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nebulaafterdark · 2 months

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The Succession (Part 3)

Summary: After the battle of Rook’s Rest, Queen Y/N is forced to rule alongside Prince Regent Aemond, in an attempt to keep her children safe and eventually seat her mother, Rhaenyra, on the throne. While attending her husband, on what appears to be his deathbed, she begins to unravel the dark truth of his near passing.

Aegon Targaryen x Velaryon(Strong)!Reader

Part 1 | Part 2

Alicent’s idea of a procession to gain support for their wounded King, has quite the opposite effect. The smallfolk swam them, knocking the attending members of the royal family from their carriage and down onto the streets with them.

The Dowager Queen clings to Helaena and her daughter by law. With gold cloaks of the city watch forcing the crowd away from them. Making a path back toward the Keep.

Chérie watches in horror as it unfolds, amongst the sea of people, she spots a familiar face. One of Rhaenyra’s ladies-in-waiting. “Elinda?”

“Chérie?”

“What are you doing here?”

“I’ve come to deliver a message to Princess Y/N, from Queen Rhaenyra.”

“May the gods be with you,” Chérie remarks.

“Where is she?” Elinda asks.

Chérie points toward the center of the mob. Alicent, Helaena and Y/N covered by guards attempting to protect them. “There.”

“Give us the Queen!”

“We want the Queen.”

“Back, all of you!” The guards demand, preparing to draw their swords.

Y/N tries to step forward, give the people what they want.

“Y/N,” Alicent keeps a firm hold on her, shaking her head. “It is not worth the risk.”

“You drug me away from my husband’s sick bed for our people to see me.” Y/N reminds her. “Let them see me.”

Alicent releases her, against her better judgment.

The mass of commoners threaten to engulf the Queen, with the banner of house Targaryen held proudly in their midst. “We want meat.”

“The King makes false promises!”

“You feast in your castle as we starve!”

The shouting builds to a crescendo.

“Do you want my help, or simply to hurl insults at the crown?” Y/N waits until they fall silent before she continues. “Before the King’s coronation, I was told the realm would never accept a ruling Queen. I heard this same sentiment recently, as my lord husband returned from battle, grievously injured. Yet you raise my mother’s banner in my husband’s streets.” Y/N says, loud enough for all to hear. “War is a terrible thing, that costs us all that which we love. It drives a wedge between our houses, makes fools of us all.”

“Stop the war!”

“End the blockade!”

Y/N hesitates, “I have no more agency over that than any of you, I fear. But I believe, as I know my husband does, that our victory relies on the smallfolk. We take to the woods, this day. We will hunt for our meat and we shall feast upon it together.”

The smallfolk murmur to each other.

“Most of you are not trained for the hunt, to which I say, neither am I. But we must stand together, not tear ourselves apart. We are one people, we are one heart.”

Slowly, the townsfolk begin voicing their approval.

“Take to your houses,” Y/N instructs, “gather your weapons and join me at the gates. They will open for us or we will break them down!”

“If you want a word with the Queen, now is your chance.” Chérie whispers.

“And you?”

“I must stand watch over his grace, until her return. After what I have learned this day…he mustn’t be alone.”

The mob cheers as they disband, knocking Chérie and Elinda apart.

Alicent rushes Helaena inside as Y/N heads for the gates.

“She should not be alone.” Helaena says.

“No, she shouldn’t.” Alicent presses cups her daughter’s face in her hands. “Ser Criston.” She calls.

“Your grace,” he stands at the ready.

“You are to accompany the Queen on this venture.” She tells him. “Y/N is not to be out of your sight, no harm must come to her.”

“Of course, your grace.” Cole nods, excusing himself to meet the Queen at the gates. They remain closed as commoners fall in line behind her, pushing at one another as she fights her way to the forefront.

“Where is it you think you’re going?” Aemond asks his niece.

“To give our people meat.” Y/N sneers, spotting her husband’s dagger on his hip. Without hesitation she reaches across, staring him dead in the eye as she yanks the blade free of its sheath. “You are welcome to join us.”

Aemond cocks his head to the side, knowing he has the final say in directing the King’s guard, “open the gates.”

————————————————————————

When Daemon receives Rhaenyra’s letter, detailing her plan to secure Y/N’s safe passage from King’s Landing to Dragonstone, he believes it is a terrible idea.

What they need is for her to hold the throne, the moment she abandons it, any claim Rhaenyra or Aegon holds over it will be lost to the Prince Regent. He knows better than anyone that the realm will suffer if Aemond, one eye, rules.

Instead he plans to enlist help of his own to secure his grandchildren’s safety. With Y/N and Aemond out roaming the woods, taking over half the King’s guard with them, he finds his opportunity.

Whistling through the gates to one of the white cloaks, who harbors a strong dislike of the Hightowers. The man abandons his post, meeting Daemon at the bars.

“How would you like to make a year’s worth of gold in an hour?”

Blood swallows harshly, “what would you have me do?”

“You can start by opening the fucking gate.”

The man does as he’s told.

“Follow me.” Daemon leads him down the alleyway to another man, whom he calls Cheese. “This is an old friend of mine, tonight he’s going to be your friend.” Daemon tosses them each a sack of gold.

“You said a year’s worth.”

“Half now, half when the job is done.”

Blood and Cheese count their bags of coin before nodding their agreement.

“What I need of you is simple. Enter the castle, find my grandson, Aegon.”

“The King?”

“Prince Aegon. He is a babe with dark hair.” With his father incapacitated, they have a good shot at it. “If you cannot retrieve him safely, leave.”

“Is that all?”

“Be sure to scare the seven hells out of the maids while you’re at it. But you are not to cause harm. This is a ploy to increase protection of the Queen’s heirs. Nothing more.”

“What is it they need protecting from?” Cheese wonders.

“Do you want the job or not?” Daemon snaps.

“Y-yes.”

“I will be waiting to collect him at the north gate.” The prince informs them. “You have one hour.”

————————————————————————-

“Disperse and take your share, all of you.” Aemond gives the smallfolk his blessing. They scatter in all directions, desperate and searching.

Y/N sets off with a pack of them into the east woods. Cole follows.

Aemond stays with the masses, showing his good faith. Hoping to win back their support of his claim.

Y/N is the first to spot a deer, running from them, “just there.” She sets off toward is. “Who wants it?”

“I, your grace.” A man with silver, gray hair marches toward it.

“Very well!” Y/N praises, “everyone come round, be sure it does not escape.”

“Together, now.”

They take the first, with some difficulty. Each to follow becomes easier.

Aemond makes his kills alone, happening upon the group eventually. Just in time to see the gleam of the White Hart, watching on from a safe distance. Willing him to slain it, prove himself once and for all, as Y/N toils in servitude of the smallfolk.

“Your grace!” One of the men yell, pointing to the stag. “For you.”

“For us,” Y/N pats his shoulder before hiking up her ruined skirts, “for us.”

“For us!”

Aemond draws his sword, spooking the animal into hiding.

The Queen’s eyes widen.

“May the beast be slain by the true heir, as a sign of good faith.” He says, taking off in search of it.

Y/N runs after him.

“My Queen!”

“Stay with the Queen!”

She chases Aemond deeper into the woods, but the stag cannot be found.

In an instant, Aemond turns on his heels. Leaving the end of his blade pointed at Y/N’s belly.

She flinches as his sword grazes her cheek on it’s upward swing.

Aemond smirks, watching the blood bead on her skin as her eyes well with tears. “Behind you.”

The stag bolts away.

“Aemond!” Ser Criston calls.

The Prince Regent sheathes his sword. “It got away.”

Y/N’s knees buckle, she does not fight as she falls to the ground. It was him. He who would sooner shroud his brother in dragon fire than fight at his side. He who jumped the line of succession to turn the war in his favor.

“Your grace,” Cole moves to her as Aemond retreats. “You’re injured.”

Y/N holds a hand up between them.

“Let me help you stand.”

“Why?” Y/N asks, “each time I stand I am struck down.”

“Because you keep rising.” Cole tells her. “You know, I may not have fathered them, but I raised both Aegon and Aemond as my own. He would not want to see you this way.”

“He may never see me again.”

“I do not believe that is true.” Ser Criston sighs, “so long as you live, he will find a way. My responsibility to Aegon now lies in ensuring he has something to wake up to.” He says, pointedly. “You have not made it an easy task.”

“I overheard you call my mother a spoiled cunt once.” Y/N scrubs a hand over her face, “be forewarned, I am worse.”

Despite himself, Cole smiles. Something just beyond her catching his eye. “My Queen.”

She follows the direction of his finger.

“This will be the sign we all desperately need, they would fall in line behind you. There will be no further question.”

The White Hart stares back at her, unblinking. “Have you come to die for me too?” She pushes up to her feet, flashing the blade before the animal’s eyes in warning. But the stag comes closer, she strokes its bowed head, plunging the dagger clean into its heart, allowing the stag to collapse onto her. Rocking the creature as best she can. “Thank you for all you have done for me. Your sacrifice is not in vain.”

Cole carries the slain stag behind Y/N, trudging through the forest, covered in its blood. The smallfolk know what this means. There is no need for a Prince Regent, they have a Queen.

Aemond nods. She’s won the battle, but he’ll win the war.

————————————————————————-

With the smallfolk contented, Y/N retires to her rooms, allowing the bath water to soothe her muscles and her mind. Chérie is still about, therefore the Queen allows another of her ladies to scrub the dirt and blood from her skin.

“It is done, my Queen.” Livia nods, “should you like a towel, or to soak a while longer?”

“The water is filthy,” Y/N murmurs.

“We might draw you a new bath, your grace.”

“No,” Y/N shakes her head. “Just the towel please.”

“At once, your grace.” She reaches for the plush cream fabric, holding it open for her majesty.

Y/N wraps herself in it, as her hair is rung out over the tub.

“Are you thinking of braids, your grace?”

No. Not in the least. “You may leave it hang.”

“Are you certain?” Livia blinks at her.

“Yes, help me dress in my nightgown, please. I am quite exhausted.”

Livia nods, scurrying to the dressing area and returning with a pale purple gown. “Is this to your liking, my Queen?”

Y/N smiles, “it is lovely. Thank you.”

The woman returns the gesture.

“You needn’t always address me so formally when we are alone. I wish for us to be friends.”

“A Queen is not expected to be friends with her servants.” Livia says, “my mother has served the dowager Queen Alicent for many years.”

“My mother was always kind to her ladies.” Y/N tells her. “That is the Queen I hope to be.”

Livia nods, easing the material over the Queen’s head, followed quickly by her robe. “I should like that very much.”

“I understand how difficult it can be, taking on a new role without knowing what’s expected of you. If you’ve questions, please voice them to me, I am more than happy to answer.”

“I have heard whispers from other ladies…that Chérie joins you and the King in your bed.” Livia stammers, “you are both very lovely, your grace, but I would not know how-”

“Oh no,” Y/N huffs a laugh. “Livia, that will never be asked of you. Chérie is very dear to the King and I, but that is not a task expected of my ladies.”

“Forgive me for assuming.”

“It’s quite alright, I am glad to clear the air between us. I would hate for you to be nervous in my presence over a misunderstanding.”

Livia exhales, “thank you for being so kind.”

Y/N takes her hand, “of course.”

“Y/N,” Chérie pants, having rushed past the guards. “It’s Aegon.”

Y/N moves, as if in slow motion, taking the bloodied dagger from the floor. Down the hall, to her husband’s rooms, shoving open the door.

“You’re hurt.” He says, taking in the sight of her, freshly dressed, hair still dripping from the bath.

She gawks at him. Willing her legs to move and dropping to her knees at the side of his bed, casting the weapon aside. Y/N rests her cheek against the coverlet, not daring to touch him.

Carefully he reaches for her, feeling the charred skin of his chest pull as his hand passes over her hair.

“I thought you were dead,” Y/N whispers. “Chérie rushed me out of my rooms to you. I thought you were dead.” She sobs, violently enough that any shred of anger Aegon harbors for the disregard of her own safety is forgotten.

“I’m going to look in on the children.” Chérie excuses herself.

Aegon whispers, as the doors close, “come round this side.”

“I can’t.” Y/N struggles to draw breath, shuttering as she does.

“I wish to hold you.”

“I will hurt you.”

“Hearing you sob on the floor, while I am no more than a foot away, is worse than any pain I am in. Let me comfort you.” Aegon insists, “please.”

Y/N stands, climbing carefully onto the bed, lying her head on the pillow beside his.

Aegon’s neck aches as he turns his head to face her, left eye swollen shut.

“I do not see where it is safe to touch you,” Y/N admits. The unmarred half of his face now rests against the pillow.

“Rest your head upon my shoulder.” Aegon sighs, “but let me look at you first.” He’s just taken milk of the poppy, enough to dull the sharp edge of pain.

“I am a mess.” Y/N lets out a watery laugh, dragging the back of her hand over her face, mindful of her graze.

“You are beautiful,” Aegon half smiles. “Tell me what’s happened.”

Y/N sucks in a breath, “the small council appointed Aemond as Prince Regent. The smallfolk were discontented in their hunger, I took them to hunt. I happened across a white stag and followed it into the woods. Aemond as well. He drew his sword once we were far enough out though Cole found us before anything happened. I think he meant to kill me.”

Aegon swallows, “you must stay away from Aemond, do you understand?”

Y/N nods.

“When I am well enough-”

“Has he done this to you?” Y/N needs to hear it plainly.

“Sunfyre and Meyles were locked together. There is no way of knowing what his intentions were, but it was Aemond who gave the command.” Dracarys.

“I’ll kill him.”

“You cannot.”

Y/N begins to protest.

“Listen to me now.” Aegon presses on, “I want you out of King’s Landing. I want our children out.”

“No, I will not leave you.”

“Go to your mother on Dragonstone.”

“No.”

“Shh,” Aegon gentles her. “I need you to hear what I am saying to you. This is the only way she can take back the throne. She wants Aemond’s head more than any. It will ensure your safety and the kill. I hate being parted as much as you do, but I cannot protect you here.”

“Who will protect you if I go?”

“My mother.”

“She would stand against Aemond, if it comes to it?” Y/N challenges.

“I do not want you here if it comes to that.”

“Why?”

“I will not have you stand between me and a blade. I will not allow you to be harmed or mistreated. I will protect you and our children at any cost.” Aegon says.

“The White Hart appeared for me,” Y/N is sure of it. “It fled from Aemond, returned for me and I killed it. For you, for our house and our people. I am not weak.”

“My concern is not because you are weak.” Aegon tells her, “at present, you are the largest threat to Aemond. He could end me now with a pillow held over my face.”

Y/N’s eyes widen.

“I jest, I jest.”

“I will do it myself if you dare say that again.”

He chuckles, “ah!” The movement is horribly painful. “Don’t make me laugh.”

“I promised the girls they could come visit you.” Y/N tells him, lowering her head to his shoulder.

“Are you certain that’s a good idea?” Aegon nuzzles against the top of her head. “They should not have to see me this way.”

Y/N sighs, “you are their father. They love you no matter what.”

“And you?” Aegon whispers, “you would have me still? They say I may never walk again.”

Y/N pulls away to stare at him with furrowed brows. “Aegon, of course I will have you. I love you.”

“I know that you love me.” Same as he would love her with roles reversed, “but will you…desire me? As your husband?”

Y/N presses her lips to his, oh so gently. “Of course. When you have recovered, we shall make up for lost time.”

Again he nods, not entirely convinced. “I should like that very much.”

“I speak true, husband.” Y/N insists. “Surely my body is different now than it was before our babes and you desire me still, do you not?”

“I desire you more.”

“We’re going to grow old together, you and I. In which time we will both surely change, that is the way of things.”

“Your grace!” Chérie calls, rapping her fist against the door.

“Come,” Y/N wills her.

The woman charges in, clearly distraught. “My Queen,” she says, without realizing Aegon is still lucid. The maesters warned his moments of waking will be few and far between. “Something awful has happened.”

“What is it?” Y/N springs from the bed.

“Prince Aegon…he’s been taken.”

“Taken where?” Y/N demands.

“I cannot say, the maids reported two men in hoods. They came with knives, threatened them and took the babe.”

“Bring us Dahlia, Visera and Laenor.” Aegon insists. “Send in the guards, they are to tear apart the Red Keep until my son is found.”

“Of course, my King.” Chérie bows.

Y/N steals the abandoned dagger, making for the door.

“Where are you going?” Aegon calls after her.

“To kill your brother.”

Part 4

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#house of the dragon #aegon targaryen x you #aegon targaryen x reader #aegon targaryen #hotd aegon #aegon imagine #aegon ii

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signedreality · 27 days

Note

saw ur post about wanting requests !! i have this hc in my mind that alastor knows and speaks french very well and uses that on reader (flirts, compliments, etc)…. work ur magic bestie 🤭✨

ᯓ FRENCH

alastor x reader

ଳ synopsis ; alastor, who's fluent in french, decides to use the language in order to charm you.

ଳ warnings : romance, petnames, flirting, french is translated by google translate because i'm dumb, and you magically learn french at some point.

ଳ missive ; gladly, and thank you for requesting! i'm officially rushing my writing tomorrow, in which i saw another request ask where i'm going, and i'm flying to colorado! i hope you enjoy this broadcast!

now airing ; la mer - charles trenet

༄.° the thing with you and alastor is that you both were viewed as friends.

༄.° but if people were to hear how alastor talks to you, they would think you both had been married for decades.

༄.° you weren't aware of what alastor's little sentences in french meant, but you just assumed they were simple things, yet you couldn't have been more wrong.

"alastor! what do you think of this new outfit i got?" you called out while the demon perked up from his book, and his grin widened while he placed the novel on the cushion next to him. "of course, cher..."

he straightened his posture as you showed off your outfit, and he could only tilt his head while his eyes traveled down your form. "la tenue vous complimente bien, mais mon manteau serait magnifique sur quelqu’un d’aussi attirant que vous."

(the outfit compliments you nicely, but my coat would look beautiful on someone as attractive as you.)

you stared at him in confusion before blinking a few times—flashing him a slight smile. "thanks...?"

"you're quite welcome, my dear!" he spoke as he grasped his book once again, and without another word, went back to reading his book.

༄.° things like this would go on for a while.

༄.° alastor would whisper things in french to you, but since you didn't know it, you were left clueless as to what he was saying. all you were aware of was the wide smirk that covered his face each time he spoke to you in that language.

༄.° eventually, you decided to find a way to learn french out of confusion. you wanted to know what alastor was saying, and in order to do that, you would need to know french or at least get a translator.

༄.° let's just say that you learn french, but alastor wouldn't know. it was something you were tempted to surprise him with.

༄.° and boy, did you surprise him.

"tu as l’air bien aujourd’hui, ma chérie, mais tu serais encore plus belle dans mes bras."

(you look good today, my darling, but you'd be even more beautiful in my arms.)

alastor teasingly whispered from behind while you partially turned your head to face him, and you hummed as you leaned against his chest. your back pressed against him—his eyebrow raising in confusion while he grinned.

