#and failing because he is letting these feeling he shouldn’t be having resurface

[wildestdreamsblog]

Latibule IX

Pairing: Min Yoongi x Reader (Mafia/Detective AU)

Summary: In which you didn’t know who he truly was- until it was too late. Or in which he found heaven in you.

Warnings: Secret Identity, Yandere behavior, Obsessiveness, Possessiveness, Manipulative behavior, Violence, Mention of death, Disability, Sexual themes, If you’re not 18+ please, PLEASE, do not interact. Be mindful of the warnings. Let me know if I miss anything.

A/N: ehehehehe enjoy, my loves! The calm before the storm 😌😌😌

Masterlist, Latibule VIII

“Agustd is alive.”

Jung Hoseok raised his brow when his suspicion was affirmed. See, he thought it was all too easy. Everything had gone so smoothly that it seemed…wrong. There was no way that he could kill him that effortlessly. The night that he trailed his brother and boss in that quaint, little province because he fed him wrong information was the fucking highlight of his life. Stabbing him felt like he finally got what he was owed. Watching him bled out managed to release some of the decade-long hatred he kept hidden in his heart.

In his mind, what he did could be considered his very own twisted justice. After all, he did kill her. Min Yoongi killed the love of his fucking life, the only woman who mattered to Hoseok. So why then shouldn’t he kill that fucking bastard?

It only felt right.

It did feel right.

Until it didn’t.

He should have known Min Yoongi was like an annoying cat with nine lives. He was Satan’s long, lost brother and even though he could send him to hell, Yoongi would only come back with a vengeance.

Hoseok slowly lowered his phone. He gripped his phone in anger and disbelief that he failed her again. But no more.

He would end this once and for all.

Hoseok stepped out of his office with a calm facade when all he wanted to do was destroy this whole room. His steps were brisk, his face emotionless. He had just turned the corner when he saw Jimin, the brother he found to be closest with. He was staring at nowhere, his back leaning against the wall and his hands shoved in his pocket in a nonchalant posture.

A stray strand of Jimin’s blonde hair fell on his forehead, and he thought he didn’t see him approach when his eyes suddenly turned to him. He should have known nothing got past his sharp eyes.

“Jiminie,” he called the younger man as he stepped near him. “Are you okay?”

For a moment, Jimin didn’t answer. He merely stared at the man with no ounce of his usual happy emotion. In its place was a somber look. “Hyung…,” he started, his tone flat, so unlike how he usually sounded. “do you wanna go to New York with me for a while?”

That was so sudden, Hoseok thought. He tilted his head before putting his hand on his shoulder. “What’s wrong, Jimin? Are you okay?” He asked with worry, not used to seeing him this solemn.

“Just…go with me tonight.”

“I can’t. I have something important to do. But maybe next week?”

He looked into Hoseok’s eyes with unhidden sadness and disappointment as though he already lost someone, as though he was already mourning. Jimin chuckled humorlessly as he stood straight. He slapped his shoulder twice with warmth before walking away from him.

Yet, before he completely stepped out of the police precinct, he turned his head and offered him a smile that didn’t reach his eyes.

“Thank you for everything. God be with you, hyung.”

Jimin thought he needed it the most. After all, hell would rain on earth once Agustd resurfaced.

—-

“It’s no big deal!”

Suga threw you a glare from his position in the kitchen. He had been busy cooking since the moment he heard Jackson greeted you. Had he known it was your birthday, he would have planned better! He thought that your day should be fucking celebrated and you should be treated like the queen that you were. Instead, he was cramming his preparation and you smiling so beautifully at him didn’t help one bit.

“It is your birthday! How can it not be a big deal?”

“I don’t celebrate,” you replied nonchalantly, your eyes trained at him and the numerous dishes he had already cooked. It was just the two of you but the way he was cooking made it seemed like he was feeding three families. It was true, though. You didn’t celebrate since that tragic day. You probably didn’t want to admit to yourself how you loathed being the only one who survived.

They said it was survival’s guilt.

You thought it was just the truth. You didn’t want to survive.

“Well, we do now. From now on, we will celebrate your birthday until you turn a hundred years old, angel,” he grumbled as he was focusing on plating.

You chuckled at his ridiculousness, his lips formed into a pout. “Well, I don’t think I’ll live that long. Do you want to live that long?”

“I’ll live as long as you exist in this world.”

“You don’t mean that.”

He smirked at you, wiping his hands with the towel as he leveled you with his dark eyes. “I do, Angel. I refuse to live in this world if you don’t exist.”

And the way he said it sounded a lot like a promise, like he would see it through. The way he was looking at you, the way his dark eyes bore through your soul made your heart beat faster as though it was in danger. “Should you go before me, I will burn this whole world down and then I will follow you.”

You had always known him to be intense. You were always aware of the darkness that seemed to follow him. At the back of your mind, you were aware of the power he excluded.

You were aware. That was the thing, you knew.

But nothing could have prepared you for the true him.

