#Maybe it gets resolved in some way but that's for another post

[somegrumpynerd]

Random hcs that have been on my mind for the past couple days: now in doodle format!

Text for each drawing written out under the cut in case it's not clear or anyone wants to translate it!

(1) <- Somehow soft?? <-Sometimes makes a comforting hum/rumble <-Holding for support

(2) <-Walks so quietly everywhere he goes <-Is about to meet god

(3) <-Can't see well in the dark (no eyelights) <-Can't help himself

(4) <-Thinks Color will turn Killer against him and convince him to run away

(5) <-Thinks Nightmare is using them all for the negativity and has brainwashed Killer into liking it

(6) <-Thinks if he runs and jumps at Cross as fast as he can Cross will lift him and it'll look so cool

[solxamber]

You Try to Sleep on the Couch after an Argument with: Cater, Floyd, Silver, Rollo

Other parts: Housewardens ; Vice-Housewardens ; First-Years

Cater Diamond

The argument had been unexpected. Cater was easygoing, always quick with a joke or a teasing remark to smooth things over, but tonight had been different. The tension had built and built until, for once, neither of you had been willing to back down.

So, with a huff, you grabbed a blanket and marched to the couch, making a big show of snuggling in and getting comfortable. It wasn’t comfortable—not even a little—but your pride refused to let you move.

The room was quiet. Too quiet.

Then—ping.

You ignored it.

Ping. Ping. Ping.

With a groan, you reached for your phone, only to find your Magicam notifications lighting up your screen. You blinked. Cater had tagged you in a post. And then another. And another.

The first picture was of your shared bed, completely empty. The caption? lonely boy hours :’(

The second? Cater lying dramatically on his side, clutching a pillow like a heartbroken lover in a tragic romance. send thoughts & prayers, my partner has abandoned me

The third was even worse. A close-up of his face, his lower lip jutted in a ridiculous pout, captioned simply: is this what heartbreak feels like???

You stared at your phone, torn between laughing and crying because what the hell, Cater???

You tried to ignore it, but then another notification popped up. The newest post? A dramatic black-and-white shot of his hand reaching for the empty side of the bed. missing you rn. come home.

You buried your face in the pillow, groaning. He was so annoying.

And yet—your feet were already moving.

When you pushed open the bedroom door, Cater was sitting up, phone in hand, eyes flicking up to meet yours the second you walked in. His pout deepened, exaggerated and just barely pathetic enough to make your resolve crumble.

“You’re insufferable,” you muttered.

“But you love me,” he singsonged, setting his phone aside and opening his arms wide, waiting.

You tried to fight it, but the corners of your lips twitched despite yourself. That was all the encouragement he needed. With a soft, satisfied hah, Cater wrapped his arms around you the second you got close, pulling you into a tight hug.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, his voice quieter now, warm against your skin.

You sighed, resting against him. “I’m sorry too.”

He squeezed you a little tighter before pulling back just enough to reach for his phone.

You rolled your eyes. “Cater.”

He grinned, not even pretending to feel guilty.

A second later, your phone buzzed. When you glanced at the screen, there it was—a final post. A simple picture of your hands together, warm and steady beneath the sheets.

reunited <3

Floyd Leech

The argument had been bad. Not the usual push-and-pull of Floyd’s unpredictable moods, not the teasing jabs that sometimes went too far—this had been real, raw, and biting in a way that made your chest ache.

You knew better than to expect an apology right away. Floyd wasn’t wired for that. So, with your pride stinging and your patience worn thin, you grabbed a blanket, made your way to the couch, and flopped down with your back stubbornly turned toward the bedroom.

Which, in hindsight, was a mistake.

Because if you’d been facing the bedroom, maybe—maybe—you would have had some warning before the Floyd-shaped projectile came flying toward you at full speed.

A thud, a weight collapsing onto you, and suddenly your whole world was Floyd—arms, legs, and far too much Floyd as he sprawled across your body like a particularly annoying weighted blanket.

You let out a strangled noise. “Floyd—”

He didn’t move. Didn’t even pretend to move. Just settled more comfortably on top of you like this was the most natural thing in the world.

With a grunt, you attempted to shove him off, but he was all lean muscle and deadweight. He wouldn’t budge. Worse, he refused to look at you, his face half-buried against your shoulder, arms loosely draped around you like a net that would tighten if you tried to escape.

“…Seriously?” you huffed, exasperated.

A long silence. Then, barely above a mumble—

“Sorry.”

You blinked. “What?”

Floyd finally shifted, but only to grumble into your neck, voice muffled against your skin. “You’re my shrimpy. I thought you’d get it.” A pause, then a quiet, almost begrudging, “…But I guess I was a little mean.”

You sighed, the last remnants of your anger melting into something softer. Floyd wasn’t the type to say sorry outright. For him, this was already pushing it.

With another sigh, you gave up and wrapped your arms around him.

Immediately, Floyd perked up, and before you could prepare yourself, he bit you—just a little nip against your shoulder, affectionate in that ridiculous way of his. When you startled, he looked up at you, grinning now, sharp teeth on full display.

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t fight the small smile tugging at your lips. “You’re the worst.”

“And you love me~”

Unfortunately, he was right.

With a tired chuckle, you pressed a kiss to his forehead, feeling the way his grin softened just a little. He snuggled closer, his grip tightening around you, and just like that, the argument was behind you.

Floyd let out a pleased hum, already half-asleep. “M’keeping you here forever.”

You weren’t even going to try fighting him on that.

Silver Vanrouge

You still weren’t entirely sure how you had managed to get into an argument with Silver of all people. Silver, who was usually so calm, so patient, so utterly unbothered by most things. And yet, somehow, words had been exchanged, tempers had flared, and now you were lying on the couch, staring at the ceiling, stubbornly refusing to acknowledge the pang of guilt gnawing at you.

The night was quiet, save for the occasional rustling of leaves outside your window. You closed your eyes, willing yourself to sleep—

Tap. Tap. Tap.

You frowned, cracking an eye open.

The sound came again, a soft pecking against the glass. Dragging yourself up with a sigh, you turned toward the window—only to be met with the sight of the cutest little bird, perched delicately on the sill.

You blinked. The bird tilted its head.

It had a tiny note tied to its leg.

Cautiously, you opened the window and untied the parchment, unfolding it with careful fingers.

"Sorry."

Your lips parted. You stared at the single-word apology, written in Silver’s neat, earnest handwriting.

Before you could fully process the sheer adorableness of the gesture, a rustling noise caught your attention. You turned your head just in time to see a squirrel scurrying up onto the windowsill, a small piece of paper clutched in its tiny paws.

It held it out to you.

You took it.

"Sorry."

You pressed a hand over your mouth, overwhelmed by a mix of affection and disbelief.

Was he seriously sending an entire woodland brigade to apologize for him?

And, perhaps more importantly—if you didn’t go talk to him right now, would he escalate this? Would an entire procession of deer, rabbits, and possibly a very regretful-looking bear show up next?

You sighed, rubbing your eyes. There was no way you were sleeping now.

Before you left, you rummaged through your cabinets and grabbed a handful of nuts, scattering them gently on the windowsill. “I don’t accept free labor,” you muttered, watching as the squirrel eagerly took a hazelnut before scampering off. The bird gave a happy chirp before fluttering away.

With that taken care of, you made your way to the bedroom.

The moment you stepped inside, he was already sitting up, eyes immediately locking onto yours. He looked a little sheepish, his usual composed demeanor softened with quiet guilt.

“I’m sorry,” he said, without hesitation. “I shouldn’t have let it turn into an argument.”

You exhaled, the last remnants of your irritation slipping away entirely. He was so sweet, so sincere, and you couldn’t even be mad anymore.

Stepping forward, you leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek. “I’m sorry too,” you murmured. “Now, let's go to bed."

Silver didn’t argue. He simply nodded, slipping under the blankets, his expression peaceful now.

As you settled beside him, he hesitated for only a moment before murmuring, “Did the bird get to you first or the squirrel?”

You let out a quiet laugh. “Bird.”

He nodded, thoughtful. “I was going to send a rabbit next.”

You buried your face into his shoulder, shaking with silent laughter. “Go to sleep, Silver.”

And finally, you both did.

Rollo Flamme

The argument had left you drained, annoyance simmering just beneath your skin as you curled up on the couch, pulling the blanket over yourself with a sharp tug. You didn’t want to be this upset—Rollo could be infuriating, stubborn in ways that tested your patience, but you knew he didn’t argue without reason. Still, the weight of his words, the heat of the exchange, had made retreating seem like the best option.

At some point, exhaustion overtook frustration, and you drifted into uneasy sleep.

But then—dry throat, groggy mind—you stirred awake, an undeniable thirst pulling you from your rest. With a sigh, you pushed the blanket aside and padded toward the kitchen, the dim light of the apartment casting long shadows against the walls.

That’s when you noticed it—the faint glow beneath the bedroom door.

You hesitated, frowning. He was still awake?

Curiosity, or maybe guilt, urged you forward. Carefully, you peeked inside.

Rollo was pacing. Back and forth, hands buried in his hair, tension lining his shoulders. He looked wrecked—a man on the verge of either an epiphany or a breakdown.

Your heart squeezed.

You hadn't expected this. Hadn’t expected him to be just as shaken, just as restless.

Stepping inside, you barely made a sound, but he noticed instantly. His head snapped up, eyes widening.

For a second, he didn’t move. Then he took a step toward you, hands twitching at his sides, reaching out just barely before curling into hesitant fists. He stopped himself, as if afraid you’d pull away, as if unsure whether he had the right.

Your breath hitched. The sight of him—always so composed, now uncertain—made the last of your irritation fade.

Wordlessly, you closed the distance and took his hand.

The moment your fingers intertwined, you felt the tension in him unravel. His shoulders slumped, his grip tightening around yours, a quiet exhale escaping his lips. He held on like he needed the touch to ground him.

“I took it too far,” he murmured, voice raw with sincerity. “I shouldn’t have—”

“I know,” you interrupted softly. “And…I shouldn’t have either.”

His gaze met yours, searching, still unsure. You squeezed his hand, and that was all it took.

Rollo relaxed, expression melting into something exhausted, something relieved. He nodded, as if accepting an unspoken truce.

Neither of you needed to say anything else.

When you led him to bed, he followed without question. And when you pulled him into your arms, his body molded against yours with an ease that made it clear just how much he had needed this.

Within minutes, the tension that had kept him awake finally loosened its grip. His breathing evened out, his fingers curled into the fabric of your shirt, and for the first time since the argument, Rollo fell asleep— warm and finally at peace.

Masterlist

[corkinavoid]

DPxDC Recount Your Kids, Batman

[A loose continuation to this post]

Talia doesn't visit the Wayne manor. At least not regularly nor officially. All the batkids and Batman know she comes sometimes, just to check up on Damian and maybe bother Bruce from time to time, but this is the first time she has ever shown up to a dinner.

And, as they all take their seats, she gives Damian a long curios glance. Then, she looks to Bruce.

"Is that everyone?" She asks, easy and lighthearted. One might think she is simply not acquainted with the number of Wayne children or that she is teasing Bruce on the sheer amount of them. But Damian is looking down to his plate, and Tim knows for sure Talia keeps up with Wayne's head count, and Dick is fairly certain Talia would never tease Bruce, at least not so subtly.

It could have been some sort of a hint at Jason. If he was not here, that is. But he is, for once, so this is really all the family at one table.

"Yes?" Dick tries, looking around the table just to make sure. Steph and Babs are not here today, but that's definitely not what Talia could have meant. Bruce also looks just a little confused, which is a nice change of pace since he looked guarded and on edge from the very moment Talia showed up.

The woman hums, her eyes studying Damian. The youngest bat keeps his gaze down on his empty plate. No one really understands what's going on, but they all feel like there's something important and heavy hanging in the air.

Then, Talia stands up and turns to Alfred, "We will be dining later. It has come to my attention that kids are a lot more secretive than I thought," she explains cryptically and smiles at Bruce, "Beloved, will you come with me to the training grounds? I have something to show you."

Bruce doesn't move for a long moment, and Talia's smile becomes almost gentle, "It's about your son."

At least that makes the man move.

When they get down to the Cave - since Talia insisted this was not a matter that could be resolved in the manor's training room - it's not only her, Bruce, and the little bat there, of course. The whole family was way too intrigued, and some were even alarmed.

The most alarming part, though, was the fact that Damian had been uncharacteristically quiet on their way down. Yet, when Dick looked to Cass, she just shook her head slightly. The boy was not worried. To Cass, he looked almost resigned, if a bit displeased.

"Your sword, Damian," Talia commands, and the boy presses his lips into a thin line.

"This is not necessary, Mother."

"It is," the woman looks amused, but there's an underlying layer of concern to her tone.

"...Yes, Mother," Damian nods his head on what feels like surrender and takes his katana. Not the training one, the real blade. Bruce makes a soft, alarmed grunt, but Talia waves him off.

"Not to worry, Beloved. I will not harm our brethren."

She doesn't take a stance, nor does she pick out a weapon, simply lunges for Damian as soon as they are both on the mats. Two daggers seem to appear in her hands out of nothing, and, contrary to her words, her aim is towards Damian's neck. The boy blocks, jumps away, and blocks another attack.

Tim steps closer, "You can't just-"

"Step away, Drake," It's the first time Damian has spoken to them since they've sat down for dinner. His voice is tense, but not derisive. If anything, it sounds a bit tired.

Talia lunges for him again, faster, meaner. Metal clings against metal.

"You understand this can not keep going, my child," she tells the boy, startlingly gentle on the contrary to her definitely dangerous strikes.

Damian doesn't answer.

The rest of Batfam are forced to simply watch the encounter: Damian is mostly on defense as Talia goes for him, harder and harder with every hit. Until, without any warning, the woman strikes for Damian's arm, making him drop his katana, and-

A few things happen at once.

Talia lunges for Damian's throat. Bruce jumps onto the mats so fast that he almost trips. Tim yelps.

But Talia's blade doesn't strike.

A figure of another child, eerily similar to Damian and wearing the League of Assassins uniform, is standing in front of the littlest bat, two crystal clear blades in his hands, blocking the dagger.

Bruce halts midstep. The rest of the family holds their breath.

But Talia simply smiles and drops her daggers, backing away and looking at the boy between her and Damian with a fond gaze.

"Danyal," she greets, and the boy huffs, lowering his weapons. He doesn't drop them - they simply dissipate in the air, turning into tiny snowflakes.

"Mother," he greets back begrudgingly, and his voice is the exact replica of Damian's. A clone? No, because Damian reacts to him nothing like he had to the clones, simply clicking his tongue and rolling his eyes.

"You could have simply asked, Mother," he comments, taking a step forward and stading near the other boy. Danyal. When standing side by side, they look nearly identical - same facial features, same posture, same hair, even if Damian's is a little more tame.

But Danyal's eyes are just a few hues off. Still green but lighter than Damian's.

"I assumed if you have spent years living here and never bothered to mention your brother, I would need a little more than asking, my love," Talia doesn't laugh, but it sounds like she wants to. Both boys roll their eyes, perfectly in sync.

Hold the fuck up, brother?

"Huh. I thought you died," Jason mentions offhandedly, and the whole family whips their heads to him. Yet, before any of them speak, it's Danyal who answers.

"I mean, I did? Kinda?" He waves his hand in the air and shrugs, and he acts so unlike Damian while also simultaneously having his face, that it makes Tim shiver a little.

"You-" Bruce starts, seeming to finally find his voice, but the boy cuts him off.

"I'm not actually yours," he snorts at Bruce's facial expression, "Yeah, I know I look like I am. Blame the ghost sewers, Chronos, and my stupid ass for making decisions while not being fully awake."

There is so much to unpack in that sentence that no one has the barest of ideas on where to start.

Damian curves his lips down in a sneer.

"The longer you stay there staring, the colder the dinner will be when we return," he reminds them, and Danyal suddenly perks up.

"Dinner? Can I join? It's been ages since I've had anything home cooked," he smiles, like there's some kind of an inside joke in that sentence. Damian rolls his eyes.

"The food doesn't come alive in this household, Danyal."

"Bummer," the boy looks a bit disappointed, but not too much. "And it's Danny, for the thousandth time."

Talia picks up her daggers, hiding them somewhere in her clothes in an unnoticeable motion. Then, she gives Bruce a small, if a bit sly, smile.

"You can not call it 'family dinner' if not all your family is there."

[rafesangelita]

so anyway I was thinking about something about bitchy!Kook!reader (since she's my ultimate favorite)

maybe rafe has gifted her a promise ring at some point in their relationship, and despite all their highs and lows, even in their worst nights, she has NEVER taken it off

and maybe they are in a heated argument and they're mad at each other (but not broken up, just mad) and they are attending a party and he notices that she isn't wearing it, so he loses his absolute shit and drags her somewhere, making a scene and telling her how much he cares about her (in his own way, ofc) and how hurt he is until she simply smirks and tells him that she's taken it off because she's getting it cleaned up

-🦉

warnings: arguing, slight angst, light fluff

a/n: join my private community for girly talks! ♡ you can comment under this post, send me a message, or leave something in my ask box for an invitation!

“can you fix your face? ‘at least try to act like you want to be here with me right now?” rafe whispered in your ear, a slight pinch of irritation lacing his tone. you swallowed thickly, flashing him a glare as he wrapped his arm around your shoulders so he wouldn’t draw any unnecessary attention towards you two. “i told you i wanted to leave a long time ago and instead of wrapping things up, you disappeared for another drink. i’ve been sitting here on this couch with you for over two hours now, listening to your idiot friends talk about their latest escapades. how about you fix your fucking face?”

rafe looked around to make sure no one caught any of the words that just left your mouth, his jaw clenching as he gripped you by the back of your neck. “is that how you’re gonna act right now? that’s what we’re doing?” at this, you trailed a hand down rafe’s stomach, your nails digging into his flesh hard enough to make him hiss and let go of you. “grab me like that again and i’ll leave your ass in front of everybody.” rafe knew that wasn’t an empty threat, considering you’ve already done it before and topper still hasn’t let him live the embarrassment down.

rafe gave you a curt nod, his eyes raking down your form before they rested on your bare fingers. “what the fuck?” he spoke out loud, the group conversation coming to a halt. without another word, rafe got up, dragging you along with him as he guided you two outside to his truck. “oh, now you wanna go home?” you scoffed, managing to pull away from him before he hoisted you into the passenger’s seat, his body wedged between the door as he took ahold of your hands. “i know we’ve been fighting a lot recently, and i’m sure we get on each other’s nerves all the time, but taking off your ring? are you fucking serious?”

your eyebrows knitted in confusion, your mouth barely opening before rafe started going on a rampage. “i bought you that ring to uphold a promise to you, y/n, and i’ve kept it. through all of our bullshit, through all of our problems, through damn near everything; you’ve never taken that ring off. even when we were close to leaving each other once and for all, you were still wearing it. that ring saved us, and now? you’re just giving up like that?” rafe sounded pained, his voice dropping slightly as his chest rose and fell in uneven breaths. “rafe—” you tried to interject again, but still he continued.

“i love you, and i know i fucking suck at showing it, but you know i do. you’re the only person who puts up with my shit and still loves me as i am. you work with me even though i make it really hard, and you don’t throw my mistakes in my face every chance you get. you’re patient with me when i least deserve it.. i could go on and on about everything you do for me.. please just put your ring back on.” you weren’t expecting rafe to pour his heart out to you, your anger from earlier dissipating into nothing as your gaze softened. “i can’t—” rafe groaned, kneeling down onto the step bar of the truck as he held your hands to his chest.

“why?!” you couldn’t help but laugh, your resolve crumbling as rafe looked up at you desperately. “what’s so funny? i’m literally about to have a panic attack right now.” you laughed harder, shaking your head. “rafe, i’m getting my ring cleaned! i’ve been trying to tell you since you dragged me out here but you kept interrupting me.” your boyfriend let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, his shoulders falling in relief. “when did you take it?” you helped him off his knees, rolling your eyes as he pulled you into his embrace. “remember, i told you i was going to the mall with chanel? i dropped it off there and i’m supposed to go back for it tomorrow..”

rafe nodded, his hands running up and down your back. “well, we better get you another ring for when you’re getting the other one cleaned. i can’t have you giving me heart attacks like that.”

[dollgxtz]

Ok a fic where reader and sylus are at a business meeting, she “offers” herself as payment (maybe as a joke or just to rile sylus idk) and he makes sure to remind her who she belongs to? Please???

Kindred Spirits

Word Count: 5.1k

Tags: sylus x fem!reader, possessiveness, ownership, spanking, hitting, slight blood mention, pet names like kitten & sweetie, creampie, rough sex, crying, slight fluff at the end :3

AN: Anon ur a literal genius. This has Sylus written all over it. Im so happy to be back posting another story for you all! Also happy to announce my masterlist is now complete and can be found in my pinned! Ty all! Enjoy and remember, my asks are open for any character, Sylus is just my husband LOL. Remember to read my pinned before requesting please! This is a bit tamer than my other stories but trust I am cooking up some deviant content as soon as I publish this one :33

“Finally…”

You nearly collapse near your front door. A whole week of your life. Gone. To what you ask? Dealing with wanderers on a special aid mission. Sure sure, the job paid well but it had been weeks since your last off day. Every time it seemed like one was around the corner here they go with some emergency call and a spill about how some rich politician needed help or something.

You were starting to get tired of cleaning up other people’s mistakes.

You fumbled with your keys, fingers numb from the biting cold. The wind whipped around you, making you shiver as you tried to fit the right key into the lock. Your breath came out in visible puffs, and you could feel the frustration building with each failed attempt. Finally, with a relieved sigh, you heard the click of the lock turning.

The still warm air is such a welcoming contrast to the wind and biting cold outside. You quickly shut your door and melt to the floor, your feet aching with relief as the pressure you had been putting on them subsided. Peace at last. Time for a hot shower an-

Your peace was cut short with the distinct tone of your phone ringing. And not just any ring tone. The one you had set specifically for a certain white haired man that only ever brought trouble. Wondering if you should even pick up, you bring the phone to your face, knowing that you were going to answer regardless.

“Sylus…I’m really tired. Can we talk lat-"

“Long time no see kitten. You should stop by for a bit, hm?”

You roll your eyes, suppressing the urge to scoff out loud. Arrogant prick, you think, irritated by his inability to let you finish a sentence without interrupting. How did he even know you were home now?

You sigh deeply, feeling the tension building, and rub your temples to alleviate the mounting frustration. No, you tell yourself firmly. You wouldn’t put up with this today. Maybe another day, but definitely not today.

"Actually, no. I just returned from a week-long aid mission. Not today," you say firmly, aiming to be clear and resolute in your decision to stay put. Sylus however, seems to sense the cracks in your resolve and only responds with a chuckle.

“I want to see you. I’ll have Luke and Kieran come get you since you’re so tired”.

“Hu-”

“See you soon. They’re en route. Ciao”

The phone clicks, signaling the end of the call. For whatever reason, your ever growing frustration simply dissipates, defeat taking its place. You should be used to this by now. Sylus always gets what he wants. And you always let him. It goes without saying that it’s the same way for you as well. At least, Sylus always gives you what you want if it doesn’t interfere with his need to lay his eyes on you at least once in awhile. He knew that you wouldn’t push this though. You both knew.

Deep down, you wanted to see him too.

You asked Luke and Kieran to wait outside for a bit while you took a brisk shower and freshened up. Those two had always been very patient and understanding. You felt bad “bossing” them around, and yet they always insisted that you could. Though Luke had admitted on one occasion that he never expected to be helping a girl find hair ties or carrying shopping bags while working for Onychinus.

The statement had made you laugh a bit. You finally finish dressing in some plain sweats and rush to the car. Luke and Kieran are waiting outside of a dark colored jeep. Not too flashy as to not draw attention, but it was still clearly very expensive.

“Actually miss, Boss wanted you to wear these” Luke says, holding out an expensive looking dress. Clearly designed by hand and tailored to your measurements. Kieran follows his lead, holding out a box containing a pair of earrings and a lavish looking necklace.

“Huh? What’s this for? A date?”

“Business. That’s all he said” Kieran chimed in. Although you couldn’t see their faces, you knew they had no reason to lie to you about this.

“Ah. Dragging me into more trouble. Got it”.

When the three of you finally arrived to the location, the sun had already set for the day. You darted your eyes back and forth, squinting above at the bright neon sign of the establishment.

“We’re not going to the N109 Zone? This is a nightclub…” you mutter, taken aback by the unfamiliar surroundings. When did this even get here? There were plenty of clubs in Linkon of course, but you never seemed to notice this one. Not that you knew much about the night life to begin with. People were lined up at the entrance, chatting, fixing makeup, or texting.

“Boss wants you here. He’s waiting inside. Enjoy your time miss” Luke said, amusement written all over his tone. He gets out of the passenger seat to open the door and lend you a hand. You rolled your eyes, not wanting to appear shaken up by the situation. Sylus was always full of surprises. This was no different, act confident.

At least, that’s what you tried to tell yourself. After getting almost immediate entrance into the club with just a simple nod from the guard, you enter. As you walk inside the club, Luke and Kieran not far behind you, you can tell this was no ordinary night club. Everyone here was dressed lavishly and sharp, clearly possessing power and ulterior motives. A few eyes lay on you as you walk in, and you feel your hands start to sweat.

Keep cool. This isn’t the first time you’ve been around high ranking individuals. This is probably some test he set up…right? Or some kind of joke to get a laugh?

Clenching your fists, your eyes dart and search for a tall figure with white hair, feeling more nervous by the second that you don’t see him. You’re about to turn around and ask one of the twins, but at last your gaze settles on him, sipping on a glass of Gin Fizz. He’s sitting in a velvety booth by himself, people watching. He’s wearing his black button up with red streaks across it, coat hanging on his shoulders per usual. As if he felt you staring, his eyes shift to meet yours. He sets down his glass, giving you you a small smirk. His eyes narrow, sending a very clear message.

Come here.

As if you were suddenly possessed, your feet seem to start moving on their own. You weren’t sure if you were relieved to see him or if it was just the relief of seeing a familiar face in an unfamiliar place. You take a few deep breaths as you approach, readying your witful replies to any of his attempts to make fun of you. Without making any sound or looking at him, you quietly slide in next to him.

“You look nice. Seems I was right about this look on you” Sylus says, taking another sip of his drink. His eyes wander up and down behind the glass, seemingly devouring you. You squirm under his gaze.

“Hm. Thanks. This gift is the least you can do after dragging me to do whatever you want on a whim once again” you scoff, eyeing the full glass that sits on the table. It’s another glass of Gin Fizz, probably for Sylus. There’s three other very empty glasses on the table.

This man can definitely hold his alcohol.

He chuckles, taking a finger and pushing the glass of Gin closer to you.

“Don’t be like that sweetie. Loosen up a bit, you’ll need it”

“For what exactly? Business?” you mock, picking up the Gin. You didn’t exactly like the taste of this particular alcohol of choice but Sylus was right about one thing. Some liquid courage was definitely needed for whatever shenanigans he was dragging you into tonight.

“Yeah. Figured I could use Linkon’s darling Miss Hunter as backup” Sylus chuckles, watching you nearly choke as you take three big gulps of the drink. You squeeze your eyes in disgust as you finish the rest of the glass, shooting a death glare in his direction as you set it down.

“You’re perfectly capable. Don’t mock me Sylus”. You grit your teeth in irritation, almost ready to rip him to shreds with your words. Clearly your tone has no effect on him though, as all you get in return is a soft smile. Sylus places a hand on your upper leg, slowing sliding his fingers under your dress. You gasp, the coldness of his fingers making you twitch a bit. The warmness of your skin mixed with his cold touch makes the sensation feel like icy fire.

“Or what? You’ll use this on me?” he smirks, tugging on the concealed gun strapped under your dress. “I’m all for it honestly”

You slap his hand away, the woozy feeling from the Gin Fizz starting to kick in. What was in this drink? It was strong. Too strong.

“Pervert. Always touching me, making fun of me. Maybe I will shoot you. Again.” you growl, turning your head away from him. You attempt to scoot away as well, but are met with a strong grip around your waist as you’re pulled into closer proximity with him. Sylus grabs your chin and lifts it towards his face. He leans down a bit, the smell of alcohol and his bourbon vanilla cologne making you feel even more dizzy.

“You can put your claws away now kitten. Don’t make me have to melt your little tantrum away” he coos, gently caressing your face with his thumb.

You stare at him, dumbfounded, desperately searching your sluggish brain for a comeback but finding yourself too flustered to form any words. The look in Sylus’s eyes shifts from a smug expression to a much softer, almost tender gaze, and you wonder what his next move will be. Your face starts to burn as you feel heat rising in your core, your heart pounding in your chest. Panic sets in as you consider the possibilities, your mind racing with the fear of what might come next.

Don’t tell me he’s going to…?!

"You're so...confusing" you mutter.

You’re just about to try and squirm from his grip, when Luke and Kieran tap on the table, catching yalls attention.

“Boss man, Val says he’s ready for ya” Luke says, nonchalantly ignoring the scene that’s displayed in front of him. Sylus releases your face, his face going serious again. He gets up, reaching out a hand to help you out of the booth.

“Time for business, sweetie”

You’re guided by the twins and Sylus past the sweaty bodies on the dance floor to a somewhat hidden room located downstairs. The area the stairs led to was blocked off by a singular rope, clearly only meant for a select crowd.

In the room there’s a long black table, cards and chips all over it. There’s a few prominent figures already seated, along with a few bodyguards standing near the door. Sylus pulls a seat out for you, before taking his own. You study the figure that’s sitting at the head of the table as you sit. He’s short, a bit chubby, dark hair, smoking a cigar. A scar sits angrily on his forehead and you wonder what kinda grudges led to such an injury. He notices you looking at him, and gives you a devilish grin. Some of his teeth are crooked or missing.

