as I tilted my head to look at you. There you were, leaning over one of the dusty tables. You looked at me, like you knew I was doing the same thing. I looked away and squeezed my hands tightly.

If you want something from her, just take it.

The phrase my sister said appeared in my head suddenly, treacherously, just at the moment when my crazy gaze was directed at the small spot that you had very close to your neckline. One I couldn't forget.

My actions took control of my body, causing me to get up slowly, like a shadow that stalks you without realizing it.

I wanted to tell you so many things... I wanted to be able to talk to you about my feelings before approaching you from behind, running a hand through your hair, brushing it away from your shoulders.

You stood still, but you didn't complain, you didn't turn around and slap me for my impudence. No, you seemed like butter under my touch, under my hands on your shoulders, on your neck.

An unexpected gasp left your lips as I got closer and closer, feeling your subtle but intoxicating perfume, feeling the heat of your body passing through my dress.

“I can't stop thinking about you...” I whispered without meaning to, confessing an undeniable truth, confessing that you are not the stupid maid that I didn’t want to have. You were the girl I wanted to love.

“Donna...” You sighed, when I removed the veil from my face to place my lips on your pale skin, behind your perfect ear.

When I started to be just Donna to you? What about the my lady thing?

Kissing your skin was like a cold breeze on a hot day, like laughing when you're sad. It was a feeling of relief, of pleasure.

Even being behind you, I could feel your heavy breathing. What did you feel? Were you in hell or in paradise?

I couldn't know and I didn't want to know. My hands worked on their own, covering every inch of your body while my mouth was cruel to your neck.

Having your chest in my hands, passing my fingers through the fabric that covered your breasts... All that things I imagined at night were mine in that moment. A part of my conscience was screaming for me to stop, to be sure that you wanted to do it. No, dear maid, I wasn’t going to ask.

You turned around slowly, letting my hands continue roaming your body. You weren't supposed to do that. You were supposed to run away.

“I think about you too...” You whispered, moving my black veil aside. There was nothing to fear anymore. You would be with me or you would disappear from my life. My face didn't matter. I didn’t care if you thought I was a monster. I was willing to force you.

Your smile remained tender, relaxed at the sight of my exposed face. There was no horror in your eyes, disgust in your gaze. No, there was only… Peace, tranquility, and that smile that kept me awake at nights.

“You are even more beautiful than I imagined,” you said, bringing your hand to my deformed cheek, running your fingers over my scar, as if it were nothing, as if it were of no importance to you.

I grabbed your wrist to stop you before leaning towards you, before placing my lips on yours. I had never kissed anyone and I was thankful I hadn't. Your kiss was my first one.

Little by little I moved closer, making your back collide with the edge of the table. I couldn't stop kissing you. I didn't want to stop kissing you. Your lips were addictive. They were everything I had imagined. Your body against mine, your hands going down my waist, you and me...

I could no longer contain my desire to make you mine, to love you, to make love you. I was willing to force you to do it, to not listen to your screams, to make you run away. I didn't have to. Apparently, I wasn't the only one who rubbed my hands with yours. You did it too.

My need to love you was put before romance, caresses, kisses and affectionate whispers in your ear. I had spent too much time thinking about how I felt about you. I didn't want to tell you, I wanted to show you.

I lifted your body by your legs, sitting you on the table, drowning in your kisses, letting my hands touch whatever they wanted... Just like yours. I felt like such a simple act was more than enough to feel my arousal rubbing against my underwear. You were irresistible, a goddess, a mermaid, a witch... But above all, you were going to be mine.

I looked at you, wishing it wasn't a dream and you were really there. You smiled again. What have you done to me? What did I do to you? Have you fooled me? Have I tricked you? Did you also think of me as if I were a mermaid?

Absurd questions that my body didn't have time for. I needed you, my beautiful maid. With a hasty movement, I put my hands into your dress while you hung around my neck, making to concentrate on loving you harder for me, kissing me eagerly, with a desire that I was unaware of.

Your underwear disappeared around your ankles as your hands left my neck, to play on my chest, to free me from my own clothes. Were you in a hurry as I was?

When I finally had access to you, my body moved on its own, lifting your legs slightly, remaining enthralled by those hidden corners of your body.

 You didn't say anything about what was between my legs. You just looked at it curiously. I don't like being looked at, tesoro, you should know that.

You bit your lip, but you didn't say anything. You just pulled me so that my erection rubbed against your wetness. There was nothing else to say, but there were a lot of things to do.

I entered you hastily, feeling a wave of unimaginable pleasure. I was not delicate, nor kind. I didn't know if someone had ever loved you, I didn't want to know either. Your walls hugged me tightly, keeping me right where you wanted, making you moan in a way that I already knew would drive me crazy.

You had more clothes than in my dreams, but the sensations you sent to my body every time they moved exceeded my expectations. You hugged me so well... You took it so well... You were perfect, as if your body was made just for me.

“Don't stop, Donna...” You begged, writhing on that table. My thrusts had relaxed as I looked at you, as I closely admired your beauty without the veil between us. I just shook my head, kissing you passionately as my hips resumed their movements.

“I think... I think I love you...” I whispered with a voice low enough so you couldn't hear it, camouflaging it between our moans. There came a time when I decided to close my eye and not look at you anymore.

Behind you, the dolls that I made rested, looking at me. They were judging me. I wasn't going to let my problems ruin that moment. My sick mind was not going to stop me from continuing to make love to you.

“My God, Donna... I'm so close...” You murmured, ignoring my declaration of love. Why would I want you to answer me? I said it in a way I which you wouldn't hear me.

My hips went out of control and my arms hugged your body, keeping it close to me, not letting you stop hugging me with your walls, not letting me stop making my way inside of you.

I stopped just when the pleasure became unbearable, letting my heat flood inside you, releasing myself inside you, making you mine forever.

You panted, exhausted. Your nails had scratched my skin as I cum. Did that mean you did it too?

“I think... I think I love you too,” you murmured, responding late to my statement, to my confession, hugging me, kissing me with affection, with that affection that I lacked.

“Don’t dare to leave,” I said with a dark voice, before consuming myself again in your kisses.

“I won't do it,” you answered on my lips, keeping me inside of you, not wanting to separate you from me.

I thought I liked being alone, but now I know I couldn't live without you.

#donna beneviento #donna beneviento x reader #re8 donna #re8 village #oneshot

[swee7dream]

haii!!! i saw u posted the 127 masterlist im SO excited to see what u write for them (and wayv in the near future)

could u write cg! yuta w a little!f! reader whos regressing around him for the first timr... thatd be cute methinks :3 thank u for ur time and consideration

- @aeriaeri

greetings and introductions cg!yuta x reader

genres agere content, established relationship, fluff warnings i wrote about watching a movie i've never seen before, indirect mention of yuta as an idol dni if you sexualize age regression word count 1802

Yuta has done lots of hard things in his life. Really hard things.

He’s traveled to a foreign country with nothing but a dream and a Japanese-to-Korean dictionary. He’s lived all of his adult life in front of a camera and under the harsh criticisms of the internet. He’s watched his friends (read: Haechan and Taeyong) live-react to his acting projects in person.

But no matter what he’s experienced in the past, it’s always the now that feels the most threatening and terrifying. Now that he’s standing outside of your door, Yuta feels his heart in his throat and his stomach and coming out of his-

The undoing of your lock pulls him out of his thoughts, gulping and clutching the large stuffed animal he ordered a couple of days ago closer to his chest.

He hopes you like him.

“Hey.” You don’t look at him in the eyes when you open the door, only step back for him to come in. “How was the trip?”

“Fine. Good.” He clears his throat into his free hand as he steps in, looking around your place. It’s not as if he hasn’t been here before. He’s come over several times, the number of sleepovers innumerable in his mind. “You?”

It’s a Sunday, you have no reason to be out at all today. Still, you answer, relocking the door as he takes off his shoes and places them next to yours.

“Fine too. Take a seat,” you invite, shuffling your way to the kitchen. “I’m getting a glass of water. You want one?”

“I’ll take a coke if you have any.”

“You got it.”

You take the bottle from the fridge, still as full as the last time your boyfriend came over because you hate how the carbonation bites the inside of your throat when it goes down. You’re careful when pouring it, the light foam takes over more and more of the glass until it nearly overflows, the soda itself filling only about 20% of the glass.

As you wait for the bubbles to fizzle out so you can pour again, Yuta takes a spot on your couch. He’s stiff as a doll, feeling almost strange that his knees didn’t creak when he sat down. This apartment that has your scent and all your belongings, it’s the same but oh so different all at once. He feels almost stupid for not noticing all these little things before.

Under his feet is the fluffy green rug with no table over it, left open for napping and drawing and crafting. It’s an incomplete picture, being able to see your figure in his mind but not any details because… he hasn’t met you yet. Not this side of you that you’ve shown to a number of people you could count on one hand.

“Babe.”

The bottle of Coca-Cola is back in the fridge and you’re standing in front of him now. It’s the first time you meet each other’s eyes today and the anxieties of the past 24 hours seem to flow out through the spaces in his teeth, revealed when he smiles.

Your standing in between his legs gives him the perfect chance to wrap his arms around your torso and pull you close enough for him to rest his chin on your tummy.

“I missed you,” he says.

“I missed you too,” you reply, feeling somewhat cocky at the familiar lovesick look on Yuta’s face. He makes you feel loved and loveable. It’s strange, but you can’t help but want to monopolize that expression to only you like a dragon with its hoard of treasure. “Can you take your soda now? My hand is freezing.”

“Mmm… can’t I just hold you a little longer? Please?” he whines, dropping his nose to tickle your stomach.

“You can hold me on the couch, you big baby.”

You hear mumbles of ‘it’s not the same’ but he relents, taking the glass from you so you can curl up next to him, throwing the blanket folded over the back of the sofa on your lap when you begin feeling cold. The doll Yuta brought is crushed between the couch arm and his side when he scooches over to make room for you to lay next to him.

“I’m nervous,” you admit, cheek on his upper arm.

That gets a hum of confusion from him, echoing out from the glass as he drinks.

“Why?”

“What if I scare you off? What if you’re, like, ‘yeah no, I’m checking out of this freakshow.’?”

“’I’m checking out of this freakshow’?” He smiles and you can’t help but break too. It’s ridiculous for him to say that, especially to you of all people, but it usually takes expressing your anxieties aloud to re-realize that.

“…anyway. Put on something on the TV.” You tap him gently.

“Cirque de Soleil?”

“You’re annoying.”

“Moulin Rouge?”

“If you don’t-”

“Oh, I got it! Dumbo.” He struggles for a moment before pulling the soft plush doll of a gray elephant in his hand. He holds it like an award with a grin so wide you wouldn’t have guessed his heart is nearly beating out of his chest, hoping he didn’t push you when you’re not ready yet.

You glare at him for a good five seconds in silence, the tilt of his head faking innocence.

“Do what you want.” You sigh at his smugness, gently taking the toy into your hands, your thumbs coursing over the fur before holding it close.

“I always do, baby.” Your face is peppered in kisses that taste like coke. “You like it?”

“It’s okay.”

—

The original 1941 motion picture Dumbo is considered one of the studio's shortest animated films at 64 minutes long. It doesn’t take long for the two of you to get comfortable, ten minutes in fact.

Around 20 minutes in, Yuta called for the smart home assistant to turn the lights down and give you a smirk (“What a thoughtful gift! I wonder who was so considerate so as to buy you something like that.”). Around minute 42 is when he notices how quiet you’ve gotten, looking over to see you with your thumb’s nail in between your teeth and a twinkle his mind is trying to help him recall in his memories in your unblinking, focused eyes.

He’s seen it before, when you went to the amusement park, playing carnival games; and the times you’ve gone to the mall, walking past the toy stores.

“You okay, baby?”

“Okay…” you mumble in response.

The person who is not okay is him. Once again he’s stiffened up. The realization that you’ve probably slipped in front of him has his heart in his throat again. It’s not like the other times, this time he knows what’s going through your mind and you don’t have to push down your instincts. He’s not going to mess this up for you, he promised to himself.

—

Yuta doesn’t know how to not mess this up, he realizes a minute later. So he chooses to not do or say anything at all unless you ask him to. It’s a good strategy, he comes to discover.

As the credits roll, you begin to speak, Yuta takes note of its softness, the rhythm your words have different than usual. You’re still you, obviously, but he can’t help but think about how truly different the air around you has become, as if there were another person that you shared a body with and he can’t help but love just as much as he does you.

“Like Dumbo’s mama. ‘s a good mama.”

“…yeah. She sure is, baby.”

“Wish I had a mama like Dumbo’.”

“Why’s that?”

”She just so nice. She beats up all o’ Dumbo’s mean bullies and doesn’ even blame him when she goes to lelephant jail.”

“She is pretty nice,” he agrees, eyes crinkling at your attempt at the word ‘elephant’. “You know what? I want to be like Dumbo’s mama too. I wanna protect you just like she does her baby.”

“Yuta wanna be my mama?”

“Well, I’m a boy, baby.” He laughs, gazing softly at the genuine twinkle in your eyes. “…but I can be your mama. Anytime you want me to.”

“Mean it?”

“Yeah, baby. Of course I mean it.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

“Pinky promise?”

The moment makes him smile. This is you, the one who manages to console him even though he’s the one who had to cancel your date. The one who brings him coffee at crazy hours when not even the sun is awake. The one he introduced to his family with his chest puffed out and never regretted since.

But it’s also not.

This is a part of you that hasn’t gone through any of those things yet and does not worry about things like gas prices or separating whites from colored. At this moment, when the credits to Dumbo roll on the TV and rain begins to hit the windows of the apartment, you’re a brand new canvas. Right here, right now, it’s as if none of the bad things that you’ve gone through ever happened and he’s able to block them out from happening again for you.

Loosening your grip on the elephant plushie you hold tight to your chest, Yuta slips his hand into yours and locks your pinky fingers. To seal the oath, he brings your hand up to his lips, still connected with his.

“Pinky promise.”

“So nice to me. I love you lots.” You sigh satisfactorily, your turn to rub your nose on him like he did less than two hours ago. “But Yuta not a mama.”

His fingers settle on the top of your head, dark eyebrows raised when he looks down at you, eyes shut with tiredness.

“No?”

“No.” You mumble into his shirt. “Dun’ like it. Want ‘nother name.”

“What if I like Mama?” He whispers, trying not to wake you from this half-submersion you’re in inside Morpheus’ arms. His bottom lip pouts out, trying to replicate just how adorable you look to him, fully aware of how he could never compare.

“No.”

“Aw man. Okay, baby. We’ll figure out another name for me another time okay? Why don’t you close those pretty eyes for me right now?”

“Yuta stay?”

“Yuta’ll stay. I’ll see you tomorrow, baby.”

