#i think i have a few caps left for this film

[joelscurls]

stalemate

pairing: Frankie Morales x f!reader

words: 7.2k

summary: Frankie Morales is your best friend — until a drunken hookup tears you apart.

warnings: 18+ minors dni; friends -> enemies -> lovers, TF characters without the TF plot, no Tom (in this house we hate Tom), alcohol consumption, smoking, angst, jealousy, pining, Frankie & reader being idiots in love, explicit smut, size kink, brief mentions of drunk sex, bad / regretful sex (between reader & OC), oral (f!receiving), unprotected piv, creampie, multiple orgasms, use of pet names (bebita, querida, baby, etc.), grilled cheese as a love language, happy ending, I think that's it but let me know if I missed anything!

a/n:  thank you so much to @javisashtray & @pedgito for beta-reading this for me <3 this is for all my frankie lovers out there (aka bitches with good taste). dividers are by cafekitsune. follow @joelscurlsupdates for fic notifications! enjoy :)

Frankie Morales makes the best grilled cheese you’ve ever had. Perfectly golden bread; gooey, melty cheese — just the thought of it makes you drool. He says he has a secret ingredient. Won’t let you in the kitchen while he cooks for you, lest you find out. 

Sometimes, upon entering his apartment, you can already smell melted butter. He’ll have started on one without even asking if you want it. He knows you always do. 

Sit, he’ll shout from the other room. I’ll be right there. Feel free to put something on — but please, not 13 Going on 30. You’ll thank him and question his distaste for Mark Ruffalo in the same breath: you’re the best, but it’s not my fault Matty is the dream man.

He’ll bring you the wafting plate along with a Corona, and insist that you eat before it goes cold while he makes one for himself. Ever the gentleman, ever the friend — at least he was.

Because the two of you haven’t spoken in a month; not since the drunken hookup that you’re both pretending didn’t happen.

You’d laughed the entire cab ride home from the bar. That last round of tequila shots had left you feeling good, all warm and giggly, and Frankie mirrored you in the backseat with his drunken grin. Eyes glassy, lips pulled wide, he’d smacked you lightly on the shoulder as you recalled Santiago’s pitiful loss in that third game of pool. “When he pocketed the eight-ball…” he trailed off into another fit of laughter. 

“And then—“ you attempted, voice caught in your throat as another giggle barreled out. “—the cue hitting his drink!” Your entire body folded over, hands braced on Frankie’s thighs as the two of you struggled to regain composure. Through labored breaths, you squealed. “He’s never going to live that down!”

After a few particularly stressful months at work, you lived for these nights out with your friends. You’d met Frankie through your best friend Mal, who was dating his friend Benny, and your circles had eventually meshed into one. Sometimes it felt like it had always been that way, like you’d known the guys your entire life.

Especially Frankie.

Your friendship was a special one — punctuated by frequent trips to the movies to watch the latest horrible slasher film; by nights spent yapping on the phone about nothing in particular. He’d become a constant in your life. Never, in your right mind, would you even dream of doing anything to jeopardize that— 

“You look really hot tonight, by the way.”

He shouldn’t have said that. He shouldn’t have. But then it was you who leaned in closer, you who rested your hand on his hip and plucked the Standard Heating Oil cap off his head, placing it atop your own.

It was you who kissed him first.

He deepened it though — that was all him — large, restless hands grasping at your sides, your back, your face; tongue pushing past the seam of your lips to press against yours. He’d groaned into your mouth when the cab stopped at the curb in front of your building. Cursed under his breath when you pulled away.

And then, your voice ragged and breathless, you’d asked, “do you want to come in for a bit?”

It was a mistake. A horrible, blissful mistake. Waking up with sticky thighs and Frankie’s thumbprint bruised into your hip, you’d found his side of the bed cold; your inbox empty. He hadn’t called, hadn’t texted. Still hasn’t.

The aftermath is cursory glances. Half-assed greetings and pleasantries murmured across the bar. Which you don’t mind, really. You don’t want to speak to him. He’d probably just feed you some lie about losing track of time, not remembering what happened that night.

You wish you could forget it.

The visual is fuzzy; fleeting. But his voice — god, his voice — it still rings in your ears, drips at the nape of your neck like a leaking tap: fuck, baby, knew you’d take my cock; feel so good wrapped around me.

Your friends don’t know. They can’t; they wouldn’t let you live it down. Benny has made plenty of offhand comments already about you and Frankie being perfect for each other, having the same stubborn disposition. Mal does nothing to shut him up. Instead, she encourages him. Tells him he’s so right. 

You’re pretty sure your eyeballs are going to fall out someday from glaring too hard.

Because you’re not perfect for each other — far from it, actually. Fuck, you can’t even communicate effectively. How could you ever be in a real relationship? 

Not that you want that. Frankie is…well, Frankie. Sure, he’d felt undeniably incredible on top of you, inside of you — but he isn’t the type to settle down. In fact, you don’t think you’ve ever heard Frankie talk about dating. 

Besides, he’s clearly not interested in being anyone’s anything right now. Not even your friend. 

It hurts; cuts deeper than you care to admit. Just weeks ago, you’d spent an entire weekend at his place, marathoning the X Files and gorging on cold pizza. Now, he won’t even look your way for more than a few seconds. 

Won’t make you a fucking grilled cheese.

It’s a Friday night, which means you’re meeting your friends at Sid’s. The glow of neon seeping through the windows of the old dive bar is warm and inviting as you step out of your rideshare and make your way toward the doors.

Frankie is sitting at the bar with Santiago when you enter. Hunched shoulders, narrowed eyes trained on his bottle of Corona, he appears detached from whatever Santi is saying to him. He doesn’t acknowledge you when you stroll up to them — not until his friend’s hand lands hard on his back, pulling his attention away from the beer. He offers a half-assed hello and an even more half-assed half-hug, and then he’s sliding back onto his barstool. 

Ever-oblivious, Santiago doesn’t seem to notice the way Frankie curls in on himself; the way your back is up like an agitated cat’s.

Mal and Benny turn up minutes later, immediately ordering a round of shots for the group. You down the liquor eagerly, not bothering to lean on salt and lime to numb the sting. You want to feel it. You order another before joining Mal and the guys at a pool table in the back, letting the acid slide down your throat with no more than a wince as Santi racks the balls.

“Alright Fish, you’re up,” he says. “Me and you. Whoever loses buys the next round.”

You watch as Frankie quirks a brow at him. Takes a swig of his beer. “You sure you want to make that bet, Pope?”

Santi grins; nods confidently. “Hell yeah, I do.” The rest of you don’t bother to suppress your laughter. You catch a glimpse of Frankie, head thrown back, his broad, glistening neck exposed, and you have to fight to ignore the sudden panging in your chest.

When Santi inevitably loses, you order a vodka soda. You’re already feeling a bit tipsy after two shots in less than twenty minutes, so the drink goes down smooth; quick. There’s a rush to your head as you settle back at the bar and fiddle with the wrapper to your straw, letting the slightly soggy paper roll between two fingers.

You barely notice when Frankie slots in a few seats down, your attention drawn only when you hear his voice. It’s deep — sounds just like it did when he had his chest pressed to your back in the dim light of your bedroom — and his intonation nearly gives you whiplash. 

When you snap your head up to look at him, you find he’s speaking to a woman. Her back is turned to you, long, dark hair tossed over her shoulder and her elbow resting casually on the bartop, but you imagine she must be beautiful by the way Frankie is visibly fawning over her. You’re staring, you hear her tease. Can’t help it, comes his reply.

Something like discomfort builds in your throat. Rises up up up. You take a long sip of your drink, letting vodka and sugar push it down. 

You’ve never seen Frankie flirt with anyone, apart from you. It’s strangely unsettling, listening to him smooth-talk her. I’m a pilot, you know, he brags; could take you up in the sky someday if you wanted. Her giddy squeal comes seconds later; really? You’d do that for me?

You feel bad for her. She doesn’t know yet that all he’ll do is disappoint her.

He feeds her lines as you sip on your drink, citrus and grain burning only when he tells her: yeah, I came with friends; they’re all over there. Gestures toward Benny, Mal and Santi standing around the pool table in the back.

Scoffing, you stand from your seat at the bar and retreat to the patio. You don’t bother to check if Frankie is looking. 

It’s cooler here, a sobering breeze carrying salt air with it as it wafts by. A few patrons have spilled outside, most smoking on faintly glowing cigarettes as they talk and laugh boisterously among themselves. You’d planned to sit alone, to plant yourself on a bench and enjoy your drink in solitude. But then a stranger is approaching you — a man, cigarette grasped between two of his fingers — and he’s asking you for a light.

He’s in his mid thirties, if you had to guess. Curly, dark hair sprouts every which way from his scalp; rounded, green eyes studying you as he awaits a response. He’s tall, though not as tall as Frankie.  His shoulders aren’t nearly as broad and his chest isn’t quite as wide. His t-shirt hangs loose around his torso, swallowing his narrow frame — dissimilar to the way Frankie’s button-down clings to him. 

Then again — why are you even comparing? Maybe the opposite of Frankie is exactly what you need. 

You’ll have to seduce this stranger first, though. Not that it seems like it’ll be very difficult. His eyes are already raking over you, lips turned up at the corner as you take a casual sip of your drink.

“I don’t smoke,” you admit apologetically. 

“Ah — that’s alright.” 

He has an accent; midwestern, maybe? You don’t bother to ask. You don’t care, really. It doesn’t matter. All that matters is—

“You here all by yourself?”

“Yeah,” he laughs at your lack of subtlety. “Are you?”

“No,” you say. “My friends are inside.” Lowering your voice, you add, “but I was thinking about leaving soon.”

“Why’s that? Early morning tomorrow?”

You shake your head. Rub at your neck as if working out a knot, a contented hum pushing past your lips at the press of fingers into skin. Your stranger’s eyes trail rather conspicuously downward.

“Just over it,” you sigh exasperatedly. “I’d much rather be home…in bed…out of these clothes.”

You pull gently at the strap of your dress, as if you can’t bear the sensation of it against your shoulder any longer.

Your stranger’s gaze darkens, and the grip on his box of cigarettes grows tighter.

“You uh — want some company — once I find a light?”

Too fucking easy.

“Sure,” you giggle.

He slips away only for a minute or two, giving you just enough time to second-guess yourself. You know nothing about this man, not even his name; only that he smokes American Spirits and smells like tobacco. Should you really go home with him? 

But then you think of Frankie inside  — talking up a woman at the bar, pretending that you don’t exist — and that just about makes up your mind for you.

Your stranger reappears, now-lit cigarette dangling from his lips. The tip of it rages red and angry, and you think you know how that feels.

He smirks at you as he stuffs the pack into the front pocket of his jeans. An unceremonious silence hangs in the air as he sucks on the filter and puffs out a string of smoke. You wait patiently for him, quietly. 

He snuffs the butt of his cigarette out in a nearby ashtray. Takes your empty cup and discards that too. 

Can’t wait to get you home, he whispers in your ear then. You feign arousal, peering up at him and batting your eyelashes. Me neither, you mewl. Let’s go.

You lead him back through the bar, finding Mal and letting her know that you’ll be going. She seems a little perplexed, quirking a brow at you as you grip tightly onto your stranger’s arm, but she tells you to have fun anyway. Text me, she mouths as you make your way to the exit.

You only get a few feet, though, before you’re intercepted.

Frankie is blocking the door, arms crossed, a panic-stricken look on his face that you can’t quite comprehend. “Hey,” he says, “can I talk to you real quick?”

Your stranger backs off. Lets go of your arm and starts out the door. “I’ll wait outside,” he says, slipping away with a wink before you can protest.

The bar is bustling with noise, people in every corner drinking and laughing and dancing. Strangely, though, you’ve never felt so alone. So vulnerable. And you hate that Frankie has this power over you, the innate ability to make you feel so fucking small. It’s infuriating, it’s—

“Are you sure you want to leave with him?”

“Excuse me?” you scoff. 

Frankie stares you down, face red, eyes inky-black. “You don’t know this guy, do you? What if he’s a murderer or something? Or like — a pervert?” 

He’s grasping at straws, you know it. It’s why you laugh; roll your eyes. 

“What are you, my keeper?”

“No, it’s just — I’m just concerned for your safety, okay?”

You’re briefly stunned. After weeks of ignoring you, he cares about your wellbeing? How can he be so hypocritical?

“I’m fine,” you bite back. “Why don’t you go back to your girl at the bar? Worry about getting yourself some instead?”

He’s wounded, if only slightly. His lips part like he might retaliate, but he’s silent. Dejected. Satisfied, you brush past him. March out the door without so much as a parting glance.

Finding your stranger leaning against the bar’s brick exterior, you force a smile. He outstretches a hand and you take it, reluctantly. “Ready to go?” he asks. 

You’re not so sure anymore, but you nod anyway. Squeeze your stranger’s bicep and preen under his lustful gaze when he tenses in your grip. “Yeah,” you purr. “I’m ready.”

Cold air bites at your toes the following morning. It wakes you from a deep slumber; bitterly pulls you into consciousness. Confused, you yank at the covers. But a mysterious weight holds them in place, and only then do you remember then that you’re not alone. 

Eyes sliding open reluctantly, you scan the room. Your dress from the night before is draped over the chair in the corner, your stranger’s clothes piled up on the floor nearby. He snores next to you, an arm raising to hang above his head, and you shift. Slip out of bed and pull a t-shirt on before padding into the bathroom.

Early morning light spills across tile, bounces off the mirror above the sink. You squint, shuffling over to the window and yanking the blinds closed. Then you check for damage in your reflection. Your makeup from the night before has stained your cheeks and your eyes look as tired as you feel, but otherwise there appears to be no physical evidence of your rock bottom.

The sex wasn’t great — not even good, really. Your stranger had lasted all of three minutes, had fanned his hot breath across the shell of your ear as he came, and then collapsed on top of you. Rolled over and drifted to sleep. He’d started snoring before you could even process what had just happened.

Cold water splashed across your cheeks does nothing to cool the burn of regret that scorches your skin. You feel uncomfortable, almost as if your body is tainted, now, remnants of your stranger leaking from between your thighs as you steady yourself at the edge of the sink. 

He must’ve heard the tap, or maybe the pounding in your chest, because he emerges seconds later. He yawns and stretches, feline-like, in the doorway. “Hey,” he mutters. “How’d you sleep?”

“Pretty good,” you say, eyes twitching slightly as you will them to stay put above his waistline. 

“You always up this early?”

You nod. It’s a lie, but he doesn’t need to know that you’d nearly jumped out of bed at the sight of him still there. He doesn’t need to know that for a split second, you’d almost hoped it was Frankie.

He asks if you want to get breakfast. You shake your head in faux-sympathy. “Sorry, can’t. I was hoping to get some cleaning done.”

“I could stick around and help,” he offers. 

Jesus Christ. Just take the fucking hint.

“That’s so nice of you; I’m just more efficient by myself,” you lie again. 

If Frankie were here, he’d grab the cleaning rags out of the closet just off the kitchen. He knows where they’re kept: second shelf, on the left. He’d wipe down the counters and the coffee table while you’d work on clearing dishes, disposing of pizza scraps. And he’d probably put on his dad-rock playlist — against your wishes — though you’d inevitably find yourself dancing to Foo Fighters and giggling when he’d sing along and mess up the words.

It begins to sink in then, as you shoo your stranger, now dressed, out the door, that your attempt to use sex as a way to get Frankie out of your head was useless. He’s still there, refusing quite adamantly to budge, all mussed curls and big eyes and deep voice. There’s no evidence that he’ll be leaving any time soon.

The revelation renders you nauseous. You spend the rest of the day with a hangover that you’re sure has not been induced by alcohol. And by the time night falls, darkness descending over your bedroom like a fog, you still feel sick.

A week later, you drag yourself to Benny and Mal’s for their monthly game night. You’d tried to get out of it, told Mal you haven’t been feeling great — which isn't a total lie — but she’d begged you until you broke. 

Will is coming, and it’ll be the first time we’ve all gotten together in over a year, she’d whined through the receiver. 

And then-

I know things were weird between you and Frankie last time at the bar, but you can’t let that stop us from seeing each other.

How do you know that, you’d asked, chewing on your bottom lip, the phone tucked between your ear and your shoulder.

He basically moped around the rest of the night after you left. Kept bitching about you leaving with that guy. He seemed really…agitated. You don’t have to tell me what happened, just please don’t bail.

So you’re here, steeling yourself as you climb the steps to the front door, hoping that if nothing else, you can make it through the night without strangling Frankie for his lack of discretion. 

You enter the house with baited breath.

Your eyes immediately catch Frankie, tucked into the corner of the sectional, fingers wrapped tightly around his beer. He meets your gaze briefly before letting it slip to the floor by his feet, as if he’s trying to pretend he hasn’t seen you at all. 

“Hi,” you try.

He looks back up at you, or rather past you. Taps his fingers along the bottle for a long moment. “Hey,” he says finally, to the wall behind your head.

“How have you been?” the words come out forced, almost foreign. You shift your weight awkwardly and he sighs. 

“Fine. I’m fine.” 

“Right,” you mutter. More silence. “Me too, in case you were wondering.”

“Good,” he says, voice cold. “That’s good.”

You’re not sure whether you want to slap him or kiss him. Because as infuriating as he’s being right now, he looks gorgeous, denim shirt hugging his biceps, his shoulders; stray curls peaking out from under that stupid Standard Heating Oil hat. You yearn to rip it off his head, run your fingers through his hair, nip along the sharp line of his jaw; the broad expanse of his neck.

You long to feel something other than the prominent ache that’s permeated your body for weeks, now. And you fear that he’s the only one who’d be able to alleviate it.

Your mouth opens again just as Benny emerges from the kitchen. Whatever words you were about to utter are lost in the ether as he pulls you into a suffocating hug and thanks you for coming. 

“Mal’s in the kitchen,” he says. Grabs a handful of Lays from a bowl on the coffee table and shovels them into his mouth. Still chewing, he adds, “we got those wine coolers you like; they’re in the fridge.”

With a hurried thanks, you slip away unscathed.

You find Mal crouched in front of the open fridge, rustling through a produce drawer stocked with beer cans. 

“Hey,” you announce. 

She seems almost surprised to see you when she cranes her neck toward your voice, despite your promise to show. Eyebrows raised, mouth slightly agape, it’s as if she’s waiting for the other shoe to drop. She pulls another drawer open. Fishes out a wine cooler and passes it to you with an outstretched arm. 

You take it in one hand. Help her up with the other. 

“You’re here,” she says, and it sounds like more of a question than a statement. 

“Yeah. I said I would be.”

“I know, I know. It’s just — I wasn’t sure. The whole Frankie thing…” 

“It’s nothing; I promise,” you lie. “Water under the bridge. We’re fine.”

She quirks a brow at you, disbelief coloring her features, but she lets it go. Closes the fridge with a thunk and adjusts her sweater at the hem. “Good,” she says. “I don’t want you two ruining game night.”

It’s half a joke, but you know deep down she means it. She takes this all very seriously. Back in college, she’d forced you and your suitemates to play Cards Against Humanity with her every weekend. None of you had the heart to tell her when it started to grow monotonous, and so the tradition carried on well past graduation, eventually evolving into a new tradition with new friends.

Games bring people together, she’d said once over a round of Monopoly that had stretched well into the night, resulting in delirious laughter and a warm, fuzzy feeling in your chest.

You’d believed her at the time. Now, you’re not so sure that it’s foolproof.

The two of you rejoin the guys in the living room, Santiago and Will having shown up in your absence. You greet them as Benny pulls out a stack of game boxes. Settle on the couch, as far away from Frankie as you can manage.

It starts during the second round of Charades. 

The first round had gone fine — good, even. Teamed up with Santi and Will, you’d avoided eye contact with Frankie for the whole of it. Focused only on guessing Santi’s horribly-mimed clues in between handfuls of trail mix and sips of watermelon-flavored bubbles.

It’d felt a bit like old times, all of you in one room again. Mal snuggling into Benny on the loveseat; Will catching his brother up on time spent touring the country, giving motivational speeches to recently discharged veterans. He’d asked you how you’ve been as Santi studied his next word, and you’d remembered then that everything was very much not how it once was.

And you hadn’t missed Frankie’s discomfort at the question; the way he set his beer bottle down on the table with a bit too much force, glass clanging against wood. Though if Will noticed too, he hadn’t said anything. Just moved into a story about some woman he met on the road that reminded him of you.

Santi’s turn had ended with a whopping zero points for your team, and now Frankie is standing at the front of the room, unfolding the scrap of paper in his hand and reading it to himself. In the lull, you find yourself staring at him, eyes near glazing over at the sight of the tiny paper pinched between long, thick fingers. Fingers you remember the reach of, the weight of. 

He crumples the paper and stuffs it into his pocket, signaling that he’s ready to go. Mal flips over the sand timer on the table. And you almost don’t notice at first when he starts, mind occupied by equal parts lust and annoyance, that he’s fucking mouthing the phrase.

You watch, enraged, as Benny squints to read his lips. He raises his hand excitedly and jumps to his feet; yells out the answer with a sureness that Frankie affirms with a nod. 

“That’s right. It’s the Empire State Building.”

“That’s fucking cheating!” you shout, a bit angrier than the situation calls for, and the room grows quiet. Fury coursing through you, you add, “are you fucking serious, Frankie?”

You feel the eyes on you; the awkward sheen you’ve cast over the room. Mal shifts across from you, glaring when you turn to face her, and you laugh defensively. 

“What, nobody else thinks that’s unfair?”

“Please,” Frankie sneers. 

“No, she’s right,” Santi tries — ever the peacemaker. “We’ll just add a rule going forward; no mouthing the words.”

“Fuck that,” you hiss. “I want their point taken away.”

Frankie scoffs from the other side of the room. “Bullshit! We earned that before the rule was added.”

You’re fuming now, standing to get a bit closer to his height; though he still towers over you. Mal is right on your heels, placing a hand on your shoulder in an attempt to placate you. You brush her off. Take another stride toward Frankie.

“There shouldn’t need to be an official rule against it, Frankie. It’s common fucking sense — which clearly, you have none of.”

Visibly offended, he says nothing. Just tenses his jaw.

“Why did you come tonight?” you continue, voice more level now; direct. 

You hear your name uttered behind you, tone pleading, warning. You ignore it. 

“Seriously, why?”

He’s quiet for a long, drawn-out moment, eyes pointed at the floor again.  

“What are you talking about?” he spits, finally. 

You laugh, amused and irritated, and these things somehow feel one in the same. “I mean, clearly you don’t want to be in my presence or even acknowledge my existence — unless it’s to cockblock me — so why are you here?”

His brows furrow; lips twist. For a second, you think he might actually leave. He adjusts his cap, jangles the car key in his pocket — but Benny stops him before he can take a step.

“Just — cut it out, okay? Both of you.”

“He’s the one-“

“I don’t care,” Benny interjects. Scanning the room, you catch sight of Santi and Will and Mal, all visibly agitated, and you sigh.

Guilt washes over you, then. The twisting of Santi’s face, Mal’s doleful stare, the wordless look exchanged between Benny and Will. All confirm your fear that you’ve effectively ruined their night. 

“I’m sorry,” you mumble. 

Frankie echoes your apology. Still, the others aren’t impressed. 

“I don’t know what’s been going on lately with you two, but you need to figure this shit out,” Benny says. He sounds like a parent: stern and slightly disappointed. “Can you please just — go in the other room and talk through it?”

Though you haven’t much cared for Frankie’s opinion as of late, you still turn to him to gauge his reaction. He appears just as hesitant as you are, just as guilt-stricken. But something more lurks behind his eyes — something like fear, anxiety. Why, you aren’t sure.

You raise a brow at him, a wordless question. He answers with a sigh. 

“Fine,” you both say at once.

“Thank goodness,” Mal chimes. Herding you two like cattle with a hand on each of your backs, she leads you out of the living room and into the adjoining hallway. 

Her voice drones behind you as you make your way toward the third door on the right. Shall we continue the game?

The guest room is primly kept. It appears almost untouched at first glance, though you know that to be untrue. You’ve stayed here before, after blurry nights spent drinking shitty gin and singing karaoke. That must’ve been years ago now, though, after Mal and Benny first bought this house, and you begin to wonder if your tumultuous friendship with Frankie only made you neglect your friendship with her. And that only adds to the anger stirring inside of you — because what was it all worth, if it’s ended up like this?

Frankie closes the door behind him with a click, and the air in the room feels exponentially thicker. 

“What the fuck was that?” you hiss. 

He scoffs. “Me? You’re the one who freaked out and started an argument over nothing!”

“It wasn’t nothing. You were cheating.”

“Please.” He rolls his eyes. Takes two steps toward you. “That’s not what this is about and you know it.”

“Oh,” you laugh, “so you are aware that you’ve been an asshole?”

He says your name, voice suddenly lower, softer. Your entire body tenses as you struggle to keep strong, to not think about how it sounded in your ear in the midst of pleasure.

“I wasn’t trying to be-”

You throw a hand up; silence him. “Well you have been,��� you groan. “You’ve been a huge fucking asshole. You hurt me, Frankie. You were my best friend, and then you just… stopped returning my texts. You won’t even look at me when we’re in the same room together. Did you regret it that much?”

The room goes still. You watch as Frankie’s chest rises and falls arduously, his eyes settling on you. They’re dark, pupils blown wide, squeezing shut as he exhales long and hard.

“No.”

You quirk a brow at him, confused.

“No?”

“No,” he repeats, averting his gaze. “And that’s the problem — I didn’t regret it at all.” His eyes lift slowly, finding you again, voice more sure when he adds, “I’ve wanted it for a long time”

You can barely comprehend what he’s saying, your heart climbing its way out of your ribcage and up your throat. You gulp, feeling the shape of it there as saliva slowly slides past. 

He takes another two steps forward, mere inches from you now, and your breath hitches.

“Do you know how difficult it’s been to look at you without getting fucking hard?” he whispers. “How many times I’ve fucked my fist in the past month imagining it was you?”

Your mouth falls open, stunned. “That girl at the bar-”

He shakes his head. “I thought maybe if I fucked someone else, it would help.”

“And did it?”

“I didn’t — I didn’t go home with her,” he admits, a little bashfully. “I couldn’t do it.” 

His hand lifts, then, cautious and shaky. It finds its way to your face, grazes your jaw so softly you’d think you imagined it if you couldn’t see.

“Why not?” you squeak.

He nods, as if he’s finally accepting something he’s known to be true, admitting it to himself before he does so out loud.

“Because she wasn’t you.”

It feels as if your entire world has spun on its axis. 

Without thinking, you wrap your hand around Frankie’s neck and pull him toward you, crashing your lips into his with a groan. He’s quick to respond, desperately tangling his fingers in your hair and winding his tongue around yours, a broken moan slipping from his throat. 

For a long moment, that’s all it is. It’s clashing teeth and restless hands; the draw of blood and the taste of it, earthy and metallic on your tongue. It’s the two of you, reconciling for lost time and unshared feelings and the overlooked need for each other through tangled bodies. 