Suga set up the dinner out in your garden. He spent the whole afternoon putting up lights, cooking and preparing as best as he could. He never even let you helped him and just shooed you away when you attempted. He never thought he would put so much effort on someone, yet here he was. Additionally, he never thought he would feel so much for someone. And yet, here you were, the center of his whole fucking universe. You came just in time when he thought his life was coming to an end like the angel that you were.

You stepped out of the house, your hand clutching your chest as you saw what he did. Everything was so beautiful. It was so simple, so opposite of the beauty that money could bring. No, this was the pure beauty of effort, of simplicity, of domesticity that he brought in your life. He brought so much light in your otherwise dark life, he brought so much color. You thought you were living before he came, but you were merely existing that time. He came, and you found happiness again. He came and suddenly, you were no longer alone in this world.

“Happy birthday again, my angel,” he whispered from behind you. You turned around and there he was. He had his long hair combed back neatly. He donned a white shirt and a nice slacks in exchange for his usual dark clothes. He looked so beautiful, you thought.

And the way he was smiling with his adorable gums showing melted you.

This, you thought, this was happiness.

“How come you cook so well?” You asked as you took another bite of what he cooked. He looked pleased as he watched you eat. You thought he wouldn’t answer once again like he always did. You were so used to his silence when you asked anything about him that you were surprised he answered.

“My hyung loves to cook. He thought me how to, said that all seven of us should know all the basic skills to survive.”

“Seven?” You repeated, grasping at another information he was willingly giving you.

He nodded before he put down his wine. “You met my oldest hyung. That’s Seokjin. I have five other adopted brothers.”

“I wonder what they’re like.”

He smiled at you, “You’ll meet them soon, Angel, when we go to Seoul.”

“Oh, we are?”

“Of course. You’ll love my house. Or if you don’t, we can buy our own house-“

“I’ll live there?”

He scoffed at you before pulling your hand gently to him. “As if I’ll ever leave you here. You’re stuck with me forever, Angel.”

He kissed the back of your hand before standing and walking behind you. That was when you felt the drape of chain on your neck as he fastened the necklace. “I bought this because you love the stars so much. This way, you can have it near your heart.”

You clasped the star pendant in your hand, your eyes tearing up at his words.

“Why are you crying?” He asked with slight panic as he kneeled beside you, clutching your face to his worried one. “Did you not like it? O-once we go back to Seoul, I’ll buy you more expensive ones. I’ll buy you a diamond-“

You kissed him.

Without any warning, you kissed him. “It’s perfect. Thank you so much. I love it.”

You kissed him once again, your lips moving slowly against his. And when you parted, you found him looking at you with so much tenderness as though you were the only one that mattered to him.

And to you, he was the only one you had. To you, he was your family.

“I love you, my Suga,” you admitted to him quietly, you whispered at the silence of the night. For the first time, you said what you had desperately trying to suppress. You said it so softly, so terrified that once the truth was out there that he would see you for who you were. You were terrified that he would turn away.

But he didn’t.

“You can never take that back,” he ordered as he stared at you with so much authority. He said it as though in warning, as though should you take it back, there would be consequences. “You can never stop loving me. Do you understand?”

“I-“ you planted a kiss on his forehead, “love-“ his nose, “you.” And finally, his lips.

Suga would make sure you stayed loving him. He wanted to dig himself so deep in you that there was no way you could remove him from your very core.

No. Loving him meant forever. Now that you loved him, he could no longer go back, and neither could you.

Your love sealed your future.

Suga looked at you for a moment, and then he moved. He grabbed your nape, pulling you close to him as he devoured you. His kisses were hungry, but yours were starving. You were driving him completely insane and you were threading on a dangerous line. The true Suga, both Yoongi and Agustd were already fucking crazy. With you added to the equation pushed them further to the edge. There was no going back.

He pushed his sinful tongue in your mouth. It was just a kiss, and yet you were already trembling against him. You knew his kisses had been dominant before, but heavens was this different. It was as though he wanted to own you, and you wanted to be owned just as much. He wrapped his arms around your waist as he stood up, bringing you along with him. His strong hands supporting your legs, bunching them up on his waist. As much as he was filled with lust, his possessiveness stopped him from taking you out in the open.

No, you were only for his eyes.

You were only his.

Your hands were entangled on his silky, dark locks, desperately trying to get closer to him as he lead you back to your bedroom. He managed to close the distance within seconds and gently, he dropped you in the middle of the bed, the ends of your dress bunched up to your thighs. Suga greedily looked his fill, looked at what was his. He followed your body down, plastering his front to yours.

“Okay?”

“Okay.”

And without any warning, he tore your dress down. His knee was in between your thighs, spreading your legs for him. You unconsciously crossed your arms in front of you, hiding your bared breasts from his lust-filled eyes.

Suga did not like that one bit. He growled in displeasure before he pushed your wrists above your head using his one hand, while the other caressed the smooth expanse of your waist. “This is mine. You are mine. Never, ever hide from me, okay, Angel?”