“T’morrow…”

“Tomorrow…”

author's note this was difficult to execute. age regression from an outsider's point of view is not easy to describe ... still, i hope it was an enjoyable read ! constructive criticism and feedback is appreciated in all my works but especially this one (⸝⸝⸝>﹏<⸝⸝⸝)

#kpop agere #agere sfw #cg!nct 127 #cg!127 #cg!nakamoto yuta #cg!yuta #nct x little!reader #little!reader #kpop little space #sfw littlespace #agere kpop #yuta fluff #yuta x reader #nakamoto yuta x reader

[m1ckeyb3rry]

Hello,

I have a writing prompt for Michael Kaiser (Blue Lock): Kaiser gets into a pr relationship with an actress and they eventually bond and fall in love.

I think he would have a hard time because of his feelings of worthlessness, but this guy has so much potential, I swear, I love him so much.

If you want to go for a "dark side of Hollywood" type of concept, imagine: a young girl who was raised under the pressure of becoming "the perfect star" and surrounded by the chaos of the industry (Idk, the movie Black Swan comes to mind, or the typical representation of Marilyn's life, something along the lines). I think he could bond with someone who is in a similar mind space as him, but who externalizes it differently, remaining kind and such. He definitely needs someone who is empathetic and can see through his insecurities, and I really like the concept of two characters who are hurt helping each other heal.

If you don't want that much drama, scratch the idea of a hurt oc. Think about someone with an "entrepreneur" mindset: someone ambitious, confident, and level headed, who (again) is empathetic and would call him out and help him grow (I'm thinking about sae, but emotionally competent lol).

You don't really have to go for any of this though, it's just meant to get you inspired to write something for my boy Kaiser. I hope it's not too much. Also, there's no rush at all!!

Thank you in advance. I hope you have a good day 🩷

── THE INSTRUMENT

Synopsis: Michael Kaiser is like a rose, and you are the songbird he cannot bear to lose.

Event Masterlist

Pairing: Kaiser x Reader

Chapter Word Count: 6.8k

Content Warnings: fake dating trope, implied/referenced abuse, call me tabito karasu the way i assassinate kaiser’s character in this, open ending, relationship dynamics many would consider…interesting…

A/N: hiiii anon ty for requesting!! i hope that i wrote kaiser in a somewhat satisfactory way 😫 this is my first time writing for him so idk if i got him right 😓 also i have NO idea why but for some reason i decided to write this in the present tense which i literally have never done?? so if it sounds off that’s why 💔 i’m so sorry i really don’t know what possessed me SKDJFSHKL

Additional: part of my 500 follower event! see the event description and rules to make a request of your own.

It’s hot and like a bruise, your first phone call with Michael Kaiser. He’s that brand of aggravating and just shy of painful to speak with; morbidly, you wish for the conversation to manifest as some kind of actual injury, perhaps on your upper arm, so you can poke at it until it is tender and blooming. But of course, that sort of thing isn’t possible, so you amuse yourself by tapping your fingers against the counter and considering what you might eat for dinner.

“Did you hear me?” he snaps when you do not respond to his proposition immediately. He speaks with an accent, clipped and short, lending severity to his words even when he’s saying nothing of note. “Miss L/N. It’s in both of our best interests to cooperate.”

He’s not wrong about this. It’s the only reason you’ve stayed on the call for as long as you have — it’s in your best interest. It’s the same for him, too, and the thought almost makes you laugh, because who would’ve expected your interests and his to ever align?

“Of course I heard you,” you say, twisting open your bottle of water, taking a sip and idly wondering if he can hear an accent when you speak, too. It’s difficult for you to notice your own, but maybe to him, you sound as odd as he does to you. “You should learn patience, Mr. Kaiser. Such a heavy request you’re making of me, and yet you demand my answer immediately?”

He huffs. “It’s not something you need to dwell on.”

“It might be,” you say, though it’s not at all. Your mind was made up the moment he asked; everything after that has been nothing more than a ploy to irritate him. You’re good at that, at irritating people. Michael Kaiser is not an exception.

“Miss L/N,” he says again, something like a darker version of pleading creeping into his tone. “Your answer. Now.”

“Well, you already knew before you asked, didn’t you? Naturally, I’ll do it,” you say. “It’s a mutually beneficial partnership. Though I expect you to really try your best, Mr. Kaiser, or else it’ll all be for naught.”

“I could say the same to you,” he says.

“Between the two of us, who is the actress?” you say, chuckling when he is silent. “I am sure that I will be convincing. It’s you who I worry for. Hiding your true feelings has never been one of your strengths, has it? Or you wouldn’t be speaking to me at all.”

“Shut up,” he says after a moment has passed. “I doubt your acting skills are anything to brag about.”

“I know you’ve watched my movies,” you say, and when he doesn’t refute this, you beam. “Have you really?”

“Only because someone I know suggested I should,” he says. “If I want to love you, then I have to understand you. That’s what he told me.”

“And what did you think?” you say.

“I thought that I don’t plan to love you at all, and then I told him as much,” he says, the force of his eye roll transmitting even over the phone. You’re not sure if he’s acting deliberately obtuse or if he really thinks you care about this inane conversation he’s describing, but either way you sigh, because his answer is so telling of his personality.

“I was talking about my movies,” you say.

“I don’t prefer the genre,” he says, and then he’s hanging up with a promise to call you later, if he is so inclined. He doesn’t tell you not to call him, but you feel like he implies it, so you vow to set your phone aside and pay him no mind for the rest of your evening.

I’m dating Michael Kaiser, you type in the body of your email to your manager, who you are certain will be so delighted by this news that he will combust spontaneously upon hearing it. You want to type it again, this unbelievable turn of events, so you do. I’m dating Michael Kaiser. Then you delete the repetition, reverting it once again into a formal email, instead of a giddy celebration over an event which should not prompt giddiness or anything resembling it.

It’s a relationship meant to salvage his ruined reputation and boost your career in one fell swoop, and so it’s a relationship that can only work if it’s formed between you two in particular. He, who is a foul-mouthed soccer prodigy, known better for his crass treatment of others than any actual skills he may possess, and you, a rising star who will do anything to be famous and are already of a serviceable status to be seen with him.

Despite your burst of excitement, the prospect of dating Michael Kaiser isn’t actually a thrilling one. The rumors of his horrid demeanor aren’t rumors, and you know this well, albeit through secondhand accounts. Cruelty is the way that he operates, his so-to-speak basal mode, and because it is so intrinsic to his being, you do not fancy that he will deviate from that malicious rule, even for you.

But you are accustomed to a false existence. Donning a facade and masquerading as a person who you are not is the only thing you are good at, are good for, and this time is no different than every other. You will put on the mask of a woman who is loved by Michael Kaiser, who has tamed that mad emperor and turned him into her sweet pet, and you will once again fool the world into believing you.  

He’s doing an interview today. You’re only aware because he texts you right before and tells you to turn on the TV to a channel you’d never choose if you had a say in the matter. But you’re intrigued and he refuses to explain further, so you do as he commands and find yourself watching as he reclines back in a leather armchair and smirks at the host, who’s clearly nervous.

She’s pretty, her hands shaking but her expression serious. You’ve never seen her before, which means she’s new. Of course, that’s not a surprise; only someone very inexperienced or very stupid would invite Michael Kaiser to their show, and she does not seem to be particularly stupid, so her affliction is the first. 

“Um, Mr. Kaiser, it’s a pleasure to have you with us,” she says, like she cannot quite believe that he is actually there, or like she is afraid of what he might take offense at, or some combination of the two.

“It’s a pleasure to be here,” he says, all roguish and self-assured, which is such a contrast to his typically surly demeanor that you have to commend the girl for keeping her composure.

They speak at length about his soccer career, throwing around words you do not understand and do not care to. It’s so boring you almost power down the television and tell him you think as much, but then the girl clears her throat, her face turning a comical shade of red as her fists clench the paper she’s been reading off of.

“This last question is from our viewers, but it’s personal, so if you don’t want to answer, then it’s not a problem,” she says, squirming in her chair, probably hoping he does not humiliate her. It will be bad for her career if he does, even if by now everyone knows what kind of person he is.

“Go on, then. I feel like we’ve built a rapport here, so I don’t mind it as much if it’s from you,” he says. It’s a perfectly packaged sentiment. His PR team must have tortured him into this new persona. You try to imagine it — it’s definitely a humorous thought, picturing the Bastard München representative slamming Michael Kaiser’s face into a bowl of water for every snarky comment he makes. Unrealistic, though. They would never risk compromising his performance like that.

“There’s rumors that you’re seeing Y/N L/N, the actress. A source who claims to be close to you both mentioned it online, and people can’t stop talking about the possibility. Neither you nor Miss L/N have addressed it, though, and our viewers were hoping you might…?” She cringes back, already preparing for one of his tirades, but he only smiles genially and winks at the camera. You remind yourself to tell him later that he’s laying it on too thick, even if you are enjoying this new character that he’s playing up for the sake of it.

“Y/N L/N? I’m shocked that you think I’m handsome enough to date someone like her,” he says. Your phone buzzes — it’s your manager, crowing about how impressed he is with your ‘boyfriend’ and his presence of mind. 

“So it’s a no?” the interviewer says, almost hopefully. He’s mysterious when he shrugs, mysterious and more than a little coy, as if she’s flattering him and he’s too shy to accept the praise.

“If Miss L/N ever deems me to be worthy of her, then it’s a yes in a heartbeat,” he says. It’s an excellent setup for his redemption, and the girl plays into it so beautifully that you tell your manager to send her flowers or some chocolate at the earliest possible opportunity.

“I think that you’ve shown yourself to be an excellent candidate today,” she says.

“Have I? I’ve really been trying to prove myself,” he says. Dreamy sighs ripple through the live studio audience. Someone whistles. It’s all very romantic and fairy-tale-esque, although he is far from being any kind of prince.

“You’re doing great,” the girl assures him. “I’m sure that, if Miss L/N is watching, she’ll have no choice but to be smitten.”

“If she’s watching? Oh, the thought didn’t even cross my mind,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck. You shouldn’t have doubted him and his audacity; he’s fallen into the role as if he were born to play it. “How embarrassing. I’ve just confessed to her on live television without even knowing if she’s interested…”

He’s actually blushing. You are doubly awed — he’s a natural-born talent. It’s a shame that he’s devoted to soccer; he could make it out like a bandit in the acting industry.

“No, no, don’t be embarrassed. How could she ever reject someone like you?” she assures him. How, indeed! At the moment, you are so pleased that you could kiss him. He’s better than any co-star you’ve ever had to work with, in that he is making your job exponentially easier instead of exponentially more difficult.

“If she really is watching, then I can only pray she heard you say that part,” he says, waving in greeting, presumably at you. “Hello, Miss L/N. I really admire you, so if you find me at all agreeable, then I would quite like it if you would say yes to the date I’m going to ask you on.”

He’s made the world swoon and your social media mentions triple. People are begging you to say yes, to give him a chance, to see how he has changed. They want to live through you, and you will let them.

When he calls you, you tell him you were thrilled by his performance. This causes him to shoot back that he finds you insufferable and condescending, to which you say that it’s what makes you and him such a perfect pair. Then you recite an address, and he asks you what you’re going on about. You answer that it is the place where you will have your first date, and then you hang up before he can respond, just so that you can deny him the chance to do it to you first. 

Cameras flash in your faces as you enter the restaurant your manager has booked a reservation at. Michael Kaiser’s arm is wrapped around your waist, and it’s nauseatingly domestic, the kind of scene that would be the cover for one of those coming-of-age movies your agent loves booking for you. You wait for the frantic sound of camera shutters to slow, and then you tug on his sleeve.

“What is it?” he says. It’s quiet enough that no one else can hear, which is why it’s devoid of any warmth, but you are unruffled.

“Your tie,” you say. “It’s not crooked, but we will pretend that it is, and I’ll fix it so that there is something sweet to accompany the tabloid articles that will come out tomorrow.”

Your hands reach for his neck, and he does something you do not comprehend — flinching back, he shakes his head. When he realizes he’s done this, he grits his teeth, like the anger can make up for the temporary weakness. You do not press the issue, merely furrowing your brow and gazing up at him, doing your best to ensure that your eyes remain soft, so that the exchange is not misinterpreted by the parasites around you.

“No,” he says. “Do something else, but leave my tie alone.”

“Alright,” you say. It’s not sensible for you to argue, and anyways it doesn’t matter much what you are doing, as long as you are doing something. Humming to yourself, you adjust the lapels of his jacket. The cameras go off again. You pretend like you do not notice, like the world consists of only you two, and then you interlace your fingers with his, allowing him to drag you into the restaurant behind him.

It’s your turn to be interviewed. You’re wearing a dress, your legs crossed at the ankles — it’s demure and practical and prevents anyone from leering at you, so it’s been a habit of yours for quite a while. The interviewer is female, though, which calms you a bit. She’s older, around your mother’s age, and the wrinkles on her forehead remind you that you should call your parents and arrange for them to meet your doting boyfriend.

“Miss L/N, I can’t begin to tell you how excited I am to finally meet you!” the woman says. You think her name may be Anne, but she hasn’t introduced herself to you yet, so you’re not certain.

“You are too kind. If anything, it’s an honor for me to be here,” you say. The audience really likes that, when you are humble and shy and so darling. It’s palatable and easy for them to digest, or that’s what your manager tells you. 

“Tell us about your upcoming projects,” she says after giving you the appropriate amount of praise for your charming personality.

“I’m currently shooting a new romantic comedy, but I’m afraid it’s all very hush-hush, so I can’t say too much about it. I think you all will really enjoy it, though, and I’m looking forward to the day that we can discuss it at length,” you say. 

The conversation goes on like that for a bit, but you know she’s going through the motions because she has to, not because she wants to. There’s only one question she cares to ask, but if she just talks to you about your boyfriend and not your own accomplishments, then she’ll be blasted online as an anti-feminist. You hear quite frequently that this is akin to suicide in the world of marketing, so you can’t blame her.

That doesn’t stop you from having some fun. When she’s exhausted every possible avenue of questioning you about your future plans and past successes, you make as if you’re going to stand up and leave. Panic leaps across her face, and you snicker.

“We’ve spoken at such length about my acting career. You can’t possibly have any more questions about it, hm? You probably know more than my manager does!” Your attitude is balanced out by the joke. The audience laughs. It’s a fine line that you walk, but if you do not have the chance to act sharper every now and again, you believe you will die — internally if not externally — so you take such risks when you can justify them to yourself.

“You’re dating Michael Kaiser now, aren’t you?” she says. It’s a rancid curiosity she hides with a motherly type of concern. You brush off your legs, recross them, and tuck a piece of hair behind your ear.

“I am,” you say. You don’t have to play the games that he did; you both are established now. Official. A bona-fide couple. Anyways, it’s more appealing if you are outright with it.

“How has that been? You’ve really made a difference in that young man’s life, it seems,” she says.

The best way to lie is to tell the truth. “Yes, I suppose I have, but he has made an equal difference in mine. He is as good for me as I am for him; truly, I never understood what it meant when my parents called each other their ‘better halves’ until we met.”