And when you finally pull apart, his lips are swollen and his eyes are glazed over, and you’re sure you don’t look much different.

“Frankie,” you whine as his mouth latches to your neck, warm and wet. He doesn’t retreat; just hums against you. 

“Need you,” you say breathlessly. “Need you to touch me.”

His large hand skates down your front, under the waistband of your leggings. He presses two fingers against your clothed clit, and your knees buckle. You lean into him, bracing yourself with a hand on his chest as he begins rubbing small, deliberate circles into cotton. 

Lips trailing up to your ear, he nibbles at the lobe. Presses his tongue just behind the shell of it and sighs. “Been wanting this since that night. Want to make you feel good. Want to do it right.”

You mewl in response, high-pitched and too loud, and you have to bite into his shoulder to keep from crying out again. He’s still working you toward the brink, pace relentless, beseeching you every time you buck into his hand. 

There you go baby, that’s it; I got you. 

You know he does, can feel the support of his unoccupied hand at the small of your back, holding you to his strong body. And god, how you’ve missed the feeling of it pressed to yours. You think that that alone could make you come.

You feel yourself slipping as your orgasm approaches, legs slumping underneath you more and more with every pass of his fingers. “Frankie,” you warn, teeth still anchored in his skin. “I’m going to-“

The words are muffled, but he gets it. Presses down harder and works his fingers faster. “Come on baby,” he growls in your ear, “come on.”

Your orgasm hits you so hard that you collapse, your body dead weight in Frankie’s grip as you writhe. He grasps onto you tightly, working you through it with his unyielding touch, swiping back and forth, back and forth as the final waves crest. 

You’re panting when it ends, and still when Frankie helps you to the edge of the bed. Perched there, staring up at him with glassy eyes, you realize you’ve never felt so sated and so needy at the same time.

“Frankie?”

“Yeah, baby?” 

“Please fuck me.”

He should probably say no. After all, you’re in your friends’ guest room, people just a few hundred feet on the other side of the door. But then again, he’s already made you come.

You watch him consider it, eyes flickering to the door and back to you, dark and deep and pooling with want. 

In the end, he can’t help himself.

“Can you be quiet, querida?” 

You nod, though you’re sure that even if you said no, he wouldn’t care. He’d do just as he’s doing now: pressing your shoulder, encouraging you to lay down on the bed; helping you pull your sneakers off, then your leggings, then your shirt; stepping back to marvel at your half-naked form before him. 

“Fucking beautiful,” he murmurs, and your entire body heats from the inside out. You feel like you’re on fire, his stare keeping you alight as he undresses down to his boxers.

He climbs over you with a hand on either side of your head, pressed into the mattress. The lip of his hat bumps you, and you immediately rip it off of him, tossing it aside and tangling your fingers in dark curls. 

You tug at them, dragging him down until his face is hovering just above yours, and he responds with a strangled moan. His body pressed to yours now, you can feel the weight of his hard cock against your clothed pussy. Your mouth finds his again in a languid kiss — slow and deep. You feed each other sighs and moans, taste each other’s longing. His hips roll into yours with every exhale, teasing you — reminding you, and you feel like you’re steadily going insane.

He pulls back, panting. Rests his forehead on yours.

“Can I take this off?” he asks, plucking at the strap of your bra. You nod furiously. Lift the upper half of your body so that he can undo the clasps.

Breasts suddenly exposed, you feel your nipples begin to harden. Frankie groans at the sight of them, so pert and needing. Wordlessly, he dips his head, buries his face in your chest. His tongue wraps around one of your nipples and you cry out, hand flying to your mouth in an instant. 

“Oh fuck,” you moan into your palm.

“Feel good?” he asks, knowing smirk playing on his lips as he shifts his focus to the other nipple. You feel so sensitive everywhere, the heft of his tongue going straight to your clit, and you can barely answer him. A shaky yes tumbles from your mouth — the best you can do. He hums, so low the vibrations burrow under your skin and barrel through you, and you keen at the sensation.

“God, you sound so pretty,” he sighs as he rolls one of your stiff peaks between two fingers. His other hand drifts down your body, dips between the two of you and pulls your panties aside. 

“Fuck,” he curses, fingertip brushing over your seam just barely. “You’re soaked, bebita. That all for me?”

“Mhm,” you whine. “All for you Frankie; fuck-“

He’s shifts down your body, hooks both arms under your legs and drags you toward him in one swift motion, leaving you no time to process before his tongue is on your pussy. “Have to taste you,” he babbles drunkenly, plunging into your leaking cunt and lapping at you.

“Oh, oh shit,” you moan as he drags his tongue up to your clit. “Please baby, please.”

“I know; I got you,” he soothes. Then he begins to lave your clit with the soft flat of his tongue, warm muscle encircling the throbbing nub. Wide eyes staring up at you, he observes intently. Responds to every sound, every tell with a switch in direction or an increase in pressure. He’s so attentive, so desperate to make you come on his mouth, and it sends you into a sort of delirium. 

Your second orgasm hits you out of nowhere, slams through your body with so much intensity, you don’t even have the strength to warn Frankie before your release is gushing all over his face and, undoubtedly, the bed below. 

He growls against your cunt. Comes up for air and kisses you hard, letting you taste yourself on his tongue as he tugs his boxers down and frees his aching cock. Notches at your entrance without detaching his lips from yours.

It’s a stretch — you recall it being so last time too — though the alcohol had done wonders to loosen your body. Now, you feel every devastating inch of him as he pushes in. He’s gentle. Tells you how good you’re doing as he feeds you more and more of his cock. There you go, that’s my girl, taking it so well for me. And for some reason, him calling you his nearly makes you come again. 

He notices the way you preen in response. Thumbs across the slope of your jaw as he settles inside you. “You like that, baby? Like me calling you mine?”

“Yes, Frankie — fuck. Want it.”

You don’t specify whether you mean him or his cock. You’re not entirely sure. Not that it matters. You know he’ll give you both, give you anything. Can feel it in the way he gazes at you through heart-shaped eyes as he lets you adjust to him.

 “So fucking beautiful, you know that?”

Your eyes roll back and saliva pools in your mouth. “God,” you breathe.

“I’m serious,” he says, finally beginning to move. The slow drag of his cock brushes your g-spot and you gasp. “Was so stupid before, fucking you drunk. Wanna remember every second, every noise you make, every inch of your perfect fucking body.”

“Jesus, Frankie.”

He pushes back in with one deep thrust. Sets a pace that, while not rough, definitely isn’t gentle. You begin to babble and writhe under him. Hook your legs around him so he can get even deeper.

He groans. “Tell me how it feels, baby.”

“It’s so fucking good,” you cry. “Feels like fucking heaven, Frankie.”

“Nah, that’s you.” He lets his head fall on your shoulder, drives into you faster. Pants into the crook of your neck. “Perfect fucking pussy.” 

It ends all too quickly — with your fingernails dug into his back and his sweaty curls sticking to your forehead. Your cunt clenching around his cock, pulling his orgasm out of him just as yours begins to roll through you. You free fall from the cliff’s edge together, breathless moans spilling between your slotted mouths, his warmth flooding you and leaking from the place you’re still connected.

As the room around you slowly comes back into focus, you hear the sound of distant laughter. Benny’s boisterous chuckle and Mal’s much softer one. Clearly distracted, they’re likely blissfully unaware of what’s just happened. You giggle, covering your face as Frankie pulls out.

“What’s so funny?” he asks, prying your hands away. 

“We’re gonna have to get them a new bedspread. We just defiled this one.”

He stands, then, pulling you upright with him. You squeal as blood rushes to your head and your vision goes staticky. 

“Worth it,” he smirks. Gives you a chaste kiss. “Got my girl back.”

You dress and rejoin the group as inconspicuously as possible. Pray they don’t notice the way you’re wobbling on your feet, or the sheen of sweat that’s coated your skin. 

“You sort everything out?” Santi smirks knowingly as you reassume your place on the couch, Frankie settling back into the corner.

“Yeah,” he mutters, refusing to make eye contact. 

“It’s about time,” Benny shouts from the kitchen. Frankie’s head shoots up, pivots toward his voice.

“What do you mean?”

He emerges in the doorway with a shit-eating grin. Mal stifles a laugh from the loveseat.

“Just saying it’s about time,” he shrugs. “That’s all.” 

Shit; apparently you hadn’t been as quiet as you thought.

The others chuckle as you and Frankie exchange a mortified look. The embarrassment is short lived though, Will clapping his hands together, asking what game you all want to play next.

An hour later, after a couple rounds of Codenames and another wine cooler, you head out the door with Frankie right beside you. It feels odd, not hiding anymore. But more so, it feels right. 

He leans you against your SUV under silver moonlight. Kisses you with plush, soft lips against yours; restless hands roving up your sides. Pulls back with a suspiciously large grin.

You cock an eyebrow at him. “What?”

“Nothing,” he says. “Just glad I stopped being an idiot.”

“I don’t know about that,” you tease, and he smacks you gently on the arm.

“Come over?” he asks, his hand draped over your waist. 

You think on it for only a second. Nod. “Yeah. As long as you make me a grilled cheese.”

“That can be arranged.” 

end notes: thank you so much for reading! if you enjoyed, please consider commenting and/or reblogging :)

#Frankie Morales #Frankie Morales x reader #Frankie Morales x f!reader #Frankie Morales x female reader #Frankie Morales fic #Frankie Morales smut #Frankie Morales fanfiction #Triple Frontier #Triple Frontier fic #Triple Frontier fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal fic #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal smut

[ferrstappen]

Can I request petty jealous charles? He’s just quietly stewing in his anguish. I think it’s be funny if someone that he looks up to, like a musician or something, was flirting with his gf and this really upsets him. And he acts petty for a few days

a/n: sorry for the delay babeeee :( but here it issss. also this features Bad bunny bc I saw the pics of him arriving in Monaco and idk got the inspo. also we're going to pretend the last music challenge takes place after Monaco.

titi we don't care l Charles Leclerc

All eyes were on Monaco, and with good reason.

Engines roaring, cameras flashing, boat traffic (if that's a thing), Hollywood making their way from Cannes to the Principality, spotting old money meters away, most of them trying to get a word with Charles.

It was fine in the beginning, this wasn't the first Monaco GP you attended, but after the first free practice ended and Charles was grabbed from right to left, the Ferrari hospitality grabbing most of the attention of wealthy people, whispering how F1 was less exclusive by the day, too popularized, lousy celebrities getting an invite and they’d probably be present for Indy 500 and Le Mans. Shameful.

The same people were examining you, eyeing the “simple” Trina Turk dress and Bimba & Lola bag, gifted by Isa on your birthday, hanging from your arm, all before Charles PR manager approached to tell you he, the home hero, wouldn't be available until practices were over, too many press and meetings in between.

Then, a man with a glass of wine sat down next to you, telling you it was fucked up they wouldn't let the drivers prepare for what they were supposed to do, which was driving. Esta bien cabrón, those were his exact words.

He introduced himself as Benito, of course you knew him as Bad Bunny, his songs being everywhere and wasn't he dating Kendall Jenner?

He kept you entertained, bad mouthing the snotty people surrounding, stopping the conversation to greet people who approached him. Isa joined soon after, also shaking her head at the fact Carlos and Charles would have to spend almost the entire day worrying about media instead of resting and discussing strategies with the team for Sunday.

Conversation was easy, barely noticing the hospitality getting a bit more crowded, louder. It was the WhatsApp group with your girlfriends that got your attention, attaching pictures and asking what was going on between you and Bad Bunny. What?

Of course, Twitter was full of you laughing at something he said or before he pointed something funny or imitated a rich person making conversation on how quiet luxury was a trend now and how it wasn't fair for them, fucking Succession.

Suddenly, someone grabbed your waist from behind, making you jump because the only person allowed to grab you like that was supposed to be around somewhere, being interviewed or filming content, but you were wrong, a big grin appearing at the sight of Charles, full white and red, overall hanging on his waist and white Ferrari cap, hair fluffy from the heat and running his fingers through it.

"Bebé, I thought you'd be busy all the day," You kissed his lips, subtly squeezing his waist through the suit.

Yes, he was supposed to be busy until the day was over and you could head back home, but in-between interviews Charles checked his phone to the dismay of every PR worker in Ferrari, but his Twitter was filled with mentions of pictures. First they were pictures of you alone in the hospitality, Charles smiled knowing you were probably bored but stayed so he wouldn't be alone, but...

user1: Not Bad Bunny shooting his shot at Leclerc's girl 💀

user2: BENITO GET AWAY she's ms leclerc!!!11!

user3: damn, Charles Leclerc getting screwed by Ferrari and his girlfriend

user4: (y/n)'s probably bored af, Isa got to Monaco a couple of minutes ago and she's talking with Benito, big deal leave her alone she's there for Charles.

A strange feeling brewed in his stomach, he instantly knew he was jealous. Did he have a good reason? No, he trusted you and the relationship with his life, but he was obviously and painfully aware people wanted you; your good nature, gorgeous features, bright smile, perfectly shaped boobs... yes, it didn't sound fair when he left a trails of broken hearts and loving eyes everywhere he went, people being interested in F1 just because of his looks, but that was purely platonic, they didn't dare to make a move, but your case was different, he had seen with his own eyes how men tried to make their move right in front of him, he even made sure you always wore the gold necklace with a charm engraved with CL16 was visible.

Carlos, being part of the drivers' gossip network, eyed Charles' screen, whistling in a worried manner, telling him to be careful or he'd be listening to Bad Bunny songs about (y/n) on the radio.

"You know, there's pictures of Isa as well, look," Charles pointed out, annoyed by the teasing, but Carlos playfully dismissed him. "Hey, sorry but I have to get to the hospitality, I'm very overwhelmed and I need to see my girlfriend," Charles half lied; he wanted to see you, but just to let the second most streamed artist on Spotify know you were very loved and appreciated, and completely off limits.

Which takes him to the Ferrari hospitality.

"They gave us a couple of minutes before it's time for the last meeting," Charles tensed when noticing people were staring at him. "Why don't you wait at our lounge, bebé? It’s less crowded, Isa is there, Lorenzo and mum should be getting there soon,” he said in a hushed tone, but loud enough for the other man to hear. You nodded, getting up and collecting the small Bimba & Lola bag with some of the multiple passes and everything hanging from it.

"Oh, bebé, sorry. This is Benito, he was keeping me entertained," It was a bizarre situation, honestly, presenting a world-known singer to your boyfriend like he was a friend.

Charles squeezed your waist a bit tighter, shaking hands with the native from Puerto Rico. They exchanged a couple of words before someone approached the singer, making it easier for you to leave.

Charles was holding your hand a bit tighter than usual, maybe he was being protecting knowing people were watching every move. you asked him how the car felt, but he didn't give a real answer, just making a sound of approval.

That attitude carried on during the entire weekend, you thought it was the pressure of being home, past mistakes and bad luck haunting him. it ended when he crossed the finish line in first place, kissing you with tears on his eyes, relishing on being the home hero.

But two days later, he still had moments where he held his head a little taller, short answers and pretending he didn't hear you.

Charles knew he was being ridiculous, his fists tightening when some radio played a Bad Bunny song, even when one of them was voluntarily added by himself on a playlist, he had to take a deep breath. Irrational and disgusting behavior if you ask Charles, but he couldn't stop it. Not even when he saw you trying to hide the purple marks appearing on your hips.

He noticed your side of the bed dipped and light turned off, his back facing you as he pretended to be asleep, ignoring your soft chuckles. he didn't even flinch when your arms wrapped around his waist, placing your leg over his and loudly kissing his cheek.

"You are so cute when you're jealous," you told him, leaving another loud kiss, this time on his back.

"I'm not jealous!" He lied with a high-pitched voice, still not facing you.

"I know you are, but it's okay, it comes with having a girlfriend as incredible as me, you know?" This time Charles laughed, turning around and now placing his arms around your waist as yours moved to his neck.

"Shut up, he was flirting with you!" Charles argued.

"He was not! He actually saved me from a lot of creeps asking my name and whether I was free to grab a glass of wine or whatever,"

Charles knew that was the truth, he had witnessed it and was common talk between the drivers how their girlfriends and sisters were often approached by older men with not so good intentions.

Knowing he had no way to defend himself, he rolled his eyes at your giggles when your lips met his, but admiring him when he rolled on top of you, running your thumb through his cheeks.

#charles leclerc fluff #charles leclerc au #charles leclerc one shot #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc blurb #charles leclerc x you #charles leclerc x female reader #f1 x you #f1 fic #f1 x reader

[katareyoudrilling]

The Sweepstakes: Javi Gutierrez (Porn Star AU)

Series: The Sweepstakes

Pairing: Porn star Javi Gutierrez x Female Reader

Summary: It seemed like a great idea at the time, but now you’re not sure you’re brave enough to claim your sweepstakes prize.

Word count: ~3.2k

Rating: Explicit (18+ only. NO MINORS)

Content Warnings: reader is a full-figured gal, vague body descriptions, body insecurity, some ass smacks, ass worship, oral (m and f receiving), unprotected PiV (there is paperwork)

A/N: Huge thank you to @burntheedges for all her help with this!  Javi is a new character for me as is some of the subject matter I’m writing about.  I hope I’ve done both justice!  Spanish translations are at the end, but everything should be able to be understood in line with context.  I hope you enjoy!

Reblogs and comments are always appreciated!

Series Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Taglist – link in bio or ask me to add you!

“There’s a kitchen to the left and a bathroom here,” Erin opens a door to show you a spacious full bath.  “The production room is at the end of this hall, which is where I will be if you need anything.”

You nod along and follow her down the hall.

“And of course, here is the room where you’ll be doing your scene!” She opens the double doors with a flourish.

It’s so… bright in there.  Is it always that bright?

You look around the large bedroom.  A bedroom you are very familiar with, as it is where your favorite porn production company films many of their videos.

You wrap your arms around your torso, feeling exposed even though you’re still fully clothed.

Maybe this was a bad idea.

You entered a sweepstakes you never expected to win.  You saw the ad after a particularly satisfying session with your vibrator.  It said, “Enter to win a night with your favorite performer!”

Your favorite performer had just given you a fantastic orgasm.  In your dopamine haze it seemed like the best idea you’d ever had.  You’ve never had an orgasm with a partner, but he gets you there every time.  Could he do it in person?

The “he” in question was none other than Javi Gutierrez.  The friendliest porn star there ever was.  Sunshine incarnate. You wondered and then you clicked submit.

Now, seeing the room in person, faced with the reality of the large bed and sunlight filtering through the curtains… your brilliant idea doesn’t seem so brilliant anymore.

Erin leads you into the room and continues, “Since you’ve opted not to be filmed, we have removed all the cameras except one.”  She gestures towards a tripod in the corner.  “The lens cap is on though, it’s just for sound.  We will be monitoring the feed just to be sure everyone is safe.”

“I… I don’t know… if I can do this,” you choke out, your breaths coming faster and faster as panic builds in your chest.

“Hey, it’s ok.”  Erin places her hands on your shoulders and captures your darting gaze.  “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do.  If you just want to meet Javi and call it a night, that is completely fine.  He really is the sweetest.” She smiles at you, and you let out a long exhale, allowing your shoulders to relax slightly.

“He won’t be upset?”

“Upset? No. Our performers are all very aware of how intimidating this is and would never judge anyone for backing out, Javi especially.  I know he is excited to meet you, though.”

“Me? Why?”  That’s just ridiculous.  One of the most beautiful men in existence is excited to meet jiggly, squishy you?

“He’s excited to meet everyone, all the time, but we did show him your photo and tell him a little about you from your paperwork.  I believe his exact word was deliciosa.”  She winks.

Delicious? What? Javi is always so complimentary to his scene partners, telling them how beautiful they are and how good they feel, but none of his scene partners look like you.

“What do you think? Want to meet him?” Erin asks you gently.

You nod.  “Yeah, I guess.”  If Javi is who you think he is, then he will at least be friendly and kind.

“I’ll send him in in a few minutes. Make yourself comfortable and remember, we are here for you, however you want this evening to go.”  She leaves the room, closing the doors behind her.

You face the bed, the space you’ve traveled to in your mind so many times now real in front of you.  You’ll just meet him, and it will be fine.  So what if you’ll never know what it’s really like to be with him.  So what if this once in a lifetime opportunity passes you by.

You hear the doors open behind you and quickly turn around only to be blinded by the gorgeousness that is Javi Gutierrez.

He’s wearing a white tank top that shows off his broad, muscular shoulders, lightly freckled from the sun, and loose linen pants that hang low on his hips, revealing a thin slice of tummy and happy trail.  His skin positively glows in the setting sun.  His hair falls softly in ringlets of brown and gold around his handsome face.

“Hello, I am Javi.” He introduces himself with a wide smile and open arms.  You allow him to gather you into his broad chest, too stunned that this is happening to even introduce yourself properly.  You mumble your name against him.

His scent fills your nostrils—citrus and the ocean breeze—and you breathe it in greedily.  Too soon he lets you go and steps back.  A look of deep concern fills his chocolate brown eyes as he considers you carefully.

“Erin said maybe you want to leave.” His deep voice is so gentle and soothing. “It is ok if you do, but I hope not.”

“You don’t have to say that.”

His brow furrows in confusion. “Say what? That I would be sad not to get to fuck you?”

“You don’t… really want to do… that with me. It’s ok.”  Your cheeks heat as you stutter your answer.

“Of course I want to, why would I not want to? You are so beautiful. Bonita.”

“No I’m not, you don’t want this,” you gesture towards yourself, your tummy, your ass.

“I do want this.  What is wrong with this?”  He looks genuinely confused.  “May I touch you, bonita?”

“I… I guess.”

He takes your hand and brings it to his lips then trails kisses up your arm.  You shiver as his mustache brushes against your sensitive skin.

“¡Que linda!  So beautiful and soft,” he murmurs as he gets to your shoulder, dropping your arm and placing his hands on your waist.  “Why would I not want more of you to fill up my hands?” He slides his hands around to your ass, bringing your fronts together.  You can feel his length hardening between you and your mouth falls open in surprise.  He squeezes your ass, “This. You. Are beautiful.  And I do want to fuck you.  Te deseo, bonita.”

He closes the distance between you to press a kiss on your mouth, currently open in shock.  He teases your lips and chin as his hands knead your ass, pulling you against him.  One hand travels up to palm your breast. He finds the hard point of your nipple and you gasp as he pinches it.

“Do you not want the cameras because you do not think you are beautiful, bonita?” he whispers against your skin as he drags his angular nose along your jawline.

You nod as you whimper.  The idea of watching yourself like that… it makes your insides churn.  You just knew when you saw the question in the paperwork that you would never want to watch it, so why record it?

He pulls back and holds your gaze intently.  “It is your choice, por supuesto.  But I hope I can make you feel beautiful tonight.  With me. Will you stay?”

His smoldering gaze is hypnotic and you find yourself replying, “Yes, I’ll stay.”

“Bueno, this makes me very happy.”  The smile that lights up his face confirms his words.

You find yourself smiling back, your insecurities taking a backseat to the fizzy excitement now bubbling through your veins.  His joyful presence is contagious.

Javi returns to your mouth, no longer in teasing nips, but with intent as he draws you into a deep kiss.  His tongue slides against yours with languid, knee-weakening strokes.  He leads you backwards until you feel the bed against the backs of your legs and directs you to sit.  With your head tilted back, he continues to explore your mouth, standing between your legs, his large hands cradling your face.

He steps back and pulls his tank top over his head.  He moves to return to your kiss, but you stop him with your hands on his chest.  You have to see him, touch him, this beautiful man you’ve fantasized about so many times.

“You’re gorgeous, Javi,” you whisper reverently as you drag your palms down his golden chest, delighting when his nipples pebble under your fingers.

“Gracias, bonita,” he chuckles softly.  His fingers trace your jaw and the shell of your ear as you explore his body.  “Undo the tie,” he murmurs as your fingers trace the edge of his trousers.  You can already see the shape of him through the thin material, straining to be released.

You bite your lip and Javi groans, “Fuck. Those lips, ay, son deliciosos.”

Carefully, you tug at the drawstring knot, it gives way, and his pants slide down his beautiful legs, revealing the full glory of his nakedness to you.  His cock bobs in front of you and your mouth waters at the site.  You shift, squeezing your legs together at the ache building at your center.

His glorious length, hard… for you.  It boggles your mind.

“It’s so sexy, you looking at me like that,” Javi growls.  “I can’t wait to fuck you with this cock.”  He strokes himself in front of you.  He’s so thick it sends shivers up your spine.

You look up at him and lick your lips.  “Can I taste you, Javi?” The boldness of the request surprises you even as the words escape your mouth.  You’ve become brave so quickly in the presence of Javi’s obvious desire.

“Absolutamente.  Whatever you want.  I am here for you.”  He smiles down at you as he stands in front of you next to the bed.

You take him in your hand and stroke lightly from root to tip, then bend over to retrace your path with your tongue.  Javi’s approval rumbles in his chest as you lick and taste your way along him, ending with a swirl of your tongue over the head of his gorgeous cock.  Grasping him firmly in one hand you draw him between your lips.

Javi caresses your neck and cheek as you pump him into your mouth.  You close your eyes and focus on remembering the salty taste of his skin on your tongue.  You never want to forget.

You lose yourself in the rhythmic action, stroking him with your hand in time with your mouth until your jaw aches.  You pull back to catch your breath only to have his mouth on yours again.

“Your turn, bonita,” he practically growls into your mouth.  “I need to taste you. Por favor. Lo necesito.”

You remove your clothes with his help. You want to look down, away from his face, so you don’t see his reaction to you, but you force yourself to meet his gaze.  What you see looking back at you is pure lust and desire.

Goosebumps rise over your skin at the intensity of it, your nipples pebble and your pussy throbs.

“So soft,” he whispers reverently, cupping your breasts.  He squeezes and moans before taking your nipple in his mouth.  He presses you back, so you’re laying on the bed.  Out of habit, your arms move to cover your body, to somehow make yourself smaller.

“Don’t hide from me, bonita.”  Javi gently takes your wrists and pins your hands out to the side.  “Let me see you. You are so beautiful. Quiero verte.”

Sincerity shines from his kind eyes.  You take deep breaths and relax.  You want to trust him.

He kisses your lips then travels down your neck, sucking at your pulse point and making you gasp.  He gathers your breasts in his large hands and nuzzles into them before taking each peak in his mouth.  He travels across your belly, licking and nibbling at your roundness, before grasping your thighs in his hands and licking a broad swipe up your slit.

You moan as his warm mouth envelopes your cunt and his tongue nudges at your sensitive bud.  “Delicioso,” he groans between licks.  He slips a finger inside you, and you instinctively roll your hips into him.

Him stroking you inside and out is divine, and you try to sink into the sensations and just enjoy, but a thought keeps worming its way back in.  Your mind won’t let it go, so you clear your throat, “Um Javi? I need to tell you something.”