He didn’t even wait for your response before he put his mouth to your breast, sucking your erect nipple with his tempting tongue. You were too defenseless from the onslaught of pleasure he was giving you. You were a mess, a whimpering mess as his hand slid down to your thighs, teasing you with his feathery touches.

You should have known your underwear was not safe with him. And just like your poor dress, he tore down your panties. He smirked at your gasped and looked at you as he brought your wet underwear to his nose.

And heavens, you smelled fucking amazing. If he was insane with lust before, he was feral now that he smelled you.

And once he tasted you?

Who knew what state he would be.

“You smell like heaven, angel,” he groaned, his eyes closed as he sniffed the little piece of cloth that used to hide what was his. He thought it was only fitting that you smelled like heaven for you were his angel.

His.

“I need to taste you,” he said absentmindedly, his brain focused on one thing: you.

Suga removed the buttons of his shirt calmly, but his eyes told a different story as he kept contact with you. He was dashing, so beautiful that even in the dark you could see him. Once he had his shirt off, he pulled your legs closer, putting them over his shoulder. Your squeak of surprise at his prompt movements didn’t deter him. His fingers slid along your core, collecting the wetness on his finger.

“Su-Suga please-“

“Shh, Angel. This is my show. This is mine. So fucking wet, Angel,” he said with his eyes focused on your pussy. You jolted in shock when you felt his tongue on you, a cry escaping from your lips. He licked a path from your entrance to your clit slowly, wanting to memorize you and how you felt.

“Fuck. You taste so divine.”

His tongue circled your clit, playing with the bundle of nerves. You were so wet that you could see your essence glistening on your chin, and yet he didn’t stop. His fingers entered you, his mouth on your clit, sucking, licking, tasting.

He never stopped.

Not when you screamed.

Not when your body buckled up.

Not when you were pushing his face on your core.

His hands secured you to him. You weren’t going anywhere.

“Oh my- fuck, baby p-please-“ you moaned, feeling your orgasm sneaking up on you. “So g-good, hngh-“

And he watched. He watched as you fell apart for him.

Only him.

From now on, it would only be him.

He was kissing your inner thigh as you came down from the high. He lifts his head when you finally stopped shaking, looking at you in adoration and with an unbridled darkness in his eyes. Now that he had you, there was this ugly emotion that pushed him to do everything so you would be safe, so you would never be hurt, never to leave him. He wanted you so fucking tied down to him that you could never leave, never breathe without him.

“Still okay? He asked softly, opposite to how his thumb was drawing circles on your clit, overstimulating you. And you couldn’t move, not with his weight on you, not with his shoulders in between your legs. You nodded, because this was the most okay you had ever been. Here, with him.

“Suga,” you whined, wanting more of what he just gave you. And he knew what you wanted. He crawled up to you, kissing you tenderly, his tongue playing with yours before he peppered kisses on your neck, on your breasts, leaving his marks for people to know you were already owned.

“What do you want, Angel?” He whispered hotly.

“You-“

“Yeah? Do you want my cock, Angel?”

“Yes!” You moaned, his lips wrapped around your nipples.

“Tell me,” he ordered.

“I want your cock, baby please!”

“Then you shall have it, my Angel.”

You heard the buckle of his belt, the exciting sound of his zipper. And then you felt his hardness. He felt so fucking big. So fucking hard.

He lifted your knees up, positioning your heels to his bared ass. He lined himself, sliding his cock in your slit, drenching it with your wetness. He parted your slick folds with his fingers, looking down at your cunt. The bulbous head of his cock slowly entered your tight heat, his eyes full of desire as you watched him watched his member entered you. He looked vicious, his dark hair framing his face, his scarred eye focused intently on you. His movements were gentle and deep- at first. When you finally adjusted to his girth, he thrusted all the way inside you. He moaned so deep, so loud that you felt your core tightened on his member.

Fuck, he sounded so masculine. “You feel so unbelievable. This fucking pussy- mine. You’re mine,” he growled as he thrusted inside you, molding your body to his.

The way he rolled his hips was heavenly, and you were close. His thrusts were precise, controlled, hard. You could feel him hardened even further. He was close, he knew it.

A better man would have pulled out.

Hell, a decent man would put on a condom.

A twisted, devious, manipulative man, on the other hand, would do everything to tie you to him. And if his seed would take root on your womb, then even better.

See, a better man would not come inside you. He definitely would not finger his cum back inside you as you fell asleep.

Alas, he wasn’t a good man that you thought him to be.

He was insatiable.

Suga was like a man possessed, you thought as you winced. The damned prick looked please as he watched you wobbled out of bed. He did make it up to you though by preparing you a hot bath and a massage.

That was an hour ago. He stepped out, remembering the promise he made little Jackson that he would bring him a slice of your birthday cake.

You had never slept as good as you did last night, safely inside his arms. You woke up earlier than him, and you just…stared at him. You wanted to engrave what he looked like in your mind. Your hands caressed his face, tracing every outline with your eyes closed. You were sure that you could recognized him even in the dark. He was your person, you thought.