All that money and he can't fix his smile?

You shudder. Sylus looks over at you, and back to the man at the head of the table. He’s reading you, clearly sensing your nervousness. He says nothing, simply reaching a hand over to rest on your thigh.

“Was starting to think you were going to keep me waiting Sylus. Seems you didn’t run after all” he laughs, wheezing a bit as he takes another puff of his cigar. You wrinkle your nose a bit as the potent smell hits your senses.

“I couldn’t turn down a game of cards with my dear old friend” Sylus says, irritation coating the last word. “Let’s keep things civil this time, hm Valentino?”

Valentino bursts into laughter, clearly amused. Despite his laughter, you couldn’t ignore the murderous tension in the air. Something tells you this isn’t any regular game of cards. You gulp, trying to force yourself to look at everyone at the table and smile.

“Well hello little lady. Sylus, you didn’t tell me you kept such gorgeous company…” Val says, his eyes snaking all over your body. You feel Sylus squeeze your thigh, clearly irritated. He pulls out a coin from his coat pocket, seemingly trying to channel his frustrations into something else.

“You know I’m not really the type to share, Val. She’s all mine. Down to every single strand of hair”. Sylus ends, catching the coin and shooting a glare in the man’s direction. It was plain, but conveyed a message very well.

You feel your palms start to sweat. Was he being serious right now?? You side eye him, trying to piece out whether or not this was some kind of facade you’re supposed to play into. Valentino clearly takes Sylus’s words as a challenge.

“I’ll give you twenty million for her. Maybe fifty million if you make her give us a little strip show. What do ya say? She looks so soft. Probably makes cute noises too…~” he chuckles, likely enjoying the look of surprise that washes across your face.

Sylus remains quiet, his face unmoving, frozen in a pissed glare. You don’t know if it was the alcohol you drank earlier, or if it was some inkling of an attempt to dissipate the tension, but you clear your throat and begin to speak.

“Well Sylus? You can share can’t you? It’s quite the generous offer Mr. Valentino. I’m quite flattered actually.” you express, putting on your best smug look. Sylus stiffens, a somewhat shocked expression washing over him. Valentino erupts into yet another fit of laughter, seemingly unable to contain himself. Turning to look back at Sylus, you see it in his face briefly. An uncaged look of rage before it quickly dissipates.

Shit. Shouldn’t have said that.

Far too late to stop now though.

“You heard the lady Sylus. Why don’t you try sharing just this once? What I would give to taste that sweet little body of he-”

Sylus slams a revolver on the table, then calmly starts picking up cards from the deck.

"I'd suggest you stop talking and start playing the game, Mr. Valentino," Sylus snarls, his words dripping with venom. The fury in his voice is palpable, and it's clear he's reached the end of his patience.

You give Val a sly look, feigning pity. “Ah, sorry Valentino. Seems this one can’t quite let me go yet”. You don’t know what you were trying to achieve, but it’s certainly not working to dissipate any tension. Val doesn’t respond to you though, all his focus on Sylus now.

“My dear friend. You should know me by now. There’s something I’m much more interested in now than some money. Now I want the girl, or nothing”.

Valentino wears a shit eating grin on his face, soaking in the fact that he thinks he’s gained some control of the situation, unaffected by the gun on the table. Sylus simply sighs, rubbing his fingers against the temple of his forehead.

“I see where this is going then”.

You barely process what’s happening before everything and everyone starts moving. As soon as Sylus begins to stand, Valentinos guards start shooting. Sylus wastes no time flipping the large table, sending the cards and game chips flying everywhere. You yelp as he yanks you towards him using his body and the table to shield the oncoming attack of bullets. You hear Luke and Kieran joining in the frenzy, yelling obscenities as they begin shooting their own hidden weapons.

You swiftly reach for the weapon concealed beneath your dress, your fingers brushing against the cool metal as you draw it out. Turning to face Sylus, you ready yourself for his instructions, your body tense with anticipation. Instead of giving you orders, he locks eyes with you, his gaze piercing through you with an intensity that feels like it's reaching into your very soul. The silence is heavy, charged with unspoken tension as bullets whip past the both of you, and you can feel your heartbeat quicken in response.

“I need you alive for what’s coming sweetie. Pay attention, stay close”

You blink. Twice. Unable to process his words before he yanks you both up, one hand using his evol to send the table crashing into several bodyguards. The four of you fight your way through the onslaught of people coming into the door, before eventually dashing up the stairs. People are running in all directions, seemingly caught up in the chaos of everything. You all manage to make it out the door and into the brisk cold air, the twins quickly hopping into the car to whisk you away.

“Go on, I’ll catch up soon” Sylus states, hurriedly pushing you into the car and slamming the door before you could protest. He signals Kieran to drive off, and that he does.

“He’s…going to level the building. Isn’t he?” you sigh, sighing at the fact that Sylus seemed to conveniently forget that this was in fact not the lawless land of the N109 Zone. No doubt the Hunter’s Association would have to investigate for potential wanderer activity, and that would be a lot of paperwork.

"It's fine. He owned that place anyway. He'll just build another," Luke says, his voice calm and unbothered. Just as the words leave his mouth, a deafening boom erupts behind the car, shaking the ground beneath yall. The explosion's shockwave rattles the windows, and the sky lights up with a fiery glow, cutting off Luke's next sentence mid-breath.

You groan.

The twins did drive you to the N109 this time, swiftly helping you out the car and into Sylus’s private villa. When you entered the front door, a nightgown and lacy underwear were laid neatly out for you in his room, your arrival clearly anticipated.

It wasn’t more than an hour before Sylus waltzed in the front door, eyeing your slouching figure on the couch. You sit up as soon as you see him, still somewhat annoyed.

“What took you so damn long? Also do you have to level every building you come across?” you spat, glaring at him. He says nothing though, walking straight past you and into his room.

“Huh? Sylus?? What the hell…”

Not liking the feeling of being ignored, you hurriedly chased after him. You had never really been uncomfortable barging into his room. You had done it plenty of times at this point, the first time being when he had challenged you to steal the brooch from him. No point in being shy now. He’s fumbling with something in his drawer when you reach up to tap his shoulder.

“Sylus! Don’t ignore me, I know you ca-”

He swiftly turns around, grabbing your wrist before you can touch him. His gaze is unreadable, cold even. You start to sweat, trying to take your arm back. But he only squeezes tighter.

"I was hoping you'd leave me be so I could calm down. But of course you're as petulant as ever" he says.

"Let go! What's wrong with you!?" You attempt to remove his hand from your wrist but he doesn't budge.

“Go to the bed. Place your hands on it” he says, face unchanging.

“Huh??”

“I don’t like to repeat myself”.

You freeze for only a moment before quickly moving to the bed. You meticulously put your hands where instructed, something deep in your core telling you that it’s likely best to listen for now. However, you can’t help to look over your should to quip at Sylus. You’re slightly bent at an angle, trying your best to keep your balance.

“What’s this about? I’m not that upset that you reduced the building to rubble”

Sylus snakes his way behind you, quietly, as if thinking of what to say. He reaches out a hand, grabbing the ends of your nightgown and moving the soft fabric around in his fingers. You feel the heat rise to your face, the skin of your ass feeling a slight gush of cold air.

“You like playing games with me, don’t you? Testing me” he says coldly, fingers trailing up the back of your legs slowly. You shiver, attempting to squirm away. His evol appears around you, its tight grip making you cry out.

Oh. This was about that.

“Huh?? No, I was just playing along. Just friendly banter yknow?” you say, voice wavering. You’ve clearly pissed him off. A part of you knows it’s a slight lie. You didn’t want to admit it out loud but it was kind of amusing to see Sylus get so riled up over something. Over you especially. But you hadn’t exactly done it fully on purpose. It was the alcohol.

But you knew he wasn’t buying it, as observant as he was.

“Sure. You were just pretending to act like a stray kitten trying to find a new owner?” he smirks, his fingers beginning to trace circles over the cloth of your panties. You let out a small whine, his touch just barely grazing your already wet cunt.

“Owner? I don’t belong to you. Or anyone” you scoff, the resolve in your voice wavering with every little circle he completes on your skin. You almost whine in disappointment when he pulls away.

“And yet…” Sylus trails off, leaving you with aching curiosity before you’re met with stinging pain on your ass. You cry out, unable to move with his evol still snaked around you. “You did exactly what I told you to do just now, wear the clothes I leave out for you, and practically melt everytime I even barely touch you”.

“Sylus?! What the hell was that…?!” you exclaim, trying your hardest to process his words and the situation at hand. He doesn’t respond, proceeding to gently caress the spot where he smacked you. The stinging pain gently eases away, and you feel yourself relaxing with his touch once again. He once again trails his fingers down to your clothed pussy, rubbing slow and meticulous circles around it. You start to whine, attempting to push yourself into his fingers for more friction. He pulls his hand away, making a disapproving sigh.

“Acting like you’re in heat per usual” he chuckles, watching as you wiggle around under the grip of his evol. “This is a punishment”.

“For what? Cause I let some sick and ugly looking crime boss think he had a chance with me?”

Sylus wastes no time bringing his hand to your ass again, earning another painful whine out of you. You feel tears forming in your eyes that you can’t wipe away. He’s certainly not holding back his strength, and yet you know this isn’t even a third of the force he could use on you.

“For entertaining him” he says plainly.

Another smack.

“Another for stupidly handing over your life, body and soul for a measly twenty million”

An even harder hit, this one fueled by rage.

“And lastly…”

You nearly choke as he delivers the final blow, your ass definitely bruising by now. Sylus offers no comfort this time, instead leaning down next to your crying face, breath hot against your ear.

“For forgetting that you belong to me, just as much as I belong to you. Kindred spirits remember?”

You have no chance to respond before he’s flipping you on your back, your nightgown flying up to reveal your wet panties.

“I-im sorry, Sy” you choke, tears blurring your vision.

“Show me then, sweetie. Spread your legs. Wide” he instructs, reaching up to brush your tears away. This isn’t done lovingly, more like calculated and cold.

This is far from over.

You silently but shakingly open your legs, your ass still painfully aching from his assault. You’re surprised when he doesn’t rip your underwear in two, choosing to rather peel them off your legs slowly. You notice the hunger in his eyes as he does so, as if savoring the view of your cunt at his fingertips. A small drop of arousal pools down your ass, and Sylus scoops it up with one finger.

You watch as he puts his finger in his mouth, savoring the drop of you with swiftness. His piercing gaze never leaves yours though, and you want to suddenly run away and hide. This is beyond thrilling, but you try your best to remain as still as possible, scared that he’ll think you’re enjoying it too much and punish you accordingly.

You suddenly can’t take the tension anymore, and close your eyes. You hear the sound of Sylus removing his belt from its loops, then the loud clang as it hits the floor. You feel the bed shift as he lowers himself over you, his face stopping just inches over yours, indicated by the sudden feel and warmth of his breath. He grabs your face in his hand and squeezes your jaw. Hard.

“Look at me kitten” he commands, his tone filled with unkempt rage and anger. Your eyes fly open, terrified.

“I’m the only one that will ever taste you. Repeat it” he says. Before you can get a word out, he’s pushing the fat tip of his cock in your entrance. You cry out in agony, nowhere near ready to have been penetrated. But he doesn’t stop filling you.

“Repeat it. Or I’ll hit you again. Do you want that?”

“You’re t-the…ah!” you whine, his cock halfway inside you at this point. Your poor cunt feels like it’s being impaled, splitting pain soaring through your core.

“Try again”

You let out a whimper, trying your best to push through the pain and put thoughts into words.

“You’re the oh-only one that gets to taste me” you choke out, voice wavering and your eyes teary. Sylus gives a hard thrust, pushing the rest of his length inside you. You cry out again, feeling like you’re on the verge of passing out. Sylus seems unmoved by your outbursts though.

“And?”

You stare at him, barely able to see his face through the tears. What? What does he mean and? He didn’t say anything else did he?

“Hu-what?”

You hear him sigh with disapproval, giving you yet another hard thrust. And another. And another. You’re clinging onto his back now, nails digging into his skin as the sound of the bed creaking and your pants fill the room. Blood has probably been drawn on his back, not that he’d even notice. You can hear him grunting in your ear, clearly enjoying the feeling of you tightening around him when you tense from the pain. Although it still hurts, you can feel yourself accumulating to the shape and size of his length, and the pain lessons a bit more with each thrust. He stops once again, tilting your face in his grip.

“What did I say you forgot? Or is this kitten filled with too much cock to think straight now?” he mocks. You can hear the smile on his face despite not being able to see him clearly. Heat creeps up on your cheeks as you wrack your brain for answers.

“I-you…we’re kindred spirits?”

“Before that sweetie”

You blink the tears on your face away, your vision becoming a bit more clear. Although he’s still gazing down at you, his expression is not as angry as before. Seems he’s gotten a bit of his pent up anger out now.

“I belong to you, Sylus” you say, voice small and whiny from crying. That’s definitely what he wanted to hear, as he began to pepper kisses on your neck, on your cheek, and eventually resting on your lips. You greedily return his affection, leaning into this feverish kiss, the both of you only periodically stopping to pant for air between kisses. He stops, resting his forehead with yours, gazing into your eyes once more.

“And I belong to you. What’s mine is yours. All of it”

You don’t get a chance to respond before he’s thrusting again, this time with a continuous and steady pace. You cling onto him, the exchange of flowery words and rigorous thrusting already bringing you on the verge of ecstasy. Sylus already noticed long before you did though, as he brought his hand between the two of you, circling your clit further your stimulation.

“Go ahead, come undone for me” he whispers, voice strained for nearly being at his end too. Your body obeys, unraveling and writhing with pleasure as Sylus continues to pound into you. You ride your orgasm to its end, till the touching of your clit becomes too much and you whine from overstimulation.

“Sylus…!” you moan, and he stops, already at the start of his own climax. You shudder as you feel him spill into you, his seed immediately beginning to pool down your cunt and to your ass. He pulls his heavy cock out of you, a feeling of emptiness taking its place. For a moment nothing is said, just the sound of the both of you catching your breath.

You decide to break the silence.

“Sylus…I’m really sorry” you start, looking up at him. He simply chuckles, placing a kiss on your cheek before getting up to grab a rag from the bathroom.

“You’ve taken your punishment quite well, why are you apologizing again sweetie?” he says from the bathroom, coming back to wipe you clean. You scoff, slightly tensing from the coldness of the cloth.

“Hmph. Fine, I take it back then. I’m holding a grudge anyways for how hard you hit me”

He simply sighs as he finishes wiping you up. “Back with the infamous wit already? Can’t a man catch a break?”

You sit up, feeling emboldened once more.

“Nope. Maybe don’t hit me with the strength of a thousand suns next time and we’ll see”

Sylus tosses the rag in a laundry basket, making his way back to your side. He pulls you into his arms, embracing you in his warmth. You can’t help but smile against his chest.

“Well, good thing I have all night to make it up to you”

You lightly pinch his side, giggling into his embrace. A question crosses your mind.

"Did you mean it Sylus? We belong to each other?"

Sylus took your face in his hand, giving you a slight smile.

"I don't say stuff I don't mean. You know this"

That's the furthest he was willing to explain it. At least for now. Who knows what kind of power trip would ensue if you truly knew how much you had the big bad leader of Onychinus wrapped around your finger.

[sevsgiirl]

— sevika reassuring her anxious partner

synopsis: when you get into an argument with sevika, your anxiety gets the best of you. luckily, she knows how to get rid of your doubts.

note: this is my first time posting my hcs of sevika because I usually post long fics, but after seeing so many tiktoks of people mischaracterizing sevika recently saying she’d be the type to cheat after an argument (she would never) I just had to write this because I am not letting anybody smear my wife’s good name.

𖥔 sevika isn’t necessarily argumentative, but she is very stubborn. she doesn’t like picking fights with you, if she could avoid them as much as possible she would.

𖥔 however, she always feels the need to have the last word, and that riles you up.

𖥔 she never raises her voice at you and make it seem like she’s pissed, but her frustrations seep through.

𖥔 and she knows if the situation further escalates she’ll say something she’ll regret, so she’ll force herself to take a step back, look at you and say “we’re not doing this. I’m not in the right head space right now and clearly you aren’t too.”

𖥔 usually she’d want to fix the issue right away because she doesn’t like prolonging a problem when she knows simple communication could fix it.

𖥔 but when she knows it’ll take the whole day for the problem to be resolved, she’ll create some distance between you two so she can have a clearer mind before bringing up the issue again, and without any bias.

𖥔 however, when she tells you that she needs some time away from you for a bit, your anxiety levels skyrocket. you start scrambling for a way to make her stay and fix the situation but she just sees it as you wanting to argue again, so she shakes her head and goes for the door.

𖥔 “not now. I’m not angry but just give me some time.” she tells you before walking out the door and leaving you in your apartment alone, already feeling bad that the argument went too far.

𖥔 as a way to compose herself she’ll head over to the last drop to have a drink and play some cards, and people at the table would notice her brooding demeanor and ask if there’s trouble in paradise.

𖥔 she won’t answer, she doesn’t like taking advice from people especially when it comes to her relationship. she doesn’t like airing out her business, but people will chime in either way.

𖥔 telling her that as long as the love is still there, there’s nothing that either of you can’t overcome together. again, she stays silent but keeps it in mind.

𖥔 meanwhile, you’re back at home. it’s been a few hours and sevika still hasn’t returned and it’s getting really late.

𖥔 you start assuming the worst case scenarios. pacing back and forth as you wonder if she’s gotten tired of you already, and it doesn’t help when her past at the gardens come to mind.

𖥔 so your mind pivots to that, as bad as it sounds, your chest suddenly feeling heavy as the ugliest scenarios of her confiding in another woman’s arms plague your mind and you immediately feel tears forming in your eyes.

𖥔 you know she would never, but you always feared the worst. you’ve opened up to sevika about your trust issues and she always listened intently. her loyalty and devotion are her most notable traits, and you’d never doubt her. but still, during your darkest moments you can’t help but let those ugly thoughts win.

𖥔 as you imagine her seeking escapism in another woman’s body, you thought maybe if you had just shut up she wouldn’t go out doing god knows what so she wouldn’t be trapped in the same space as you.

𖥔 meanwhile, sevika is trying her best to walk in a straight line as she heads back home from the bar, mentally cursing herself for drinking too much because now, how else is she going to have a conversation about your argument earlier if she could barely form a coherent thought?

𖥔 it’s almost midnight by the time you hear sevika’s spare keys unlocking your door as she stumbles in, groaning as you step inside the living room and watch her walk in.

𖥔 “where were you?” you ask, your voice shaking but sevika didn’t pick up on your anxious state just yet.

𖥔 so she raises a hand to signal for you to give her a moment, but you being paranoid, take it a sign of her being annoyed with you.

𖥔 “I’ve had too much to drink, just give-“

𖥔 she stops dead in her tracks when she hears you sniffling, and it’s like all the liquor in her system got evaporated as she looks up and notices your watery eyes, fidgeting with your fingers and she immediately takes a step forward.

𖥔 “hey, what’s wrong-“

𖥔 “I’m sorry about earlier. I didn’t mean to blow things out of proportion and I understand if you’re fed up with my shit, but sev, j-just…”

𖥔 her eyebrows furrow as you look down at your feet “hey, remember what I said earlier? I’m not mad. I just needed some space to clear my head.”

𖥔 your glossy eyes pierce through her grey ones as you gulp “I-I thought you got tired of me a-and…”

𖥔 she looks at you and encourages you to finish, but as you think about it you can’t help but feel embarrassed “it’s stupid.”

𖥔 “sweetheart, just tell me-“

𖥔 “I thought you went to the gardens.”

𖥔 all thought process quickly stopped working as she stares at you, dumbfounded. feeling her heart twist at the thought of you losing faith in her that you’d assume she’d go and sleep with another woman just because she was angry at you.

𖥔 she wasn’t even angry at you. she could never be angry. she was frustrated with the situation but she’d never have it in her to be mad at you and blame you for anything.

𖥔 she takes a step closer and extends her hand to palm your cheek, calloused but warm.

𖥔 “sweetheart, you know I’d never do that. ever.” she put both of her hands on your face and fixed you with a hard gaze “no matter whatever bullshit we go through, don’t ever think I’d stoop as low as betraying you like that. I wouldn’t even imagine doing that to you.”

𖥔 she swallows the lump in her throat. she wasn’t the type to get emotional but seeing your big doe eyes look at her, all pitiful and devastated, made her heart break. so with a sigh she pulls you against her chest and tightens her arms around you, running her fingers down your hair as she rest her chin on top of your head.

𖥔 “I love you. so fucking much. you could put me in a room with a thousand women and I’d still crawl my way out of there to get to you. nothing else matters. just you. you know that, right?”

𖥔 you sniff, nodding as you let out a shaky breath “I know and I’m sorry. I just got a b-bit paranoid.”

𖥔 she shook her head “it’s okay, it’s not your fault. I’m not going to be upset when I should’ve stayed here with you and worked things out. I’m sorry for making you go through that, baby.”

𖥔 after a few minutes you finally look up at her and gave her a wobbly smile.

𖥔 “it’s okay,” you nuzzled against her touch and sighed “I love you, sev.”

𖥔 she smiles, thumb caressing your cheek “I love you more.”

[anim-ttrpgs]

something I don’t get about the disability metaphor is that for eureka monsters obviously it harms another person to eat them. the help a disabled person needs doesn’t actively harm or kill another person. Maybe it’s a difference in perspectives that cannot be resolved

(What I’m about to write could potentially sound very fucked up at first so I’m going to need to trust everyone to read the whole thing before forming an opinion.)

Also this message and response references these two posts.

Eureka’s stance on disabled people is that they (including myself writing this) are, or at least can often be, burdens.

Disabled people often require more resources to live than they are able to “give back,” which, in our capitalist and artificial-scarcity-based economy, is just about the worst thing a person can do.

Anti-ableism sentiment often focuses on the idea that “disabled people aren’t burdens, that they’re just as good and capable as everyone else,” but if they were, they wouldn’t be “disabled” would they? When you say stuff like that, you’re conceding that a person’s worth is determined by how capable they are at doing work, and then having to bend over backwards to justify thinking that a person without arms is just as valuable as a person with arms. Eureka is asking you to decouple a person’s value from how much net resources they can produce.

Often times also, the resources that real disabled people consume are human resources, and those human resources are very much capable of suffering for it. Nurses are overworked, around-the-clock care is absolutely physically and mentally exhausting, people who have to care for their elderly or otherwise disabled relatives on top of their regular jobs don’t get to have social lives or hobbies, etc.

To this end, we wrote the monsters in Eureka to be unquestionably people who “cause damage” to society by literally eating up human resources, because they have to to live, they have no other choice unless they want to just die. Your friend is gone from your life because he has to spend all his free time caring for his comatose wife after a freak car accident. Your friend is gone from your life because a vampire randomly ate him. Providing a metaphor isn't all the monsters are doing, they just work well through that lens.

And then Eureka forces you to look at these people as people, and make up your mind as to whether they have value and a right to prologue their own existence. We can’t force you to agree that they do, but if you think they don’t, then you’ll have to make that argument looking at an intelligent person with a life rather than a pure hypothetical or statistics on a chart.

There are some monsters in Eureka where, if the economy or societal structures were changed, they would stop being such severe drains on resources and could exist harmlessly within society, and there are some monsters where no imaginable amount of societal change would solve the problems they cause. This is true of disabled people IRL as well. Some of them would require no further assistance with living if certain things about society changed, and others would still require a massive amount of human resources.

And even when it’s not necessarily human resources, the extra resources that disabled people need also cause huge energy expenditure and create huge amounts of plastic waste, which are things that contribute to global warming and pollution, which do have significant harmful effects on everyone’s lives. Despite this, they are still “worth it” to keep around.

As for actively causing harm, that happens too. I randomly scrolled past this post after we got this message and saved it so I could link it here.

This person and their family had to cause a big stink in a restaurant just to get an accommodation that they needed, and to us reading it from their perspective, we’re obviously on their side, but I can assure you that the overworked staff at that restaurant didn’t see it that way. They saw the disabled person as an aggressive Karen whom they would never in a million years want to have to provide customer service to. The disabled person & family had to get aggressive, and ruin the staff’s day, to get what they needed. That’s actively causing harm - harm we all agreed was justified to cause - but harm nonetheless.

Plastic straws aren’t that big of a deal for global pollution, but even if they were, the point is that this person still would have needed a straw. It doesn’t line up one-to-one, because metaphors rarely do, but a vampire asking if they can drink someone’s blood, and being told No, may find themselves in much the same position. (And if you bring up that some people find vampires really sexy, you’re missing the point. “I would give them a straw if they had sex with me.” is not actually a great thing to announce about yourself.)

I can also come up with an example from my own life. I personally am very sensitive to noise and noise pollution. If there’s music playing at a public space, I usually can’t handle it. (Earplugs don’t work for other reasons I won’t get into - plus, if I just deafen myself to all sound, how can I socialize with anyone in this public space?)

If I want to exist in this space, I will have to actively cause harm to everyone there, or else stop existing in that space. I will have to go up to whoever is responsible and ask them to turn off the music, actively taking it away from everyone else who was enjoying it. I have to take action to ruin their good time if I want to exist in that space at all, and they might, very understandably, be pissed off at me for doing that. Because, like I said in this other post, the people that monsters eat do have a right to prevent themselves from being eaten by monsters. We aren't proposing that the solution is everyone has to line up to be mauled to death by monsters or else they're a bad person.

Who has a greater right to enjoy themselves in that space? That’s the kind of question that Eureka poses, and makes you consider both sides as human being rather than denoting one as just an ontologically evil villain to be destroyed.

We actually don't know of perfect solutions to all the problems presented by the existance of monsters in Eureka, we just know that "exterminate all people who are parasites and burdens to society" ain't it.

[totallyxtaurus]

Depollute me, gentle angel pt.2

Summary: Sylus is away on a business trip while you sink deeper into your depressive episode. Pairing: Sylus x gn reader Genre: Angst, some fluff (maybe, hopefully!) Trigger Warnings: depression, mental health struggles, anxiety, self-neglect, and hints of suicide. A/N: I hope this doesn't feel too rushed! I'm still trying to figure out a good pacing of how I should break these up without them being too long or too short. Posted too quickly or not quick enough, so any advice would be very welcomed and appreciated! I hope I did Sylus justice with his responses, I just took what I would want to hear essentially. But, Hozier's Wasteland, Baby! album is so Sylus coded. I got so many ideas for other fics, so stay tuned! And again, please please please take sweet care of yourselves! 💗

Prev

The chime echoes through the apartment, and for a moment there’s nothing. No footsteps, no shuffle of movement inside. Sylus exhales, fingers softly tapping on the doorframe while he waits. He already knows. He had known the moment communication stopped, when his calls went to voicemail, when even the short, tired texts faded into silence. At first, he assumed you were just busy, needing space. But the longer he waited, the clearer it became—if it were up to you, you wouldn’t come back at all. He began doing his own investigation, looking up the traits you portrayed usually compared to these moments of time and he found his answer. So, he started paying attention. Comparing your usual habits to these stretches of absence. Watching for the patterns. Having Mephisto follow you to your therapist’s office had only confirmed what he already suspected.

As advised, he gave you time—three days, exactly. Then the calls began, gentle and steady, each one a quiet pull back to him. Each time, he waited for you to let him in, to say something. But instead, he got excuses. Busy with work. Out with friends. His personal favorite: just sleeping. It’s almost amusing, how you seem to forget he has your location. He always knows where you are. 

Sylus toys with the key in his hand, should he, or shouldn’t he? Would this cross a line? You had given this to him for an emergency, wouldn’t this be considered one? It has been a full week without hearing from you. He never lets it go this long but work held him up so he couldn’t do his usual routine. He continued to ponder the ethics of his decision until he heard it, movement. A sign of life behind the door that still won’t open up for him. That’s it, he decides and inserts the key. 

As the door swings open, a gust of stale air hits him, thick with stillness. His eyes immediately scan the space, searching for the life he just heard. But as he steps inside, it’s clear- the main rooms haven’t been touched in days, especially the kitchen. He moves toward the bedroom when the bathroom door suddenly swings open. 

Both of you freeze, staring at one another in shock. 

For a moment, he just looks at you. Taking in the hollowed eyes, the tangled hair, the way your clothes sit wrong on you—looser in some places, clinging in others— like they were meant to fit differently but now just hang, like an afterthought. His chest tightens—not in disgust, never that— but in a quiet, constrained ache. He swallows it down, he knows letting you see that pain won’t help. Instead, he inhales, careful, and controlled. Just as he opens his mouth to speak, he hears it. 

Get out 

The words reach him, but his mind trips over them, grasping for meaning. 

For a second, all Sylus processes is the sound of your voice—hoarse, unsteady, faint, as if it took all your energy to speak at all. His mind is still trying to catch up, to piece everything together. But that’s when he really sees you. The way you stand there stiffly, eyes shining with unshed tears, flickering to anything that isn't him. As if meeting his gaze would break your resolve. The tension in your jaw, arms crossed tightly over your chest, shoulders hunched forward, as if you’re shielding yourself from him. And then he sees it—fear. Shame. They were there all along, laced with the exhaustion and neglect. Deeply settled, lingering long before he walked in the door. He had been so focused on finding you, making sure you were safe, that he hadn’t realized—you didn’t want to be found. Not like this. 

The tightness in his chest twisting further, a quiet reminder of his mistake. Instead, he exhales in that same rehearsed way.

"Sweetie," he tries again. His voice was low, full of gentleness. Less of a greeting, more of a reassurance. He’s not going anywhere. 

You just shake your head, a silent refusal, as if willing for him to disappear. Your stance is firm, guarded. But Sylus isn't someone who retreats at the first sign of a challenge. Especially not when it's you. 