“What is it, sweetheart? Are you ok?  Do you not like it?” he kisses the inside of your thigh, looking worried.

“No no, it feels so good, don’t stop.  I just…  I… fuck…” you lose focus, distracted as he resumes dragging his fingers in and out of your pussy, circling your clit with his thumb.

“I have read your papers, have you changed your mind about something?”

“No, it’s not that.  It’s just… I’ve never… come with a partner.”

“Hmm,” he murmurs into your skin, continuing to stroke you, “Do you come when you watch me?”

“Every time,” you moan as his fingers find a spot deep inside that makes your arch off the bed.

“Then we will see.  It is ok if you do not.”

“I want to.  With you.”  You do, so so badly.

It’s something you’ve thought about a lot.  It could be a matter of skill, but you can get yourself off alone just never with a partner.  You have a suspicion that how you feel about your body might be the reason.  None of your partners have ever said anything to make you feel badly, but you haven’t exactly let them appreciate you either, assuming that they wouldn’t.

You cover yourself, turn off the lights, only partially undress, in the hopes that a partner won’t notice what you look like.  As if they haven’t been looking at you in all the moments leading to the bedroom.

But Javi didn’t let you do that.  In this bright room, you bared yourself to him and he said you were deliciosa.  

“You have my word, I will try very hard,” he places his free hand over his heart, sealing his promise with a nod, making you giggle. “And we have things to help, if you need them.  It is ok. I will take care of you.”

“Thank you, Javi, oh…” you cut yourself off with a moan as Javi dives back into your cunt, sucking your clit into his mouth and making your hips jerk.

You decide to believe him and work to clear your mind.  Your eyes drift close as you focus on the pleasure he is pulling out of you.  His warm tongue strokes wide and firm, circling your clit in determined strokes.  You let your body respond how it wants.  Your hips rock into him with each stroke of his tongue, seeking that perfect pressure.  It feels amazing.

But you don’t come.

Before you can get frustrated, Javi kisses his way back up to your tits and gathers them in his palms.  “Look at you in my hands,” he moans, mouthing at your soft flesh, swirling his tongue around each nipple.  You take the opportunity to run your fingers through his silky hair, twirling one curl and then another.

He groans in appreciation when you tug slightly.  The sound goes straight to your core.

He looks up at you with a wicked grin. “Roll over, bonita.”

He rolls you on to your stomach, kneeling across your outstretched legs.  He gently smacks your ass cheek, sending ripples through your body. You gasp and your pussy clenches around nothing. 

“Yesssss,” he hisses and he smacks you again.  “Look how you bounce for me.”

He takes handfuls of your ass cheeks and kneads and squeezes them together.  Suddenly you feel his cock slide through the cleft of your ass.  You try to twist to see him but can only get glimpses of him staring down at you, slack jawed and wrecked.

Your body is making him look like that.  It makes you feel powerful, and you wish you could watch him enjoy you.  For the first time, you regret not allowing the cameras.  

“Fuuuck,” Javi growls, sliding his cock between your ass cheeks.  You whimper and whine pinned underneath him.  “I could come like this, bonita, you feel so good.”  He lets your ass cheeks fall apart and smacks them again before gathering you back up around his cock.  “So juicy and plump.  Fucking amazing.”

You’re drenched with arousal and unable to relieve any of the pressure.

“Fuck me, Javi, please,” you beg.

“Sí, bonita, I will fuck you,” he growls.

Javi scoots back and rolls you over then wedges himself between your legs.

Taking his cock in hand he glides himself through your slippery folds, nudging at your clit with each stroke.  You whimper as he teases you until he notches himself at your entrance.

He eases himself into your channel.  He’s a lot to take and works his way in gently, watching your face for signs of discomfort.

You let out a guttural moan as he bottoms out in your cunt. “So good Javi, you’re so big.  Fuck, I’m so full.”  The stretch of him is glorious.

He pistons his hips slowly at first as you both savor the drag of him through your walls.  Gradually he speeds up until he’s slamming his hips into you.

Every thrust reverberates through your body.  Your breasts and tummy wobble, but you don’t try to stop them.

“Look how you bounce when I fuck you,” Javi groans, continuing his relentless pace, “ it’s so sexy.”  His fingers dig into your thighs as he presses you open.

“Yes Javi, more… yes… please.” You beg nonsensically as your orgasm begins to sparkle at the edges of your awareness.

“You need to be filled up, don’t you bonita?  You need to be stretched around this cock.  That’s it.  Fuck. You feel so good.”  He moves a hand in between your bodies to circle your clit and you cry out.

“I think I’m close, Javi,” you whine.  He circles your clit faster continuing to drag his thick cock in and out of you.

“Let go, bonita.  Let me see it.”

You tip over the edge, an edge you have never found with a partner before, but you’ve never felt so desired with a partner before and so free in your body.  Javi’s skill with his cock and mouth and fingers is unparalleled for sure, but what does it is the look in his eyes and his filthy words when he fucks you.

He has made it so clear that his arousal is not despite your body, but because of it.  And he made you believe it too.

“Bonita?”

“Mmmm?” you mumble as you come back into your body, the aftershocks of your orgasm spacing farther and farther apart.

Javi is next to you, holding the back of your hand up to his lips as he peppers it with kisses.

“I have a question.”

“What is it?” you crack one eye open.

“Can I go get Erin to set up some cameras? For the next one?” he asks, eyes wide and hopeful.

You bite your lip as a shy smile spreads across your face.  “Yeah, ok.”

“Deliciosa.” He smiles in return before bounding out of the bed towards the door, leaving you giggling on the bed.

You stretch out while you wait for him to return, feeling more at home in your body than you have in a long time. You wiggle your fingers and toes and smile to yourself. The next one is going to be fun.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - 

Translations: Deliciosa/o/son deliciosos – delicious, they are delicious Bonita – beautiful Que linda – how beautiful/pretty Te deseo – I desire you Por supuesto – of course Bueno – good Gracias – thank you Absolutamente – absolutely Lo necesito – I need it Quero verta – I want to see you

Series Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Taglist – in reblog

#the sweepstakes #javi gutierrez #javi g #javi gutierrez x reader #fav g x reader #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal

[dellalyra]

a scenario: where tsumikis schoolmate says shes going to have a little brother, and then she hints at the reader and gojo like "those baby clothes are cute" or "that baby is so cute" and gojo and reader are like this😐😐🤔

A/N: this was ADORABLE I just had to write headcanons oh my GOD.

• Tsumiki comes home from school one day and she’s acting… cagey. No cagey isn’t right. She’s being suspicious either way.

• She tells you that she and Megumi are going to stay at Aunty Koko’s this Saturday night, and you don’t remember planning a sleepover for them? Did you forget?

• She ensures you that you didn’t, she just wants to and then she’s telling Gojo that he should take you to dinner on Saturday night. He blinks owlishly and glances at you, to which you shrug – you’ve no idea where this weird behaviour is coming from. But she’s 13, and kids that age are weird.

• Satoru does as suggested and you both have a lovely evening and dinner then you return home to be ploughed right into the mattress – the perfect evening.

• Things continue as normal for a few days after that, then Tsumiki is sitting beside you as you both get your nails done and she keeps showing you videos on her phone of sweet babies – tiny little things – even one dressed as a little bear. You giggle and coo at them with her, not even thinking twice about them, little girls love cute things – and what’s cuter than a sweet, pudgy baby?

• A few days later, she dragged a box from the loft and it was full of you and Satoru’s baby photos – a tiny blu-eyed, white haired boy in professional photos and ones of baby you sitting in a field of flowers taken on a film camera by your mom, she keeps handing Satoru the photos of you and you the ones of him.

• She calls you in one day to her room, saying she needs help with her science homework – and shows you a notebook you know isn’t her school one filled with 4x4 boxes she’s drawn out. She explains it’s about genetics and can predict the genes of a baby.

• “So let’s use you and papa as our experiment!”

• She proceeds to explain to you (weren’t you helping her) what you and Satoru’s offspring might look like.

• By now you’re catching on.

• That night you and Satoru are laying in bed, and you fill him in on your theories about her antics lately.

• “So she wants a baby sibling? Isn’t Megs enough for her?” He laughs.

• “No, she wants a real child, not one who acts like a 70-year-old man.”

• “What about you?”

• “Do I want a sibling? No – my brothers enough for me thank you ‘toru.”

• “No, dumbass. Do you want a baby?”

• “With you?”

• “No with Nanamin – yes with me!”

• “You know I do, silly man. I thought we said we’d wait until my IUD was out. I’ve only 2 years left until I get it out. Then we could just, continue as we are and see what happens?”

• “That’s a perfect idea – think we should get some practice in though, so we can get it right.”

• The next incident came when she was watching you get ready one morning, putting on your make up.

• “Mama, where do you keep your pill?”

• “I don’t take the pill, ‘Miki. I have an IUD.”

• “The the inside one, right?” She asks, slightly crestfallen.

• As you were shopping that day, the boys off somewhere – you took Tsumiki to the clothes stores with you. She snuck up to you, and handed you a little bundle of yellow fabric. It was a tiny newborn sized Winnie the Pooh onesie.

• “This might be a bit small for you, ‘Miki.” You joked.

• “Not for me! I just thought I’d show you! Isn’t it adorable?” Then she passes you tiny green socks and a red and white mushroom design sun cap for babies.

• “You trying to tell me something, sweet girl?” You smile at her, one brow raised.

• She blushes, knowing she’s been caught. Her subtle tricks hadn’t been that subtle.

• “Hana in my class, her baby sister was just born and he’s so cute! I was just thinking, that maybe I could have one too?”

• You giggle at her.

• “Is this what’s been going on? The impromptu date night? The videos of babies? The questions about my IUD?”. She nods at you.

• “Would you be happy to wait 2 years? Because we’d love to give you another little sibling – you’re such a good big sister already. I promise we can go shopping in every baby store then, okay?” You say, planting a kiss on her head.

• She seems placated by that, starting to ask you what you’d name them when the time comes.

• Akio really would have loved her.

#jjk #jjk x reader #gojo satoru #gojo satoru x reader #gojo x reader #gojo fluff #anime #family formations extras #dad!gojo #family formations headcanons

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

The First Fairy Tale

ahdbalidbaidf I'M SUCH A SUCKER FOR UNREQUITED KNIGHT X PRINCESS STUFF (even if it's not clear whether or not Lilia's crush persisted beyond childhood in canon) SO. I'M WRITING THIS… 😭This fic is purposefully ambiguous about the type of love Lilia feels in the end for Meleanor. It’s up to the reader to interpret it as they please. This piece was inspired the story of Madame Red from Black Butler. You don't need to know either to enjoy, but if you do happen to know them then I think you'll appreciate it more. There’s also some references to a few Disney films besides Sleeping Beauty—can you find which ones? I also purposefully repeated some phrases and blended a few references together to give the fic a “dream-like”/deja vu feeling. There was going to be a wedding scene opening with “There wasn’t a cloud in the sky” in reference to We Don’t Talk About Bruno, but I had to cut that since the fic was getting long. Even without that and some other cut scenes, I think this is the longest fic I’ve written before. It’s almost 8k words!!

... Do you remember? I told my first fairy tale to you, my most beloved. ***Spoilers for book 7 part 5 of the main story!***

Imagine this...

In a castle forgotten by time, a lone figure walked among the creeping thorns. The plants swallowed the grounds, yet he moved swiftly and stealthily, passing over briar as easily as water over stone. Not a single movement was wasted as he traversed the brambled floors.

His ponytail—black streaked with red—fell in his path, the slight whip of it the only trace of his presence. He had traded his battle armor of old for plainclothes long ago, but still hadn’t filled into them yet. To shed the life of a general for that of a civilian was no simple task.

The small, doughy creature pressed against his shoulder sleepily lifted its head. Upon the infant’s crown was a cap of shockingly silver hair, the same color as moonlight. The boy thrusted a pudgy hand into his cheek, delivering a soft pap to the hardened veteran.

“Tch…!” Lilia pulled away brusquely. “Troublesome little creature, aren’t you? Hold still. We’d have made it out of here by now if only you weren’t so…”

Weak, defenseless, frail, vulnerable.

An array of potential words rose to fill in the gap. He settled on the least abrasive one he could muster.

Something cute.

Children like cute, right…? Right.

“… squishy.”

The infant—no, Silver, he corrected himself—seemed curious about the response, staring up with sudden interest. Lilia’s skin prickled at the sensation. He averted his eyes to an interior that had seen better days.

Once a shining jewel to house the crown princess, Wild Rose Castle was abandoned now. The thorns had invaded, climbing the walls and digging themselves into every nook and crevice. Furniture and weapons devoured, flags and tapestries consumed, meeting a similar fate as the nation that had once proudly flew them.

Ruins entombing stolen time.

What had once been a palace teeming with history, with life, was left a barren wasteland. All that remained were shadows of the past which clung thickly to the thorns. One misstep, and they would cut into him, bringing both pain and searing hot memories.

Funny, that: how the natural forces were unrelenting and indiscriminate. Yet the trace of an enchantment in the air suggested otherwise, its telltale tingle palpable. He knew the bramble had come from magical means.

A fairy's spell lingered. Some bygone blessing or curse, told in the tattered remains of a hazy vision and a wish for more halcyon days. Parents wanting to spare their child from the horrors of war.

Lilia's grip on Silver subconsciously tightened.

What rotten luck. I return after all this time to pay my respects, only to find Wild Rose Castle in this sorry state. How the mighty fall.

Silver fidgeted in his arms, as if sensing that something was off. A bit of saliva dribbling from the corner of his mouth, a soft whine gurgling up.

“You’re fussing again already?” Lilia frowned. He awkwardly laid a hand on the infant’s back. Are all infants this incorrigible? "The journey will be a long one if you aren't able to settle."

The infant turned its head, his cheek fitting neatly into Lilia's palm. There was a coo, then a sigh of contentment.

Still shaking off the sleepiness.

"... You're so needy," Lilia grumbled, noting the drool wetting his skin. Silver blinked at him with large, iridescent orbs. "I don't understand. Do people actually find this endearing? To find such joy in raising their young is..."

He hesitated to finish his sentence.

What did a man like him have to say on the matter? Long-lived as he was, that kind of love was something he had ever experienced for himself.

A gentle, warm hand to guide him through the darkness. The love of a parent.

Yet here I am, a loveless fae robbing a baby from its cradle. Just as the humans believe we do.

What irony.

Sadness nipped at Lilia as his thoughts turned to Silver. If anything, the little one had more power to shape the world around it than he ever could.

It was for this sort of creature that the Dawn Knight made a prayer for the future. It was for this sort of creature that Baul's rigid heart shifted. It was for this sort of creature that she...!!

Lilia's fingers had clenched into a vice grip on Silver. The infant cried out, squirming uncomfortably in his new guardian's grasp.

"Shoot...!! Er... there, there. It will be alright."

He clumsily rocked the baby back and forth. It was too vigorous, for Silver bursted into tears. His wails echoed off the desolate walls of the castle, piercing loud in Lilia's ears.

The fae jerked back, holding Silver at a safe distance from him. His grasp, precarious.

This is proving to be much more challenging than I initially thought... H-How do I silence it?!

Lilia glanced around helplessly at his surroundings. Everything was encased in a cage of thorns: antiques, drapes, even the axes mounted for decoration—to liven up the room. They were impossible for him to reach, else he could swing them around to amuse the boy.

Pieces of the past far out of his reach.

It’s not an option. A human babe is not like a fae babe. Lilia’s head swarmed with stress, Silver’s sobs only multiplying his worries. What do I do? What… would she do?

Meleanor…

The name of his princess emerged. Along with it, a scene blossoming in sepia shades.

Her, in a regal black gown and dripping in green gemstones and finery. Him, in a general's armor. A princess and her knight, straight out of a fairy tale.

She was humming while caressing a large egg, a marbled violet flecked with green, dark webbing laced the shell. It conformed perfectly to her chest, pulsating with a strange warmth as she ran taloned fingers over it. Another role she had adopted: mother.

A low chuckle rose from the back of her throat. "Fufufu Look, Malleus. Our dear Lilia has taken the time out of his busy schedule to come pay us a visit."

"It's been quite some time since I last heard you giggle like a schoolgirl. Nice to know that you remain in good spirits." He arched an eyebrow. "... But since when did you decide to name the child? I thought the medical mages hadn't even determined a gender for your heir yet."

"Oh, some time ago," she replied flippantly. Meleanor was always like a storm, unpredictable and acting on her own whims. "I don't need anyone to tell me what my child will be. I already know... my Malleus will grow up to be an upstanding, beautiful man just like my Levan."

She had a dreamy, faraway look on her face. A slight blush to her high cheeks, a shine to her eyes, a kind smile at her lips. Completely unlike her, the tomboy who snuck out of the castle unsupervised and caused trouble for all the servants.

So utterly smitten.

For that moment and that moment alone, Lilia would have believed her a patient princess awaiting a knight in shining armor's rescue. Not him, but her beloved.

Levan.

He had to bite back a terse laugh, mask it with a joke. "Your Levan? Hold on now, you've got to share him with the rest of us. We'd simply crumble without his wisdom."

"I don't intend to share what's rightfully mine.” A teasing smirk he knew well had found its way onto her pert mouth again. “I'm a very possessive woman.”

"As I’m well aware. Alas, I serve such a cruel mistress of evil.”

She chuckled, resting a hand on her egg. "... When Levan returns, we shall arrange for tea. The two of you can regale me with the stories of your journeys. It gets to be so dull trapped in these castle walls. Oh, and of course, Malleus will be joining us. He has yet to experience our cozy little get-togethers.”

Their group. Their trio. The three of them. And now a new member. An expansion of the family unit—no, rather, the realization that something didn’t belong among them.

His heartbeat quickened.

"There you go again, making rash requests of me. You really ought to be more considerate of others. I came all this way out of the goodness of my heart, only for you to bark more orders at me. Don't I get to take a break?"

"I am being considerate," she insisted. "I'm considering Malleus. He is invited. You cannot uninvite him."

"That's not the point. Agh, what am I going to do with you?" Lilia ran a hand through his hair. The frustration was familiar—but so was the fondness that chased it.

“My, my. Such insolence. I’m afraid you’ll be stuck with me for a long, looong time. You should be less stubborn and more kind to your princess,” she purred, her words touched with dry sarcasm. “Isn’t that right, Malleus?”

“I’m too kind to you. Too patient as well,” Lilia sighed. “… It’s you who is headstrong.”

“I must be. I have a country and now a family behind me. A scorned mother’s rage is insurmountable, you know.”

He should have said something back. Played into their usual banter. But he didn’t—couldn’t bring himself to. Lilia looked away quickly, but not quite quickly enough.

“Oh? What nerve you have to avoid the gaze of your princess.” She dropped her playful tone. “Something weighs heavy on your mind.”

“… I can never hide anything from you, can I?”

“You will inform me at once.”

“So you can obliterate what ails me?”

“So that I may put you at ease." She lifted a hand, gesturing toward him. "That is the duty of a queen to her people… and, more importantly, of a friend to another."

Friend.

It stung right down to his bones, hurting more than a blast of righteous lightning. A reminder of what he was: a footnote, a supporting cast member in her grand story. Without that, he was nothing.

An outcast.

His stomach clenched. He forced down a bitter pill and spoke.

"I was just wondering what it must feel like to be in your position, Meleanor-sama," Lilia whispered. "Mother to a nation, and to a child. To wholly devote oneself to the service of others... I will never know what that is like."

At this, she laughed darkly. "I am strong. I have to be, because I have people to protect. You have that strength as well. You wouldn't be able to serve as one of my generals without it. There are just some things in this world worth risking your life for, hmm?"

"I don't understand. My loyalty will always lie with you, with Briar Country... but for a child, I cannot...!!" Lilia stopped himself, reining his emotions back to calm. "I've never known how that kind of love feels. I'm not capable of it."

Meleanor narrowed her eyes as she listened to his woes. Unwise men would think her contemplative. He knew better—she was scheming.

"... Let me tell you a secret, Lilia," she said at last. "A dragon's egg needs its parents' love to hatch. However, true love is a special spell. It's more powerful than any magic, and able to be cast by anyone. If you are able to protect me, then that alone is proof enough that you are capable of 'true love'."

"You make it sound so simple, but is it really like that? The children of man say that fae cannot tell an untruth, yet you so expertly reassure me with lies."

"You're questioning me? Laughable. I am a woman of my honor, unlike you with all your tall tales."

"They're not tall tales. They're real stories of the danger I was in. Danger that, mind you, I got in half the time on behalf of your demands."

"Is that so?" Meleanor had smiled at him then, her teeth gleaming in the dim candlelight. Long lashes fluttering against the emeralds of her eyes. "Then you wouldn't mind sharing a story or two with Malleus."

Lilia bristled at the thought, an old wound reopened. There was a burst of relief that accompanied the dull pain.

I can't sing her lullabies. I don't have her strength either. No partner to speak of, no family to look to. What I do have is...

He pressed Silver into him, keeping a hand rested reassuringly on the infant's upper back. Muffled cries and a warm wetness pooled on Lilia's shoulder. His steps slowed, coming to a steady pace.

The first words were the most difficult to get out.

"... Once upon a time, there was a princess living in this castle." His voice was slow and deep and sorrowful. Not a song, but a longing croon for days he could never return to.

They entered a corridor lined with paintings. The sound of Silver's sobbing funneled into the passage, a greeting to the dour faces of important officials portrayed in each frame. Horned, with raven hair and reptilian eyes, obsidian scales dotting their skin, milky and smooth as wax.

Lilia lowered his head to one as they passed--a woman upon a throne, scepter in hand, her pointed features dappled by moonlight.

"She was many things. Selfish, impetuous, and stubborn… but also brave, strong, and beautiful."

So beautiful.

That had been his first impression of her. A single pale rose amid a garden of thorns.

She was tiny in those days, still trotting about in small, polished heels that clicked with each step, her black dress swishing about. A scaled tail—fluffy at the end--poked out from under there, proof of dragonic heritage. Her long hair was slicked back, proudly displaying a pair of horns and the scales that crowned her forehead.

When she wailed, the skies turned stormy. When she beamed, the sun came out. Her expressions so lively as she spun around in her skirts, the fabric unfurling like the petals of a blossoming flower.

A princess both adored and feared by her people.

"She befriended an unruly ragamuffin.” Lilia's lips quirked, unable to fight them from tugging up. “He was without loved ones, so the princess extended a hand to him."

Lilia had stolen glances at her when he was convinced she was distracted. During royal processions, tending to the horses, when they crossed paths in the halls.

He never let himself stare for too long. To do so was nearly a death sentence. The guards would be upon him in an instant—or worse, she would.

But without doubt, she did.

She would look back, letting a telltale grin take shape when their gazes met.

Him, the nobody picked up by the royal family on a whim. A hopeless squire boy, a knight-in-training, a ward.

Him.

She noticed him.

Picking up her skirts, she'd made a beeline over. Grinning like a gremlin, she would inevitably set a tragedy into motion.

"Lilia, I'm sick of studying! Let's play instead."

"What? I don't want to. Besides, I have training to tend to."

"Oh, don't be such a spoilsport. That's an order from your princess, so you can't refuse!"

“And that's the way the story always goes, a princess and her knight." He passed a glance at Silver. The infant's crying had quieted, and he returned the look, eyes wet with wonder.

Lilia sighed. "... I guess you wouldn't know that, would you? Well, it’s not as though she were your average girl.

"A wicked princess, that’s what she was. There was not a day when she wasn't making mischief and pulling the knight into it with her."

She had had many games, not all of them clearly defined or with rules. Sometimes she changed them on the fly. Sometimes she played without guidelines at all.

Pretend escalated into full-scale magical duels. Scavenger hunts spanned the entire castle grounds. They’d race to see who could relieve the gallery of the most apples in the least amount of time, dig through the treasury for the biggest gems.

On particularly lazy days, a roll across the lawn was enough to amuse them. Petals were plucked, sugary honeysuckle trapped between their teeth.

"You have something stuck in your hair," she'd tease him, picking loose petals out. "Let me get that for you, my most loyal retainer."

He'd hold still, as commanded, let her take as long as she wanted tidying him up.

When the guards combed the garden for them, they’d squish into shrubbery and lay low until the coast was clear. Sometimes their lids would grow heavy and collapse—and when they roused, stars had spilled into the sky, and they’d count constellations until the morning.

Starlight dappling her noble face, her fiery spirit ablaze.

How many diplomatic meetings had they crashed? How many ancient items had they broken? How many headaches had they collectively caused?

Lilia chuckled faintly.

… Those were the good old days.

He continued down the path laid before him, the paintings seemingly chugging along in slow succession. Both people and time passing him by.

"There was another as well. A clever, kind-hearted duke who also warmed up to the knight. The three of them formed a most formidable group.”

“Are you two at it again? You never stop, do you?”

The voice came from the top of the stairwell.

"Levan. So good of you to join us," Meleanor said breathlessly—she had been running about. She slicked back a strand of glossy raven hair and beamed toothily. It wasn't the smile of a princess, but of a dragon yet to be tamed.

He quirked a brow. "Am I joining you? Whoever said that?"

“If you’re jealous, no need to play coy," she teased as the Dragon Duke descended the stairs. "You’re welcome to join us anytime.”

"The princess has already roped me into her antics," Lilia sighed. "Why not make it a party of three? We can all get scolded together later. Misery loves company."

"A tempting offer." Levan lazily tilted his head to one side. He always had a languid way of moving, like a curtain of night veiling the day. "I think you've got me convinced."

"Why did you agree when Lilia asked and not when your princess did?" Meleanor demanded, stomping a foot.

Levan shrugged. Effortless, defiant. "Perhaps you're not as charming as you think you are."

Any other person would have faced her wrath. Anyone else would have been forced to tango with lightning.

Not Levan. He was too hard to stay mad at, and too easy to forgive. His presence alone smoothed over tensions, settled storms.

“He’s a dreamer,” the dusty old court advisors would remark with disdain.

“He’s a dreamer,” Lilia would say, eyebrows raised in surprise.

“He’s a dreamer,” Meleanor would sigh, the stars in her eyes.

Now, she just smirked at him. "I'll have to demonstrate to you just how charming I can be."

She had looked at Levan differently in that instant. Her eyes did not glint at the sight of new prey to toy with, but with keen interest. There was something else too, an undercurrent of some tender feeling Lilia couldn't quite place.

Meleanor had never looked at Lilia like that.

Only Levan.

He shook his head.

I should have known then... I was fighting a losing battle.

"With time, they grew ever closer. Unexpected feelings arose. The knight came to love the princess.” Lilia's feet came down upon the bramble that knitted over the floor. He could not feel it through his boots, but it felt as though he was still being pierced in the chest.

Silver blinked as Lilia plodded along. The gentle rise and fall drying his tears.

It had been a heady spring day, another escapade dodging servants and sneaking beyond the gardens. The flowers had blossomed, the same as the princess. She had grown lovelier by the day, her spitfire attitude untempered.

His flower of evil.