Someone knocked on your front door. You smiled when you opened the door, thinking that Suga must have forgotten his key.

But it wasn’t him.

You looked at the man with confusion, “May I help you?”

He smiled.

Jung Hoseok smiled, and behind him was a gun hidden from your view.

Epilogue

[ever-yours118]

bombarding them with blankets, tea, heating pads, and anything else they’d need when injured/under the weather - buddie

“Buck,” Eddie says firmly. “I’m okay.”

Buck freezes, then carefully sets down the pair of mugs he’d been carrying onto the coffee table.

“Buck,” Eddie repeats again, more sternly, and he reluctantly puts down the plate of pancakes, too. At Eddie’s raised eyebrow, he sighs and unloads the extra throw blanket he’d slung over his shoulder, as well as Christopher’s old hot water bottle, dumping them unceremoniously onto the table.

Okay, maybe Eddie’s got a bit of a point. Still, as he lowers himself down on the couch beside Eddie, he keeps his eyes winningly innocent.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Eddie pins him with a sceptical stare, that piercing one that never fails to make Buck feel the slightest bit giddy—but no, that’s very much not the point.

“Eddie,” he frowns, giving up and slumping back against the couch. “You’re sick.”

“Then shouldn’t you be staying away?”

“I have a very strong immune system,” Buck says, and then, with a pointed gesture towards one mug: “Drink.”

Amused, Eddie brings one of the covered mugs to his mouth. “Feels like a sippy cup,” he murmurs.

“Keeps the heat in,” Buck says, relaxing. “It’s good for hot lunches.”

Eddie hums—or more accurately, croaks out a vaguely affirmative noise—and they sit in contented quiet as the Rangers play in the background, only occasionally interrupted by the odd cough.

Then: “You’re upset about this,” Eddie says suddenly, still nursing his mug. Through the corner of his eye, Buck sees those brown eyes fixed on him, and he fights down his instinctual flush.

Buck picks up the other mug and sips at the chicken soup within to stall. It’s from a book Bobby recommended—a little more oregano next time, he thinks. He’ll write it down. “Maybe a bit,” he concedes.

“It’s a cold. Can’t do anything about it.”

“It’s almost March,” Buck protests, voice oddly loud against the low buzz of the TV. “We both know you’re only sick because of that call.”

The weather is warming tentatively, but the ocean certainly isn’t. And swimming in the notoriously cold Manhattan Beach waters against a riptide for half an hour, weighed down by his uniform—on a 50 degree day? That’s foolish, and he voices as much.

“It was a call,” Eddie protests lightly.

“And I wasn’t there.”

He means for it to be light, but it comes out hurt and—and bitter, and he drops his gaze to the TV, some commercial about salad dressing running bright and cheerful. I wasn’t there to watch your six. Even if there’s nothing I could have done—

“Buck.” Eddie sounds fondly exasperated as he sets down his mug with a clink. “It’s a cold—I’ll be better in a day, promise. And I’m a big boy. I’m fine.”

It’s not really about the cold or the ocean, and they both know that. But Eddie sets his hand on Buck’s knee, warm and reassuring, and for a moment, it really does feel fine.

A soft pause, but then Eddie swallows hard and hacks out a rusty cough, proving Buck’s point very neatly.

“Idiot,” he grouses, standing to unfold the abandoned afghan. He tosses it over Eddie, snickering at Eddie’s muffled protest at his new mouthful of wool. “Just—let me take care of you a bit, okay?”

“This,” splutters Eddie, resurfacing indignantly, “is not taking care of me. This is no way to treat a patient. Absolutely terrible bedside manner, Nurse Buckley.”

“Finish drinking your soup, and maybe I’ll tuck you in,” Buck says primly, and Eddie grins, eyes bright and fond and open.

But maybe that’s just the fever, he reminds himself, turning to pick up the neglected plate of pancakes. He knows how to pick his battles, and the pancakes will keep until Eddie wakes up—that is, if Chris doesn’t get to them first.

When the pancakes are suitably shrink-wrap-covered and refrigerated, he returns to the living room—just as he thought, Eddie’s sound asleep.

“Didn’t take you long,” he says to the room. The couch is comfortable though, he’ll give Eddie that. Easy to fall asleep on, as he knows from experience.

He swallows hard, then moves to sit gently on the coffee table. Eddie’s hair is mussed, falling softly over his forehead, and his fingers twitch abortively against the wood as he fights the urge to brush it back. God, he’s pretty, Buck thinks, can’t help but think, torn with the intensity of the thought, of the longing to touch, to be held.

He swallows hard, makes himself get up.

Bad Buck.

“Night, Eds,” Buck says, and turns out the lights.

(send in a prompt!)

[yanderelovlies]

✨Galaxy Anon ✨ here!

It’s great ugh the sadness turned into joy. Maybe you like pain…I don’t know how to feel about that.

Yup. That makes sense especially with Elon musk making up so many weird rules and sometimes the toxicity on the site. I wish I can commission or use patron. But my mom can’t know or I will be in big trouble.