"I know kitten, I know you don't want me to see you like this. And I know you think that pushing me away will make everything easier for you, for me. But it won't, it hasn't. You don't have to do this alone." 

He sees the tears start to fall, a quiet surrender that he takes as a response. Without hesitation, he continues, his voice softer but unwavering.

Taking a small step forward, slow yet deliberate as he speaks, "Just focus on me for a second, okay? Forget about everything else, it's just us. Can you breathe with me, my love?" As he demonstrates with measured, even breaths. Never forcing, just offering, hoping it will bring your attention back to the present instead of whatever thoughts you're trapped in.

He notices the way your hunched shoulders drop, relaxing slightly, and how your clenched arms finally loosen their grip on your body. He continues to encourage you, taking slow, careful steps closer. 

"You don’t have to do anything big. I’m not here with any expectations. Why don’t we just sit down? We don’t have to talk, I’ll just sit with you, if that’s okay." His voice is soft, low, coaxing. 

Sylus notices the immediate shift in your demeanor as you register his close proximity-the shield coming back as your body goes rigid once again. You close back in on yourself and take a step back. 

You should go. I stink and I'm sure I look horrific; you mutter as your hand comes up to your face to shield it. His heart pangs, but he doesn't let his expression falter. He can't afford to let you see how much it hurts him that you're hiding from him like this. He takes another small step closer, never pushing, just allowing the space between the both of you to remain as it is. He doesn't want to make you feel trapped, but he wants to show you, prove to you, that he's not leaving.

"Kitten," his voice steady and carrying a weight of reassurance deeper than words can convey. "I'm not leaving. If I wanted to, I would. You know I don't do things I don't want to. But I'm here, for however long you want me around. I'm yours." 

You scoff, shaking your head, still refusing to meet his gaze. "Why?" you ask, voice cracking. "Look at me, smell me, Sylus. Jesus Christ I'm disgusting. Why would you want to stay? Are you nuts?" 

"It's been suggested," he cuts in, his tone remaining gentle yet firm. Finally, you look up at him, and the anger in your gaze takes him by surprise but he holds his ground. 

"You just don't get it," you emphasize, your words sharp and full of frustration. "What's there to get?" he wonders but doesn't dare to speak it. "Sweetie," he says tenderly, "if this is you at your worst, then I've suffered far worse than this. You think I haven't smelled, or hit rock bottom before? When I did-or if I do sometime in the future, would you leave me? Would you push me away" 

"Don't be ridiculous," you say, your voice tinged with exasperation. His lips quirk into a soft smirk, his eyes never leaving yours.  

"Can I hold your hand?" he whispers, watching you closely, waiting for your response. You hesitate, then barely nod, just enough for him to catch it. He takes your hand in his, lifting it gently to his lips and pressing a soft kiss on the back of it.  

Out of the corner of his eye, he catches the way your face scrunches up, a grimace of discomfort, but the smile on his lips remains warm and unwavering. 

"How about this," he continues, "I'll make you something small to eat. You don't have to finish it. Just one bite. No pressure."  

You pause, your mind working through his offer. Until, after a moment, your shoulders sag in defeat, and with a sigh, you agree. Your hand still secured in his, he leads you to the kitchen, placing another kiss on the top of your head before turning to the fridge to pull out what little food there is. 

"After we eat, can you shower with me?" The words barely escape your lips, so faint that for a moment he's unsure he heard them. He looks at you, hoping his love for you radiates in his gaze.

"Of course," he replies, his voice steady and sure. "Whatever you want, my dove." He watches as the faintest of smiles flicker across your face, the kind of smile he's willing to wait for, no matter how long it takes. 

Tag list: @withering-dream @madam8 @t4naiis @sunhooniez

[osaemu]

GOJO SATORU: ❛❛ IS IT OVER NOW? (IT ISN'T) ❜❜

.ೃ࿐ streamer!au: all good things come to an end, including your relationship—but don't worry, broken hearts can be mended, but only if you're both willing to try.

contents: fem!reader. you two break up and make up! you guys fight/break up over something that coulda been resolved with better communication. kinda suggestive ending, maybe i'll drop a part two if this does alright. satoru announces your break-up on his stream. longest fic i've posted so far, 4k words (kms).

author's note: the long awaited angst has finally arrived.. big thank you to @screampied for beta-reading!! tagging @yunymphs who read it early and @sutorus + @kentopedia who i both miss very much!!

ever since you first joined satoru on his stream, it’s gotten way more popular than either of you could’ve ever expected. before he brought you onto his live, he was averaging about eight thousand views per stream. now, his average was well over fifteen thousand—and that wasn't even including the publicity he got from other websites. when satoru accidentally left the camera on while you two made out, you two went viral on twitter. and when another user tried to swipe him away, the clip got over a hundred thousand views on youtube.

at first, satoru didn't mind the change his stream was going through—in fact, he welcomed it. but lately, things have been… different.

last week, while satoru was playing in some competition, he won first out of hundreds of equally proficient players. had it been anyone else, their comments would've been filled with congratulations and good job's, but in his case, all satoru got were messages asking where you were. that wasn’t the first time—ever since that very first day, when you showed up on his stream, satoru’s audience has entirely shifted. and honestly, if you were in his position, you'd be a bit annoyed. anyone would be. 

but you had never expected that it would be so big of a deal that you and satoru—the "cutest couple on the internet"—would break up over it.

you walk along the chilly, suburban sidewalk up to your boyfriend’s house. satoru had just sent you a message asking if you could come over, and like always, you answered with an immediate yes. a flock of crows fly by, raven feathers providing a stark contrast between them and the pale gray sky around you. it’s gray and gloomy, but not unpleasant. 

a sweet, romantic song plays in your ears as you knock three times on satoru’s front door. his familiar voice calls out “coming!”, and you can hear his footsteps grow louder and louder until he swings open the door. satoru smiles down at you, cheeks already rosy from the cold winter air. “hey.”

you tilt your head and smile back at him. “that’s all i get? hey?” you huff, walking into his living room behind him as the door closes behind you. “d’you have any hot chocolate? i’m freezing,” you say, licking your lips. satoru turns and pauses, an unreadable expression on his face. “satoru?”

after a moment, your boyfriend snaps out of it. “oh, yeah, sorry,” he says ruefully. satoru rubs his eyes with one hand and uses the other to open the door to his bedroom, and as you follow him in, you’re hit with a blast of warm air. “i’m just kinda tired, but yeah, i have some hot cocoa in here. c’mon.”

“anything i can do for you?” you offer, sitting down on the corner of his bed. you’ve been to his house so many times that it feels like home—maybe even more so than your own place. everything about satoru’s room is comfortable, from his plush chairs to the faux-fur blankets draped over every single piece of his furniture. you could probably fall over at any given point and it wouldn’t actually hurt—you’d just land on something soft and/or fluffy.

but that wasn’t all that made you so in love with his home. it was just the way it felt—words couldn’t describe the way everything was just so right and just so perfect, and you really did hope that you’d never have to see a time where you wouldn’t be able to spend time with your boyfriend here.

it really is a shame that all good things had to come to an end. at least, that’s what you kept telling yourself as satoru finally told you why he called you over. unlike nearly every other time, it wasn’t because he missed you or wanted to cuddle—it was quite the opposite, really.

“i don’t think this is working.”

six words that shattered the life you had come to know and love.

“is this a joke?” you try, an unnerved smile spreading across your lips against your will. he doesn’t reply instantly, which is so out-of-character for him that it makes you stiffen up. “satoru, this isn’t funny—”

“i’m not kidding,” satoru murmurs, looking away. he refuses to meet your eyes, and some part of you is still desperately trying to find reason in the chaos that’s slowly taking over your mind. how could it be that everything was just fine two minutes ago and now it’s anything but that? did something happen? did you say the wrong thing? did you—

“it’s not funny,” you insist, still somehow clinging onto your slowly-dwindling hope. maybe you’re in denial, but still, you were sure that everything was fine—no, that everything is fine. there was no past-tense, right? how could the glass home you’d built with your bare hands just crash down at the throw of a pebble?

satoru finally meets your eyes, and your breath catches in your throat. there’s no amused glimmer in his eyes, no “just kidding” in sight, and even worse, you can’t even see an ounce of the love or adoration you’d come to grow so attached to in just a couple months.

“what happened?” you whisper, miraculously managing to keep yourself together. you’d never forgive yourself if you just started crying over a breakup you weren’t even sure was happening—what little’s left of your pride is holding on. you allow yourself to wrap your arms around your chest, curling into your own embrace. 

satoru doesn’t reply for a long second. right when you’re sure he just won’t reply, he does, and it all comes spilling out in a messy stream of words. “it’s just… i can’t do this anymore. i can’t keep going online and seeing everyone on my stream talking about you. i love you, i really do, but it’s just—” satoru shakes his head frustratedly. “i don’t know how to say it, but you know what i mean, right?”

your eyebrows furrow and you shake your head. “you’re breaking up with me because you’re tired of seeing me?”

“no, fuck,” satoru groans, running a hand through his hair. his previously cool and collected demeanor starts to fall apart as he takes a step back. “i don’t know how to explain it, but— shit, you wouldn’t understand.”

you swallow and start to stand up, still willing to try. “then help me understand, satoru, i—”

“you’ve seen the comments, and you’ve seen all the posts on twitter,” satoru says, tilting his head back and glaring at the ceiling. “it’s not your fault, but i really just can’t stand everyone disregarding me and turning my own stream into a youtube channel starring you.”

his words sting like alcohol in an open wound, and you fight the battle of your life to prevent the thousands of tears hiding behind your eyes from being visible. even so, your voice wobbles ever so slightly as you say “that’s a bullshit reason to break up, satoru—”

your boyfriend—is he even still your boyfriend?—scoffs and shakes his head, stumbling back and falling into his chair. "for you, it isn't. you wouldn’t understand. for me, it's like everyone's just... invalidating the three years i've spent on this shit. and i can't do it anymore, i just can't."

you blink slowly, backing away towards his bedroom door. "what does that mean?"

satoru exhales a bitter laugh and turns away, the back of his chair facing you. you think you can hear him take a soft, shaky breath as the room falls silent. neither of you make a sound before satoru turns back toward you, a blank look on his face.

he looks up at you, azure eyes devoid of the sparkle you've become so familiar with. satoru smiles sadly, but to your dismay, there's no real emotion behind it. it's almost like he's already accepted it when he says, "it means we—" he pauses and looks away. "this is over."

you reach out toward him, desperate to hold on to him—to the invisible string that ties you and satoru together, but he's just out of your grasp. "satoru, it isn't even that big of a deal, why are you—"

satoru turns and fixes you with a stern glare, and just like that, the string that kept you and satoru together for months, maybe years snaps, and you're left with a limp strand of what it once was. taking the hint, you walk out of his room in a daze, hardly noticing the way he says "i'm sorry".

and the worst part? he said he still loved you. but apparently that wasn’t enough.

satoru has every right to be annoyed that his stream is only growing because of you—his stream was the way he made money, and after all, it was never meant to be about you. 

and maybe he was never meant to be for you either.

the walk home is cold and lonely. you slip a hand into your pocket—the pocket of satoru's hoodie, which you should probably return to him—and extract your earphones. it probably isn't a good idea to wear both outside as you walk home, but you do it anyway—this day can't possibly get any worse.

a soft voice murmurs words of sorrow and encouragement in your ear as the music takes you to another world. maybe this—the breakup—was meant to happen. maybe it was a mistake to date a boy with thousands of fans.

as soon as you get home, your phone dings softly. you pick it up and frown when you see it's from toru. you'd have to change that name later.

toru: idk if u blocked me already but i still have a lot of ur things, do u wanna come pick them up later?

toru: or i can drop them off tmrw ig

you miss the way he used to text you—with an obnoxious amount of exclamation points and an even worse amount of emojis. now, it's like all of the flavor's gone from his words, and it hurts. that's when it actually settles in, that this is really over. it hurts like an icicle being driven straight through your heart, and it stings like one, too.

satoru's texts are left on delivered for five whole minutes before you reply, and it's only with an "i'll come by tmrw". he likes the message less than a minute later, and you're left to wallow in your misery alone until you finally drift off to sleep.

the next morning, you open your phone to a notification alerting you that satoru’ll be live on stream in ten minutes. curiosity kills the cat, but in this case, maybe it’d be worth it to see what he tells his viewers about your breakup. after all, there’s no way he wouldn’t tell them—he always had something to say about you, and he’d probably rather tell them for sure rather than let them come up with ridiculous theories on their own.

so you hastily make a new account using some email account you haven’t touched since middle school, trying a couple different passwords until you remember the one that works. the website hits you with a hundred questions, asking you about your favorite games and who’d you like to subscribe to first. you choose satoru, albeit after a second of hesitation. two minutes later, sparklingzebra672 joins your ex-boyfriend’s stream. you wait a second, holding your breath as the live loads. a brief moment later, satoru’s painfully familiar face appears on your screen.

“hey guys,” satoru says, forcing a smile on his face. even from behind a screen, you swear you can feel his eyes on you. “how’s everyone today?” 

the already unstable smile on satoru’s face falls when he opens the comments and gets greeted with a flurry of where’s your girlfriend’s. had you been anyone else, you probably wouldn’t have noticed the way satoru’s eyes dulled ever so slightly or the way he curled into himself, but being the girl who once knew him best, you could tell.

“oh, she won’t be back on here for… a while,” satoru starts, dancing around the topic. he leans back against his chair and tilts his chin up, azure eyes focused on the ceiling. “we broke up.”

nothing could’ve prepared you for the way satoru’s comments explode. it’s almost like you can hear the shocked gasps coming from all fourteen—no, twenty thousand viewers as the words nobody thought would ever they’d hear from satoru are spoken.

suguru-geto: holy shit im so sorry 

toji-fushiguro: wait wtf r u kidding?? that's fuckin crazy

yuuji-itadori: omg i thought u guys were together forever :(

inumaki: chat is this real??

satoru shrugs, averting his eyes from the hundreds of comments pouring in, but you scroll through and read them all. everyone, even satoru’s haters, seems genuinely shocked. in fact, had this not been your own breakup, you would’ve been one of them, begging and pleading satoru for more details.

“yeah, we did,” satoru murmurs, eyebrows furrowing just enough for you to read his expression. now that you’re looking closer, you can see the subtle redness underneath his eyes—had he been crying too? and maybe you’re imagining it, but his hair seems a bit dishelved too. your ex-boyfriend shrugs, forcing his face back into his usual lighthearted expression, but it’s not fooling anyone.

satoru scowls at the new flood of comments asking him why you two broke up. some people are already hypothesizing—maybe it’s because you got jealous of his fame, or maybe he got sick of you. maybe you left him to go date some other streamer, or maybe—

“i’m actually gonna end the stream here, ‘cause i don’t really want to deal with all of this right now,” satoru says with a frown. his eyes are narrowed irritably as a couple users protest, still begging for more details. “you guys know that i’m a real person with my own life, right? fuck off.”

and just like that, the stream ends. you’re left with a blank screen and a message saying that satoru’s ended the live, so you shut your laptop. your stomach turns as you groan, just remembering that you have to go over to his place later to retrieve your things, and somehow, you’d have to pretend that you didn’t just stalk his stream to see if he’d say anything substantial about the breakup.

a couple minutes after the stream ends, your phone blows up—every mutual friend you and satoru have is messaging you about what he said, but you can’t bring yourself to open any of them. except for one.

suguru: r u ok?

you: yeah ig

suguru: do u want anything?

satoru’s best friend’s question catches you off-guard—there are a lot of things you want. you want this whole situation to go away. you want the world to disappear. and most of all, you want satoru back, without the online world attached.

but suguru can’t do any of those things, can he? so you leave him on read. 

somehow, you fall back asleep, tossing and turning in your bed without satoru’s steady arms to accompany you. a couple hours later, you wake up again, wincing from the dim sunlight that pours through your windows and directly into your eyes. it’s just past five, so you figure that you might as well go down to satoru’s house and get your things. better to do it now than drag it out for an uncertain amount of time.

the walk is shorter than you remember, but maybe it’s just the absence of music pouring into your ears that makes it seem that way. you watch the wilted autumn leaves flutter in the wind, falling down onto the sidewalk like pieces into place. once upon a time, you had walked these very streets with satoru—it’s a fond memory you remember only all too well.

when you finally step onto your ex’s doorstep, the door opens before you even have a chance to knock. and there he is—the boy who’d once been the love of your life. satoru looks down at you with an unreadable expression. “hey.”

you think you’ve seem this film before, and you didn’t like the ending.

satoru spares you from having to reply by opening the door wider and beckoning you inside. “i already put most of your stuff into a couple boxes, but i thought you’d wanna check on your own. just in case i forgot something.”

you nod and walk past him, not trusting your voice to be steady. this was harder than you expected—much harder. in fact, you’re practically on the verge of breaking down when you step into satoru’s room and look around and see just how different it looks without the touches of you everywhere.

the fortnite poster you’d given him as a joke for the second anniversary of his stream was gone from his wall, and so were the two mini succulents that used to sit on the corner of his desk. the white cat plushie that used to rest on his pillow was gone, too—probably stuffed somewhere in one of the boxes outside his bedroom door.

after nearly a minute of looking around, you decide that whatever satoru possibly could’ve missed wasn’t important enough for you to have to stick around any longer.

you turn and start to exit satoru’s room so fast that you nearly crash into him when he suddenly appears in the doorway. “shit, sorry about that,” you mumble, trying to walk around him. but of course, because the universe is actually praying on your downfall, you and satoru both walk the same way at the same time. you awkwardly try to go around each other, and eventually, the humiliation is over.

“so, you got everything?” satoru asks, walking beside you with his hands in his pockets. you nod, bending over to pick up one of the two boxes. it’s pretty heavy, but not unmanangable. you just don’t really seem to know if you’ll be able to carry both back home at once. 

“oh, uh, i’ll be right back,” you say tentatively. a flash of confusion appears in satoru’s eyes, so you clarify, “i’m gonna go grab my car. that’ll make it easier.”

satoru’s eyebrows furrow and he shakes his head. “no, it’s alright. your place isn’t far from here at all, i’ll just take the other and walk back with you.”

“no, really, it’s alright.”

“it’s the easiest option, ba—” satoru cuts himself off, stopping himself from calling you baby for the first time since you two had started dating. “sorry.”

“let’s just go.”

the walk back to your house is brutal. you walk side by side with satoru since the path is wide enough for you to do so, and you two just keep bumping into each other. had you still been dating, satoru probably would’ve dropped the box and scooped you up instead, kissing your cold face to warm it up. of course, that would’ve added five minutes to your walk, but it would’ve been better than the tense silence dividing you and satoru right now. 

the wind whistles around you, brushing at your skin and making you shiver with every gust—there’s nothing more you’d like than to go home, plop on your couch and cry while watching the titanic for the hundredth time. 

after what seems like three hundred awkward hours later, you and satoru finally make it to your house. “thanks,” you say quietly, setting down your box in front of the door. 

satoru places his next to yours and slips his hands back into his pockets. he nods and replies, “no problem,” but still doesn’t leave.

you cross your arms, and tilt your head, meeting his eyes hesitantly. “umm, do you need anything else?”

satoru coughs tensely and shrugs. “oh, uh, not really, just—” his eyes drift down to your top, and your face grows warm when you realize you’re still wearing his hoodie. 

“shit, my bad,” you mumble, internally cringing and resisting the urge to say every curse word you know. could this day really get any worse?

well, at least satoru looks equally as embarrassed. he shakes his head and gestures for you to keep it on. “it’s fine, it’s kinda cold anyways. keep it.” satoru hesitates, shuffling his feet before continuing, “if you want something… to remember me by.”

what you say next was done entirely against your will. “do you still love me?” you ask suddenly, not sure what otherworldly force prompted you to do so. you instantly regret it when satoru’s face goes even redder, and you can tell it’s not from the cold the way his blush spreads to his ears.

“i— uh, i mean—”

“answer me, satoru, i think i have a right to know.”

he looks away and mumbles something about needing to go back home, to feed his fish or something (he doesn’t have a fish), and you grab his hand just as he starts to turn away. “please, satoru, i need to know,” you breathe, squeezing his hand harder when he flinches. 

ten silent seconds tick by, but you still don’t let go. so satoru sighs, a soft white puff of air coming from his lips. “yeah.”

your heart breaks again.

“then why did you—”

“because i don’t know how to do this,” satoru says, blue eyes darting all over the place. “i love you, i really do, but i just can’t— i don’t like having thousands of people thinking that i’m only worth looking at if i’m with you, it’s annoying and it pisses me off and i don’t want to accidentally take it out on yo—”

you cut him off with a kiss, ignoring the way he yelps a little in surprise. but thankfully, he doesn’t push you away—instead, his arms instantly wrap around you and pull you closer into his warm, warm chest. satoru’s lips are a little dry, but still minty as ever from the peppermints he’s constantly munching on. he kisses you back like a man starved of affection, and when you two finally break apart, his eyes are just as hungry.

“you idiot,” you whisper, trailing your fingers through his hair as tears prick at the corner of your eyes. “you shoulda just talked to me about it first.”

“i know,” satoru mumbles, looking down bashfully. “‘m sorry.”

“you should be.” you pause, watching satoru’s lips curve into a pouty frown. “i’m sorry too,” you murmur, and he looks up, confused. “i should’ve seen this coming.”

satoru shakes his head and presses his lips to your forehead, lingering for a couple seconds before pulling back. “i missed you.”

“i was gone for less than a day, satoru.”

“oh, so you didn’t miss me?”

“i did,” you admit, exhaling a puff of air when satoru smiles smugly. “shut up, it’s not a competition!”

“yeah it is, but fine, you win,” satoru gives in with a dramatic sigh, reaching down and twining his fingers with yours. his hands, which are significantly bigger than yours, instantly warm you up. “but only ‘cause i don’t want you to break up with me next.”

“i hate you, y’know that?” you grumble, leaning into his side and letting satoru kiss the top of your head. he hums in agreement, reaching out and opening your front door. 

“i’m sure you do, baby. now c’mon, let’s get inside n’ warm up. i wanna make it up to you,” satoru says with a grin, bending over and scooping up both boxes. 

“oh, yeah? how do you plan to do that?” you challenge, going inside first and holding the door open for satoru. once he’s inside, you close the door and instantly get pinned against it by satoru, whose hands are already creeping underneath your clothes. “satoru, your hands are col—”

he cuts you off by pressing his equally cold lips to yours, smiling against your mouth as he tugs at your clothes. “i know, baby. but i’ll keep you nice n’ warm for the rest of the night, i promise!”

[marauder-misprint]

Hello, I started reading Harry Potter again and while I was reading The Goblet Of The Fire, something like this came to my mind; Can we read the Christmas ball in the three wizard tournaments during the marauders period? who will invite who as a partner? I would be extra happy if something happens between fem!slytherin reader and Sirius. Maybe she's platonic or she's sure no one from Gryfindor will invite him because they have a secret relationship

.Thank you so much in advance, I love your stories.I hope you will write more, love

Hi! Thank you for the request ❤︎❤︎❤︎ we love a secret relationship, especially between Sirius and Slythering!reader - 10/10, will likely write again

Hope you enjoy!

Going public

Sirius Black x Slytherin!reader

7.1k words

cw: angst, fluff

The announcements for the Yule Ball were posted overnight. Every bulletin board was plastered with them; it was like there was nothing else of importance happening at Hogwarts. It was the talk of the school by the time you reached breakfast. It seemed like the students agreed with the bulletin boards: there was nothing more important. 

Passing the other tables on your way to your usual spot at the Slytherin table, you heard speculation about who the more popular people would be going with. The Prewett twins were a hot topic, as were the Marauders, Gilderoy Lockhart, Anthony Avery, Emmeline Vance, Stubby Boardman and Amelia Bones. 

You were able to tune most of it out. While gossip could be amusing, it wasn’t something you really sought out. 

“I’ll bet you a galleon Potter goes with Evans. He’s obsessed with her,” you heard a Hufflepuff say as you passed by.

Her friend laughed, “Oh, double it! He’ll ask, for sure, but there’s no way in hell that she’s saying yes!”

You stifled a laugh, knowing the second girl was correct. You were more than certain that James would indeed ask Lily to the dance, multiple times most likely, and Lily, having turned down James over and over again, would continue her ‘no’ streak. From what you were aware of, she was nowhere near breaking her resolve. 

“Morning,” Dorcas said as you sat down next to her. “Would you like to talk about the dance, the dance or, real strange this one, the dance?”

You rolled your eyes, reaching for your usual breakfast. Your silence is typical, especially in the morning before you’ve been given proper time to wake up. The girls made conversation around you. 

“Do you think it has to be guys ask girls? Or could I ask someone?” Pandora asked dreamily. She shot a glance over her shoulder toward a certain Ravenclaw. 

“I don’t think there’re rules for a dance. Although if Xeno doesn’t ask you, he’ll have bigger problems coming for him,” Emma Vanity assured her. 

You all knew about Pandora and Xenophilius’ flirtationship. You thought it was ridiculous for her to even consider that Xeno wouldn’t ask her, given the way he searches for her in between classes. 

“But if he doesn’t ask me? How weird would it be if I asked him?”

“Have you ever cared about looking weird?” Dorcas replied.

“Normally, no. But this is the kind of thing that would get back to Mum and Dad. It’s one thing to be concerned about the nargle population, it’s another to break societal norms.” 

“Ah, the nargle population! A real concern for wizard-kind!” Emma laughed.

You shook your head with a smirk. While the three of you often teased some of Pandora’s beliefs, you really loved her and her ways. You also knew it was part of why Xeno liked her. He shared quite a few of her beliefs and he entertained her tendencies to experiment with spells. 

“Anyways, I’m more concerned about what I’m going to wear rather than who’s going to ask me,” Dorcas said. “There’s Gladrags in Hogsmeade, but it’s going to be packed with every girl here. It honestly might be better to order from somewhere else.”

“But then you risk not liking it in person. And there’s not really enough time to return and reorder,” Emma pointed out.

“Ah, that’s why you order more than one dress from the jump. You’re bound to like one of the dresses you order.”

“Or you could just wear one of the dresses you already own?” you offered. 

Pandora and Emma fell into fits of laughter while Dorcas gave you a pitying smile.

“Love, we aren’t going to turn down an opportunity to get a new dress,” Dorcas said. 

You turned back to your breakfast. Part of you wanted to retort that it would be a waste of money to get a dress that you’d wear once, especially knowing they each had several extravagant dresses in their wardrobes. Then you remembered that they each came from far more prominent families than yours. They had money, status and endless ball invites outside of the castle walls. It was something you didn’t relate to. 

So you fell back into your silence. The girls continued with their discussion about the ball. They talked about who Dorcas and Emma hoped would ask them and their dream dresses. The boys on your other side weren’t discussing the dance as far as you could tell. 

“An erumpent would kill you faster than a skrewt,” Avery insisted. 

“You wish that were the case,” Wilkes said. 

“No, no, technically Avery’s right,” Barty said, waving his fork around. “Erumpent, once it decides to attack, will kill you fast, but blast-ended skrewts are vicious and it’ll be a painful death.” 

“What’re you saying, Junior?” Wilkes asked, turning to face the younger boy.

“That it’d be about the same time total, if the clock starts when you encounter the beast.” 

Death by various beasts was certainly… something to talk about over breakfast. You stared down at your plate. Neither conversation intrigued you. 

Then the hair on your neck stood up.

“Who do you think’ll ask Y/N YL/N? Surely another Slytherin, right?” a voice from behind you asked. 

Your eyes widened as you continued to stare at the food on your plate. Of all the people to be discussed, you didn’t think your name would come up. You assume it’s just out of your association with the other Slytherin girls. As likeable as you tried to be, your friends were higher on the popularity ladder. You tried to listen for the voice that said your name or perhaps whoever she was talking to, but you can’t single out that conversation. 

You had an inkling about who might ask you. Sirius Black. You didn’t share this with anyone around you though. They didn’t know you were anything more than polite to him, as you were to just about anyone. They didn’t know about the secret moments you had with him in empty classrooms, hidden corridors, the Astronomy Tower and the Room of Requirement. They didn’t know you and him were dating. Neither did his friends. 

When you and the rest of the girls got up to head to class, you looked towards the Gryffindor table and waved when you made eye contact with Sirius. He waved back. There were enough people still sitting at the four tables and enough leaving that the two of you would risk it. 

“Who’re you waving to?” Pandora asked, looking in the direction you waved. She couldn’t spot anyone you were particularly friendly towards. 

You rolled your eyes with a smile tugging at your lips.

“Can’t a girl have friends outside Slytherin?” 

“Well, yes, but-” Pandora started to say.

“Not nameless friends,” Emma finished for her.

“Nameless friends?” Wilkes asked, pushing his way in between Dorcas and Emma. “Shame their parents never named ‘em.”

“But you have to call them something. How else would they be enrolled here? They’d have to call you something at sorting,” Mulciber said.

“Maybe ‘Hey you’ sufficed?” Evan suggested. He slung his arm over your shoulder. 

“Right,” you drawled sarcastically. “‘Hey you’ is written on their birth certificate.” 

“There are worse things to be called,” Pandora said. 

---

As predicted, James did ask Lily a few days after the ball was announced. She shut him down very quickly. From the gossip you picked up, it sounded like some other guys were planning on shooting their shot with her. You weren’t surprised. She was beautiful and brilliant. 

With nothing more interesting to hold your attention, you ended up listening to more gossip, the who’s going with who. It had only been a few days but girls were getting asked left and right. Muliber was going Emma. Xeno was working you and Dorcas on his plan to ask Pandora. Remus asked Emmeline, which shocked some people. Peter asked Mary. 