They were crossing a brook then, Meleanor lifting up her skirts to float to the other side, Lilia hopping on rocks to cross. He could have flown with her if he tried, but he was feeling cocky, had wanted to shown off the fruits of his training.

One misstep, and Lilia went flying forward, crashing into her. Their bodies collapsed against one another's as they roll, roll, rolled into a field, blades of grass and stray petals collecting on them. When they at last came to a stop, they laid on their lacks and laughed until their lungs hurt.

Lilia had stared at her again. Her smile, a powerful spell. She caught him in the act, demanded what he was looking at.

"You have something stuck in your hair," Lilia told her as they sat up. "Let me get that for you, my most benevolent princess."

"Stop stealing my lines," she giggled back.

Only if you stop stealing my heart first, he thought. But Meleanor was selfish, and once she had claimed something as her own, she refused to return her new treasure.

Lilia reached--and produced a single white daisy between his fingers. Kneeling, he offered the token to her. "Here. For you."

"Prankster. You planted that so you could appear impressive," Meleanor chuckled, accepting it. "... However, the gesture is sweet, so I thank you for it."

She held the flower to her nose and inhaled its scent. Her lashes fluttered against her cheeks, lips brushing the velvet-soft petals of the daisy. Wind weaving its hands through jet back hair, spots of sunshine dancing across her.

The entire universe was conspiring against him, it seemed.

He remained kneeling, remembering his place. Him, the knight. Her, the princess. But if that was the case, then weren't they perfectly suited for a fairy tale?

Lilia steeled his courage and let the words he had been holding in all that time loose. "M-Meleanor-sama! I... I like you. Not just as a friend. More than that. P-Please accept my feelings!"

Rare surprise dashed her beauty. A crack of light, dawn chasing away the darkness. “Lilia...?"

Here was his weakness, more terrifying than any enemy their country had faced. One young lady, and he folded like a paper crane. His heart in her hands.

And she squeezed.

"I'm not sure if I enjoy this joke. What we had before... I liked that."

More delicate than he had ever heard her speak. Like she was afraid of breaking this.

"This isn't a joke. I'm... I'm serious about you! Please answer me!!" he pleaded. "Will you be mine?"

At once, her face fell. The daisy, and his heart, slipped from her grasp.

"Oh, Lilia," she whispered, a hand clamped over her mouth. "I'm sorry. So, so, sorry."

A resounding rejection, chased by a dreadful loneliness. It had been nothing like the storybooks had promised. Lilia almost wanted to weep at his juvenile naivete.

He hushed, the awareness of it all consuming him.

So this is love.

Love, and the lack of it. How it hurt him so, as it had from had the start. He was always alone, no matter how many people he surrounded himself with.

Was that really love then?

The thought struck him like a fist to the gut.

I thought I loved you. But maybe that wasn’t true love. Maybe I was desperate to be loved back. To have someone to call my own, when I had no one at all before. Maybe I clung to the first person that showed the slightest bit of attention to me.

Even so, my heart ached for you. Longed for you. Believed it was meant to be. Dreamt of you. I wanted to give you my everything.

Lilia tucked the infant’s cheek to his chest. Felt the child’s warmth, his physical presence. The steady drum of something buried deep in him.

There was a wobbly yawn in the silence. Silver, tuckered out from crying, awaited the next part of the story.

The breath Lilia held released. The words, painful as they dropped from his lips.

“But she had eyes for another: the duke. The knight watched as his two best friends fell in love.” Lilia’s nails dug into the cloth that swaddled Silver. “The princess and the duke were happy, so the knight, too, was happy. And why wouldn’t he be? The woman he loved the most was going to marry the man he loved the most. It was a happy ending for the trio."

He had been summoned by the princess that fateful day. Returning triumphant from the battlefield, adrenaline running high, he hadn’t even bothered to make himself presentable first. His hair was a mess, his armor stained with the remains of slain foes.

She waited for him beyond the door.

“Melea… Oh.”

His princess was seated beside Levan. She clung to his arm like a vine on a trellis, beaming like the moon on a cloudless night. Meleanor was drunk on the Dragon Duke.

He had never seen her so happy.

“Lilia! You’re here at last,” she called, waving him over. “Just in time.”

He glanced from her to Levan. “In time for what?”

“For our exciting announcement.” Meleanor wasn’t looking at him. Instead, she gazed adoringly at the man beside her. Somewhat shy. “Would you like to tell him? Or should I? Ooh, this is quite exciting."

Levan smiled softly—but Lilia could sense the slight discomfort in his eyes, the way they darted to his. Guilty acknowledgement, an awareness of betrayal.

I'm sorry, he seemed to say.

Lilia’s blood ran cold.

“I think you ought to tell him,” Levan suggested. His voice was gentle, but they felt like a slash to the throat, cutting deep.

Then Meleanor announced it, unable to contain the secret any longer. "We're getting married!!"

She showed her left hand. The flash of the silver band upon her fourth finger was unmistakable. A ring, binding them with a promise.

Together forever, those two.

Lilia’s world violently tilted. The castle crumbling, the sky collapsing around him. Yet he, the trained soldier, dug his feet in and stood his ground.

You've been bested. Admit it. Admit defeat...!!

He said the only word he could.

"Congratulations."

Lilia could make out the light at the other end of the tunnel now. The world beyond the walls and castle corridors. He knew the end of the story was fast approaching, and how it would sap his strength, his will to fight on.

Still, he continued.

“The new couple were soon expecting a baby. Someone much like yourself.” Lilia prodded at Silver’s flabby chin. “You’ll be graced with his presence soon enough. The princess’s legacy, Malleus Draconia… My responsibility these past 160 years.”

Silver gurgled.

“So enthusiastic. You have no idea what you’re getting yourself into,” Lilia softly chided. “We fae and humans…”

… can never hope to understand each other.

"We fae and humans can understand each other," Levan would have countered him. "We can make it a reality."

Tiny hands wrapped around Lilia’s finger. His touch, fragile.

You can afford to be hopeful. It drew a bitter chuckle from his handler. Brief reprieve before the plummet into something deeper and darker than the night that guarded them.

“… In a period of great unrest, the duke went missing. The princess was beside herself with worry—yet she remained stalwart for her people, and for their child. She wished every night for her husband to come home safely.”

They had magical might, but the humans had numbers. Each battle, an exchange of hard blows, casualties high on both sides. Reports rolled in as frequently as bodies did.

The people grew concerned, and so she had donned her mask to reassure them. Stoney faced and strong atop her tower.

“We will recover the missing couriers. We will secure our land and resources. We will beat back the outsiders. Briar Country will rise victorious in the war. Man will rue the day they came upon our shores. This, I swear to you as your princess!!”

Uproarious cheering and applause for her, their sovereign. A goddess of victory.

But he, watching from the shadows, knew better than that. All those years roughhousing with her, and he knew.

The face she showed the public and the face she made in private were two sides of the same card. Princess, mother, wife, friend. So many roles, all of them she played with such strength.

Meleanor only slipped when she thought no eyes were on her. When the servants had all retired for the night, and the moon and its stars came out.

Pressing his back to the wall, Lilia shielded his candle’s small circle of light from view. The hallway was drenched in darkness again.

A few paces away, her chambers to which she retreated every evening with her egg. With her dear little Malleus.

He listened.

Soft whimpers sounded from the abyss. Sounds and sights she would not dare show her people.

A leader such as she could not afford to be weak. The same leader who clutched her child to her and furiously prayed for a happy ending.

“Levan, where are you? Come home… Come home, you idiotic, idealistic man!!”

CRASH!! BANG!! BOOM!!

Lightning lit up the sky. Lilia's flame trembled before righting itself.

Her voice dropped to a devious coo. "... I'm sorry, Malleus. Did that scare you? There, there. It's alright, your mother is here. Your father will be too... and when he does, I shall give him an earful for being away for so long!!"

He listened, for he was the only one who could. He listened until his lids began to droops. He listened until he had to tear himself away.

Before he knocked upon her door. Before he could tell her he was here, to please let him in. Before he could confess, “I miss him too.”

Hold her. Cry with her. Dream with her.

Ask for Levan back.

“I will never wish for anything more than this. Please. Please…!!”

He had listened then, but no one had listened to him in return. Not even the stars.

Cruel celestial beings, he cursed—if they would not grant his wish, then he would take matters into his own hands.

Levan…!!

Lilia swallowed thickly. His footfalls had grown heavy, as if weighed down by cinder blocks.

Silver sleepily gummed his finger. Oblivious as to what was to come.

“The conflict escalated.”

It had all happened so fast. Flying by, a blur. Time was not a concern to most fae—a year was barely the blink of an eye. Everything blending together into an indiscernible mush, taken down with ease.

But war never became more palatable. He had simply trained to become numb to it all. The strong smell of iron, the corpses piled high. It was sensory overload, the taste of too many things at once.

A crimson-eyed demon stood at the boundary of a burning village. Inhaled the fumes, smoke and flesh wrapped in fire. Witnessed the leaping flames stretching to the sky.

Who had lived here? Who had died here? Lilia thought of neither.

Had to, or he would fall to his knees and wail.

He held a small cloth doll, long black hair and red dress. Somehow it had survived the carnage. The lone survivor of a massacre. The rest had been slaughtered or evacuated from the area.

Abandoned, just as he had been.

His gaze lidded, fingers closing around the doll. "… As if it were a day. Everywhere I go, it will be in a blink of an eye. Far Cry Cradle.”

Memories arose, pulled by the strings of magic. They exploded across his vision like fireworks. Tinted green and blue and pink.

There was a ghostly child walking among the ruins, smiling as they clung to their mother, doll in their other hand. Daily life making the rounds in the village, helping with chores and playing games. Story events on fast forward.

Then came the knights stomping in their silver suits, masked fae cloaked in black. Buildings caving in, bodies falling, the clang of weapons colliding.

Screams.

Red, red, so much red.

The child horrified, dropping the doll. Staggering steps backward.

He barely cast an eye at them. Surveying the scene straight out of a hellish dream, he sought out a familiar shadow. Had he walked among them, seen the same things he had?

To no avail.

Lilia blinked, and it was the end.

He had not treaded along this path.

“… Damn it, Levan.” He gripped the doll harder—as if to squeeze out its secrets. Making me hunt you down like this...

“General Vanrouge.”

Lilia did not turn. “Baul.”

“Sir.” He saluted to his superior. “The troops are rested. We are prepared for the final march to the Eastern Fortress.”

“… Yes, I understand. Let’s move out.”

He let the doll fall to the ground. His hands now freed, he pulled his hood up.

“General?” Baul called tentatively.

“The weather is chilly today, don’t you think?” The question, dismissive. Lilia slipped his mask back on—a beastly bat, glaring, teeth protruding.

His tears hidden from view.

Baul nodded. “… Yes, it is. I will remind the men to bundle up, sir.”

He looked away. “Good.”

Lilia firmly set his jaw. “War came knocking at their door, claiming many lives… and threatening to take the princess and her child too.”

There was something automatically off about the fortress when they slipped in. The infiltration too smooth, the corridors too quiet.

Combing the building yielded few results. There was no Levan, no Dawn Knight. Only cowering staff and scattered humans in iron armor piloting sputtering metal monstrosities.

He cut them down the same as the rest. A mad boar, seeking a true challenge.

"Where are you?! Show yourself...!!" Lilia's demands were hollow in the empty hallways.

A demon snarling for sacrifice, the humans called him. A heartbroken dreamer, seeking the love that he had lost, his troops would whisper amongst themselves.

They found him at the end of a trail of carnage. Panting, sweating, hoarse. The lines between man and monster converged in Lilia Vanrouge.

Then the message was delivered, striking fear into the fearless fae.

"... What?"

The weapon in his hand faltered as realization ripped through him.

“Wild Rose Castle is under siege?!”

"She summoned her knight to her side.” Lilia’s voice quivered, growing small. You’re weak, he snarled at himself, so very, very weak.

Silver, too, seemed to sense the shift in him. He rubbed his cheek against the fae’s finger. Was he trying to comfort himself, or his newfound caretaker?

“The princess asked of him to take her child to safety somewhere far, far away. To forget her. It was her final selfish request for him.”

He had found her seated upon her throne, one arm curled around her precious egg, the other grasping her scepter. It was a sight so familiar, so safe, his chest lifted with relief. Lilia ran to her, calling her name.

"Meleanor-sama!!"

Her arm swept out in an arc, face twisted with fury. On command, a bolt of lightning crashed down in his path.

"Tch...!"

Tucking and rolling, Lilia darted off to the side, narrowly dodging the strike. Where he had once been was a massive scorch mark on the tiled floor.

“You’re LATE, Lilia!!” Meleanor roared. "What if something had happened to me or Malleus before you had arrived?!"

"Hah. As though you would allow that to happen," he scoffed. "You would kill the Silver Owls dead if I weren't here to stop you."

It was their usual game, a playful chase, the exchange of pokes and prods. Today, Meleanor had no such humor. Her expression turned from rage to one of eerie calm.

Lilia shivered.

"They've come for us," she whispered, hugging her egg tightly.

They had always known this day was a possibility. Now it was here, so palpable it was unreal.

From the bridge that ran to the castle came ugly chants twisted with hatred. Hot, oppressive, heavy. The sound like smoke snuffing out the daylight.

“Kill the witch!”

“Seize the castle!”

“Bring me the spoils!”

Horror raced through him.

“Let’s get you to safety, princess. Quickly, before they breach the drawbridge. My men can only hold them off for so long—”

She rose from her throne, descending from her dais. Her stride was not urgent, not eager to flee—the pace closer to the kind one might set for a garden stroll.

Meleanor faced her knight with a small smile. The same one she offered right before suggesting some sort of mischief.

“Lilia.”

“Princess…?”

“I refuse to run.” Her eyes flickered like green fire. “I will stand and fight.”

Panic pulsed in his ears.

“What?! Of all the foolish, hard-headed decisions you’ve made… This is absolutely the most foolish and the most hard-headed one!! I won’t let you go out there. I can’t. You’ll be…!”

A fist closed around his throat. The word died there, half-formed.

“What is it that you wish to say? That I will be hurt? Killed?” Meleanor challenged. So steadfast, so brazen. “You think so little of your princess.”

“This is NOT the time to argue the technicalities!! We need you safe and well, Meleanor-sama. Think of your people! Think of Levan, your child...!"

Think of me.

She bared her teeth. “What is my power for, if not to protect those I love?”

Her gaze lowered to her egg, then to Lilia. “... You must flee to Black Scale Castle. They will not be able to follow you that deep into the mountain range.”

"I won’t abandon you. If you will stay, then let me fight alongside you as your sword and shield!"

"You have already done plenty for me. Do not mean to play the role of martyr too." Meleanor straightened, looking the part of a regal ruler. “You must go. I have guests to receive.”

"Argh, you stubborn princess!! How will you fight by yourself when you have your child to consider?"

"That," she laughed softly, "is a simple riddle."

His eyes sharpened with recognition of her next scheme. Meleanor wordlessly deposited the egg into Lilia’s arms. It was warm, humming from within the shell.

A life yet to be born, wishes yet to come true.

“I am entrusting you with Malleus,” she murmured sadly. “Please take care of him in his parents' absence."

“Don’t speak that way!!" Lilia snapped.

Don't speak as though we will never meet again, as though this is the final page of our story.

“In the first place, I could never… I can’t raise this child. I don’t know what it is like to love—not the way you and Levan do. I’ve never had parents. I can’t be one, not when I don’t understand that kind of love!”

Meleanor’s face softened. “But you love me, don’t you? And you love Levan too.”

He nodded. Slow, hesitant. “We were young. It was a long time ago,” Lilia mumbled.

“You love us,” she grinned, “so surely you are capable of loving our child, the product of our love—and Malleus will feel that. He will respond to you.”

“I’m not…”

“You are deserving of love, Lilia.” This, Meleanor spoke firmly. “Do not let yourself believe otherwise. I shall never forgive you if you do.”

The shouts were growing louder. The castle shuddered, stopped, and shuddered again. Doors being rammed at, forced open.

“Go,” Meleanor hisses. “This is an order from your princess. You cannot refuse.”

She had told that to him many times before. In dreams, in their games. Now, it hurt to hear more than any blow he had taken from battle.

Something in him gave, and instead of stepping away, he stepped forward. Inching closer to the woman out of his reach, but never touching her.

“I’m scared,” Lilia confessed, quiet as snowfall. “What if I lose you like we lost Levan?”

Then I will be alone again.

“Be not afraid,” she reassured him. Meleanor did not meet him in the eyes.

“Do you promise we will meet again?” he pressed. The egg felt as molten as magma against his armor. “Do you swear?”

BAM!!

The grounds shook—the Silver Owls had successfully taken down a set of barricaded doors.

The cries had reached a fever pitch. Boots trampling upon the sacred grounds. Louder than ever.

Meleanor’s expression darkened, turning grave. It was the look of men at midnight, alone in the woods. Hollow, haunted, unsure of their fate.

No.

“No…!!”

He launched himself at his princess, a hand outstretched for hers. She made no effort to reach for his.

Did not have to.

Lilia fell short, his foot snagging on something. He instinctively twisted his body, shielding the egg in his arms from the floor. His gaze tore to his ankle, where bramble has sprouted up and tangled itself with him.

More thorns crept up around him, swallowing the ceiling, the walls. They latched onto his limbs, dragging him away, away from her. He grunted, struggling against them, against his fate.

Her doing, her magic.

"... Farewell, Lilia."

Tears prickled. His voice raised, pleading with her.

"Meleanor-sama, don't do this.”

She walked past him and ahead, forever out of his grasp.

"Farewell, Malleus."

He tried again, even knowing it was futile.

The bramble was weaving together, forming a tough wall between him and her.

"Meleanor-sama...!"

Through the last opening, a perfect circular window, she uttered her final words to him. That knowing, daring grin. Eyes beholding a gleam brighter than starlight.

"May the Night bless you."

And then she was lost to him forever.

"MELEANOR!!!"

Lilia laid a hand upon the ajar doors to the fallen castle. Fingers curled. At last, he had made it to the frame separating the inside from out.

“... That was the last time the princess was ever heard of. The end to her tragedy.”

He summoned his strength and broke free, entering the waiting night.

The moon, a spotlight for the two.

Silver bristled as he felt his first cool breeze. Still, he did not fully burrow into his blanket—for his glimpse of the stars stilled that instinct. That's right, Lilia thought, of course he would be enchanted. It's his first sky.

Many firsts.

"If you like that, you'll be excited to know that it's always changing. There are a number of new skies to see. It follows us wherever we go."

So we will never be alone.

The sky, so sprawling, so grand. So accustomed to everything and anything.

His small, lonely, insignificant existence was nothing compared to it.

Ah.

A single tear rolled down his cheek, landing on Silver's nose. The infant stilled, feeling the wetness upon his skin.

Lilia furiously wiped it away, then rubbed at his traitorous eyes. The sadness failed to recede, the memories welling. Promises, hopes, dreams dredged up. Yesterdays calling out to him.

"... You lied, Meleanor,” Lilia rasped into the night. “You told me I would be stuck with you for a long time. So why… Why did you have to leave us so soon?”

A thousand swords stabbed into his chest. The pain radiated outward, a bloody bloom.

"It’s not fair," he sobbed, hanging his head. "It’s not fair at all. Meleanor, Levan… You’ve gone off together to a place I cannot reach, a place I cannot run to. You’ve left me behind. How am I meant to go on like this?”

I'm scared. I’m scared of the dawn and the tomorrows it will bring. Tomorrows without her and him in them. Tomorrows I must face alone.

More tears, plip, plip. A light drizzle upon Silver's face.

The infant stared up through aurora eyes. Not understanding, not knowing anything.

"How could I...”

Lilia’s voice caught on something sharp. He took a trembling gulp.

How could I learn to love you? When your kind, your very father, has taken nearly everything from me?

"... Hey, Silver."

The child cooed, as if in recognition of his own name. More likely, just responding to the sound of Lilia's voice.

Silver, the color of his hair. Silver, the shine of cloud linings. Silver, the start of something new.

"Tell me. What should I do?" Lilia's forehead and his touched.

Silver kicked his bendy little legs at the contact. Flailed his arms.

“Please guide me. I’m lost." He choked up. "I’m… so lost.”

Be the moonlight that guides me in the darkness. When all hope is lost and the stars have gone out, there will always be a silver light illuminating the path out of the black forest.

Show me the way, Silver.

“Show me if I can truly love you from the bottom of my heart.”

Lilia hugged the child to him. Felt his heartbeat, the same throbbing warmth that had radiated from Malleus’s egg.

After all that time alone amid the bramble… He was here. He was alive.

Up until her final moments, she had been thinking of them. Of this. The people she cared for, a baby not yet born.

The love he had let go, the love he had lost, the love he was he had to learn… It slipped away from him so easily, like grains of sand sifting between his fingers.

Lilia sighed with his entire body. The wind, drying his tears. He looked again at the child he had taken.

Silver giggled when he saw Lilia’s face. The boy’s eyes were clear. An unclouded, colorful aurora.

A weight in his chest lifted.

“… Did you enjoy that sad story?”

No answer, but a bop on his nose. Unintentional, he was sure.

Lilia rubbed at the place where he had been struck. There was no wound, no mark. Just a rapidly fading warmth where Silver's small fist had connected.

“… Silly thing,” he groused. In spite of himself, a stuttering chuckle rose from his throat. “If it will keep you from making needless noise, then I will tell you as many stories as you like. You need only promise to not laugh if I shed another tear.”

Silver squealed—close enough of a confirmation for him.

Lilia tried smiling. The corners of his mouth quiver before giving up.

Meleanor’s parting words floated to him. “May the Night bless you.” With that, it was the end of her tale.

The very same words uttered anew, a blessing for the boy once blonde. A fresh chance, the beginning of a new story.

Lilia looked to the horizon.

The first rays of sun were peering through the darkness. Gold streaking black in small slivers. Dawn had arrived.

A new chapter to their fairy tale.

#twst #twisted wonderland #Lilia Vanrouge #Meleanor Draconia #Malleus Draconia #Silver #Levan Draconia #disney twisted wonderland #spoilers #imagine this #beyond the looking glass #twst imagines #twisted wonderland imagines #twst scenarios #twisted wonderland scenarios #angst #tw // war #Bal Zigvolt #Baul Zigvolt #Baal Zigvolt

[ayyy-pee]

Walking After You

Discord 18+ - Twitter

Pairing: Nanami Kento x Gender Neutral Reader

Summary: This is just so unlike him. He doesn't do this, he doesn't go ghost, vanish without a trace. He never leaves you in the dark about what he's up to, where he's going or when he'll be back.

And yet, each and every call goes straight to his voice-mail, leaving you hanging on every word he says through his answering machine. 

Warnings: Major character death, grief/mourning, unanswered questions. Might cry I'm sorry, Shibuya aftermath

Art by: prawnm33

He should have come back to you. 

He promised. 

He told you he'd be right back. 

Minutes turn to hours. Hours turn to days. And days turn into weeks and you still haven't heard from your husband.

You can’t sleep, you can’t eat, you can hardly breathe without him.

He should have come back to you. 

This is just so unlike him. He doesn't do this, he doesn't go ghost, vanish without a trace. He never leaves you in the dark about what he's up to, where he's going or when he'll be back. 

And yet, each and every call goes straight to his voice-mail, leaving you hanging on every word he says through his answering machine. 

You actually haven't been able to reach anyone at his job, Jujutsu Technical School, either. You've left countless messages, meek at first, soon becoming frantic and desperate pleas for someone - anyone to call you back. You've sent emails, all polite until you reach your boiling point and spam their inbox with bodies of messages riddled with caps lock and profanity. 

But you need them to understand. They need to understand that he was supposed to come back to you. You need him to come back to you. 

You've even driven up to the school to find it barren, empty, save for a few staff who are just as lost as you when you question where everyone is. They don't appear to know a thing.

You visit his office and find it just the way he always leaves it, the photo of you and him on your wedding day sitting neatly at the center of his desk. You remember his words.

“So I have a reminder of why I do this everyday. A reminder of what I need to make it home to.”

And you bite down on your lip until you can taste the bitter, metallic tang of blood as you gently swipe away the thin film of dust beginning to cover the frame.

He should have come back to you.

You sit in his chair and you swear you can feel his presence with you as your eyes rake over his belongings. Pens neatly lined along the corner of his desk. An empty coffee mug you'd gotten him for one of your anniversaries. Books that he's yet to touch. 

You know he hasn’t touched them because he has a habit of placing a slip of paper at the top of the page he's left off and these books have none. A small film of dust is beginning to form on them and you know he hasn’t been here recently. It doesn’t appear anyone has except for you.

This place never holds any answers for you and every visit pulls you further and further into your pit of despair. So you leave empty handed.

It's only when you're home, phone in hand as you scroll through photos that you take your time to think about events of the past few weeks. 

On October 31st, 2018, you kissed your husband goodbye, smiling when he promised you he'd return shortly.

“I love you, my heart,” He told you, hand coming to hold the back of your neck as he kissed you once more. Deeply, passionately, lovingly. The way he always did. He poured all of the love he had for you into that kiss. You know it. You felt it. 

He should have come back to you.

Now you clutch your phone in your hand, eyes filled to the brim with tears and laser focused on his contact picture. Smiling a smile only reserved for you. His sharp cheekbones accentuate his beautiful features as his blonde hair sways wildly in the wind. An impromptu date to a vineyard. His idea, of course. 

He was always the planner.

Always knew what was next. Always a step ahead. 

So why hadn't he planned for this?

Your hands tremble violently as you hit the call button. Fat tears fall freely from your eyes and onto your screen as you stare at his now distorting picture. You hope above all else, he picks up this time. You hope to hear a voice that isn’t pre-recorded. You just want him to answer with a “Hi, my love”.

But it takes you straight to voice-mail. 

“You've reached Nanami Kento. Leave a message and I'll return your call shortly.”

Your sobs come uncontrollably now, wracking through your body viciously. The phone beeps, his voice-mail recording every choked cry, every plea for him to pick up just once. You're gasping for air, sputtering as you clutch at your chest. This pain is unbearable. You want answers, you want to crawl out of this darkness that's been forced upon you, but you can't.

Not until you know what happened. 

Not until you know why he never came back to you. 

#jjk fanfic #jjk fic #jjk x y/n #jjk x reader #kento nanami #nanami x y/n #nanami x reader #nanami x me #nanami kento x you #nanami kento angst #nanami kento x reader #nanami kento x y/n #nanami kento smut #jjk nanami #jujutsu nanami #jujutsu kaisen nanami #nanami x you #kento x reader #kento x you #kento x y/n #anime x reader #anime smut #anime angst #kento nanami x reader #kento nanami x you #kento nanami x y/n #nanami kento x gender neutral reader #kento nanami x gender neutral reader

[p1nkcanoe]

the polaroid collection: sunshine

this is part seven of the polaroid collection, based off of 'picture this'. you can either find the masterlist here, read on ao3, or read below:

Taking Sunshine’s picture had been difficult for two reasons. For one, just the knowledge that she was the last of his packmates that he had left to photograph had crafted a premature feeling of disappointment in his chest. After her, his naughty little collection would be complete. There’d be no more surprises caught with a flash and after that sex would just be sex. How plebeian. How boring… 

Second, the ghoulette had been waiting for him. She’d been waiting for the moment that he’d strike to cast her body in flash and film, all confident and smug with his stupid little camera between his palms and smile all toothy and wide. She’d been waiting, and that in itself made everything unexpectedly difficult. 