Oh that makes it worse to me since if I don’t know the teacher and do it online causes me anxiety feeling like I’m bothering them. Oh that sucks since I’m a person who needs to be explained in more intricate detail or I mess up something up and feel like a failure. Yeah nope I will fail especially math since math is fucking hard like why is there letters in math? Why so many equations?! Why does science have to do with it all the sudden! I feel the memories resurfacing. Sorry to hear that it sucks. Wow that’s a lot of points and low B? Viví I would be lucky to have that grade in school especially math since dammit I almost failed a grade because of it.

At least your worried, lots of parents unfortunately don’t realize the dangers of the internet on children. At least your looking after them. Have you talked about it to them though? Some children maybe feel your harsh because since your there sibling and not actually the mom they feel you shouldn’t have that authority. I know I felt that way with my older sis when she was onto me. Maybe talking about why there so angry about it will help? Sorry if this sounds offensive and I definitely have no say in the matter just wanting to ask about it since maybe they feel this way to be cool with there peers or something. Kids should have limits and your right for that.

Good good because I don’t like the idea of you were alone with him. At least he lost interest. Me too or unfortunately you could’ve gotten hurt. I don’t want to assume he had bad intentions but from how the news is it’s better to be a bit paranoid then feel nothing can happen to you.

Also my god at work today I’m so glad I was so calm because this lady when I asked what she wanted to drink she said a alcholic drink and when she was about to pull her identification which was paper I said I couldn’t take it and she got mad and she threw the fucking menu on the ground and angrily said “ Of course!” And I still had to order and when she got her main dish when I asked if she wanted cheese she said no and when I was walking away she said she wanted cheese. Later on when asking if she needed anything else she wanted to pay but in such a rude tone. After the payment was done I had to get another table order but when I went back she rudely said “ I’m finished.” And shoved her dishes to me with aggression. Like bitch I know your finished get the hell out if you going to act like that. I was close to just telling her I wouldn’t deal with her and she acts like she never got disciplined in her life and little children act more civil than her. Like my god you mother be ashamed of you right now how stupid you look. Ugh it was humiliating .

Me when i read that:

Oh that doesn't sound good. PLEASE LET ME KNOW IF IM OVER STEPPING BOUNDARIES but if it's a money thing I wouldn't mind paying for a commission for you 💕

Oh, don't get me started in math! I made sure that was an in-person class cause I struggle so hard! I can't tell you how many sleepless nights I had for tests! AND I HAVE TO TAKE MORE FOR MY PROFESSION AAAAAHHH. Also I'm always worried about my grade due to my Fasfa indont want lose it cause I can't pay for college on my own 😭😭

No need to apologize I do appreciate your input. The oldest understands and is even willing to show it to me when I get curious. (I only check in once a month I give them space unless I hear or see something in passing I don't like.) I have talked to the youngest but doesn't make it easier cause they just see it as being mean. I just hope one day they will understand better.

Trust me I know. I've had terrible experiences so I tend to be more on guard with men i don't know well. I feel guilty about it sometimes, but bad memories and what I hear tells me otherwise.

Holy shit that sounds God awful. She was being a dick for not getting her way, and you're right her momma would be ashamed. Acting like a spoiled child in public. Disgusting.

[followyouthroughfire]

If you follow his lips closely -It really looks like he's sobbing out "I can't"

And it's also something you say in moments of panic. I think.

It really does! Well done for spotting it!! And if you are right there has to be end to the sentence. What can’t he do?? Therapy, heal, work in dispatch?? Or something deeper. Something ‘repressed’ right down inside him…

[heloisedaphnebrightmore]

The Viscount’s fiancee [Anthony Bridgerton x Reader]

Title: The Viscount’s fiancee Pairing: Anthony Bridgerton x Female!Reader Word count: 3k Published: 7 March, 2021 Author: Heloise Daphne Brightmore Summary: [x] Being engaged to the eldest Bridgerton brother makes you the happiest person alive, occasionally so much so that it makes you act as though you were a foolish child. But all that giddiness is about to disappear upon your findings.

Bridgerton Masterlist | Masterlists

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Viscount, Anthony Bridgerton was known for many reasons. The Bridgerton family was wealthy and highly respected in the ton. Many mothers wanted to marry off their daughters to one of the Bridgerton brothers, but of all Anthony had the worst standing. He was dashingly handsome, very prominent and certainly well educated, but his reputation as a rake preceded him.

When the news of your engagement surfaced, even Lady Whistledown wrote of you with a great deal of respect namely as the woman who tamed one of the wildest Bridgertons. You just laughed it off, but deep down you felt somewhat proud. You have been friends from a very young age and since your families have had a long and close relationship, it was inevitable to grow close to the siblings. In your teenage years, however, you fell for the man’s charm and humour, even his brooding moments. Although his proposal came as a surprise, knowing your relationship was always stranded at the stage of a friendship, when he kneeled down in front of you and asked for your hand in marriage, the amount of pure happiness you felt made you feel like you were walking above the clouds.