You kept your ears open for mentions of Sirius. It didn’t sound like there were any rumors of him asking anyone, although some girls were debating what Pandora had suggested earlier, asking him themselves. Their reasoning was solid, in your opinion. It was Sirius Black! There was no way that he’d go to a dance alone when he could have pretty much any girl he wanted on his arm. 

And that’s what bugged you. So many girls liked him and none of them knew that he was off the market. When you made it official, he stopped flirting, but that didn’t stop him from being his charming self. Some things you can’t change. And some girls don’t know the difference between flirting and simply being kind and charming. 

You knew that there were reasons why you were keeping it a secret. Your friends and housemates would never let you hear the end of it if they knew, plus you risked being shut out by everyone in your house. While dating a Gryffindor in general wasn’t smiled upon, Sirius would be a sin. He was labeled as Blood Traitor #1. 

His friends didn’t know you. They wouldn’t approve and wouldn’t take the time to get to know you. Sirius knew that they would see you as a Slytherin who was no good, just like the rest of his family. They wouldn’t believe that you stood up for younger students against older ones, that you helped people find their way when the stairs changed on them, that you had a certain spark in you that set you apart. 

You both risked ostracization so you kept your relationship quiet. You told each other it was for the time being. You told each other that when it felt right, you’d break the news to your respective friend groups. You knew that as soon as he could tell his friends, you could tell yours. If his accepted you, it didn’t matter if yours resented you; whereas if yours accepted him, it would still matter to him what his friends thought. It was just the reality of it. 

You considered talking to Sirius about the ball the next time you met up. Maybe this would be the time. You could spend the evening with his friends, convince them that you weren’t so bad. 

You let the thought linger in your mind as you waited for Professor McGonagall to dismiss the class. She finished her lecture a few minutes ago and told the class to practice turning cutlery into different apparatuses. Few students actually listened to her. Most were idly chatting. 

“I think Sirius is going to ask McKinnon to the dance,” a voice nearby said. 

Your breath hitched. What? There was no way he would ask her. You trained your eyes on your notes, hoping the girl would continue her thoughts.

“Oh, they would be so cute together! Shame though, I know Shannon was hoping that he’d ask her.”

“Has he ever talked to Shan?” 

“No but a girl can dream, can’t she?”

“I s’pose. But be real! Marlene and Sirius are always with each other. They got chemistry on another level.”

You swallowed thickly at the girls’ comments. It was the first time that you heard anything substantial about Sirius. They had a name and reason to think so. You have never thought about Marlene being interested in Sirius. From what you knew, you had no reason to be worried about her. At least, you didn’t. 

Their comment settled in your stomach and festered. You felt small for the rest of your lessons. You drummed your fingers against your thigh in every class, trying to pay attention but ultimately failing. Your eyes drifted to Sirius or Marlene in each lesson. You hated how much it bugged you, how much you were letting it get to you. 

You couldn’t bring yourself to look toward the Gryffindor table during dinner. If Marlene was sitting within two people of Sirius, you’re positive that you would’ve thrown up. You tried to keep reminding yourself that Sirius liked you. That he was going out with you. That if he was going to take anyone to the dance, he’d be taking you. 

But Marlene was better. She would be someone that Sirius wouldn’t have to hide from his friends. He wouldn’t have to worry if they would approve, she was already one of them. She had nothing to prove. You? You have everything to prove. 

You kept your head down throughout the whole meal. The ball had made its way into the boys’ conversation so even their usual demented topics couldn’t save you. They were teasing each other, those who had dates for being saps and those who didn’t for being cowards. 

“There’s no one I’d want to go with,” Severus said monotonously, keeping his head low.

“Because that mudblood isn’t talking to you anymore,” Avery responded. 

Lily had stopped talking to Severus at the end of last year. It didn’t go unnoticed that he had tried to apologize and win her back, ultimately failing. The boys didn’t let him forget his softness for the girl, especially given her blood status. 

The girls had moved more deeply into their considerations for what to wear. They talked silhouettes, necklines, sleeves, colors, jewelry, shoes and every other accessory. It was every single detail of outfits they had yet to purchase. You assumed that you could just figure it all out when you inevitably went to Gladrags one weekend. 

You didn’t last long at the table. Your mind was set on your meeting with Sirius. You exited the Great Hall by yourself and took a deep breath as soon as you were outside the stifling warmth. You barely made it to the first flight of stairs when you heard your name being called. 

You turned around. “Rosier?” 

He jogged to catch up to you. 

“You’ve been pretty quiet lately,” he said once standing next to you.

You cocked an eyebrow at him and crossed your arms.

“Define lately.” 

He smiled at you. “Well, always. But especially when the dance comes up.”

“Nothing to add, I guess.”

“Why’s that? Seems like every girl has an opinion.”

You shrugged. “Not even sure if I’m going.”

“Again, why’s that?” 

“Not expecting anyone to ask me,” you said slowly, almost regretting it so you kept talking. “And, I mean, it’s no secret that Emma, Dorcas and your families are more… well off than mine. Balls aren’t… something I’m used to.”

Evan opened his mouth to respond but he was cut off.

“There you are, Mr. Rosier!” Professor Slughorn’s voice boomed. “Come on, boy. We need to discuss your career potential!” 

“Shit,” he grumbled. “I’ll find you later, yeah?” 

You gave him a soft, almost-pitying smile as he turned toward Slughorn. You watched him walk away with the short professor before continuing on your way to the seventh floor. You were grateful for Slughorn in that moment. You assumed that Evan was building up to asking you. Thankfully, he never got the question out and now you would be able to talk to Sirius first. You needed to figure out what was going on with you two and the ball. 

You climbed staircase after staircase. Thoughts of Evan’s unasked question and the rumors of Sirius possibly asking Marlene bounced around in your mind. You yearned for the privacy of the Room of Requirement. You couldn’t wait for Sirius to meet you there. You leaned against the wall and let yourself sink to the ground. You knew it would be a while before he showed up; you had left dinner a bit early and he couldn’t just leave his friends with no reason and avoid being questioned in depth later. The coldness of the stone floor was more than welcomed as you waited. 

You perked up the moment you heard his distinctive footsteps approaching. You jumped up, waiting for the door to appear. You slipped inside, Sirius following only moments after. 

He pulled you into a tight hug before pressing a kiss to your forehead.

“Merlin, I missed you,” he mumbled against your hair.

“I see you in class all day,” you replied with faux-snark.

“Yeah, where the most I can do is wink at you,” he said as his hands rubbed your back.

You melted into his arms. His cologne filled your brain with every inhale. It was enough to make your thoughts go fuzzy. Momentarily, you forgot about Evan, Marlene, the ball and all the gossip that accompanied it. But as soon as he lets you go and takes a step toward the couch and fireplace, they come flooding back. You blame their return on how prominent the ball was in everyone’s conversation. And if you thought on it, you knew that if Sirius was truly asking Marlene, it would be okay for you to go with Evan. 

“Darling, you joining me?” Sirius asked from the couch with his arms held out, ready to hold you close again. 

You nodded and wordlessly moved to join him. He held you close and nestled his face into the crook of your neck. It was comfortable. It was nice. It was everything you needed after days of listening to gossip. He could’ve been seeking out any other girl, but he was here, hiding in the Room of Requirement because he missed you. 

“Long day?” he whispered.

He could feel how tense you were. With every passing second, you relaxed deeper into his arms, but he knew something was eating at your mind. You sighed. 

“Long week.”

He hummed. “Want to talk about it?” 

“Just the ball, Sirius. ‘S all.” 

“That’s all, huh?” 

“Mhmm. The girls refuse to talk about anything else.”

“Any of them got dates?”

“You know Lovegood, from Ravenclaw?” 

He hummed again. 

“Well, he’s asking Dora tomorrow. He’s got a whole thing planned. Vanity and Mulciber are going together. I’m sure Dorcas will get asked any day now.”

“And you?” he asked with a playful tone.

You lightly elbowed his side. 

“I did want to talk to you about that,” Sirius said, sounding more sincere. 

You couldn’t bring yourself to move. You knew you should adjust how you were sitting in his arms so that you could see his face. But you couldn’t. All your muscles felt too tight and air wasn’t properly filling your lungs. You didn’t expect to feel this way. You knew he wasn’t ready to show you off to his friends, and ultimately the whole school, but it still hurt to imagine him dancing with someone else. 

“I… I know you’re planning on asking Marlene,” you manage to say, earning a shocked cough from Sirius. “It… It’s okay. I think that Evan Rosier wants to ask me. I mean, it won’t be the same as going with you, but he’s a friend. It’ll be a… tolerable evening.” 

“Love, what?” Sirius asked, confusing lacing his words as he sat up and turned your body so he could see your face. “Who? What? Marlene? No.” 

Your voice got stuck in your throat. Your mouth moved with no sound. It was the perfect visual of confusion. 

“Rosier? You’re going to go with Rosier?” he asked, his voice quiet with disbelief.

“He… he hasn’t asked yet. And if you’re going with McKinnon…” Talking felt so difficult. 

“No. I’m not asking McKinnon. Where did you hear that?” He immediately held up his hand as you opened your mouth to speak. “Actually, that doesn’t matter. It’s not true. James. James is the one who’s going to ask her.”

“James?” 

Sirius laughed. It was a warm sound that made your heart do flips. 

“James is going to ask Marlene since they both can’t go with who they really want to go with.”

You took a moment to compose yourself. Obviously, James wanted to go with Lily. 

“Who does Marlene want to go with?” 

“It’s not my place to tell, love. It is my place to tell you that I’d like to go with you.”

You pressed your lips together before pulling one between your teeth.

“But your friends…?” 

He leaned forward to press a kiss to your forehead.

“My friends have figured out that I’m seeing someone. Apparently, I disappear too often-” with the Marauders’ Map “-with consistently horrible excuses,” he told you. 

Even when you met up in the Room of Requirement which doesn’t show up on the map, Sirius made sure to take it with him. He hadn’t been ready to tell them about you. Part of him still didn’t want to. That part liked having you solely to himself. It liked sneaking around and the thrill of having a secret. But the rest of him knew it wasn’t sustainable. 

Sirius watched your face for a hint of how you were feeling, and your face said you were unconvinced. 

“They know when I’m lying… and…” Sirius’ face flushed. “They said I’ve had a lovesick look on my face far too often for there not to be a girl.” 

He knew that that would convince you. A grin took over your face.

“A lovesick look?” you repeated teasingly. “You’ve had a lovesick look on your face?”

“When I come back from being with you. And whenever I think about you. Especially when I think about kissing you-” He pressed a kiss to your nose. “-and how beautiful you are-” A kiss to your forehead. “-and how funny-” A kiss to your cheek. “-and how brilliant-” A kiss to your jaw. “-and kind-” A kiss to your neck. “-and perfect.” He continued peppering kisses down your neck and onto your collarbone. 

You threw your head back with giggles spilling out of your mouth. The jealousy you felt about the idea of Sirius with Marlene dissolved into nothingness. You placed your hands on the sides of Sirius’ face to hold him away from you for a moment. 

“If Rosier gets around to asking me, I’ll tell him I already have a date,” you said before connecting your lips to Sirius’. 

“Good,” he mumbled through the kiss. 

---

“Padfoot!” James yelled as soon as Sirius returned to the Gryffindor Common Room later that evening. “Where the hell have you been?” 

Sirius couldn’t wipe the pleased smirk off of his face. He strode over to the couches by the fire and collapsed unceremoniously next to James. 

“Asking my girl to the ball.”

Both Lily and Remus sat up from their respective chairs nearby at that. Remus leaned toward the couches as much as he could without getting up.

“So you’ll tell us who it is then?”

“He has a girl? Like a committed relationship?” Lily gasped. 

“Oh, Evans, you’re here. Erm, yeah. I do. And you’ll figure out who it is when I walk into the dance with the hottest date.” 

Remus slouched back into his chair at that. Ever since they got him to confess that he had been going to see a girl, singular, the same one each time, the three boys had been dogging him about it. They searched for any hint, any clue, an inkling of an idea as to who you were. They had… nothing. Well, nothing besides that you weren’t a Gryffindor. They were fairly certain that Sirius wouldn’t be so secretive about you if you were a Gryffindor. 

“Seriously making us wait until Christmas to know who you’ve been sneaking around with?” James groaned. 

Sirius nodded. “I am Sirius, after all. Got to live up to the name.” 

Peter threw a crumpled piece of parchment at Sirius.

“Black, how is this the first I’m hearing of this?” Lily asked as she turned her full body to be facing the couches. “How long have you been in a committed relationship?”

“Oh, don’t feel bad, Lily,” Peter said from the armchair. “We only found out like a week or so ago.”

“Black?” she repeated.

He ran a hand through his hair before looking at Lily. 

“Made it official at the start of term.”

Lily gasped, grabbed her own bit of parchment to crumple and toss at Sirius.

“Oi! I am not a rubbish bin!”

“You are too when you’ve been seeing someone since September!”

“It gets worse the longer you think about it,” Remus pointed out. “They made it official in September. Meaning they were flirting and whatever for some time before.”

“Merlin… And you lot have no clue who it is?” 

“Nope,” Sirius answered for them, looking satisfied with himself. 

“Why not?” Lily pressed. She looked like she was about to move her chair closer to the couch so she could properly interrogate Sirius about his girlfriend. 

“Yeah, why not? You’ve never given a good answer,” James said, sitting up a bit. 

The four of them had their eyes glued to Sirius, watching his every move as he tried to think of something that wouldn’t give too much away. 

“It… would… ruffle some feathers. It will ruffle some feathers. But, we figured the ball is a good time to go public. So you’ll wait until then.” 

Lily narrowed her eyes at Sirius. The gears in her head were spinning. She put away the homework she had been working on. There was no way she could focus now, not with this mystery brought to her attention. There was a girl in the school with Sirius all to herself. This girl got Sirius to mature enough to commit. Lily needed to know who it was. 

---

You listened with more intent the next time that Emma, Dorcas and Pandora brought up the dance. Xeno asked Pandora and she obviously said yes. Dorcas was asked by Bertram Aubrey, not her first choice but a respectable one as Pandora and Emma assured her. You hadn’t gotten around to mentioning that you had a date to the girls. It wasn’t like they asked you either. 

You started asking their opinions on what color would look best, which silhouette fits your body shape, how to accessorize. It was a slight sprinkling of questions. Their excited answers told you that they were happy you were finally taking an interest in the ball.

“Honestly, I wasn’t sure if you were even going to go,” Emma told you. “You seemed pretty against it for a while.”

“I mean, I was debating not going. Wasn’t sure if it was my type of event.”

“What changed your mind?” 

“Oh, did Evan finally ask you?” Pandora asked, joining the conversation. 

You looked at her with wide eyes and shook your head. “Erm, no. Guess he never got ‘round to it…” You pause to take a steadying breath. “Would you mind telling him that I already have a date?” 

“I’m not lying to him. If you’re not interested, you have to tell him!” Pandora said defensively. 

“No, I really already have a date,” you said, hoping that you sounded genuine. 

Which you were. You just needed the girls to know what you were without saying that Sirius was your date. He had told you that he wouldn’t tell his friends until the ball and if you told your friends, word would spread fast. 

“Who? You’ve never mentioned…” Emma asked, twisting her features in confusion. 

“It’s… a surprise. I promise I have a real date. He’s very real. Just… not a Slytherin.”

“No. Come on, out with it,” Pandora said, placing her hands on her hips. “Ev is a perfectly fine bloke. You can handle an evening with him.”

“I totally agree with you, Dora. But I already have a date and I plan on attending the ball with him.” 

You looked between the two girls. You weren’t lying, so why did they seem so insistent on believing that you were? You didn’t have anything against him. You knew that they knew that. You just didn’t want to have the awkward conversation of telling him you were already going with someone if Pandora, or Emma really, could’ve passed on the message for you. 

Then Dorcas appeared at your side and you instantly gave her a pleading look.

“Dorcas! Would you tell Evan not to ask me to the ball?” you asked.

“Why would I do that? Don’t you want a date? We all have dates.” 

You threw your head back with a groan.

“I already have a date. These two don’t believe me and I really, really don’t want to be the one who has to tell Evan.”

“Tell me what?” a male voice said from behind you.

“Ev!” Pandora exclaimed. “Man of the hour! She has something to tell you.”

“Let’s go, give ‘em some privacy,” Emma said, grabbing Pandora and Dorcas’ arms. 

“No!” you practically cried as they disappeared around the corner of the corridor, leaving you alone with Evan. You groaned. 

“Damn, am I that horrible to be around?” he asked nervously.

“No, you’re not,” you said, feeling horrible already. “That’s the problem. You’re really a fine bloke.”

“Oh,” he said, his voice dropping. “I think I know where this is going… It’s not you, it’s me.” He laughed dryly. “I didn’t even have to ask.”

“Evan… It’s just that I’ve already been asked.”

“But, just the other day… When Slughorn pulled me away… You said…”

“I didn’t think he would ask.”

He let out an exasperated sigh. “Didn’t you know that I was going to ask you? Why’d you say yes to someone else if you knew I was about to ask you if fucking Slughorn-?”

You hated the feeling in your chest. It was horrible. You had to explain to him that it was more than just someone else asking. 

“I’ve been seeing someone. In private. I wasn’t sure if we were going to go and… well, we’ve decided to go.” 

“Oh,” he said, suddenly more curious than feeling bad for himself. “So private that even Dora doesn’t know?”

“No one knows. And, I’d like to keep it that way.” 

Evan studied your face. He sighed and let his expression drop to a blank canvas. Then he walked away. You weren’t sure how to feel about it. You wished he had said something before walking away, instead of just leaving your request sit in the air. You stood there for a moment before deciding to go to the library. You figured no one would bug you there and you could just think about how you were going to navigate everything once you showed up to the ball on Sirius’ arm. 

---

Despite the near incessant pestering from your respective friend groups, neither you nor Sirius broke down. The main difference between your friend groups was that the Gryffindors fully believed that you existed. They were certain that there was a girl that Sirius kept sneaking off to spend time with. Your friends didn’t believe Sirius existed. Surely, they would’ve noticed not only sneaking off but the emotional changes from you. To avoid making them see that they might be bad friends, you repeatedly told them that you’re just that good of an actress. What’s the point of a secret relationship if everyone knows about it? 

The girls had helped you pick out a lovely black dress that made you look divine. They offered you some of their accessories when you put your foot down at spending a fortune on a matching set of diamond earrings and necklace. It was safe to say that you looked goddamn amazing as you twirled in front of the mirror in your dorm.

Emma, Dorcas and Pandora showered you in compliments and slight jabs at keeping your date a mystery.

“We’re going to see who it is in just a few minutes. Why can’t you tell us?” Pandora asked as she slid another hairpin in place. 

“It’s the principle of it,” you reminded her. “Are we ready?” 

You led the girls out of your dorm and into the common room, where Emma and Dorcas’ dates were waiting for them. You smiled at Evan and his date, a younger Slytherin who beamed up at him. Looking around the dimly lit room, it appeared that many Slytherins chose dates from their own house. You hooked arms with Pandora and continued walking to the door. If Emma and Dorcas wanted to linger in the common room with their dates, that was their choice. You had a date from a different house.

Sirius was the first one ready, which surprised the rest of the Marauders. They had figured that Remus would’ve been the first, followed by Peter and James with Sirius coming in last. He paced the dorm as he waited for someone else to be ready.

“Padfoot, calm down. Your jitters are contagious,” Peter said, struggling to figure out his cufflinks. “Actually, come here. You clearly know how these work.”

Sirius was more than happy to oblige. It was something to do. He was nervous to finally go public with his relationship with you. He knew that one evening was all his friends needed with you before they realized how amazing you are and would accept you into the group. He just needed this evening to go well. He didn’t want to think about what could all go wrong, which is where his mind kept drifting to every time the dorm fell quiet as the boys dressed and made their final adjustments. 

“Why are you so nervous, Pads? You’ve been dating this girl for months,” James asked as they left their dorm.

Sirius didn’t answer right away. He didn’t want to admit out loud that he was nervous they wouldn’t like you.

“Just a big night.”

“Make note of it, boys,” Remus said with a smirk. “Padfoot won’t be this nervous again until his wedding day.” 

James and Peter laughed while Sirius rolled his eyes. In the common room, couples were meeting up. The girls saw the boys come down the stairs and joined them quickly. 

“Who’d you end up saying yes to?” Remus asked Lily.

She shot a nervous look toward James, but he was already in a new fit of laughter with Marlene as they awkwardly exchanged flowers. 

“Thomas Boot.”

“Oh, maybe he’ll come down with Emmeline! Shall we?” he said, offering his arm to Lily.

She agreed and Sirius followed the two of them out of the room. 

You had agreed to meet up with Sirius outside the Great Hall. Just about every other inter-house couple had the same idea as people gathered outside the large doors. From a distance, you could see the silvery glow emitted from the Great Hall. Snow appeared to be falling out of the doors but never reaching the head of the tallest student. As you got closer, you could see the enchanted icicles and hear the light music that was already playing. 

Pandora started bouncing on the balls of her feet as she scanned the crowd for Xenophilius. As soon as she saw him, she bid you a quick bye before darting in his direction. You bit your lip as you tried to spot Sirius. Your heart was already pounding in your chest. 

This was it. There was no going back to the safety of your private relationship after this moment. You would have to deal with the fallout with your friends and all the harsh words they’d have to say about Sirius. And you’d have to deal with whatever Sirius’ friends had to say about you. You hoped they were kind and compassionate people that Sirius described them as being. 

“Darling, you look… wow. Just wow,” Sirius said, having found you while you were lost in thought.

Worries? You didn’t have any worries.

Sirius’ words brought a blush to your cheeks and a smile to your lips. He had a hand held out for you to grab. You took it and he pulled you close. 

“I have never seen someone look so spectacular,” he murmured against your ear. “How did I get so lucky?” 

“An insane amount of luck,” you teased.

You pulled out of his space for a moment to give him a once over. 

“Rumors are true. You do know how to clean up,” you said before moving back to his side and letting him steer you inside the Great Hall.

“Maybe one good thing did come out of all those balls I was forced to attend in my youth,” he sighed.

You giggled. “You’re still in your youth, you idiot.”

“Oh,” he mock-gasped. “Then maybe we can make another good thing come out of the balls of my youth.”

“What would you like out of this ball, Mr. Black?” 

“The whole castle to know that you’re mine.” 

“Well, we do seem to be headed in the right way for that.” “Fantastic!”

Sirius didn’t leave your side for most of the night. He was glued to your side before the dancing and partying really started, as you milled around the drink and snack tables. His friends found you first. 

“You’re the girl who’s got Padfoot smitten?” Peter gasped. 

You nodded, too nervous to trust your voice. Sirius tightened his grip on your waist to ground you. He knew how much you both had been worrying about this moment. 

“Whose idea was it to keep you a secret?” James asked, looking from Sirius’ face to his hand holding your waist to your shaky smile.

“Yeah, really. Heard from Lily that you’ve been dating all term?” Marlene added.

“I-I think I brought it and he agreed,” you said. Your voice wobbled a little, but you told yourself it would steady as you talked more with the group.

“Where’s Moony and Vance?” James asked, craning his head to look around the hall. “He’s not going to believe this.”

“What’s not to believe?” Sirius asked, sounding affronted. 

“That you got a pretty little Slytherin under your arm, Pads.”

You tensed. There it was. Throwing your house out there like it was a definition of who you were.

“And what about it?” Sirius snapped.

James looked back at Sirius and you with his eyebrows raised. 

“Nothing. Nothing!” James chuckled uncomfortably. “We just… might have… maybe… placed bets on who it was.”

“And we all lost,” Peter added. 

“So who gets the money then? Us?” you asked. 

“I think we should, darling. Mates, how much do we get for being unpredictable?” 

James and Peter groaned in unison. Meeting Remus and Lily resulted in similar amounts of shock that you were a Slytherin but then moved on quickly to jokes. Lily seemed most interested in how you and Sirius came to be, which you told her was probably a conversation saved for another time. You gestured to the ball and she nodded. 

“That wasn’t so bad,” Sirius said as you two made the your way to the dance floor. 

“Think they like me? Or at least tolerate me?” 

“Love, you didn’t bat an eye at the boys betting on who you were. They love you already.” He spun you around before pulling you into him, your back pressed to his chest so he could whisper into your ear, “But they’ll never love you as much as I love you.”

You stumbled as Sirius began to spin you again. Then you were chest to chest.

“Say it again,” you said breathlessly. You couldn’t believe what you heard. 

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

Before Sirius could spin you or dip you or do anything to move you away from his face, you kissed him. It was a moment filled with pure bliss. You were dancing with your boyfriend, kissing him, in public, both looking beautiful, and he just told you that he loved you for the first time. It was perfect.

“It’s fucking Black?” Emma’s voice screeched. 

You pulled back. Both you and Sirius turned to see your roommate looking at you with utter bewilderment in her eyes. Mulciber, who was holding onto her waist, had a look of disgust etched into his face as he took in the scene before him. 

“No wonder you didn’t tell anyone,” she snarled before dragging Mulciber in the opposite direction.

You assumed that she was off to tell everyone else who hadn’t seen you yet. You really hoped that Dorcas and Pandora would take the revelation better. If not, your dorm was about to become the most uncomfortable room in the entire castle, save maybe the common room. 

“If they kick you out of Slytherin, we’ll smuggle you into our tower,” Sirius told you, trying to comfort you.

Your distress was evident on your face. As much as Sirius’ offer lessened it slightly, it was only slightly. You still had another year and a half in this dorm and even if you and Sirius broke up at some point, Emma wouldn’t forget it. 

Then Pandora and Xenophilius appeared next to you.

“Treat her well, Black,” Pandora warned. Then her voice softened as she acknowledged you. “We’ll deal with Vanity later. Enjoy your night.” 

When they disappeared, you relaxed. If Pandora, the one who had been trying to set you up with her brother, could accept Sirius that easily, then Dorcas would follow. Or at least it would be two against two in the dorm. Having one girl in your corner was enough to ease your mind and allow you to enjoy the rest of your night with Sirius.

Dorcas did find you later in the night. She was mumbling about how Aubrey was an utter buffoon and she never should’ve agreed to go with him in the first place. 

She gave Sirius one look before saying, “At least you got a hot one…”

You and Sirius broke out in laughter once Dorcas bolted again with a quick mention of seeing Aubrey coming. Sirius left you with his friends as he went to get drinks. As he had predicted, his friends warmed up to you quickly. You were welcomed into their circle as they bantered with each other, their contagious laughter filling the air. 

After he turned with the drinks, Sirius was with you until he walked you back to the Slytherin Dungeon. Echoes of laughter and faint music filled the corridors as you descended down flights of stairs. 

“Overall, I’d say it was a rather successful night,” Sirius said.

“Successfully a second good thing to come from your youthful balls?” 

Sirius snickered. “Youthful balls.”

You shoved his shoulder while joining in his laughter. 

“You’re a child.”

“A youth, a child. Same thing, right?”

“Apparently so,” you said, unable to prevent yourself from smiling. 

“Well, good night my love,” he said before kissing your cheek. “If it becomes too much down here, password’s feriae munera.” 

Your chest warmed at his offering of the Gryffindor Tower. A ‘just in case’ for the sake of Emma and the rest of the Slytherins who thought Sirius was barely a step above muggle borns. Sirius was the best thing you could’ve asked for.

“Good night, love.”

[motorsportbarbie13]

Post It - Part 8 - LN4

when lando stumbles upon a random tiktok of a pretty american influencer, he can't stop himself from sliding into her DMs. what happens next is more than both of them ever bargained for.

warnings: angst and online hate. notes: i'm baaaaaack. i've got this series finished up for you even though i said i was going on a break. Part 9 will be up later this week. as always, extra thank yous to @lestapiastrisgirl for listening to me whine and complain and letting me bounce ideas off of her. <3 pairing: lando norris x influencer!reader word count: 3.5k words

|| - Part 1 || - Part 2 || - Part 3 || - Part 4 || - Part 5 || - Part 6 || -Part 7 Master List

Worry creases the space between your eyes as you watch Lando pace the the length of the living room in his Monaco apartment. After your run in with Allegra in Miami, you hadn’t seen her for the rest of the weekend. In fact, you hadn’t heard from her at all in the weeks after the race, which had started to make you nervous. Lando had insisted that this was a good thing, that maybe your hard launch with him had gotten her to back off but you knew better. You were familiar with women like Allegra and you knew that Miami wasn’t going to be the last time you had heard from her. 

And you had been right. 

“Lando, we need to go to Zak with these.” You plead from your spot on the couch. It had been hours since the texts had stopped but the threat remained. You knew she’d make good on her promises after reading how unhinged she was being. “Or at the very least let Corinne know so they’re not blindsided by whatever story she fabricates.” 

Lando runs a shaky hand through his curls. “No.” He says, voice tight and thin. He stops pacing before turning to you, his eyes filled with a desperate kind of resolve. “No one else is going to see these. I’ll handle this by myself.” 

“Handle it how, Lan?” You ask, your voice tight with concern. “By giving her what she wants? By breaking up with me?” 

He flinches at your words, a flicker of pain crossing his face. “Jesus, baby. Of course not.” Crossing the room to sit next to you, he pulls you into his lap while his arms snake around your waist. “I would never. I’m not going to let her dictate my life. Not again.” 

You run your fingers through his hair, the curls long and unruly from his refusal to get it cut because of how much you like it longer. “Then what are we going to do?” You drop an extra emphasis on ‘we’, desperately hoping that he realizes that you two are in this together now. You can practically feel the panic radiating off of him and you know you don’t have much time to prevent him from spinning off into oblivion. 

“I just need to figure this out.” He mutters, more to himself than to you. “There has to be another way. Some way to make her stop without…” He lets the words hang in the air, his voice thick with dread. 

“Without what, Lan?” You press as gently as you can. “Without her ruining everything?” 