"qu’est-ce qui t’empêche de me tenir, alors?"

(what's stopping you from holding me, then?)

with your words, alastor's eyes widened while he peered down at you, yet you felt arms wrap around your waist as a low chuckle left his throat. "absolutely nothing, cher..."

⤷ word count ; too lazy to count

🌊 reblogs + hearts + comments are appreciated !

listeners : @simpingoncarmensandiego @ari-hatake24 @heartfeltcherie

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel x you #hazbin hotel alastor #hazbin hotel alastor x reader #hazbin hotel alastor x you #alastor #alastor x reader #alastor x you #radio demon #radio demon x reader #radio demon x you #fanfic #alastor fanfiction #the radio demon #x reader #reader insert #x you #📻 signedreality is on the air

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planchettewrites · 2 months

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Remy LeBeau (Gambit)/AFAB!Reader

DESCRIPTION: You find out about Bella Donna Boudreaux, and you are not happy about it.

CONTENT: Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Threats of Breakup, Mentions Remy's Past (*Using the Original X-Men Animation Series as Ref.)

A/N: This is not my favorite Remy work I've done, but I think it's still pretty good. This is pretty heavy hurt/comfort, and the ending is a little rushed. TBH I wanted to just write this and get it over with. WIPs can only have such a long shelf life! I may eventually update this later.

848 words | Safe!

"Remy…" You walked cautiously into your and Remy's shared bedroom in his apartment near the school, anger bubbling inside you. In your hand, you held a letter from some woman named Bella Donna Boudreaux. The letter was old, at least five years old. You found it while cleaning out one of Remy's closets, finding it in a box on the top shelf when it came tumbling out of the closet. "What is this?"

Remy, who was reading, immediately shot up. His black and red eyes looked at you with so much shock. He looked like a man who got caught. “Ma chérie,” he started.

"What is this, Remy?" you shot, effectively cutting him off. "Who the fuck is Bella Donna Boudreaux?"

"Chérie, it's not what you think." Remy stood up from the bed and began slowly approaching you.

You weren't stupid; you could read what the letter said, and that letter painted a rather different story than your current reality. "I think it's exactly what I think, Remy. What the hell does 'I'll forever be your wife' mean, then? Remy, we've been dating for three years, and this letter is five years old. Are you married?" you roared, your anger almost unmanageable.

Your mind was racing with every possible answer that Remy could've given you, and none of them were positive explanations. Your relationship with Remy was the best you ever had; he was kind, generous, and giving, and overall, he was a spectacular partner who always put your needs first. You loved Remy more than you could fathom; this letter was heartbreaking.

Before he could answer, you began to read some of the letter to him. "Remy, mon amour, I miss you every day. Every day you are gone is like a stab in the heart. I still remember the day I last saw you; you looked handsome as ever, mon cœur." you stopped reading the letter and threw it on the bed. "What the fuck is this?"

"Darlin', that's all old history, Bella Donna is…"

"Your wife, apparently, Remy." you began to tear up. Nothing shattered your heart like reading that letter did. You had read through the entire thing before you confronted your boyfriend, and you knew a love letter when you read one. You started shaking your head, putting your palm up to your forehead. "I can't fucking believe this."

Without even noticing, he got closer, Remy turned you around and gently pulled your hand from your head. His face portrayed an emotion of hurt. As much as you wanted to scream at him, tear him apart, something in you knew that he had some proper explaining to do. "Darlin', listen to me. Please."

You sighed roughly, continuing to shake your head. "Fine. You better have a great explanation for this, Remy. Or I'm done."

He sighs. Remy knew this day would come eventually—whether it be when filing for marriage paperwork or when his past eventually bubbled up to the surface. If he was honest with himself, he completely forgot about that letter; it was shoved in that box with the rest of his past in the Thieves's Guild. Looking at you, his heart was breaking. The last thing he ever wanted to do was hurt you.

"Well, darlin', it starts back in New Orleans. The long and the short of it is that Bella Donna Boudreaux was a member of the Assassin's Guild, and I was a member of the Thieves's Guild. We were arranged to be married in an attempt to unite the guilds. Gambit didn't love her, so he walked away from the altar. Bella Donna wrote me that letter as a last-ditch effort to get me back. I don't know how she even found my address, but she sent it. I forgot that I even kept it. I promise I didn't marry her, mon amour. I don't love her. My heart does not belong to another; it only belongs to you." He held you steady in front of him, and he watched how the tears forming in your eyes began to roll down your cheeks.

Remy pulled you into a tight hug as you cried. "Shh, don't cry, chérie, Gambit's right here."

"Don't ever fucking scare me like that." you cried. Right now, you hated yourself. There was no way you could deny what you read, but you trusted your boyfriend with every word he said. Remy wasn't one to tell you a lie. Ever since you began dating, he has been nothing but honest and upfront with all that he said. "M’sorry, Remy. I'm really sorry."

Gently letting go of you, Remy cupped your cheeks and placed a kiss on your forehead. "No reason to apologize, mon amour. You were scared, and that situation seemed nasty. I understand."

"I was just so worried that you were keeping something from me, especially something that would change our relationship."

"I know, chérie, I know." He cooed, pulling you back into the hug.

You sighed, letting the anxiety go. “Please forgive me.”

He smiled. “Gambit forgives ya’, chérie. Of course I do.”

#x men 97 #x men the animated series #gambit #gambit x reader #remy lebeau x reader #remy lebeau xmen #remy lebeau #remy lebeau x fem reader #gambit x fem reader #planchettewrites

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amourcheol · 1 year

Text

paris (teaser)

❝You and Jeonghan, jazz-filled corners, hidden history, and the city of love.❞

historical! au | exes to lovers! au | angst, fluff, smut | approx. 45k words (teaser wc. 1.4k words)

s u m m a r y : disgraced by hollywood for the last time, you, a once superstar-turned-alcoholic, escape to the city of love to seek sanctuary from the ruthless tabloids. your sanctuary comes in the form of film noir superstar yoon jeonghan, the enigmatic man who taught you the art of acting, lust and love before your fame. when he asks to meet you once, just like old times, you cannot refuse. what is meant to be a simple date turns into a path of passion, pain and everything that comes with fooling around with your ex in the jazz-filled corners of paris.

c o n t e n t s : actor! mc, actor! jeonghan, mc is incredibly bitter and makes bad decisions, agent! seungkwan who is tired of fixing them, jeonghan is the suavest, sultriest mf, mentions of parisian landmarks in this fic, also a bit of french peppered throughout, greek mythology art references, tons of fluff which is also layered with angst, this will be very hurt-comfort, hella ansgty but will have a happy ending mature warnings -> alcohol consumption and abuse, smoking, this is basically sexual tension with plot, slightly drunk making out, oral sex (f. receiving) unprotected sex (refer point to bad decisions), very soft angsty sex, body worshipping, petnames (chérie, mon ange, darling, angel), overall emotional rollercoaster, more tba!

p l a y l i s t : here!

t a g l i s t : @hyuckworld @sysymei @alaypsy23 @belladaises @jjeongddol @sparklyshuji @forcoups @ilovesungjun @wonwoo24 @scandal-in-bohemia @hopefulchick @superbbananananana @onedumbho3 @fragmentof-indifference @cuntycheol @rubywonu @if-i-like-i-reblog @yoonzinoooo @jungwoos-luvr @crookedwolfruins @leclercloverbot @alexai (let me know if y’all want to be tagged!)

a u t h o r ’ s n o t e : after three years ... four rewritings later... she may finally see the light ... i am releasing the teaser now but will post the fic when i’m back from holiday! i hope you all enjoy the lil extract <3

read this fic here!

SHIT. YOU COULD NOT DO THIS TODAY.

Suddenly, you wished he was a mere figment of your imagination, because then he would not have to see you in your drunken, disordered state, looking for art that was not there, looking for the past in the present.

But then he began to move.

This very real presence walked closer to you, and you felt your entire body constricting, because Yoon Jeonghan was in front of you, the greatest star in the world was approaching you, the man of your distant memories was coming too close.

“Wait,” he then said, and your throat was closing up, you were blinking rapidly, chest growing heavy, and you needed him to get away. He came closer, and you knew then and there you were going to die on the cold floor of the Louvre, marble eyes on you—

And then your own gaze was glistening, and when he noticed it became harder to contain yourself. “_____, are you all right?”

“Yes!” you got out, but then you proved yourself wrong when a few tears slipped out, staining your cheeks.

The man wasted no time, closing the last space between the two of you as he reached out. Instantly, you repelled from his touch, almost flinching from his surprise. “No!” you rasped out, bringing out your own hands to create distance, taking a step back. “No, you don’t need to do that…I’m fine.”

You breathed sharply through your nose. “I am fine.”

Hastily you turned to the empty space where he last was, before you followed him like a madwoman around the hall. He watched you, your back almost to him. “What…what are you…” you paused, trying to normalise your shaking voice. “What are you doing here?”

You could feel his inquisitive stare upon you. “I could ask you the same thing.”

That question was not being answered. “I asked you first.”

Because you could not see him, you were not aware of his reaction. Still, it was enough for him to answer, “Well, in the Louvre, or in Paris?”

You gritted your teeth at that. “I think everyone knows why you’re in Paris at the moment.”

“Do they, now?”

You could not help it.

Casting a momentary glance at him, you were taken aback to find his gaze upon you. “Are you aware, at least?” he asked you.

Despite his simple questions, your impending headache, you had to clamp down on your remarks. “Of course I’m aware,” you muttered. “The papers are all over the press tours you’ve been doing.”

A perfectly groomed brow arched at your comment. “I’m surprised you follow the papers at the moment.”

You knew exactly what he meant. “One must keep check of the stories they gossip about,” you only said, focusing back on the empty space. “Those journalists cannot be trusted.”

“Hmm…” you heard shuffling amongst his clothes—no doubt crossing his arms. “I have read the stories.”

A scoff. “I suppose you believe them, don’t you?”

He noted the cruelty in your response. The actor did not take it to heart.

“I have always believed in the stories you told me, chérie.”

This time, curiosity controlled your movement.

Curiosity had you turning back, forcing you to observe his expression, catch his lie.

But you found no deception.

No, there was only sincerity—pure as the moonlight shining on the two of you.

Chérie.

The last time someone had called you such a sweet name was too long ago.

How ironic, that it was the same man beside you who had bestowed you this very endearment.

A shuddered breath left you.

You could not do this now.

You were going to say as much when Jeonghan interrupted you.

“Were you looking for something in here?”

Your furrowed brows had him humming. “I thought as much.” Gently, he jerked his head beyond your figure. “Strangely enough, I was looking for it as well.”

Confused, you glanced back at the empty space, where that certain, mysterious sculpture was supposed to be. “That is why I came to the Louvre,” you heard him say.

There was still suspicion laced in your features. “How do you know that we are thinking of the same piece?”

That ghost of a smile crept up again. “You act as if you don’t remember.”

Your sigh was a little sheepish. “I do,” you said, reminiscing on the memories. “But the name…”

No matter how hard you endeavoured, your memory of the sculpture was too hazy for your half-drunk mind.

You searched him for an answer. “I’m sure you have not forgotten.”

“No…I have not.”

You waited. His silence had you insisting, “Well?”

When you saw a slight glimmer in his whimsical gaze, you knew that he had something else in mind. The implications had you biting your lower lip, anxiety blooming.

The nerves grew when Jeonghan spoke.

“I will tell you if you see me tomorrow.”

You blinked back.

“There’s an exhibition opening here tomorrow afternoon,” he continued, taking a step towards you, careful not to startle you again. “It’s centred on the sculpture we both wanted to see, but it’s been moved to another hall.”

He confused you a great amount. “How do you know that?”

His stare went beyond you, to the wall. “It says on the plaque.”

Sure enough—when you looked back, there was the notice. Because your French was adequate at best, you did not understand it fully. You simply had to trust his linguistic abilities.

That you could do—you were aware of Jeonghan’s fluency in the language of love.

He cocked his head, a few strays cascading the side of his face. “You and I could see it there.”

The offer had shaken you. “Why?”

“Why?”

You knitted your brows suspiciously. “Why do you want to go with me?”

The film noir star watched you then, you shuffling uncomfortably under his scrutiny. God, you forgot how intense his eyes were—in fairness, you had not been the subject of his stares for a few years.

He locked his gloved hands behind his back. “Because you need a break, _____. From everything.”

He offered you a smile. “Let me be the one to give you that. If only for the day.”

You could have crumbled before him.

It was at this stage you cursed yourself for being in such a state. Perhaps if you were sober, you would have carried on this conversation in a more respectable manner, taken more caution.

It was incredibly difficult, composing yourself around the man.

“I can’t…” you inhaled sharply, trying to form the words. “I cannot do midday…too many people, you know…staring, judging…”

“Ah.” He nodded, parting his mouth in thought. “Then tomorrow night?”

Stretching your mouth, unsure, he assured, “They will not follow you here at this hour.”

“How are you so sure of that?”

This time, he sighed, surprised at your anxiousness. “I see you’ve not changed, then.”

You narrowed your gaze. “What is that supposed to mean?”

But the actor did not seem like he was going to elaborate.

He instead took another step towards you, a mere two feet left.

“Do you trust me?”

You tilted your head back.

What kind of question was that?

Do you trust me?

You did not trust anyone. Not after this whole debacle back home, when almost all your friends within the industry had contributed to your downfall. Hollywood was filled with traitors, the worst being the people who haunted the journey of your disgrace at every moment.

It was impossible to place any ounce of faith in another.

As you watched his eyes settle on you, you noticed an emotion you had not witnessed in forever.

Tenderness.

Tenderness with no ulterior motive—gentle acceptance, as if he recognised your position. As if he recognised your change, the apprehensive nature of your questions, your pauses. It physically hurt being stained with such compassion, when you had been begging for it from the world all those weeks ago.

It hurt, having someone who understood you.

You, however, should not have been surprised.

Yoon Jeonghan had always been like this. Especially when you both were together.

You could have smiled.

What a time that was.

As if he could read your mind, the film noir star began, “You remember, don’t you? That I’ve never let you down?”

You decided to let yourself slip—you could always blame it on the alcohol.

“What time do you want me here tomorrow?”

#seventeen imagines #seventeen smut #yoon jeonghan imagines #jeonghan imagines #yoon jeonghan smut #jeonghan smut #seventeen scenarios #seventeen x reader #jeonghan x reader #svt smut #svt imagines #yoon jeonghan x reader #seventeen hard hours #svt hard hours #yoon jeonghan #seventeen angst #jeonghan angst #yoon jeonghan angst

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endless-ineffabilities · 1 year

Text

le marquis et le moineau

Marquis de Gramont x f!reader

themes: angst, twisted business associates(?) to lovers, dubious morals, the Marquis has his eyes set on you and only you (but you don't know that ofc)

a/n: this bloody Frenchman has been plaguing my thoughts (thanks to a very sinister portrayal by one Bill Skarsgård). Mind you, I still haven't even seen the film John Wick 4, but I'm a fan of the series, and the morsels I've seen of the Marquis have been more than enough to give rise to a new lil fixation.

word count: 932 ▪︎ more of moineau ▪︎ other works

It started as a little game.

Just some passing fancy between yourself and the Marquis.

Or at least, that was what it was supposed to remain. Only that. A game.

But you should have known better. You should have known that any game played with Marquis Vincent de Gramont may eventually turn deadly.

Your high-risk job at the Continental usually also reaped the highest of rewards.

Tip off the right person and receive a gold coin. Deliver a message, without any bumps or bruises to all parties involved, and your reputation would be given a much-needed boost or two.

This business was danger wrapped in deceit wrapped in glamour. And you knew how to deal the right cards.

Although it seems, things are not as easy when it comes to the Marquis.

Vincent was every bit a menace as his reputation decreed. The Marquis tasked with restoring the authority of the High Table, he was nothing short of cunning and ambitious, prepared to take down any and all those who posed a threat to his objectives.

Dangerous. Deceptive. Glamourous as well, mind you. He was perfectly suited to this world.

He was also brazen, pretentious, snobbish.

And beautiful.

He knew just how to tug at your strings and make you bend. Or at least, he always tried to.

Like he was doing then, in one of the bigger rooms in his palacial estate, wherein only the two of you stood with only a few feet in between.

"What did we agree upon, mon moineau?" His silky accented voice implored.

My sparrow, he called you. The reason for which remained undisclosed to you, not for a lack of trying to wrench it out of him.

Why couldn't he call you something sweeter? Of the more classic French romantic sobriquets?

Chérie, perhaps. Mon amour. Mon coeur.

But no. You were stuck with measly ol' "my sparrow".

Of course, not that it mattered. Perhaps the Marquis reserved his sweeter words for those he actually cared for. At the very least, well-regarded enough to be associated with. Those impossibly beautiful and refined members of European aristocracy that he was so often rumoured to be wining and dining.

Unlike you. Renegade, foul-mouthed vagabond.

You stared up at his pacing figure. "I am fully aware of what we agreed upon, Vincent. What I have done does not breach that. I am perfectly capable - "

His head snapped to you menacingly. "You could have been killed, moineau."

You shrugged. "Consequences. I did not enter this damned line of work without considering the risks. As it goes, getting killed would not exactly be an uncommon occurence."

"Don't jest." He shut his eyes, and pinched the bridge of his nose, in obvious annoyance.

You took a step forward, trying to find his gaze. "And if I were to... pass... so what? Everything would simply go on. The truth is that I'm already a ghost. Doing what I do in our world makes me some kind of spectre. I am already not there."

You knew this. You repeated this to yourself when you woke, and before you went to sleep. It was the only truth you could hold on to.

Until him. Until some buried, twisted part of you began hoping that he would care.

But hope is a dangerous thing.

You continued, as he kept looking away. "You would go on. Perhaps even find a new sparrow to play with."

You felt it. As your words hung in the air, his entire mood shifted. He straightened, and with both hands burrowed in the pockets of his impeccably tailored trousers, his eyes land on you.

He slowly took a step forward, and then another, until his figure loomed over you.

In all your shared moments, you learned to discern the quick switches in his temper and his expression. But not enough, not completely.

The look he was giving you then was impossible to read.

"You think..." His left hand drifted to the hem of your blazer, toying with it. "... that I..." His index finger then drifted upward over your silk shirt, stopping in between your collarbones. His tongue briefly darted out to wet his lips, catching your eye. "... would simply replace you?"

You finally felt his touch on your face, his fingers delicately caressing your jawline.

He made a fleeting tsk tsk sound with his tongue, as if in disapproval.

"I believe you underestimate just how much you matter to me, mon moineau."

You did your best to remain unfazed. This was the game, wasn't it? Whatever you might think it can become, what you hope it can unravel into - set it aside as delusion.

Don't fall.

It's just a game to play.

Don't fall.

You took a deep breath, then smiled sweetly. Mockingly. "What makes you think I would even pay any mind to how much I matter to you? That line of thinking doesn't work for people like us, Marquis."