In an hour, there will be thousands of posts online about this. If Y/N and Michael break up, then I don’t believe in love anymore! Maybe soulmates are real! Couple goals! These are the kinds of captions you are anticipating. The two of you will send screenshots to one another and laugh about how gullible the world is, and then you will strategically plan which comments to like and posts to favorite so that your message goes through. That’s the extent of your relationship with him, really, at least when the two of you are alone. The detachedness makes things much easier than they otherwise would be.

“There’s a popular theory going around that the two of you have had a secret wedding already. Is it true? Am I speaking to Mrs. Kaiser at the moment?” she says, eyes glittering like a vulture’s. She’s ready to pounce on any hesitation, any brief indecision that you might show, but you have spent more time in the spotlight than in your own parents’ home, so you don’t even waver.

“Marriage! I think we’re a bit too early in our relationship to be considering such things, and a bit too early in our lives to be rushing into major decisions like that,” you say. “If and when the time comes, you’ll be the first to know, but it won’t be for a while.”

It won’t be at all, actually. This relationship is not going to last for more than another month. Once the buzz surrounding you two dies, you and he will quietly split. It’ll be as if you never met in the first place.

Your phone rings as you’re leaving the studio. The caller ID says that it is Michael Kaiser, and the thought that he was watching your interview in the same way you watched his makes you feel odd.

“Hello?” you say.

“I’m not gonna marry you. Never-fucking-ever. If you’re expecting a ring, then put it out of your mind.”

“I wasn’t,” you say. “How else would you have liked me to answer that question?”

“Fuck if I know.”

Neither of you hang up on the other — you don’t think you can summon the wherewithal to, which is out of character for him but typical for you — though you both also don’t speak any further. He stays on the line while you drive home, breathing softly like he is sleeping, but you are sure that he is not. The point of it is lost on you, but then you drive into a tunnel and the call ends on its own, so it’s moot anyways. 

Your parents are excited to meet Michael Kaiser. They’ve read up on him extensively, watched all his interviews and even his game highlights. Your mother calls you the night before just so she can gush to you about how handsome he is, how you’ve really done well for yourself this time around. Her approval is nice to have, though superfluous, like a luxury soap or perfume. 

Your father is the one who suggests you all go golfing. You don’t know how to play, and neither does your mother, but you recognize it’s his attempt at connecting with who he thinks is your boyfriend, so you accept. You’re not sure if Michael Kaiser knows how to play golf, or really anything besides soccer, but he is game enough to come that you suppose he must.

It’s warm out, the sun beating down on your father’s brow as he lines up the ball with his club. Michael Kaiser stands on his left, and you think he’s somehow beautiful in this lighting. Not beautiful how your many attractive coworkers are, but in a manner which is distinctly him and therefore utterly irreproducible. His body is lean and graceful, his hair shaggy and gold, though he’s dyed the tips blue in what you’re sure is a statement. The shade matches his eyes, and also the inked roses on his neck. You have long ago come to the conclusion that the flowers are also a part of that same statement, but you have yet to discover what that statement might be. 

“He’s an improvement from that last boyfriend of yours,” your mother says, leaning back so that she can pour the last few drops of soda from her empty can into her throat. You and her are sitting together in the golf cart, seeking refuge in the shade of its plastic roof, sharing the drinks that your father had bought for himself and forgotten about the instant he stepped onto the golf course.

“He is,” you say. That’s not an exaggeration, nor is it something incredible. Your last boyfriend was an old classmate of yours who loved your celebrity more than he loved you. Michael Kaiser doesn’t love you, either, but he is honest about it, and you do not love him back, so there is no resentment between you and him.

“I like the way he looks at you,” your mother says. There’s a hiss as she opens a new can of soda. It’s a vice, but whenever you remind her of it, she dismisses you. She wants to have fun while she’s on this earth, apparently. Maybe drinking five cans of soda in one sitting means her life will be shorter, but life without soda isn’t worth living anyways, or something like that. The reasoning is stupid, but you know she is loyal to it, so you have to accept it. “It’s refreshing. So gentle. You’ll be talking to someone else, and he’ll just be staring at you like he can’t quite believe you’re his.”

“I hadn’t noticed,” you say. 

Your mother is about to say something else, but she is interrupted by a loud whoop. Michael Kaiser has hit a hole-in-one, and before you can tell him to stop embarrassing himself, your father is cheering, throwing his arms around him and calling him son.

“Your father likes him, too,” your mother said. 

“Oh, he needs to stop that! I can’t believe he’s making things so awkward,” you say, getting up to reprimand him before realizing that there is an entirely foreign sheen to Michael Kaiser’s eyes as he rests his chin on your father’s shoulder. He is not quite smiling, but it is a close approximation of the expression, and when your father ruffles his hair and says that it may have been beginner’s luck but he’s proud regardless, the curve of his lips becomes deeper.

You don’t understand, but you don’t need to. You may have facilitated it, but the moment belongs to him, and your presence is as unwanted as it is unnecessary.

You sit back down and take a sip of your mother’s soda. She grins knowingly and says that you look like you are in love, too. You don’t have the heart to tell her the truth, so you hum noncommittally and say that you might be.

You are growing fond of Michael Kaiser. It isn’t a slow realization — actually, it hits you very suddenly one day. He hands you a bouquet of flowers before opening the passenger door of his car for you. You ask him why he’s brought you peonies instead of roses, and he says it’s because he despises roses. It’s such an absurd answer and he says it with such a straight face that you have to cough in order to disguise your choked laughter. 

“Those must be some other kind of flower, then,” you say, pointing at but not touching his tattoos, at the delicate petals which fold over his pulse, azure and bright and silky. 

“No, those are roses,” he says, his knuckles growing white on the steering wheel. Normally, you wouldn’t ask further, but today you want to prod at his bruise of an existence, so you turn the music down and hug the peonies to your chest.

“But you despise roses,” you say.

“It’s a good reminder,” he says. “No flower lies quite as well as a rose does.”

That is when you are certain that you are partial to him. It is an unavoidable fact and also a treacherous one, but true notwithstanding. 

You put the peonies in a vase of water when you get home that night and hope they never die, although you know that they will be gone within the week. It’s how time works. The peonies will die and you two will break up and you’ll have nothing but a bare kitchen counter and thoughts of his intricacies to remember him by. 

There are no paparazzi around on the night when he wraps your hands around his throat. You are alone with him, sequestered away in the living room of his mansion, a bowl of popcorn shoved between the two of you while a movie plays in the background. This seclusion defeats the original purpose of the relationship entirely, but you sense that that original purpose is no longer fully applicable, so you do not refuse when he calls you and demands you come.

There’s a blanket tossed over your legs, the brilliant colors of his soccer club’s emblem faded from repeated washes. It’s warm, and if you were not busily eating most of the popcorn, you’d pull it up around your shoulders. As for Michael Kaiser, he’s facing the screen, his hair tied back in a knot, a pair of glasses resting on the bridge of his nose and reflecting the visage of the lead actress as she laughs. You observe him as you snack. You’ve seen this movie before and didn’t really like it, so you’re not missing much. He’s more interesting by far.

“I know that woman,” you say, so that he has to acknowledge you.

“Hm,” he says.

“She’s a jerk,” you say. 

“Sounds like your kind of company,” he says. You scoff, because he’s not wrong. He keeps watching the movie, and you keep watching him, until a thought occurs to you.

“Can I call you Michael? Even when it’s just us two,” you ask. He purses his lips. The actress screams. Her character has just died, but the scene is poorly shot and even more poorly acted, so it’s not as heart-wrenching as it should be. You would’ve done better, but your agent doesn’t want you taking any gory roles, and your manager agrees. In his professional opinion, it’ll ruin the doll-like persona you’ve spent so long cultivating. He’s probably right. It’s hard to adore a doll once you’ve watched it die so gruesomely.

“You can do whatever you want,” he says.

“Okay,” you say, swallowing another mouthful of popcorn, the salt lingering on your tongue long after the popcorn itself is gone. “Michael.”

“Yes?” he says.

“Nothing,” you say. “I just wanted to say your name.”

“Okay,” he says. “Y/N?”

He’s never called you that in private. Of course, when you’re out and about, he must refer to you with such familiarity, but in private you’ve never been anything but Miss L/N. It’s a change but a good one. You don’t want to ever be Miss L/N again. Not to him.

“Yes?” you say.

“I’m trying to watch this movie,” he says. “It has high ratings, so be quiet and allow me to finish.”

“It’s shitty,” you say, yawning and leaning back against the mountain of pillows you’ve created for yourself. “Overly gratuitous with its use of fake blood.”

“Right, because that’s a cardinal sin,” he says dryly.

“Sorry, but it’s hard to enjoy films when you know how they’re made,” you say. He picks up the remote and pauses the movie. You blink, because that’s about the last thing you expected from him. Then he turns the TV off entirely and you realize you’ll probably never be able to predict what he does next, so you should stop trying already.

“I know how movies are made,” he says.

“Did you have a secret acting career you never told me about?” you say. It’s a joke, but you also wouldn’t be surprised if it’s true. He’s taken to performing like a fish takes to water, and every day you tell him he should quit soccer and devote his life to cinema because of this uncanny skill.

“Not me, but my mother was an actress, and my father was a director,” he says. 

“Was?” you say.

“Maybe they still are,” he says. “I don’t know. We’re not on speaking terms.”

“Why not?” you say. He takes your hands in between his, and you can make out immediately that his instinct is to hurt you, to press his fingertips into your wrists so hard that they leave marks. It’s to his credit that he fights back the urge, fights it back and arranges your palms against his carotid arteries. His jaw clenches and his pupils dilate as he waits for you to realize; when you do, you rip your hands away for fear of wounding him further.

“Don’t pity me,” he instructs you, unpausing the movie like nothing happened. “And don’t ever bring it up again.” 

Now that you have his permission to refer to him only by his name, you develop a strange fascination with saying it. He’s amused by your new fixation, answering you in a lilting tone every time you call for him.

According to him, you are like a small nightingale, always warbling, always happy, fluttering around beside him and changing his mood for the better. Well, if you are like a nightingale, then he is like a dog, and you tell him as much when you are sitting across from him at a coffee shop.

“A dog?” he repeats, his face pinching. He’s just taken a swig of the black coffee he always orders, but you know his disgusted expression isn’t a symptom of the beverage’s bitterness. “Take that back.”

“Not in a bad way,” you say. Your own drink is sweet, so you sip on it slowly to prevent a stomach ache. “I’m not calling you pathetic. I just mean that you are amiable and lively. It’s a compliment.”

“It’s not who I really am,” he says. “Have I deceived even you? Amiable? Lively? Remember why this entire scam began in the first place — because I am neither of those things.”

“Right,” you say. “A peacock, then. Terribly vain and entirely alluring.”

He relaxes and raises his cup to his mouth again. He’ll be up late tonight, he always is when he has coffee, but it never stops him from drinking it. “That’s better.”

The reminder that whatever you have with him is not real stings more than it should. You throw away your drink almost untouched, which does cause him to raise an eyebrow, but thankfully he refrains from commenting. It’s a relief, because you don’t even know how to explain it to yourself, let alone him.

He walks you to your front porch and waits with crossed arms as you fish for the key in your purse, shoving it in the lock once you have it in your grasp. His farewell when you open the door is stilted and abnormal, so you stop him with a hand on his arm before he can go.

“Michael,” you say. You’ve never said his name like this before. It comes from a place raw and deep within you, a place that you are certain is purple and black like a wound. You say it like you love him, and you think it must be because you do.

“Yes?” he says. It’s the way he always responds to you, his voice like a song, a small smile on his ordinarily strict face — though today, he is not smiling. Instead, he is frowning, like he has come to an understanding that he would have rather not reached.

“Never mind,” you say. “Goodbye.”

“Goodbye,” he says. He drives away, his car disappearing around the corner, leaving you standing alone in the still-open doorway and wondering how you will survive the day when he disappears permanently. 

You’re not sure what it is about him that makes pretending difficult, but suddenly, it’s a struggle for you to maintain your aloof front. You find it disconcerting, that he has taken this aspect of your identity and rendered it entirely null and void; it’s even more disconcerting that he has done it unwittingly and unsympathetically. If you loved him any less, you would hate him, because he has stolen who you are and left you blind and fumbling, but you fell for him, and the way you landed broke something fundamental, so that it is impossible for you to get back up. 

“I think that I love you,” you say. You are on his couch again, and there is a movie playing again, which is all too similar to a past scenario that you think about when you are lonely. Tonight, it’s some soccer documentary that you find so tedious you are driven to irrationality. 

He drops the glass of water in his hands; you reach out and catch it before it can spill, setting it on the table in front of you. 

“What?” he says. You shrug.

“I love you,” you say again, and you’re flippant about it because you’re not telling him in the hopes he loves you, too. In fact, you know that he does not, so you are using him as a confessional; after all, the minimum he owes you is sharing the burden of this sin.

“There’s no one around,” he says. “You don’t have to lie. It won’t gain us anything.”

“It hasn’t gained us anything in a long while,” you say. It’s true — your relationship isn’t trending anymore, and most of your dates are in locations where you will not be recognized. 

He stands up. The documentary continues as he paces, and a referee blows a whistle while he tangles his fingers in his hair and pulls. You stay on the couch, your eyes following his erratic movements, your hands folded in your lap.

“No, you don’t,” he says.

“I don’t what?” you say.

“You don’t love me,” he says. He wants to sound callous, you are sure of it, but the effect is lost on you. He sounds more lost than anything.

“But I do,” you respond. “Who are you to tell me I don’t?”

“Don’t,” he says. “Stop it. This instant.”

You laugh incredulously. “Do you think it’s that easy? I wouldn’t feel like this in the first place if it was.”

“Why?” he says. He’s still pacing. It’s like watching a tiger in a zoo. You want to study him, but he demands your attention in a different way. “Y/N. Why me? Why at all?”

“The reasons don’t matter, do they? I can tell you, but they won’t change anything,” you say, shrugging. “If you find yourself in the kitchen, bring water back for me. I’m thirsty.”

“Drink mine,” he says, pointing at the cup you had narrowly saved from disaster. “And quit your avoidance. Tell it to me plainly. Why?”

“Because you are you,” you say once you have drained half of his glass and your tongue is not quite as papery. “It’s a series of things; there’s not just one concrete reason. You hate roses and only drink black coffee. My mother thinks you’re handsome and my father is convinced you’re a golfing genius. You are a dog but also a peacock and then again an emperor. Don’t ask ridiculous questions and expect me to answer them when I cannot.”

“I’ll hurt you,” he says. “I’ll hurt you, Y/N, and I don’t — I don’t want to. You’re the only one who I don’t want to hurt, so just give up. It’s for the better if you do.”

“You won’t,” you say. “I don’t think you can.”

“Of course I can,” he says. “It’s the one thing I’m capable of. The only way I know how to love someone is by hurting them. I’ll do the same to you if you let me, and if you’re telling the truth, then you will let me.”