His eyes meet yours then and you see nothing but a desperate kind of vulnerability that has your heart squeezing painfully in your chest. He didn’t deserve this and you could kill Allegra for brining this kind of pain to your doorstep during one of Lando’s favorite race weeks of the entire season. 

“Without her dragging you into this.” He says, voice barely a whisper. “You don’t deserve this. None of this is your problem and you shouldn’t have to deal with this.” 

You reach out to cup his face, waiting a beat for him to look back at you and make eye contact. “Lando.” You say, firm but softly. “This isn’t just about you anymore. It’s not just about her either. It’s about us, you and me. And we’re not going to let her win.” 

“But-” He starts, lips trying to form a coherent protest but you simply shake your head. 

“No.” You say firmly, “We’re going to Zak. We’re going to Corinne. We’re going to tell them everything and we’re going to do it together. I’ll call Giselle on the way to the paddock and have her dial in too. This is an all hands on deck problem that we need help dealing with. You’re not alone in this anymore, okay?” 

You knew your PR manager Giselle was going to lose her shit once she heard the story. She was huge on making sure your reputation was spotless and this was the kind of problem that was going to keep her up at night. You didn’t care though. Nothing else mattered beyond getting this chick out of your lives for good and making sure Lando knew this wasn’t his fault. 

“This isn’t just some PR mess anymore, okay?” You wait a beat, letting your words sink in deeper. “This is blackmail and it could ruin your career. It’s not going to go away if we ignore it.” 

Lando looks at you, gaze filled with a mixture of fear, embarrassment, and a hint of admiration. “You really think they’ll help?” 

You scoff a bit before dusting a kiss over his cheek. “I know they will. You’re like a son to Zak, he’d move mountains for you. And Corinne? She may play the exasperated press officer, but she adores you. Everyone does, okay? And no one is going to want you to deal with this alone. They’re not going to let her get away with this. We’re in this together, my love. Always. Okay?” 

It takes a moment but eventually Lando nods. “Okay. Let’s go talk to Zak.” 

You probably could have cut the tension in Zak’s office with a butter knife. The McLaren CEO usually prided himself on being a calm beacon in what normally was a chaotic and busy sport. Not today though. Today, the room was tense as you sat next to Lando across from Zak. Corinne stood in the corner, arms crossed. On Zak’s desk sat your phone, with Giselle on the other end in her office back in Boston. 

“It was never real.” Lando insists as he finishes reciting the history of his ‘relationship’ with Allegra. “Rich introduced us. He said it would be good for my image, good for her career. We did a few staged appearances in Monaco and London but we were never alone behind closed doors. There was always someone from my circle with us. That’s it. Nothing more.” 

Lando runs a hand through his har, sighing deeply out of frustration. Beside him, you reach out a hand, placing it on his thigh, hoping the gesture will ground him in some way. You can feel the waves of anxiety rolling off of him and you want nothing more than to fix this mess for him. 

“I ended it with Allegra months ago, before we even met in person.” He glances over at you, eyes going soft. “I told her it was over but she won’t let it go.” He pulls out his phone then, the screen displaying the threatening texts. “She’s claiming we were together and that I cheated on her. Now she’s threatening to go to the press with ‘proof’ if we don’t break up and I hard launch with her instead by tomorrow.” 

Corinne leans forward, brows furrowed. “What kind of proof?” Her voice is sharp, like she almost doesn’t believe him. Your hackles rise at her tone and you turn to glare at her. The last thing you were going to allow was someone to put the blame on Lando for this. 

“She didn’t say.” Lando replies grimly. “But knowing her, it’ll be fabricated. Texts, photos…anything to make her story believable.” 

Zak rubs at his temples and sighs. “This is a mess. We need to get ahead of this. If she goes public, it’s going to be a disaster. And during Monaco race week too?” He looks over at Corinne. “How bad do you think this could be?” 

Before Corinne can answer, another staffer bursts into the office, the door practically shaking on its hinges. “Zak.” He stammers, totally breathless. “TMZ…they just dropped the story. It’s everywhere. They have screenshots of texts and photos of them kissing. Everyone is losing their minds.” 

A heavy silence descends upon the room, the weight of the situation pressing down on everyone. Lando’s jaw tightens, his eyes flashing with anger. “Fucking hell. She did it.” He growls, low and dangerous. 

Zak’s eyes narrow, expression grim. “Show me.” He commands sharply. 

The staffer holds out his phone, the screen displaying the TMZ article, the headline screaming accusations of infidelity and betrayal. The ‘proof’ was there, fabricated texts displayed for the world to see, a twisted narrative designed to Destry Lando’s reputation and your relationship. 

The room falls into stunned silence, the air thick with disbelief and a uneasy sense of urgency. The TMZ article was a total bombshell, carefully contracted to inflict maximum damage. The fabricated texts, displayed at the top of the article, paint a damming picture of your boyfriend’s supposed infidelity, a betrayal that threatened to unravel his reputation and relationship with you. 

“This is outrageous.” From Zak’s desk, Giselle speaks up firmly, her surprisingly calm voice cutting through the silence. “Allegra clearly planned this. The timing, the ‘evidence’, it’s being done right now to cause maximum chaos.” 

Zak nods grimly. “We need to respond quickly and decisively. We can’t let this narrative take hold.” He turns to Lando, looking at the young driver with a mixture of determination and concern. “These texts are completely fabricated, right? I need you to be honest with me, is there any shred of truth to any of this?” 

“Absolutely not.” He shakes his head. “I swear to all of you, these are lies. I still have every single text she ever sent to me. Everything I sent to Rich too. Every email, every text, every conversation we ever had that was in writing is saved. We were never really together, this was all a PR stunt.” 

You reach over to take Lando’s hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze in hopes he’ll feel the silent support you’re sending him. You knew the truth and you trusted him implicitly. Anyone who was close to you and Lando would see right through it, you knew that. But you also knew the public wasn’t going to be very kind. The truth often took a backseat to sensational headlines and online outrage. 

“Okay.” Zak says, pulling your attention back onto him. “Here’s what we’re going to do. Corinne, I want a statement drafted immediately. We need to be clear and unquivocal: these allegations are false and the ‘evidence’ is fabricated. We’ll release it through all of our official channels.” 

Corinne nods, her fingers already flying across the keyboard of her phone. “I’ll need Lando to sign off on it.” She says without lifting her eyes off the screen. “And we need to be prepared for a media onslaught. This is going to be a feeding frenzy, especially with today being media day.” 

Zak turns to the staffer, his expression stern. “Get legal on the phone. I want to explore our options for handling this in court. This is defamation, pure and simple. We’re not going to let them get away with this.” 

He looks at you and Lando then, his expression sofenting slightly. “This is going to be tough.” He says, shaking his head. “But we’ll get through this. You both have the full support of the entire team both here in the paddock and back at the factory. We’re going to fight this and we’ll prove it’s all false.” He pauses before shifting his gaze to Lando. “You’re going to need to be strong and clear and you’re going to need to trust us.” 

Zak then moves to look at you, his expression softening even further. “We’ll do everything in our power to protect you from this too. You don’t deserve to be caught up in this.” His eyes drop down to where your phone sits. “Giselle, you have Corinne’s direct line. You let her know what you need and you’ll have our full support too. We’ll get through this.” 

FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE

McLaren Racing Statement Regarding Recent Allegations

McLaren Racing is aware of the recent allegations circulating in the media regarding Lando Norris. We categorically deny the claims of infidelity and the veracity of the fabricated evidence presented.

It has come to our attention that false and malicious information has been disseminated with the intent to damage the reputation of Lando Norris and *your name*. We are deeply concerned by the deliberate attempt to manipulate public perception through the creation and distribution of fabricated texts and misleading narratives.

Lando Norris has been a valued member of the McLaren Racing team for many years, and we stand firmly behind him. We have thoroughly investigated the claims and have found them to be completely unfounded. We are appalled that anyone would resort to such tactics to inflict harm.

Furthermore, we wish to express our unwavering support for *your name*, who has been unfairly and unjustly targeted in this campaign of misinformation. We condemn any attempt to drag innocent parties into personal disputes and to subject them to unwarranted public scrutiny.

We are currently exploring all legal avenues to address this egregious breach of privacy and to hold those responsible accountable for their actions. We will not tolerate the spread of lies and the deliberate attempt to tarnish the reputations of our team members.

We urge the media and the public to exercise caution and critical thinking when consuming information from unreliable sources. We will continue to provide accurate and transparent information through official McLaren channels.

We appreciate the support of our fans and partners during this challenging time. We remain focused on the upcoming race and on achieving our goals on the track.

f1.gossip.source posted

f1.gossip.source in a bomshell report, TMZ released an article full of text messages and photos from Lanod's old supposed situationship @/its_allegra_babes today. McLaren quickly responded to the report claiming it was all false and that Lando had never been in a relationship with the model. They are apparently persuing legal action against both TMZ and Allegra, claiming defemation and that the text messages were falsafied. Lando has repeadetly refused to answer any questions related to his personal life during the Monaco race weekend, further adding to the speculation that he is guilty of cheating with his now-girlfriend @/yourusername. What do we think folks? Who do we believe??? user928 i fucking KNEW that girl wasn't as wholesome as she appears. >>>user223 right??? total homewrecker user029 anyone who thinks Lando wrote those text messages that were in the TMZ article is dumber than a box of rocks. user019 you can't even see his face in any of the photos!!!! user929 this reeeeeeeks of jealous on allegra's part user2029 idk the way @/yourusername was avoiding the paddock this weekend and has gone radio silent when she is usually all up in her stories when she's with lando is sus af >>>user282 she's guilty. she knew lando and allegra were together and she went along with it.

The fall out from Allegra’s article in TMZ is swift and immediate. The paddock is abuzz with accusations and whispers that followed both you and Lando around all weekend. McLaren’s statement had been quick and forceful, effectively silencing anyone in the paddock who tried to bring it up during any interview with Lando. 

On the advice of Giselle, you had chosen to remain silent beyond releasing your own short statement on your instagram saying that you stood behind your boyfriend and believed that all of the allegations brought forward in the TMZ article were lies. You had turned your comments off and left your phone in Lando’s apartment for the weekend. 

On Saturday night, when you’d usually be out to dinner with Lando and some of the other drivers ahead of the race the next day, you and your boyfriend instead chose to lay low in his apartment instead. 

The apartment, usually a haven of tranquility and quiet respite, felt suffocating tonight though. The air was thick with the weight of the weekend’s events. Lando had qualified P2 behind Oscar, but the celebration of a McLaren front row lockout had been somewhat subdued. 

Lando sat on the edge of the sofa, shoulders slumped, the energy that had fueled is driver earlier in the day now replaced with heart exhaustion. You sit beside him, head tucked into the crook of his neck, legs slung over his as you tried to offer some sort of silent support. The initial shock of the scandal had subsided and in it’s place settled a weary air of acceptance. The damage had been done, the lies were out there, swirling through the digital world, posing the public’s perception of both you and your boyfriend. 

“I’m so sorry, my love.” You murmur against his neck, still sweaty from the exertion of a hard qualifying run earlier in the day. Your heart aches for him, seeing the way he had nearly melted into the couch after arriving home just a few minutes ago. “This isn’t fair.” 

Lando looks up at you, his eyes filled with a mixture of exhaustion and gratitude. “It’s not.” He agrees roughly. “But we’ll get through this. We always do.” 

“I know.” You place a dusting of kisses on his neck, up his jaw, before finally landing on his lips. “But it’s still a lot for you to handle.” 

He nods, lifting a hand to frame your face before smiling sadly at you. “I feel like I’ve let you down.” He confesses after a moment. “I promised to protect you from all of this and I didn’t.” 

“Baby, this isn’t your fault.” You say gently. 

He looks at you with a flicker of doubt in his eyes. “But it is.” He insists. “If I hand’t…” He trails off, unable to articulate the way his heart is aching in his chest, the way the guilt feels like it’s going to drown him alive, the way he wants all of this to just…stop. “If I hadn’t been so careless, if I hadn’t…” 

“Lando.” You interrupt, voice firm. “Stop. You are not responsible for her actions. You didn’t do anything wrong. You trusted the wrong people and tried to make things better, that’s it.” 

He sighs, shoulders slumping. “I know.” He murmurs so softly you can barely hear him. “It still feels like…” 

“Like it’s your fault?” You finish for him. “Like you somehow brought this on yourself?” 

He nods, his gaze fixed on the floor. 

You reach out, gently tilting his chin up so he’s forced to look at you again. “Lan, this isn’t your fault. This is on her and her miserable attempt to drag you down with her. She saw you were happy and couldn’t stand it. This sits squarely with her and I promise you, she’s not going to get away with this.” 

He looks at you then, a flicker of hope retiring to his eyes. “You really think so?” 

“I know so.” You say, dropping a kiss onto his nose before pulling back to look into his eyes again. “We’ll get through this. We’ll clear our names and we’ll come out stronger on the other side. Together.” 

He finally smiles then. It’s wary but it’s the most genuine smile you’ve seen from him since this entire fiasco started.

“I love you.” He whispers, confession hanging heavy in the air between you. 

Your heart hammers in your chest. The words hand’t been quite out of left field if you were being honest. You’d felt the same way for a while now but you had been afraid to put the feeling out in the open, worrying that it was too soon or that Lando didn’t feel the same. A genuine smile blooms across your face as tears prick the back of your eyes.

“I love you too.” You whisper. 

Lando leans in, his lips brushing against yours, a soft tentative touch that quickly deepens into something more urgent, hungrier, like he can’t get enough of the way you taste.

When Lando pulls away, he rests his forehead against yours, breath warm against your cheek. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.” He confesses thickly. “You’ve been my rock through all of this.” 

“And you’ve been mine.” You reply softly, peppering quick kisses along the strong line of his jaw. “We’re in this together, remember?” 

He nods, eyes searching yours and you can feel that there’s a question he wants to ask you. “About tomorrow…” He starts hesitantly. “Do you still want to come to the race? I understand if you want to stay here.” 

You hesitate, the weight of the situation pressing down on you. The thought of facing the paddock, the reporters and the fans, fills you with a sense of dread. But you also know that staying away would be seen as admission of guilt, a sign of weakness. 

“I don’t know. I’m going to miss Spain next week already with my trip to New Zealand…” You’d had this trip planned to get content for Pretty Little Lens for almost a year now and Lando had been totally in support of it, even suggesting that he join you after the race because the grid had 2 weeks off before the next race in Canada. You hated to miss another race when you were already here. Missing two races in a row after this would also cause more rumors to swirl, you both knew that. 

“I want to be there for you…” 

“But you’re worried.” He finishes for you, his hand finding yours before intertwining his fingers with yours and giving it a squeeze. “I understand. You don’t have to go if you’d rather stay out of the spotlight. It won’t be easy tomorrow.” 

The look in his eyes, the defeat and the way his shoulders slump down a little more despite his attempts to be supportive make the decision easy for you. “No.” You say firmly. “I’m going. I can’t let them scare me away and I can’t let Allegra get what she wants. We should go together, show them that we have nothing to be ashamed of. We didn’t do anything wrong and we shouldn’t need to hide.” You pause, an idea striking you suddenly. “But…” You say carefully. “Maybe we can arrive a little later? Avoid the rush and media circus?” 

Lando nods, a small smile playing on his lips. “I am known for my inability to be on time.” 

You chuckle, allowing Lando to pull you into his lap. Your arms circle his neck before you nuzzle into his neck. Dragging in a deep inhale, you let the smell of his cologne surround you. Citrus and spice and all Lando. Comforting. Yours. 

He pulls you closer, his warmth a warm have of comfort that you’ve grown to depend on in the last few months. “Thank you.” He whispers against your neck. “For everything. I love you.” 

“I love you too, Lando.” 

f1.gossip.source posted

f1.gossip.source despite both going silent on all social media platforms after posting personal and team statements, @/yourusername and @/lando still showed up hand in hand today ahead of the first practice session of the weekend. Lando refused to answer any questions regarding his personal life and both the driver and influencer looked noticbly tense. The couple were some of the last people to arrive to the paddock so there wasn't much time for the media to pry. The McLaren driver has been accused of cheating on his ex-girlfriend and participating in a PR relationship with the American influencer @/yourusername. McLaren and Lando both catagorically deny any wrong doing and say that the proof provided by Allegra is fabricated and false. Who should we believe??? user8187 idk, they looked genuinely upset while walking in this morning. Why would McLaren post such a public statement if Allegra was right about everything? >>>user929 they looked upset because they've been exposed!!! user112 i always thought their soft launching so quick was weird. it's giving 'oh look a shiny new toy to distract me from my real problems' >>>user928 seriously. they hard launched SO QUICK. Something doesn't add up. user847 i always knew there was something off about her. #teamallegra user1883 there's no WAY these two are PR. Are we all forgetting how forced and miserable allegra and lando ALWAYS looked??? Compared to these two??? >>>user9288 seriously. we moved on much too quickly from the allegra/lando PR allegations. No way she's telling the truth. user928 #teamyourname and thats a hill i'll die on >>>user9992 fucking SAME

Tag List: @shelbyteller, @martygraciesversion381, @samantha-chicago, @stelena-klayley @dark-night-sky-99 @luckylampzonkland, @aykxz98 @forensicheart @cheer-bear-go-vroom @lieutenantchaos @willowsnook @linnygirl09 @meglouise00 @mixedstyles @secret-agents-stole-my-bunnies @mrosales16 @charlesgirl16 @leclercdream @daemyratwst @dramaticpiratellamas @mochimommy2002 @llando4norris @iamaunknownsecret @maxivstappen @a1leexxa @littlegrapejuice @sunflowervol18 @freyathehuntress @finn-dot-com @swiftie-4-lifes-stuff @chirasama @lauralarsen @dr3wstarkey @saskiaalonso @rbv3rstappen @ilovechickenwings @guaaafiiburg @mcmuppet @mindless-rock @piastri-fvx @mel164 @schumi-angel @myescapefromthislife @supertrashbread @sunny44 @tinystudentblaze-stuff @sarx164 @xoxomansee

[sanjisleggy]

beautiful things (roronoa zoro x reader) [pt1/2]

req: […] My prompt is that Zoro may cross the line a bit and say something rather insensitive (up to you, you can make it known or leave it to reader’s interpretation for them to insert themselves in) and it makes the reader somewhat insecure of that or somewhat sad, this goes on until Zoro puts his pride aside to apologize OR being an idiot doesn’t realize what he did wrong until he confronts his lover why they are acting odd around them

a/n: this req was sent before i finished Thriller Bark and now i’m already at the start of post-timeskip :’D what a journey it’s been,,, anyway here’s some angst, i think i hurt my own feelings brainstorming for this :>

contents: set at the end of Thriller Bark, arguments, hurt/no comfort (yet), much angst, Zoro is bad at conveying his feelings, some descriptions of sexy times but nothing explicit as usual (i think somewhere deep in my subconscious is the burning desire to write actual filthy smut but i am too shy oops maybe one day)

wc. 1.8k

wanna be on my taglist?

part 2

i.

trying to intervene might have been a mistake, you realise as you use your strength to keep Zoro pinned to the infirmary bed–which is barely anything considering you’d gotten fairly roughed up as well on Thriller Bark. still, you grit your teeth and try your best.

the stubborn swordsman struggles against you but he’s barely able to even lift himself off the bed. his tanned skin is covered in a thin sheen of sweat as the veins in his neck protrude prominently from the sheer effort.

“please, Zoro! you have to rest!” you beg, wincing from the ache in your sore muscles. “we’re safe now. i don’t know how but we survived so you can’t take that for granted. you have to rest!”

for some reason, the words you chose seem to have hit a nerve. you can tell from how he instantly stops resisting and plops back down into a sitting position on the bed, his eyebrows furrowing deeply as he clenches his bandaged wrists by his side.

“for granted?” Zoro growls. an unusual burning sensation sparks in his chest, a stark contrast to the way his skin goes cold as he’s forced to recall what he had to do in order to save his captain–to save you.

his stomach lurches and his throat contracts as his body instinctively tries to force out the contents of his empty gut. the bitterness of the stomach acid clawing its way up his esophagus does nothing but pokes at the rage stirring in his heart.

logically, Zoro knows he has no reason to be angry at you. if anything, he’s always loved the way you fuss over him. over time he’d even developed a habit of pretending to get restless just so you’d take a nap with him in the infirmary bed.

he snaps his head back up to greet your worried eyes with his sharpened gaze, the sudden movement sending a sharp jolt of pain shooting down his spine. the agony is almost enough to overcome his frustration and, for a moment, Zoro thinks he’ll be able to bite his tongue and not say anything too impulsive. 

“just so you know, i’m not taking anything for granted.” the swordsman makes another attempt at standing again, his mind set on getting back to training in spite of the heaviness in the air. “you might not understand but i need to get stronger and i can’t do that if i’m laying in bed all day.”

“Zoro, my love,” you sigh, holding onto his hand as he struggles to even stand properly, “i’m not trying to stop you from training forever, y’know? Chopper said you need bed rest for at least–”

he tries his best to keep his cool, he really does; but when a sudden sharp pain shoots through his thigh, he feels his resolve shatter.

“can you let it go already?! i’m already having a hard enough time as it is, quit bothering me.” Zoro rips his hand out of yours, his eyes subconsciously tearing away from your face.

“Zoro, i’m not trying to be a bother–”

“well that’s exactly what you’re doing right now. you’re being a bother and a huge burden! why’d you think i have to train so hard? i’m always trying to keep you alive!”

he regrets everything the moment he finishes his sentence. he doesn’t even realise he’s raised his voice until he catches you flinching in his peripheral vision. his words seem to echo endlessly throughout the small space, intermingling with the sound of his uneven heavy breaths before a third noise enters the mix.

Zoro’s eyes trail back to your face when he hears you sniffle and he feels an overwhelming ache in his chest when he sees the heartbroken expression on your face. he watches for a moment–his own brain scrambling to register what he’s done–as you begin to sob right in front of him. 

the first mate opens his mouth but he doesn’t know what to say. 

you chew on your tongue as your fingers curl around the hem of your shirt and squeeze so hard your knuckles begin to tremble. an immense wave of anger floods your veins, stirring and mixing with the overwhelming sadness at being spoken to in such a way by the man you love. 

you stare at him through your tearful eyes for a second longer, waiting for him to say something–apologise, take back his words, cry, yell some more, whatever. you don’t care what Zoro does as long as he shows you he didn’t mean what he’d said.

but he doesn’t say anything.

so you leave without saying anything, too.

ii.

Zoro hesitated as he stood in front of the giant bubble before him. he knew this was what he had to do, a sacrifice only he could make to ensure the safety of his loved ones; and yet a small part of him—the part that remembered how even just a sliver of Luffy’s pain was worse than anything he’d ever felt—held him back. 

Thriller Bark was exceptionally peaceful now that the fighting had stopped and everyone was passed out. for a moment, the swordsman wished you were awake and with him. he knew your company alone would’ve made this all so much easier.

you made everything in his life easier.

now that you’d once again entered his mind and demanded all of his attention, Zoro couldn’t help but reminisce on your relationship. perhaps it was just his brain’s way of delaying the inevitable, he didn’t care. he just wanted to think about you.

Zoro remembered the first time you met. how you, a complete stranger at the time, helped him find his way back to his crew. you were patient and friendly, not once did you point out how terrible he was with directions,. it was the first time in his life he distinctly found someone attractive. 

Zoro remembered the first time you shared a kiss. you’d joined the crew for a few months by then after Luffy found out you were an author. none of them ever considered needing a chronicler until that point but once the idea came, it stayed. he had kissed you on impulse after saving you from what would have been a fatal attack. your lips tasted like matcha.

Zoro remembered the first time you were intimate with one another. you’d been dating for only a few weeks by then but the attraction you shared was palpable. you were the most beautiful person he’d ever met and you looked at him as though he hung every single star in the sky. 

after your first time, it was far too easy for the swordsman to develop an addiction to you–your taste, the sounds you made and the way you clawed at his skin as you reached your peak. all his life he was used to chasing his own high by himself whenever he needed to let off steam but with you, Zoro couldn’t care less how he felt as long as you showed him how much you enjoyed yourself.

the last thing he allowed himself to remember was a memory of being nursed back to health by you. he remembered how you cried as you fed him soup. he’d laughed at how the spoon trembled in your hand and called you silly.

“i’m not being silly!” you retorted with a wobbly smile on your face. “i’m just always worried about you.”

“don’t be. i promise i’ll get stronger. i’ll get so strong you won’t even need to worry about yourself because i’ll take care of you.”

Zoro smiled to himself as he recalled the way your face softened and your smile grew wide. then, he took a step towards the bubble, deciding it was time to get it over with.

the swordsman wakes up before the dream progresses any further but the pain of it all lingers. gasping for air, he instinctively stretches out his right arm, patting the bed to find your hand. it takes him a minute to remember he’s not in your room.

the morning sun shines through the infirmary window and he can hear the faint noise of his crew members going about their respective duties, preparing the Sunny to set sail away from Thriller Bark in a handful of days. Zoro turns to his right and though he already knows what he’s going to see, he still feels his heart drop when you’re not there beside him.

for a few minutes he simply stays in bed. it doesn’t take him too long to realise this was all you’d been asking of him. out of concern and love, you just wanted him to rest and recover and what’d he do in return? he might as well have spat in your face and that probably would’ve been less hurtful than the things he’d said. 

Zoro rubs his face in frustration, struggling to even remember why he was so angry to begin with, when he hears the familiar sound of your voice passing by the infirmary door. without a second thought, the swordsman forces himself out of bed and makes it just in time to grab your arm before you reach the bend of the corridor. it’s only then he notices that Nami’s with you, as well.

“i’ll wait for you on the deck,” the navigator simply says as she gives your shoulder a quick squeeze before walking ahead. once she’s out of earshot, you finally turn around.

the initial relief Zoro feels when you don’t push him away like he expected is quickly replaced by what he can only describe as dread. you’re looking at him now but you’re not saying anything or pulling your hand out of his grasp. you just stand there with a blank expression on your face.

scream at me. yell at me. do something!

it’s only when he opens his mouth does he realise he doesn’t even know where to start. the dreadful feeling in his chest grows bigger, threatening to swallow him whole. you’re here, you’re right here in front of him and he doesn’t even know what to say.

“you know i love you, right?” is what ends up slipping past his chapped lips.

i know.

you almost say it because it’s true. in spite of what happened yesterday, you know he loves you in ways you can’t even begin to imagine; and yet, a part of you says right now is not the time to say it. you would be lying if you did.

he can tell you’re struggling to think of how to reply and it nearly tears his heart apart. the physical aches and stings he feels throughout his recovering body can’t compare to the dull ache he feels in his chest. 

“i’ll see you around, Zoro.” you wriggle your wrist out of his calloused palm before walking away quickly, disappearing past the bend of the corridor. you leave Zoro behind with his hand still held out in place, his fingers still curled as though still holding onto you.

it takes him a moment to fully realise he might have ruined the most beautiful thing in his life. 

gen taglist: @irethepotato @i-reblog-fics-i-like @grierpilots @appalost @hyper-fic-ation @dressycobra7 @38lyra38 @chaseyui @paraparakiss @krooschl @teewon @olliesoxenfree @misstraffy

[rationalnerd62]

"There were no consequences to Bell's Hells' actions!"

Oh my sweet summer child, ramifications of the end of an age don't happen in a single game, even an 8.5 hours long on. C3 is similar in that way to ExU: Calamity, in the sense that it described events leading to the end of an age, but didn't spend much time detailing the new one.

Still, there were plenty of indications that the story didn't end there for many characters. Braius, Opal, Morrigan, Vax, and Pike will all have to deal with mortal Gods at a point or another. Disgruntled mortal Gods could try to hunt down Bell's Hells if they're really unhappy about their situations (thankfully, it'll take a decade or two for that to happen aha). Some religious folks will have an issue with them, but let's be honest, Team Issylra will ask you "when do they not have an issue with us?".

Yes, there will be a few religious crises around Exandria. Those don't happen nor get resolved in a single game though, so maybe we'll see more of that in post-campaign one-shots and future campaigns. We'll have to watch and find out! The new ExU mini-series will already be dealing with a similar theme, as Divergence will come up right after a significant change in the relationship between mortals and Gods. That'll give us an idea of what could be or what can differ.

"But Divine Magic doesn't seem to be impacted! That sounds like a cop out!"

Well, Matt mentioned a few times that the assumptions on the metaphysics of his fake world may not be true. My understanding is that the realms of the Gods haven't changed, so mortal souls should get through a similar process than before. Maybe divine magic draws powers from those worlds instead of directly the Gods? Clarification can be asked in fireside chat and wrap-up aha. But also it's a fake world, Matt can change it as he wants, it's fine.

"What about other consequences?"

Well, I'm expecting Imogen to help for a bit with Ruidians on Exandria. Ashton will have to deal with the Kryn at one point or another. Fearne might get into trouble with the Unseelie court. Dorian is definitely still getting into trouble. Who knows whether Chetney's deal with Nana Morri will bite him in the ass at some point? So many one shot opportunities for Bell's Hells, I think we'll see them quite a few more times. I guess that's a consequence of having C3 being so focused on the overall plot and less on individual character arcs: the story of those folks is far from being over...

[vampirewritesvampirewrongs]

Heavy in Your Arms

With a laugh, he pulled away the blanket and dropped it on the floor. “What an insolent little thing you are. Is another etiquette lesson in order?” He reached for your hands as you scrambled to the foot of the bed, just out of his reach.

You considered turning him down, telling him you needed sleep. But the delight of indulging him, the rush of adrenaline and endorphins flooded your nervous system before you could say anything so rational. After all, your love for him was anything but.

You awake from a nightmare and find yourself comforted by your lover Astarion, who resolves to fuck the sadness right out of you.