In hindsight, Swiss should have probably said no to the strap. If he remembers correctly the conversation went something like this: 

“Can I ride you, but also not?” Sunshine had asked, a little too enthusiastically while finishing up the baby pink polish she was painting onto his pinky toe. 

He’d had his foot in her lap as she painted it, his other flat against the bed, knee bent upwards. 

Swiss had barely looked up from his phone, where he was in the middle of a heated text debate with Rain and Dew over who took the last mango popsicle from the freezer. Only after sending his last text did he glance over the top of his screen to shoot her an amused look of intrigue. 

“What does that even mean?” 

“Cirrus and ‘Lus got a new strap. It’s big and purple and it has glitter, and I wanna break it in for them. Make sure it’s a good one, you know? Give it a test ride, if you will.” 

“So you want me to fuck you with it?” 

“Yeah,” she nodded, rolling her dandelion-colored eyes as if she wasn’t obvious enough before, “but I want you to wear it.” 

She’d capped the nail polish bottle after that and crawled up the ghoul’s body to shove a matching, lacquered finger into the center of his chest. 

“I think it would be fun.” 

There’d been a long pause while the multi ghoul had tried to picture the scene in his mind. He couldn’t, couldn’t make sense of why she’d want to rig him up with a toy no matter how hard he tried, but two dicks seemed more intriguing than just one in the end so he shrugged his shoulders and waved her off to go retrieve the thing, “Yeah, okay. Fuck it.”

“Oh, I will.” 

Then she’d left. Jogged off into the hall with a certain bounce in her step… and had returned with much more than just the new strap. 

“What’s that?” He’d asked, fingers hovered over his screen as his eyes raked over the items in her hands. 

The ghoulette had only bared her teeth in a wicked grin, “just a few accessories to go with it.” 

As it turned out, Sunshine’s unexpected accessories had been quite fun to put on. Kind of like a filthy, twisted game of dress-up in the interest of the ghoulette as he strips him bare in front of her standing mirror, only to redress him in the well-loved harness and help him move the silicone dick millimeters in each and every direction in order to find a position that “doesn’t smash his actual cock.” Then before he knows it she’s tightening the straps to a pastel pink ball gag behind his head and asking him if it’s too tight. 

He doesn’t know why he tries to answer her verbally, but the incomprehensible noises that come from his throat seem to surprise him. As does the wetness that already has begun to collect at the corners of his mouth. She reaches up to adjust the thing just a little more and then steps away and it clicks. Oh, she’s serious. 

The multi ghoul locks eyes with the ghoulette through the mirror, who stares back with a smug look on her freckled face, like she’s proud of her work already, and they’ve yet to even start the good part. Then he watches as she turns and descends to her knees, a small metal cage in her hands that he has no idea where it appeared from, and reaches for his (somewhat) soft dick. 

The cage is silly to look at. He’s never had one of them locked onto his own cock before, only ever seen them in explicit internet videos and that one random nude he randomly received from Rain… and for some reason his brain tries to convince him that it’s only a temporary detail –  that all of this is. Sunshine will take the thing off when the time comes, right? She’ll let him get hard, surely. She has to. She will. Right? 

Soon after that the time comes, and the ghoulette guides him backwards to lie on his back, and the thing (and all of the other accessories) stay securely on. 

Swiss will admit it. It’s oddly intriguing in an unfamiliar way when they begin to play – the ball gag and the stupid metal cage. There’s a strange arousal that he feels in his tummy when Sunny strips bare and climbs over him all slow and sexy-like, ignoring his flesh entirely to wrap her fist around silicone instead. The eye contact he thinks he could do without, though. It just feels bad to hold eyes with another as they lean down to lick at the thing and giggle at the pathetic noise that leaves him when he realizes it could be him. It could, but it’s not, and it’s not because for some reason he agreed to this. Satanas, is he cucking himself? 

He can’t even open his mouth around the right letters to plead or say ‘please.’ He just makes another stupid sound that gets trapped around the thing stretching his lips. 

He can only watch as she slaps the purple head against the flat of her tongue, moaning when she takes it a little deeper past her teeth, and then fluttering her lashes so beautifully when the silicone slides into the warm tunnel of her throat. And yeah, maybe this whole “play” thing is a little more serious than Swiss initially thought it was, because she’s actually sucking it like it’s his real cock. 

She sucks the thing obscenely at the tip, bobbing her head as the glittery ridge appears and disappears rhythmically between her lips, already shiny with spit, and both of her wrists work together in tandem to jerk off the remaining length of the shaft that her mouth doesn’t reach. 

Fuck, does Swiss wish that were him. Sloppy, messy head from one of the hottest ghoulettes he knows… (Pun fully intended.)

His dick throbs, stirring against the warm metal that restricts him like it forgets it can’t fill out. A thin line of drool drips from his lower lip down into the hair on his chest and settles. He barely feels it. He watches, distracted, as she drools similarly, but her saliva runs down the ridges of her fingers down towards where it begins to gather at the base against his skin. His skin. He really can’t believe any of this. His hands stay glued pathetically at his sides. 

Then she does what he really wishes she wouldn’t – she moves her hands out of the way and takes the thing so far down her throat in a single swallow that she gags. Sudden and harsh. The wet noise in Swiss’ ears as her muscles spasm could make him sob for mercy from the Gods below. But he makes a gorgeous noise instead – a fully fleshed, pleasured moan that sends a shiver down the length of his spine and makes his toes curl as if he could feel it. 

Something about that is mortifying. 

Sunny doesn’t make it any better. 

“Does that feel good? You like that?” 

He shouldn’t look, but he does anyway. He tilts his head down from where’d he’d thrown it back towards the ceiling and she’s pulled the cock from her throat and has replaced her mouth with her hand, stroking it from root to tip languidly and letting the frenulum ghost against her already-swollen lips as she breathes against it. Gasping. Panting. That smug grin is still there, multiplied tenfold now. 

Swiss’ brows knit together in bewilderment and his chest rises and falls wildly. Does that feel good? Of course it doesn’t. 

He can’t take his eyes off of her, no matter how hard he tries to pry them away. Her tits are heavy against either side of the cage. Warm. He’s sure he looks crazy. 

“You like it when I take you so far down that I choke on it?” 

There’s a dangerous lilt to her voice that Swiss has only heard maybe once or twice before. Once was when he passed this very room from the hall and had shamefully lingered around enough to listen in on whatever sinful pleasures she was putting a very whiny Mountain ghoul through during the middle of the day on a Wednesday, and the other time he’d experienced it himself (She’d somehow gotten him into a skirt and he’d never cum so hard in his life. Also, on a Wednesday…). 

The tone of her voice now is no different. She hums, the end of the noise rising in pitch slightly,  and lies a sharply manicured hand against the center of his tummy, tracing the valley of his sternum with her claw. Her skin feels molten, like fire against his. 

His jaw is already beginning to feel sore. 

“Tell me,” she says, “tell me how good it feels.” 

A quick puff of air huffs through his nose as the frustration builds beneath his skin. His jaw tries desperately to form words around the intrusion but nothing makes it past. He’s been muted. His hips suddenly twitch upwards and she replaces the hand on his tummy onto his hip bone to bruisingly press him back into the mattress. It’s all beginning to make his head spin and he isn’t quite sure how to feel. 

The multi ghoul’s brow furrows into a look of confusion mixed with something teetering on red-hot irritation. His fists bury themselves into the raised stitching on her comforter and he feels his claws catch on the individual threads. 

Time seems to stop for a moment. The only sound he can hear is the flood of his own blood pounding in his ears. Satan below, he can feel the harsh beat of his undead heart pounding against his ribs as she eyes him hungrily, looking him over like a predator to her prey. 

Swiss isn’t sure he’s ever been in a position so humiliating in his entire second chance at life, and he really isn’t too sure how he got here in the first place. 

Is this what Rain felt like? Dew? When he’d held them down and spit venomous words at their submissiveness? Made fun of them for their inability to put up a fight? Is this what Mountain feels when he slips into the ghoulette den late at night? Is this what they crave? This twisted, cruel feeling? Powerlessness? Humiliation? It’s strange. It’s… intoxicating. 

Sunshine gathers up a ball of saliva on her tongue and spits. It spatters the underside of the silicone cock and covers his lower tummy in a transparent, sticky glaze. It snaps Swiss back into his conscience but he barely has time to register her next move before the ghoulette is crawling up and settles over his tummy, her cunt pressed to his thick happy trail and her hands on either of his pecs. Her pinky finger spreads his own saliva thin until it’s cool and tacky. She’s absolutely soaked between her thighs. 

He knows it’s coming, but when she begins to move her hips, grinding over his abdomen and coating the length of it in slick, he feels like he nearly passes out. He’s so hard, yet not nearly hard enough, and his entire vessel pulses with the pulsing of his blood rushing through his veins like a rampant river. 

It’s the first time he’s been able to actually feel her on his body and it’s not nearly enough. She feels so good on top of him as she grinds. So hot, so slick. But he wants her on his dick – and not the fake one. He wants her to free him from his cage so he can inflate to fullness and impale her in an instant, make her pay for this torture that he’s putting him through until she’s begging for him and apologizing for this game she plays. But he doesn’t. Because she won’t. She’ll keep grinding and getting him all messy, digging her nails into his skin and pulling unrelentlessly at the curls on his chest until he’s raw. 

She dips her middle finger deep into her hole, all the way to the knuckle, and smears the wetness over his bottom lip. He can’t taste her – just another one of her games. Her taste gets lost in the saliva dripping from his lips like a broken faucet. But he can smell her and it hits his senses like a truck. His eyes dilate until that pretty gold is nothing but an eclipse in an instant. It takes everything in him to keep his fists clenched in the comforter. A few broken seams can be mended when it’s all over. 

She continues to grind, moaning with every slide across his abdomen with her eyes fixed downwards on the shiny trail she leaves behind. Swiss drools so heavily it begins to coat the underside of his chin and the dark front of his neck. Sunshine can only admire his ability to be so good for once. For her. She deserves it, afterall. How could he leave her for last? 

“Swiss, darling,” she sings and bends at the waist to lean over him. Her tits hang in his face just out of reach. If only he could get them in his- “You’re burning up. What’s the matter? Can’t take a little heat?” 

She runs the flats of her palms over the rounded tops of his shoulders and down over the tense, defined muscles of his biceps. He feels her warming them with that inhuman-like warmth and wants to feel them trail down the ridges of his ribs to fondle his balls and release his cock from- “Just a little more won’t hurt, will it? I know you can take it.” 

She almost sounds like she’s mocking him for things he doesn’t remember saying. 

Sunshine might as well be dabbled in the realm of quintessence with the way that her hands begin to trail down his sides, just like he needed them to. Her fingers skit over his ribs, leaving the lightest tickle in their wake as they go, and Swiss whimpers from behind the gag when she never stops. Her hands dance over the tops of her own thighs to find his hips. His cock throbs against the cage–he’s positive he’s leaking through the metal because he can feel it licking at his taint–and his lashes flutter closed when that manicured hand, so nice and warm, finds and cups his balls. Her other hand reaches for silicone. 

She sinks down over the entire  glittery thing in a single quick drop of her hips. 

It pushes every atom of oxygen from Swiss’ lungs. 

He can’t breathe. He can’t. Her hand is gone in an instant with the slide into her cunt, and she must be set on really trying to kill him because she instantly sets a brutal pace, doing all of the work herself without a care in the world if the ghoul below her feels like his lungs are burning or if the harness around his hips is tight enough to leave a mark. It’ll definitely leave a mark. 

She rides him like she’s been withheld of cock. Rising, dropping, she uses his body simply to support herself as she takes it, moaning loud and unabashed with every single wet slide up inside of her. And then suddenly Swiss begins to notice from behind a haze of drool and lightheadedness that she’s beginning to huff. Those pretty moans have gone harsh, punched out, and her thighs are braced tighter on either side of him. Her knees are pressed so sharply into his ribs that he’s beginning to choke around little mewls of pain. 

Her stamina is quickly waning and he wants to help ease that burning in her thighs before she slides off. She’s just too beautiful like this, all fiery, frizzy curls and gorgeous tits bouncing in time with the rest of her curvy body. For the first time since she mounted him he untangles his fists from fabric and tries to place them on her waist, but the Ghoulette is quick to notice through huffs of exhaustion and pleasure. 

“No, no, no,” she pants. Suddenly Swiss’ camera is dropped roughly into the center of his chest with a thud. He loses his breath once again – a quick stream of air from the nose. “If you wanna touch something then be useful and get that camera ready.” Then she says the thing that nearly makes him forget about the photo altogether: “For fuck’s sake, Swiss. Fuck me like you mean it.” 

His hips are rising from the mattress before he realizes it. Quick, stuttery punches. He tries to meet her like he normally would, but he still doesn’t have his hands and the angle is just all wrong. It’s awkward. Difficult for some reason, and no matter how he tries to punch his lower body upwards or wait even a second longer to find that good spot, it doesn’t feel right for either of them. His dick is in the wrong place. He hates it. 

“Fuck me, Swiss. Do it correctly.” 

There’s something venomous in her voice that makes Swiss head swim and his tummy tighten, but fuck, he’s really trying. 

Finally, after a couple poorly-timed thrusts and a tear of sharp claws into his waist, he begins to get it and the ghoulette is happy to meet his desperate thrusts with expert drops and rolls of her hips, moaning and cursing with her bottom lip tugged between her fangs. When her abdomen tenses hard and tight he expects to feel her squeezing around his dick. His body prepares for it, tensing on its own and preparing himself to try not to cum, but there’s nothing. Nothing except the odd, null sensation as his head catches up and remembers that that thing is not part of him – that the part that is is currently locked away, deprived of any and all pleasurable sensation. 

That cruel, metal cage… He’ll never use it again – neither for himself or on anyone else. He’d rather be sent back to the pit than experience this torture again, or submit anyone else to it for that matter.  

But Sunshine seems to be wholly enjoying herself, if the noises she makes and the squelching sound of her wetness around the toy’s girth is any indication. 

Swiss, on the other hand, is suffering. 

He can watch her bounce on his cock all day, can watch her grind for hours before having the thought of cumming even cross his mind, but the lack of stimulation is maddening. It’s a cruel illusion that somehow also manages to make his balls want to explode. 

His cock strains against its unforgiving confines. Throbbing. Hot. And he chokes out a garbled moan when she leans back and places her hands on his thighs to brace herself as she shows off all of her body to him. Her cunt takes that stupid cock so perfectly, stretching and molding itself to suck it back inside. She rises and lets the tip kiss her entrance before sliding back down and taking the entire thing to the base. It knocks a yelp from her throat. 

That should be him. He should feel it. He still doesn’t. He won’t. 

“I knew you’d feel this good. Knew I had to fuck this cock one way or another. And don’t I look so good doing it?” 

She’s goading him again. 

His fingers are gripped so crushingly tight onto either side of his camera that his knuckles are pale. He’s beginning to shake from his overwhelming need and desire to be freed. If it wasn’t locked with a key he’d do it himself. 

He needs to touch her, squeeze at the fat on her thighs and wrap his arms around her waist. A particularly hard drop has her plump ass slamming against the base of his dick and the multi ghoul cries out, loud and harrowing, from behind the bright pink intrusion in his mouth. His jaw aches so badly, his throat now, too. 

“Take it now,” she pants, eyes closed and mouth slack. “I like the way you cry out for me.” 

She rides him with a perfect bow to her spine to show off her body as one of her hands tangles its way into her curls and the other clutches on tightly to her right breast, kneading and groping the flesh. Her dusky nipple pokes out right above the webbing between her middle and ring finger. Swiss fumbles for the right buttons and waits for the blinking light to turn on, cursing when it seems to take twice as long as usual, and finally raises the camera shakily to line up the shot. 

He moans with every slap of her skin against his as if he’s tied himself to the silicone toy, and Sunshine seems to like that. She encourages him, commanding that he be louder and hurry it up because her thighs are really beginning to burn in this position. He struggles to get the frame just right because he’s unable to stay still. She must be trying to make this as hard as possible. Difficult – she makes everything difficult. 

He keens when she moans and Sunshine puts everything she has left into those last few bruising drops. She’s going to make sure he feels it. It may not be what he needs, but she’ll make him feel something in return for allowing him to have his silly little photograph. 

He snaps the picture randomly, in the heat of the moment, and if the picture happens to come out a little blurry in the end, who cares? 

Her tits, frozen in time, and the look of pure satisfaction on her face as she pleases herself and takes him apart is nothing short of perfect. He’ll never feel quite like this ever again.

Finally, Swiss’ polaroid collection is complete. 

#sunshine ghoulette #swiss ghoul #nsft #the polaroid collection #nameless ghoulettes #ghoulettes

[liebgottsjumpwings]

AUGUST AFTERNOON | FAYE FISCHER | MASTERS OF THE AIR

Summary: Faye Fischer and her newly acquired friend Ken Lemmons spend a sunny afternoon at Thorpe Abbotts, Faye thinks about the past few years and is then (not so) rudely interrupted by a certain curly haired pilot. Who had managed to make her blush several times some days ago.

Warnings: general war violence, implied minor (and not canon) character death.

Word count: a bit over 2500

Note: this was meant to be a little less than 1k word blurb, turned into way more. I hope it isn't too boring as most of it delves into Faye's experiences before the mota canon. That is also because I use my ocs to study certain historical events, so this really is just self indulgence. Please pretty please let me know what you think of it! (This fic is also posted on AO3)

AUGUST 21, 1943, 16:32 

“What kind of name is ‘Just-a-Snappin’ even?” Faye Fischer wondered out loud, only half expecting an answer from the man in front of her as she came to sit up from her lying position in the grass. She squinted, just about able to make out the text on the B-17 Ken Lemmons was working on. Her squint disappeared as he came into her sight, blocking the warm ray of sunshine she had been enjoying moments prior, her eyebrows furrowed into a frown. “You’re gonna have to ask Blakely that one,” answered the curly haired man standing in her sun. Looking at him, she wondered why he would hide those curls under that beanie. Probably so all that working grease wouldn’t get into it. 

Faye shrugged, letting herself fall back into the grass. “Whenever I ask Blakely a question, the man answers with a goddamn riddle,” she let the end of her sentence continue into a sigh. Ken just laughed, his hands firm on his hips. The sun made the edge of his curls shine, almost like an aureole. Visually, him standing in her sun wasn’t so bad, it looked quite pretty. Her skin was starting to miss the warmth of the sun rays, though. Faye’s fingertips tapped on the cap of her camera lens, the Contax II had been laying on her stomach, under one of Ken’s work rags, to shield it from the sun. “Keep standing like that,” Faye ordered him as she removed the cap from the lens, turning on her camera. 

“Aren’t you only supposed to use that for… you know… work purposes?” she heard him ask as she fiddled with the exposure settings. A scoff escaped past her lips as she lined up the viewfinder with her left eye. “Shut up, they made me pay for my own film rolls when I arrived in England, so they’re mine technically anyway” Faye deadpanned in response, snapping a photo of Ken. “Besides,” she continued, putting her camera back under the rag again, letting her head fall back into the grass, “don’t you think the photo I just took wouldn’t go over well with all those war bond leaflets?” She held up her hands, reading an imaginary leaflet “Purchase a war bond so our curly haired cuties can maintain our bomber planes!” she sarcastically called out. It earned a belly-laugh from Ken, who then turned around, readying himself to get back to his maintenance work as he continued laughing, “I hope to God not.” Faye smiled in response, “Yeah, well, I’ve taken more leisure photos on this camera than the OSS would be comfortable knowing. It is only fair because nearly all film rolls were mine anyway,” she trailed off, closing her eyes again as the warm August sun blanketed her. 

The warmth took her back to August, nearly three years back, 1940. To the emerging hills behind Mulhouse, in the occupied region of the Alsace in France. Back then, she too had snapped a photo that the OSS would turn their noses up at. She couldn’t help it, though, the sleepy little cottage the, back then, above ground resistance she was attached to used as their base of operations was too pretty against the sunny hills. Plus, the whole rule against taking photos that do not directly aid the war effort was bullshit anyway. They increased her morale, no? Surely a heightened sense of morale would aid the war effort. Just like her friend, and resistance member Isidore was aiding the war effort by developing the photos Faye had taken recently. His girlfriend, Julienne, a distant cousin of Faye’s neighbors back in Louisiana, the Klotz family, laid next to her in the grass, yelling at her sweetheart to stop working so hard and join them in the warm sum. She still remembered the minty smell of the Ground Ivy that tickled against her cheeks in the field near the cottage as she watched Isidore exit the cottage, some of the successfully developed photos under his arm, he dropped them above the two women. The photographs whirled softly down onto them, like those propaganda leaflets that had recently been dropping from planes over the region. The association made her chuckle. She much preferred these photographs over those leaflets. 

Oh, how she longed back to be in that sleepy little field just behind Mulhouse. Unknowing and indifferent to what was about to wash over her. Over her dear friends. Over her distant relatives, up north in Sélestat.  How she wished to gain that sense of unknowing and indifference once more. The fleeting feeling of walking back home from the shul on those warm August evenings, taking the train from Mulhouse towards Sélestat, being greeted by her grandmother’s second brother, the one who stayed behind in Alsace. Being taken in to his family, learning about their extensive history and connection to this land. It made her feel proud, like her family here. All of that despite the impending feeling of calamity. That feeling grew more and more with each news item about the Germans inching closer. Forcing themselves back into the territory they’ve claimed as theirs for eras. This time, it came paired with a terrifying venom against a group of people so deeply rooted in this region. 

After the annexation of the Alsace into Nazi-Germany, the resistance group Faye had been attached to by the OSS was forced to go underground. Her work, instead of reporting back to the OSS on current events in the border region between France and Germany, became a high-risk operation that aided the Alsatian resistance in its activities against the Nazi occupier. When it happened, the OSS had forbidden her to associate publicly with her family and the community she had built up. They deemed it ‘too riskful’. And because Faye had no choice, she listened to those orders. And just like that, her growing connection with her ancestral home region, her family, the core of her very identity was snapped away. Just as quick as it had flourished. She watched the treatment of her people become more and more dire every day. She watched and she could do nothing but watch. Nothing outward anyway. In secret, she was doing more than she ever had done. Risking everything to make it harder for the Nazis to spread their hatred and evil. In return, she got the gnarly gift of having to distance herself from the recently cultivating bond with her family that lived halfway across the world from her. 

Yes, she still had Isidore, Julienne and the rest of their group. Though, as they were forced to become underground, a painful strain started to form on their friendship. Understandably so, tensions were high, risks were always there and the imminent feeling of doom never stopped looming over the group. 

Which ended up being for good reason. Come the early February days of 1943, Faye found herself with her left cheek pressed into the cold ground where the minty Ground Ivy once grew. The barrel of a Karabiner 98A straight against her right cheek. She still wasn’t sure who gave up their activities to the SS. She wasn’t sure if she cared enough by then either way. Or now, for that matter. In the two and a half years that spanned from that first summer in Alsace to February of 1943, Faye had grown disillusioned to the point that she wasn’t even sure if she cared about living, or dying. Maybe it was for the better that death seemed so close. That it came to her in the form of a German rifle. 

That was until she remembered why her family decided to migrate to the United States. Back in the late 19th century, the Jews of the Alsace were already facing hardships. And it was those hardships that made her grandparents decide that from there on out, their family line would not suffer under those hardships anymore. So they set sail to Louisiana, because their children, and their children, and their children (and so on), deserved a life of flourishing. So it was there, February 1943, with the cold barrel of a Karabiner 98A pressed to her face, that Faye decided that she would honor that wish. She would not die at the hands of those who wished her dead. 

She wasn’t sure how, but she ran, she ran until her feet gave out and Isidore made them duck into a dense shrub. His face stained with dirt, much like hers. And through the dirt on his face, tears traced their paths. Then it dawned on her that Julienne hadn’t made it out with them. Faye hoped with everything she had in her dear friend wasn’t left out, alone in that cold field. But there wasn’t much time for hoping. They had to make it to safety. To a place where they couldn’t be reached by those who were looking for them. 

Switzerland. Within a few days of frantic fleeing, both of them somehow made it to Basel, just over the border. Isidore’s previously tear-filled eyes had turned empty by then. And Faye feared for him. She feared for everyone they had to leave behind. The fear didn’t leave her when she walked away from the hospital she had helped Isidore to, so his wounds could be looked at. Not caring much for her own, and after the OSS had been made aware of her whereabouts, they had arranged a route to England for her. To ‘escape’ the risk she found herself in, according to the OSS. She still scoffs at the mention of ‘risk’, the OSS would never fully know. And so, after a goodbye ‘for now’ and a promise to keep in touch, she departed for the train station of Basel, on towards Bern, and from there, hopefully England. She watched the fields roll by, they were barren, empty of life. She tried to not let it remind her of Julienne too much. Hoping that her friend had somehow made it to safety, like her sweetheart and Faye.

Her memories were disturbed by the warm sun once again being taken away from her. This time, it wasn’t because a certain crew chief by the name of Ken Lemmons was standing in between her and her blanket of warmth, it was because Faye hadn’t noticed the time pass by and the sun having moved behind the officer’s buildings on the air base. She let out a groan at the feeling of her back cracking as she sat up, her camera falling into her lap. Slowly opening her eyes, to her surprise, ‘Just-a-Snappin’ had been exchanged for a different airplane. Though, her eyes were too blurry from the sun shining onto them, to make out the name. These damn pilots and their airplane names. 

What she did make out was Ken and what seemed to be a pilot, standing by the plane as Ken pointed out several things on the wing. The pilot nodding, seemingly intently listening to Ken. Faye, after rubbing her eyes intensely, was able to make out more of the scene in front of her. Her sight darted towards the plane again, reading. ‘Rosie's Riveters,’ she mouthed the words. Way better name for a plane than whatever Blakely was thinking with his one, Faye thought. Her gaze moved over to Ken and the still unknown pilot again. Squinting, she could make out the brown curls, kept small and neatly arranged on top of his head. The 100th and their tendency to hide their gorgeous curls irrationally annoyed Faye to no end. She eternally cursed Ken for hiding them behind his beanie, too. She looked back to the nose of the plane, ‘Rosie’s Riveters.’ Oh. Robert Rosenthal. The man that had made her blush the other night without even knowing he had. Robert Rosenthal had arrived at Thorpe Abbotts some two weeks after Faye herself did. She had been sitting with Helen and the other women as she watched him come into the officers’ club, his feet carrying him, dancing towards his crewmates. It was his little twist and the way his jacket moved in the air flow created by it; itt had been the first time she smiled that day. And Helen noticed. Sending Faye a teasing look as she dug the nose of her shoe into Faye’s shin. The action made Faye’s cheeks turn bright red, sinking deeper into her seat, disappearing into the shadow of the curved wall as she let out a soft, intoxicated giggle. 