“Because I love you?” you say. “You think I’ll let you hurt me because I love you? For shame, Michael. I thought you knew me better than that.”

“Please,” he says. It’s a word he’s never said, not to you and not in his life. Its weight hangs before you, pulsating in the air like it’s tangible. “If I love you, I’ll destroy you. And then you’ll leave, and it’ll destroy me.”

It’s a selfless desire that he’s disguising as a selfish one. You’re good at pretending, but you’re not good at telling when others are. That much is obvious, because if you had any talent at the latter then you would’ve seen that he’s loved you for as long as you have loved him, maybe longer. He loves you and so he’s urging you to flee, to destroy him before he can do it to you first.

“Damned if I do and damned if I don’t, huh?” you say, exhaling and finishing off the rest of his water. “Listen to me.”

“No,” he says. His obstinance is endearing, but you throw a pillow at him instead of cooing like you want to. He catches it and tosses it back. It lands beside you with a thump. You pat it for emphasis.

“Yes,” you say. “I love you.”

He plugs his ears with his fingers. “Nope.”

“I love you, I love you — hey, I know you can hear me!” you say.

“La la la,” he shouts over your voice, sticking his tongue out petulantly. “I can’t hear you, I can’t hear you!”

“You’re cruel,” you say. “I won’t deny it. I know who you really are, Michael Kaiser. You possess cruelty in spades, but it’s in the way that a rose does. You have grown malice like thorns so that no one may come near your heart, and you think these thorns will tear me apart when I extend my hand past them. What you aren’t accounting for is that I have done so already. I have reached your heart and still I am intact. Now, what is there to cause me harm — a mere flower? But a flower can’t cause anyone harm, least of all a person such as myself. You can’t, or more importantly you won’t. I believe that you won’t.”

He stares at you. The soccer team in the documentary still playing behind him scores, and the crowd roars in approval. You stare back at him and wait.

“I hate roses,” he finally says. “I hate them a lot. They’re the worst kind of flower.”

“I don’t know about that,” you say. “I quite fancy them.”

“They prick your fingers,” he says.

“Not if you are gentle,” you say. “Not if you understand them.”

He buries his face in his hands. “Go home, Y/N.”

You do as you are told, flagging a taxi and shivering while you wait for it. You wish for things to be different, but the amount of unfulfilled wishes you’ve made outnumber the stars in the sky, so you add this one to the list and vow to move on.

You have no desire to leave your bed the next morning, but you are also hungry, and your hunger wins out over your despair. You muster up the energy to roll out of your sheets and trudge downstairs, but you are miserable as you do so. You are utterly miserable, and the fact that you are only worsens the feeling, trapping you in an endless kind of loop.

When you enter your kitchen, you are surprised to see a pot of flowers sitting innocently on your counter. You didn’t put them there, so you should feel afraid, but they’re roses, and they’re the same arresting shade as the sky, so you don’t. You only grin, slowly and then all at once as you begin to giggle helplessly.

There isn’t a card or an explanation provided, but you don’t need either. You already know who they are from.

#kaiser x reader #kaiser x y/n #kaiser x you #michael kaiser #bllk x reader #bllk #blue lock #reader insert #fake dating #m1ckeyb3rry milestone #m1ckeyb3rry writes

[k-slla]

Fate, Or Something Like It | part 1

Little bit of a crossover between The Boys & Suits

A/N: So this is the last square filled on my first card for @jacklesversebingo ! Honestly didn't think I'd get to this, but look at that! 😄

Square filled: "You made me get out of my pajamas for this?"

Also using the chance to post it as my first entry to @artyandink's JENSEN-A-THON.:) (I was said there is no max word count😅)

Based on THIS request that an anon sent me and it will be a 2 part story :)

Word count: ~12.9k | My Masterlist

Both parts will have separate warning, in this one you will find: Slightly OOC Ben, naive reader, physical assault, choking, language, angst, mentions and descriptions of torture, use of drugs and alcohol, mentions of past traumas, partial frontal nudity, size kink(if you squint), brief Fem masturbation -I hope I didn't miss any:)

Special thanks to @nescaveckwriter - for your help and inspiration torture through all those gifs you hyped me up with! 😈Love you, Nes!

ENJOY!

If anyone would’ve asked you right now ‘Are you happy?’ you could've easily answered them with a simple ‘yes’. Saying you were a workaholic, would've been definitely an understatement, but it was a good thing that anything else in your personal life didn't require that much attention, so you happily took on as much work as possible. At least it kept you busy. 

You were working at Pearson Hardman, one of the top law firms in New York. With a professional long-time dream of becoming a senior partner in the firm, you were glad to see that your efforts were slowly paying off. Only one obstacle stood in your way - Harvey Specter. Harvey was a good attorney, you had to admit that. Probably one of the best New York has ever seen, but you hoped to have a chance to prove that you were better. 

You didn't hide your ambition of becoming a partner from anyone and Jessica saw how hard you worked to deserve that spot amongst them. The other partners saw that. And you knew that even Harvey saw how much you were ready to sacrifice for the job. You practically lived in your office. And if that was what it took to reach your goal then sleeping in your bed and having a personal life were small things to give up on. But Harvey shared that mentality, and you were well aware of that. 

Both of you had been competing with each other ever since you met in Harvard, so it wasn't exactly a surprise that this position was basically up between you two, too. But a friendly competition hurt no one, if anything, it gave you the drive to work even harder than before. And you loved it. So yes, you could've said you were happy with your life, because then you just didn’t know yet what, or rather who was missing from it. Until you ran into the man, who'd then turn your life upside down just in a week. 

There he was waiting in front of your work place one evening. You had to admit, he was hard to miss in his green super soldier outfit, but you walked right past him, which just seemed to offend him, judging by the sudden shift of his attitude. Of course you knew who he was, how the women threw themselves at him. All the ladies’ favorite Soldier Boy. You could’ve bet he expected the same kind of reaction from you he had already gotten used to. 

But you didn't fall for his look. You didn't have strength to react to him in any way, so you continued on your way, trying to get home to sleep. Out of nowhere someone yanked you backwards towards the alleyway. A quick ‘hey’ was all you managed to say, before you saw that it was in fact Soldier Boy who had attacked you. 

There was no one around at the moment so just screaming for help wouldn't have worked. Not that it would've even with people around you. He was huge and could easily take on anyone in a fight, but you still tried to get yourself away from him. “No! Let me go!” you grunted. Having a hard time keeping up with his long strides, you were around the building already as he dragged you after him into the alley, pushing you then roughly against the wall. “What do you want from me?” you gritted through the teeth as he held you against the wall, trying your hardest to get yourself free from him.

“Nothing much, doll. Just a little…payback.” He whispered, coming in closer to your face, his low voice vibrating in your ear. With a grin, his hand slowly rose from your chest up to your neck, cutting off the air from you. You fought hard trying to pry his hand away from your neck, but he only tightened his grip. 

“I…haven't…done anything…to you.” You said with a strained voice. You could already feel his hurt, anger and hate, it was just radiating from him. You tried to get through to him, to try to ease him from all that, help him, but all you got was what he's been through for those close to 40 years that he was considered dead. Seeing what he went through, you knew that's what he probably wished for as well. 

You were also a supe, but one of those unimportant ones, who besides The Seven didn't really exist to the rest of the society. Luckily you weren't shooting lasers from your eyes, so it was easy for you to hide your power from others. You were a healer. Kind of. 

You could feel what the person had been through, by physical contact. That's how it usually was. It came to you as a sense of negative emotion they had, caused by their experienced distress and trauma, and you “healed” them - erased the pain etched to the memory. But sometimes, when those memories were stronger, they ran in your head like movies. Sometimes, they even caused you physical pain. 

“Don't fucking lie to me! You were there! I saw you.” You already started to get light headed, but gathering your last strength, you managed to kick him. No surprise - it had no effect on him, but it still made him lighten his grip around your neck slightly. 

You could feel everything he was put through. The torture. The betrayal. And all the hurt that had remained. It was too much for one person to go through, even for a supe like him. 

The images of his memories in Russia started to flash before your eyes. Pictures of him restrained- being shot at, burned, poisoned, electrocuted. All that pain over and over again. 

You saw all of it through his eyes. You felt everything he was put through. He may be hard to kill, probably impossible even, but he still felt all that pain and torture. It all must've left some mark on his psyche. 

Hot tears started prickling in your eyes. What you weren't sure of was the reason why. Were they just your body's natural response to him choking you or did you feel sorry for him? First option sounded like a reasonable choice, but you knew your heart was leaning towards the other end. Your naivety got you believing that even someone like Soldier Boy didn't deserve that.

“I wasn't there. I heard what they did, but I wasn't there!” You couldn't tell him about your power, what you had just seen, he'd never believe you and would probably kill you right then and there. 

But Ben on the other hand was sure he wasn't imagining things. He might have downed a bottle of pills and a whiskey before coming for you, but his mind was clear. As much as it could've been. He didn't get much influenced by drugs or alcohol before, but after Russia something had changed. He had no idea what they'd exactly done to him, but he started to get occasional blackouts from drugs and those fucking obnoxious Russian tracks that started ringing in his ears every time someone pissed him off. Even now he was a little bit out of it. 

He knew what he saw when the Reds had him held up. He thought so at least. Every day, or night even, when they experimented on him, tried to kill him, or whatever the fuck they were doing, there was a woman. Spitting image of the one in front of him. The one that he was most eager to find. 

She took away his will. His will to fight back. She took away his will to break free from his restraints and to rip the heads off them one by one, leaving as his only option to wait for his love to come to save him, not knowing she was part of the team who had betrayed him. She had left him to rot in the hopelessness of his own mind. 

But focusing on the woman standing in front of him, Ben's mind was getting a little foggy. Fuck...was it even her? She's not using her power. She's scared, polar opposite to the woman he saw in the lab - cold as ice, lifeless. For a moment he thought that his mind had just started to fill the blanks. She’s…different. She's not even trying to control me. Am I just high? 

Ben was getting truly hesitant of trusting himself. He almost wanted to let her go, when he realized it was just some trick on him. It had to be. She is playing with me. Like she did there.

“I saw you! You were there, every goddamn day when they tortured me! Playing your fucking mind games with me.” He wasn't giving up. He had a list. He had almost forty years to think of each one of them who betrayed him, how to make them pay. Of course he started with Countess. She sure was surprised to see him alive. And finally when he had found you, he now had second thoughts. 

“No...I.. wasn't! I...please...” Your words were slowly dying on your lips. If it weren't for the group of teenagers walking by, Ben would've most certainly killed you. He threw a sideways glance at them. As tempting as it might've been, he knew better than to kill with witnesses around. Not to mention kids. He still had some reputation to maintain. Not that he really cared about that. But he knew he'd have another chance with you. He'll make sure of it. Ben let go of you and you fell straight to the ground. Without missing a beat, you grabbed your bag that you had dropped and ran from him, not daring to look back. “The fuck you're staring at?” You heard him shout behind you, aiming it towards the teens who had begun staring at you two.

When you finally got home - much, much later than you had expected - you had no energy left to cook or clean. All you wanted was a relaxing shower and a decent amount of sleep for a change. Mindlessly you sat under the hot stream of water on the bathroom floor and the events of tonight really got to you. 

He was ready to kill you tonight and still you were sympathetic for him. While studying the pattern of the floor tiles for a long time, you got more certain with each passing minute that there must be something wrong with you, because there was just no other reason for you to feel sorry for him. You were so stuck in tonight's events, you didn't even notice the water starting to run colder, until the sudden icy water falling onto your shoulders brought you back. Trying not to slip, you scrambled out of the shower as quickly you could. 

You couldn't sleep that night. Not as much as you had hoped at least. You couldn't stop thinking about his words that were still echoing in your head. 

“You were there, every goddamn day when they tortured me!” 

It was almost four decades ago. You weren't even alive then. He must've been just hallucinating there. There couldn’t be any other explanation. Wouldn't be a surprise exactly, too, if you thought more about it, considering what he went through. 

Finally, very early in the morning, you managed to fall asleep. But in all those barely three hours of sleep that you got, you had one sight in mind. Green eyes. His eyes. Full of hate and anger towards the world around him, and trying to hide the pain eating him up from the inside. You knew it was probably not his plan to let it show, but he just didn't know who you really are. 

For the remaining two work days you had left before the weekend, as hard as it was, you were fortunately able to push the incident with him from your mind and focus fully on work. 

And on Friday night, another asshole, a lot friendlier than Soldier Boy, but still a kind of jerk, flew in to ruin your night, again, in the form of Billy Butcher.

“Hey there, sweetheart.” 

Your friendship with Billy was, to put it mildly...odd. He only called you to ask “favors” regarding your power, every now and then, and while you had no reason to give in to him, you just couldn't bring yourself to say no. But considering how the last few times have gone, this time he called to probably claim your soul. 

“What do you want?” Just a call from him had already put a dent into your peaceful evening, so you were in no mood for him beating around the bush. 

“What? No hello?” He laughed, but not getting a reaction from you, he continued. “Straight to the business then. Can a..uh.. let's just call him a friend of mine..can he stay with you for a week?” There was silence on the line for a second. “Or possibly two?” Billy added under his breath.

“What! No!” You couldn’t get your rejection at his plan out any faster. “Not after last time!” 

“Hey! Don't blame me for that. I didn't know they would…nevermind..” he muttered. “I just really need someone to keep an eye on Ben. He's.. He's been through some stuff and has a bit of a “shell shock” as one might say.” 

You heard a little shuffling on the other side and a faint grumpy voice. “I don't have shell shock. Fuck you!” 

“I'm not letting anyone in my apartment again.” You stood your ground. 

“Sweetheart, I'm begging you! Really am! Just this one time.” You sensed from his voice he was getting a bit desperate. 

“Is she bitching?” You heard that same low voice as before. 

“You can tell your friend that I heard that and I do not appreciate it! My answer is no!"

“Ben, shut it. Please, I need someone I trust to look after him. He needs help and I know you, you really are the only one who can help him.” Billy said quietly into the phone. 

“No. I have work and I don't want anyone in my home when I'm not there.” 

“Fair! How about this then...”    

You had no idea how he managed to convince you to move into their headquarters or apartment or whatever they chose to call it. Not a fucking clue. But here you were with your suitcase, ready to move in for an indefinite time. All this had only one upside for you - shorter commute to work. 

Standing outside, you called through the intercom, and waited for Butcher to answer. Probably knowing it was you downstairs, he opened the door immediately. You really felt luck being against you lately, so it came to you as no surprise that the elevator, too, was out of order. With a heavy sigh, you braced yourself for the stupid amount of stairs ahead. 

When you made it to their door, you were absolutely out of breath. Why couldn't I have flying as my power? That would have come handy right now. No, no, no...I am a healer. Unfair. 

You knocked on the door, still trying to calm your breathing. After a moment, Butcher finally opened it. “Hello, luv! You made it!” You wanted to beat this shit-eating grin off his face. Too bad he was stronger than you. “We were about to start betting on how long it would take for you to get up here.” 