Rating: 18+/Explicit Contains: m/f, spawn Astarion, blood drinking, fingering, oral sex, reader is a bit of a brat, briefest allusions to traumas that are never directly addressed or named, enthusiastic consent. Word Count: 2.6k

Author's Note: I typically will not post regular fanfiction here, but sometimes you become enamored with a character and you must find ways to get it out of your system. You do not need to have played Baldur's Gate 3 to know what's going on. This was just an excuse to write filth.

You hadn’t meant to flinch when he touched you.

“What happened, darling?” Astarion withdrew his hand, the lines around his garnet eyes creasing with sudden anxiety.

You shivered and pulled the blanket tighter around yourself. How do you explain something that hadn’t been a problem before? That a single nightmare was enough to make you recoil from your lover’s familiar touch?

A shrug. “I don’t know.”

“You really are a terrible liar, you know.”

“Only to you.” Damn vampire and his heightened senses.

“Maybe so…” He reached over to take your hand in his, but kept his distance on the edge of the bed. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

Something warm and wet rolled down your cheek. You wiped it away. “We’ve talked before about our histories, and… I had a nightmare and remembered some things.” You chose your words carefully- not for his sake, but your own. “Things I haven’t wanted to remember.”

Anyone who knew him less wouldn’t have noticed the slight fall of his shoulders. The adoration, the fear, the protectiveness behind his eyes. He gestured to the space between you on the bed. “May I?”

You nodded, leaning into him when he was close enough. Grounding yourself in the cold of his soft, bare skin against the heat of your own, the rise and fall of his chest with every habitual, unneeded breath.

Astarion wrapped both arms around you and pressed the side of his face into your hair. "Would you like to tell me more about it?"

“Not right now.”

“Then there is no need.” His grip on your shoulder tightened. He had told you once that your history scared him- not more than his own, but differently- because it was the one thing he could never protect you from. You felt that fear and desire from him in his embrace now, as if it was the very thing that could fend off the nightmares. If only it were that simple…

You sighed. “Thank you.”

“Whatever for, darling?”

“Being here.” You could almost hear his eyes roll. “Being your usual handsome self.”

“My dear, there is hardly any point in thanking me. Besides,” he said, brushing your hair away from your neck to kiss the two small scars there, “what sort of vampire would I be if I didn’t take proper care of my little treat?”

It was your turn to roll your eyes. “Probably a very normal one.”

Astarion withdrew, scoffing and placing his hand on his chest in mock disgust. “A normal vampire? Why, I could never.” He kissed the scars on your neck again. “You are… too delectable, too sweet a thing to allow to suffer so needlessly.”

“Aww, you really do love me.”

“I more than love you, darling,” he said, his tone turning serious as he raised his head to meet your eyes. “Being here for you is worth the trouble.” He returned his head to the space between your neck and shoulders, nuzzling into the warmth of your pulse point.

Your fingers absentmindedly teased through Astarion’s soft white curls. How could a thing as broken as you be worthwhile to him? The darkness of your history paled in comparison to his own, but didn’t that mean he deserved someone less broken? Someone stronger? Wouldn't that be better for him? Then why should he bother with you anyway?

His cold lips found yours, shocking you out of your panicking spiral. Godsdamnedvampireandhisheightenedsenses.“Whatever you are thinking, darling, I’m right here. And I am not going anywhere.”

“…why?” you whispered, the air from your lungs forming a terrifying question.

“Why?” he repeated softly. “I will admit, my own motivation is far from being altruistic. Being away from you for any length of time, even a moment, terrifies me.”

“Really?”

“Really. Terribly so.” He brought your hand up to his lips and kissed it. “Your presence is warm, safe, comforting—”

“Even now?”

His eyes softened in recognition of the insecurity that was not unknown to him. “Ah, is that where your mind was? Yes, even now."

“Right now, it feels like you could do better.”

“Oh come now, darling, would you let me get away with saying such a dreadful thing?”

You groaned, leaning back into your pillows and dragging him down with you. “No.”

“Then I won’t let you, either.” He tilted your head up to face him, so close that his lips ghosted over yours as he murmured, “I love you. I want you. No one else.”

Your fingers tangled into his hair as you pulled him into a kiss. “I love you, too.”

He smiled. “Good! I’m glad to hear it. Otherwise, all this would have been unbearably awkward.”

You tossed your blanket over his head. “Shut up.”

With a laugh, he pulled away the blanket and dropped it on the floor. “What an insolent little thing you are. Is another etiquette lesson in order?” He reached for your hands as you scrambled to the foot of the bed, just out of his reach.

You considered turning him down, telling him you needed sleep. But the delight of indulging him, the rush of adrenaline and endorphins flooded your nervous system before you could say anything so rational. After all, your love for him was anything but.

“And just what do I need to learn this time?” you teased, easing off the bed and backing away.

His expression darkened, bright garnet irises turning seemingly black as he exposed his fangs with an affectionate, predatory grin. He crouched forward with the slow, easy bearing of a cat. “Playing innocent, love?”

“No, because I’ve done absolutely nothing wrong. At all.”

A rush of air. You found yourself caged against the wall by his slender frame.

“You denied me the opportunity to lavish you with all the adoration you deserve. Now what do we say, darling?”

“What does a wrong answer get me?”

“Hmm…” He planted kisses along the side of your neck, stopping at the twin scars there. “I suppose I’ll have to drain you of your blood and keep you in my bed, all to myself, until you recover.”

“And the right answer?” Your voice shook with anticipation.

“Perhaps draining you of your blood and keeping you in my bed all to myself until you recover. Quite the conundrum, I’m sure.”

“Then I’m not sorry,” you breathed, your heart racing.

“Perilous mistake,” he murmured into your skin. He effortlessly lifted you into is arms and whisked you away back to bed, lightly shoving you down on your back. He straddled your hips and pinned your arms to either side of your head as you made a half-hearted attempt to break free of his iron grip. His face was directly above you, darkened crimson eyes staring into yours. “One last chance, my dear. What do we say?”

A light smirk danced across your face. “I am so very sorry, Astarion.”

“There’s my good girl.” He leaned down, placing one final kiss on your neck before drawing your flesh between his teeth and piercing his fangs into your skin.

You gave small cry as the familiar, icy chill of his bite sent a shiver down your spine. With his weight on top of you, it was as if his body had melted into yours. The bite effloresced into a delightful warmth that spread throughout your body and pooled within your core, intensifying with the loss of every mouthful of blood. Astarion was insatiable, particularly when it came to your own blood. But you? You could never get enough of this. That tingling lightheadedness, that delicious ache building within you. Your hips involuntarily rolled into his and his hands flew down to hold you still.

“Careful, darling,” he warned, a playful edge to his voice.

“I need you,” you whined.

“Oh, you poor thing.” He licked away the stray drops of blood from the wound at your neck. “Just a little more, hmm? You can do that for me.”

“So that you can keep me to yourself while I recover?”

“Precisely.” His hand wandered beneath your nightgown, tracing your soft curves. “Or have you forgotten that you’re all mine?”

You gasped. “N-no.”

His fingers trailed down between your legs and stopped short of where you needed him. “Say it.”

You shuddered against him. “I’m all yours, Astarion. Please.”

“All mine.” He returned to drinking from your neck as his fingers delicately followed along the soft folds of your soaking cunt. You whimpered in response, delirious from the lack of blood and his teasing. He hummed against you, the warming vibrations resonating through your weakening, oversensitive body. Your breathing quickened- if it was the mild deprivation of oxygen or your own arousal, you couldn’t tell. All you knew was his lips on your skin and the finger he had slipped inside you that was gently coaxing at your walls.

It felt like a mere second and a whole eternity later when he tore himself away. His lips and teeth were coated in crimson. “Exquisite as always, darling. Especially when I have you so desperate for me like this.”

Another finger entered you and you moaned, rocking your hips into his thrusts. He was still somehow teasing you, his fingers lightly brushing against that sweet spot deep within you but refusing to provide the pressure and friction you so desperately needed.

“Beautiful.” He kissed you, and you caught the heavy, metallic taste of your blood on his lips- a flavor you had more than grown accustomed to, secretly enjoyed even.

“Do you think you can take another for me?” he asked, emphatically pushing his fingers deeper within you.

You whimpered something you hoped was a "yes," and nodded.

“Words, love. Use your words.”

“Fuck,” you groaned. “Please, yes.”

Astarion growled into your ear, his low voice resonating against you, “Well, I certainly can’t say no when you beg so sweetly." He placed a kiss on your cheek, then on your neck as you felt the stretch of a third finger. You forced yourself to take in a sharp breath, struggling to focus on the essential task of breathing despite him scraping his fangs down your throat and chest as you writhed beneath him. Slowly, torturously, he fucked his fingers into you. He curled them against that sweet spot and a high pitched whimper escaped your lips. Your back arched off the bed and you laced your arms around his neck to brace your trembling self against him.

“You’re doing so well, little love.” His thumb found your clit and deftly worked small circles around it in time with his fingers. “I want to see you come undone for me, and I want to hear it all. Hold nothing back - you can do that, can’t you?”

You took in a shaky breath and managed a nod.

He chuckled as he applied more pressure to your clit. That delicious, familiar ache began to burn in your lower stomach and accelerate to a flame. You clenched around his fingers, every muscle in your body tightening into a coiled spring.

“Gods, I’m close… Astarion, please, please, don’t stop…”

“Let go, I’ve got you.”

His gentle command was all you needed to fall over the edge into whatever blissful oblivion awaited you. You buried your face into his chest and screamed as your orgasm burned through you, lighting every nerve on fire to the point of oversensitivity. You felt his fingers slow along with your breathing and you moaned at their absence when they withdrew.

Astarion brought his fingers to his mouth and lasciviously licked them clean, his eyes never leaving yours. “Almost as sweet as your blood.”

“… glad you think so,” you managed to answer between breaths.

“Mind if I have another taste?” He pushed your nightgown up and over your head and began planting a trail of kisses and small bites around your breasts. “Preferably from the source.”

“Is there a possibility that you’ve had enough, Star?”

“Never,” he growled into your breast with another bite. Not enough to break the skin, but enough that you could already feel the bruise that would be there in the morning. He grinned when you shuddered beneath him in response. “And something tells me that you haven’t, either.”

You smiled. “Never.”

“Wicked little thing. You’ll be the second death of me.” His lips lingered over the warmth of your beating heart before he trailed more bites and kisses across your stomach, working his way down between your thighs. Your breath hitched when he nipped at the ticklish spot right above your hip and you felt his low chuckle reverberate against you.

He settled between your legs, and a sharp pinch from his fangs to the flesh of your thigh came as a warning to keep still. He ever-so-slowly dragged his tongue along your folds, clearly reveling in how you shook and squealed beneath him and delighting in the taste of your arousal. When his tongue finally found your clit, the burn of overstimulation from the previous orgasm shocked every nerve in your body and you nearly squirmed away. The firm grip of his hands kept you in place as the burn subsided into that needy, pleasant ache. Your hands found their way down to his head and your fingers tangled themselves into his soft curls in a vain attempt to pull him closer. He merely hummed in response, diving his tongue deeper into you and his grip pressing bruises into your hips.

If Astarion could feed on the arousal dripping from your cunt alone, you knew he would and you would more than let him. He was ravenous, not even bothering to breathe, burying his face in the warmth between your thighs. He took his time between drinking in your pooling arousal and exploring your folds with his tongue, only moaning against you when he remembered to take the necessary breaths to do so.

Then, with little warning, he shifted his attention to that little bundle of nerves with a feral growl that came from deep within his chest and vibrated into your core. His eyes briefly met yours, dark with a predatory gleam. You gasped, the coil tightening within you once again. You pulled on his hair and he remained unmoved, devouring you with an intensity reserved only for your blood and these moments alone. The coil grew tighter… tighter… and shattered as you let out a wordless scream. His hands pushed you back into the mattress before your back arched above the bed and held you there, his tongue working at you through your orgasm. It was too much and not enough all at once.

You weren’t sure when he stopped, or when he laid back by your side and wrapped you snug in your blanket. He produced a scroll from the nightstand and muttered something over it. The scroll glowed and dissolved into nothing, and you felt a warmth spread through your spent and aching body. Of course he still had a stash of lesser restoration scrolls. You shivered and pulled the blanket tighter around yourself.

Astarion’s pale, lean arms wrapped around you from behind. “Take your time, but I’m not done with you yet, darling.”

“Oh?”

“Do you still remember why you were upset earlier?”

“Yes.”

“Well then, that simply will not do.” He kissed the side of your face. “I’ll not rest until I’ve fucked the reason for your sadness right out of you.”

“Then it is going to be a very long night, my love.”

He pulled you closer into his embrace. “Then I very much look forward to it.”

[macfrog]

heart, body, soul cowboy like me chapter thirteen

surprise! happy friday eve. here's some cowboy to get you through it. life has been a little tough on me lately. sorry for the terribly long wait. but the end is in sight, dear readers. tighten the stampede string on your hats. we're coming in to land.

pairing: dbf!joel x fem!reader

summary: you and joel are at an impasse. you resolve it the only way you know how

warnings: age gap (reader is 23, joel is 48), cursing, alcohol consumption, mention of dr*g use, titty appreciation, face sitting, oral (f receiving), unprotected piv, creampie, major fluff, major angst

word count: 14.4k (y’all ask. mother macfrog delivers)

series masterlist | main masterlist | playlist | follow @macfroglets w notifs on to be the first to hear when i post 🧡

You sigh. “I don’t want you…with…anyone else. I want you to…only want me.” His brows straighten. You sit in silence, staring at one another. Both daring the other to be the first to talk. But it’s his turn, and he knows it. So he swallows, and says – “I don’t want nobody else.” And that’s a thing. A great big, terrible thing.

It’s been a week since you last saw Joel. Blurred, tilting, pulling to-and-fro across your vision. A week since you last heard him; his low voice like the hum of an electric wire, tired acoustics drumming weakly through his chest into your heavy hand, laced through his own. Fingers draped softly across his swollen knuckles. You wonder if they’re still marked seven days later.

A week since you felt him. Felt your body lean towards him – gravity or dizziness or something stronger – as his weight dipped into the bed beside you. The way it has only a handful of times now, but enough to score it deep into your memory. Enough that you know the difference between him and anyone else, even with your eyes closed and your heart bleeding.

Enough to ensure that, for as long as you live, you’ll know and see each difference between him and every other person you ever meet. They won’t lower their head the way he does, or lift the corners of their mouth like him. Your name won’t sound the same, won’t sound as complete, coming from someone else’s mouth. Your body won’t magnetize to anyone, the way it does to him.

And that’s fine. The separation. The fact that he was a fleeting moment. The fact that it was over before you felt it leave, before you heard the door close behind it. It’s fucking fine.

Still, you let it hurt a while. Just a little while.

The gash on your calf has healed up, your hangover had subsided by Saturday evening. But your chest still feels tight, your hands are still restless. You lie awake staring at the ceiling, surrounded by the clothes you have of his; breathing in the ghost of his scent and breathing out pathetic, aching sighs. He’s all you smell, all you touch.

Except – he’s not anymore, is he? He saw to that well enough.

So you let it hurt. And you think you can just about make do with that.

“Hey, hon,” you dad gently calls, hanging on your doorframe. Your room is dark, drapes closed, the only light source the white light from your laptop.

“Hi,” you reply, with a break in your voice. Your eyes don’t lift from the screen. Jim just told Pam he’s in love with her, but she’s engaged to Roy. But she really loves Jim, she just won’t admit it. It’s cathartic, okay?

Dad steps into the room and awkwardly stuffs his hands into his jean pockets. “Awfully, uh…awfully quiet lately, hm? Everything okay?”

“Fine. Everything’s fine.”

It’s not a lie. You are fine. You’re so fine, you’re actually numb to it.

The problem is that for the last few weeks, you’ve been more than fine. The best you’ve felt in months – maybe even years. The most you’ve smiled, the hardest you’ve laughed. The warmest the blood has ever run through your veins.

And then you’re just – fine again. Back to nothing.

He shuffles between feet. Stares at the floor, where his shadow sprouts from his toes. “I was gonna head into town, grab a few things. You wanna come? Sit in the car with a book, maybe?”

“I’m good, Dad. Thanks.”

“Sure? Whatcha watchin’?”

“The Office.”

He nods. “Right, right. I, uh, I was thinkin’ of askin’ Joel and Sarah over for dinner tonight. You always have fun when they’re around. You and Sarah could spend some time together, y’know?”

Your heart nosedives straight from your chest into your stomach. The thought of seeing him again, this time crystal clear and not while under the influence of alcohol, drugs, or worse, sinks its sharp claws into your shoulders and sinks you deep underwater. His voice gets lost somewhere in the space between you. And when you finally come back up for air, back into the room, you gulp back whatever string of senseless words your empty chest initially offered up.

“Hm…” You pretend to consider the thought, then head straight for passive. “Whatever. Sure.”

Your dad’s mouth opens to respond, and you cut in again.

“I’m kinda tired,” you say, yawning. Trying to make him leave.

He’s not great at taking hints. “Kiddo, I am really worried about you. Weren’t you s’posed to be working this mornin’?”

“You ain’t gotta worry about me. I’m just a little tired, is all. Wasn’t feeling up to restocking tools and dealing hardwood to your buddies.”

It’s only the second truth you’ve told him since he set foot in your room. You never feel much like work, not Sal’s-fucking-Hardware-kinda work, anyway. But the thought of standing for seven hours with a bared-teeth grin plastered on your face, hands blistering from tearing open box after box of stock, shoulder slowly coming up in a bruise from the number of customers tapping on it…you figured Sal could do without you for one fucking day.

“You wanna look some more at other jobs?” Dad asks, and finally you look up. The blurry, luminous silhouette of Jim and Pam is strung in the dim air before him.

You shake your head. “Not right now. I have some bookmarked I can show you later.”

He takes a deep breath, unsure of which angle to come at you from next. Finally, with an air of resignation and defeat, he settles for, “You know where I am if you need me,” and closes your door as he leaves.

You’re staring intensely at the face of every character onscreen. The pixels burn into your eyes. You’re trying harder than anything to get him out of your head. It’s not working.

His hand through yours, his arms around you – warm, safe, protective; the way he smelled, sweet like whiskey, sharp like pine; the way he’d mumble, lips against your head, sweet nothings pressed into your hair; the feeling of his lips on yours, hungry for something only you knew how to give him. The look in his eyes, tender, knowing, loving.

And because he was the only other person fluent in your little secret language – a look, a nod, a tug at the corners of his mouth. His eyes settling on yours only for a nanosecond, one tiny moment in time laced with a thousand words that you translated as quickly as his glance moved across you. It all meant something. It all meant so fucking much.

All of it. You feel all of it as it sinks through your skin, through bone and into your brain. As it curls around your ribcage, holds tight around your heart. Every thought and feeling that flutters through on full display for him to read. And you’d let him, because it’s him. You trusted him. You – you might’ve even –

I mean, what the fuck, right? When the fuck did this happen?

Joel Miller. Joel fucking Miller.

Is this what you thought would happen that very first time you looked at him differently? Tidying up after pizza, leaning into you, telling you you’re nothin’ but trouble? Did he know then, that this was where you were headed?

Did you?

Your phone buzzes. You glance down at it through your tears.

Sarah: wtf is going on ???

You craft a reply as nonchalant as you can manage. Three little letters.

You: Wym?

Sarah: are u good??

You: Yeah lol. Why wouldn’t I be good

Sarah: idfk. weird. my dad’s on the phone to yours rn

That’s great. That’s just fucking great. He’s probably telling Joel right this second how miserable you are. That’s all you need.

You want to hold onto your pride, keep an air of casualness about you impermeable to even Sarah – but you desperately want to know what’s being said. What she’s listening to him say.

You: Yeah? What are they talking about?

Sarah: well now it’s just some andrew guy

Sarah: sounds like a loser

Sarah: we’re coming over for dinner tonight btw

You: Nice. See ya then

Sarah: u wanna come over here before? we can watch love island

You: I’m good. Gonna go for a nap

Sarah: you can nap here. come over!!!

You bury the phone under your pillow without replying. Sarah is like Joel in many ways, but her persistent nature is one avenue in which they drastically differ. Joel would – and has – give you space, let you mope; Sarah will probably text you all afternoon until she’s on your doorstep, takeout in one hand and a telling in the other.

So you drag your phone back out and put it on Do Not Disturb mode. She’s already sent two more texts since her last.

Sarah: seriously. would you come the fuck over. im only on episode 5 i gotta catch up

Sarah: even my dad is worried about you

Yeah. Good one, Joel. Fuckin’ asshole.

----------

They arrive at six on the dot, armed with pizza and a crate of beer. The doorbell rings once, you lean over a degree to glance down the hallway, and Sarah’s stepping over the threshold, her shadow of a father at her heels.

He’s rugged. Hair amok. He kinda looks a mess, sorta looks how you want him to after almost two weeks of no you. But he’s here. He’s right in front of you. And this time, the shape of him isn’t swimming across your glassy eyes.

Your heart swells with relief to see him again, only until it twinges from the wound that he caused, and it hurts all over again. You turn back in your stool to face the kitchen island, making some noncommittal noise when Sarah’s hand presses between your shoulder blades in greeting.

“Tyrique and Ella are kinda cute, but I don’t trust him. Dude’s gonna fuck her over for sure,” she mutters, shoving the box over the counter towards your dad, who accepts the beer from Joel with a pat on his arm.

He’s standing across the kitchen – Joel – as far as he can get from you. You’re sure his eyes haven’t lifted from the floor yet. But you scan him all over, from the loose collar of his shirt down to the cuffs, rolled halfway up his forearms; from the rough hair of his beard down to the soft tufts decorating the skin just below his clavicle.

You scan him all over. The body you know just as well with the flannel and jeans over it as you do without them. The body you’ve squeezed, and scratched, and bit and kissed – and the same one you’ve thrown curses and insults at as it follows you through his house.

If he looked you dead in the eye right now, you’re not sure you could look away. You’re not sure you could stop.

That is, until Sarah presses a chilled beer to your arm, startling you, and silently nods towards the dining table.

She sits on your right, opposite your dad’s seat. She resumes chittering about Love Island. Joel and your dad are still in the kitchen, stacking plates, cracking the caps off their drinks. And then he pushes off the counter, and slowly wanders over.

You watch his every move. Study him, like you’re about to be tested on it. Which foot he steps forward with – always his left – and which chair he’ll pick once he’s at the table – the one opposite you, ‘cause it faces the TV for when he and your dad watch baseball while eating.

Two for two.

He lifts the chair, pulls it back, and angles it to face Sarah’s. He places his beer gently on the mat. When he sits, he doesn’t pull in any closer. Doesn’t risk your legs crossing paths under the table. You pull your knees up, let your shins rest against the wooden ledge. Your dad takes Joel up in conversation.

“So, this Andrew. He’s the brains of the operation?”

The pizza is slowly pulled apart over the course of an excruciating hour-long meal. Sarah puts the next episode of Love Island on while you eat, points out her favorite couples and nudges you to ask your opinion on the girls’ outfits.

“Wouldn’t have gone with those heels,” she mutters, chewing, pointing with her pizza crust to some six-inch ankle-breakers.

You lean past her shoulder every now and then to pretend you’re as engaged as she is. Pretend you’re listening. Your left ear is tuned into the conversation happening across the table.

Your dad thinks Andrew Curtis is fucking hilarious. Hoots with laughter when Joel tells him about his untucked button up. Says, Oh, jeepers, when he hears about the way the guy tripped jumping down from his truck.

The storyteller doesn’t sound so lively opposite. Your dad’s slapping his thigh with laughter. Joel’s shoulders are jerking at best. You dare a glance at him, and he’s already facing your direction. He turns away before your eye reaches his chest.

Soon, the episode ends. The atmosphere dies arm in arm with your dad’s attempt at another conversation. There’s a thick silence between the four of you. You haven’t opened your mouth the entire meal, but even if you did, the tension would clamp its heavy hand over your lips, blocking any words from making their way out of your windpipe.

Sarah clears her throat, manages a tentative, “I –” and then the phone rings, piercing through the awkward mist like a bolt of lightning.

Your dad pushes himself up and trots over, grabbing the handset a little too hastily. “Hello? Oh, hi, Rita. Hi. Yeah. Yep, Joel’s – Sarah? She’s here, yep.”

Sarah’s head drops, hand gripping her glass frozen in mid-air. “Fuck,” she whispers, and Joel shoots her a look across the table.

“She’s – oh, yeah? Well, let me ask ‘er.” Your dad covers the bottom of the handset with a huge palm. “Rita has some…cross –”

“Cross stitch, yeah, I know,” Sarah says, and thuds her glass down. “I said I’d help her out with it. I bet she’s seen your damn truck across the street!” She jabs a furious finger at her dad.

Joel shrugs. “Ain’t my fault the woman has eyes.”

Your body jerks as if to laugh. You don’t catch it in time. He notices.

“She’s on her way over, Rita,” your dad continues, nervously smiling at Sarah as she pulls her jacket over her shoulder. “She’s – oh, sure, I’ll let her know. Alright, now. Bye, Rita, bye. You’ve to bring your glasses. ‘pparently the pattern’s pretty small. You even wear glasses?”

She huffs in response. “I’m gonna be there all damn night. I’ll just get you at home.”

Joel opens his mouth to protest, goes to warn her that she ain’t walkin’ home alone in the damn dark, but your dad holds his hand out.

“We’ll give you a ride home. You come back here once you’re done.”

She nods gratefully and struts off down the hallway. The door slams shut behind her.

Your dad lightly chuckles, sauntering back over to his seat. “And then there were three…” he says, sitting back down.

But the loss of Sarah only cranes the spotlight over to you. Only you. No one else to split it with. No one else to lend it to. You can feel your dad’s eyes on you, waiting for you to make a move, some song and dance for your company.

He lifts his beer to his lips. Nods to you. Makes a song and dance of his fucking own, when he says, “Guess who’s been lookin’ at grad jobs?”

Joel stares at him for a second, like he’s waiting for your dad to reveal who it is he means. Like it can’t possibly be the only she in the room. His thumbs tap around his own bottle. “Oh – yeah?” he stammers, and throws a haphazard glance in your direction. He seems to mean to address you.

You sit forward, choke out a, “Yeah, uh – it’s – well. Kinda.”

“Film?” he asks, and you hear the rest of the question in the tone of his voice. Somethin’ you like, ‘n not just your dad’s suggestion?

You nod, but he’s not looking. He’s studying the label of his beer.

“Film,” your dad confirms. “Shut me the hell up, didn’t she? Came downstairs with her laptop the other night. Where is it, kiddo – New York?”

Your breath catches. The answer cowers at the back of your mouth, terrified to show itself. You force it forward.

“LA.”

Joel’s eyebrows lift.

“I said she might be better goin’ back to school. Reapply for next year, right?” Dad looks to you, and your lips pull in an awkward smile. “…but she didn’t wanna wait around. Told you the other day – this place is like prison.”

He chuckles, but Joel isn’t laughing. He’s staring at his beer, his brows slowly lowering from arched and curious to dark and furrowed. And you want to reach for his hand, want to shoo your dad off and spill your guts to his best friend. Want to explain yourself, show him the webpages and application forms you’ve spent the last few days surfing through – want to justify yourself to him.

But so long as your father is sat here, bumbling to himself about the prices of college courses these days – none of that happens. You simply sit in a stalemate opposite one another – a million thoughts racing through your head, a million and one racing through Joel’s.

“…might change her mind, but who knows? She’s skittish, this one, she –”

Another bleating ringtone cuts what you’re sure would’ve been an endearing compliment short. You say a silent prayer of gratitude for whoever’s at the other end of the line. Your dad sighs and heaves himself up again, swiping the phone from the kitchen counter.

“Hello? Hi, hi, Richard. No, I’m not – well, it’s – sure, sure. What’s –?”

His head falls in much the same way Sarah’s did ten minutes ago. He sighs.

“Right. No, that’s quite alright. I can be there in ten. Yep. Alright. See you in a – hello?”

He drops the phone back into its cradle and runs a hand down the back of his neck, growling.

“Kelman?” Joel asks, jaw turning to his shoulder.

“You bet. Misplaced the damn keys for his site. You two alright if I head on over there ‘n lock up for ‘im?”

“He familiar with Andrew Curtis at all?” Joel quips, and then waves your dad off. “Go on. I’ll be outta your hair by the time you get back.”

In a frenzied blur, your dad’s tying his laces, grabbing his keys, tossing a jacket over his shoulders. He apologizes a total of four times to Joel, thanks him for dinner, promises he’ll pay him back next time he sees him. And then he’s jogging off to the front door, and taking every ounce of comfortability with him.

And then there were two.

You slouch back in your chair, listening through the silence as your dad’s car engine fades down the street. When the quiet humming disappears, Joel’s head turns back to face you.

You’re alone again. For the first time in a week. This is the closest you’ve felt him, even separated by the dining table and a fog of conversation that you have no idea how to begin clearing. There’s more weight to the silence between you than words could ever bear, you know that much. More to be communicated between your eyes than your tongues know the language of. But still, you can see him through it.

Like a lighthouse, shining bright and beckoning you to the shoreline. You can feel him again, as if there’s an electric pulse radiating off of him. And you feel drawn in, like you always do; feel that magnetic pull in your chest, only ever satiated by the meeting of Joel’s.

You shift in your seat. His eyes flit up. Your heart jumps, like it’s a sign he’s really still in there. And then they drop back to his lap, and your chest sews itself back together.

Your eyes start to burn with fast-forming tears. Your throat tightens, tightens, tightens, pushing them higher and higher until they pool across your waterline. Blinking doesn’t help, just drops them onto your cheeks, to be quickly swept away by the sleeve of your hoodie.