"People like us," he repeated, amusement furrowing his brow. "Non, mon moineau. There are no other people like us."

He leaned in, eyes not leaving yours, all but eliminating the distance between your faces. You could feel his breath on your skin, could count the faint spotting of freckles around his nose.

You wished to ask him what he wanted, but held back.

No. There was something better to say.

"What are you waiting for?" You managed to voice the words despite your very heart lodged in your throat.

He smiled, proud of his precious sparrow.

"Mon coeur... I've been waiting for you my entire life."

Ahhh! 🖤 Everybody say thank you Bill Skarsgård and the on-set stylist for the visual treat that is the Marquis.

I'm not even sure if this will find the right crowd - seeing as my lovely followers are of the HotD persuasion. But oh well, I had to get it out of my system.

Could be more of this... idk 🤷‍♀️ Rest assured I haven't forgetten about all my series works, even the ones I haven't started but said I would do...

#marquis de gramont #marquis vincent de gramont #vincent de gramont #john wick #marquis de gramont x reader #marquis de gramont imagine #bill skargard #bill skarsgard x reader #marquis vincent de gramont x reader #bill skarsgard imagine #john wick 4 #marquis vincent de gramont imagine #bill skarsgård #bill skarsgård x reader #vincent de gramont x reader

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hazelfoureyes · 4 months

Note

Could you write a short story about a trans FTM Y/N coming out to alastor?

If not I don't mind!

I'm just starting to come out to some people and want to feel validated by alastor lolll

Mon Cher

You had to start somewhere. But the issue with these kinds of conversations is there’s never a natural point in talking to bring it up…. And sitting people down can be so stressful for everyone.

But you had an opportunity.

Alastor was known for his pet names, often throwing out a dear or sweetheart.

So when he leaned against your side and asked, “Pass me that, will you ma chère?” You froze. Finally. The frustratingly gendered nature of languages was coming to your aid.

“Alastor, I’m not comfortable with being called ma chère. Can you call me mon cher?”

His face stilled, a moment of confusion. “That’s the word for males, dear.”

“Yeah. I know.” A nervous shift in your seat, “Actually, with all things. I prefer he or him and other male coded words. Those are the right words for me.”

Humans have been changing the way they were identified since humans invented ways to identify each other. Not a moment in time has there existed a point where every human language fully represented its people. Nor that every body was reflective of the soul it inherited.

So Alastor didn’t need long to adjust. He knew quite a few dapper lads in his day who had made the same request.

“Of course mon cher. May I have that pen now?”

After you handed it over he let the tip hover over his paper for a second, without looking up, “Did you want to talk anymore about things?”

After thinking for a moment, “Do you think I’ll struggle with telling the others?”

He replied as he began his work, slowly, mostly for show, “Do you want to tell them?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, you won’t have an ounce of trouble. I guarantee it.” He looked up now, typically disheartening smile looking soft and gentle, “I’ll make sure of it, mon chéri*.”

Before the silence went on too long and he knew the topic would be changed he added, “Did you know Rosie makes custom suits? Quite the skilled seamstress. Perhaps we could stop by sometime. If you’d like.”

Not only had he truly meant the offer, you found telling him had brought a different kind of help. Sometimes you didn’t have to tell people at all once someone was there to set the new standard.

A day soon after came when Alastor addressed you appropriately in public, “Well that’s too bad Charlie, I need his help with some studio work.”

And the crew looked at you, and you smiled, and they smiled and the conversation would carry on as normal. The only change being a few words replaced a few others and you got a small pat on the back as Husk left the group to tend bar.

Sometimes the first steps are the hardest but get us the furthest.

Happy pride babies! made this very first steps for many people and I hope it was something you enjoyed. Apologies for the delay, i actually didn’t see this until about four days ago.

*“Mon cher” means “my dear”, said to a male person. “Ma chère” means the same, said to a female. “Mon chéri”, resp. “ma chérie”, means “my darling” or “my dearest”.

🏳️‍🌈Hazbin Masterlist🏳️‍🌈

#Alastor #hazbin hotel #hazbin alastor #hazbin hotel alastor #hazbin hotel x reader #alastor x reader

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biteofcherry · 1 year

Text

Shiny Trinket

Heart of Ruby Masterlist

part of Ruby Garden series

Dom!Ari Levinson x submissive female reader

summary: Don't ever think that your Dom doesn't take your opinions into consideration. Ari's about to thoroughly review your small suggestion about the Ruby Garden club's interior.

warnings: Dom/sub dynamics; bdsm; Dom!Ari Levinson; power imbalance; safe, sane and consensual; established relationship; mild bondage; use of sex toys; explicit s**ual content; very light objectification;

word count: 3.6k

In response to the pleading I wrote something with Dom!Ari to start the weekend. So grab a drink, don't drink it while reading, but hydrate afterwards as aftercare is important even for readers 😂

Head resting on Ari's shoulder, you mindlessly play with the button of his partly-open shirt as your gaze trails across the space. Soft timbre of Ari's voice as your Dom talks to another member is soothing enough that you let your thoughts simply wander.

Dark tones on the walls, which at first sight may look like simple black paint, are in fact a velvety wallpaper encrusted with decorative swirls. BDSM equipment in red leather and old-wood styled designs is mixed with black, French-style furniture; like the curved dresser which drawers are filled with small fun implements, from nipple clamps to gags.

Ornamental iron hanging from the ceilings in various spots around the club serves as rafters to which poor bottoms can be cuffed. The chandeliers, most in red or reddish-gold, a decorative echo of old French districts.

No wonder Ari feels here so at ease. Not only because he owns the place, but because he made it a much kinkier, lush reflection of the New Orleans, which used to be his home.

You like the quite luxurious feel of the Ruby Garden, with the enticing shades of black and titular red, wood and upholstery that sometimes make you fantasize about past century brothels or private clubs where kink started to bloom amongst bohemian passions.

But there's something missing. At least according to your eye.

"It could use some sparkles," you mutter under your breath, not fully aware you said it out loud.

Ari's legs beneath you jerk up slightly, nudging you as he tilts his head and glances at you.

"Hmm? What were you saying, mon Chérie?" He asks.

Ari never loses his focus on you, even if he's engaged in a conversation with someone else, his instincts are always zeroed in on you.

It's endearing, but sometimes also scary. Especially in moments when you'd rather not have your Dom sense you're about to get into trouble.

"Nothing important," you shrug. "Just that something shiny could be added to the club's interior."

"What?" Ari arches a single brow, now fully looking at you.

"Hey, I find the club very chic and stylish," you playfully tug on the collar of Ari's shirt, "but even with the addition of red it's still mostly masculine. A few shiny trinkets here or there could level it up."

Okay, so maybe you like sparkling things a bit.

Maybe a lot.

Maybe the vanity at your place is stacked with four jewelry boxes that beside your usually worn jewelry contain lots of broken strings of colorful beads, which you didn't have a heart to throw away because they were so pretty and shiny.

"Shiny decorations?" At first Ari looks at you as if you lost your mind, but his eyes slowly darken as he deliberates on something.

You tilt yourself back warily, as much as Ari's heavy arm securing your back allows. You don't trust that look on his face, when his features harden and evil kind of mischief ignites in his blue eyes.

When he gives you that look, it usually means you're about to suffer his wicked ways.

"I think I have to seriously consider such a proposition." Ari hums, tracing his fingertips down your arm.

He gently takes your fingers in his and lifts your hand to his lips, kissing your knuckles like a gentleman. Reminding you of the movie vampires you once compared him to, saying he had that southern charm blinding his victim into compliance so that he could rip her apart and leave her body in the bayou.

Ari had laughed then; rich and genuine amusement that carried through his apartment and made your heart flutter in happiness.

Then he'd tied you to a reupholstered Bergere chair and wrecked you to a point that you prayed for being dumped dead in the bayou.

So now that he's dropping into his charming deception again, your heart jumps in reasonable fear. And your pussy clenches.

"Stand up for me, Chérie." He helps you up on your feet, moving along with you, until he's towering over you.

"Remove your clothing, please." Though he's polite, you know it wasn't a request, but an order.

One you don't have much trouble complying, despite there always being that first wave of embarrassment when you undressed fully in the club, since there were always curious eyes around you.

"Wrists, please."

It's an instinct, to place your hand in Ari's grip without hesitation. Even if you're wary of his creative type of evil, you trust him deeply.

Ari's leather cuffs are already in place, always put on before you enter the club floor. Now he links them together, binding your hands. Then he lifts your arms above your head.

Your eyes follow the line of Ari's arms as he stretches them - one hand holding your bound wrists, while the other reaches for a chain hanging from the rafters above.

Uh-oh.

He chains you in place, pulling you up 'till you're balancing on the balls of your feet.

Ari tenderly runs his fingertips along your arms and down your sides, reminding you of his presence and care, despite having just thrown you off balance.

"A second, if you please." He smiles at you, but it's not really reassuring. Not at the moment when you see the wicked hunger gleaming in his eyes.

Ari sways you gently, chuckling when you squeak as your feet slide across the floor.

He moves past you, walking a few steps away. You can hear amused huffs coming from the few people who are around, including the Master with whom Ari was speaking before.

You try focusing on the sounds of what your Dom may be preparing, but the mixture of the club's noises drowns out the quiet slide of a drawer being pulled open.

Ari doesn't take long, but enough for you to start stewing in images running wild.

There's always an element of surprise (to not say shock) when being with Ari. No matter how many details you talk over before starting some scenes, your Master always twists it up and makes your head spin.

He stands in front of you again, steadying your body with a hand on your hip. He lets his gaze roam over you; slowly, so that you feel the burning attention rousing each part of your body.

"I'm always open to suggestions," he says, squeezing your flesh, "so I'll happily consider the option of adding more sparkling elements to the interior."

"But I'd rather keep with the color scheme, okay?" He asks you, as if he was really talking about simple interior design.

You know he's not. You can practically see the cogs in his devious mind twirling rapidly, creating a plan of your demise to the tune of his evil laugh.

You swallow nervously, nodding your head hesitantly.

Then Ari takes something out of his pocket and your eyes widen.

The chain that dangles on his finger isn't long. It has three red, crystal hearts placed evenly across it. And a pair of biting as fuck nipple clamps - each on one end.

"Oh no, no, no, no!" You shake your head, scrambling away as far as your chain allows, which isn't far.

Ari sighs.

He takes one step to the side. Then lands a slap on your ass so solid, that the crack of it echoes through the club and the painful sting makes you jump forward with a shriek.

Rough fingers squeeze your chin harshly when Ari faces you again. his eyes hold a reprimand that's a hair away from punishment.

"Nipple clamps are not on your hard limits list." He reminds you. "Or has that changed?"

"N-no, Sir," you want to cast your eyes down, but with the way Ari's holding your chin you're forced to withstand the eye contact.

"Do you perhaps need to safeword?"

Though his voice is a low graze of displeasure, you know it's at your antics, because Ari is always - absolutely always - serious about consent and safewords.

"No, Sir," you don't hesitate in your answer, even though you know it's sealing your fate.

"Are you in the yellow range? Do we need to pause and talk?"

He would. Immediately. If you hinted at actual discomfort beyond what you could take for your Master.

But you were nowhere near that stage. You were simply fussy and maybe the tiniest bit bratty, which meant you were getting yourself in even more trouble.

"No, Sir," you grumble in defeat.

"Ah, so you're being whiny just for the sake of it?" Ari releases your chin, but his fingers curl instead around the back of your neck as he steps so close to you that his clothes graze your naked skin.

"I don't like nipple clamps!" You blurt out, unable to stop the petulance from spilling.

"Tough." Ari shrugs. "Because I like putting them on you."

"I like how you squeak when I attach them," he murmurs, running his fingertips under the swell of your breasts. "How you pant as you breathe through the pain for me."

"I love how wet you get from them," he pinches your nipples, at the same time capturing your lips in a kiss.

Your yip melts on Ari's tongue, dispersing into a moan the longer he holds your nipples between his fingers.

You'd tell him it's not the clamps themselves that do it to you, but the fact Ari makes you suffer them. Also because his voice, warm and raspy, is like prelude to sex itself and you would get wet and needy from his talk alone.

But any coherent thought leaves your brain when Ari's mouth descends down your neck and onto your breasts. He cups each in his big hands, squeezing. Then his mouth is on one of your nipples, sucking and tormenting it into a stiff point.

He lavishes the other tit with the same voracious attention, tugging on the stiffened peak with his teeth, before releasing it.

Straightening up, Ari holds your gaze as he rubs your poor, tortured nipples with his fingers, wiping away excess of his own saliva, so that the clamps would hold on better.

And then he's attaching the first one; impish glee lighting up his eyes at your hiss.

By the time he secures the other clamp, adjusting the tightness, you're trying to steady your ragged breath and not close your thighs, because your folds are getting puffy and wet.

"See? Shiny." Ari mocks you, flicking one of the crystal hearts hanging from the thin chain attaching both clamps.

The impact, however minimal, tugs on your nipples, sending another zap straight to your core.

"But I think, if we're going for a proper shiny ornament to decorate my club-" Ari's mouth curves in a smirk as he reaches into his pocket once again- "it needs to be opulent."

He lifts his hand up and the first thing that you see is a red crystal heart between his fingers.

Ari turns his palm up and a wave of heat washes over you. A butt plug. Very reasonable in size, but it doesn't change the fact you're still squirmy and shy when your Dom initiates anal play.

You almost caused him a laughing hiccup when you tried to talk your way out of it, by blurting out it's unhygienic.

In moments like that, when you knew Ari was going to push against your resistance, you considered moving everything into a hard limit list. Though Ari had the skill to use kissing alone as a damn torment.

You curse under your breath when Ari moves to stand behind you and kicks your feet wider apart. You catch a small audience glancing your way, quickly shifting your own gaze to the floor.

There's a snick of a bottle being open and then Ari's finger slides between your buttcheeks, smearing a dollop of lube around your rim.

The plug is coated in lube as well, easing its way inside.

Your breath quickens, a whimper spilling on your lips when Ari pushes the toy in.

"Push back, Chérie. That's it," he encourages you.

While his voice is soft and the hand steadying your hip is reassuring, the pressure against your tightest hole is merciless.

“There you go,” Ari forces the whole thing in, tracing the heart-shaped securing end with his finger. “So pretty and sparkly.”

He pats your ass lightly, rounding you again. A glint of recognition in his eyes tells you that he's acutely aware that you’re settling into every sensation, every part of the scene that’s unfolding.

Ari knows your body is throbbing with growing need, that you’re focusing on the feeling of your nipples being crushed and your ass being stretched; as well on the helplessness of being bound and naked in front of him. In front of other people, too. And he knows being at his mercy (while also deeply certain of remaining in his care) tops your arousal.

Your gaze is a little dazed already as you look up at him, a blissed sigh leaving your lips when Ari’s touch marks your body.

He’s tracing lines along your sides, moving closer to caress your back and then up your arms. He draws patterns with his fingertips, then squeezes your ass with both hands.

Breath hitches in your lungs as Ari crouches down, his hot breath tickling your belly while his large hands grip your thighs.

For a long moment nothing happens, just Ari keeping his mouth an inch from your wet core as he slides his hands up and down your legs, each time moving them a little higher, a little further between your thighs.

When his tongue flicks against your clit, your whole body jerks with sensation. The chain clinks, your feet scrambling against the floor, and the heart-shaped weights on the nipple clamps tug harsher.

“Shh,” Ari coos, wrapping his arms around your thighs to help you steady.

He works wicked eights on your swelling nub, his tongue putting spells that drive you surely to the edge, but keep away from finishing your torment.

When he pulls back, you have half a mind to glare at him. The fact he doesn’t immediately retaliate with a swat to your clit only increases your worry. Turns you on even more, as well.

Ari reaches into his pocket once again. It takes your glazed eyes a few seconds to make out the glint of the implement within his palm. Similar to a minimalistic, curved brooch, with a single red, crystal heart.

“Oh God, Sir.” You nearly weep, tugging on the chain binding your hands. “Please no, Sir, please, please.”

Ari doesn’t show an ounce of irritation this time, he’s too smug about drawing reactions from your body. Though you are certain that the clit clamp he has prepared for you is for his own amusement, not your own pleasure.

“Color?” He simply asks, referring to the traffic color system that’s the classic and most basic form of stating your state when in a bdsm scene.

You whine again, because you can’t lie to him and because you’re not even distressed.

“Green,” you admit, pouting.

You try tilting your ass back, moving your sensitive parts away from the wicked Master with his stupid implements of evil. A smack on the back of your thigh has you yelping and scooting back forward. You earn another slap for glaring.

“FuckjesusohgodSirfuck-” you babble, eyes screwing shut as Ari pinches your puffy folds together and clamps them.

Your engorged clit is fully exposed in the tear-shaped hole, its sides squeezing it only a tad lighter than the torture devices do your nipples. The heart shaped crystal falls right atop your exposed clit and you know it will bump it with every move.

Sucking in a breath, you press your lips together and still your body. If you won’t move a single muscle then it will be alright.

Moderately alright, since you’re suffering already, but better than the-

Your mouth falls open on a cry and your whole body jolts when Ari pats your clit with an open hand.

Your core burns, walls fluttering rapidly. Your ass clenches too, which in turn leads to a dirty reminder that it's stretched around a plug. Movement causes the chain between nipple clamps to sway, tugging on your abused peaks.

The heat inside you grows, blood rushing through you and buzzing in your head.

Lips parted, as moan after moan trickles out, you fall deeper into sensations spreading through your body. Your mind gets a little cloudy, shutting out everything that isn’t connected to your body.

Ari’s touch becomes a beacon, drawing your attention to wherever he points. Light strokes of his hands, instead of soothing your body, escalate the madness. His mouth joins the torment, kisses and bites overloading your senses.

You keen loudly when he brushes the back of his hand against your trapped, swollen folds. You don’t even register the hum of delight from your audience when Ari taps the crystal over your clit and it bounces, making you cry out.

“Who would’ve thought that a shiny trinket is so whiny?” Ari mocks.

You, amusing him further, whine again, your head lolling forward.

Ari’s fingers push between your lips, coarse pads rubbing against your tongue. He drives two, then three, almost to the back of your throat. Then withdraws them, a string of saliva stretching between your mouth and his fingers.

He brings his wet fingers to your clit again, circling it oh so slowly, then flicking the crystal over and over again.

He gives you short reprieve, enough for the pulsing in your clit to marginally subside. Enough that when he finally takes the damn clamp off, you don’t come immediately from the sheer return of blood to your sensitive parts.

You’re nearly panting and doing your best to keep your legs spread, because if you closed your thighs an inch, it surely would be a stimulation enough you’d orgasm.

Which, actually, is tempting as hell…

You don’t get to try it, however. Ari is pushing between your thighs; pants undone and cock sheathed.

He grips one of your legs below the knee and pulls it up, wrapping it around his hip. Bending his legs slightly, Ari guides the head of his cock into your pussy. Standing still for a moment, he moves his now free hand to grip your ass and then plunges in one, swift stroke.