“That piece of shit elevator is out of order again.” You grunted, pulling your suitcase into the room after you. 

Setting it down in the living room, you looked around in the apartment. You saw only Butcher and Hughie around. “So? Where's that friend of yours?” The grin on Billy's face grew wider. 

“I swear to God, if that was just some joke that you two tried to play on me..” you were still out of breath, but tried to sound threatening, although, there wasn’t much you could do to him. Maybe to Hughie, yes, if he was in on the joke, but not to Butcher. 

“No, not a joke. He's real and I bet you'll get along nicely.” It seemed as if Ben had heard you, and sauntered cockily out of his room. “So, where's the new roomie...?” His smug grin only widened when he saw your dumbfounded face. You defensively took a step back. “No, Billy, hell no!” 

Butcher stepped protectively in front of you. “Relax, he's not gonna bite.” 

“Not gonna bite?! He tried to kill me less than three days ago.” You hissed as an answer, glaring at Ben, as you learnt was his name, over Billy's shoulder. 

“And now he'll promise to behave, right, Ben?” Ben rolled his eyes at you and walked into the kitchen. “Whatever.” 

You stared after him. “Why can't someone else babysit him?” 

“We have some work coming up. Listen. I know what happened between you two. He told me and right after I explained to him that there was no possible way for you to have been in Russia all this time ago. But, Y/N, you're the only one who can help me. Please.” It was really out of his character to see him beg for something. 

You stood in silence for a minute. You spineless piece of… You cursed yourself in your head. “Where’s my room?"

Waking up next morning you were glad that it was Saturday. You had the whole weekend to assess this…situation. You were the first one up and started making breakfast for everyone. Butcher was still snoring on the couch in the living room, as Hughie probably claimed the last free room to himself. You have always been more of a ‘forgive and forget’ type of person. Always seeing the best in people. Even if it took time to let go, you never were one to hold a grudge. It would have been totally understandable for you to walk out this time, too, but all you wanted was just to try to let go of what had happened with Ben a few days ago, so you tried to be nice.

You knew you two wouldn't be friends, not like with Hughie or Butcher, not that you were very close to them either, but you hoped that you could at least be civil around each other for the few weeks now that you had agreed to live with him.

In the middle of frying up some bacon, you heard a bedroom door opening, so it was either Hughie or Ben. A second later, from the corner of your eye, you saw a figure appear on the kitchen door. 

“That's what I like to see - a woman in the kitchen, right where she belongs.” Definitely not Hughie. You were about to shoot back some snarky comment, when you finally took a look at him. “Shit...” You mumbled quietly. 

Leaning on the doorway, Ben was wearing only some green floral silk robe that hung open on his shoulders. Nothing underneath it. The unexpectedness of seeing his cock the first thing in the morning hit you hard. Your mind went blank and against your will, you had to admit that you were quite literally hypnotized by him. 

“Like what you see, sweetheart?” A low chuckle rang in the distance, bringing you out of your short daydream. You blinked at him and blushed hard, realizing you had been just standing there, staring at him. Talk about morning wood. After letting out a long exhale, your focus was now fully back on bacon. “P-please put on s-some clothes?” 

He slowly walked towards you, not closing the robe. Heat started to climb up your cheeks when he stopped next to you. “You do like the view.” Ben said smugly and snatched a piece of bacon from the plate. Not even a question this time. He knew the effect he had on you. You couldn't even deny it to yourself. 

“Stop harassing the poor woman and put on some clothes.” Billy grumbled from the couch. 

“You're no fun.” Ben said to Billy before stepping in even closer to you, seizing the last of the personal space you had left and whispering. “But soon we'll be all alone and I'll tell you, sweetheart, you'll fuckin’ beg for it.” He winked and you just stared at him, mouth slightly agape. 

“Bacon's a bit burned, by the way.” Ben grinned and finally covered himself before turning around and leaving the kitchen. 

Rest of the day went luckily quietly, with you staying mostly hidden in your own room. Kimiko, Frenchie and MM came around noon, to talk through the last minute changes on the plan for their new job. 

“So, please don't kill each other. Or I mean, Ben, don’t kill her.” Hughie smiled at you and Ben, before walking out of the door, making you roll your eyes at his back. 

“And don't tear the place down, if you decide to...you know…get acquainted better. Which you probably will.” Billy said with a smirk. “If you do, you fix it up. Got it?” He continued sternly. 

“Got it.” Quick slap from Ben landed on your ass, making a shrill yelp escape from you. 

“Hey! We're not - I - he won't..!” Your brain short-circuited again, for the second time today, because of Ben. Butcher winked knowingly and then turned around to leave. “See ya!” With a wave, he was out the door.

You were now left alone with Ben, who scoffed beside you. “What's your problem?” 

“Don't even get me started.” You mumbled quietly and walked past him into the kitchen.

“I heard that!” He called after you. 

“Good!” You looked back at the doorway, and saw Ben stomping towards you. You rolled your eyes and started to make some coffee. 

“No, seriously. What's your problem?” He crossed his arms. 

You pinched the bridge of your nose. “Do you really want to know?” 

“That's why I asked.” 

You fully turned towards him and leaned on the kitchen island with one hip. “My problem is that three days ago you tried to kill me, without any explanation, you haven't even apologized and now you're acting like nothing's happened, and I'm stuck here with you because of my inability to say no. So there you go.”

“Actually, I had an explanation.” He said absentmindedly, before stepping in front of you, squinting his eyes and pointing his finger at you. “And, no, that's not your problem, but I know what it really is.” He said slowly.

You waved your arms in front of you, his cockiness started to slowly infuriate you. “Please, enlighten me.”

Ben bit his bottom lip and raised his eyebrows with a little nod. “You haven't been properly fucked for a while.” He said boldly, making you fume on the inside. “Yeah. That's it. I can see all that...frustration in you, sweetheart.” He was now grinning ear to ear, flashing his bright smile. “More than happy to help you out.” He added with a simple shrug. “You're a tad bit young for me, but I can look past it. I tend to go to women with a bit more experience.” He left you completely speechless and the grin on his face grew wider with each second you sputtered in front of him, blinking rapidly as you tried to figure out something to say.

“Ew, just stop it, okay!” You blurted out finally. “Can we just try to be normal around each other for one day, without you making some lewd suggestions about my personal life?”

Ben's eyes twinkled mischievously. “Okay.” He shrugged and then raised his finger. “I'll give you one day.” And with that he walked out of the kitchen and left you there standing, cursing the choice of words you had made.

“Fuck me..” You muttered, realizing that now Ben will probably start riling you up even more.

“What was that?” He appeared again on the kitchen door with a wicked smile on his lips, clearly hoping he had heard you correctly. You had to admit - Ben was hellishly handsome, too handsome for his own good and of course he knew that. You couldn't hold back the chuckle that escaped from your lips, seeing that little playful glint in his eyes.

“Nothing!” You called out quickly, face turning red.

Note to self - be careful when speaking to yourself. Man has super hearing.

You had to be grateful that at least Ben did keep his promise and kept to his own on Sunday.

A blood-curdling scream woke you in the middle of the night. You were certain that you had just dreamed it, because when you sat up in bed, it was all silent around you. Until you heard him again.

So this is what Butcher meant by helping him.

It now kind of made sense also, why he called you in the first place. Obviously it wasn't just to keep Ben company. You dragged yourself out of the bed and made your way to his room next to yours.

You could hear the strained screams even through the door. Not bothering with knocking, you pushed it open and entered his bedroom.

Ben was cramped up in his bed, like in a shock. His teeth were bared, grunting almost animalistically, and his breathing was rapid.

You could instantly feel your own breath getting caught in your throat and tears starting to well up in your eyes. “Ben.” You said quietly and sat down next to him on the bed.

Whatever he was experiencing right now must've been some of the most horrible things you could ever imagine.

You put one hand on his chest, trying to gently wake him up. Instead you got more nauseous every second, feeling like a knife was twisted in your guts and every inch of your skin was on fire. You were unable to control the tears streaming down your cheeks. The flashbacks you started to get were horrible. You felt every stab, cut and burn he had gotten. They made you physically want to vomit. Never before have you reacted this strongly to someone. But never before have you met someone who has experienced so much pain like Ben. You tried your hardest to keep the disturbing images from creeping up in your mind.

“Ben, wake up!” You softly stroked his head, grimacing along with him, seeing his beautiful features distorted from pain. You couldn't take it anymore. Placing both of your hands on his face, you turned him towards you. To be able to help him, you had to calm down yourself first. With what Ben went through, this was surely going to be a challenge. You closed your eyes and focused on your breathing and the feeling of his face in your arms. He still hadn't woken up, so you had to get him to calm down in his sleep.

It took a long time. It took so much more from you than it usually did. You could feel your energy drain. Ben was still cramped up, strained groans leaving his lips, but slowly you were able to ease your breathing. Tears were still flowing down your cheeks but your mind was getting clearer with each exhale, until there was nothing left. No pain. No flashbacks. You felt Ben quieting down next to you, his body slowly starting to relax. Your eyes were still closed, when you heard him waking up. You had hoped to be gone already when he would wake, but now it was too late.

“Y/N? What- where am I?” He was drowsy and confused about his surroundings. Seeing him awake, you immediately pulled your hands from his face to dry your eyes, so he wouldn't see you crying.

“It's okay, Ben. You're fine.” He rubbed his hand over his face, visibly more confused now. He turned to look at you, brows knit tightly together. “Wait, what are you doing here? What did you do to me?”

You turned away from him on the edge of the bed. “I didn't do anything. I just heard you scream and came to check on you.”

You knew he didn't believe you. You didn’t even believe yourself what you were saying.

“Don't lie to me. Who are you?” Ben sat up in bed.

“I am not lying, Ben. I didn't do anything.”

You saw that he was quickly getting annoyed, angry even. “I don't wake up from these dreams just like that. I have to…suffer through them.” Ben gritted, glaring at you. “And you are here, crying. Who are you?” He repeated himself and quickly got out of bed, pulling you up with him. “Tell me!”

“Alright, fine! Just so I can go to bed.” You yelled back. You looked down at his hand grabbing your shoulder painfully. “Let go of me, then I'll talk. Thank you.” You added in a slightly softer manner when he let go of your arm, but hesitantly waited for a second before you started talking. “I…am a supe, too, although my powers aren't as good as “The Seven” or whatever, but I am a kind of healer.” You started cautiously, being afraid of his reaction. “Like almost an empathic healer?” You added and took a glance at him. You could see he was not following you at that moment. “It means I can feel and heal people's emotional traumas. Well, I don't “heal” heal, but you know, make them less painful over time.” You were pacing around the room, not knowing what was going through his head. “That's why Butcher even called me in the first place. To come and help you.”

“Why didn't you just tell me that?” He asked, voice quieter than before.

“I don't know.” You shrugged.

Ben sat down on the bed again and you thought he wanted to go back to sleep, so you started to leave the room.

“Wait.” You heard him suddenly ask behind you. He stared after you with a questioning look in his eyes. “Why were you crying?”

You got slightly embarrassed, hoping he hadn't noticed that. “Um...Well, when I say I feel the pain, I actually tend to feel it. It comes to me almost like memories or sometimes flashbacks through the eyes of the person going through it, but..uh..I feel it all that too. Tonight was actually the first time I've cried. It was just too much today.” You stood on the door and kept your eyes down on the floor.

Feeling like you had overshared, you quickly muttered “good night” under your breath, and almost ran out of the room. You heard Ben call something after you, but you didn't stay to hear what he had to say. He didn't follow.

Now it was Monday morning and you were again making breakfast before you had to go to work. After leaving Ben's room last night, you couldn't fall asleep, so you tried to think of a few simple rules to have set up for the time you two were living together. But with Ben being as he is, you were certain he'd not welcome them warmly. So first you needed to bribe him. Just a little.

You had set everything on the table, coffee, bacon and eggs and whatever else you thought he'd like for breakfast. You sucked in a quick breath before you went to wake him up. You knocked on the door and opened it. “Hey, Ben! Wake up!’

He only lifted his head to look at the clock on the bedside table. “No.”

“Yes. We have to talk before I go to work.” You picked up some sweatpants and a t-shirt from the chair by the door and threw them on his bed. “And put some clothes on.”

When he saw that you were not leaving, Ben finally sat up in bed. It took all of your willpower not to let your eyes wander over his body, barely covered by the familiar green silk robe. “Damn it, woman. It's 7 in the morning.” He opened the drawer next to the bed and pulled out a ready rolled joint. You made no effort to hide the disgust on your face as he lit it and took a long drag on it. “Seriously?” You looked between him and the reefer between his fingers.

“What?” He shrugged, clearly it has become a part of his routine.

“It's 7am. That's really the first thing that goes into your mouth in the morning after waking up?”

Ben pulled the blunt from his lips with a smirk and took a long look at you up and down. “I mean, if I'd have you in the bed with me, this definitely wouldn't be the first thing in my mouth.”

You crossed your arms on your chest, hoping to hide the jolt of unexpected arousal that ran through your core.

“Stop that. I made breakfast.” You said sternly as you walked out of his room. “And put the clothes on!” You added over your shoulder.

You sat at the kitchen table with a notebook, writing down some basic rules you'd both have to follow. You hoped that Ben could be reasonable about these few things. It was nothing major. Just to make sure you both agreed on cleaning after yourselves and some compromises over cooking.

After a little while Ben finally joined you in the kitchen. You were focused on reading a news article on your phone, when you heard him opening and closing the cupboards looking for a cup for himself. You looked up at him, and you almost choked on air, but managed to disguise it as a simple cough. Of course Ben wasn't fully dressed. It was clearly too much to ask of him.

His bare back was turned towards you, muscles flexing as he reached for a cup. You didn't want to, but couldn't hold back on checking out the rest of his body, too. More importantly, you were quietly admiring the way his sweatpants hugged his butt. Usually you were not one to thirst over men, but something about Ben felt different. You almost had completely forgotten his attack on you, which you knew was wrong, but given what you saw that night then and now again last night, you knew that there was more to him than he let on. He had been through a lot and it wasn't his fault. You wanted to believe that not all of it at least.

You gave Ben a few minutes to wake up properly in silence. You decided that you weren't going to talk about last night if he wouldn't bring it up himself.

“So, I wanted to talk about house chores with you.”

He looked at you with a completely dead face. “You made me get out of my pajamas for this? Are you having a stroke?”

It was not easy for you to hold back laughter. “First of all - no, I'm not having a stroke.” You took too big of a bite out of your breakfast sandwich. “Secondly - you really call that silky green pornstar robe a pajama? Are you a five year old?” You started choking on your food, trying to keep a straight face asking this from him.

“I don't know. Sounds to me like you're just jealous. I can lend it to you, you know? It's very comfortable.” A genuine smile, the first one you’ve seen from him, lit up his whole face. He took his plate and got up from the table. God, he’s gorgeous. You gave yourself a mental slap and stopped that thought right there. NO, Y/N. You can’t think like that. He literally tried to kill you. It started to feel dangerous already being around him, and it was only the start of the third day. You cleared your throat before speaking.