All you want is for him to look you in the eye, whisper, C’mere, baby, scoop you up and hold you in his arms forever. Fuck everything you said about the distance being good. That was when he was in his house, and you were in yours. He’s here, right now. He’s sat across from you. You’re finally on your own again. And he’s not fucking looking at you.

You let your legs down and sit up straight in your chair. It’s small, but it feels like a necessary step to silently tell him that you’re in the room with him. You’re here.

It lifts his eyes again. Not to you, but to your empty plate. Then, to the wet stain on your sleeve. You hope it stabs his heart a little.

From the shaky breath he sucks in, it seems to hurt just enough. He clears his throat. Pulls his gaze higher, higher, a little higher, until you’re eye to eye.

A wave of feeling, either burning hot or freezing cold – you can’t tell the difference – stretches across your body. It’s unnerving, and yet calming. It’s soothing on your wound, and irritating all the same. He’s looking at you. You wonder if he can see you.

You stare at one another for a few moments, drinking it all in. You can see him clear as day. You can almost see the shadows of his thoughts as they dance across the frosted-glass windows of his hazel eyes.

He blinks. Breathes in deep through his nose. And then speaks.

“LA, huh?”

You scoff. You don’t fucking mean to, but it’s the opposite of what you expected – and kind of wanted – him to say. Your whole body relaxes, though – finally relieved of the tension of the last seven days, even if only for a moment.

You feel lighter, like someone kicked the door down and this is the first gulp of clean air in your lungs. It’s small, insignificant even, but it does what it needs to.

Which is – it gives you the energy to answer back.

“It’s not a concrete plan. Yet.”

“Yet,” he repeats.

“I’m not running from you, if that’s what you’re thinking. Get your head out of your ass.”

He wants to laugh. He should’ve expected it.

“I didn’t say anythin’. I think…I think it sounds like a good plan. ‘n you’d be close by to Sarah, so.”

This conversation feels like you’ve been left alone for ten minutes with your dad’s buddy. Sanitized. Surgical. Which would’ve been what it was little over a month ago, but it’s not now. Now, it’s totally different. There’s more than just that one neat string between you.

You’ve held his hand. You’ve kissed him. You’ve touched him, in ways you’ve only ever touched a handful of people. And even then – none of those times have been anything like the way you’ve touched Joel. You’ve tasted him, you’ve felt him as he climaxes somewhere deep inside you. You’ve pulled him into your body, over and over; you’ve let him have you in ways nobody else has.

There exists a complicated, messy web of history and emotion, woven tight between you. The weight of it bears down on the surface of the dining table.

And he’s talking to you about fucking grad jobs.

“Could you just – stop fucking with me?” you ask, sincerely. You’re not angry, you’re not hurt. Not anymore.

Joel lifts his chin. Studies your face. “I’m not fucking with you.”

“Yes, you are. You’re talking to me about some job, like there’s nothing else to talk about. Like there ain’t nothin’ else we might have to discuss.”

His response is resigned. Bored, even. “What else do you wanna discuss?”

You narrow your eyes. “Oh, um, I don’t fucking know. Last week?”

Joel takes a swig of beer. You take it as reply enough.

“I don’t have any clue where you’re at, Joel. You pick me up from Frank’s, beat a dude up for me, put me to bed, ‘n then when I wake up, you’re gone. Oh, but you left your fuckin’ shirt. By accident? Or for me? Who the fuck am I to know?”

He holds back a smile. “I had work.”

“Right,” you nod, “Andrew Curtis.”

“That guy’s an idiot. You’d probably like ‘im.”

“I bet. I’m fond of idiots, apparently.”

This time, he can’t hold it back. A smirk spreads across his lips, soft and shy, but there. Right there. You could reach out and fucking touch it.

And then he nods. Leans back in his chair, folds his arms, and nods. The smile begins to fade.

With it, goes the breathing space between you. The fog starts to thicken again. The web tightens some more. Your chest begins to ache. Things feel normal for all of two minutes, and then they’re back to awkward air so heavy that you can feel it on your shoulders, feel it forcing you into a slump in your chair.

This whole thing is built on lies. Lies on top of lies on top of lies. The only truth there has ever been has been between the two of you. Two lonely figures, wrapped in each other’s arms in the eye of a storm. So –

Fuck it.

You sniff. “I thought – that the most we were risking was my dad. I thought the worst that could happen was him findin’ out.”

Your voice is quiet. Unsure of itself. One word carrying you to the next, not totally sure where you’re going with it.

“I didn’t know I was risking losing you, too, and now…now, you’re just gone. Like, you don’t wanna talk to me, you barely wanna look at me. I don’t…I don’t have you anymore, and it’s all fucked up. Do you know, I – I wouldn’ta done any of it if I thought you’d go?”

Joel flinches. Tightens the hold on his arms.

“I want you to come back,” you say, stronger this time. Louder. Clearer. You’re ignoring the tears sweeping across your vision. “Just come back. You don’t even – you don’t even have to touch me or nothin’. We can just hang out and talk, we don’t have to…we don’t have to do anything.”

Your voice wobbles by the end. Your lips tighten around it, shutting it off before you can say anything more to embarrass yourself.

Joel’s still quiet. He watches wordlessly as you stand, pile the plates atop one another and make for the kitchen. As you place them gently into the sink, you feel the weight of him behind you, reaching over to set the bottles alongside them.

“I ain’t gone anywhere,” he murmurs, and you twist to face him.

“Joel. This is the most we’ve touched in two weeks. Putting dishes in the sink.”

He repeats himself. Adds, “I’m still here. I still care about you.”

You shrug. “Then – show me.”

He steps back. “Show you,” he scoffs. Your expression doesn’t shift. “Show you? Like I didn’t just almost break my damn knuckles defendin’ you? Take you home in the dead a’ night, deal with all your drunk bickerin’?”

Your head tilts. He’s right. But you want more than that. More than spitting threats and leaving flannels behind. You want his hands, and his lips, and his voice. You want –

“…Lord, mighty me.”

Your dad’s voice follows the sudden jolt of the front door opening. You and Joel are already five feet apart by the time his body appears around the corner, one hand leaning on the wall, the other pinching the bridge of his nose.

“How on Earth that man has his own construction company, I have no idea. Called me halfway to the site ‘n said he found the keys in his damn pocket.”

“Always the scatterbrains,” Joel says, leaning casually against the counter.

“Sure is. You ‘n me oughta start our own, show ‘em all how it’s done. Anyways. What’d I miss?”

Before you can answer, Joel’s speaking again. He sounds in a hurry. “Just tidyin’ up. We were talkin’ about graduate programs, actually. You know what,” he turns to you, “I’m sure Sarah has some old brochures from UCLA. Might have some stuff worth checkin’ out. You wanna come get ‘em?”

It takes a second for you to realize he’s talking to you. His eyebrows are arched, his thumb pointing over his shoulder. He came up with the lie so damn quick, you have whiplash.

“I – yeah, sure. Yeah.”

Your dad runs his tongue between his teeth. “UCLA. Huh. Well, don’t keep Joel too late.”

“I w…I won’t,” you reply, following at the heels of the swaggering figure towards the door. You dodge his eye contact and dip your head behind Joel’s shoulder, thankful for his protective stance in front of you.

Your dad doesn’t say anything more – instead, he stands back and lets Joel lead you out. You steal a glance back at him as you slip through the door. His face unreadable, his eyes stick on Joel; locked tight on the flannel wandering down the driveway ahead of you. The word loops in your head as though the phone’s ringing again. Guilty guilty guilty guilty guilt–

But then the night breeze is dancing across your cheeks, and you’re following at the heels of Joel again, and you feel light as air in the wake of him. You climb into the passenger side of the truck and watch as he settles alongside you with a sigh. He pulls out of the drive, and his right hand sits idly on his thigh. You think to take it. Joel reads your mind.

He sits it on the armrest between you, palm facing up. You stare straight ahead and let your fingers slip through his. He knots your bodies together, thumb rubbing gently on your knuckle.

Another pound of weight lifts from your shoulders.

----------

Joel drives for twenty minutes before pulling up in an empty parking lot across from a church. It’s pitch-black and deserted. There’s a single streetlight over by the corner, illuminating a trashcan and not much else. You’re shrouded in darkness, save for the soft glow from the lights on the dash.

He switches the engine off and sits back in his seat. Your hands are separated. The distance between you slowly starts to grow again.

“LA,” he says, for the second time tonight, staring at the ceiling of the cabin.

“LA,” you echo, staring at him.

He looks down to you. Smiles. There’s something behind it. You can’t tell what.

“It’s not a grad job,” you say, forcing something up. Your fingers are twisting around the drawstring of your hoodie. “I was lookin’ at grad stuff, but there wasn’t anything I was into. The LA thing is a six-month temp job I saw.”

Joel nods. “What’s that look like?”

“Production assistant. Lots of behind-the-scenes stuff.”

“Mhm. Sounds like your thing.”

Your brows jump as you pull the tie around your finger. The tip turns white. “Might be. Job ad closes on Monday.”

He sucks in a breath. “Better get applyin’, then.”

Your head cocks. “So eager for me to go?”

“Eager for you to do somethin’ you love,” he corrects.

“But it would get me outta your hair.”

“I don’t want you outta my hair.”

A smirk sneaks its way across your lips. You nod to the view from the windshield. “Why are we way the hell out here?”

“Because your dad bombed our conversation, ‘n I figured we weren’t done.”

“Then talk.”

He licks his lips. Folds his arms, settles deeper into his seat. He turns a little more to face you. The single light from outside catches in his iris, like that same lighthouse beacon you could see earlier. Distant, far off, but there. Still there.

“I owe you an apology,” he says. “I…I thought what we were doin’…What I was doin’…I thought I was causing you more hurt ‘n harm than good. I was scared it’d gone too far. Scared it wasn’t okay anymore.”

“Was it ever okay?”

He shifts again, uncomfortably. In the dim light, you see his face pull. He squints, wobbles his head in consideration. “No. It wasn’t. But we did it anyways, you ‘n me. We made that decision together.”

“Right. And then you went and made the complete opposite decision, alone.”

He’s nodding. He knows. And you think you know, too. It fucking sucked, losing him – but you get it. What was the big plan? How far were you going to let it go? Someone had to pull the plug at some point. Someone had to cut the thing loose.

You lean closer to him. “I just…I wish you’d let me fight back a little. Wish you’d heard me out more. I know what we’ve done isn’t right. I know that. But I – I fucking –”

You sigh. It leaves your mouth shaky and unsure of itself.

There’s something more. Something at the back of your tongue, itching to separate into the dense space between you. Bigger. Stronger. Heavier.

“I missed you,” you concede, shaking your head. “That’s all.”

Joel’s eyes fall shut with a wince when you say it, like it physically hurts to hear the words come out of your mouth. But he’s clearer, now – the fog is slowly shrinking away. The words behind his eyes seem to light them in a warm glow. Missed you too, baby.

His hand opens up on the armrest again. Yours falls into it instantly.

He clears his throat then, and says, “Also owe you an apology for – for the Lois thing. I know I should’ve explained a lot sooner, ‘n I’m sorry I had you thinkin’ what you were thinkin’. I didn’t – I didn’t know it was such a big deal to you. Thought you’d know I wouldn’t…do that.”

“I think I did,” you tell him. Your nails run up and down his fingers. “Deep down. Wasn’t so much about her as it was about me.”

“About you?”

You shrug. “Yeah. Me, us, this. It was more of a, Why wouldn’t he want someone like her?, y’know? No lying, no secrets. And she’s old, like you.”

“Easy.”

You smile. “She’s nice. I know she is. My dad went on for five whole minutes about how good you’d be together when I asked ‘im. So – why wouldn’t you wanna be with her, right?”

It’s rhetorical. Joel knows. But he answers it anyways.

“She is nice,” he agrees, “but I ain’t interested. To tell you the truth, darlin’, I was a little preoccupied worrying my ass off about you to even look twice at the woman.”

You freeze for a second. Stare at the outline of his jaw, the jagged bristles of his beard; the soft sweep of hair silhouetted by the moonlight outside. He’s still Joel – even in the darkness, even in the fog. Even when you can’t see, hear, or touch him – he’s still there. Thinking about you. Worrying about you.

“Well,” you sniff, “you don’t gotta worry anymore. I just…I didn’t like the thought of it.”

His head tilts. Beckons you to continue.

You sigh. “I don’t want you…with…anyone else. I want you to…only want me.”

His brows straighten. You sit in silence, staring at one another. Both daring the other to be the first to talk. But it’s his turn, and he knows it. So he swallows, and says –

“I don’t want nobody else.”

And that’s a thing. A great big, terrible thing.

“But,” he continues, almost immediately, “this has gotta be – I’ve gotta do right by you. Gotta be honest, now –”

“Wait,” you interrupt, “can you just – stop acting like it’s all you?”

Joel falls quiet. His brows knit together.

“Stop saying things that make it sound like you’re the only one in this. I’m in it, too. I want it. I want you.”

“Baby, it’s not as simple as –”

“Joel,” you take his arms and pull yourself closer to him, legs propped against the center console, “I want you. This. I want us. All of it, I want all –”

Your body is being tugged closer to him, lifted nearer, and his chin bumps against yours, and his eyelashes almost brush against yours when your foreheads link, and his breath sweeps hot and needy across yours, and he – he kisses you.

You stop breathing. You don’t care whether or not it ever comes back. Oxygen replaced by him. Everything replaced by him.

His tongue slips past your lips, his hand glides across your hair to cup the back of your head. He locks you into his body, lets you rest your arms across his shoulders. Your lips find a rhythm against one another; warm, wet, tender.

His free hand cups your cheek, holds your mouth to his just a second longer, before he pulls away, and gives you one last kiss. Softest of them all. Seals the fucking deal.

“We okay?” he mumbles, and you lift your head from his palm. You sit frozen for a second, just looking at him. Looking and looking and looking.

“We’re good.”

He smiles then. A genuine smile. “I thought,” he whispers, glancing around the quiet parking lot, “I could take you on a date.”

So that’s why he brought you out here.

“A date?”

“Mhm. Never been on one, have we?”

“Never could.”

He nods in agreement. “Just ice cream. For now. Thought I’d show you some of my moves.”

“You got moves?” you snicker.

“I’m a catch, darlin’. The ladies swoon for me.”

“Alright, never say that to me again.”

Joel laughs. “There’s a place right around the corner. ‘s go.”

He climbs out of the truck and wanders off towards the sidewalk, and you follow. He looks down at you as you walk. His cheeks swell with the smile on his face, dimples at the edges of his lips.

It’s quiet; quieter than you’d expect, not that you’re complaining. With the sun almost set, you’re doused in light only when you wander under a streetlight. So, it’s no surprise when Joel’s eyes quickly scan the street up ahead, and his hand reaches down for yours.

Your stomach flips. You’re doing everything you can not to let him feel your pulse in your wrist, but you’re pretty sure you can, because he leans his shoulder against yours and asks if you’re okay.

“Good,” you choke out, relieved to have just passed a streetlight that might give away the blush on your cheeks.

Approaching on the right is a sickly-sweet, pastel-painted store front; fairy lights decorating the window, wireframe tables and chairs dotted outside. A bell dings when Joel pushes the door open, holding it open for you to step inside.

It’s…dainty. Sweet. Everything is either teal or pink or white. There’s a giant ice cream cone stood in the corner. There’s a gumball machine opposite it. The lighting is a little garish – kind of reminds you of sitting in the dentist chair, eyes squinting up at the bright white light overhead.

You’re fucking surprised to be stood in here with Joel Miller, of all people. He sticks out like a sore thumb; his worn jeans and crumpled flannel against the minty gleam of the parlor like an earthy tree sprouting in the middle of that same dentist’s office. It makes you giggle, as he leads you over to the counter.

A boy with a teal uniform meets him over a glass case full of different ice cream flavors. His name badge reads Ben. “What can I get you?” he asks, scoop in hand. Your lips press against one another to stop your laugh from escaping.

Joel turns to look at you. He nudges you with his elbow when you don’t return his glance, too focused on Ben’s pink baseball cap, the logo of the shop printed on top.

“Uh,” you consider, glancing down, “I’m good with any.”

Joel sighs, lips thinning. “Am I gonna pick a flavor, ‘n then you decide you don’t like it?”

“Nope. Promise.” You smile innocently, and he turns back to the server.

“I’ll take one scoop of the cookie dough, and, uh…one of the coffee, please.”

When Ben dips to scoop the order into two little tubs, you mock gasp at Joel.

“What?”

“Coffee?”

He shrugs.

“I took you for a vanilla man.”

Ben stands straight and punches some numbers into the cash register. Joel hands him a ten.

“What about me makes you think I’m into vanilla?” he asks in a low voice.

You bat your eyelashes at him. A dark thought crosses your mind, but you think better of voicing it and save Ben the embarrassment of potentially hearing you.

Joel thanks him and takes both tubs in one hand. You make for a booth by the window, but his hand quickly slinks around your waist, diverting you back to the door.

“Nuh-uh.”

“What?” you ask, spinning around.

Joel continues walking, backing you out of the shop. “I am not sittin’ in here. Got a fuckin’ headache already from five minutes in the place.”

“But it’s so cute,” you protest, giggling. “You don’t want your picture taken with the giant cone?”

“Get the hell out,” he mumbles, shoving you across the tiled floor back out to the sidewalk. He can’t mask his own grin, spilling out behind you, taking your hand in his.

You snort as he drags you back along the street. “Maybe I should forget about LA and get a job in there. Drive myself insane.”

“Maybe you should,” Joel agrees. “Least then you’d have an excuse for it.”

You slap his chest. “Where are we goin’?”

“’s just go back to the truck. Quieter. Less fluorescent lights.”

He unlocks it a few paces away, but you stroll past your door.

“What are you doin’?” Joel asks when you pull yourself up into the bed.

“C’mon,” you call back, settling against the back window, “it’s a nice night. Who are we hiding from?”

He tosses it over in his head and cocks one eyebrow. Fair enough. He climbs up and passes you the ice cream, shrugging his shirt from his shoulders. He throws it over your bare legs and sits down beside you, grunting as he does.

You smirk when he rests back.

“I’m almost fifty, darlin’,” he warns, reaching for his tub.

Your lips curve and you nod, digging the little plastic spoon into your dessert. You stretch your legs out and cross your ankles, watching in quiet contentment as the cars roll by, squealing to a halt at the traffic lights. Lights are coming on in windows, curtains are being drawn. Joel’s legs lie against yours, joined at the hip, shoulders brushing off one another.

This is the most peace you’ve had in a fortnight. Sat in the back of his truck, no eyes on you, watching the comings and goings of some back street in the city. You talk about nothing, for the first time in what’s felt like forever. You talk about films, and music, and all the stuff that seemed so unimportant before. Now, it all feels imperative. Feels like a life-or-death thing. What’s your favorite movie? You know my favorite movie, baby. But tell me again. Just so I know for sure. Just so that – if anything happens.

You listen when he answers. You watch his mouth as he says the words. For all the times you took it for granted before. For all the times you thought it was insignificant. It’s all significant, now. It all means something. It’s just more strings to the web between you, each one knotting you closer and closer together.

And you talk about what you’ve missed. The two weeks you’ve spent apart. You catch him up as if he was only gone on vacation. As if he was always meant to come back in the end.

“The guy with the weed – same guy you punched – he was –” gulp, “– what was his name again? Knicks? No –”

Joel snorts, spoon scraping around the edge the tiny pot in his huge hand. “Knicks?”

You close your eyes, waving your hand like it’ll urge him to remember the name of a guy he took no time getting to know before he floored him. “No, it wasn’t Kn…Knox! It was Knox, and he –”

“Kind of a fuckin’ name is Knox? Knox?”

“Are you gonna let me talk, or what?” you quip, and Joel brings his wrist up to his mouth to mask his laugh.

“Sorry, sorry, sweetheart. Go ahead. Knox had the weed.”

“Knox had the weed, and…he…Fuck, I can’t even remember where I was goin’ with that.” You shake your head and lean it back against the windowpane.

He laughs. For real. A Joel laugh. His shoulders jerk with the force of it. “You were gonna tell me about his friends, I think. Somethin’ about his friends.”

It sparks back up in your brain – the memory. “Right! Right. His friends – that dude with the glasses? That was Zack.”

Joel stares at you blankly, tongue in his cheek. “Zack?”

“Big guy, red face. Buck teeth. From Costco?”

His jaw slackens. He remembers. “I fuckin’ – I knew I’d seen that kid’s face before. That was him?”

You nod. Uhuh.

“Damn.” He chuckles. “He looked at me like I was a wild bear.”

You toss your head, roll your eyes. “Well.”

He laughs again. Knocks your legs with his own.

“Good call, by the way,” your lips mumble around the shape of your spoon, “cookie dough. it’s nice.”

“Wanna try mine?”

“Really?” Your face contorts, eyes screwing. “Coffee?”

“’s good. Here.”

He holds out a spoonful.

“Yeah, nice to you, who drinks, like, thirty of ‘em a day.”

Joel responds by pushing the spoon to your lips and you oblige, opening up and letting him feed you the ice cream.

It’s not bad. It’s ice cream, it can’t be bad. But it definitely isn’t good, and the way your lips purse and your neck jerks lets Joel know exactly how you feel about it. He scoffs, wiping a little from your lips with his thumb and sucking it clean.

“You don’t like it?”

“Why is it…bitter? Eugh.”

He laughs to himself as he loads up another spoonful. “It’s an acquired taste.”

“Well, I am not interested in acquirin’ it. You want some of the cookie dough?”

He shakes his head. “You enjoy.”

You both turn back to the street ahead. Joel’s arm is warm at the side of yours, his shoulder right there for you to lean your head on.

He places a kiss to your head when you do.

“What do you think he’d do if he found out?”

You’re not sure where it comes from. Neither is Joel, apparently, from the way he clears his throat and squirms ever so slightly. He knows exactly who you mean.

“I, uh…I don’t like to imagine.”

“It scare you?”

He takes a deep breath. “Naw. I just got better things to do with my imagination, is all.” He prods your arm with his. Picturin’ you.

“Ha. You reckon he’d kill you?”

“Probably.”

“He couldn’t kill you. Wild bear.”

“Well, I reckon he might try.”

“I think he’d call the cops.”

Joel’s head lifts from yours and falls back against the truck with a laugh.

“Help, Officer,” you mimic your dad’s twang,“my grown adult daughter is sleeping with someone!”

Joel’s shoulders slowly stop moving.

“Is that all we’re doin’?” he asks.

“Huh?” You lift your head and look at him. His dark eyes reflect the city lights in the distance.

“Is that all we’re doin’? Sleepin’ together?” His voice is gentle, honest. Genuinely asking, seeking out what you think.

You consider it, tryna sound casual. You know what he’s getting at.

“That’s all we’ve been doin’. Help, Officer, my daughter’s grabbing ice cream with someone? Better?”

He hums. Looks down at the empty tub in his hands. Looks back up to your lips. Draws nearer to you, holds your chin with one finger, looks you dead in the eye, and whispers,

“How about, Help, Officer, my daughter made someone fall in love with her?”

Your breath catches. Your hands fall limp into your lap. You blink away tears.

“You – No, that’s – You gotta say it. You gotta actually tell me, ‘cause I’m not – I don’t wanna misinterpret – We haven’t –”

You’re buffering. Your brain malfunctioning. Your tongue can’t decide which of the words at the back of your throat, all desperate to escape, to let through first.

Joel’s just smiling, watching you stutter and stammer your way through a sentence that leads you nowhere, desperately trying to compute what he’s just said because he’s finally fucking admitted it. He’s finally letting you know, giving you access to a part of him he’s been keeping from you for who knows how long.

Even though all this time it’s been the one thought running through your head that hasn’t passed your lips, it reverberates around your ears like it’s the last thing you ever expected him to say.

Joel’s hand moves to your neck, just below your ear. “Baby,” his thumb rubs your skin, “you know I love you.”

A gasp flees from your lips. Your ice cream is thrown to the truck bed, probably spilling over, and you don’t care. You leap into his lap, arms around his neck, and kiss him all over.

Joel’s laughing, returning what kisses he can, squeezing you with his big hands.

“I love you,” he says again when you come up for air, and it’s the most beautiful thing you’ve ever heard in your life. You sit your forehead against his, whispering breathlessly,

“Fuck, I love you, too.”

You two stare at each other, eyes scanning every part of the other’s face, mapping every mark, line, scar, like it’s the first time you’ve ever seen each other.

Guess it is, right?

This is the first time you’re looking at the man you love and you’re not afraid of it. The first time your chest swells and you don’t gulp it back, the first time you let him feel your heart pounding against the wall of your chest.

It’s the first time you look into his eyes, dark eyelashes and fine lines decorating deep warm brown, and think those three words…and know you can say them. Know neither of you will be spooked, neither of you will try to push them back down where they came from.

I love you. That’s all there is between you now. Your cards are flat on the table, Joel’s, too. Game over. You know everything there is to know about each other. You know each other.

You’ve sunk down his body, turned so your back curves into his chest, his chin resting on your head. Safely encased in his body, sat between his thighs. His hand runs up and down your thigh, lighting drawing lines and circles and writing words you don’t care to guess, ‘cause you probably already know ‘em.

Love hums between the two of you, keeping you warm; your bodies pressed together, hearts beating just inches apart. You blink your eyes open and the single streetlight sails back into your vision – bright as the moon, stirring you from your tranquil bliss.

“Do you,” you turn, and Joel fixes your hair, presses his lips to your forehead, “do you tell all the girls that on the first date? Was that just one of your moves?”

He snorts, and answers by pulling you in to give you a tender kiss.

No. Just you.

“You ready to go?” he asks when your lips part.

“Mhm. Take me home, cowboy.”

----------

His house is dark against the dusky sky. The headlights illuminate the garage door as he pulls up in the drive, squeezing your hand once as the truck comes to a halt.

“And then…” Joel says, holding a finger up to you. Wait right here.

He gets out of the driver’s side and you watch the shadow of him jog around the truck, stopping at your door. He opens it, and holds a hand out for you to take.

You choke on a laugh. “That is…”

“That is what?”

“…so cheesy. You really do that?”

“Uhuh. C’mon.”

Your fingers lace through his and you hop out of the truck. Joel shuts the door behind you and extends his elbow, and you link your arm through his. His hand warmly rests on top of yours.

You both wander over to his porch where he stops, letting you walk up the steps alone. When you reach the top one, only just taller than him on the path, hands still interlinked, you look down.

“Then I say, Thank you for a lovely evenin’, and,” he lifts your hand, pressing his lips to your knuckles, “then…” Joel holds his arms out. Voila. Just like that.

“Wow. I feel…honored.”

“You should.”

“Not even a proper kiss?”

“I just kissed your hand, baby. You didn’t like that?”

“You don’t ask to come inside?”

He scoffs. “Nope. What would I want to come inside for?”

You grin. Shrug your shoulders. Start walking backward to his door.

“Well, I am exhausted after our date, Mr. Miller. I do think,” yawn, “I should be gettin’ ready for bed.”

Joel lowers his head, eyes trained on you, smirk growing on his lips. “Is that so?”

You nod.

He starts to climb the steps.

“I’m sure I’ll be expectin’ a call from you,” you mewl, exaggerated Southern accent crooning to him. Your back bumps against the front door. Joel’s on the porch now. You bite your lip.

“Oh, I’m sure you will,” he returns, his shadow creeping over you. He reaches your body and his arms come to rest on the frame right above your head.

You hook your hands around his shoulders.

“You really don’t wanna come in?” you whisper, and his jaw ticks.

“I wouldn’t want to be ungentlemanly.”

Leaning in, lips against his ear, you whisper soft enough to shake the breath as it falls from his lips.

“And what if I asked you, nicely, to take me inside and fuck me good ‘n hard until I can’t walk?”

Joel’s eyes pool black when you lean away, head resting back on his door. Your gaze is heavy with lust, eyelashes batting slowly.

“Hm,” he grumbles, body beginning to press against yours. His head cocks. “You don’t wanna be treated like a lady?”

“Nope.” You smirk, hand falling down to cup the bulge quickly forming below his belt.

“Want to be treated like a fuckin’ whore, do ya?”

Chest heaving, you nod, massaging him.

“So dirty, darlin’, feelin’ your date up on the porch,” he tells you, dipping his jaw to run his lips along your neck. “What ‘m I gonna do with you?”

You shrug again, and your fingers find the door handle at your hip. You push, and the wood behind you falls inward.

As you plunge into the dark house, Joel’s rough hands clamp down on your waist, taking you in his tight grip and throwing you against the wall. His lips find your neck, teeth scraping the sensitive skin, tongue caressing tenderly as he sucks a bruise into you. Heat spreads across your core. You clench your thighs around the feeling.

“Joel,” you whine, hands surfing through his hair. “Fuck, take me upstairs.”

He hums. He’s going to. He’s just not doing it quick enough.

You lift your leg to his hip, and his left hand scoops under your ass. He pulls your center flat against the swelling in his jeans, ruts slowly against your body. You hear a deep groan from his throat.

“Upstairs,” you say again, growing impatient, and he growls, taking you with both hands and lifting you two steps at a time towards his bedroom.

He kicks the door open, loosening his grip on you as he walks over to the bed. Light streams across the room in splinters, peering through the shades from the streetlights outside. Your legs drop and you dance along on your toes, turning him midway until his calves hit the bottom of his mattress.

Your lips part for mere seconds, allowing one reflected expression between you, before you’re pushing him by the chest onto the bed. His body springs when he hits the sheets, staring back up at yours between his legs. His breath courses from his mouth, thick with want and need.

You lay him flat on the mattress, knees either side of his waist, hands curved over his shoulders. His own find your waist, holding on tight as you straddle him, playing with the tie of your shorts when you settle.