The stretch is maddening enough to have you push up on your tiptoes, but Ari drives in to the hilt, sinking himself so deeply that your oversensitive clit crushes into his pelvis.

You come with a scream, body convulsing in pleasure so high it’s almost painful.

Ari holds you through it, a vein in his neck pulsing as he forces himself to stay still and not fuck into the clenching heat of your cunt.

When you slump forward, head resting in the crook of Ari’s neck, he teases loud enough for your hazy brain to register and for your audience to hear:

“So much trouble with shiny trinkets. You poke it and it immediately breaks apart.”

Your incoherent mewl against his neck makes Ari huff a laugh.

He kisses your shoulder softly then starts moving. He keeps the few first thrusts slow, finding the best angle for his own pleasure. Then steadily increases the pace and the force.

You start responding, as each push jolts your body and the embers of arousal ignite into flames again. The clamps on your nipples are still attached, pulling on your peaks with each roll of Ari’s hips. His hand on your ass angles, long digits resting atop the crystal of the anal plug and tapping it repeatedly.

“Oh! Ohh!” Your head tilts back, cheek squishing into your outstretched arm.

Ari tugs on the butt plug, cock driving into you harder. Among the fizz in your head, you can hear faint jingling - of the chains on the rafter, of the chain swaying between your tits, of the buckle in Ari’s belt.

There’s also the pitiful babble coming from your own mouth: begging and prayers, all at once.

Ari’s grunts elicit a special type of pleasure, a certain fulfillment at knowing your Dom is satisfied. That you give him this pleasure. For a submissive like you it’s a gratification greater than your own orgasm.

Though you sure love the shattering climax that Ari rips from you when he rams into your pussy at a particular angle.

The squeeze of your walls topples him over soon after you. The feelings of his cock twitching inside you makes you sigh in contentment. It always does, whether he finishes in one of your holes, or in your hand.

You don’t fully register the tenderly spoken “I’ve got you, mon amour,” when Ari slides out of you a few heartbeats later.

It’s the rush of blood returning to your nipples after he takes off the clamps, that shakes you out of daze. The zap of pain surges to your core in a twisted ripple.

Ari rubs your nipples gently, easing the ache. Kisses each tip.

He eases out the plug from your hole, then gathers all the toys into a small zip-lock bag to take it cleaning later. One strong arm around your middle, Ari uses his other hand to unchain you. There’s no stumbling as you sink boneless into his arms, Ari's an expert in catching and holding you.

With your head resting against Ari’s chest when he sits down on a small sofa, after wrapping you in a soft blanket, you focus on the pounding of his heart beneath your ear and don’t hear the passing comment of one of the Masters about it being a fun idea to have someone be made into a trinket once a week.

Ari doesn’t mind this type of recurring decoration at the club.

As for the kind of shiny trinkets you liked, Ari decides on buying you a few sun catchers to hang in the windows, so you could chase the shards of rainbow scattered on the floor and walls.

#Ari Levinson x reader #ari levinson x you #ari levinson x female reader #dom!Ari Levinson #dom!Ari Levinson x reader #Ari Levinson imagine #ruby garden #heart of ruby #ruby garden series #chris evans imagine #chris evans fic #ari levinson fic

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mxyarylla · 7 months

Text

𝐂𝐚𝐧'𝐭 𝐬𝐥𝐞𝐞𝐩 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮

Neuvillette x reader | Fluff, established relationship, neuvi can’t sleep without his darling 🥹

no use of y/n

word count : 685

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

You got out of work quickly today. And the first thing you did was start working on the new paperwork given to you this morning.

It is 4:30pm and your boyfriend, Neuvillette, will be back from work in thirty minutes or so. Unless he’s stopping by Café Lutece with the melusines for tea. You began preparing dinner for him beforehand since you’ll be busy the whole evening. As the clock struck 5pm, you heard the sound of keys clicking at your front door. And before you immerse yourself in work, you left a note on the dinner table,

Welcome home love, I’m sorry that I am unable to dine with you tonight. I’ve got tons of paperwork to finish.

Enjoy your meal

I love you.

Your fav chérie ❤️

After reading your sweet note, Neuvillette has a soft smile on his face turning to look at different types of dishes laid on the table and suddenly wonders how lucky he is to have such a lovely and thoughtful lady as his significant other.

Days like this are totally normal for the two of you since you both have important jobs. But you guys always managed to find time to be together. Instead of going to the office to greet you he went to your shared bedroom and took a nice warm bath after a long day. Sadly you weren’t able to join him because he’d prefer taking a bath with you more. Then settle down to eat dinner.

When he finished eating, he prepared some snacks and tea for you. He knocked on the door, “May I come in love?” you hummed a “yes” instead of speaking because you were so concentrated on the documents. Neuvillette walked in on you focused, eyebrows slightly knitted together, hand on your chin and the other spinning a pen. He felt his cheek and ears burn slightly just from the sight in front of him.

Your boyfriend has finally gotten out of his trance as your voice softly calls him, “Neuvi?” with your eyes glued on the papers. Seeing that you got no response back, you turn to the side only to be met with his soft lips on yours. You smiled into the kiss and pulled away. Neuvillette took that as a chance to press his forehead against yours and rubbed his nose against yours. “I missed you.” He softly admitted. “I missed you too”, you responded back with a peck on his lips.

“I brought you snacks and tea ma chérie”, your boyfriend said as he walked towards his desk to grab some documents. He gave you a kiss after retrieving the items needed. “I’ll see you later in bed?” he asked with a soft tone in his voice. “Mhm, see you handsome” .

It’s getting quite late, Neuvillette has already gone to bed, you thought. But he’s been shifting back and forth. He keeps extending his arm to the side next to him, hoping you’d be in bed. And to feel nothing but air and the bedsheet. He turns to the side once again, before he finally decides to get up and to bring you to bed. He groans as he gets up, his long silky hair swiftly moving along his movements as he heads towards the office.

You, on the other hand, had just finished your hellish paperworks and oh god you took a glance at the clock, 11:11pm. Suddenly the door swung open when you turned off the table lamp. The room was dark but you could still make out your boyfriend’s pouty face from the moonlight’s lights shining through the window. “I’m sorry baby”, you placed a hand on his cheek and apologized. He leaned in your touch and lifted you in bridal style and walked towards your shared bedroom.

Neuvillette laid you down gently in bed and scooped you in his arms, pulling you closer then spoons you. “I couldn’t sleep without you”, he tiredly mumbled. With a smile on your face you replied back, “I know, now go sleep Neuvi”. You turn and give him a quick kiss “Sweet dreams love”.

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

#neuvillette fluff #neuvillette x reader #neuvillette x you #genshin impact

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violetrainbow412-blog · 11 months

Text

Day 30: scary movies

Masterlist flufftober 🎀

The translations of the French sentences are at the end and I give special thanks to @cumulo-stratus for helping me check that they were fine. I hope you like it!

“We're here,” Spencer announced, although that was obvious, when he parked the convertible car that Rossi had very kindly offered to lend to you.

Now that Halloween was so close, the doctor had invited the entire team to the drive-in theater for the broadcast in its original language of Eyes Without a Face, a 1960 French film, but everyone had found an excuse not to attend. Most of them refused due to their ignorance of the language and Emily, who was the only one who spoke it as fluently as Spencer, already had plans that night.

“I can go with you” you had said kindly. In other circumstances you might not have accepted, but now it made you feel guilty leaving your friend alone. In addition, the plans with him were always calm and, to a certain extent, educational "But I warn you that all I know how to say in French is Bonjour”

Your friend was happy with your response and he asked you not to worry, telling you that all you had to do was take it to him so he could translate the words for you. So Rossi told you that he would collaborate on one of his cars and Spencer almost died when he saw it, not because he was a big fan but because he was worried about how much money he would have to pay if he made the slightest scratch on it.

“There are more people than I imagined,” you murmured, nodding toward the rest of the parking lot. The majority were couples, as expected, and a few older adults.

“It was a very popular story during that time, despite the censorship it involved. We once had a similar case in… Well, I'll remind you when we finish watching it. I don't want to ruin anything for you," he murmured, smiling.

That night he had chosen an outfit that was quite common to see him in at the office: brown cardigan, an argyle vest, formal shirt, and tie. Everything was fine with that, what was really driving you crazy lately was the hair. Spencer styled his hair in a certain way that… you couldn't explain it, he just made you think of Prince Charming in fairy tales.

And the fact that you started to see it that way didn't help a damsel like you at all.

“It's okay if you can't translate the entire film. Just telling me a couple of lines is enough, I will be guided by what I see”

“No, that's not a problem. I can do it"

Of course you knew he could do it, it was Doctor fucking Reid. You were just worried that you would end up more focused on his whispering lips than on the screen in front of you.

Luckily the movie started and you managed to maintain the necessary composure. Luckily your brain was able to pay attention to what you saw, what you heard, and what Spencer was murmuring to you. At first you may have only agreed to accompany him out of kindness, but as the story progressed you realized that it was actually good. Little by little you were remembering a case that, as he had said, you had investigated, but that should probably be a talk for after finishing the movie.

You had to admit that something was captivating about the French language, because even if you didn't understand a thing they said, it was nice to hear it.

Calme-toi, ma chérie.

Faites-lui confiance.

One of the characters murmured and a second later you heard Spencer with the respective translation.

“Calm down, my dear. Trust in him”

"Repeat that"

“Calm down, my dear. Trust in him?”

“No,” you murmured, seeing him frown as if he didn’t understand your request. “Repeat what he said, in French.”

The idea had come from God knows where and you had only mentioned it in the heat of the moment, otherwise you would never have asked him. It was just that the words had sounded so exquisite that you wondered if the soft voice of the man next to you would replicate them in the same way.

Spencer wanted to ask you why you wanted that, but he was afraid of ruining his only chance to impress you with his skills, so he just turned enough so you could see him better and mentally visualize the words he needed.

When he leaned a little towards you to have more privacy you felt his breath hit your neck and adding to the soft aroma of his cologne that reached your nose you felt slightly dizzy.

If a single action had been enough to make your entire body shake, it probably would have been hearing Spencer Reid whispering French in your ear.

“Calme-toi, ma chérie. Faites-lui confiance”

“Once again,” you laughed, thankful that the low lighting didn’t allow you to see a blush on your cheeks.

"Why?" he said amused, thinking that perhaps it was prudent to inquire about your request.

“I don't know, when you talk it you sound so…” so sexy “nice. Like feeling velvet between your fingers”

Spencer was definitely flattered by you, you could tell by the way he chuckled and his body flinched slightly.

“I don't sound that good because I haven't practiced French for a long time, but my mom wants to go to Paris one day so if we go together, I'll be able to do it. I learned it a few years ago, it is a somewhat difficult language”

“Can you say anything else?” you asked excitedly, as you scooted a little further against him to the point where your knee brushed his and your faces were just a short distance away “I mean, of course you can, but could you do it?”

“Huh, what do you want me to tell you?”

“Whatever,” you smiled sweetly. You weren't even paying attention to the movie anymore, which was playing in the background, but you only had eyes for him and his pretty face.

Spencer's face. Your co-worker.

Despite the inappropriate course that your thoughts had taken, you kept watching him while he thought for a few seconds what he was going to say to satisfy your curiosity. A mischievous smile crossed his face as he tilted his head slightly and you swore it was almost as if he wanted to maneuver his lips to yours.

“Je pense que tu es vraiment belle”

The phrase was just a caress, a feather sliding across your ears that managed to stop your breathing and accelerate your heart rate. Maybe French was called the language of love for a reason.

"What does it mean?" you asked in barely a whisper.

But Spencer didn't respond, he just stared at you and for a second you thought his attention had been diverted to your parted lips.

“Keep watching the movie or you'll miss the best part.”

“Spencer, what does it mean?”

“There he is saying that she can be admitted tomorrow morning.”

“Spencer,” you said sternly. Even with the tone of your voice, he did not look to your side, pretending to be extremely interested in the movie playing, “What did you tell me?”

“You only wanted to hear me speak in French, you never asked for a translation”

“Reid!” You complained, extending your hand to his arm to get his attention and force him to look at you. “I swear if you offended me…”

“Je ne t'offenserais jamais”

“Stop it,” you threatened him, pointing a finger at him and frowning.

“Si je pouvais, j'effacerais ce visage en colère avec un baiser”

You responded to that with an exasperated sigh and suddenly a scream that you didn't expect on the screen startled you greatly, causing you to instinctively jump into his arms.

It was an absolute, cheap cliché, but that didn't make it any less romantic.

"You see? Pay attention” was all he said, with a tone that showed how much fun he seemed to be having.

You readjusted yourself in your seat without saying anything and obeyed his words, looking at the strange black-and-white scene. Out of the corner of your eye you watched Spencer lick his lips before he started shouting explanations about the story again which you listened to carefully, trying not to think too much about what the two sentences he had told you meant but which would keep you curious for the rest of the night.

Suddenly you felt him stir next to you and raise both arms, as if he wanted to stretch his back, while a yawn left his lips. What really caught your attention was feeling that one of his limbs, the one that was close to you, when getting off was placed on the edge of the seat behind your back and not on his lap as it should be.

“Tell me you didn’t do that.”

"Do what?" he asked, but from the stutter in his voice you knew he knew well what you meant.

“That's the most common tactic on earth,” you muttered between laughs. Spencer lowered his head as if he were embarrassed and ready to take his arm away from you, but you raised your hand until you took his and slid a little so that you were leaning against his body. “But I'll let it go just because you're cute.”

Cute. The word resonated in Spencer's mind and warmed his cheeks, while he felt how you settled your head better on his chest and began to caress the back of his hand with your thumb. You were so soft and warm he felt like he was going to die.

“Where is my star translator?” he heard you say and that was enough to snap him out of his trance.

You stayed in that position for the rest of the show while he whispered in your ear and you listened to the soft beat of his heart, feeling that, at least for one night, the world belonged only to the two of you.

Translation

"I think you are really beautiful" (Je pense que tu es vraiment belle)

"I would never offend you" (Je ne t'offenserais jamais)

“If I could, I would erase this angry face with a kiss” (Si je pouvais, j'effacerais ce visage en colère avec un baiser)

taglist: @navs-bhat @reidwritings @tricia-shifting14 @spencerslove @vivian-555 @r-3dlips @rhiannonhippiegirl @taygrls @simp4f1 @sdddoobydoobydoo @taintedstranger @missabsey

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic #dr spencer reid #matthew gray gubler #spencer reid x you #flufftober 2023 #prompt list #writing challenge #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid drabble

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thatbloodymuggle · 9 months

Text

READY TO RUN (vi)

SIX - PIANISSIMO

SUMMARY: in a world where everyone has a predetermined match, JJ Maybank and Y/N Montgomery want nothing to do with theirs. it has to be a cruel joke; the universe forcing two people to love each other when they don’t know how.

PAIRING: jj maybank x reader / soulmate au

WORD COUNT: 7.8k

SERIES MASTERLIST

WARNINGS: implied abuse

✰✰✰

"Bravo, Y/N! Much, much improved!" Madame Mercier applauded enthusiastically as you removed your hands from the keys and returned them to your lap.

You exhaled in relief and a proud grin tugged at your lips.

"Did you do something different during your practices this week? At this rate we may be able to sneak in another piece for your exposition," the old woman praised you.

I got dicked down by JJ Maybank, you thought.

"I did a lot of chunked repetitions," you said.

Madame placed her wrinkled hands on your shoulders, "Well keep doing that, chérie. My only criticism is measures--"

"64-68. I know," you finished your teacher's sentence. The woman nodded once sharply before placing your notebook down, silently dismissing you from your lesson.

Just as you rose from the bench, the front doorbell rang followed by a sharp knock. Madame Mercier's brows cinched and she mumbled under her breath, "Qui est là?"

You continued your work packing up your things as Madame went to answer the door. You nearly dropped your books when you heard your father's distinct voice sound through the house.

"It's nice to see you, Madame. I'm not interrupting, am I?"

You scrambled to finish packing your bag and rushed out of the room, nearly tripping over your clumsy feet. You slid into the front room with a frazzled look as you stared wide-eyed at Clyde Montgomery. He stood with his hands on his hips as he spoke with your teacher with a polite smile that didn't quite reach his stern eyes. His gaze shifted to you and he cocked his head, beckoning you over.

"I apologize for showing up unannounced," he addressed Madame, "I simply wanted to check in on Y/N’s progress. I trust she communicated with you our deal?"

Madame pushed her wire-framed glasses onto her head as she squinted up at the tall man in confusion. Clyde shot you a hard look as it was evident the older woman had no idea what he was talking about.

"Y/N, go wait outside in the car. I'll be there shortly," he sighed, running a hand over his face.

Your lips dipped and you shrank in on herself at his tone. You felt like a child. Nevertheless, you nodded obediently and scurried out of the house, avoiding Madame's watchful eye. You clambered into the front seat of the Rolls-Royce and slammed the door shut behind you with a groan. You shouldn't have been surprised by your father's lack of trust. He had actually been giving you more freedom than expected. But it still frustrated you, nonetheless. You leaned your head against the window and shut your eyes with a sigh. While you waited, you drummed measures 64-68 on your thigh, hoping to imprint the problem area in your muscle memory.

You were jolted from your ghost playing by the opening of the driver's side door as Clyde climbed into the expensive car beside you. You tensed at your father's presence, subconsciously sitting up a little bit straighter.

"Well, I'm disappointed that you didn't inform your teacher of our arrangement," your father spoke gruffly as he turned the keys in the ignition. You shrunk in on yourself. "But she had nothing but praises to sing of you," he continued while pulling the car from the curb.

Your shoulders slumped with relief.

"We briefly spoke about the Juilliard scout's visit. I'll arrange to have the clubhouse reserved for the event, as well as catering," he added as he drove down the street.

You nodded, "Thank you, Dad. I really appreciate it."

While you truly did appreciate the support, it was a double-edged sword; now Clyde had put a stake in your success at the showcase. If God forbid, something went wrong, you would never be allowed to forget all that your father did to make it possible only for you to screw it up.

You stared out of the window and diverted your focus toward the passing white houses to prevent your thoughts from spiraling. You jolted as your phone buzzed in your lap.

4:17 PM Kate: what time for movie night?

You gnawed on your bottom lip as you were reminded of the friends you had been avoiding for over a week now. You couldn't possibly push this off any longer.

"Hey, Dad?" you looked at your father. His eyes remained trained on the road ahead, but he grunted, signaling you to continue, "Is it okay if I sleep over at Kate's tonight?"

Clyde mulled over your question for a moment before replying, "Considering you've been on top of your responsibilities I suppose that would be alright. But I expect you to be back in time for Georgia's tennis tournament. We'll be leaving the house at 10 A.M."