“No, seriously though. We have to set up some basic stuff to keep the place tidy for both of us. It's not the 50s anymore. Women have jobs now, you know. I have a job, too and I will not take everything onto my shoulders.”

“Mm, yeah, not gonna happen.” Ben took his food and disappeared into his room.

“Oh, come on! Ben!” You called after him, but the only answer you received was the loud thud from the door shutting behind him. This went as well as I had expected. You sighed defeatedly and started to clean up the kitchen before heading to work.

Meeting after meeting, one deposition on top of the other, your day passed excruciatingly slow. And it was just Monday, which was already the downside to begin with.

On your way out of the office building, you pulled out your phone. On your lock screen glowed notifications of unanswered calls and a message from Ben, asking you to pick up some whiskey and drugs.

You rolled your eyes, already regretting giving him your phone number. Hughie had taught Ben how to use a smartphone. You can only imagine how that must've looked to a bystander. For a scrawny little dude, Hughie must have iron nerves to have kept up with Ben.

Before you could text him back, a call from Jessica came in and a sense of dread washed over you.

“Hi, Jessica. What can I do for you?”

“Hello, Y/N, I know you left the office for the day already, but please come see me first thing in the morning. We need to talk.”

We need to talk. That definitely didn’t ease your mind. You breathed deeply for a moment before answering to her. “Alright, I'll see you tomorrow.”

You knew what this was going to be about. They’ve decided on who to offer the Senior partner position. And judging by Jessica’s voice, it probably wasn’t going to be you. Scratch that. It definitely wasn’t going to be you.

You did a quick trip to the grocery store, picking up coffee and some things for dinner tonight. And you didn't forget Ben, and got him whiskey, although drugs were where you would draw the line. You will not be one to supply him with drugs.

Walking home from the corner store, you had some time to think. You wanted that position. You wanted to give your contribution to developing Pearson Hardman to its best. You wished to have the same kind of impact on junior associates, like Jessica had on you when you first started in the firm. You’ve given a lot to work yourself up. It didn’t feel selfish to you to think that you deserved that. But even if you wouldn’t get it, you knew it wouldn’t be the end of the world.

Becoming a partner would be one of your biggest goals in professional life, but at the end of the day, you were still working to help people. And that's what matters. That’s what you tried to focus on at least.

You tried to push all the work thoughts out of your mind so you could relax just for a few hours that's left of the evening before you'd pass out on the couch. You threw together a quick dinner for both you and Ben and went straight to bed afterwards, hoping that you’d get more sleep this time.

But again, you woke up in the middle of the night, hearing his screams from the other room. It was only the second night and already you could feel it drain you more than the last night.

You stood at the door for a minute, just staring at him. How you were supposed to last two weeks or longer doing this almost every night, you had no idea, but now you knew that you couldn’t just leave him either. If it was in your power to help him, you had to at least try. No matter what he’d done. No matter what he would do. Knowing what he had gone through, it had already become impossible for you to just walk away from him. So you didn't.

For over an hour you were by his bed tonight, barely holding yourself together as you got him through the nightmare.

“I don't need your help. I'm fine,” Ben snapped at you as he woke up and rested his head against the headboard with a sigh.

“Yeah, looks like it.” You stared at him for a minute, but seeing he wouldn't even look at you, you scoffed and got up from the bed.

“Fine.” You left his room in a hurry and closed the door behind you with a loud thud.

You pulled the blanket over your head, trying to fall back asleep. After laying in bed for almost an hour, you finally managed to get some sleep, but only a short time later, your alarm pulled you out from deep sleep and you had to back down from the urge to throw your phone across the room. Exhaustedly you sat up in bed and let your legs hang over the edge.

You had all your hope put into a morning shower and a strong coffee to make you somewhat functional, but today they chose to let you down. You were still tired and distraught from Ben's dreams from the night.

You know that these dreams are tormenting him almost daily, but if he says he doesn't want help, should you even keep doing that? Should you still put yourself through all that pain? It hasn't been this bad while helping others, but with Ben, everything felt tenfold stronger. You could feel yourself being so close to breaking already.

Jessica was already in the office when you arrived, despite it being a few hours before the official start of the work day. She really is the perfect example of a self-made woman and you were definitely lucky to have her as a mentor.

You knocked on the open door of her office. “Hi, Jessica, you wanted to see me?”

“Y/N, good morning. Yes, come on in.” Jessica greeted you with a smile as you stepped in. “Close the door and take a seat, please.”

You sat down across from her. She already had the look. The same look she always gets when she has to give bad news. You knew what was coming, but still you held onto the small glimmer of hope that the outcome would be in your favor.

“I asked you to come here to tell you that the board had a meeting yesterday. All the partners voted on who will be offered the open Senior partner position.”

You took a deep breath and nervously started to play with your rings under the table out of Jessica's sight.

“I want you to know that we were thinking in favor of the firm and the decision was purely made on professional aspects. That's why we're going to move forward with Harvey. I hope you understand.”

“Right, of course. I do understand. He's..” you swallowed the lump in your throat before continuing. “Harvey is a hard worker. He's the right choice.” You smiled at her, trying to hide the disappointment in your voice.

For the rest of the day you buried yourself into work to use it as a distraction. Because that's what usually keeps you from spiraling down. Today you hoped it would keep your mind away from Ben, too.

For the whole day you had managed to keep yourself from thinking about him. You were busy. You just didn’t have time to thirst over him from that one moment you saw him without a shirt.

Or that morning in the kitchen…almost naked. But now in your quiet office? It was hard not to think of him. You swallowed hard before forcing your focus back to the papers in front of you. You were berating yourself for even giving him space in your head. You knew the guy for three days and he had tried to kill you. Literally.

But something about him still pulled you towards him. And it was much more than just sexual attraction. You weren’t going to lie to yourself - he was hot. Goddamn, he was hot and you wanted him all over you. And if keeping your dignity wouldn’t have mattered to you, you probably would’ve jumped his bed yesterday morning. But something else captivated you about him and you couldn't put a finger on it.

It was well past 9pm when you heard a startling knock on your office door. You raised your head quickly and saw Harvey at the door.

“Hey, you're still here this late?” He asked curiously, leaning on the doorframe. Letting out a deep sigh you started to gather together all the papers scattered around on the table.

“Just finished. It's not that late, is it? Time just flies when you're having fun. You of all people should know it.” Tired smile on your face betrayed how you were feeling on the inside. You cleared your throat. “I saw Jessica this morning. I guess congratulations are in order.” You stood up from the desk and reached out your hand to him.

The air in the room was dense from the tension between you and Harvey. “You don't have to do that.” He gave you a little, sad smile.

“Do what?” You lowered your hand back down after seeing him not reach out to it.

“You don't have to pretend that you're happy for me, Y/N. I know you wanted that spot, too.”

For a moment the room fell silent, the only sound in the office was quiet shuffling as you packed up your bag to leave. “I'm not.” You zipped up your bag and threw it over your shoulder. “I'm not pretending, I mean. I am happy for you.” You quickly followed up before he'd get the wrong idea. “They did what they think is best for the company, and you deserve it, so of course I’m happy for you.” You smiled genuinely as you walked past Harvey into the hallway.

“Thanks.” He still sounded hesitant, but from you there were no hidden meanings behind your words. You really were happy for him. He is a good friend of yours and has been for a long time. That didn’t mean that you weren’t just a little jealous of him.

Cool night air hit you as soon as you stepped out of the building. You were tired, but you didn’t want to go home yet.

You started to walk, completely unsure of where you’d end up. Mindlessly you wandered around on the streets, witnessing the start of the night life in front of your eyes, despite it being Tuesday.

One underground bar caught your attention, and you decidedly walked towards it to check it out. You weren't planning to stay longer than for a drink. Working with a hangover was hell on earth, so one time was enough for you. You had definitely learned from your mistakes and were not excited to repeat them.

From the looks of the groups of people lingering outside of the bar, you expected it to be crowded to the roof, but you were pleasantly surprised that there were not that many people in there, and you even had the option to choose seating for yourself. It’s still early, you thought as you picked out a table in the far back corner.

You sat down right beside the wall, facing away from the rest of the room, leaving an empty seat between the table and wall.

You sat there for a minute, massaging your temples to get rid of the headache that slowly started to build. You hadn't slept well for the past few nights and it started to get to you.

After getting your drink, you sat back down and raised the glass to your lips, when you heard a voice behind you, the same one you were trying to run away from right now.

“Didn't think I'd find you in a hole like this.”

Fuck. Now I'm imagining things, too. You downed the drink in one go. You had planned on sipping on it slowly, savoring it. You winced as the whiskey burned your throat going down. There were heavy footsteps approaching and then he sat down across from you.

“What are you doing here?” You sighed tiredly.

Ben flagged down the bartender. “What does it look like, sweetheart? I'm getting a drink."

“Why here? Were you following me?” You asked him straight up.

Ben scoffed. “Hah, don't flatter yourself. I like this bar.”

“Really?” You didn't hide the disbelief from your voice. You had a feeling that he wasn't telling quite the truth. “What's the name of it?”

You saw from his expression that he was racking his brains to come up with some name. “Little…Sal’s?” A grin broke out on his face. “What?”

You grimaced at his stupid answer. “No, Ben, it's not...that. Why were you following me?”

He shrugged his shoulders. “I don't even know. I tried to call, but you didn't answer.”

“Well, that should've been your first clue that I didn't want to talk.”

“And you didn't come home either.”

“Should’ve taken that as a second clue. Don't tell me you actually started to worry about me?” You winked at him teasingly.

“Well, it's not safe for a woman like you to be out alone at this hour.”

“A woman like me?”

“Yeah. In my experience, beautiful women like you tend to meet troublesome men, who then try to take advantage of them.” He smiled at you amusingly.

“Oh, is that so? And you thought, what, that you'd come and save a damsel in distress?” You got up to leave. “I can take care of myself.”

“Y/N, please. Stay for a drink.”

“Already had a drink.” You answered him curtly.

“Well, humor me. I can see there's something bothering you.” He ordered new drinks, one for you, too and it would've been impolite to not accept it. That's how you tried to convince yourself, even though you were pretty sure he would've just drank it himself, if you would've declined.

He pushed a glass towards you as you sat back down. “As an apology.” You laughed wryly at his gesture. “I would actually like a real apology as an apology.” You then squared your shoulders and looked directly at him.

You could see him tense up, as if saying three little words would somehow now break him. You didn't want to let him see how intimidating he actually was to you. You had already seen what he had been through, but at the same time you were well aware of the atrocities he was accused of and what he was actually capable of doing. In every sense possible, Ben was a dangerous man. And now you were calling him out to apologize to you, knowing very well that if anything sets him off the wrong way, he could blow up the bar and half of the block with it. Your heart was almost jumping out of your throat when the two of you kept staring at each other in silence.

You saw his jaw slack. “Fine.” He gritted through his teeth. “I'm sorry."

After practically pulling these words out of him, you decided you were not going to accept them this easily. “For what exactly?” Your head was turned to the side as you squinted at him quizzically.

“Oh, come on! Really? I said I was sorry!” He fell back in his chair.

“Yes, really! I'm not going to accept some half-assed apology after I had to drag it out from you!”

Ben leaned in on the chair and took one of your hands into his. He probably heard how hard your heart was beating at his move, given that little smirk on his lips which disappeared quickly.

You wanted to believe. For the sake of your own heart, you wanted to believe that Ben was actually a good man, because you started to get scared of where you were heading with your scaringly, stupidly fast developing feelings. You hadn't even had a proper conversation before other than the one you just had.

“I really am sorry for assaulting you. I... I was completely out of my head and…I think high, too” He seemed to be genuinely sorry. “...and unfortunately you got caught in the way.” He squeezed your hand assuringly.

You bit your cheek and you were torn. Your mind was screaming ‘run and don't look back’, but in your heart there was a gaping loneliness. And that loneliness spoke louder. ‘Just give in. Give in to what you want and tell it to him. You just might have a chance of happiness.’

“You know, I can not tell you to trust me. Not after what I did. I can't make you believe that I've changed. That has to be your own judgment call. And I know I haven't really given you much to look for the positive in me and for that, I am sorry, too.”

You didn't know what to answer him. It was like he was reading your mind. He let go of your hand and raised both glasses. You took one from him, silently accepting the apology. You both finished your drinks in silence, before Ben started to talk again.

“So...Who pissed in your Cheerios?” He leaned forward on the table.

“What do you mean? Other than wanting you to apologize to me, I'm fine.” You tried to brush it off.

“Well, don't get me wrong, doll, but you don't exactly look the type to go to bars on Tuesday evenings. Alone. Yet here you are.”

You downed the last sip and raised a finger to stop Ben from ordering more. You winced a bit, still not getting quite used to the burn. “None for me, thanks.”

“Well, suit yourself.” And he ordered himself a new one. You were debating in your head on how much you really wanted to let him in.

“Will you tell me? Or will we just consider this night to be over?” He asked again.

“It’s just some work stuff.” You said then quietly.

“What about it?” He seemed to really want to know. You didn't understand him at all anymore. On Saturday he didn't even apologize to you for his attack and then made some vile comments that totally had started to mess with your head, and now he is showing interest in your work.

“Why do you care? Why are you so nice to me all of sudden?” You snapped, maybe a little too harshly even, but it was hard for you to keep it in. Ben raised his hands up. “Relax, okay? It's not that I've started to ‘care’. I just..” he scratched his beard, trying to find the words.

“You just what, Ben? You are honestly giving me fucking whiplash with how you have acted after…after that night.” You finished with a shaky voice and crossed your arms on your chest, but you weren't quiet for long. “Not to mention all that crap in the kitchen. And now you are here, let me rephrase it- you followed me here,” you corrected yourself. “And you are asking now ‘who pissed in your Cheerios?’” you made your voice low, comically imitating his. “Well, I guess you did, Ben. So why are you really here?”

“I..” he took a deep breath in. “I'm just trying to be nicer, okay? You don't...” he rubbed his palm over his eyes and beard, as you continued staring at him frowningly. “You have no idea what these last two nights have done to me.” Ben said quietly, voice heavy with what was for him a new, unfamiliar feeling of genuine gratitude. “After you've left, I've been able to fall back asleep, without those nightmares and…it's clear to me that you have not.”

You weren't going to lie to him that it was nothing. Because it was not. You had never expected to be so affected by him. By his pain. And you really were tired. You stared at your hands on the table noticing how you’ve unknowingly started to pick on your nail polish, seeing it chipped on the edges. Maybe you chose wrong, but it was either him or you. “That's why I came in the first place. To help you, Ben. That's what I do.”

“But that's the thing. You help me, but that shouldn't come from your account. And don't get me wrong, I've been needing good sleep for quite some time, because after that..” he left a little pause. “...chamber, all that there's been for me, are just those nightmares, but you don't deserve to go through that for me.”