You dip your head and brush your lips against his. One long, sweet kiss, and his hands are at the hem of your hoodie, pulling it free, lifting it over your head. You groan as it separates your bodies, let your tongue find his again as quickly as it was pulled apart from it.

“Let me see,” he whispers against your lips, hands slipping beneath the fabric of your shorts to rub circles into your hipbones.

You smile as you straighten, fingers dancing along the hem of your tee.

“Let me – see,” Joel grunts, when your core grinds into his.

You peel the tight fabric from your stomach, higher, higher, until it lifts your breasts, catching on the curve of them, and as you whip it over your head, they bounce back down. Joel groans from below, staring at the perfect peaked shape. He lifts one hand to cup your tit, runs his thumb over the quickly-hardening nipple.

“So fuckin’ pretty, baby.”

“I know,” you tell him, watching as his thumbpad circles the delicate skin. Your back arches into his touch.

And then his hands sink into the mattress either side of his body, pushing himself closer to you. He wraps a strong arm around your back and pulls your chest to his mouth, lips pressing wet kisses to the valley between your breasts. His teeth graze across the round shape up towards your nipple again.

His tongue slips over the hard bud, swirling and soaking all over it. Your head falls back, fingers grip onto his hair. Your mouth falls open, but no sound comes. Joel sucks harder.

“S– fuck,” you whisper, nearly voiceless. His tongue is flicking now, lips pulling more of your body into his mouth. “Fuckfuckfuck, I need you, I need you,” you whimper.

He releases your sweet skin, lips shining with saliva. “Tell me where.”

You writhe on top of him, hands pushing your shorts down over your hips. “You know where.”

Joel holds your body steady. “Tell me.”

You whine, trying to rock against him. He doesn’t let up. “Joel, fuck. Betw– between my – fuck.”

“Between your legs?” he taunts, pushing you harder against the hard folds of denim below his belt. “That where you need me? Between those pretty legs, babygirl?”

Your fists ball around the fabric of his shirt, clinging on to him. “Ye-ah,” you whimper, and his weight falls from your grasp.

You feel your shorts tug over the crests of bone by your hips. “Step out of ‘em, baby,” he instructs, and your knee lifts.

He pulls the cotton down one leg at a time, telling you to shift your weight as he curls a finger around the lace of your panties and tugs them down after. Before you can think about it, you’re naked, soaked cunt making a mess over the crotch of his jeans.

He looks up at you expectantly.

“What–?”

He flicks his fingers in a beckoning motion, a Come here, either side of your thighs. You hesitate.

“Darlin’. Up.”

“Joel.”

“Up.”

You take his open hands and shuffle up the mattress, knees pushing into the soft sheets either side of his head. You glance down at him.

“I don’t know –”

“’m not gonna tell you again.”

And he doesn’t have to. You steady yourself, locking your fingers through his behind your ass, and slowly lower yourself down to him. His jaw lifts to meet you, and you think about pausing again, telling him he doesn’t have to do this, asking instead to do something else, something he’ll enjoy as much, something you can both –

But then his lips open around the sweetest part of your body, and your lungs freeze. His tongue slips between, daring where you need him most, and your body sighs in equal parts relief and pleasure.

You’re so fucking wet. You can feel it, leaking onto his lips, spreading around your own as he kisses you, licks you, takes in every drop of you. Your back curls, lips fall open to the ceiling, breath comes in short wisps.

It’s been almost two weeks since the two of you felt like this. Hot, wet, needy. Two weeks of waiting for the other to come back, two weeks of reaching for the phone and deciding against it once the number’s dialed, two weeks of nothing.

And now – everything. Everywhere. Every part of your body ignited for him. You feel him fucking everywhere.

You lean all of your weight onto the palm of your hands, pushing all of it into Joel’s. He’s steady, strong, letting you rock and swirl your hips as he laps at your core.

“Right there,” you whisper, head rolling back. “Keep – keep – oh, fuck, Joel. What the f–?”

He slowly lowers his hands, letting you untangle your fingers and place them on the bed. His own come to hook around your thighs, clamping you as close against him as you can possibly be.

Two weeks of nothing. And now, five minutes of everything. The shards of light from outside blur across your vision; heat starts to prickle up your spine, tickling the back of your neck. You’re smiling, filthy and desperate.

“I’m gonna –” you breathe, and Joel hums. “’m gonna c– come.”

You can hear his response, though he doesn’t say a word. Then, come.

Your hips motion forward. Tighten. Clamp. Inhale. Joel’s tongue slips between your folds, warm on the inside of your cunt. And you rock back. Unwind. Unfurl. Exhale. His bottom lip puckers against your clit.

“J-oel. Joel, I’m – you’re – fuck.”

He moans against your sex. His hips shift behind you. Buck upwards, carefully.

Tighten. Clamp. Inhale. Tighten – inhale. Unwind. Unf-url. Ex-hale. Tighten. Inh– clamp. Fuck. I’m there. Unwind. Warm. Wet. Tongue. Exhale. Tongue. Tighten. Clamp. Inhale. Joel –

Your fingers curl around his bedsheets, nails dig into the cotton. Your orgasm sends a flood of hot pleasure across your cunt, rains down over Joel’s lips, and sets fireworks off through your body which explode into the dark room in the form of a throaty moan.

You’re not sure when you come to. You’re not sure your arms can bear the weight of your body. But when your eyes blink open, he’s kissing the inside of your thighs.

His mouth is glistening. Moustache and beard covered in you. Soft lips pearlescent with your spend. Your body feels heavy, unbearable. You lift your leg and tumble onto the mattress by his side, pussy throbbing when you land.

“I love you,” you whisper, and not for any particular reason. Not because of what he just did. Not because you’re naked in his bed.

But maybe because it feels like this is what you were made to do. To love and to be loved – by him. It feels like this entire thing has been, from its genesis, an exchange. An understanding. Immediate and certain. Here are all the parts of me. You know what to do.

As if there needed no further explanation. No instruction, no tutorial. You just knew.

He pushes himself up, leans over your frame. His jaw lowers, and he licks into your mouth tenderly.

“Gotta be inside you, baby,” he says, and at the same time, your fingers find the buttons of his shirt. “Gotta feel you again.”

You nod against him. Fuck me fuck me fuck me.

Joel’s hands are on his belt, pulling it through the loops, dropping it to the floor. Your help him tug his jeans off when he undoes the button. The material of his underwear rubs against your sex; your creamy arousal smears all over the black fabric. You can feel the weight of his stiff cock beneath. It dizzies your head.

He lets your fingers sneak below the elastic, lowering it until he springs free, slapping against the bottom of his tummy. You could fucking drool at the sight of him – the pink tip, beaded with precum; the thick vein on the underside of the shaft; his balls below it, heavy and waiting. Your hands wrap around him and pump slowly as he drags his boxers down, kicking them off at the foot of the bed.

He groans, hips thrusting gently into your palms as you squeeze him. Your fingers slip between your folds, collecting your own slick, coating him in it as you fist him.

“So good, babygirl,” Joel breathes, leaning down to kiss you. “You gonna take it all?”

“Mhm,” you reply, tongue slipping against his.

“Yeah,” he says, “my girl can take it.”

You let his hand shadow over yours, the two of you guiding his cock towards your entrance together. It glides between your dripping folds, the head sifting effortlessly from your clit to your tight hole and back again. Joel laughs, teeth clashing with yours, as he dips in and out, teasing you.

Your ass lifts from the mattress, any movement to draw him nearer. “Stop,” you gasp.

Joel pauses. “Stop?”

“No,” you bleat, “don’t stop. Just – fucking do it.”

“Do what, darlin’?”

“Fuck me.”

And he sinks in.

You’d be lying if you said all you’d done for the last two weeks was cry, mope, and stare at the ceiling. That’d be discrediting everything that this little affair was built on. It’s impossible to forget how the thing fucking started – your hands between your legs, Joel watching from the doorway.

In the moments you didn’t feel the mind-numbing tsunami of heartache overcome you – you felt something else. Memories of his hands on you, the trail of his tongue between your legs, the swell of his cock deep inside you. You tried to replicate it a handful of times with your hands. But nothing – not your fingers, not two, three, or four – nothing stands a chance against him.

He pushes in slow at first, drawing out when he’s halfway, and then in again as he covers himself in the wet his tongue left behind. When he’s soaked, glistening and gleaming, he thrusts. Hard. His tip catches on your cervix, and your back arches in a mix of pain and delight.

Something throbs deep inside as he bottoms out. You feel your opening stretch around his base. You feel your legs widen as if by instinct, accommodating the size of him, the width of him, the pace of him.

You throw an arm over his shoulder, elbow hanging on the nape of his neck. His sweaty forehead sticks to yours, and your hand cups his cheek.

“Harder,” you tell him, and he listens.

“Fuck, baby,” he pants, “fuck, you’re so tight. Oh, my – I ain’t gonna last.”

“Don’t – want you – to,” you cry, body jumping as he fucks you quicker, quicker, harder, deeper. “Want to – come – together.”

Your head tips back against the bed, and Joel’s lips attach to your neck. He’s moaning into your skin, teeth biting down, breath hot and quick. He’s not gonna last he’s not gonna last he’s not –

“F-u-ck, Joel,” you sob, your walls starting to close in around him, “feels so – f-fucking good, oh!”

“I know, darlin’, I know. C’mere.”

He takes your cheek and pulls your face back to his, lines his lips with yours and kisses you. It’s messy, haggard, fucking all over the place as your bodies bounce together, but he tastes like sweat, and sex, and you, and him.

“Missed this so fuckin’ much,” he grunts, hips pounding. “Missed bein’ inside you. You know how bad I needed you?”

“Tell me,” you slur, echoing his own words back to him.

He smirks. “Best fucking pussy I ever had, sweetheart. Best – I ever – had.”

“Don’t pull out,” you hum against his lips, and his jaw pulls back a fraction. “Don’t.”

“Baby,” he says, strained, and your head tilts.

“Need it,” you tell him. “Please. Need you.”

He nods, leaning back into you, letting you connect your mouths again. His lips shudder when you pull away, the thought translated clear as day from your mouth to his. And he knows, and he drives in harder, and he fucks the image from your mind. Who the fuck is Lois, when you’re under him and he’s this deep between your legs?

You look up into his eyes, and you find your answer. She’s nobody. There’s only you.

Your body feels liquid, your mind like fog. You pull him into your body, deeper and deeper, until you’re sure you’re one, and there is no place where he ends and you begin, and you’re sure this is what it feels like, this is what those words feel like, not just the sound of them, not just the way his lips move around them, but the shape of them on and in and around your body. Something deafening, something blinding, something screaming from the pits of your lungs as you come all around him, and you feel him come all around you.

His warmth spurts deep inside you, filling you up, dripping down your walls as he collapses into your shoulder, a loud moan drilling into your collarbone. He slows, thrusts in and out gently, pushing his spend deeper and mixing it with yours.

It's everywhere. The feeling. The pulsing, the humming, the singing. He’s everywhere. Him. In your brain and in your lungs and in your body and in your cunt. And you want to keep him there, hold him there, keep your bodies together for five more minutes, just five more minutes.

But then he’s panting into your skin, pressing kisses into that little dip between your collarbone and your chest, and he slowly slips out, come dripping from where he leaves.

He presses his palm deep into the sheets by your head, lifts off of you – but your arm is still around his neck, and you lean with him. Tilted on his mattress, holding onto him, letting him kiss your head; letting his hand move across the surface of your stomach, mapping the gentle slope over your belly button and scaling the tiny mountains of your hipbones. Kneading softly into the skin over which his seed sits, warm and snug, deep inside you. It’s new. You think you love it.

And he’s whispering, “Good girl, did so good for me,” and he nuzzles his nose into your hair, and he tilts your chin back until he can see your face, see your expression, and he smiles with relief when he clocks your doe eyes, your blissful smile, the sweet tinge of red on your cheeks.

“I love you,” he tells you, and you’re staring at his lips.

“Again.”

“I love you.”

You look up to his eyes. “Again.”

“I love you.”

You smile. It breaks into a laugh. “Again,” you whisper, and he kisses you.

Slowly, only once you pull away from him and your breath steadies, Joel takes your body and carefully shifts. He turns onto his back, settles you on his chest, your hips between his thighs. He runs a gentle hand over your hair and you lie against his sweat-shining chest, his heartbeat whispering sweet nothings into your ear.

Love and sex, as far as you knew, were always two different things. Separate. One, you weren’t even sure existed. The other, nothing more than a need to be satisfied. Something deep within you, something no one had ever managed to touch. And then Joel. And his lips, and his tongue, and his hands and his cock.

And suddenly the two – love and sex – begin to blur, their edges touch frantically. They bleed into one another, until there are no longer two distinct forms; instead, one big shape which has the curve of your hips and the cut of his jaw.

You love him. And he loves you. You’ve heard it translated between your minds longer than you care to admit, and now – you’ve felt it. Transferred between your bodies. You love him. Jesus, you love him.

It’s as terrifying as it is thrilling. Enamoring, and yet dangerous.

“So,” you sigh, “what’s next?”

He glances down, lifts his eyebrows and gives his head a shake. His hand lifts off of your shoulder with a shrug.

“Like, your next move. What happened with the other eight?”

“The other eight?”

“Mhm. Me, Sarah’s mom, makes two. There are eight others, right? What’d you do afterward?”

“Kicked ‘em out.”

You lift a heavy hand and slap his chest. He shudders with laughter.

“I dunno, baby. Wasn’t all like this.”

Your brows knit. “Like what?”

He takes a deep breath. Your head rises as his lungs fill. “Lyin’ in bed afterward. Talkin’.”

“Oh, fuck off.”

“What?” he asks, smirking.

“Who even were they? I wanna know.”

“Why?”

“Just do. I wanna hear about ‘em. When was the last one, before me?”

Joel’s eyes drift off to the ceiling above you, thinking. “May.”

“M–?” You jump up, pushing yourself off of his body. “May?” you repeat, eyes wide. “That’s…so recent.”

“Recent?” He chokes back a laugh. “When’s your last?”

You furrow your brows, dropping his gaze. “We’re not talking about me,” you mumble, thumbs twiddling.

Your last had been two nights before you flew home. You’d gone out with your roommates and dragged home Matteo, an exchange student who you’d worked with on a group project for your screenwriting class. He was three inches shorter than you. He bent you over your kitchen counter and fucked you until he came. Then he made himself some cereal, ate half of it, and left.

Joel doesn’t really need to hear about him, you think.

“Do I know any of them?” you ask in attempt to change the subject.

Joel pulls a face. His lips tighten, teeth clench. His eyes narrow to a thin line, looking at you through his eyelashes. He nods tentatively.

“Shut the fuck up. Who is it? Who?”

“I dunno if you know her, but she knows you.”

“What’s her name?”

“Your dad gave us a ride home from the bar. She ‘n him got to talkin’, and he said he had a daughter –”

Your fist lightly drops onto his chest. “Joel, if you don’t fucking tell me who it is, I –”

“She’s an elementary teacher. Long, dark hair. Good few years older ‘n you. Think she said her little sister went to your school.”

“Who – was – it?”

He makes the face again. This time his eyes close over, waiting for the penny to drop. His head shakes lightly.

“You –? No, Joel. Come on. Please don’t…Are you fucking serious? You don’t remember her name?”

“It was a long night, alright?”

“How did you forget her damn name?”

He shrugs. “I don’t fuckin’ know. I was drunk, baby.”

“Elementary teacher? I don’t know anybody whose sister teaches elementary.”

“Guess we’ll never know.” Joel shrugs, and you shake your head at him.

You’re picturing Joel stumbling out of Frank’s, arm in arm with a brunette, heavy feet dragging along the sidewalk while your dad chitters in his ear about the Rangers, or about some rude bartender, or about…you. The brunette turns, and her face is yours. Your features, your smile. Your hand linked through Joel’s. C’mon, baby. ‘s go home.

You chase the image away. It slips from your mind like dust cleared from a countertop. Would never. Could never. Should never.

You replace it with something lighter. Something to make you forget about the dust.

“Does…Does my dad ever go home with anyone?”

“What?”

You don’t answer. He heard you.

“That’s…No. I ain’t answerin’ that.”

“Oh, come on. If you’re takin’ women home left, right, and center, he’s gotta be seein’ that. Does he?”

“I was not takin’ home women left, right, and – No, darlin’, no. It’s inappropriate.”

“Yeah, you’re right. And I’m known for my appropriate behavior, y’know,” you gesture between your naked bodies, “I’m known for the good life choices I make.”

“This,” Joel hooks his hands under your arms and drags you up until your chin meets his, “is a good life choice.”

“Yeah?” you ask through a giggle, your nose bumping his.

Joel smiles softly, runs a hand over the back of your head. Looks between your eyes, a twinkle in his. Yes.

Your lips crash together like waves on the rocks. You’re the sea; he’s the stone. Two different worlds, suddenly married in some unforeseen twist of nature. And when you pour over him, your body lighting him in a twinkling glow of ocean, it’s as though you never existed apart from one another. It’s as natural as the waves on the shore.

“Alright, darlin’,” Joel mumbles against your skin. “Speakin’ of inappropriate. I gotta get you home.”

“Why can’t I just stay the night?” you complain. “Like last time. Tell ‘im we’re watchin’ a movie again…”

Joel’s head rests on your arm. “He’s worried sick about you. Ain’t no way he’ll let you spend the night here. You know that. Plus, Sarah’ll be long done with Rita’s cross stitch by now.”

He sits up and you roll into his lap, head resting on the soft skin of his belly. He looks down at you, head tilted, eyes glowing hazel.

You stare right back. The dimples in his cheeks dig deeper when you whisper, “Kickin’ me out right after we finally make up. I see how it is, Miller.”

Joel’s shoulders hunch. “Happens to all of ‘em. Warned ya.”

He shifts off the bed and begins gathering his clothes. You sit up and watch as he pulls his boxers snug over his hips, swipes his tee from the carpet at his feet. As he drapes it over his scruffy chest, your half-naked form meets his at the foot of the bed.

His fingers knot in your hair. You lean into his arms, legs giving as he kisses you gently, breathing you in, stealing any more words of protest from your tongue.

“I love you,” he whispers when he pulls away, tip of his nose brushing off yours. “You know that?”

“Somebody told me somethin’ to do with that, yeah.”

He smiles. “Get dressed.”

You pull the rest of your clothes back on in silence, tossing socks and jeans across the room to one another, giggling like a pair of kids. After all you just did, the palpable pleasure you just sent hammering through one another – this is the part you wish you could bottle. The laughter, the love. The attempts to keep holding onto him, even as he tries to pull his arm through the sleeve of his shirt, even as he links his belt back through his jeans, as he bends to tie his boots.

The fun of it. The hope of it.

The foolish, foolish hope.

“Hoodie.” Joel flings it up towards you, crouched as he tightens his laces.

You pull it on over your bra. Flatten your flyaway hairs, stand straight before him.

“Ready?”

“Ready.”

“You got your phone?”

Your hands instinctively pat your body down. “Oh, nah,” you realize, “musta left it at home.”

Joel nods and heads into the hallway, you at his heel. At the bottom of the stairs, you glance around his house, like it’s the first and last time you’ll see it wrapped into one. It looks different; two weeks of absence and you notice things you hadn’t before.

His coat hanging by the door, probably untouched since early spring. The bowl on the side table where his and Sarah’s keys live. The guitar in the corner of the room, the books in the shelves above it. All him. Every little piece of it. He’s reflected in every object in the room. He’s reflected in you.

You drive back to your dad’s place in silence. Comfortable, sweet silence. Your fingers ghost across his palm the entire time, watching out the window as the dark neighborhood soars by in a blur of porch lights and mailboxes. All too quickly, you’re back in front of your own house.

“What do we do now?” you ask, and through the darkness you see Joel’s smile fall.

After a moment’s silence, heavy and contemplative, he looks back up. Softens when his eyes land on you.

“We’ll be alright,” he tells you, and you believe him.

You lean forward and press a quick but tender kiss to his lips, and your fingers latch around the door handle. Joel’s hand finds the back of your head, keeping your mouth on his.

“Gotta – let me – go,” you mumble between kisses, and he hums a laugh in response. “Joel.”

“I know,” he whispers, finally pulling back. “I know.”

You smile, head tilting into his palm. “I’ll text you.”

He nods once. “See you, babygirl.”

You slip out of the truck and wander past to your front door, twirling as you click the handle. Joel laughs, and the truck reverses back onto the street. You wait for it to disappear before closing the door, and step into the unlit hallway.

The TV lights the living room at the opposite end. You stop by the kitchen, feeling the grumpy rumble of your stomach. Your dad’s armchair is sat facing the screen. You lean over to double check he’s not sat in it, fast asleep while Rangers highlights play on loop before his eyelids.

When you swivel the plaid pattern towards your knees, its only occupant is the remote. You flick the TV off and pad back over to the kitchen, filling a bowl with some chips. You’re hunched over at the refrigerator when his footsteps clunk slowly down the stairs, and he materializes like a specter around the doorway.

“Hey.”

You straighten up, lit in a nervous blue hue from the fridge. “Hey, yourself.”

“Joel gone?”

“’bout ten minutes ago. Where’ve you been? You left the TV on.”

“Just…y’know. You get those brochures?”

Fuck. You were at Joel’s under the premise of picking up fucking UCLA pamphlets – and you’ve come home empty-handed. The lie doesn’t form on your tongue as quickly as Joel’s did earlier. Something else on your mind.

“…sure. Some…interesting stuff.”

Your dad nods. “Good. Good, I’m glad. We can take a look in the mornin’.”

Your eyebrows flinch. “Yeah. That’d be – yeah. I’m…gonna head to bed, alright?”

“Sure,” he says, nodding.

With a can of soda under your arm and your bowl of chips in the other, you nod and cautiously shuffle towards him. His lips are a thin line. You duck by him and trot upstairs, and make it as far as the landing before he’s calling out again.

“Oh, hey.” He holds a hand out, and disappears in a jog towards the living room. You drop back down a couple steps, watching him swipe something from the dining table and pace back over. “You left your phone.”

He’s presenting it like a jeweler shows a Rolex – or maybe more like an investigator handles evidence. Holding it out in almost trembling fingers, afraid to mark it with his fingerprints. Your eyes flit from the phone to his, unsure which of the two frightens you more.

That’s not where I fucking left it.

You lean over and take it from his palm. “Thanks…”

“I think maybe you got a text, just then. It was lit up. Maybe I’m seein’ things.”

You force the corners of your mouth upward. Your cheeks inflate with nerves and shame. “Thanks,” you repeat, and then: “Everything okay, Dad?”

“Everything’s fine, kiddo. Sleep well.” He makes back for the living room.

As you turn, you unlock your screen.

Joel: Left your shirt here, and your bikini from last week. This mean I get to be the one wearing your clothes now?

Panic spills over your head, a wave of freezing cold washing over you when you read his words. Did Dad read them, too?

You continue walking, feeling the weight of your dad’s strange voice on your back as your feet drag you one by one up the stairs. When you make it back to the landing, your cool flees you, and you take the rest of them two at a time until you’re leaning against your bedroom door, panting.

You: Problem. I think my dad saw that text

Joel: How so?

You: When I got home my phone was next to his chair, and he’s being so weird

You: Joel I think he knows something

Joel: I’m sure he doesn’t. He wouldn’t read your phone baby.

He’s trying to reassure you, telling you he wouldn’t even know what it means, maybe he’ll think you spilled something on it, but no matter how many ideas Joel comes up with, none of them slow your heart rate.

You sit down on the edge of your bed, and the anxiety bubbling in your stomach forces you straight back up. Pacing doesn’t help, knowing your dad is directly below you probably hearing the floorboards creak with every step you take.

Your head dizzies with doubts, fears, worries, all frantically throwing themselves against the walls of your skull. You lean your forehead against the cold glass of your window, eyes screwing shut, stars in your vision. Nothing is calming you down.

Joel takes too long to reply back, whether he’s running out of explanations or just fucking forty-eight with an iPhone, but every time your phone buzzes with a new attempt at comfort from him, it only convinces you even more that – no, it wasn’t a stain, it wasn’t a joke, Joel has your top because you took it off for him an hour ago, and then let him fuck you in his bed.

And your dad fucking knows it.

[billfarrah]

One thing that’s really rubbing me the wrong way about some people’s reaction to the ending is the way people are talking about Wille. I see comments that essentially imply he is nothing without his privilege backing him, that he has no personality outside of his relationship with Simon and he’s gonna be in for a rude awakening after the ending when he realizes the attention on him isn’t gone just because he’s giving up the title of Crown Prince and life as a normal person isn’t going to be an easy or smooth road.

To me it seems like the message has completely gone over some people’s heads.

No part of me felt while watching the ending that everything is now resolved and Wille will live happily ever after without any adversity ever again… No?

The point is he finally has a choice where he ends up.

Wille literally explains this to the Queen in the final scene - that he’s never felt like he’s had a choice. He didn’t choose to be born into the royal family, and as he points out to his mother, neither did she. The public didn’t choose who inherits the crown. None of them chose it. Wille wants a choice. By staying in this role and doing what is expected of him simply because it’s his birthright is exactly what Wille is actively fighting against.

Another common thread I’ve seen thrown around is that Wille has no personality outside of Simon and I think people need to realize that one’s hobbies and interests do not define their personality. Wille very much has a personality and he had one before he met Simon - he’s always been the type to question the status quo and why things are the way they are. In season 1 episode 1, before Wille meets Simon, we see Wille scoffing at being made to mingle and pose for photos with people he doesn’t know and we see him telling Henry and Walter they’re allowed to have their own opinions when they mindlessly agree with everything he says. If anything, he starts losing this side of his personality because of the restrictions the crown puts on him. Wille falling in line with his expectations throughout the series takes him further away from this side of himself that’s always been there. We see how detrimental this is not just to his relationship with Simon, but with Wille’s relationship with himself. How exactly is Wille supposed to find what he’s passionate about when he’s consistently being told that these are the things he should care about, this is how he needs to look to the public? This is all a very intentional narrative choice to demonstrate why Wille staying in his role is detrimental to his mental health and his ability to grow personally.

The ending is not saying “everything is fixed now and Wille will have a totally adversity-free life with Simon.” Nothing is fixed and nothing is certain, but at least he made a choice. He’s going to stumble and he’s going to continue to make mistakes and a life path is not going to construct itself for him, but at least he now has a choice. He doesn’t have to pick a hobby or interest that’s considered suitable for him. He can get tattoos if he wants to. He can get married or not get married. He can have kids or not have kids. He can go to university and study whatever he wants, and yes, he will still have his family’s money. He’s not gonna be destitute and that is indeed a privilege that Wille is aware of. Should he stay in a role he doesn’t want simply and that makes him miserable because he’s privileged? For all we know, maybe his family will cut him off and he’ll literally be on his own, and that’s a risk he’s willing to take to be, in his mind, free.

The public is not suddenly going to lose interest in him, but at least he won’t have to concern himself with the royal court dictating how he and Simon act or appear. He will no longer feel like he needs to control how Simon conducts his social media presence. It’s very clear in s3 that Wille is not personally upset with Simon for posting the song or the picture with the little boy at the worker’s March - he smiles when he sees it - but that he’s worried what the royal court is going to think about it.

As far as the idea that Wille giving up the crown at the end was indeed for Simon because Wille has no identity without Simon, I really don’t think this is fair to say at all, because Wille was unhappy with his position even before he met Simon. He hated that he couldn’t even do something silly and reckless without issuing an apology. He hated that he had to uproot his entire life because he made a mistake and his family was trying to save his image in the eyes of the public. The thing is, before he met Simon, and before the events of the series, Wille didn’t feel like he had a way out, and funnily enough, that’s for the exact same reason people are dunking on him for now - because it’s the only way of life he knew. He didn’t see a way out and it’s through being with Simon that his extremely narrow view of the world gets challenged and he’s finally able to see a way out. Did Simon inspire him to do what he did? Of course he did. This entire concept is materialized through the scene where Simon tells Wille that he never had a choice who he was born as and that he sees how the monarchy makes him feel. To say that Wille gave it up for Simon implies, to me, that Wille would’ve been happy in the role if not for Simon, which I don’t believe is true. He’d still be miserable but perhaps feel less like he has the agency to do things about it. Getting to be with Simon at the end is certainly a big part of why he did it, but that also just kinda goes hand in hand with his own personal freedom, doesn’t it?

I find it kinda funny how much the internet preaches that it’s never too late to figure out who you are or what you wanna do and I see people acting like Wille is somehow doomed because he’s a 17-year-old without any interests or hobbies. Wille’s entire struggle is with having his life completely mapped out for him and it’s like with him giving up his role people are now questioning the fact that he doesn’t have an entire life mapped out for himself. I spent my time when I was 17 blogging on tumblr and doing nothing else and didn’t go to college until I was 24. I’m 29 now and I’m still learning what I’m passionate about. To treat Wille’s lack of hobbies or interests as some kind of moral failure or indicative of a lack of personality really, really bothers me and to me his lack of interests and hobbies has always been a very intentional writing choice, and the ending, if anything, gives him all the time in the world to figure that out. He might even develop an interest and then realize it’s not for him! The amount of people I know that went to college for what they thought they wanted to do then dropped out because they changed their mind, or graduated from school, couldn’t find a job, and then went back to school for something else is endless. This is all part of the human experience and it’s going to be an entirely new journey for him, but that part of his journey did not a part of this particular story, and in that way, the ending is open. It also helps that regardless of Wille’s wealth and privilege, education in Sweden is FREE.

In the end, the message of the ending is exactly what Boris said to Wille in season 2: we can’t choose who we are born as, but we can choose how we want to live, and that’s exactly what the ending is saying, and that’s what Edvin meant when he said the ending is open. Wille’s road is not suddenly going to be perfect and easy, but at least all of his choices, including his mistakes and struggles, can be entirely his own.