It wasn’t much later, after Nash had successfully achieved a dance from Helen, that Rosenthal’s eyes locked with Faye’s. The same red from before creeping up from her throat to her cheeks as she gave him a shy smile. His returning smile was beaming, like a direct ray of sunlight across the room. She would receive a few more of such smiles from him throughout the night.

Now, with his pilot’s hat snug under his arm, Faye could see him smile at Ken, a thankful smile. And who wouldn’t be thankful for Ken Lemmons. The man worked tirelessly to send them up safely into the air. But, oh she was sure it was Robert Rosenthal standing there, alright. Yeah, that smile, of which she had been on the receiving end several times now, she recognized it. The familiar, uneasy yet welcomed feeling creeped up in her stomach again. She could feel the flush in her throat. Combined with the hours of direct sunlight she had received over the afternoon, remembering their shared looks made her slightly lightheaded as she rose to her feet. Hoping to quietly leave, as to not gain the perception of both men standing some feet away from her. 

Mission unsuccessful, though, damn it. “Fish!” she heard Ken call her. Her arms dropped beside her body as she turned around, her camera swinging with a little delay. She caught it, so it wouldn’t hit her on her stomach. For some stupid reason, her breathing increased in frequency as she watched the two men walk over to her. She had to consciously try to not take a step backward everytime they took one forward. She tried to keep her eyes strictly on Ken.“You think that is a better name for a plane?” he asked, pointing towards the B-17. Her eyes followed his pointing, reading the text on the nose of the plane for a third time. Before she realized, she already voiced her opinion. “I think naming anything but a pet or a human is a weird thing anyway,” she retorted, eyes dead set on Ken. Next to him, she heard a chuckle. “I’m actually quite proud of ‘Rosie’s Riveters’” she heard the curly haired brunette next to Ken say. There was no fighting it anymore, she had to actually look at him now. And she was sure you could compare the color of her cheeks to the apples they served in the breakfast hall, bright red. Still, like she always did, she came up with a retort; “Well, it’s better than Blakely’s, I guess,” she said, a sly, yet slightly shy smile appearing on her lips. The brunette in front of her let out a hearty laugh, his eyes crinkling. It tugged at Faye’s heartstrings, “Yeah, I’ll take that.” he said. And there it was again, that goddamned smile.

#masters of the air #robert rosenthal #ken lemmons #hbo war #oc: faye #masters of the air x oc #rosie rosenthal x oc #robert rosenthal x oc #rosie rosenthal #mota #my writing

[astranva]

Tea & Confrontations

Word Count: 6.2k

Category: Angst, fluff-ish, but mostly angst

Warning: swear language

Summary: A mutual friend, and an inside source spills exclusive tea about your and Harry’s relationship, breakup, and your relationship with Joe Keery, and Joe confronts Harry.

a/n: this is set further down in time and not in October of 2022 for the sake of the fic’s timeline. let me know what you think! this is a long one x

.. 

Backstage Girlfriend Masterlist

Some days, you had found yourself regretting your choice of profession. Surely working as anything but a creative director, commonly known as Production Designer in the film industry–one who was successful and known as well–and having a circle of people who were in the entertainment industry wouldn’t have made you and Harry meet. Surely it was your profession. Surely it was the circle of big names and not-so-big ones that had your paths crossing years ago. Surely if it weren’t for it, you would have been getting over a breakup with an accountant or business developer of some sort, and only then, nobody would have given two shits about your breakup.

But that wasn’t the case.

And while you had had your days, meeting Joe had proved that everything worked out for the best.

“I was thinking that we might need to change Flo’s position for this shot.”

It wasn’t everyday that someone could be sitting next to one of Hollywood’s best directors, Christopher Nolan, but as the supervising production designer on his new movie, Oppenheimer, you were.

“The lighting on her face is coming from that side,” you pointed, “And if we have her on the other side, it’s more fitting to the mood.”

Nolan nodded along, looking at his screen in front of him, “Yeah, yeah, I see it,” he said, “Florence, can you stand on the left instead?” He called.

Working on one of the most anticipated movies with an incredible cast and crew, you were almost sleepless. As someone whose job was one between a Producer and a Director, your mind seemed to always be racing with the designs you worked on for the film, the budgeting, the storyboards, making sure all the teams you were working with were going according to plan—you loved your job, but saying you were busy would be an understatement.

It was why it wasn’t something you had anticipated nor wished for when the internet seemed to suddenly go crazy.

It was a rare day off when it happened, to your own bad luck and misfortune.

At 9 a.m., Joe had woken up before you, being gentle as he kissed your hair as you slept, overcome with the feeling of happiness that you were finally getting some sleep and rest, even if it was just for a day.

Time seemed to be dragged before Joe checked his phone that he had silenced before bed to make sure neither of you, and especially you, was disturbed.

Along with a few frantic texts from his friends, it was one of his sisters’ texts that he saw first:

Carolina: Don’t let Y/N come near her phone!!!

Caroline: Deux Moi released a podcast with an “exclusive source” that leaked everything about her previous relationship and yours

Caroline: Do NOT let her see this!

Carolina: https://www.hellomagazine.com/celebrities/20221002153091/harry-styles-exclusive-tea-yn-yln/

“Fuck,” Joe said under his breath, his shoulders slumping as he sat down, opening the link his sister sent him.

“Holivia was a stunt and Harry isn’t over Y/N”, says exclusive source about Harry Styles & ex, Y/N Y/L/N, on Deux Moi podcast and much more!

Joe only skimmed through the article, eyebrows furrowed as muscles tense as he decided to click on the link to the podcast, choosing to listen for himself.

“Today we have someone, let’s call them Kyle, and I feel like you guys will like this one,” the distorted voice of Deux Moi said, “I’ve been getting asked about Harry and Olivia, and about Harry and his ex, Y/N Y/L/N and her and Joe for so, so long now, and I always said I didn’t know so much about what actually went down. Like, I wasn’t sure if the things you all sent was truthful or just total cap, but Kyle here is an exclusive, you guys. Hey, Kyle.”

“Hey, hey, how are you?”

“I’m doing good, doing great. First of all, I’m really excited to talk about this because—Gosh, it’s what everyone has been talking about for so long and people are dying to know, so you’re literally going to end everyone’s misery.”

Kyle chuckled, “When I reached out to you, I actually had that in mind. Like, I just felt like I have been sitting on this one.”

“Yeah, thank you so much for reaching out,” the voice of Deux Moi said, “First of all, let’s start talking about Harry and Y/N. Do we have a timeline?”

“Yeah, so,” Kyle began, “Harry and Y/N met back in 2018.”

“Oh my God.”

“Yeah, there were some mutual friends and I was one of them, and we were all there for his last show on his first tour then we went backstage, and let me get this straight,” they paused, “That was literally love at first sight.”

“Shut up, no way!”

“When I tell you Harry couldn’t keep his eyes off of Y/N, I seriously mean it,” they said, “Y/N is shy. Like, she has a lot of friends and she’s, like, the sweetest person ever but the moment you meet her, she’s just shy and sweet and Harry off stage is exactly like that, but that night, he was trying so hard to talk to her, like just her, and he was blushing and she was, like, very flustered and all, and we all knew that we basically have some setting up to do.”

“Neither of them was in any relationship at the time?”

“No,” they answered, “Just two single people who basically had the hots for each other. So, that night, Harry and his bad and, like, everyone else, were all going out to celebrate the tour coming to an end and all and obviously we were all invited, but I remember he directly went to Y/N and he was like, “I’ll see you there, right?” and we were all just absolutely swooning.”

“This is everyone’s dream. Like imagine Harry Styles wanting to see you.”

“Exactly, exactly,” they agreed, “But Y/N wasn’t just starstruck with him because he’s a celebrity, you know? I don’t even know how to describe it but they moment they met, they just really clicked.”

“This is so cute.”

“Right?”

“So what happens next?”

“Well we go out and we party, and they dance together, they talk, and it basically looks like they’re on a date and everyone could see it. They exchanged numbers that night,” Kyle spilled, “So then like a couple of days later, we all go out for brunch.”

“Like, the friend group?”

“Yeah, we all basically decided that we needed to set them up so we were, like, set it into action at that point. So we all went out and they were just—there’s some shy flirting, you know? They were just talking and having a conversation all evening.”

“This feels like a fairytale.”

“We all placed our bets on them, honestly,” they said, “Anyway, we all met up more times after that, like two or three times, but I feel like—like it all just, sort of blossomed when we all went on a trip to Italy together, and I can’t tell you how absolutely smitten they were. They had their first date there,” Kyle said.

“No way!” The voice of Deux Moi gasped, “This is so adorable. Is that why it seems like Italy is like, so close to Harry? Like, it feels like he just goes there to relax and that it’s like his getaway of some sort.”

“Italy was their country, honestly,” they said, “Like they had their first date there, and then they later had so many vacations there, I feel like it was like their safe haven or something.”

“This is so adorable, I can’t. I literally can’t.”

“Right? Anyway, fast forwarding a bit, they were just so adorable together. Like, their relationship at that point was the perfect example of puppy love. Harry was the happiest we’ve ever seen him, Y/N was the happiest, everything was going so well.”

“When did they make it official?”

“It took them some time,” they answered, “Y/N met Harry’s family before they actually made it official. I think she met them around Christmas time and Harry just told us about how his family absolutely adored her,” they said, “But they made it official in 2019, first day of the year.”

“First of January?”

“Yup,” Kyle answered, “I can’t even begin to describe how they both were literally glowing at that point. They were just so in love, it was crazy.”

“Wait, so they were together for how many years before they broke up, again?”

“Three years.”

“Three years!”

“Three whole years, yeah,” Kyle repeated, “And everyone loved them together, and at the time, we all understood that they wanted to be private, because you know how things get with the fans and the media and all. But the fans, you know, they saw her and were beginning to join some dots but I think at some point, everyone assumed they were just friends because they were never really touching or kissing in the pictures, but I remember our friends talking about how much the fans loved Y/N.”

“You know, I get some sightings of Y/N, and it’s always with, like, the cutest stories. Like people telling me she’s so respectful, she’s cute, she’s nice, is big on tips, and all that, so I get why fans would love her,” the voice of Deux Moi said, “And I think I remember getting some messages about her getting fans concert tickets and merch.”

“She always did that,” Kyle confirmed, “I think that—Y/N is just a very humble and simple person, and I think she has always realized that with her place in the industry, she does have some privilege, right? Especially when she was Harry’s girlfriend and all, so she just really liked doing these things,” they said, “Like she always told him to get more in touch with his fans, and I think there were some arguments about ticket and merch pricing and all.”

“Wow, really?”

“Yeah, I think that’s why the fans loved her. You always pick up that vibe, you know? When someone is being real.”

“True. That’s so true,” Deux Moi agreed, “But—where did it all go wrong? I think it all went bad with the hate and all after Harry’s song got leaked. I remember that—she was getting so much hate. You know what? No, don’t answer that right now, we’ll get to it.”

Kyle chuckled, “Yeah, let’s take it one step at a time,” they said.

“Alright so, Holivia? That’s—That’s also the tea.”

“Oh, it’s hot,” Kyle laughed, “It’s very hot tea.”

“Right? Because I feel like from what you’re saying, Harry and Y/N, they were—they were endgame.”

“They really were,” they said, “But then Harry got the Don’t Worry Darling role and that’s when things went south,” they began, “Look, publicity stunts and scandals happen all the time. It’s a classic for a reason, too. It always works.”

“I agree.”

“So in 2020, there were talks about the stunt. Basically that Harry and Olivia start going out and all, and Y/N was—She was literally crushed when Harry said he was going to think about it.”

“She didn’t think he’d do it?”

“No, I don’t think so,” Kyle answered, “Obviously, she’s in the industry and she knows that these things happen all the time but when you’re in her position, it’s—it’s not so easy. But she was very supportive of his career and, like, respected his decisions and everything because she knew that he wouldn’t—like, he wouldn’t disrespect her, you know?”

A hum.

“Anyway, Harry agreed to it and he had conditions set. Like, he wanted it to still be lowkey and to, like, keep it on the minimum.”

“That’s not really how it goes,” Deux Moi joked.

“It’s not how it goes,” Kyle repeated.

“Did Y/N at any point—Or her and Harry, did they ever consider going public?”

“Y/N wanted that,” Kyle answered, “She’s mostly also private, but she just wanted everyone to know that they’re a couple, you know?”

“Yeah, nothing wrong with that. I’d want people to know that Harry Styles and I are together, too.”

Kyle laughed, “Right? But it was because—They’re both attractive people, so you have people shooting their shot at them all the time and at some point, it was a little hurtful to Y/N how she had to stay, like, very discreet about her relationship. It felt like a secret, you know?”

“Like she was hidden.”

“Exactly, exactly. And that’s just—It’s not fun and it does things to your mental health. Like, you start thinking.”

“Yeah, of course.”

“So anyway, the stunt was supposed to be short-term, but everything was just super intense. Shit mostly went down during Jeff and Glenne’s wedding.”

“Jeff is Harry’s manager, right?”

“Yeah,” they answered, “So when you’re in a relationship, obviously your plus one is you girlfriend, your boyfriend, like, your partner, right?”

“Yeah?”

“Y/N was asked to not attend with Harry and to, like, blend in.”

“No. Fucking. Way.”

“Swear,” Kyle assured, “Just so Harry and Olivia can make their debut as a couple.”

“Oh. My. God.”

“I know.”

“I think I felt my heart break,” Deux Moi said, “Are you kidding me?”

“I wish,” Kyle said, “We were all so worried about Y/N because she was literally crushed. Like, oh my God, I can’t even begin to describe it. Like, to the point that she wasn’t going to attend the wedding if it weren’t for Glenne insisting.”

“And how was it?”

“She was so anxious that day, and I think—I think that’s when Y/N really began doubting herself. Like, at that point, the relationship was making her feel like shit and she felt like—You know, she felt like she just wasn’t worthy of being Harry’s girlfriend, that maybe she wasn’t good enough for his image, all that talk.”

“Poor woman, I feel like crying right now,” Deux Moi gasped, “And how was Harry dealing with it?”

“Look, I can’t believe I’m saying that but I feel like there was just so much manipulation happening? I don’t know, I don’t know, because Harry really did love Y/N. He—Actually, he still does. Like he’d be agreeing to all that stunt shit then be the good boyfriend to Y/N so to her, it sort of felt like she didn’t really have the right to complain. Like he’d tell her that it was basically work, that he loves her, that it’ll all end soon, and she, you know, she took it all in and tried to go on with it to be a supportive girlfriend.”

“This is literally a toxic relationship.”

“Which is so sad! It’s so sad, because—because they really did love each other so much,” Kyle said.

“Still toxic,” Deux Moi said, “Did Olivia know? About Harry and Y/N?”

“Yeah, yeah, she did,” Kyle answered, “And I’ve seen some people say that she was mean to Y/N and stuff, but that’s not true. They were both actually respectful towards one another.”

“Y/N is way better than I can be, because I don’t know how I’d act with Olivia if I were her.”

“We were all so shocked, but if this proves anything, it just proves how above and beyond Y/N was willing to go for her relationship—for Harry.”

Deux Moi hummed, “Then what happens?”

“Y/N did tell Harry about how uncomfortable the situation is. Like, he knew, but you know, he’d always assure her and all. But then,” they enunciated, “Harry missed her birthday for a sighting, with Olivia.”

A gasp was heard, “No fucking way. No way, are you kidding?”

“I wish I were,” Kyle said, “But I remember we were all trying to plan a night out and one of us told her that, like, Harry better leave the night for us to celebrate her and all, and she was like, “Oh, he’s not going to be here all day”, and we were like “What?” and she just said “He just has things to deal with and do” and then later, we find some pictures, like papped pictures of Harry and Olivia and everyone was like “Oh.””

“I’m so shocked right now. I literally don’t know what to say.”

“Yeah. We celebrated her birthday that night and she just—she just wasn’t happy, you know?”

“Yeah, can you blame her? Who can blame her?”

“Exactly,” Kyle agreed, “But then, like a day later, Harry made it up to her by taking her to the Amalfi Coast.”

“But is that even worth anything?”

“That’s what we were saying. Like, he missed her actual birthday, and for what? But Y/N was—she was still appreciative. In a way, she was just constantly convincing herself that it’s his work after all,” they said, “But then—”

“I’m always scared of what follows that.”

Kyle laughed, “It’s bad, alright? I wasn’t kidding when I told you earlier that it’s a sad story.”

“Oh you definitely weren’t.”

“Yeah so, you know these pictures of Harry and Olivia? When they were kissing on a yacht?”

“Oh yeah, know those. Kissing on a yacht is a classic when it comes to these stunts, I’m surprised they still do it.”

“Right?” Kyle laughed, “Yeah, after those Y/N was like—she was just reaching the breaking point, you know? She asked for space. It wasn’t necessarily a break, but just—just some space, and Harry respected it and he gave her space but he was like—he sent her flowers, sent her some letters, you know, stuff like that.”

“If it weren’t for the context, I would’ve said that was cute.”

“Right,” they chuckled, “But like, soon after, they went out for brunch and we all were—we were literally celebrating it because to us, that relationship—it was like you said, it was endgame. They were our favorite couple, so we were glad to see them working. But they got so much shit for that brunch date because there were paps and Harry’s management was, like, having none of it. Like they didn’t want Y/N in the picture when Olivia was in it.”

“That’s—Oh my God, that’s so fucking brutal.”

“Absolutely brutal. At that point, we all were sort of distancing ourselves from Harry. Everyone was trying to stay neutral, but we knew what was happening and it was just hurtful seeing what Y/N was going through,” they said, “So back to how Y/N loved interacting with the fans—they wanted her to stop that.”

“They wanted her to stop interacting with the fans?”

“Yeah, like to just cut it because it wasn’t good for Holivia but Y/N—she was like, no, you’re Harry’s management, you’re not mine.”

“Yes. Queen.”

“We were so proud of her!” Kyle exclaimed, “We were so proud,” they repeated.

“I feel like I’m proud of her and I don’t even personally know her.”

“Right? Right?” They laughed, “So yeah, she was just still interactive with fans over Twitter and like, Instagram comments and stuff.”

“She’s private on Instagram, right?”

“Yeah, she is,” they said, “But she’d always like some posts, comment on some stuff, stuff like that. She didn’t do it a lot, but it was still something she enjoyed—she still does it.”

“That’s so sweet.”

“I’m telling you, she’s—she’s just amazing.”

“So now, that’s when? Like was that nearing the breakup?”

“That was, like, months before their third anniversary,” Kyle answered, “So they celebrated their third year together and things were going fairly well—like, as good as it can get, at least. Until Harry’s show in Brixton, in May. The One Night Only show.”

“He had two, right?”

“Yeah, one in the UK, in Brixton, and the other in New York,” they answered, “They actually broke up on that day.”

“The one in Brixton?”

“Yeah. I wasn’t there for that one, but basically what happened was that—You know, Y/N was super supportive of Harry’s career. Like, she was his biggest fan and was literally the muse for all his love songs—like so many in Fine Line, and basically all of Harry’s House. Harry’s House is literally her album,” they said, “And I bet the next one as well but, anyway—so, she was there, of course. She was so excited to see him perform his new album, she basically was going on and on about how proud she was of him, how excited she was.”

“I’m so scared right now.”

“And then she was asked to stay backstage during the show.”

“Like—Like, not watch him from the crowd?”

“Yeah. His mom was there, his sister was there, so many of his friends—of our friends, everyone was going to stand there and actually watch him from the crowd but it was just Y/N that was told to stay back.”

“You have to be kidding.”

“I’m not. I wish,” they said, “But she was told to just, stay back and basically give her spot to Olivia,” Kyle said, “And Harry was—He was actually, like, okay with it.”

“No.”

“Yeah,” they confirmed, “You know, told her things like, it was just for a day, you’ll still get to see me, et cetera, et cetera, and she was just so broken at that point. So she stayed back, she watched him for like, some time, then she just left.”

“Like, left him?”

“She left the arena, yeah, and she called one of our friends and she was just—she was like, hysterically crying, like sobbing, and she was like, ‘I can’t do this anymore’. And nobody could blame her. So she just, like, went back, and packed her stuff. Then Harry caught her, like before she left, and she broke up with him.”

“For good?”

“Yeah, they never went back together after that,” they said, “And for the longest time, Y/N was devastated. It’s because—when you’re in a relationship, it’s like an investment. Like you invest with your time, with your energy, your efforts, your—your mental health, everything, and in a way, it felt like Y/N lost.”

“And what about Harry?”

“Look, Harry will never love anyone the way he loves Y/N, period,” they said, “He’s still not over her, he’s still not over their relationship, still not over what he’s done. He’s still, like, constantly beating himself up for it.”

“I can’t say I feel too bad, honestly.”

“It’s Karma in a way, I guess.”

“But how did he take it when Y/N got into a new relationship? Because Y/N and Joe Keery have been a hot topic ever since they got together.”

“God, he was absolutely crushed,” they said, “Joe is a great guy. He’s a great, great guy. He treats Y/N so well, puts her first, supports her, defends her. He’s—He’s basically the boyfriend Y/N truly deserves and Harry sees that.”

“Yeah, it wasn’t too far ago when he defended her on Instagram after Harry’s song about her got leaked.”

“Yeah, he’s just—he’s incredible.”

“Do you know when they met?”

“They met in 2021 if I remember correctly. They had a mutual friend, I think it was a creative director or something who worked on Stranger Things. And Joe had the biggest crush on her back then,” Kyle answered.

“Yeah, yeah, I remember he said that in an interview.”

“Yeah, and then they met again in, like, early 2022 as well, then after the breakup, like, I don’t know three months later, they went out for some coffee, then it was just—like really casual for a while even though Joe was smitten, but Y/N didn’t want to rush anything.”

“Can’t blame her.”

“Yeah, nobody can. So yeah, they took their time and everything.”

“But Harry’s not over her.”

“Harry’s not over her,” Kyle confirmed.

“God, that was heavy.”

It wasn’t long before Deux Moi and their guest moved to another celebrity gossip, making Joe pause before he stared at his phone for a few moments.

Everything was out in the open.

Between your sleeping state and Joe’s stressed one, was Harry who now seemed to get only bad news from his manager and friend, Jeff.

Going on social media was like a nightmare.

Not only was Harry getting cancelled, but so were Olivia and Jeff, while supportive messages, tweets, and edits were being sent your way.

“We owe Y/N an apology” was among the trends, sitting right on top of the 4 other relevant trending topics about you. After it came “#HarryStylesIsOver”, “Y/Noe”, “Holivia”, and “Thank you deuxmoi”.

The latter was a surprise to everyone, but never did anyone guess that a day would come where people would thank the celebrity gossip platform.

user

nobody believed me when I said y/n and harry were together and that he fucked her over. fuck harry, fuck olivia, fuck jeff, and fuck dwd.

user

Imagine your worst mistake being that you trusted the person you loved the most. #HarryStylesIsOver

user

WE OWE Y/N AN APOLOGY? NO! YOU owe her an apology because some of us still stuck by her side and knew that she wasn’t the evil guy in this. now yall wanna talk

user

idk who “kyle” is but thank you

user

I TOLD YOU HOLIVIA WAS FAKE!!! I TOLD YOU YNRRY WAS REAL!!!!

Countless of tweets, some angry, some sad, some supportive were being added by the second and Joe found himself growing nervous for when you woke up.

It was inevitable for you to wake up. A day of sleeping one was one you appreciated, and even more so after you freshened up and were ready for a day of doing absolutely nothing but chill with your boyfriend.

“Good morning,” you said, taking notice of Joe flinching on the couch, causing you to giggle, “Sorry.”

Joe forced a smile, standing up and meeting you halfway to press his lips to yours as he wrapped one arm around your waist, his other hand going into your hair to bring your head closer to his. Pulling back, you smiled, “Okay then,” you joked.

“Good sleep?”

You hummed, wrapping your arms around him in a hug as you closed your eyes in bliss, “So good.”

“You deserve it,” he said, kissing your head, “What do you want to have for breakfast?”

“I don’t know, anything,” you answered, “Some scrambled eggs sound nice.”

“And buttered toast?”

“And buttered toast.”

“Avocados?”

“God, I love you,” you shook your head with a smile, leaning to kiss him again, “Let me just grab my phone a-“

“Let’s not,” Joe quickly said.

Your eyebrows furrowed, a smile of confusion on your face.

“I just—I figured—We can just—We can disconnect for the day, how does that sound?” He asked, “Leave our phones, turn them off, just-just enjoy your break.”

You stayed quiet for a moment, tilting your head as you looked at him.

“You’re hiding something,” you said.

“No, I’m not.”

“Then why are your cheeks and ears all pink?” You raised an eyebrow, “What’s going on?”

“Is it too bad that I want us to be together without any distractions? Without any—”

“Joe.”

He pursed his lips, avoiding eye contact as he looked at the ceiling for a moment.

“What’s going on?” You asked again.

A sigh escaped his lips before he looked at you, “Someone—Someone you know just—” He paused.

You raised an eyebrow again, “Just what? Did someone die? Joe, oh my God, di—”

“No, no, nobody’s dead, baby. Everyone’s fine. Everyone’s okay,” he assured.

“Okay, then what is it?”

“Well, um,” he cleared his throat, “Uh, someone—you know,” he shrugged.

“I don’t.”

“How do they say this?” He muttered, scratching his chin, “Someone spilled the tea?”

“The tea?” You asked, “What tea?”

“Someone went on a podcast and they—they basically said every single thing about your past relationship. Your relationship with Harry.”

You stayed quiet, eyebrows going up, “Oh.”

“Oh,” Joe nodded.

“Everything?”

“From the moment you met,” he said quietly.

“Oh,” you repeated.

“Yeah,” he nodded unsurely, “I’m—I’m really sorry, baby. I’m so, so sorry.”

“It’s okay,” you said quietly, “It’s not your fault. It’s—It’s nobody’s fault,” you added, “Who did that?”

“It was a guy, I think? Went with the name Kyle, like a pseudonym, but I don’t know. They could’ve distorted the voice, could be anyone.”

You hummed.

Joe looked at you, trying to asses your state before asking, “How are we feeling?”

“I’m not so surprised, honestly,” you answered, “I’m just—I’m so done with this, you know? I don’t know. I think—I think I just don’t care anymore.”

He nodded, rubbing your back soothingly, “I get it,” he said, “Do you want to address it?” He asked, “You know, they’re—everyone’s sending you support, some cute shit.”

“No, I won’t. I won’t address it,” you answered before sighing, “You know what I want?”

“What?”

“That scrambled eggs, the buttered toast, and those fucking avocados.”