You nodded, "Yes, Sir,” and quickly typed a response to Kate.

to Kate:

how about 8? delivered 4:19 PM

You sighed and rested your head back against the window. Now you just had to figure out what the hell you were going to say to Kate; surely easier said than done. You wondered if JJ could feel the anxiety bubbling in the pit of your stomach. He surely felt the aching of your hands from your grueling practice session. Your lips quirked as you thought of Madame's remark about your drastic improvement. If JJ ever found out that fucking your senseless had such an effect on your piano performance, you would never live it down.

Before you could stop yourself, your mind drifted to him. You pictured yourself on the back of his dirt bike again, the wind tickling your skin. It almost felt sinful, indulging in the memory of it. And as you wondered when you would see him next, you savored the impurity of it all.

✰✰✰

"You're such a freak," Dixie's grating voice jostled you from your ghost practicing.

You huffed at the disturbance and narrowed your eyes at your older sister. Convincing Dixie to drive you to Kate's house, although only 10 minutes away, was like pulling teeth. You weren't in the mood to argue with her in the car, but it seemed nearly impossible as you felt the annoyance seeping from Dixie at your incessant finger drumming.

You rolled your eyes, "At least I have career aspirations beyond whacking a ball around with a stick."

"Career aspirations, my ass," your older sister scoffed at your insult as she sped down the state road, "You forget that I already have a job lined up at Fox after graduation," she added smugly.

You snorted at this, "Yeah, 'cause the world needs another Banana Republican to tell them all about everything wrong with the snowflake liberals."

Dixie gripped the steering wheel and seethed, "Watch your mouth, Y/N. If you're not careful, I might just accidentally slip up in front of Mom and share all about your little display at Topper's birthday."

Your face paled and you snapped your head toward your older sister, "How the hell did you find out about that?"

"You weren't exactly subtle, little sis," Dixie quipped with an eye roll.

You huffed but relented and slumped back into the passenger seat. You knew nearly every Kook on the island was at Topper's party, but you foolishly never considered the possibility that Dixie and her friends were there. You remained silent for the rest of the drive and nearly leaped out of the car when Dixie finally stopped in front of Kate's house. You didn't so much as wave Dixie goodbye as your older sister zipped away.

You shuddered as you shook off your annoyance and turned to face the walkway to the front door. With each step closer, your heart beat a little bit faster. You rang the doorbell before you could talk yourself out of it, and your breathing hitched as your head pounded in anticipation. You took a deep breath in an attempt to calm herself. Just as you exhaled, the door swung open and you were enveloped in a hug. You stumbled backward as you were suffocated by the smell of Kate's vanilla shampoo. You wrapped your arms around your friend once you had recovered from the initial shock, and a small weight was lifted from your shoulders at the sign of affection.

"I missed you so much," Kate cried, tightening her hold.

"Me too," you gasped, "But I can't breathe."

Kate quickly unraveled herself and opted to place her hands on your shoulders instead, as you struggled to catch your breath. Kate stared at you with wide eyes, "Are you okay?"

You nodded with a soft smile. You leaned forward and wrapped her in a hug once more, and Kate made sure to be more gentle with her grip this time.

"You done suffocating her?"

Kate released you once again at the sound of Topper's voice.

You grinned up at your best guy friend, "You jealous?" youquipped.

Topper grunted and placed his hand on top of your head, rustling your around. You squealed, pulling away from him with a glare.

"Missed you, Montgomery," he smiled, satisfied at the mess he'd made of your hair, "Life was getting kind of boring without someone to bully."

"I'm so glad you see me as more than a punching bag," you retorted, sarcasm dripping from your lips.

Kate rolled her eyes at the interaction and grabbed your hand, dragging you to the living room. You smiled softly as you saw that the couple had laid out a huge bowl of popcorn alongside a variety of candy. The sight tugged at your heartstrings, as you realized how much you had missed your friends.

"As much as I've missed you, you do have some explaining to do," Kate spoke tenderly as she settled onto the couch and draped a throw blanket over her legs. Topper sat beside his girlfriend and stretched his legs out onto an ottoman. He remained silent but quirked his eyebrows in question.

You sighed but nodded. The anxiety you had felt before entering the house had returned with a vengeance. "I assume Anna hasn't said anything?"

Kate and Topper shook their heads.

"She hasn't even mentioned your name, but we've barely seen her. She’s been hanging around Charlie and Will's crowd," Kate replied.

You frowned, and you felt a sharp pang in your heart. Anna was one of your oldest friends. Surely she couldn’t just be moving on like nothing happened.

"Well," you started, but paused, unsure of how to continue. You wet your lips and took a deep breath before continuing. "I met my soulmate a couple of weeks ago," you ripped off the bandaid.

Kate's eyes bulged and she choked on her popcorn.

"You what?" she shrieked, and you winced at her volume. "How come you didn't tell us sooner? Who is it? When did you meet? What was it like-" Kate rambled out question after question but stopped herself as Topper squeezed her thigh, kindly telling her to shut up.

You laughed dryly, "It's complicated," Kate's lips dipped into a frown, but allowed you to continue, "And to be honest, I'm not ready to share who it is yet."

Kate couldn't stop herself from protesting, "Seriously, Y/N? So Anna can know but not me? She’s literally not speaking to you, and you still won't tell me?"

Guilt flooded you as you heard the hurt in her tone.

"I didn't tell Anna," you tried to defend herself, "Anna figured it out herself. And I promise I'll tell you as soon as I'm ready, but I'm still processing it myself."

You looked at Topper, who was yet to contribute to the conversation. His brows were cinched together in thought, and an indiscernible look clouded his eyes. Kate sighed, and reluctantly nodded in acceptance of your answer, "Okay. But please don't be scared to confide in me. I promise I won't just ditch you like Anna, no matter who it is."

Your lips quirked into a hesitant smile at Kate's promise. You could only hope that she would stay true to her word.

"But just don't go all MIA on us again, okay?" Kate added.

You didn't hesitate to nod in agreement, "I promise I won't."

Kate seemed satisfied enough with your response as she tackled you with one more hug, "We forgive you, you. Right, Top?"

Your eyes met Topper's. He was still clearly deep in thought, but even so, he gave you a sincere nod. You could’ve cried in relief at how well your talk had gone. You knew that this was all temporary and you would have to share the identity of your soulmate eventually; still, you relished the feeling.

Kate retreated to her position underneath the blanket and grabbed the TV remote, "So what are we watching?"

The trio ended up settling on Clueless, despite Topper's groans of protest. You relaxed on the couch and made your way through a bag of M&M's as you watched the story of Cher Horowitz and drooled over young Paul Rudd.

Your attention was diverted from the movie as your phone buzzed in your lap. You furrowed your brows as you set your candy aside to check it.

9:26 PM Unknown: wyd

Your nose scrunched in confusion. Who the hell was texting you at 9 PM on a Thursday? Shivers danced up your arms and your jaw fell slack as realization dawned on you. You had hastily given JJ your number for the purposes of your arrangement when he dropped you off at your house the other night. It had to have been him. Your face paled and your thumbs hovered over the keyboard, your mind drawing a blank as you tried to respond. You weren’t sure why you were so surprised by his text; you had willingly given him your number.

A minute or so passed before the shock settled, and you frowned as you read over his short message again. 'wyd'? Seriously? You scoffed at the douchiest text you’d ever received from a man.

You started typing out a response, before deleting it. You typed again, deleted, and typed again before giving up completely and shutting off your phone for the time being. You were not about to let JJ ruin movie night, you decided.

You felt blunt nails dig harshly into the side of your thigh, and you winced. You rolled your eyes as if JJ could see you. He must have seen that you had begun to type a response but never sent it. You tried to ignore him, but he was relentless. No more than a minute would pass before you would feel the sinking of his nails into your thigh. You ground your teeth and jumped out of your seat, sick of his antics. Topper and Kate both glanced at you curiously.

"Gonna get some water," you mumbled, quickly making your exit.

You gave yourself a harsh slap in the same spot on your thigh as you entered the kitchen, hopefully keeping JJ at bay at least for a little bit while you collected yourself. You pulled your phone out and opened his message once again, biting the inside of your cheek as your fingers once again hovered blankly over the keyboard. Finally, you formulated a lame response.

to Unknown:

can't tonight delivered 9:43 PM

You could literally feel his irritation at your response. Before you could finish pouring yourself a glass of water, your phone buzzed yet again. Just as you finished filling the glass and reached for your phone from the counter, a voice startled you.

"It's a Pogue, isn't it?"

You squeaked and clutched your chest, nearly dropping the water glass. You whipped around and looked at Topper, wide-eyed.

"Jesus, Topper, don't sneak up on me like that!"

He merely cocked a brow in response, waiting patiently for a response. You frowned at the look on his face and set your glass down with a sigh.

"How'd you figure?"

He shrugged, "Wasn't all that hard. You've been acting weird ever since the kegger. And that would explain what I heard from your argument with Anna. I'm surprised Kate didn't put two and two together, but you know how she can be gullible."

You looked down at your feet and slumped against the counter. There was no use denying it. Topper leaned on the counter beside you before continuing, "You don't have to tell me who it is yet. But can you just promise me you won't ditch us?"

You diverted your gaze up to meet his. His eyes were wide with sincerity, and your lips twitched downwards in confusion, "Of course, I would never ditch you guys, why on Earth would you think that?"

Topper shrugged, crossing his arms, "Well I never thought Sarah would completely cut me out of her life."

Your face fell at his response. He had been deeply hurt by her disappearance, and even though he had Kate, he surely missed her as a friend. You immediately felt bad that you hadn't thought of this, and you looped your arm through his, resting your head on his shoulder with a sigh.

"I'm sorry, Top. I know it may be hard for you to trust me when I say this, but I promise I will never leave you guys behind like that," you paused before continuing, "You're stuck with me, whether you like it or not."

He chuckled at that, and wrapped an arm around your side, squeezing you softly before releasing you. "I think you're, like, in love with me or something," he teased.

You snorted, "I'd rather kiss a frog."

"You better get back in there, Kate may be gullible but she's not dumb," Topper cocked his head towards the living room while he grabbed his own drink.

You nodded and swiped your phone and water glass from the kitchen counter before striding back into the living room. Kate was completely immersed in the movie, oblivious to your disappearance. You smiled to yourself at the sight and returned to your position on the couch.

You couldn't even put into words the comfort the short chat with Topper bestowed upon you. You knew he wouldn't be thrilled when he found out the identity of your Pogue soulmate. But at least you knew you wouldn't lose him as a friend.

As the thought of the blond Pogue crossed your mind, you pulled out your phone once more and opened your messages.

9:44 PM Unknown: don't be a tease

You quickly typed out a simple, yet effective response and sent it before you could think twice about it. You turned your phone off and settled back into your seat, intent on paying attention to the rest of the movie. You tried your best to ignore the giddy feeling creeping up on you in anticipation of his response.

to Unknown:

tomorrow delivered 9:58 PM

✰✰✰

Your heart pounded as you placed your room. You double-checked that you had locked your door for the 6th time. You smoothed out the nonexistent wrinkles on your throw blanket. You fluffed your pillows, checked your makeup, and picked at your hair, all the while unable to take your eyes off of the ticking clock.

11:44 P.M.

He was supposed to be here by now.

You groaned as you desperately tried to find something to busy yourself with and calm your nerves, but to no avail. Why wasn't he here yet?

You checked your phone again. His lack of communication was not surprising, but that didn't stop your heart from dropping yet again at the sight of your empty lock screen. You read through the texts you’d exchanged for the dozenth time with a frown. With each minute that passed, you could feel yourself drifting closer to the conclusion you desperately hoped to avoid: JJ had stood you up.

You trudged towards the windows of the French doors leading to your balcony. You pulled back the curtains and just as you peered outside to the dark yard below, you felt a searing, blinding pain across your cheek.

It happened so fast, you could barely process it.

You stumbled backward as a violent force shoved you. You crumpled onto the ground in a heap. The first kick to your gut took you by surprise, and you cried out in pain. You grabbed a knocked-over pillow just in time to muffle your scream as the second kick came. You wheezed through muffled sobs but were given no reprieve. Kick after kick, you felt like someone was trying to rearrange your insides. You lay in a fetal position, clenching your fists so hard you were sure you were drawing blood. You waited for the familiar feeling of bone crunching underneath your knuckles, but it never came.

Finally, and suddenly it stopped.

You cautiously removed the tear-stained pillow from your mouth. Your gut throbbed so violently that you felt nauseous, and the stinging, invisible cut on your face sent waves of shooting pain to your head each time you blinked. But just when you thought it was over, an unrelenting force squeezed you by the throat.

Your tearful eyes shot wide open. You clawed desperately at your neck, but there was nothing there.

It's not real, it's not real, it's not real, you repeated to yourself in your head like a mantra.

But it was real. It just wasn't yours.

Just when you were beginning to see stars, the pressure constricting your throat disappeared. You spluttered and coughed violently as you gasped for breath, unable to contain the vicious sobs from escaping you.

But worse than the blinding pain plaguing your body was the visceral image of JJ lying crumpled on the ground somewhere, unable to fight back.

You used every ounce of will you had to shut your eyes tight and force yourself to breathe.

In, and out. Do it for him. He needs you.

You unfurled yourself from your position on the ground, fighting against your protesting body.

In, and out.

Your trembling hands reached for the water bottle on your bedside table. You forced the liquid down your aching throat, soothing the burning.

Do it for him.

You forced herself to your feet, continuing with your deep breathing. You slowly stumbled, one foot in front of the next, towards your door. You used the wall to support your weight as you wobbled down the stairs at an agonizingly slow pace.

He needs you.

You felt light headed by the time you had reached the kitchen. You swung open the freezer and blindly grabbed a handful of ice packs. Halfway there, you told yourself. You willed your mind to another place and focused on your breathing as you once again stumbled up the stairs and back to your room. Your hand fumbled with the lock behind you, and you used the last bit of adrenaline coursing through your to collapse onto your bed. Carefully, you laid on your left side, draped one ice pack over your right, and held another against your burning abdomen.

Your eyes fluttered shut and your lips parted at the relief of the cooling sensation. You could only hope it was enough for him to find the strength to get to safety. Your head spun as the adrenaline fueling you had run out. You couldn't find the strength to keep your eyes open, let alone reach for your phone. Your world went black as you gave into the exhaustion, despite your protesting mind.

✰✰✰

TAP TAP

You were shaken awake by a sudden noise.

Your groggy eyes blinked open, and you were instantly reminded of the now dull, throbbing pain in your gut.

TAP TAP

Despite your protesting body, you pushed yourself up. You nearly jumped out of your skin as you looked out the window and found a pair of familiar ocean blues staring back at you. You scrambled to your feet, flinging the now melted ice packs from your body. You moved as quickly as your body allowed to the French doors, swiftly unlocking and swinging them wide open.

your breath caught in your throat as you took in the sight before you.

JJ was leaning against the balcony railing, masking the pain you knew was searing his side. Dried blood was smeared across the right side of his face, covering the cut you knew was underneath. The skin surrounding his neck was red, in the early stages of bruising.

But what pained you most was the clash between the boyish, lopsided grin painted on his lips and the agony swimming in his puffy eyes.

"Sorry I'm late, princess," he rasped.

Your bottom lip wobbled, and you launched herself towards him.

JJ stumbled as you buried your tear-stained face in his shoulder and wrapped your shaky arms around his neck. The two teenagers ignored the dull pain in their bodies, as the feeling of being wrapped up in each other provided a cure that rivaled even the strongest of painkillers. He snaked his arms around your waist and held onto your for dear life as you stumbled into your room.

"I'm gonna get blood all over your pretty little silk robe," his gasping breath tickled your ear.

"Shut up," you mumbled into the crook of his neck.

You threaded your trembling fingers through his blond locks, and JJ melted into your healing touch. You stood tangled together for what felt like hours, but were, in reality, mere minutes, each afraid to be the one to pull away.

You shifted in his hold, and pressed your lips against the side of his neck as you barely spoke above a whisper, "Please, let me help you."

He shivered at the feeling of your shaky breath on his bruised skin. JJ swallowed, Adam's apple bobbing, before nodding once. You reluctantly untangled yourself from him and threaded your fingers between his, gently tugging him towards your ensuite bathroom. He avoided his reflection in the mirror as you guided him, pushing his shoulders so he sat on the closed toilet.

JJ watched as you crouched down and grabbed a first-aid kit from underneath the sink, alongside a container of cotton balls. You pulled out a small stepping stool and maneuvered it so it sat right in front of him. With all of your tools in place, you sat down on the small stool and assessed the damage. Your hands were gentle as you brushed his hair back. You felt a sharp pang in your heart as you looked closely at the injury on his face.

You bit back the question on the tip of your tongue: Who the hell did this to you?

"Do I still look pretty?" JJ half-heartedly quipped with a grin that didn't reach his tormented eyes.

You gave him a soft, sullen smile as you gently dabbed a wet washcloth around the cut on his face, "You'll be the belle of the ball when I'm done with you."

JJ couldn't help but stare at the way your brows cinched and the tip of your tongue poked out of your mouth as you cleaned the area, careful not to press too hard against his open wound.

"You're really beautiful, you know?" he whispered.

You flushed and you shook your head, "Even at your worst you're still pulling all the stops," you tried to joke off his compliment.

"No stops, just stating the truth."

You tried your best to ignore his beating stare and willed away the blush creeping up your neck. You sighed in relief as you saw that the cut on his cheek, while long, was not deep. You grabbed a cotton ball from your side and doused it with isopropyl.

"This might hurt," you mumbled before dabbing the soaked cotton ball along the site of the wound.

JJ hissed at the burning sensation and jerked away from your touch. You gritted your teeth and squinted as you shared the feeling. You gently intertwined your free hand with his and pulled him back wordlessly. He sucked in a breath as you went back to cleaning the area, forcing himself to remain steady.

You tossed the used cotton ball into the bin beside you. Your eyes trailed down from his cheek to his bruising neck. You pursed your lips at the developing bruises, and he squirmed under your scrutiny. JJ flinched as you delicately brushed the back of your hand over the affected area with a featherlike touch.

"I don't think I can do anything about these, but I can show you how to cover them up," you tried your best to speak in a steady, even tone, but the quiver of your voice at the horrific sight was undeniable. JJ gulped and nodded.

You stood from your seat and rummaged through your makeup drawer. You returned with a tube of concealer in hand. You held it out for him, and JJ cautiously grabbed it from you, examining its contents.

"Start with a little, and blend it out with your fingers until it looks like part of your skin. You can then keep adding more until it's completely covered," you explained softly. He pocketed the makeup, which he would likely be using the next day.

JJ watched as your hands trailed down to the hem of his shirt. He nearly melted when your eyes flicked up to meet his.

"Can I take this off?" you whispered.

His mouth was parched, unable to reply. He nodded again.

You swallowed down a gasp as you inched the material up, revealing a mess of purple and blue painted across his torso. Your heart shattered at the sight and you gulped, willing yourself to maintain composure. He raised his arms with a wince and pulled his shirt over his head, giving you a full view of the damage. You pressed softly against his abdomen and felt the sharp pain in your own.