Hurrying down the stairs, you held onto the side of your dress before attempting to fall face down, but your clumsiness seemed to be greater as you accidentally let your dress fall on one side. Your own foot tangled up in the hem of your dress and the weight of your body pulled you dangerously close to the ground. In fear, you closed your eyes, heart pumping dangerously against your chest, anticipating a painful and loud landing, However, before you could have encountered the most embarrassing moment of your life, a strong arm locked around your waist, pulling your back against a hard chest. At first you didn’t dare to open your eyes, you squeezed them shut, afraid of your saviour’s identity, but the significant cologne reminded you of one very important person.

Turning around in his arms, you opened only one eye, peeking up at your hero. He wore an adoring, lopsided smile as he shook his head disapprovingly. You scrunched your nose as you opened your other eye and rearranged your expression into an innocent smile, trying to mask your embarrassment.

“I take it you were in a haste to see me?” he asked, his deep voice holding a humorous tone. Indeed, his arrival sparked such curiosity in you that you couldn’t possibly wait a second more to slow your steps and descend down the stairs as though a lady should. You have barely spent a couple of hours apart, but there you were missing him endlessly, involuntarily bringing out a giddy little child within you. The love you felt for him couldn’t have been more obvious and whilst you attempted to act less transparent, it never seemed to work. Anthony wasn’t an oblivious man, nor were you the best actress of the ton.

“I was simply heading to the drawing room,” you replied nonchalantly, trying to convince him that for once his presence didn’t affect you as deeply as he already knew.

“I’m quite certain the drawing room is upstairs,” he huffed playfully. Indeed, the previously mentioned room was upstairs and making yourself look as though you were a fool didn’t seem to help your case.

“I was thirsty,” you quickly added, hoping to stop Anthony from questioning you any further.

“Should you have called the maid, she would have brought the drink to your room,” he added, his smirk growing slightly, enjoying your foolishness.

“Anthony Bridgerton,” you called his name in a warning tone, earning a heartfelt laughter from the man, knowing you have reached your patience. Although you have not been married yet and only announced your engagement a week or so ago, you were very close to one another, hence the reason his arm around you for longer than appropriate didn’t seem to bother you nor him. Your father loved the eldest Bridgerton brother greatly even though he knew of his reputation, therefore he didn’t mind finding you alone with him, but he never failed to mention keeping a distance until you were married.

“I apologise, but you were never a good liar,” he chuckled at your failed attempt to mask your love for him.

“I know, I’m well aware of it. But exposing me is very unfair,” you pouted in the least lady-like manner. Crossing your arms in front of your chest, you steadied yourself on the stairs, Anthony’s arms leaving your body cold after his warm embrace.

“Why is it unfair?” he furrowed, slightly confused about your words.

“Because you know I love you. You know I love you very much,” you replied with a saddened expression as you started heading down the stairs. “It’s not funny when I clearly know I am making a fool out of myself in front of you,” you shook your head, disappointed in your own behaviour. Whilst you knew Anthony cared for you dearly, you always felt as though your feelings were deeper, stronger. Sometimes foolish thoughts ran across your mind, ones that tried to convince you Anthony didn’t love you the way you wished he did, that he might have only loved you as a friend from his childhood, someone he was used to being around.

Anthony quickly headed after you, grabbing your wrist as gently as he could, halting your steps as he turned you around to face him. “What are you talking about? I love that foolish, careless personality of yours,” he said, his tone slightly confused. “Have I done something to you?”

“I know being straightforward about such a subject is meant to be rude, but you have known me for years, Anthony. I need to know something, and I would like you to answer honestly, please,” you almost begged the man as he stood in front of you, his eyes wide in surprise, your seriousness unfamiliar to him.

“I’m always honest with you,” he added.

“Thank you,” you let a small faux smile spread across your face as you heaved a deep sigh, collecting the courage to ask your question. “Are you marrying me because my father asked you to or was it you who asked him for my hand?” you questioned, knowing he never talked about the arrangements between him and your father. You always felt safe and secure around him and falling for him happened from one day to another, it was inevitable for you. But for him, you couldn’t decide when and what changed. At once, he appeared in the drawing room with a bouquet of red roses and kneeled down in front of you, proposing to you, promising happiness forever. You were too happy to question his intentions then, but as the days passed as though your insecurities resurfaced, you couldn’t possibly think about anything else, but the reasons behind his sudden interest in you.

You furrowed at the long silence, tears collecting in your eyes at the realisation, chest weighing a ton. Anthony didn’t speak, he didn’t confirm it verbally, but you understood. The engagement wasn’t his idea to begin with and it all started to make sense. He never tried to kiss you, touch you in secret, he never tried to act as though you were lovers. Knowing it was inappropriate shouldn’t have stopped him, his time as a rake wasn’t a secret after all, he was a passionate man.

Gulping loudly, you took a step back, removing your wrist from his hold. “I didn’t mean to hurt you,” he spoke up finally, his voice filled with guilt.