“How else would I be able to help you then? You didn’t deserve it either.”

“What do you know of what I deserve?” An insincere smile creeped on his lips. “And why should you even help me? You don't know what I've done. Or what I'm capable of doing.” Ben hinted, leaning towards you over the table. You weren't sure if it was one of his scare tactics, but you refused to back down.

"Because of what you just said to me! You told me you've changed. And I've seen what they did to you. I'm not believing for a second that it was all justified.” You reached over the table for his hand. You knew how naive you must’ve sounded. “Deep down you know yourself that you're not a bad person. If you were, if you didn't just care about anyone, you wouldn't have come looking for me. And I should help you, just because I can.” You weren't really sure whether you tried to convince him or yourself.

He pulled away his hand and quickly stood up. “Don't give me that crap!” Suddenly agitated again, he stomped out of the bar. With a heavy sigh you pulled out a few bills for the tab and followed him out.

You didn't see him outside the bar and had no idea if he went home or not, but that's where you were headed.

It was only just a little after midnight when you got home, but Ben was nowhere to be seen. At least I'll be able to sleep peacefully tonight. You thought spitefully and regretted it immediately.

Karma's a bitch indeed. You thought while laying sleepless in your bed, contemplating everything that had happened in the past week.

First of all - the night you first met Soldier Boy. That’s who he was then, before you got to know him. Before he became “Ben” to you. You’ve just seen some glimpses of his past, that’s all. But now he still has claimed a special spot in your mind, even after what he did.

You really didn’t know him at all before all this happened. Just what you’ve seen being published by Vought to the masses. And you always knew to take their words with a grain of salt.

Secondly, you weren’t sure whether to believe his own words either. He was so sure that he did not deserve your help from his night terrors. And you didn’t even know why, but for some reason that crushed you. Maybe you had just fallen for his charm, without a second thought, but his certainty of being so sure of that had to come from somewhere. Somewhere much deeper and you hoped to have a chance to find it out.

But what came as the biggest realization, was what you finally understood about yourself. You had been alone since childhood, only found your friends when you were in college, and the closest who had stayed even after graduating was Harvey. Only now you were mostly just coworkers to each other.

Being alone had made your skin thick, and you learnt to suppress your emotions well. That was the reason why you were so good at your job- you just couldn’t allow yourself to get too emotionally attached to the cases, because you have had the first hand view of good attorneys making grave mistakes, when they’ve gotten influenced by the cases or clients. And now, after years of shutting down your feelings, you know why helping Ben was so important for you. Even his pain made you feel something, and you were more than glad to find out that your heart hadn’t turned completely into stone yet.

You decided there was no point for you to just lay there in bed, so you thought you'd get up and just go to work early. At least that would make you feel useful. Sitting in the kitchen, drinking your coffee you felt eerily weird knowing that you were alone again. You hadn't heard Ben come home during the night and when you woke up, stopping at his door, you didn’t hear his snoring too.

For the whole day you had a gnawing feeling inside. The conversation you and Ben had felt far from finished when he left the bar last night. You weren't sure if he's going to be home in the evening too. Home. You let out a short chuckle staring at your computer screen. It felt funny to think of it as home. You had been there less than a week. This wasn't your home. Not really. But somehow you already got attached to the place, or rather your roommate and you weren't sure how to feel about it.

Few hours later you felt your eyes growing tired and everything started to get hazy. You had been staring at the computer screen far too long and when you were satisfied with what you got done today so after getting the final case files revised, you counted the work day ended.

Standing in front of the apartment building you were once again cursing its existence. Getting down the stairs was easy, but after work climbing up them was the worst imaginable thing for you. Sure, it was good for your health. Cardio and whatnot. You never have time to go to the gym anyway. You just couldn't wait to get used to them. Until then you had no shame in taking off your heels and taking the stairs in stockings. The feeling you got was indescribable, making you let out a sigh of relief.

You fumbled with your keys to open the door, only to discover that Ben had it chained up from the inside. “Oh, come on, Ben! Open the door!” You called in from the cracked door, before closing it. But he didn't came to the door and it felt like it was straight out of some comedy - you, locked out of the apartment, without shoes like some crazy person and of course, of course, in that moment the neighbors happened to come out of their apartment as you were pounding on the door for Ben to let you in. “Open up! Oh- sorry!” You smiled at them apologetically and stepped out of their way to let them past you.

“Alright, alright, stop with the banging! I'm coming.” You heard his muffled grumpy voice through the door.

“Finally…” you mumbled to yourself.

When Ben opened the door you just glared at him for a second. “Why do you, of all people, need to chain the door from the inside?” You pushed past him into the room.

A barely hearable “oh” was all that left your lips when your eyes stopped on the bottle of lotion and a tissue box on the living room table. Suddenly you felt very grateful for him locking up the door.

“So this is what you do when I'm at work? Must be..” you made your eyes exaggeratingly big, even though he didn't see it. “..exciting.”

“It was, yes.” He was already in the kitchen, pouring himself a drink. “Would have been even more so, if I would've been able to finish just now.” He came back to the room, a big smile on his lips and handed you a glass as well and waved at the couch. “Sit.”

You frowned, looking down at the couch too. “Do I want to?”

“Don't be such a prude.”

You rolled your eyes at him and took a seat. “I'm not a prude.” You mumbled quietly into the glass as you started to drink.

You tried to relax next to him, but in his presence you now felt an awkward silence fall between you and Ben.

Anxiety started to slowly rise in your chest thinking about the conversation ahead of you.

“So, Ben. Did you want to talk or were you just waiting for me to spend some quality time together?”

“Yeah, I was just waiting for you,” he answered. “Because you are such a joy to be around.”

Rolling your eyes, you swirled the amber gold liquid in your glass, and shifted in your seat to turn more towards Ben. “Shoot.”

“You know, you don't have to do this, right?”

Here we go again. About how he doesn't deserve my help. You sighed, waiting for him to continue.

“I'm serious. You can just leave. You should've left after the first night. Why are you putting yourself through this?”

“Because I want to help you."

Ben laughed at your words. “Now you want to help me? You didn't seem so keen on doing that when you first saw me.”

“Well, excuse me! I'd like to think my first reaction seeing you was totally justified, considering that you literally tried to kill me a few nights prior.”

“So what changed? Why are you torturing yourself with me?”

“You wouldn't understand. I–” you clamped up and finished your drink instead.

He snorted beside you. “Try me. I'm smarter than I look.” But without another word you got up from the couch and went to the kitchen to grab the whiskey bottle.

“It's just…” you looked at him quickly as you topped up your glass. His eyes were focused on you, indicating he was actually interested in hearing what you had to share.

“It's just that for most of my life I have been alone. Of course I only found that out later, but I was supposedly one of the first babies who got some new experimental version of the Compound V. They found me in some orphanage, where I was quite literally dumped at, so probably they thought ‘perfect, no one will miss her, let's fuck her up’.”

You emptied half of your glass. You even surprised yourself with how easily your story flowed out of you. This is the first time you ever talked about it. Something about him just made you feel safe enough to finally do it.

“I was kept in for a few years, for all kinds of tests and stuff, but when they thought that the V didn't work on me, I was once again thrown onto the streets. Hadn't one of the workers saved me, I probably wouldn't have seen double digits even.”

Thinking back to your childhood, you started to feel your eyes watering. Feeling silly about crying at that, you chuckled, before taking in another sip.

“Sounds like a happy ending, right? Well for me it was out of the frying pan, straight into the fire. For a little while everything was good. Then one day it started to seem like even just me waking up in the morning was an immediate day ruined for my mom. Being belittled and scolded by her became a daily occurrence for me. And if I dared to make a sound then I'd get the belt. “A failure” she used to call me. And that's just what I was. A failed fucking science experiment.”

You sniffled, sipping the whiskey and relishing in the burn it left in your throat, taking the attention from the pain that suddenly filled your heart. “But I pushed through it all. Until she died, when I was in senior year in high school.”

You tried to laugh through the tears. “I get a feeling you didn't ask for my whole life story, but that's what you're getting now.” You exhaled slowly and cleared your throat before continuing. “Well, even when she wasn't that nice or caring towards me when she was raising me, it was still just me and her. And apparently she cared a lot more than just a little, since after her death I found out she left me her apartment and an inheritance big enough to help me start college and gave me a little more time to find a job. And for that I have to be grateful, because I wouldn’t be here without her.”

“When did your powers show?” Ben finally asked. You were almost certain he had fallen asleep, but no, he was still listening. You dried your tears with the sleeve of your shirt.

“Jesus, woman, take a tissue.” Ben awkwardly offered you the tissue box from the table and your eyes went big seeing his gesture, but smiled at him, pulling a few out of the box.

“Uhh...thanks..It was in college. Sophomore year I think. Don't really remember how they started then. And I never told anyone, not even Harvey, who was my best friend then. Now it feels like we only speak to each other, because we work together.” You were feeling a little lighter to be able to get this off your mind. “Anyways, you wanted to know why I want to help you?”

You smiled at Ben, and saw his eyes softening just a little, but he was still clearly uncomfortable by your crying. “Yeah.” It was weird having him being so nice with you.

“Well, growing up like I did, I learned to close up all my emotions. With the job I have, I can't allow myself to make errors because I've gotten too attached to a client or a case. That's against not only my personal morals, but also the company's ethics, because in the end it would only end up with me screwing up my work. I can't afford that. How is it all connected to you? Well…” you looked directly at him. “This sounds so horrible, but even just feeling your pain makes me glad that everything I've gone through hasn't turned me into a senseless zombie yet. At least the pain is something.” You laughed humorlessly, feeling glad to see your little breakdown passing.

He remained quiet, visibly in thought and you couldn't even take a guess what was going on in his head.

For a while both of you drank in silence. Of course Ben did most of the job with emptying the bottle, you couldn't possibly outdrink him, but you didn't fall far behind and you knew already that you were fucked at tomorrow’s meeting. Figuratively. Sadly.

You had to give him some credit. He definitely wasn't wrong when he accused your moodiness with being too long without getting laid. The question was now if his offer to help you was still standing, but you didn't want to seem too desperate by just asking him to fuck you. Trying to get your mind off him, you decided to grab a new bottle from the fridge and ditched your glass, drinking it directly from the bottle. Ben seemed a little surprised for a second but accepted the bottle when you offered it to him.

“What is this shit?” He grimaced after taking a big sip from the bottle, and looked at the label, furrowing his brows. “Honey Whiskey.” You held back your laugh, seeing his face and added innocently, without revealing that this is what you usually drink. You just can't help it, you like your alcohol sweet. “They didn't have anything else.” He only rolled his eyes at you, and made a little face before drinking again.

“So what about you, Ben?” You asked as your eyes relaxed on Ben's lips, coming off the bottle with a drop of whiskey on them. His tongue quickly darted out to lick it up, but it seemed to happen in slow-motion and you desperately wished you could've been brave enough to do it yourself. To taste the sweetness on his lips. Instead you wet your own drying lips from the sight of him, before he looked at you. He caught you staring and his green eyes held you locked with a burning gaze for a minute. Coughing awkwardly, you quickly turned your eyes down from him.

“What about me?” He finally asked, scoffing at seeing you shy away.

“Why are you so convinced that you are so undeserving of my help?”

“Well, didn't you hear? I was a fucking menace to my team.” He chuckled darkly and handed the bottle over to you. “Apparently so much that they saw the need to get rid of me. Well, fuck them..” he laughed slowly. “They all got what they deserved.”

You didn't have to think twice about what he was implying, but you were wondering whether to raise the topic of why tried to kill you. You decided to not bring it up. He did say he was high then.

“And you think that this is the reason why you're not worth my help?"

“No, I-I just am not..” he grabbed the bottle from your hands. “I've done a lot of batshit crazy stuff in the past. Being honest now, not even half the crap that Vought has pinned on me, but that doesn't make it any better, does it?”

“Well, tell me one thing, Ben.” You scooted across the couch a little bit closer to him. “You told me yesterday you're a "changed man". If you had the chance, would you do it again? All that payback on Payback?”

“What are you now? My shrink?” He looked down on you, almost condescendingly, and sitting next to him made you feel so small. You couldn't push away the thoughts of asking him to have his way with you. You blamed it on the alcohol. It didn't help you relax at all, it only managed to make you horny.

“No, not that..” you said slowly, trying to get your mind out of the gutter, but with no effect. “Just trying to make up my mind on you, I guess.”

“What's the point of speculating on that then? If I say yes, would that change your current opinion on me?”

You looked up at him. “As you said yesterday, you're leaving it up to me to make my mind up on you. So, probably no, it wouldn't change it. I still think you didn't deserve what happened to you and I'd want to help you.”

You took the bottle from him to finish it off. “But you know, if you're fine with the nightmares, you can always lock your bedroom door. Message received loud and clear. Your decision, that's all.” You simply shrugged and got up from the couch.

“I'm off to bed.” You decided to end the night right there, before you did anything you'd probably come to regret in the morning. “Good night, Ben.”

“Night.” He mumbled under his breath and you heard him crush a pill with a glass, followed by a snort.

After your quick night routine, you got into your comfy shorts and top for sleep and tied your hair into a bun. Laying down in bed you rolled from side to side, unable to find a comfortable position. For over an hour you tried to fall asleep, getting more and more annoyed by the familiar ache for release keeping you from it. You had to do something for it and you hoped to God that Ben wouldn't hear you.

You reached for the drawer on your left and pulled out your good old reliable vibrator. You were damn glad that you decided to pack it up. It was nothing fancy, but in the last desperation, it got its job done well. It had been quite a while since you've used it and you were hoping it would not fail you now.

You quickly discarded your pants, threw them over the edge onto the floor. Your fingers slipped easily through the slick that had drenched your underwear. He didn't even do anything to me. How the fuck am I so wet already?

Your mind was racing when you started to slowly rub your clit. You quickly fell into a familiar rhythm with your fingers, despite it being a long time since you've last masturbated. Pleasuring yourself for a while, you felt the tension starting to build deep in your core, but the release seemed still miles away. It had been too fucking long for you and even now you knew you couldn't get yourself off with just your fingers. You needed more.

You grabbed the vibrator from the bed and slid it up against your clit before turning it on the slowest speed. Your hips bucked involuntarily when the low hum filled the room. The sweet tingling sensation against your bud quickly became almost overbearing.

You were just about to slide it in, when a knock on your door brought you out of your growing bliss.

“Sugar, if you're only relying on that plastic stick to get you off, then I'm honestly not surprised you're so pent up.” Your pussy quivered involuntarily when you heard his low rumble from the other side of the door.

You sat up in bed, trying to slow your breathing. “Leave me alone!” You couldn't bring yourself to tell him to take the toy’s place, that was still turned on in your hands, even though that's what you were imagining.

“Oh, no, sweetheart, I'm coming in.” You saw the door open.

“Ben! What the fuck? No!” You yelled at him as you tried to cover yourself in a hurry, but with no luck because before you got under the covers, Ben's large frame was already in your doorway.