JJ cleared his throat, "I don't think there's much you can do about that," he referred to the bruises.

You gnawed your lip in thought, and your heart skipped a beat as JJ pressed his thumb against your bottom lip, pulling it out from between your teeth, "That's a really awful habit you have, you know."

You sucked in a breath as he ran his thumb along your lip, speechless.

"Compression can help with the swelling," you whispered, "If you'll let me wrap you up."

He nodded once.

You rummaged through your supply kit once more, pulling out a roll of elastic bandage. You worked slowly to not impose any unwanted pressure and ensure the bandage was wrapped with the proper amount of tension. JJ glanced down at the mess of bruises, instantly regretting his decision. He diverted his gaze to the white wall behind you.

"You can ask me," he broke the silence.

You paused your work, before slowly continuing, "Ask you what?"

He quickly replied, "What you've been dying to ask me since I showed up at your window."

You slowed as we neared the end of the area you needed to cover. You gently attached the velcro, careful not to press too hard against his side. Finally, your eyes flicked up to meet his, which were still trained on the wall behind.

"Who did this to you?" you rasped, your voice strained.

Unshed tears glossed over the ocean blues you were quickly growing to love. His lips curled into an eerie grin, "My old man's always been a mean drunk."

Your heart dropped to the pit of your stomach and the roll of bandage fell from your hand.

For years, you’d felt the consequences of JJ's lifestyle. You were no stranger to the feeling of broken noses, bruised ribs, and black eyes. But you’d always chopped it up to your soulmate's reckless lifestyle. They were constantly getting themselves into trouble, and you were the poor bystander. You'd built up this image of them, an image of a soldier fresh out of war, battered but victorious. Never had you considered that they may be victim to a wickedness like no other.

A flood of emotions engulfed you. Shame, for assuming the worst of your other half. Anger, that a father could inflict such pain on his son. But most of all, heartache.

Your jaw fell slack and you watched as a single tear escaped the corner of JJ's right eye, trailing down the crevices of his face before finding refuge in the wrinkle of his sinister smile.

With a trembling hand, you caressed his jaw and delicately wiped the tear from his face. He shook his head violently as he buried his face in his hands.

You clambered onto his lap and snaked your arms around him. You tried with all your might to maintain composure as he buried his face into the crook of your neck. His body trembled as you wrapped your legs around him. You used one hand to rub soothing circles into his back, while the other gently threaded through his hair.

"Please, don't pity me," he choked out, his breath tickling the nape of your neck.

You shook your head as you felt tears pricking at your eyes, "I don't pity you, JJ," you whispered into his ear, "You're so strong. Stronger than I ever really knew." His grip around your waist tightened.

You propped your chin on top of his head as he fell limp against you, relinquishing control and giving in to your embrace. You sat entangled on the porcelain toilet, unmoving. The two of you remained wrapped around each other until you lost feeling in your legs. You reluctantly unraveled your legs from around him so they dangled off his lap. You loosened your grip enough so you could rest your forehead against his.

You sat there, nose to nose, bloodshot eyes trained on one another, lips parted with bated breaths. You ran your fingers through his hair as you spoke softly, "Will you stay here tonight?"

JJ's puffy eyes shot down and he lurched forward in one swift motion. You gasped as he molded his lips against yours. The kiss was languid, but intoxicating all the same. The salty taste of his tears made it all the more electrifying as your lips moved together in sync. Your elegant fingers were gentle against the roughness of his jaw as you held him impossibly closer. And as your lips moved against JJ's, you realized that his pain had vanished, even if just for a moment. The fractured teenagers remained like this, glued together until their lips were swollen and they could no longer breathe.

"As much as I'd love to stay like this all night," JJ gasped, blue eyes swimming with desire, "I think I lost feeling in my legs 10 minutes ago."

His lips quirked into a smile as he watched you scramble from your seat on his lap, muttering apologies along the way. He couldn't help but indulge in the sight of you like this: wide-eyed, tousled hair, and robe askew, revealing a lacy bralette underneath. JJ pulled himself to his feet with a wince, now towering over you.

He ran the back of his fingers down the curve of your breast against the exposed lace, "You put on this pretty little number for me?"

You flushed and hastily readjusted your robe. You rolled your eyes in a pitiful attempt to conceal the effect he had on you.

"You know women don't always dress for men," you spoke with little conviction. But you certainly had.

As you cleaned up your discarded supplies, JJ finally looked at his reflection in the mirror. His breath hitched as he took in your handiwork; aside from the thin cut along his cheek and his puffy eyes, his face looked normal. His neck, on the other hand, was another case entirely. He gulped at the sight of the developing bruises and diverted his gaze elsewhere. While you continued with your tidying, he wandered towards the bedroom.

His jaw clicked as he took in his surroundings for the first time. Your bedroom was obscenely large. A fluffy, white carpet covered the polished wooden floors, and a king-sized bed stood proudly in the middle of the area. The dozens of pillows against the elaborate headboard elicited a scoff from JJ. Two pillows were a luxury for him, let alone 12. He kicked off his mud-caked boots and walked towards the bed, running his hand along the silk sheets peeking out from underneath the duvet. It looked like something straight out of The Princess and the Pea. He snorted at the thought; with all your pillows and silk sheets, you probably did sleep like the princess from the old fairy tale.

JJ found himself drawn to the upright piano. He ran his fingers across the pristine, white keys of the instrument, and pressed one finger down slowly onto an F. He felt the tension of the hammer hitting the string inside the instrument and listened in awe to the crisp tone that filled the room. His eyes wandered to the book propped open on the stand, battered and bent so that the pages wouldn't flip. His brows furrowed at the mess of tiny little notes and narrow measures, filled with pencil scribbles here and there.

JJ felt your presence creep up behind him. He glanced at you briefly, before returning to the piece of sheet music, "How the hell do you make sense of this shit? I think I'd have better luck reading in Chinese."

Your lips quirked and you hummed in amusement, "I never really thought of it that way, but I guess it kind of is like a different language."

He pressed down on another key.

"That's middle C," you commented.

"Middle who?" JJ questioned.

You couldn't help but giggle softly, "Each key has a name. They go from A to F, and middle C is the 4th C from the left," you explained.

JJ sat down on the bench as he pressed the same note again, "So how do you find the other C's?"

You sat beside him, "You can think of the whole piano in chunks, and each chunk is this thing called an octave," youplayed C5, "This is the next C key, so from middle C to here is an octave," youplayed C6, "And from where I just was to here is another octave."

He nodded, still perplexed by the instrument. "What about all the keys in between?"

You gracefully placed your hand on middle C, and made your way up the keyboard, naming each note as you played it, "C, D, E, F, G, A, B, and then back to C."

"What about the black keys?" JJ questioned, now playing an E.

"Don't worry about those, for now," you laughed airily.

You gently grabbed his right hand and guided it onto the keyboard. You positioned his thumb on middle C, his middle finger on E, and his pinky on G. You then placed your hand over his, and gently pushed down on these three fingers, indicating to him which ones to play. JJ watched in awe as the aurally pleasing combination of keys rang through the air.

"That's a C major chord," you explained, and he played it again. You guided his hand down an octave, and positioned his fingers in the same manner, instructing him to push down again, "And you can play it on any octave."

JJ was mesmerized by the instrument as you continued to show up the basics. You taught him how to play an arpeggio, albeit slowly, and after his unrelenting questioning about the mysterious black keys, you explained sharps and flats. He was so entranced by your knowledge of the instrument that the pain in his gut merely felt like a distant ache.

"Can you play something for me?" he asked, watching as the left corner of your pink lips twitched upwards.

You hummed in thought and shifted closer towards him so you sat on the center of the bench. JJ watched intently as you took a deep breath, shut your eyes, and let your hands fall onto the keys as you exhaled. Your eyes flicked open, and your fingers moved on their own accord as you played the opening sequence of Chopin's Nocturne in E flat major, a piece you had memorized for years now. JJ's ears perked at the familiar melody he must have heard in a movie before.

The sound your nimble fingers produced was captivating, and he found himself drunk off of the gentle, soothing melody. What captivated him most was not the nocturne itself, but rather, the ease with which you played. He watched, awestruck, as your hands glided across the keys with a fluidity he didn't know the human body possessed. your elbows never dipped and your back remained straight, but you still moved with the melody in a way that both unsettled and mesmerized him. your eyes fluttered shut as you played the last note. you waited until the tone had completely dissipated before opening them and removing your hands from the instrument.

You turned to JJ to find his eyes already trained on you. His lips parted and he rasped, "Do it again."

You released an airy laugh and shook your head, "Maybe another time," your eyes flit up to the clock hanging on the wall above, "It's almost 2 AM."

JJ shrugged, "The night's still young."

"And you're still injured," you retorted.

He huffed but relented as he knew he was on the losing end of this battle. You stood from the bench and pad towards your walk-in closet. Your cheeks flushed as you untied the front of your robe, and looked down at your lingerie. You hadn't known what a turn the night would take, but you still couldn't help but feel silly in your outfit. You didn't dare glance at JJ as you kept your back turned and dropped the robe, leaving you in a matching bralette and panties. you reached behind your to undo the clasp but jumped as JJ's hands covered yours and his breath tickled your neck. You opened your mouth to protest, but he cut you off.

"Let me do it."

You relented and dropped your arms. You shivered at the feeling of his fingers on your back. He swiftly unclasped the bra and guided it down your arms. He groaned at the sight of your bare breasts, and you shivered at the sound. His rough hands snaked around your waist and roamed up your body as he pressed his lips against your collarbone. You gasped as he flicked your nipples with his thumbs, and they pebbled under his touch. You whined as he thrust his hips against your ass. You could feel his arousal both in the pit of your own stomach and poking behind you.

"You're so sexy when you play," he rasped against your neck, "I'd do anything to have you play one more song for me like this."

It took everything in you not to melt under his electrifying touch. Despite your protesting body, you pulled herself forward from his gasp and turned to face him, forcing his gaze upwards to meet your eyes.

"You're hurt and you need sleep," you spoke sternly.

You reached behind him to grab an oversized t-shirt, but he swiftly took it from your hands. "I'm all better now. Please," he pleaded, dipping his head back down towards you.

You stepped back and snatched the shirt back from his hands, pulling it over your head before he could protest. "No, you're not. Don't try to bullshit me; you forget that I can literally feel that you're lying."

JJ groaned, but yet again relented, as he knew you were right; as much as it irritated him.

He followed you to the bed and watched as you tossed aside the majority of the pillow mountain and pulled back the covers. He followed your lead and removed his shorts, leaving him in his boxers. JJ crawled underneath the covers as you turned off the lights, leaving only your bedside lamp. He nearly moaned at the soothing feeling of your plush mattress. He felt like he was being enveloped by a cloud, completely weightless. JJ slowly turned himself onto his good side and waited patiently for his other half.

You fought back a smile at the sight of JJ wrapped up in the fluffy confines of your bed. You crawled in beside him and turned to face him, your noses just inches apart. You lay there studying each other, neither of you wanting to be the first to break the comfortable silence.

Finally, JJ cleared his throat, "Thank you."

A sad smile graced your lips, "Don't thank me."

JJ's mind screamed at him to run. He barely knew you, and frankly, didn't like you. He had let you in on the darkest, most vulnerable piece of himself, and the thought alone terrified him. But his body relished in the comfort of you--the comfort of your healing touch and soothing words. There was something so captivating about you that made him want to open himself up completely, and let you read every page of his book.

You also had a million thoughts racing through your mind. You wanted so badly to plead with him to stay--stay in the safety of your arms, and never return to his broken home. But you couldn't find the words to say this, and you were terrified of overstepping and pushing him away.

You let out a shaky sigh, and spoke slowly, "If this ever happens again," you both knew the 'if' was a 'when', but you didn't want to admit that, "Or if you just need an escape, please come back here."

JJ knew that wasn't what you really wanted to say, but he feigned ignorance. Instead, he nodded and wrapped an arm around your waist, tugging your closer. JJ pressed his lips against yours softly in a fleeting kiss.

"You're too good to me, Montgomery," he mumbled against you, sending a shiver up your spine.

You pressed your lips firmly against his once more before turning your body and shutting off the light, leaving you in darkness. You leaned back against him and pressed your back against his front as he wrapped an arm around your waist and rested his chin in the crook of your shoulder. You fluttered your eyes as you relished in the undeniable comfort of his arms. The rhythmic sound of his breathing and the beat of his heart lulled you into a calmness like none you had ever experienced before.

And while you knew that this was the calm before the storm, you gave yourself to naivety, and slipped from consciousness completely.

#jj maybank x reader #jj maybank #jj maybank smut #outer banks #jj mayback imagine #jj x reader #jj maybank fanfiction #outer banks fanfiction #soulmate au

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thus-spoke-lo · 1 year

Text

Compliments to the Chef // slimeball linecook!Sanji x f!reader // NSFW/18+ [feat. special guest appearances by fuckboy fwb!Ace and taxi driver!Zoro]

Written for @bastardblvd's Slimeball Collab

Summary: A few nights pass after the sordid events of A Ride for a Ride, and you're working another late night shift at Franky's Flapjack Shack with Sanji, that damned pervert cook. Sanji manages to piss off your only remaining customer for the night, leaving the two of you alone in the restaurant. Soon, things start to heat up in the kitchen--and not just because that one oven door won't close all the way. CW: afab!reader [no pronouns used to address reader]; dubcon elements; slight praise kink/body worship; vaginal fingering; oral sex [f receiving]; brief degradation. WC: 3.7k

“Goddamit Sanji!”

Sanji glances up from his sink full of dishes to see you in the doorway to the kitchen, one hand pressed firmly into your hip, the other gripping a plate. “You called, ma chérie?”

“Oh would you cut it with the ‘ma chérie’ shit, you’re not even French.”

“Hey, I am too!”

“I know you’re from Canada, asshole. And anyway, you got another plate of eggs back.” You toss the dish of half-eaten breakfast across the counter towards him, as a piece of bacon flops to the floor and bits of hashbrown scatter.

“So?” he scoffs, raising one curly eyebrow, a smirk forming on his lips.

“So, he said they tasted like cigarette ash.” You cross your arms over your chest and stare at him unflinchingly. “You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, would you?”

He shrugs as he reaches in his pocket and pulls out his pack of cigarettes. “He wanted his eggs over hard. That’s disrespectful to the ingredients…so I may have added some extra seasoning.”

“Sanji!”

“Fine, fine, I’ll make him another plate,” he mumbles as he lights the cigarette that dangles precariously between his moving lips. “On one condition.”

“And what’s that?” You’re not sure why you even bothered to ask—you know the answer will be some degree of unsavory.

“Just give me a little kiss.” He moves towards you, snaking a hand around your waist as he blows a ring of smoke in the air. “Just one.”

“I’ll tell him we’re out of eggs,” you grumble as you slap his hand away and huff back into the dining room to explain your unexpected dairy shortage.

*****

“Thanks a lot, asshole!” you shout as you swing the kitchen door open a while later, finding Sanji standing just inside with his phone in his hand, looking guilty as he hastily shoves it in his pocket. “Dude left without paying. So now we gotta explain why we’re short—again—and I don’t even get a tip.”

Sanji opens his mouth to speak, but is quickly shushed as you press your index finger to his lips.

“And I do not want to hear any ‘tip’ comments, you pervert.”

“Oh come on,” he grumbles as he tries to kiss your hand, “do you really think so little of me, my sweet?”

“…Yes.”

“Look, my dear, as someone who went to culinary school, I just can’t allow an injustice to be committed against food that way.”

You sigh and your head lolls back of its own accord as you stare up at the ceiling, counting the missing tiles. “Sanji, do we have to do this?”

“Ma chérie, I trained under the finest Michelin-starred chefs.” He takes a long drag off his cigarette and closes his eyes, becoming instantly lost in the vast expanse of his own bullshit. “When I worked in the kitchen of Chef Zeff, now that was where I learned to appreciate the simplicity of an omelet, none of this fried-egg-and-cheap-meat nonsense that we do here.”

He’s talking.

And he’s still talking.

And he’s still fucking talking, his words sounding more and more like the annoying hum of a florescent lightbulb. As you stand there and watch his lips move, his cigarette bobbing up and down, you start to wonder if maybe kissing him wouldn’t be such a bad idea as long as it would shut him up for a little while. He is a pervert, and a creep, and a bit of an egomaniac, but he’s also easy on the eyes, all sparkling blue eyes and soft blonde hair that was always falling in his face. And those hands of his—those long, slender fingers that you knew had to be capable of more than cracking eggs and gripping the hilt of a chef’s knife. Maybe he just needs to get laid to calm down and stop acting like he’s the greatest gift to the cooking world—although it would probably would be best to silence him if he has his mouth on your—

A sudden vibration in your pocket thankfully distracts you from your meanderings. You lean against the counter and take it out, chewing your lip as you see the notification on the screen:

BAD IDEA sent a photo

You already know what you’re going to find but you swipe it open anyway, and to no surprise, you see a text bubble that simply reads “wyd?” followed by a picture of himself—your forever-friends-with-benefits Ace is freshly out of the shower, strands of his black hair clinging to his chiseled jaw, rivulets of water dripping down his muscled body. A towel is hanging precariously from his lean hips, low enough that you can see the delicious v-shape carved into his lower torso, the one that practically leads you like a treasure map down to the long, thick column of a cock that you know hides just under that towel.

I’m at work, you furiously text back, a warmth beginning to pool between your legs.

[BAD IDEA]: when u off?

[YOU]: couple more hours

[BAD IDEA]: k, text when ur on ur way. i’ll be up.

[YOU]: I bet you will be.

[BAD IDEA]: wanna see?

Before you can even place your thumbs on the keyboard to respond, a perfectly-lit photo of his rock-hard cock appears on your screen, his large hand gripping it at the base. You inhale sharply at the sight, already counting the minutes until the end of your shift.

“So whose dick is that?” a jealousy-laden voice suddenly utters in your ear, whispers of smoke drifting up your nostrils.

“Fuck!” Your phone flies across the room and lands face-down on the wet, tiled floor. “None of your goddamned business!”

“Let me guess,” he says as he walks around in front of you, his eyes never leaving yours for even a moment, “some fuck buddy of yours?”

“Sanji, let it go.”

“Why? No need to be embarrassed, my sweet. Someone as gorgeous and utterly desirable as you deserves to have all their needs met.” He pauses to take a drag and cocks his head, a slight smirk settling in the corner of his mouth. “And he does meet your needs…right?”

You glance down at your shoes as a montage of encounters runs through your mind, typically ending with Ace rolling off you and falling immediately to sleep. “Usually.”

“Usually?”

“Well, I mean, sometimes,” you say, swaying your head a little as you try to count the orgasms he’s given you on purpose. “Like, it’s just not a big deal, you know?”

“My darling.” Sanji bends down to stub his cigarette out on the tile floor and walks towards you, leaning his body into yours as he places one hand behind you on the counter. “Don’t you think you deserve better than that?”