To you, the day went well, and you knew that a huge reason why was that you did actually decide to take Joe’s advice and not check your phone. Instead, you and Joe had cooked breakfast and lunch together, had watched Brooklyn Nine-Nine, and decided to order takeout for the night.

To Joe, his mind was restless.

In a way, he felt like he needed to do something. Sure, he posted about you, he liked standing up for you, and he absolutely loved being a total sap on main—publicly and openly loving you, but something didn’t feel right.

He was smiling all night, loving on you and laughing with you, but his mind was all over the place. It wasn’t until you were asleep in his arms that he did what he felt was right.

Opening Instagram, he never had thought that he’d be the one to type in “harry styles” in the search bar and tap on your ex’s profile, but that was what he did before he also tapped on “Message”.

Strange enough, Joe was calm as he typed in his text:

Hey, Harry. I was hoping we can meet up soon to talk.

And stranger enough, was that his text was seen no more than 2 minutes after he sent it.

5 minutes passed before Joe received a reply.

Hello. Sure. When and where?

Joe then replied:

I’m currently in New Mexico but I’ll be in LA on Tuesday. Would that work for you?

And as if Harry had no idea that Joe was with you as you worked on Oppenheimer, he replied back:

Yes, I’m staying in LA for the time being. Tuesday works well.

Joe replied:

Great. We can meet at 6pm at my house since it’s the most private.

Harry then replied:

Okay. Is this about the recent podcast?

Joe replied:

Yes and no.

Harry replied:

Does Y/N know about this?

Joe replied:

No, she doesn’t.

Harry replied:

Okay. Send me the location and I’ll see you then.

Harry would have been lying if he said he wasn’t nervous, because of course he was. As someone who got into the acting world, scenarios ran through his mind like the ones he was offered; Joe was going to beat him up, or he was going to blackmail him, or he was going to tell him that Harry was the best choice for you and that didn’t seem like the worst scenario, although a cliché.

Days seemed to fly, or so it seemed to both Harry and Joe. The meeting was one that was discreet with neither’s friends knowing about it, even as Harry rang the doorbell to yours and Joe’s home.

Opening the door, Joe offered a very small smile, only stepping aside to let Harry in, “Come in,” he said.

Harry’s stomach was in twists; clammy palms against the sides of his thighs, erratic heartbeat that would definitely need medical attention at some point because there was no way that was normal.

“Want anything to drink?” Joe asked.

“Um, no, thank you,” Harry answered, sitting when Joe motioned towards the teal-colored couch—your favorite color on couches, although you wished you could have a cream-colored one but those seemed to be too much work, Harry remembered.

Joe sat on the chair opposite to it, a space between the two men that seemed occupied by tension and lingering awkwardness.

“Look,” Joe began, voice steady and calm, “I know this is weird. Like, really weird,” he said, “But I felt like it needed to happen.”

Harry pursed his lips, hands linked together as he looked at your boyfriend.

“I think we needed to talk, a long time ago. With how messy your relationship with Y/N was, and—and all the mess that’s been happening after it came to an end, I think I needed to talk to you,” Joe said, “Because it’s reaching a point where Y/N can’t catch her breath before something just, crashes down on her.”

Harry nodded.

“Look, I know I’m not your favorite person on earth,” Joe said, “And—No offense, you’re not mine either and I think that’s normal,” he put his hand out, “You’re her ex, I’m her boyfriend, and the situation isn’t ideal. It never really is. But I do respect you because you’re—you’re someone Y/N really appreciated at some point, and regardless of what happened, I know she still respects you and still cares about you because she’s just that kind of person.”

Harry, again, nodded.

“But I do know that with your status—with your place in the industry, you can put an end to all that,” he said, “It’s definitely hard getting over Y/N. I can’t imagine what you’re going through and I—To be honest with you, I don’t want to. I don’t want to be in your place, it’s not something I wish upon anyone, even you,” Joe said, “But I’m going to need you to just—to stop getting into her life like that. It’s not good for her, it’s not good for you, even, it’s not good for anyone.”

“How am I getting into her life?” For the first time, Harry spoke.

Joe sighed, “I know you still like her pictures on Instagram, you still—you’re not a stupid guy, Harry, you know exactly what I mean,” he said, “And like I said, I know that with your status, you can keep things on the down low. Give her some peace.”

“You know I wasn’t the person who said all these things on the podcast, right?”

“I’m not saying you are.”

“You’re—I think—I think you’re implying that I had something to do with it.”

“I never did,” Joe said, “But I do know that your management wants your name to be everywhere.”

“So, you are implying it,” Harry chuckled quietly.

“Look,” Joe took a breath, leaning forward a little, “I believe everything Y/N says, and I believed her when she told me that you aren’t your management. Your principles don’t align. I don’t know why you don’t take matters into your own hands. I don’t know whether it’s because you’re unsure, you’re scared, nervous, I don’t know, man, but what I’m saying is that you need to sit down with your management and actually set thing straight. Not for you, but for Y/N,” he said, “I get that they always say bad publicity is still publicity but we all know that’s bullshit.”

Harry stayed quiet.

“I don’t think you’re the worst person,” Joe said, “I think you do some stupid shit but I know you love Y/N and—and I can’t blame you for it and I can’t even ask you to just stop and move on, because having Y/N is one of the best goddamn gifts anyone can have.”

“Yeah, I know that,” Harry mumbled with a quiet chuckle.

“So all I’m asking is for you to talk with your management and do Y/N a favor.”

“Do her a favor or do you a favor?” Harry found himself asking, “Because I think—I think It seems like you’re trying to save your relationship.”

“There’s nothing for me to save it from,” Joe instantly said, “It doesn’t need to be saved. I’m confident in my relationship with Y/N.”

And that seemed to shut Harry up.

“What you and her had—that was real. It was great, until it wasn’t. And don’t get me wrong, I’m not gloating but I didn’t meddle in and ruin what you have. I waited and I kept my distance and things fell into place and it’s not my fault your relationship went to shit, man,” he said, “I’m trying to be nice. To be respectful, and I’m asking nicely.”

Harry stayed quiet for a moment before sucking in a breath, “Okay.”

Joe nodded slowly, “Alright.”

“Did you tell her? About this?” Harry motioned between them.

“No, I didn’t,” Joe answered, “And I won’t tell her.”

“She doesn’t really like secrets,” Harry said with a chuckle, joking.

“It’s only so that she doesn’t feel like I had to tell you to be a decent person,” Joe shot back.

Harry’s eyebrows went up, “Wow,” he nodded, “Thanks for that,” he sarcastically said.

Joe nodded, “No problem.”

“Well,” Harry let out a breath, “I’ll do what I have to do,” he said, “But um—Thank you, for being respectful.”

“Like I said, she respects you, so will I.”

#backstage girlfriend #backstage gf!yn #harry styles imagine #joe keery imagine #harry styles angst imagine #harry styles one shot #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles x reader #joe keery one shot #harry styles blurb #joe keery x reader

[rachalixie]

a/n: graduation fic for my baby @isilentprincess have the best day tomorrow!!! i’m sending you 1000 hugs <3

it’s a day you couldn’t really have prepared for. the time leading up to this has come slow as molasses and quick as water simultaneously, memories of the past years flashing through your mind like a film roll as you sit restlessly in your assigned seat. the light is beating down on you and your hair is probably falling out of the careful styling you did underneath your cap, but when it’s your turn to stand and line up you find yourself not caring. you’ve waited years for this, nothing is going to ruin it for you. 

you’re staring out at a sea of faces as you wait for your turn to walk across the stage, graduation gown flowing around you and tassel swinging in the cool breeze. it should be hard to pick out his face, but you think you’d be able to find it anywhere - he’s standing right at the front, he got there so early that he’s had to wait for hours for your name to be called. it makes your heart warm up just thinking about him eagerly staring at the flow of people walking in, trying to pick out your face in the crowd of caps and gowns. he insisted on driving you this morning, and when he picked you up he had whistled at your graduation dress like you were his bride on his wedding day.

he catches your eyes when they finally land on him and smiles so widely that you can see his dimples all the way from where you are. his pretty lips are stretched so far you’re sure it hurts, but it doesn’t deter him. he puts his hands in two thumbs-ups, waving them around at you until you giggle at him. 

when they finally call your name his cheers are the loudest and you know that any pictures being taken of you right now show a goofy grin that you can’t help but wear. he’s holding his camera up towards you with one hand, but you know the footage he’s taking will be shaky with how much he’s bouncing up and down in excitement for you. 

you’re not nervous, you’ve made it this far so what’s a few steps more in the grand scheme of things? you just need to focus on not falling as you walk and remembering to say thank you when you get handed your diploma. when you take your seat again you let out the longest breath you’ve ever released; it feels like the world that you’ve been carrying on your shoulders has finally lifted, leaving you slumped as you wait for the rest of the names to be called. 

when you finally make your way outside he’s running up to you before you even catch sight of him. he picks you up and twirls you around with a bright laugh when he reaches you, the sound of it hitting like music to your ears. his lips are on yours a moment later, a sweet kiss that tastes like the roses he’s carrying and the raspberry lip balm he stole from you months ago. 

“i’m so proud of you,” he whispers against you before pulling back, eyes trained on your family and friends approaching and the high of his cheeks flushed. it’s not the first time he’s said those words to you, and it certainly won’t be the last, but you find yourself matching his blush as your face warms up. despite knowing that he’s the only one coming home with you tonight, you find yourself missing his warmth when he backs away to let everyone else crowd around you.

it’s only after the dinner and the drinks and the goodbyes that you feel tears spring to your eyes. you said bye to your mom with the promise to see her for breakfast tomorrow, you had plans with your friends soon, and the people who couldn’t make it were just a video call away. it doesn’t make sense, you’re not sad and the smile hasn’t left your face since they called your name, but as chan helps you out of his car into your apartment you can’t stop the hitch in your breath and the wobble in your voice.

“oh, honey,” he coos at you and stops at your door. his hands reach to cup your face and he thumbs away the few traitorous tears that had managed to escape. “you’re okay.”

“i don’t know what’s wrong,” you warble out, accepting when he moves your head to rest against his chest, his arms wrapping around you tight.

“a lot happened today,” his voice rumbles against your ear and you nuzzle into his shirt a bit. you can almost hear his smile. “you’re not sad, you’re overwhelmed.”

“oh,” you sigh. it makes sense, and you’re once again simultaneously grateful and annoyed at him for knowing you better than you know yourself.

you are overwhelmed. you just graduated. you didn’t know where you were going to go from here; you didn’t really have a plan, but you knew you could do whatever you wanted, especially with him by your side offering his unwavering support.

and, maybe, now that you’ve graduated he can finally put some use to the ring he has badly hidden in the bottom of his closet.

#stray kids imagines #stray kids fluff #skz fluff #bang chan imagines #bang chan fluff #chan fluff #skz chan fluff #stray kids drabbles #chan x y/n #chan x reader

[yojeongin]

happy together | m.l + l.dh [PT.2 TEASER]

→husband!lee haechan x reader x bff!mark lee

genre: smut, angst, hurt, humor, marriage au, love triangle, forbidden affair, friends to secret lovers, 90s/00's au

synopsis: with you by his side, mark's convinced things are finally going his way. his mind is set on his plans but haechan has plans of his own that also include you.

warning(s) for teaser: ADULTS ONLY, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT! toxic marriage, mutual infidelity, morally grey characters, after care, haechan feels insecure, making out, fingering, smoking.

wc: 1.6k+ | coming soon this march 18, 2023. 15:30 CST.

part 1 | part 2 [finale] | epilogue

© 2023 YOJEONGIN all rights reserved — please DO NOT translate, take, nor repost any of my works on other social media’s. reblogs are HIGHLY appreciated and preferred!

disclaimer: this is purely fictional; in no way am I condoning this behavior, trying to offend anyone, nor is it meant to place such image on the idol, these are ONLY characters. read at your own discretion.

an: was a lil iffy posting the films’ screen caps bc I don’t want you guys to perceive the female characters as yn… pls don’t do that, please... I just took huge inspiration from these films for this mini series and I wanted to include them.

The minutes passed, all that was heard were waves crashing against each other and the boulders. It was warmer now and perhaps much later, enough for your friend back in the house to be awake. Hyuck was the one to take the initiative in getting off of you and cleaning you off with some of the water he had packed. 

He didn’t speak and neither did you, the most you could muster was to look at him in silence, his soft touches creating a complex feeling in your heart. At that moment you too wanted to just leave and go back inside. 

“Did you eat breakfast?” “No. I went straight to the pool.”

He hums, putting his trunks back on and stuffing the towels in the beach bag. “Mark is probably awake. We can get something on the way to the market if he hasn’t made anything yet.” His voice was hoarse, with some laced pain on it. You gave him a side smile, tying back the swim suit and placing a beach dress over. 

“He’d smoke a pack before eating breakfast. Sometimes I have to force him to have a proper meal.” You giggle, shaking off the sand from the blanket you two laid upon minutes prior. Haechan forces out a laugh, his smile quickly dwindling after.

 Right. You took care of Mark. 

Donghyuck had expected this experience to make him feel better about his marriage. He wanted to think this was meant to settle the peace between you both but instead he felt worse. His chest felt warm and heavy and his eyes threatened to spill tears. Some had during the act but he did his best to not weep. 

He fully understood the marriage turning this way was his fault, you had told him so many times even insinuated it way before he met the catering girl but that didn’t hurt as much. He was comfortable enough with how things went on between you two before Mark arrived. At least if it meant that it was him the one you’d think about. The only one you’d both love and hate.

What did make him feel this way was hearing you come into the room after 3 AM and smell like his best friend. How often you spend time with Mark and enjoy his company. And worst of all is that you hadn’t put anything behind.

The reason you had been civil with Donghyuck was simply because Mark was there to satiate your needs. It had only gotten to this point of accepting his touch because you were starting to get bored of Mark just like you had with him not too early into the marriage. Or so he thinks, that is was your actions are making both believe at least.

There were only a few steps left to reach the top. While Hyuck was contemplating this bond, you seemed the most aloof. There was some brightness to you and a careless attitude. On one of those steps you turned to look at him, his face was getting red and you knew it wasn’t from the sun. Something was bothering him.

It’s not like you cared to know but that gloominess was interfering with your relaxation. Stopping on your tracks and pulling him along, Hyuck throws you a confused look. You didn’t say anything yet, you simply smiled at him softly and caressed his warm cheek. He eased into your touch, feeling your soft fingers dance across his taut skin.

“I love you, Donghyuck.” 

As much as he’s yearned hearing those words, this time he doesn’t know how much to believe them anymore. 

“I love you too.”

They came out in a whisper, one you swallowed upon connecting your lips one last time that moment. He didn’t want to think much about it. There was a chance you were lying or that like him, you loved him in a baneful way. Yes, that is most plausible.

He wasn’t the only one to hear your profession of love. Poor Mark had lounged around the back porch with a pack of cigarettes to his side. Like said before it wasn’t too long until you two reached the top and though you didn’t intend for Mark to hear or see everything he has this morning— it just happened.

Reaching the top by the time Mark let out a puff of smoke in desperation; a sigh at most. Smelling that familiar stench, you both turned to see him lying upon the white outdoors couch his father had decorated with. 

“Morning.” Hyuck breaks the ice, giving his friend a tender smile that you mimic. Mark didn’t dare look at you both for too long, nodding in return while taking a sip of his drink. “Morning; Where were you guys?” He questions with a little pep in his words, trying his best to hide any negative emotion.

“Wanted to swim for a bit but the water was cold. Hey, did you have breakfast already? We can catch something to eat on the road before we get everything.” Mark lifts his cigarette with a smile before taking another drag, both you and Hyuck looking at each other remembering your conversation.

Hyuck chuckles with a nod. “Alright, gonna shower and we can leave after everyone’s ready, yeah?” 

“Yeah.” “Sounds good.”

He let go of your hand that second, not waiting for you to follow behind as he rushed to the bedroom’s bathroom. Despite the interaction, his feelings were still a painful turmoil and if he looked at either of you for too long in the moment, he’d end up breaking in front of both. 

Locking the door, Hyuck looks into the mirror before him. The bags beneath his eyes looked darker than before and his face had started to sink in. He didn’t look ill but he did look tired and sad. His cheeks weren’t as beautifully round in the time being and he knew that wasn’t good. After all, his round jumpy cheeks are your favorite thing about him. Maybe if he gained them back your ‘i love you’s’ would have real meaning to them.

He couldn’t contain it anymore. In the instance his thin fingers touched his equally thin face and let out that cry he’s been holding in this entire time. His tears felt boiling hot against his skin, the rivers of salt water wounding his face but that ache in chest was worse.

Donghyuck knew he still loved you. Hell if he loved you through all the times you had called him useless, the times you avoided him during periods he felt like hell, and witnessed the times you made your own father cry by the way you treated him; then why wouldn’t he love you now that he accepted you yourself had an affair with his best friend? His brother. 

He wondered how much he loved Mark too. Mark the boy he spent years of childhood with all up to college when both parted ways. The boy he’d let stay at his house every time his father reprimanded him for the smallest things even if they weren’t a mistake. 

Mark was his wedding witness, the boy who approved of you when you two started dating and told him you were the perfect match. The boy who helped him find the perfect ring and arrangements. Mark and him have experienced many things together but sharing a lover is not one he thought they ever would. Especially not one he’s tied to by law and heart. As painful as it is.

Donghyuck bit into his fist before doing so into a towel, his silent sobs absorbed by the cloth. This was the best he could do without having you two hear him.

And while your husband is breaking to pieces in the shared bathroom, you make your way to the kitchen. Upon getting a water bottle, you felt the touch of two warm hands on your hips pulling you close to his body and turning you around to face him.

Mark didn’t show much expression, instead he pressed you against the cold steel doors. Looking at each other for a few seconds, he took initiative in connecting your lips. It shouldn’t have taken you by surprise the way it did but slowly you began to ease into his touch. You could taste the mixture of his cigarette and the orange juice he had been drinking.

Holding onto his shoulders, Mark’s own hands began to caress your body. One hand rested on your waist and the other went underneath your dress. He felt the warmth between your thighs. His fingers begin to caress the skin and make a silent gasp leave your lips. He took that opportunity to snake his tongue in your mouth. 

By the time he pushed the fabric of your bikini bottoms to the side, his fingers prodded your entrance making your gasp become audible this time. When you were to moan his name, the man before you halted his movement. He separated from the kiss as well, looking at you directly the second he felt the globs of cum cling to his fingers. 

Scooping it, Mark pulled his fingers out and looked at them before you. He could notice the dark marks your husband sealed onto your skin. You were panting but there was no sign of regret on your face. Instead he was received with:

“What do you expect? He’s my husband.” 

A threatening smile on your end tries to form but Mark couldn’t produce any words. He felt speechless and quite honestly too hurt to even say anything. His face had a mixture of disgust, anger, and sadness. 

With the simplest of words, you always manage to hurt them.

taglist: @haknyeonsju @bbymatz @seungjiseyo @theskzvibe @wonyofanclub

join yojeongin’s taglist to be up to date with future work! link in masterlist. NO BLANK BLOGS OR MINORS FOR NSFW POSTS.

#neohub #kwritersworldnet #kdiarynet #nct-writers #mark lee smut #haechan smut #mark lee #haechan #lee donghyuck #nct smut #nct 127 smut #nct dream smut #mark lee x you #haechan x you #mark lee x reader #haechan x reader

[ticklishchaos]

Let Me Show You How it's Done

Ler! Charlie Lee! Nick with some Lee! Charlie

Heartstopper Tickle Fic Incoming! It's no secret that Nick always tickles Charlie every chance he gets. Charlie, being a bit smaller and weaker than his boyfriend, never seems quite able to turn the tables, that is, until he recruits the assistance of Nick's older brother David who wants to help Charlie get some well deserved revenge. (Set in a context that David isn't a jerk of a brother/human being).

Charlie and Nick spent plenty of time spending afternoons and evenings together doing homework, playing Mario Kart, and on particularly nice evenings, walking Nellie.

This was a particularly rainy and chilly evening, and Nick and Charlie had just finished their end of term essays for literature and history and were getting ready to watch a movie. They were at Nick's house this evening and Nick's mother was working a bit later than usual. She'd promised to pick them all up a pizza later when she returned. Nick's older brother David just so happened to be home for spring break from university and had left Nick and Charlie alone in the den to finish homework and enjoy each other's company in peace.

Well, as much peace as the couple could have, considering that Nick frequently would wrestle Charlie onto the sofa during movie nights and video game sessions to tickle the snot out of his lanky and curly headed boyfriend. This was nothing new, of course. Nick felt that Charlie's squeals and snorts were precious, and Charlie could hardly mind. After all, he deserved it for laughing at Nick for his choice in cinema taste for their impromptu movie night.

"NihihihIHIHICK, stahahahaHAHAHPIT," Charlie squealed as his brawny and much stronger boyfriend pinched at his tummy, easily a bad spot for Charlie.

"I don't think so, Charlie," Nick chuckled down at his boyfriend teasingly. "You enjoy laughing at my expense so much, laughing at my movie selection. Besides, there's nothing wrong with The Princess Bride! It's a fantastic film!" Nick dug into Charlie's sides with renewed vigor, pretending to be insulted.

And poor Charlie was now realizing he never should have commented that it was ironic that the Captain of the rugby team's favorite movie was something as hokey as The Princess Bride.

"ALRIHIHIHIGHT! I'M SORHEHEHEHEHEHEEEEEEEEEE!" Charlie screeched as Nick reached for his sensitive knee caps, squeezing into the muscle right above and relishing his boyfriends precious laughter.

"Hmmm, I don't know if I believe you," Nick smirked as Charlie squirmed desperately.

Eventually, Nick ceased his tickle attack in favor of making them some popcorn, leaving Charlie to giggle and rub the residual tickly sensations from the backs of his knees. Man, some days he wished Nick never discovered just how ticklish the backs of his knees were.

Charlie heard a soft chuckle from the staircase. Unknown to Nick, David had observed their one-sided tickle fight from the stair landing.

"You really make him happy," David commented.

"Er, thanks..." Charlie replied awkwardly.

"I'm sure Nick is happy not to be on the receiving end of tickle fights anymore as well," David snorted slightly.

"Oh, believe me, I've tried," Charlie could hear the popcorn in the microwave from the kitchen start popping. He dropped his voice, "Nick just isn't that ticklish."

"Rubbish. You just aren't getting his tickle spots," David supplied with a wink.

"But he's a lot stronger than me," Charlie grumbled. "Anytime I try to tickle him, he quickly turns the tables."

David laughed fondly. He was rather amused watching their antics. But David was Nick's big brother. He had loads of experience tickling the snot out of Nick and had no problem with teaching Charlie his little brothers worst spots.

"Why don't I give you a hand?" David dropped his voice upon hearing the microwave ding. Nick would be on his way back with the popcorn in just a few moments.

Charlie nodded, excited at the idea of learning how to tickle Nick and getting some well-deserved revenge for all the times Nick tortured him.

David walked over near the entrance of the kitchen, just out of view, to sneak attack Nick.

When Nick returned with a giant bowl of popcorn, David tackled him sending the buttery popcorn flying and Nick letting out a surprised yelp.

"David? What the hell?" Nick attempted to escape the expert hold but was unsuccessful and still in such shock that the popcorn lay scattered about, forgotten. Charlie watched with a smirk, enjoying the show.

"Come here, Charlie, let me show you how it's done!" David plopped Nick down on the sofa, still confused before Nick felt his heart drop.

"Now Nick has two death spots," David winked at Nick, who was now pinned beneath his brother and the sofa, writhing about, knowing all too well where this was going.

"D-David, don't!" Nick yelped.

"Don't what?" David asked innocently.

"Tickle me!" Nick screeched, suddenly realizing what a fatal mistake he made. He could've kicked himself! How could he fall for the teases he pulled on Charlie all the time?

"Hear that, Charlie? He's given us permission. Hell, he's basically asked for this!" David crowed.

David had Nick's arm pinned above his head and had his fingers wiggling just above Nick's underarm.

"His hips and armpits are really ticklish, if I remember right..." David chuckled darkly. Of course, he remembered correctly. Big brothers don't forget tickle spots of younger siblings.

Charlie climbed over to smirk down at Nick. "Not so tough now, are we?"

"Bite me!" Nick growled, but it sounded more like a whimper.

"You better get your revenge now, Charlie!"

Charlie looked into Nick's pleading eyes and almost took pity on the older boy. Almost.

And that's when Charlie latched onto Nick's hips, and David dug roughly into his underarms, and Nick absolutely shrieked with laughter. Charlie couldn't help but chuckle at Nick's plight.

"Jeez, Nick! You're worse than me!" Charlie crowed triumphantly, digging harshly into the hip pockets, causing Nick to flop around uselessly.

"SCREHEHEHEHEW YOHOHOHOHOUU GUHUHUHUYS!" Nick cackled.

Nick hadn't been tickled in two of his worst spots in a very, very long time. Even when David had tickled him in their younger days, it was only one person tickling him. Now, both his older brother and boyfriend were torturing his two worst tickle spots. Not fair!

Nick continued to gasp and spultter as Charlie and David exploited his worst tickle spots.

"OKAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAY! OKAHAHAHAHAHAHAY!" Nick squeaked.

Charlie enjoyed watching Nick come apart at the seams. After all, the rugby captain deserved it for tormenting him so many times.

Finally, David gestured for Charlie, who had gotten too carried away with tickling Nick to tears, to cease their tickle attack only after Nick's laughter had gone silent and wheezy.

Charlie had reluctantly stopped tickling his boyfriend and gave him some space as David released his hold and affectionately ruffled Nick's already messed up hair.

"Sorry, Nick, but I felt like your boyfriend could use some revenge. You were pretty brutal while you were tickling him earlier," David chuckled.

"Did we go too far?" Charlie peeked sideways at his boyfriend after David retreated upstairs after cleaning up the popcorn mess scattered on the floor.

"Just wait until I get you back." Nick wrapped his arms around Charlie, not tickling him, not just yet, as he knew anticipation would drive Charlie mad. Charlie tensed but giggled as he enjoyed knowing he could now reduce Nick to a squirmy puddle of laughter.

"I would be careful if I were you," Charlie murmured. "I now know your worst spots, and I'll just get you back."

Nick shivered, but he couldn't help but be excited to find out if Charlie really would get him back. Nick really didn't mind it so much, after all.

#heartstopper #heartstopper tickle fanfic #tickle fic blog #tickle fanfic #ticklish!charlie #ticklish!nick #tickle content #tickle fanfiction #heartstopper fanfic #sfw tickling community #tword blog #tword content #sfw tickling

[carrythatwayt]

Before The Beginning ✨️Color Theory✨️

Okay, this will be pretty long, tldr: everything is a mirror of everything. All opinions are my own after I was caught between the twin forces of memories from my art and film theory classes. All screenshots thanks to the great folks at cap-that.com

I'm going to start after "Let there be light" for obvious reasons, up until that point the lighting is bright but cold and white. The nebula gives us a diegetic (in scene) reason for the shifting and intense colors but I think it's really interesting to see how it was used to reinforce this universe-changing conversation.