To Be Continued...

Taglist: @jackles010378 @nescavaneck @cevansbaby-dove @deanwinchestersgirl87 @winchesterwild78 @anundyingfidelity @suckitands33 @waynes-multiverse

Thank you for reading! Feedback is appreciated!🤍

#jacklesversebingo23 #soldier boy #soldier boy x reader #soldier boy x female reader #soldier boy x you #jensen ackles #the boys tv #the boys amazon #x reader #the boys #soldier boy fanfiction

[interstellarlyinlove]

Gold (June 5th)

word count: 650

@wolfstarmicrofic

“You know how you believe everything Trelawney says?” Sirius says instead of 'hello', sitting in the empty chair in front of Regulus.

Regulus’ head is hurting from his homework and he’s bored out of his mind so he decides to entertain this. And he does believe everything Trelawney says. “Sure.”

“Well, she told me that I’m going to find the love of my life soon.”

“Professor Trelawney said that?” Regulus asks bluntly

“Well, not in so many words, but that was the gist of it.”

“Are you sure that was the gist of it, Sirius?”

“Yes,” Sirius says. “Anyway. I need the Slytherin common room password please.”

Regulus scoffs. “What does that have to do with anything we’re talking about?”

Sirius blinks. “I figure true love isn’t just going to fall from the sky into my lap. I have to seek it to find it, like most things.”

“Okay, let me rephrase that. You need the Slytherin common room password to… find true love?”

Sirius nods. “It’s the single hardest thing in my life that my other half wears silver and green instead of red and gold, but you win some and some fuck you over, right?”

Regulus blinks. “Who the fuck do you like in Slytherin? Is it Severus? Is that why you pull his pigtails at the park?” Sirius’ eyes widen and Regulus’ facade breaks. He laughs. “I am only joking, brother. As if there is someone that doesn’t know that you’re in love with Remus.”

Sirius has hearts instead of eyes. “Yeah.”

“I’m not giving you shit.”

“You’d be standing in the way of fate, Reg,” Sirius says. “You’d be–”

“You and Remus spend too much time together, anyway. Why do you need–”

“I don’t want it to be casual,” Sirius blurts. “I thought casual would be great. But how can you spend that much time with Remus and not want it to be–”

“Okay, I get it,” Regulus interrupts. He really doesn’t want to hear more about his brother and his best friend being together. He’d rather not know. He sighs. “Did you tell him this?”

Sirius shakes his head. 

“Are you going to?”

Sirius nods. “I wasn’t planning on saying anything. But then Trelawney–”

“What did Trelawney say, exactly?”

“That I’m going to find my missing puzzle piece. Do you not listen when I talk?”

His missing puzzle piece. Regulus is going to barf. “You speaking to Remus really isn’t finding anything. You’ve known him since you were eleven years old. You almost let the Sorting Hat put you in Slytherin so you would be in the same house. You spend all your time–”

“No, wait a second. How do you know the Sorting Hat thing?”

“I read through your journals when you were being an ass in fourth year. You’re a run-on sentence lover, Sirius. You really should work on that.”

“You–” Sirius whacks Regulus’ head. “That’s not okay!” 

“You really considered Slytherin because you thought his scars were cool?”

“Remus’ scars are cool,” Sirius says. Regulus silently agrees. “You’re horrible. I can’t believe you went through those.”

“I can’t believe you’ve been in love for six years and only decided to do something about it because of Professor Trelawney.” 

“That’s not fair. Trelawney has a way with words.”

“No, she doesn’t,” Regulus says. “In fact, her lack of a way with words is why most people think she’s a fraud with no–”

“Will you tell me the damn password or not?”

“What password?” Remus asks. Regulus saw him approaching their library table but he didn’t say anything. Sirius jumps in his chair when Remus speaks and Regulus is rewarded for his patience. 

Regulus says hello to Remus and walks away from that table as fast as he can. He really doesn’t want to hang around for the rest of that. 

Trelawney really is something else. Regulus decides he’ll get her a fruit basket. 

#friends with benefits Sirius and Slytherin!Remus because why not ?<33333 #I have such a soft spot for Slytherin Remus he's my baby #remus lupin #sirius black #regulus black #marauders era #my writing

[g-hughes]

Bite Me - Q. Hughes

hockey masterlist | g's graduation celly

synopsis: When one of Quinn's teammates asks if their sister could stay with him to bounce back after a break-up, Quinn said yes. But six months later, Quinn feels like he has met his matched. Or when Quinn Hughes falls for his roommate, who happens to be his teammate's sister.

word count: 2.3k

warnings: smut mentioned! friends with benefits situation, Boeser!Reader, nudity, cursing.

Quinn Hughes thought of himself as being a “good guy”. He held doors open for people, swapped seats on airlines when asked, donated money to various charities, and spent time, when he could, coaching the Canucks Youth Team. He was a good guy and an even better teammate and captain.

He prided himself on being the one on the team the guys could go to when they needed advice or just someone to sit and listen to them rant. He would give his teammate the shirt off his back if one of them asked. So when Brock Boeser, Quinn’s best friend, asked if his younger sister could crash with him for a few days, Quinn said yes without even really thinking it through. 

“It’ll be a few days,” Brock assured Quinn as he brought in one of her suitcases, “Her dick head ex cheated on her and threw all her shit in the driveway. She was gonna spring for a hotel, but I couldn’t let her do that. I’d let her stay at mine, but we’re remod-” 

“Don’t worry about it, man,” Quinn assured his winger, “I know you’d do the same if it was one of my brother’s. She can crash here as long as she needs.” 

“She swears it’ll only be a few days.” 

But a few days turned into a few weeks, and a few weeks into a few months. Now it's been six months and Y/N Boeser has become Quinn’s official unofficial roommate. And he hated it. 

Quinn didn’t want a roommate, nor did he need one. He actually loved coming home to a quiet apartment after weeks on the road. He liked the solitude of being able to hide away from the cameras and the press in his face and following his every move. He liked to be able to walk around damn near naked and not have to worry about being walked in on. But having a roommate, all those privileges had been taken away. 

“Quintin! You parked in my fucking spot!” Y/N yelled as she slammed the front door shut. Quinn smirked to himself, as he finished mixing around the vegetables in the pan. He knew exactly what he did and he knew it was going to piss you off. Quinn had two parking spots, one for himself and one for a guest (which had become Y/N as of late), and he decided that tonight, he was going to forget his driver’s ed training and park in the middle of the two spots. 

“Quintin,” Y/N groaned, coming into the kitchen, setting down her bags from work. Quinn looked over his shoulder, trying his hardest to fight the urge to stare at your breasts. 

Yes, Quinn hated having a roommate, but it did come with its own perks. Such as, his roommate was very, very attractive. 

“Oh hey sweetheart,” Quinn smirked, “Did I miss something?” 

Y/N narrowed her eyes at him, crossing her arms across her chest, pushing her tits up even more in the tight tanktop she was wearing, “You know what you fucking did, you parking in the middle of the spots again!” 

"Oh, I did?" He feigned innocence, "Well, maybe if you didn't leave all your damn shoes by the fucking door!"

"It was one pair! One pair, Quintin!"

"Quit calling me Quintin!"

Y/N groaned and grabbed her bag, stomping her way out of the kitchen. Quinn turned back towards the dinner he was cooking, his mood sour. He had such a good day too. Practice went smoothly, Toch only yelled at them for an hour instead of two. Things were finally starting to take a turn after a losing streak that put everyone on edge. Quinn felt the weight of the world on his shoulders, his first season as captain after a disappointing season. He had to prove himself, he had to prove that he was worthy of the captain spot. 

Oh, and waking up with Y/N’s mouth wrapped around his cock was an added bonus. 

Quinn hated to admit it out loud, it made him feel dirty and wrong about it, but there was nothing dirty and wrong about it. It seemed to have happened naturally, the tension between them building since the moment Quinn first saw Y/N. He had done his best to ignore her for the first week she was occupying his guest room. She had just been broken up with in a horrible way, and was trying to pick up the pieces of a shattered years-long relationship. But then she started to come out of her room, and she was like a storm, Quinn had no idea how to brace for. 

She was sassy, and smart, and beautiful, and stubborn, and messy, and so fucking sexy when she was pissed off about something work or at Quinn for parking over the line of his parking spot. 

It was bound to happen, the tension and animosity growing between them as the days went by. It turned into more than Quinn bitching about the shoes by the front door, which he had repeatedly told her to stop leaving them there. It turned into her bitching at Quinn for leaving dirty plates in the sink. Then it was Quinn bitching about how she would take the full garbage bag out of the can and leave it by the front door (in her defense, the dumpster was in the alley behind the building and Quinn didn’t feel very comfortable with her taking it out late at night). Then it was Y/N bitching about Quinn leaving his travel bag, unpacked, in the laundry room between roadies. 

The final straw for both of them was when they both came home, unsatisfied in different ways. Quinn had come home from a long roadie, the majority of them being losses. All he wanted to do was take a bath and relax and regroup for the next series ahead. Y/N, had come home from yet another shitty date. She insisted that her date didn’t need to walk her to the door, but he wanted to make sure she got in safely, or so he said. Quinn could hear her fake laughter from the other side of the door, as he stood at the kitchen counter, waiting for the tea kettle to whistle. 

“I had a good time,” She said, “Thanks for walking me back.” 

“No problem,” A male’s voice sounded out, “Ya know. . . this doesn’t have to end here.” 

Quinn grimaced. It didn’t take a genius to know that Y/N wasn’t interested. 

“I uh. . . I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Quinn could almost picture her nervously pushing her hair behind her ear, “I’ll give you a call.” 

“C’mon,” The guy was sounding desperate, “We both want to end the night right.” 

It was silent for a moment, and for some odd reason, anger flowed through Quinn’s body. Was the guy kissing her? Was she seriously considering letting him in? Quinn had never brought it up, but he assumed that Y/N wasn’t having people over. Not that she couldn’t, he guessed, it was her place too. But for some reason, the idea of her having a man in her bed pissed him off. 

“You’re right,” Y/N sighed. Quinn’s body seemed to move on it’s own accord as he walked over to the front door, his hand wrapping around the knob, “I better go see if my vibrator is charged. Night, Marcus!” 

Quinn jumped back startled as the front door was pushed open and Y/N charged in. He could see the confused face of the man, Marcus, behind the door as it slammed in his face. Y/N groaned as she kicked off her shoes and tossed her purse on the couch. Quinn wanted so badly to make a comment about her shoes, but instead he said;

“You have a vibrator?” 

Y/N looked at him, one eyebrow raised, “I am not a 16 year old. Of course I have a vibrator. Almost every woman has one.” 

“You use it?” 

“Yes, perv,” Y/N scoffed, and reached for her purse, “Boe said you were quiet, but I didn’t know quiet meant stalker. Night.” 

Quinn blinked several times as she walked down towards her room. His mind, again, thinking of other things to say, like apologizing for asking her such a vulnerable question, but instead, once again he blurted the wrong thing. 

“I don’t want you having sex in my house.” 

Y/N paused in her walk, holding still for a moment and turning around to face him, “Excuse me?” 

“I don’t want you having sex in my house,” Quinn stood firm on what he said, even though he regretted it the second he said it. Even though her name wasn’t on the lease, she was still living and paying rent (Quinn told her several times her money was useless, but she cried and told him she had to contribute somehow). 

“I am not.” 

“Good.” 

“Good?” 

“Mhm,” Quinn nodded. It was silent again as the two of them stared each other down, tension thick in the air like smoke. 

“Need anything else?” Y/N asked, breaking the silence. She folded her arms under her chest, pushing her breasts up in the tight black dress she was wearing. Quinn gulped, taking in her appearance; short, tight black dress, black leather jacket, black heels that made her legs look like they went on for miles. Her hair was pulled back in a sleek ponytail, a dainty good chain around her neck. Quinn gulped, thinking and praying of anything that would keep the blood from rushing south. 

“Nope,” He shook his head. 

“Good,” Y/N responded, “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to end my night right.” Quinn felt his boxers grow tighter as she turned on her heel, and walked down to her door. She stopped just before going inside her room, “Ya know, a gentleman would ask if I need help.” 

Quinn watched as her eyes seemed to turn a shade darker and looked him over from head to toe. In two quick strides, Quinn was pushing her against her door, his lips on hers. Her hands were in his hair, pulling on the locks she told him not to cut. His hands roamed her body, pulling her as close to him as she could possibly get. He shamelessly rutted her hips against her, his cock begging for release from his pants. 

“If I fuck you, will you stop leaving your shoes by the door?” Quinn mumbled, his lips leaving a trail of searing hot kisses on her skin. 

“If you do a good job, I might consider it.” 

From that night, their friends with benefits relationship blossomed. One would think with the among of orgasms they gave each other, that the animosity would be nearly nonexistent. But it only seemed to up the ante between them. The fights were louder, the pranks were almost near nuclear, and the sex. . . the sex was downright rough and dirty. It almost became part of Quinn’s pregame ritual, to fuck Y/N or jerk off to a video of her. 

Y/N clenched her jaw as she threw her dirty work clothes into the hamper, getting ready to shower the day off. She grabbed her speaker, making sure to turn it up loud enough to annoy Quinn down in the kitchen. He hated her taste in music, and she was well aware of it, always taking the aux cord from her when they would drive to Roger’s. Quinn also liked to eat his dinner in silence, claiming it was one of the only times of his day he had to himself. 

Smiling, she turned on Taylor Swift, letting the bass hit her ears as she stepped into the hot stream of her shower. 

Quinn was mid bite when the all too familiar intro to “SLUT!” started playing. He groaned, slamming his fork down, “One dinner. One fucking dinner in peace.” He pushed his chair away, storming down the hallway towards Y/N’s room. He wasn’t surprised to find her bedroom door unlocked, almost as if she was expecting him. He was about to push the door open, when he heard another all too familiar sound coming from the other side, the blood in his body rushing south. He smirked, imagining how deep her fingers were inside of her to get that kind of reaction. 

Quinn could tell she was getting close by the way her moans got higher pitched. He knew now was the time to strike. Pushing the door open, he walked right over to her shower and yanked back the curtain. 

“Quintin!” Y/N squealed, pulling her hands away from her core and covering her chest, “What the fuck!?” 

"Don't be shy, sweetheart," He smirked, looking up and down her soaking wet body. He licked his lips, and she scoffed, turning away from him, "Oh come on, it's not like I haven't seen it before. Turn back around, lemme see the girls again."

"Oh bite me, Hughes!" Y/N turned the shower head towards him, affectively soaking him. Quinn turned his body away from the water stream that was not only soaking his t-shirt and shorts, but the floor. 

"No," Quinn grunted and grabbed the shower head, turning it back towards her, "You'd enjoy it too much."

Y/N looked over at him, "You're all wet."

"That makes two of us now, huh," Quinn shot her that megawatt smile. Y/N rolled her eyes and snatched the shower curtain from his hand.

"You just lost your invite!"

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