“Well sure…” you trail off as his body comes closer and closer to yours and you can feel the fire of longing radiating off him, almost creating its own atmosphere around the two of you.

He bites his lower lip, dragging it through his teeth, as his gaze flits between your eyes and your mouth. He leans in slowly, his lips almost brushing yours, and you don’t stop him—you don’t even so much as turn your head and you wait for the faint beginnings of a kiss, when he veers away just before making contact, instead letting his cheek graze yours as he moves to whisper in your ear.

“Your pleasure should always come first, you know,” he murmurs as one leg slowly slots between your knees, pushing them apart slightly. “You shouldn’t accept anything less than that.”

“Let me guess. Next you’ll tell me you’re the kind of man who would make sure I’m always taken care of, right? Is that where this is going?”

“Why don’t you tell me where it’s going, ma chérie.”

“A-alright, stop being a fuckin’ perv, Sanji.” You place your hands on his surprisingly firm chest and push him away, feeling at once annoyed and deeply, unsettlingly aroused.

He makes no attempts to stop you, just snorts a quiet laugh as he watches you storm out of the kitchen and into the dining area, and you roll your eyes at the fact he’s probably getting off on your tempestuousness. You stand behind the counter, hoping and wishing that someone would wander in, freshly drunk from the bar a few blocks down, begging for a hot coffee so at least you’d have something to occupy your body and mind for a while. Instead, the room remains empty and cold, accentuated by the low mechanical whirring of the ice maker behind you and the tinny rhythm of the royalty-free music playing softly over the one good speaker at the cash register.

As the ice maker roars to life and noisily drops perfect little cubes into the bin, you sense a warm presence behind you, and a hand settles on your shoulder, gripping you gently. Long fingers reach up to brush your jaw, soft fingertips moving up to caress the apple of your cheek.

“We’re all alone, huh?” Sanji’s voice lacks its usual repulsive air of desperation, replaced by a honeyed sweetness and a whiskey-smooth confidence you only heard when he talked about his cooking.

Without thinking too much about it, you reach up and place your hand on his, stroking the tops of his fingers, surprised by the silkiness of his pale skin. “But Sanji, we’re open.”

“I don’t think anyone would mind if we closed up to take a break. Do you?” He leans forward, brushing your hair away from your neck, and warm lips meet your chilled skin, sending a shiver through your core. The tip of his tongue traces along the delicate flesh of your neck, and he leaves a trail of gentle kisses back down the path he made.

“We are—ah—entitled to a meal break, I suppose.”

“I certainly know I’m hungry,” he groans into your shoulder as he nips at you through your shirt. “Why don’t you go wait in the kitchen for me, beautiful, and I’ll lock up?”

You nod, unable to readily conjure up any affirmative response and force it out of your mouth as you find yourself suddenly set adrift in a sea of passion. You meander into the kitchen and lean back against a metal worktable, gripping it tightly, wondering what in the hell is wrong with you—how it is that this curly-browed cook, in all his usual shamelessness, was suddenly able to enchant you, place you under some wicked spell of sexual depravity that has your heart racing and your core pulsing as you anxiously wait for him to return.

You glance out the small window in the kitchen door and see the lights in the restaurant dim slightly. The door swings open a moment later and Sanji’s gaze immediately settles on you, never leaving once as he crosses the kitchen to where you stand nervously against the counter. His hands settle at your waist as though they’ve always been meant to be there. “Shall we pick up where we left off, lovely?”

“Sanji, wait I—I need to be clear,” you stammer as you gingerly place your hands on his shoulders, feeling a little wave of pleasure roll through you as you notice how sinewy he feels under his stiff button-up shirt. “If we—if we do this…it doesn’t mean anything, okay? Not a damned thing.”

He leaves a soft, patronizing kiss on your forehead. “Whatever you need to tell yourself, darling.”

Without any further exchange, Sanji claims your mouth with a fierce urgency, feeding from the sweetness of your lips as though he was trying to absorb your very essence into his cells. His tongue gently pushes past your lips and dances and curls with yours, lingering flavors of nicotine and black tea filling your mouth, as his hands move up from your waist and push under your shirt, his palms exploring the soft expanse of your form.

“You’re so warm,” he moans into your mouth, “so perfect. I could do this forever.”

He intoxicates you with more long, drugging kisses before finally pulling away, a frenzied look of desire glimmering in his icy eyes. There is something in his gaze, in his touch, in his in effortlessly sensual kisses that has you ready to let him defile you right here in the worn-down kitchen, to bend over and let him take you right in the walk-in freezer, to have him utterly ruin you among the containers of pre-made spaghetti sauce and expired salmon.

He lowers his hands back down your body and tugs at the waistband of your khakis. “Take these off for me, my sweet?”

“Yeah, sure, of course,” you mumble through your delirium as you quickly unbutton and unzip, struggling with unsteady hands as you find yourself unable pull them off over your shoes.

“Here, let me help you, darling.” Sanji lowers himself to the floor and strips the cheap trousers off your body, a quiet gasp leaving his lips as his gaze scans the length of your exposed legs. “Fuck, you’re more beautiful than I ever dreamed.”

His hands settle on your thighs and slowly slide up, moving outwards to grip the plush curves of your hips. He carefully slips a finger under the waistband of your panties on either side and unhurriedly slides them down—he seems to know he doesn’t require your permission anymore, as you silently urge him to finish undressing you. You’re far too hazy already, starting to lose yourself to the debauched atmosphere in the warm, quiet kitchen, to notice him quickly slip your underwear into his pants pocket.

He stands and helps you up on the metal prep table, and you feel it move slightly under your weight as he settles you. He plies you with more sweet kisses, more meditations on your exquisite beauty, as his hand slides between your legs. Sanji lets out a whimper of pleasure as he glides his fingers along your slit, and you become shamefully aware of just how soaked you’ve become from your little tryst.

“Oh my darling, my beautiful, incredible darling,” he whispers as he gently begins to press against your entrance. “You feel like silk—like the softest flower petals.”

His long fingers slide inside you, and a sigh leaves your lips; his name drifts in the air between little gasps and moans. It feels so perfectly wrong to let him fuck you with those slender fingers, to use him for the pleasure you were so often denied, but the look of absolute euphoria on his face tells you he is more than willing to provide you whatever it was that your desired.

“You’re so wet for me, it’s incredible,” he groans as he slowly pumps in and out of you, watching you with a sordid fascination, enjoying every furrow of your brow and every heave of your chest as you begin to breathe in short, sharp gasps. He moves his wrist a little faster, crooking his fingers up to stroke that bundle of nerves inside you. “Does that feel nice, my sweet? Is this what you needed?”

“S-so good, Sanji,” you stutter as little waves of pleasure drift through your lower half, your muscles twitching with every thrust of his arm, and a warm tension begins to build deep within. “S’perfect.”

“Mm, I think I can do better, though,” he grins as he kisses you again, his teeth dragging against your lower lip. “May I taste you, my darling?”

“Please?” The word comes out in a whimper, and you don’t even mind how pathetic you must sound—you just need his mouth on you this instant.

“With great pleasure, beautiful.” Sanji languidly pumps his fingers in and out of your dripping cunt a little longer before he finally withdraws. He fishes a cigarette out of his pocket, touching his slick-coated fingertips to the end of it before placing it his mouth, getting the taste of you on his lips for the first time. He sighs as he lights it, taking a long, slow drag from the cigarette before carefully handing it to you. “Here, my sweet—hold this for me.”

“Sanji, I’m—I’m not thinking straight,” you shakily respond, carefully taking the cigarette from him and grasping it between trembling fingers. “I don’t wanna end up burning myself.”

“Don’t worry, darling,” he assures you as drops to his knees in front of you, “you’re going to cum on my tongue long before that’s out.”

He kisses up your leg, starting at your knee and moving up the plush inside of your thigh, until he reaches his paradise. He closes his eyes and breathes in deeply, a guttural groan rumbling in his ribcage as he fills his lungs with your scent.

“You smell even better up close like this,” he murmurs against your cunt as he kisses and sucks at your swollen lips. “This is like heaven, darling, and I never want to leave.”

His soft fingertips part you, and he licks one long, low stripe up your cunt before fucking you with his tongue, moaning as he darts it in and out of your pulsing hole, collecting your slick on it and greedily swallowing. “I want to drink every last drop of you, darling, you taste sweeter than honey.”

Your eyes flutter shut as he moves up to your aching, needy clit, and he laps and sucks at it, the tip of his tongue swirling over you, as he revels in every little moan and gasp, your noises of delight only spurring him on further to devour your pussy with the hunger of a starving man. Every flick of his tongue sends little bolts of lightning down your thighs, and you feel yourself slowly but surely losing control of yourself to this perverted menace of a man, who showers you with a kind of reverence that you’ve never felt before. You grip a handful of his blonde hair between the fingers of your free hand and press yourself into his mouth as your climax takes you by surprise, a feeling of heated bliss hitting you hard and fast, your body tensing and coiling, then releasing with a shuddering explosion. You cry out as he continues to bury his face in your pulsing cunt, his tongue never ceasing its movements over your throbbing clit as wave after wave of pleasure engulfs you, and your keens and wails of ecstasy are so loud, so powerful, that you don’t even notice the squeak of the kitchen door swinging open.

“Hey! Anyone back here?”

“What the fuck?” you stammer as you see a familiar man appear before you, and you hurriedly stub out Sanji’s still-lit cigarette that you hold between your shaking fingers. The local cab driver, Zoro, is standing in the kitchen, hands on his hips, bulging biceps threatening to pop the stitching on his shirtsleeves, his mouth slightly agape at the sight before him.

“How did you get in here?” Sanji shouts as he stands up from between your thighs, and quickly tries to cover your exposed cunt with a soggy dishtowel. “We’re closed right now!”

“Says ‘24 hours’ on the sign. By the way, I think your door’s messed up, had a helluva time gettin’ it open.” He pauses as his eye settles on you and he studies your face; after a moment, a lecherous grin begins to make its way across his lips. “Hey…I know you.”

“How the hell do you know my precious flower, moss-head?” Sanji takes a step towards him, his chin still glistening with your juices and his saliva.

“Uh, how do you guys know each other, exactly…?” you ask quietly, though your question is promptly ignored.

“Your ‘precious flower’ got a ride home from me the other night.” Zoro licks his lips and winks his good eye at you, as his gaze drifts towards your mostly-exposed lower half. “Gave me a helluva ride, too.”

“Zoro, shut up!” you hiss.

“Is that true?” Sanji wipes his mouth on his sleeve as he turns to you, a horrorstruck expression on his face, and he takes a step towards the table. “Did you—did you fuck this creep?”

“Sure did,” Zoro answers for you, moving in front of you to block Sanji from reaching you. “We had a little exchange of goods and services in the back of my cab, if you know what I mean.”

“In his cab?” His voice is nearly a screech now, his whole body shaking as he stares at you incredulously. “Really? His fucking cab?”

“Sanji, it’s none of your damned business!” you shout around Zoro’s side. “You’re not my boyfriend!”

“Yeah,” Zoro nods, “you heard the slut, stay out of it.”

“Zoro!”

“How dare you speak to my sweet darling that way,” Sanji seethes through gritted teeth as he moves closer to the cabbie. “I’m gonna beat the shit out of you!”

Zoro steps forward, pressing his forehead against Sanji’s, grinning wildly. “I’d like to see you try, curly-browed idiot. I can speak to that little whore however I want.”

“Out back,” Sanji spits as he sinks his index finger into Zoro’s chest. “Right now.”

“Fine!”

“Hey—try not to get lost on the way out.”

“I’m gonna kick your fuckin’ ass, cook!”

Zoro stomps after Sanji as the heavy door to the alley slams open, the handle leaving a deep dent in the drywall behind it, and you watch, dumbfounded, as it slowly drifts shut behind them and their curse-filled tirades begin to fade into the cold night.

“Holy fuckin’ shit,” you mutter as you hop down from the counter. You nearly topple over as you pull your pants back on, simultaneously scrambling for your phone, frantically fumbling for the video call button while you zip up your khakis.

“Mmm, hey. What’s up, baby?” Ace answers in darkness after a few rings, and a light clicks on beside him as he situates his camera on his chiseled face—even in the middle of the night, he looks devastatingly handsome. “It’s late, ain’t it?”

“Hey Ace, you got a minute?”

“Oh shit, you comin’ over?” He lazily pans his phone down his body, past his washboard abs, stopping once you have a view of his half-hard cock that lays against his steely thigh. “I can be ready whenever you are.”

“I’ll be by in a little bit,” you huff as you jog towards the back door, already hearing the subdued sounds of shouting and scuffling in the alley. “You gotta see this shit first.”

#i would literally just keep writing for this collab forever if i didn't have other things i have to finish lmao #slimeball alley on bastard blvd #sanji x reader #blackleg sanji x reader #one piece smut #one piece au #lo writes

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nebulaafterdark · 2 months

Text

The Succession (Part 2)

Aegon Targaryen x Velaryon(Strong)!Reader

Part 1

Y/N wakes to a knock at the door. Rubbing sleep from her eyes, she sits upright. Aegon is still there, unmoving beside her. “Come.”

“Good morrow, your grace.” Her lady in waiting, Chérie, bows her head upon entry; a powder blue gown draped over one arm. “You must break your fast.”

“What ungodly hour is it?” The Queen grumbles, stretching both arms above her head.

“Nearly midday, my Queen.”

Y/N nods, taking her hand. “I need a favor of you.”

“A bath?” Chérie smirks.

Y/N stares down at herself, nightgown stained with blood and gods know what else. She huffs a laugh, “that as well.”

“I will ready the tub.”

“Chérie?”

“Are you seeking comfort, your grace?” She has lost her grandmother and her husband’s good health, “I could tend you.”

“No.” Y/N stares down at her hands.

“Forgive me for assuming.” She takes a step back, “I only want to help.”

Y/N moves forward, closing the space between them. “It was kind of you, Chérie. I appreciate your devotion, more than you know. There is something different I need of you.”

“Name it.”

“You know things…I must know them.”

“What is it you need know?” Chérie wonders.

“The truth of what happened at Rook’s Rest. I do not pretend to understand Aegon’s motivations. Gods willing, I may be able to ask him one day. But for now, I need know what befell him. Cole dances around it, the Hightowers will never be truthful with me.”

“Is there anything you do know? A talking point that might be of use as I consult the servants?” Chérie wonders.

Y/N leans in. “Helaena and Aemond stood at the foot of his bed last night. She asked if it was worth the price. Aemond denied any knowledge of what she meant. Still, Helaena does not speak to cause upset, she speaks when she has something to say. If he’s done this…the whole of our line may be in danger.”

Chérie sighs, “somedays I am glad to’ve been born a commoner.”

“For that I do not fault you.” Y/N forces a smile.

Chérie steals a glance at the king. “Will he live?”

“We’ve no way of knowing. I pray to the gods for his recovery, but it is a long road. He will never be as he was, so long as he lives, it matters naught to me.”

————————————————————————

“There’s been word from King’s Landing.”

Rhaenyra’s head snaps up.

“Aegon has fallen, the stranger looms over his head. With Vhagar weakened in the attack, now is the time to act.”

“And what of my daughter?” The Queen ticks a finger against the table. “Has she been spotted since Aegon’s coronation?”

“We believe the princess lives, your grace. But upon second hand testimony, smallfolk in the streets, we cannot say for certain.”

“What was she doing?” Rhaenyra wonders, “my girl, when they saw her in the streets?”

The lords look to each other, “she marched beside the carriage with Aegon’s body.”

“That is proof enough. I must send word to her, she cannot think we have turned our backs on her. With Aegon gone, she may very well be Aemond’s next attempt.” Rhaenyra is sick over it.

“You must trust, as we have, that Aegon will care for her.”

“He cannot care for her, upon his deathbed. Should he pass, we leave her to whom? Aemond and Alicent? She will be put to the sword.” Rhaenyra shakes her head.

“Meleys was our largest dragon, your grace.” Ser Alfred reminds her.

“Which is why I must go.”

“You cannot, my Queen. You are the crown.”

“I will go.” Jacaerys fists the hilt of his sword.

“No,” Rhaenyra scoffs. “It is out of the question. You will be taken or slain.”

“Would you rather my sister or me?” Jace squares his shoulders. “Those are your choices.”

————————————————————————-

Y/N forces her meal down, spending the evening in her children’s rooms.

“Mama,” Visera calls to her, “I’ve made something for father.”

“I helped!” Dahlia chimes in. “Laenor wanted to, but he rubbed his hands all over it. The painting was nearly ruined.”

“Say it isn’t so, my loves.” Y/N lifts her eldest son onto her hip. “Shall I kiss his head off?”

“Yes.”

“Do it.”

Y/N smiles, peppering Laenor’s sweet face with kisses as he squeals, thrashing wildly in her hold.

Dahlia and Visera giggle, entertained for the moment.

“And you, my prince, best have learned your lesson.” Y/N says, releasing her son onto the floor.

He scampers away, still screeching with glee.

“Mother?” Dahlia tugs at her mother’s skirts.

“Yes, my darling?”

“When will we see father?”

Y/N sighs, “come, sit with me.” She pats the cushions on either side of her.

Her daughters look to each other, then join her on the settee.

“Do you remember what Papa told you about sickness? How it is a war we wage alone, within our bodies?”

“Is he ill?”

“Not exactly,” Y/N explains, “nevertheless, his body is at war now. Battling to repair itself from great wounds, some we cannot see. Every hour, he is fighting his way back to us. But he must remain abed for now, in a state of sleep.”

“May we watch him sleep?” Visera wonders.

“I fear you might be saddened by it.”

“Why, Mama?”

“He looks a bit different, on the outside. But on the inside he is the same.” Y/N says, fighting for composure, “we mustn’t touch him, lest we cause more pain. And it is hard to keep our distance, when all we truly want is to wrap him in an embrace.”

“Mayhaps when we see him, we might hold each other instead.”

Y/N looks to her eldest daughter. “On the morrow, after his bandages are changed, I will bring you. And if it is too much for you, there is no shame in saying so. We love him dearly and he knows it.”

“That is what matters, I think.” Visera says, “if I were waging war, I would want to know someone loved me.”

————————————————————————

Y/N sneaks down to the kitchens for a bit of cake, heading to Aegon’s apartments to eat it. The doors open onto Aemond, leaning over Aegon’s body.

“What are you doing?” She has no weapon, if she’s to kill him now, it will be with her bare hands or a serving spoon.

Aemond turns to her, with sly smile. “My brother was asking for you. He woke in pain, I was merely supplying him with milk of the poppy.”

Y/N forces her mouth to turn upward, “very kind of you, I thank you for looking in on him.”

Aemond nods, setting the empty cup on the bedside table. “Of course.”

“When he asked for me, what did he say?” She wonders, lying her plate of cake beside it.

“Only your name.”

Y/N nods.

“You have been a good and faithful wife to him. Aegon is blessed to have you.”

“Aemond,” Y/N breathes, “might I ask you something?”

His eye flickers about her, “of course, sweet niece.”