“Should you have told me, I would have understood and stopped making a fool out of myself,” you replied, your unshed tears finally escaping down your cheeks. Heavy weight settled in your chest, your air seemingly stuck in your lungs, suddenly the mere thought of Anthony caused you tremendous amounts of physical and emotional pain.

“You misunderstand, I-” he tried to explain himself, but you didn’t give him the chance to and cut him off.

“But do I?” you asked with tear-stained cheeks and bloodshot eyes as you fought against the loud sobs trying to escape your lungs. “You have accepted my father’s request to marry me! I never wanted to feel pitied, I never wanted to feel as though I could only marry out of an arrangement. I confessed my feelings for you, Anthony,” you sobbed loudly. Anthony reached for you to hold you, but you pushed his arms away and took a step back. “Do you understand how terrible it is to realise that the man you love pretended to be interested in you because of a mere agreement? Anthony do you realise?” you emphasised your words, but instead of speaking his mind, he stood in front of you gaping silently as though he wanted to say something, but not a word nor a sound left his lips. “Please, I’m begging you, leave now,” you whispered in a weak tone. Attempting to look less of a pitiful woman than you already felt as you walked around Anthony’s stunned figure towards the garden.

“I can’t leave. Please listen to me,” he turned around, calling you after a moment of silence, but you pretended to be deaf to his words. “Please!” he hurried after you as you exited the mansion, the warm rays of the sun warming up your body. The door closed behind you loudly, but within a second Anthony followed you out to the garden. “You must listen to me. It’s a misunderstanding,” he tried to convince you.

“No, it isn’t,” you replied in a firm tone, not wanting to hear any excuses from the man you made a fool out of yourself for.

“You completely misunderstand,” he tried to explain himself once again, but you didn’t let him continue. His excuses were more painful than the thought of him having no feelings for you.

You stopped in your spot, turning towards the eldest Bridgerton brother with a stern look on your face. Anthony hasn’t seen much anger from you throughout the years, but the pain you were harbouring in that moment scared him. He never meant to hurt you, he wanted a chance to explain his side to you, but the look across your usually happily glowing eyes now held darkness.

“Talk to my father, Mr. Bridgerton. I wish not to marry you anymore,” you clenched your jaw, your tone holding pure disappointment against the man who you loved so dearly. “Should you want to continue with the marriage, I will make your days miserable from your very first, to you very last,” you whispered the last part of your sentence, warning the man of your wrath.

“I will not break the contract!” he replied firmly without hesitation in his voice. “I need you to listen to me carefully,” you were about to stop him, his words angering you even further, but he didn’t let you interrupt him. He was determined to explain himself. “I’m quite certain I had a choice in the matter, I could have very well said no. You have been my friend for as long as I can remember, and I treasure our friendship. Do you really take me for a man who would want to hurt those he loves intentionally? I don’t love you as a mere friend I grew up with. I love you as a man loves a woman, as a husband loves a wife. I intended to ask for your hand in marriage, but your father seemed to be quicker than I could have even asked.”

“Why should I believe you?” you asked, voice softer, heart filling with hope. You wanted to believe him, his words made you hope, feeling foolish once again, but words didn’t mean as much as actions.

“Would I ever lie to you? I certainly didn’t mention the agreement, but regardless of that detail, my feelings are genuine,” he hesitantly stepped closer to you, hoping you wouldn’t turn and run away from him. As you stayed still, he dared to continue. “I have never lied to you and I don’t intend to start now. Should you question my intentions, I understand, but that will not change my feelings for you,” he took another step closer, your firm stance lighting a slight hope within him, but the fear across your face made him cautious.

“I wish nothing more than to believe you, but I confessed my feelings for you, and you have said nothing,” your voice hitched as you tried to stop your loud sobs from escaping. “I was a fool for you, but not once did you try to hold me, kiss me, make me feel as though I meant more than a mere friend, as though I was a woman in your eyes,” you replied as your eyes filled up with tears, glistening as you gazed at Anthony. His scoff surprised you, his unexpected reaction making you confused.

“I wanted to. I want to. I want to hold you, kiss you, touch you, I want to wake up beside you,” he heaved a heavy sigh, biting his bottom lip. “I’m trying to be a gentleman, but you are not helping my situation. Do you think it’s easy for me to sit beside you, hold onto your hand and smile as though I was an angel? I’m not an angel,” he groaned almost painfully. “I wish nothing but to pull you against me, pamper your neck with kisses, ran my hands across your body and taste your lips on mine” the passion behind his words, the low, dangerous tone he used to speak to you left your cheeks flushed, your lips parted in surprise. His eyes were dark, determined, his whole posture dominant. “I wish I could turn it off and on, because it makes me mad how much I want you,” he added as he took another step closer, forcing your back against the cold wall of the mansion. You couldn’t possibly focus on anything, but the feeling of his chest flush against yours, his darkening eyes watching you eagerly, his irregular breathing slightly tickling your lips, your stomach twisting into a knot.