"Look at you, you're gorgeous!"

The nebula is only beginning to throw off color, and what's the first thing that happens? Makes it appear like Aziraphale's wings are blushing when he realizes the compliment was not meant for him (and seriously, how adorable is he).

As the conversation winds on and Crowley excitedly decribes the nebula, colorful light is increasingly projected onto the angels, but not the background. This visually ties them together and the intensity of colors seems purposeful as well, since they immediately begins to cool and dim as Aziraphale explains the less-than-stellar purpose behind the star factory.

"What's the point in creating an infinite universe.... if you're only going to let it run a few thousand years?"

Two really interesting things happen here. A star-burst reminiscent of a halo explodes and dissipates behind Angel Crowley's head, and when his wings droop in disappointment, a small cloud of red can be seen appearing behind his left wing.

As Aziraphale attempts to explain the ineffable but all-important Earth and humans, he begins to gather an aura of gold, baby pink, and baby blue. Crowley's red cloud of confusion also continues to intensify as he listens.

"But that's idiocy!"

The reddish clouds of confusion and doubt really begin to pick up speed now as Angel Crowley vents his frustration and beats his wings hard in agitation (also, shout out to how ruffled his feathers become because it's a whole mood in itself).

Here's where things get dangerous.

"Someone has to say "Look Boss, this is a really terrible idea..."

The red cloud has become a roiling crimson storm filling half the frame beyond Crowley and casting dark red light on his face. Meanwhile Aziraphale's background stubbornly hangs onto its cool colors, now opal and turquoise.

"I don't suppose anyone could object to me putting a note in the suggestion box..."

The nebula's red gas has now completely filled Crowley's frames, surrounding him on all sides. The next interesting thing occurs behind Aziraphale.

"I don't think it's our place to start suggesting...!"

In contrast to Crowley's red cloud of doubt, I've been calling this Aziraphale's red ball of anxiety (hello my old friend). He is deeply perturbed by this line of conversation and as he is explaining that the Almighty doesn't have, and likely wouldnt appreciate a suggestion box, this red light floats from behind his wing to behind his head (again, mood).

"If I was the one running it all..."

The saturation of Crowley's red background has lessened a bit, but Aziraphale's Red Ball of Anxiety reaches its peak intensity at this statement as Aziraphale nervously casts his gaze around to see if any other angels heard this borderline blasphemy.

"How much trouble could I get into just for asking a few questions?"

While Angel Crowley is still firmly framed by the red cloud, its disrupted by pale light cast by baby stars or proto-planets, as if it was being leavened by his irrepressible optimism.

For his part, we leave Aziraphale in a riot of both warm and cool colors: golds, greens, pinks, purples... This makes absolute sense to me, seing as it highlights the riot of emotions Aziraphale goes through, beginning with raw concern for Crowley's safety but resolving to a frankly breathtaking amount of affection and admiration. Seriously, zoom in and become unwell with me.

Well, that's all folks! Cheers to you if you stuck it out this far, hope literally any of my rambling and possible derangement was interesting to literally any one else 😅

#good omens #good omens meta #aziraphale #loves #anthony j crowley #the angel who will become crowley #color theory gonna color theory

[klausysworld]

Could you do a Klaus x Fem!Black!Reader where he helps her to wash her hair and pamper her on wash day?

Thank you xx

Before you read on I would like it to be known that i had to research the routine of washing different hair types as i wasn’t sure on how black women may do their hair. If i have in anyway gotten this wrong i hope you know it was unintentional and was never meant to offend anybody! Please just let me know if you would like me to change anything or if i got it right so i don’t panic, please and thank you ❤️

Let me pamper you

Klaus was very eager to help you do your hair. He always expressed how much he adored your natural hair and would love to help you care for it. You were a little apprehensive the first few times he touched your hair, not many people were particularly trusted when it came to that part of you.

Niklaus was understanding and aware of your cautions but he still couldn’t help himself but rush around different shops to find you the best quality products and practically begging you to let him help

“my love, i will be as gentle as a lamb, i promise you with all my heart”

and you ended up agreeing and are now sat patiently on an adjustable chair in Klaus’s bathroom. See now Klaus became very prepared, you had your own section in his bathroom, it was practically a mini hairdressers, we all know he likes to go over the top.

“Nik? what’re you even doing everything is right here i’m literally looking at it” you yelled while examining the difference products.

“i can’t find the towel i bought, i knew i should’ve gotten spares, it’s meant to be better for your hair to dry” he muttered as he walked in

“you can just use a t-shirt it’s fine just hurt up or ill do it myself” he was quickly infront of you while a faux angry expression

“fine if you want to use a t-shirt then that is what you shall use, what colour would you like?” you rolled your eyes at his dramatics

“it doesn’t really matter, you pick” you mumbled with a sigh

“don’t get stroppy already it was a simple question” he grumbled as he selected a plain white one from his drawer and bringing it back and putting it aside. He stood behind you with his hands on your shoulders as he looked at you through the mirror, he left a soft kiss to you cheek and then your neck and shoulder as his hands ever so lightly touched the ends of your hair

“are you still okay with me doing it?” he asked softly and you nodded seeing him smile in both relief and slight excitement

“i’ll take good care of you” he whispered, pleased when you muttered a quiet ‘i know’ in return.

Klaus pulled out the comb using the end to help part your hair into four sections, you could see his brows furrowed together as he bit his lip

“is four enough sections?” he asked with a nervous smile

“you wanted to do it with no help, do what you think is right” you told him with a small smile forming as you watched his determination as he began loosely braiding each part. His arm stretched over you, his from pressing against the back of the chair allowing you to feel his body warmth as he grabbed a bottle form one of the drawers. He carefully applied what was assumed to be a carrier oil from the roots of your hair to the tips coating it fully. He then leaned beside you and pulled out a shower cap, he bade sure each section was inside before pulling his own chair over and sat down beside you

“would you like anything while you wait?“ he asked while taking one of your hands in both of his

“depends how long am i waiting?”

“um five to ten minutes so i’m going to go with seven and a half to be safe” he nodded glancing at his watch before squeezing your hand

“i’ll be fine for seven minutes, just talk to me”

he linked your finger with his and began his story of the past. He managed to keep it short despite his enthusiasm to share with you that he was on the Titanic all those years ago, he began rambling about how the film wasn’t entirely accurate though he shut up almost instantly when his timer went up, jumping out of his chair to removed the cap

He looked proud of himself as he pulled out the clarifying shampoo, rubbing it between his hands before nearing your head. His fingertips gently began massaging your scalp, his confidence faltering as he made his way section my section

“am i doing it right?” he asked with a frown becoming nervous that he would harm your beautiful curls

“mmm you’re doing fine” you murmured while leaning your head back as he massaged pleasurable well

Once finished applying he paused, slight panic in his eyes as he looked over the bottle

“love? It doesn’t say how long to keep it in” he said handing her the shampoo hurriedly

“do i just rinse it straight away?” you just watched him in amusement though the mirror as he closely looked at your scalp

“yea okay” he whispered before spinning your chair round so you were facing him, he pulled at a lever so that the head rest went back, the back of your head now resting over the sink as he fiddled with the temperature

“say if it’s too hot or cold” he mumbled while detaching the nozzles and pulling it over to the top of your head, he let the warm water run over your hair and scalp, his fingers gently rubbing along the partings from where he sections it. He carefully tilted and lifted your head to make sure he got all of it, lightly running his fingers across your scalp before turning you back the other way

“okay should we do normal conditioning or a deep conditioning…does it matter?” he was reading over five different bottles

He shrugged before choosing a deep conditioning, slowly applying it from the top down while undoing the loose braids. His fingers gently brushed through them undoing any knots and tangles he could on his way. He did the lover sections first and then the top ones, having all your hair now falling together. Once confident he had deeply conditioned as evenly as he could, he put a different shower cap on over the top. He brought you back to face him and smiled brightly

“we have fifteen minutes this time so are you hungry?” he asked already standing up

“i could eat” you nodded and he grinned

“stay there ill be right back” he whispered with a kiss to your forehead before disappearing

He returned a few minutes later with a tray

“i washed my hands downstairs before i grabbed them but here we go, Hope baked cookies earlier with Elijah of all people, she insisted we try them” You took a biscuit from the tray and tentatively took a bike at the same time he did both making a humming sound before Klaus quickly grabbed a bucket and you both spat it out

“that was-“

“delightful” he finished as he scrunched his face up

“well it’s better than last time” you nodded despite the obvious lie

“i’ll grab something else” he told you before disappearing again, soon returning with a packet of cookies instead

“ah thank god” you muttered snatching it from his hands making him put a hand to his heart in mock offence

“woww i see how it is” he whispered dramatically

“i told you, in a situation of you or food, its food. Sorry buddy” you muttered as you took a big bite

“buddy?? who exactly are you calling buddy?” he growled playfully as he pulled you out of the chair, legs around his waist and arms around his neck as he spun you around in circles making you laugh and drop the packet, he caught it swiftly and brought a cookie back to your mouth feeding you happily

“i love you” he told you with a soft smile on his face while you inhaled the food. You gave a muffled ‘i love you too’ as you licked your lips clean much to his enjoyment. He leaned forward immediately and pressed his lips to yours, eagerly inviting your tongue into his mouth making you giggle into him and pull away with a laugh

“come back” he whines trying to recapture your lips but you dodged him

“nuh uh look at the time” he quickly flicked his eyes to his watch and groaned, fifteen minutes over.

“okay back to the sink” he nodded carrying you back to the chair and lowering you down. He hummed a tune as he took the shower cap off, gently putting your hair over the sink and bringing the water over your head. This time the water was cool against your scalp while he rubbed his fingers against your head again. He combed through your hair again helping the water rinse the conditioner out

“can you pass me the t-shirt love” he asked quietly, he took it from your hands and gently wrapped it around your hair

“would you like me to blow dry it later? or just let it dry in that?” he asked adjusting it so it wouldn’t come undone

“we can just wait, i wanna eat some more and maybe kiss you some more” his face twisted into a smirk and his hands ran down your arms

“i’ll put some leave in conditioner when its all dry and ready yeah?”

“mhm and you got some oil and moisturiser right?” you asked looking at him through your lashes

“i did, now how about you eat some chocolate while i do your nails?” he asked looking far too excited about it

“you want to paint my nails?”

“i’m a man of many skills now let me love you and pamper you” he lifted you one more, this tome over her shoulder as he ran through the house to the kitchen

#klaus mikaelson #the originals #klaus mikaleson imagine #klaus mikaelson one shot #klaus mikaelson x reader #klaus michaelson #klaus mikealson fanfiction #niklaus imagines #klaus m #klaus mikaelson x y/n #the vampire diares imagine #the vampire diaries #kol mikaelson #tvd klaus #rebekah mikaelson #elijah mikaelson #niklaus mikaelson #tvd universe #hope mikaelson #klaus mikaelson fluff #klaus mikaelson headcanon #klaus mikaelson yandere #klaus mikealson smut #klaus mikaelson x yn #klaus mikealson x reader #tvdu fluff #tvdu imagines #tvd fluff #tvd imagine #tvd fanfiction

[brighter-by-the-daly]

Rachel Daly x Reader

Right Person, Wrong Time

Part of the Beth McCarthy mini song series

She Gets the Flowers

But she gets the flowers, right?

The posts made about her

A love that is perfect, a love I deserved, yeah

A love that I gave

I got excuses and you got to use this

Leave me in the dust with nothing and just walk away

But she gets the flowers, right?

You hate horrors but being out voted by the rest of the squad meant film night was a terrifying ordeal at best. Scattered around the room on bean bags and blow up chairs were the England senior squad on our last night before leaving for the Sunshine Coast. Determined to stay awake as long as possible so we’d all sleep on the plane we had gathered all the sweets, cake and ice cream we could find out of chef’s kitchen before curling up in the games room. After Millie snatched your phone away earlier for distracting yourself from the gorey scenes with Candy Crush you were left with no option other than to give the film your full attention. Either that or count the tiles on the ceiling. You had tried to make an exit when you were out voted but being promptly sat on by Mary meant you were forced against your will to participate in film night. The snacks sort of made it worth it and the movie was kinda bareable until it got dark and they refused to turn the lights on. The thought of sleeping alone tonight was unbearable as you hid behind your cushion.

“FUCK OFF!” screaming and launching your pillow of comfort in their direction after being jump scared by Rachel and Millie.. again! More like daly annoyance than daly brightness! They found it absolutely hilarious sneaking up on you and as they dodged your pillow flying towards them with the camera rolling, your patience had worn out causing you to storm out. They knew you were scared and still played pranks on you, the worst friends a girl could have! There’s never a dull moment with them around but you hated being the butt of their silly jokes.

Earning your caps one after the other in 2016 meant you’d been firm friends throughout your senior careers and undoubtedly this World Cup will probably be your last all together. You’d been determined to enjoy every moment of it but when making that pledge you did not anticipate it starting with a film that would give you nightmares. You were quite susceptible to bad dreams lately, probably the stress and worry of travelling so far away from home. Living by yourself meant there was no one to comfort you when you awake in cold sweats and that’s probably the worst part of being single.

Your face glowed from the light on your phone, you’d woken up from a nightmare just as you had expected. Groaning at the time being only an hour later from when you flopped onto the mattress, you scoured Facebook trying to make your heartbeat return to normal. When that didn’t work you turned to your trusted Candy Crush, completing a few levels until somebody noticed you’d been recently active on Facebook.

R - Why you awake?

Y - Nightmares

R - Want company?

Y - 🤷🏻‍♀️

Not thinking Rachel would actually come over you grunted at having to get out of bed to answer the gentle knock on the door. Immediately crawling back under the covers and picking up your phone again “why were you awake?” you asked her with a mumble into the duvet. “Nightmares too, it’s very far away from home.. can I?” pointing towards the bed waiting for an invitation to get in. Patting the mattress to give permission she crawled inside the covers pulling you onto her chest and stroking your back. “Sorry for teasing you earlier, we went a step too far” humming in agreement as you continued the level on your game. You weren’t really in the mood for talking but you couldn’t hide the fact you instantly felt better with someone to comfort you. Spending 5 years single since your last relationship meant you missed being held and having skin to skin contact with someone.

A knock at the door awoke you both from your slumber, as Rachel went to answer it Millie’s loud voice made you wince. “OOOOHHH! What’s going on here then?” screeching as she entered the room. “Nothing, we both couldn’t sleep” Rachel dismissed your friend immediately. “Yeah, yeah I’ve heard that before!” she taunted you both, sitting herself down on the bed. You and Rachel had an on/off FWB situation since you first met but when she started dating Kristie and Millie T, that ended, well.. paused. For the most part anyway. You had linked back up again in between relationships (and during, mistakes on both your parts) but nothing ever developed further, just using each other to fill a void that was otherwise missing in your lives. At the time you were both young and neither could give yourselves to each other completely. You were at Arsenal, Rach was in America and you hadn’t hooked up since Millie T came on the scene. You knew how to fit together, no pressing conversations about actual couple drama like bills and schedules. Rachel’s needs were always physical however yours was more emotional and when you found yourself longing to be snuggled up with her whilst with your girlfriend, that’s when you knew nothing was going to work out for you unless it was with Rach.

You had started to find yourself jealous every time Rachel and Kristie posted about each other, then every game Man U won, Rachel would send Millie flowers. You gave her your undivided attention, always wanting a little bit more than she was willing to give you but that didn’t appear to be a problem for Kristie or Millie. The company at night was what you missed the most, knowing that was when your demons reared their ugly heads but when you were with Rach, that didn’t happen - maybe your brain knew something your heart refused to admit at the time. Your relationships just never felt the same, no one gave you the spark that Rachel did and that’s why nothing ever worked out long term for you. Choosing to put your career first rather than finding a mate and deciding you’re destined to be single for the rest of your life. Being held by her last night felt nostalgic no less.

—————

Finally in Australia you were close to falling asleep on the table you were stirring your coffee on when a camera was shoved in your face. “Here’s my roomie!” Rachel shouted, the noise making you cover your ears and delayed processing what she had said. When it finally hit, you jumped up with excitement nearly knocking over your coffee as your hip nudged the table. Squealing with her, pleased you had someone to bunk with you at least knew well enough to make the tournament bareable. The younger players didn’t know what was about to hit them - more rigorous training, tactics coming out their eyeballs, your fans being minimal compared to what’s expected at home. You were pleased you had a friend to share your mutual space with at the end of the day.

Weeks passed into the full swing of the World Cup and England had reached the quarter finals. Taking a midday nap had become custom when the sun was the hottest but you mustn’t have locked the door properly today, realising just as Millie burst in. About to say something before stopping in her tracks and changing her statement to a question. “Rachel, don’t you sleep in your bed?” Looking at both your suitcases dumped on top of the second bed appeared as if it hadn’t been slept in since you got here. The nightmares for both of you had continued since your arrival but you found you always slept better snuggled up together. There was nothing sexual about it, purely the comforting and familiar sense of two people connected one way or another. Rolling over and rubbing her eyes to see Millie stood there with a puzzled look on her face and waiting for a response from either of her best friends. “We don’t have nightmares if we sleep in the same bed so we’re just using that one as a shelf. We need to be well slept, you understand that right Mill?” Rachel informed her best friend. “So you’re not at it again?” her eyes squinty like she was trying to read between the lines something that wasn’t there. “Don’t be ridiculous, with Sarina’s rules? I don’t think so!” Rachel laughed, Sarina had very strict rules when it came to tournaments which even extended to what happened in the bedrooms. “Good because I can’t be dealing with (y/n)‘s heartbreak again” Millie said sporadically throwing herself between the suitcases on the spare bed. You were still facing the other way, not ready to move from your comfortable position on the bed but hearing those words suddenly made your eyes bulge out of your head. Rachel had no idea of the feelings you had for her and it had been that way for 7 years. Her eyebrows furrowed as she dissected what Millie had said. “I broke you heart?” she turned to look at you confused. Millie promptly excused herself after dropping that bomb and swiftly exited the room with a guilty expression. “I thought you knew it was just sex?” her voice soft as she sat back down on the bed. Still facing the opposite direction caused Rachel to nudge you, “hey, look at me” she urged softly as you finally gathered the courage to face the eye contact being shot in your direction. “I did know it was just sex and I was okay with it” which led to being quizzed like you were under investigation, “then why did Millie say you were heartbroken?” Biting the bullet knowing there was no way you were going to wiggle out of this one; “because, I didn’t realise until it was over that for me it was more than that. Nobody else made me feel as safe as you did, that’s why nothing ever worked out for me” you admitted. Sitting cross legged opposite each other she let out a light hearted whimper, “if I’d known that then I would have given us a shot!” she shoved your shoulder gently. “If I’d known that I would have told you!” laughing lightly at your complete blindness to each other’s feelings. “Really?” turning the questioning onto her. “Yeah! They say the best relationships start from friendship and we already know we’re compatible!” now with both of you laughing fully at your admissions.

The talking continued well into the evening, asking why she never acted upon the words you’re hearing now as she explained she didn’t want to spook you. Thinking that the other one only wanted a physical thing rather than a relationship meant you both missed the obvious signs that you clearly wanted each other back then. You were the reason none of her relationships worked out either, admitting that both of you had been searching for each other in other people for 7 years instead of just acknowledging there was more to it than you cared to confess. It was the reason you always came back to each other, you worked in more ways than just one but you were both too blind to see that.

———

Walking around the pitch for your lap of honour after lifting the trophy with your friends, Rach held you back from the rest of the team. With a tug on your arm your pace slowed until you were far enough away for them not hear what was about to be said. “Do you think it’s too late for us?” Rach asked covering her mouth so the cameras couldn’t pick up what she said. “No I don’t think so” you smiled, “actually I think the timing is perfect. I heard you’re moving to Villa too?” turning to look at the confusion in her eyes and nodding when you saw they were searching for the answer in your face - Carla had signed you both meaning for the first time other than national, you’ll both be on the same team.

#rachel daly #rachel daly x reader #woso x reader #woso masterlist #lionesses england #lionesses x reader #england x reader #England wnt x reader #woso fanfics #Spotify

[i-care-4u]

UN VERANO SIN TI | J.HARLOW

part one | part two | part three

pair: jack harlow x actress!reader

requests are closed | masterlist

MAY ‘22

Things weren’t hitting the same for Jack after the breakup. After you said those words to him, it felt like his heart was shattered to a million pieces. As much as he understood your reason, Jack began to feel guilt, believing that he fucked up the last couple months of dating you.

Although having his crew alongside, he missed that feeling when you were around.

MAY 6th, 2022

It was May 6th, the day of his album release with the listening party hosted by Spotify. Jack was thrilled to hear about everyone’s thought of his album tonight. He felt proud of his new body of work, quitting some habits to dedicate some of his free time in creating it.

-

That same day, you left to go to France, ahead of time for the Cannes Film Festival, which starts in the middle of May. At this time, you already took a seat to the plane, ready to go. You thought about Jack and his new album, so you decided to have a little call with him, congratulating him. After all, you were his inspiration when he was creating the album.

You patiently waited as you let the phone ring for a few seconds before Jack eventually picked up. It surprised you considering that he was in the middle of the party.

-

“One second,” Jack paused his conversation with some friends and immediately walked into a quiet room. “Hello?”

“Hey Jack, I just wanted to congratulate you on your new album,” you praised. You were on your seat wearing some headphones, “I just listened to your album, and I like it.”

“Well, I’m glad you liked it,” Jack had a big smile on his face.

You were thinking of other things to say, but you didn’t wanted to make the conversation awkward, especially now. “Uhm, I wish you all the best, and enjoy yourself!”

You waved goodbye at him via camera and hung up. After the call, Jack returned to the party, and continued with the conversation he had earlier.

“Did I miss anything?” Jack asked as he sat down.

“Nothing much,” Urban replied.

“Hey Jack?” Neelam walked in.

“Yes?”

“Is Y/n here?”

“No, she’s currently traveling to France.”

CANNES FILM FESTIVAL, MAY 17th-MAY 28th, 2022

Arriving at the hotel a few weeks ago, you had some time to roam around the city before the Cannes Film Festival even began.

You were invited due to the screening of your new film. Since the announcement of the film, the internet has created a ton of buzz that even you were discussed as a possible Academy Award nominee despite not being out yet.

Right now, you were getting ready to attend the press for your film. The room was filled, from the people to even the desk, makeup and hair tools scattered.

“What color?” Your makeup artist showed you the eyeshadow palette colors. You pointed at a certain color, knowing that it will look amazing with your gown.

Your makeup artist looked eager to create a look using this specific eyeshadow color, “Nice one, Y/n, you’re going to look outstanding out there.”

-

You arrived at the press conference alongside your co-star and the director. You guys sat down, and the lady began to welcome the audience as they had a moment of applause.

Opening the bottle cap, you took a sip from your water bottle, listening closely to what the lady has to say about the movie to the director. “This movie is currently your most romantic to date, yet it is filled with melancholia, similar to your other movies. What was the story that inspired the creation of the movie?”

You were attentive, looking at the director as they were explaining their inspiration and everything. You couldn’t help but to think about Jack once those words came out of their mouth.

Now thinking about it, the movie feels similar to your experience with dating Jack. You never told anyone that you’re in a confirmed relationship with someone during set, but you were suspicious that someone found out when making the film.

You were staring at one of the walls, with having Jack as your only thought. Not a single word came from you while the conversation between the director and the rest of your table was still ongoing.

Finally, the audience began to ask questions about the characters, and getting to know you guys a little more.

A person stood up and wanted to know your team’s opinion, “From the scale of 1-10, how sad is it? One being optimistic and ten being full of tears of sadness.”

The movie hasn’t premiered yet, but the people already knew a bit of the plot and a few traits that the characters have. The director let out a little laugh, and responded to the person, “Everyone will have a different opinion at the ending, but you have to watch it to find out.”

As the person sat down, another person started to stand up. “Hi, this question goes out specifically to Y/n,” the person from the audience specified. Everyone started clapping, and you smiled at them, having a heartwarming moment, “For me?”

The person smiled back and began to ask you, “Y/n, about your character, have you ever had a similar experience to that of your character, *character name*?”

“That’s a very fascinating question,” your thoughts about your relationship with Jack immediately came back. Yes, you were both busy, but something about him is what made it your favorite relationship compared to your past ones.

“I can’t say much about the film, like they said. What I can say though, is that in the past, i’ve been with this person and he really made me the person I am today. Our energies matched and I honestly thought we were meant to be.”

You wanted to be honest about your private relationship. You broke up with Jack due to the full schedule that you both have, and you felt distanced, having that lonely feeling in-person. You didn’t wanted to end it on bad terms because then you’ll feel bad for Jack for doing him wrong.

You continued, “But sometimes, relationships don’t last long enough because we have other things in life, and it crushes the balance between work and life. That’s what happened between us. To wrap this question on a good note, we’re still good friends today.”

The audience gave a round of applause, and in addition, one more person asked a different question that falls under the same topic of relationships. “Would you give him a second chance if possible?”

“Second chance, second chance,” a person chanted out. It then started to populate with now the room echoing that same phrase. You looked at the audience with astonishment, not believing that they actually want to you to come back with him.

Giving them a little smirk, you leaned in towards the microphone, “That’s enough chanting, let’s relax our voices for a while. Honestly though, I would if I wasn’t that busy.”

“What happened to just wanting to be friends?” you thought. At this point, you were single for 2-3 weeks, and it was challenging to move on. Exploring the city helped for a small portion of time, but you knew the experience would’ve been better if you had Jack around you. It was obvious that you miss your relationship with Jack, and in reality, you want him romantically again.

What you’ve said was a moment. Phones were up, recording every word that you said right now. Everyone felt excitement and surprised by your response, considering your persona. A few hours later, a user posted a recorded clip of you from the press tour, and it went viral on all social medias.

MAY 17th-MAY 28th, 2022

Jack, on the other hand, began doing interviews over his album that recently came out that includes an upcoming tour later this year.

Today, it was one of those rare days were he takes a little break.

He was in bed, scrolling down Twitter on his phone, and he stopped when he saw a clip of you. The one where you’re sitting down along with the director and your co-star. The one where you said that it’s possible to give him a second chance.

“…Relationships don’t last long enough because we have other things in life, and it crushes the balance between work and life…”

“Would you give them a second chance if possible?”

“…Honestly, I would if I wasn’t that busy.”

“Sounds familiar…” Jack thought. He knew about your past relationships, but all the things you said sounded exactly what happened recently between you guys. Telling him that they were meant to be? Matched energies?

Jack didn’t wanted to ask you questions, thinking that’s a little too invasive although the clip is viral on the internet. Instead, he scrolled down, looking at what Twitter has recommended him. That same video of you kept reappearing as he scrolled down the timeline, under the ‘viral’ or ‘film’ topics.

You were still on his mind, and the truth? He still wasn’t over you.

And his goal? He wants to make things right between you and him romantically again.

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