“What do you think was his undoing?” She motions to Aegon, “if you had to say?”

“Vanity…pride.”

“It would be suited,” Y/N forces the awful words past her lips, “for someone to take that from him.”

“You should not say such things, my Queen. The thought alone is truly depraved.”

“Of course, forgive me.”

“What befell my brother is nothing short of a tragedy.” Aemond purrs, “you must keep your wits about you.”

“Were they locked in battle?” Y/N asks, “when my grandmother gave Meleys the order?”

Aemond purses his lips, “when dragons fly to war, it is men who burn. Aegon is not the first, he will not be the last. You should be grateful he returned to you.”

“I have lost a brother to war.” Y/N says, as if he needs reminding. “I know its cruelty.”

“A shame, indeed.” Aemond hums.

“I hope it was worth the price.”

“Y/N.” Alicent calls, “Aemond, what are you doing here?”

The prince looks to his mother, “I was merely checking in on our king.”

“You are kind to do so,” Alicent swallows, “as his wife is now here, you are relieved of said duty. Unless you wish the three of us to hold vigil.”

“Perhaps another time, mother.” Aemond nods, “I’ve more pressing matters to attend.” He brushes past them, closing the door to Aegon’s bedchamber behind him.

“What were you thinking?” Alicent demands, in a hushed whisper. “My son pleads for your life and you stand here tempting the very man who-”

“The very man who what?” Y/N dares her to say it. “Killed my brother? Or are you referring to some other atrocity I am not privy to?”

“Your children are in danger, my grandchildren, let me help you.” Alicent reaches for her.

Y/N bats her hand away, “don’t you touch me! My children are in danger because of you.”

“You know what Aemond is.” Kinslayer. Alicent swallows, hard. “My only concern is keeping you safe. What is to stop him from taking out the whole of Aegon’s line to make room for his own? The smallfolk riot in the streets, demanding we open the gates. Even they wish to flee, it is all going to ruin. They need to see you.”

“They will see me as you parade my body through the streets after my murder, not a moment before. I will not betray my mother or her claim.”

“I am not asking you to stand against Rhaenyra, I am asking you to stand for my son. Before it is too late. You owe him this. You forced him onto that saddle as much as I forced him upon the throne.”

“I?” Y/N snaps, “I am the one you blame for this? You think I would have my husband reduced to ash over a fucking chair?”

Alicent presses her lips together, “all Aegon has done is in your name. He rose and he fell for you alone.”

“I wanted this to be peaceful, you know. I truly did and my mother did, then again and again I was taken for a fool.”

“Aegon loves you. He went to meet Rhaenys for you, in hopes of creating new terms with your mother. Mayhaps others have used you, like a pawn to carry out their own agenda, but not Aegon. He never plotted, he never wavered, even in his condition, you are the agenda.”

“And I love him for it, but please know I did not ask him to meet with her. I would have gone myself rather than risk his life. That is why I have not fled, or stole away with my children to Dragonstone. Aegon is equally important to me.”

“You must ready yourself then, in the color of our house.”

“No,” Y/N narrows her eyes, “this is for my husband, who hangs precariously in the balance of life and death. I will attend this procession in the color of mourning, not Hightower green.”

————————————————————————

In the absence of Daemon, Rhaenyra turns to Mysaria for counsel. “You know the ins and outs of King’s Landing better than any. I need an in.”

“Criston Cole made a mistake, parading a dragon’s head through the streets, like a prize of war. The people see an ill omen.” Mysaria tells her.

“Yes, as do I.”

“They are afraid, bread is scarce. The king has fallen, they whisper to each other that when Viserys lived there was peace.” They question the succession.

“But will whispers tear down stone? Break shields?” Save my daughter?

“Do not underestimate them, to the discontented, rumors are feed.” Mysaria continues. “What you cannot do, let others to do for you. There is more than one way to fight a war.”

Part 3

Series Taglist: @oh-you-mean-me @barnes70stark @lovelyteenagebeard @niyahnotnia @narwhal-swimmingintheocean

#house of the dragon #aegon targaryen x you #aegon targaryen x reader #aegon targaryen #hotd aegon #aegon imagine #aegon targaryen fanfic #aegon ii

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slytherheign · 4 months

Text

AFTERGLOW | charles leclerc

PART 3/3 OF LOVER: THE TRILOGY.

PAIRING: charles leclerc x fem!reader

WORD COUNT: 3.2k

SUMMARY: the dark nights may have already passed but the biggest storm is just beginning. the daylight is becoming harder to be seen, and now you see yourself questioning if love will be enough to conquer all—even the afterglow.

WARNINGS: angst, hate, doubts, cursing/swearing, and arguments. let me know if i missed any warnings. [⚠︎︎RATING: G]

AUTHOR’S NOTE: inspired by taylor swift’s song with the same title. I CAN’T BELIEVE IT’S FINALLY HERE! this is way overdue and i apologize. i owe you guys a lot of fics for being absent for way too long. this is dedicated to ALL of you! thank you guys so much for the never-ending support.

DESTINATION: Sweet Street | GO TO TRILOGY MASTERLIST or GO BACK TO THE STATION.

At first, it was just a few comments here and there, snide remarks about your differences—how Charles was way too good for you or how you didn't fit into society's expectations. You brushed them off, laughed them away, thinking that their words couldn't penetrate the walls you had built around the two of you.

But little did you know how wrong you were.

The online hate began to escalate, turning into a relentless storm that seemed to follow you wherever you went. Your private moments were invaded, dissected, and judged by people who had no right to pass such harsh judgment. Their words became a constant presence, infecting your mind, and sowing seeds of doubt and insecurity.

“So, she basically has nothing… and then she decides to date Charles, who obviously, has everything. I don’t know about y’all… but I feel like she’s just dating him because she knows he can provide for her.”

“She’s giving me golddigger vibes.”

“No cause fr what the hell did she do to get Charles to fall for her.”

Your eyes were glued to your phone while Charles was making dinner. No matter what application you seemed to open, you were all over social media. After Charles decided to launch your relationship to the public, both your names became trending ever since.

“Chérie, do you know where the pasta is?” he asked. He was opening the cabinets in the kitchen quite loudly but all the noises were drowned out as you scrolled further down the comments.

“Imagine this… she leaves everything, including her family and friends, just to focus on herself. What makes us think she wouldn’t do the same to Charles?”

“Selfish. That’s one word I would describe her.”

Your hands began to shake and you felt the tears pooling in your eyes.

“Nevermind. Chérie, I found it!” he cheered.

This time, you heard his voice. Yet again noticing how accomplishing little things seemed to cheer him up. God, he was such a light. His soul was so pure and innocent.

“Charles needs to leave her while it’s still early omg.”

“Give her a few months and we’ll see just how much she’d damage him.”

Now that you were thinking about it, it seemed that everyone you come across with ends up in ruins. It was always dreams before relationships for you, life before love, and self before others.

Maybe they were right. You were selfish.

“Either she leaves him or Charles leaves her first. I hope it’s the second one.”

“He needs to escape. She’ll hurt him more the longer he’s with her.”

The more you read their words, the more they were becoming true in your head.

“Charles does not deserve someone like her. I said what I said.”

You glanced at him, his back facing you as he cooked dinner. He was humming a song, a soft song he would always play on his piano for you. It was impossible to stop the tears that started falling.

You were scared.

Scared that what they said was true and that the longer you were in his life, the more you’d damage him.

You were scared for him.

And scared of you.

“Pls even her best friend, Charlotte, is better than her.”

“If I was him, I’d leave right this instant.”

You didn’t want to damage him. You didn’t want to taint someone so pure.

What you wanted to do was protect him. Protect him from harm, protect him from any damages, protect him from getting hurt…

“We need to protect Charles from her.”

But what if they were right?

They were his fans for a reason. They care for him.

Surely, they know what’s best for him…

“When is girlie going to realize that she’s the problem.”

They were right.

You were the problem.

You were the harm, the person who does the damage, the person who would hurt him.

“I hope they break up. It’s what’s best for Charles.”

Charles took the phone in your hand and threw it on the wall. You stared at him in shock. How long was he behind you? You didn’t even hear his footsteps. Did he see the comments you were reading?

“What the hell are you reading, mon amour?” he asked angrily. But when he noticed you crying, he softened his voice. “I was calling your name, asking you to taste the sauce. You weren’t answering so I decided to come here.”

You stared at your broken phone on the floor. He followed your line of sight.

“I can replace it. Don’t worry about it.”

He put his hand on your cheek, moving your face so you were facing him.

“I-I don’t know what the other comments said, I only read about the last few ones,” he wiped your tears. “And I can assure you, I won’t break up with you. I’ll never do that.”

“Maybe you should,” you replied.

“Mon amour, I understand what you’re feeling right now. You’re not used to online hate and strangers on the internet criticizing you, but I am. And the best thing we can do is ignore them. They have no idea what happens behind closed doors and cameras. They know nothing.”

“Charles, they’re your fans. They were there for you even before I came into your life.”

“That doesn’t mean they know everything about me.”

“I don’t know, Charles…” you turned your face away from him, his hands dropping from your face in the process. You slightly distanced yourself from him.

Their words were poison and they went straight to your head. It was painful to admit, but you started questioning the strength of your relationship. How could you build a future amidst the chaos and resentment? You tried not to pay them attention, to convince yourself that love could conquer all, but the weight of the hate grew heavier with each passing day.

“Do I really mean that little to you?” Charles asked suddenly.

You blew things out of proportion, and now he was blue.

You looked back at him but you kept your distance.

“Why would you think that?”

“Because you’re just throwing everything away like the last two years didn’t exist.”

“Charles, no–that’s not—” you walked closer to him but he was the one who distanced himself this time.

“I’ve fought for this relationship, for you—time and time again. And you can’t do the same?”

You were speechless.

You put him in jail for something he didn't do.

“I told you countless times, I can protect you—I will protect you. Don’t you trust me enough?” he continued.

You pinned his hands behind his back.

“Charles, it’s not about you protecting me… because I know you will. It’s about—”

“It’s about what?” he stared at you, his eyes glistening with tears he was trying hard to keep from falling.

Thought you had reason to attack, but no.

You looked at him with tears, lips quivering as you prepared to say the words.

“It’s about what, Y/N?” Charles held your face with his hands, wiping the tears from your cheeks. “It’s about what?” his voice was shaking. “Tell me, chérie… please?”

Fighting with a true love was like boxing with no gloves.

“It’s about me protecting you, Charles,” you whimpered. “Maybe the things that they’re saying are true—maybe you need to run away from me before I leave you. Maybe I-I’m not truly what you need…”

You covered his hands with yours. “Charles… maybe we should just—”

Chemistry 'til it blew up, 'til there's no you and him anymore.

“No,” he answered.

“Charles, I think—”

“I know what you’re thinking. And no—that’s my final answer.”

He let go of you and started to pace the room.

“Charles—”

“We’ve made it this far… and you’re just going to give up now?” he stared at you, looking at your eyes for some sort of indication that everything was just a joke. All of his defenses broke and he didn’t even care if his tears started to fall.

Why'd you have to break what you loved so much?

“I hurt everyone I get close to. Charles, I’m just trying to protect you. Please–”

“I don’t need your fucking protection! You! I need you!” he screamed in frustration.

And then he did something you didn’t expect.

He kneeled in front of you, holding your hands as he begged you not to leave him.

“Mon amour, just fight for us. Please, that’s only what I ask.”

“Oh, Charles… I really don’t deserve you.”

“Please, just stay with me… I’ll do anything you want. Just don’t leave me, mon amour, just s-stay, please.”

“Charles, p-please don’t cry, I-I can’t see you cry—stand up, please,” you cried.

It was on his face, the clear image of pain, and you were the one to blame. At that moment, you thought of every possible way this argument would end. You were already hurting him right now, what more would you do if you stayed? How much pain would you cause?

Charles stood up and cupped your cheeks with his hands. “Do you think it doesn’t hurt me?” he paused, turning your face so that your eyes were looking at his. “When they say all that shit about you? When they drag your name through the mud? When they feast over you on the internet? Do you think it doesn’t hurt me?”

You didn’t know what to say.

“It hurts me too,” he whispered, pressing his forehead against yours as he closed his eyes. “But I can’t control what they say. If I could, I would’ve done it way too long ago.”

“Charles…”

“This is the way the world works, Y/N. You have to realize that people say what they want to say and people do what they want to do. Everything is done with a choice.”

He finally opened his eyes, pulling away from you and wiping his tears. He stayed standing in front of you, but he now maintained a distance.

“Y/N…”

You couldn’t deny the pang of pain you felt when he called you by your name instead of the pet names he loved to call you.

“I can’t fight for a relationship when the other one’s already giving up,” he said.

“You deserve someone way better than me,” you cried. “Look what I’m doing, I’m already hurting you right now. I would just hurt you even more in the future.”

Instead of him getting sad, his face showed a different emotion. It was blank, it was as if the emotions that blew up moments ago exhausted him.

“If you decide to stay or not, just know that I love you.”

ONE WEEK LATER.

You fucking hated yourself.

What the fuck did you just do?

Why didn’t you stay that night and why did you have to break what you loved so much?

You tried living without his presence for a week and it was horrible. You convinced yourself that you would eventually get used to a life without the warmth of his body next to yours or the sweet messages he would send every day. It was getting hard to reassure yourself that this was the way it was meant to be—you, away from him—when the only name your heart was calling was his.

You were miserable. You were breathing but you felt like you were already dead because your life had been taken away from you.

And you only have yourself to blame.

The truth was, you were weak. Each time you experience a block in the road, you immediately turn away. And you were ashamed of yourself for that. You were scared of losing Charles so you pushed him away. You left him before he could realize he needed to leave you.

You were regretting every single thing you did.

You regretted how you lived like an island, how you punished him with silence, how you went off like sirens, but above all, you regretted how you walked away.

Now you found yourself in front of his home, shaking as you slowly raised your hand to knock on the door. You hoped he was inside.

You knocked on the door hoping it was not too late. The door opened slowly after a few minutes, and after a week of no interaction, you finally saw him.

He was in the same state as you, maybe even worse. It was evident on his face that he spent most of his time crying. His eyes which were full of life before became lifeless, and he gave you the most lethargic look.

You wanted to hurt yourself because you knew you did that to him.

“Can I come inside, please?” you pleaded.

He stepped aside from the door and walked straight to the couch, not even sparing you a single glance. You followed him, sitting beside him as silence consumed the two of you.

“Hey,” you couldn’t help but cry as you looked at him. He had his head in his hands and you knew he was stopping himself from crying. “I’m sorry,” you said. “You don’t have to talk, I just want you to listen.”

When he didn’t move, you took that as a sign to continue. Honestly, you didn’t know where to start but you just let your heart guide you on what words you needed him to hear.

“It’s all me, Charles. I’m sorry,” you stated. “It’s all me, in my head—I burned us down. I know I said a lot of stupid things but it’s not what I meant. And I—” you wiped a tear from your cheek. “I’m sorry that I hurt you.”

He stayed still, hands still covering his face. You wanted him to look at you, but you knew you were in no position to tell him what to do when you were the reason he was this way. And so, you just continued to speak, hoping that deep inside his heart, he would find it in himself to forgive you.

“At that moment, I felt like the walls were closing in on me and the world was spinning out of control. I let my emotions take over and lashed out in ways that were unreasonable and unfair. I see now that I projected my own fears onto you, and I regret it. I regret everything I said that day. I let my assumptions take control and I assumed the worst without giving you the benefit of the doubt. I realize now that I sabotaged something beautiful, something we had worked so hard to build together.

“I didn’t want to do this to you. I want you to know that I take full responsibility for my overreaction. I'm aware of the impact it had on you, and I understand that you are hurt and feeling distant. But please, Charles, give me a chance to make it right. Give me a chance to show you that I’m capable of growth and that I’m learning from my mistakes.

“I can't promise that I won't make mistakes in the future, but I can assure you that I will do everything in my power to communicate openly and honestly and I will seek to understand your perspective before jumping to conclusions.

“I don’t want to lose you, Charles. I know trust takes time to rebuild, and I’m willing to put in the effort. You’re right, you’re always right— our love is worth fighting for. Please forgive me for being too weak, for walking away instead of staying. I misplaced my hurt and anger and I hurt you. I love you, Charles, please, at least look at me?” you pleaded.

And he did. He finally looked up. His eyes were red from crying as he held your hands in his. “That’s all I ever wanted to hear from you. For you to say that you’re willing to fight for us. I needed you to realize that for us to work, we have to meet each other halfway.”

“I know, and again, I’m sorry,” you apologized.

“Thank you,” he cried, cupping your cheek with his hand.

“For what?” you asked him.

“For coming back.”

You smiled at each other, leaning in for a kiss when you both got distracted by the light that suddenly shined through his large window.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting a golden hue across the sky, you both stood side by side at the window. The afterglow of the sun painted the room in warm tones, filling the space with a sense of something you haven’t felt for a long time… peace.

You leaned your head against his shoulder, your hand intertwined with his. You watched in awe as the last rays of sunlight danced across the clouds, creating breathtaking shades of colors. For a moment, you swore the sky was pink.

"It's like nature's painting," you whispered, voice filled with wonder.

Charles nodded in agreement, his gaze fixed on the ever-changing canvas before the two of you. "Yeah, it's beautiful," he replied softly.

The two of you simply stood there, lost in the beauty of the moment. Time seemed to stand still as you basked in the quiet serenity of the evening. As the sky darkened and the stars began to twinkle overhead, you both reluctantly tore your gazes away from the window. But the memory of the afterglow of the sun lingered in your hearts, a reminder of the beauty that surrounded you each day.

For the longest time, you let hate consume you. It was like this dark cloud hanging over your head. You were so focused on what they all had to say that you forgot to appreciate what was right in front of you.

But then, something shifted. Maybe it was a moment of clarity or a whisper of wisdom from somewhere deep within. Or maybe it was him, Charles, that made you realize that conforming to hate wasn't getting you anywhere. It wasn’t making you happy, it wasn't bringing you peace. All it was doing was tearing you apart, piece by piece.

And in that moment of realization, everything changed. You finally made a choice—a choice to let go of the hate and embrace love instead. You knew it wasn't going to be easy, and it wasn’t something that happens overnight, but you were determined to commit.

You were beginning to see the beauty in the world around you. The fact that it could be the laughter of real friends, the warmth of the sun on your skin, or the gentle touch of a loved one's hand—you realized that true love was everywhere, if only you were willing to open your eyes and see it.

So now, you were choosing love by choosing him. You chose to appreciate the little moments of joy, the simple pleasures of life. You chose to let go of anger and resentment, and instead, filled your heart with kindness and compassion.

You would soon forgive your family.

Because in the end, love is all that really mattered. It was what connected us, what bound us together as human beings. And when we embrace it, when we let it guide us, we would find out that life is so much sweeter, and so much more meaningful.

So here's to love—in all its forms, in all its beauty.

And here’s to Charles, your lover.

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