Shaky breaths left your lungs, voice nowhere to be found. You wanted to stand on your tiptoes and attach your lips to his. You wanted to know the feeling of his mouth against yours, the taste of his lips. Those couple of inches between you never felt more unnecessary.

“My lord,” you spoke in an uncertain tone, whispering those words you barely ever said to him. “Show me how much,” he swallowed heavily as the words left your lips, his jaw tightened as though he was in physical pain from trying to control himself. Involuntarily, but he leaned closer, his hot breath lingering above your parted lips. “Please,” you added in a whisper, placing a hand on his cheek, caressing his skin with the tip of your thumb as you licked across your lips in anticipation.

As though that was the last piece of thread holding him back, he broke under your spell, wrapping his arms around your waist and closing the gap between your longing lips. There was no hesitation in his movements, he leaned down to meet your lips as though his life depended on your kiss.

Wrapping your arms around his neck, he deepened the kiss, awakening thousands of butterflies in the deepest part of your stomach, fluttering, flapping their wings, sending your heartbeat into a dangerous speed, weakening your knees. You couldn’t possibly imagine the feeling of being kissed, you weren’t experienced in that matter, but your body reacted involuntarily to Anthony as though you have been craving for something you have not known.

Anthony’s hand wandered up to the back of your neck, pulling you closer, even though you didn’t realise it was possible. His lips felt soft against yours, addictive, completely capturing your whole being. He didn’t need words to convey his feelings. The way he held you in his arms, his body engulfing yours, keeping you safe from anything or anyone who could possibly hurt you, his actions spoke for themselves.

He hinted a small peck on your swollen lips, before he left another and another, making you smile in content.

“Should you question my intentions again, I will have to repeat that,” he chuckled, slightly out of breath. Your eyes wandered to his lips, eagerly wishing for him to repeat his actions, wanting to feel his inviting lips on yours.

“I’m unsure of the right answer,” you breathed, attention completely captured by his plump lips. The dazed look across your face made him laugh loudly, throwing his head back, not being able to contain his happiness. His laughter brought a content smile across your face as you watched the man you loved in a blissful moment, his mere laughter filling your chest with a warm feeling.

“Do you believe me now?” he asked as his laughter died down, however, his lopsided grin didn’t disappear.

“I wish to say that I do, but-” once again your gaze found his lips, vivid memories of them attached to yours clouding your mind. “then you would not repeat- that,” you breathed in uncertainty, cheeks feeling hot in your embarrassed state.

“Would you like us to repeat that?” he chuckled with a mischievous smile. “Would you like me to kiss you once again?” he asked, slowly running a hand down your arm, leaving goosebumps after his trail, before linking his fingers with yours. No words could possibly leave your lips, an uncertain nod was the only sign of your agreement. He smirked proudly at your stunned expression as he started off in haste towards the back of the mansion, lightly pulling you after himself. You frowned at his actions, feeling oblivious as to what he was planning, before he gently shoved your back against a hidden wall, wrapping an arm around your waist, stopping his movements for a second. “I love you and I want you,” he whispered against your lips with shaky breaths, but a loving and warm smile on his face. “I will show you how much on our wedding night, but until then,” he smirked, before meeting your lips half-way, stunning you for a second, before you melted your body with his, wanting to feel him as much as you could for now.

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[plush-rabbit]

Tragedy

Word Count: 2.8K

A/N: It makes me really sad that his Father’s favorite things were his family and that he just wanted them to be happy

Each step of his is slow, his heels clicking against the floor as he walks to his room, his body still on high alert, his mind full of chatter and noise that had echoed in the room large enough to still fill soldiers. His mind is still full of destruction, buildings crumbling under him, the screams of his- Tomura closes his eyes tightly and takes a sharp breath, pausing in the middle of the hallway, his hand coming up to cover above where Father should be. Somehow, it feels sick- sicker than usual at least. He continues onward, his steps quickening subconsciously, an effort to push the past further away, to drown out the noise in the distance, but no matter where he goes, it follows him.

There’s no use dwelling on the past, wondering if things might have been different or if he would have ended up different if it weren’t for that night. If it weren’t for that picture. If it weren’t for him and his selfish want to be a hero. It was a child’s dream, something naïve and something so raw and filthy that he now pays the price for it.

He stands at the closed door, a faint sound from the inside, a song too low and muffled by the wood for him to make out and his hand is curled into a weak fist, ready to knock, pleading that you’ll allow him entry. It’s his room. It’s your room. It’s a shared room and yet, he still feels as if he doesn’t belong.

You’re on the other side, waiting for him, and he can only force himself to muster the energy to stand. His knuckles rap against the door, and he waits for a moment, a second that drags on and on, until he hears your voice, allowing him entry. When he enters, his eyes land on you. Your back is propped up by pillows, your phone in your hand that is put aside and a blanket that covers your bent legs. You’re comfortable, laying in bed, and waiting for him, your smile soft, only to break when he stands in the doorway, holding the door with his hand while the one is pulled close to his chest.

“What’s wrong, Tomu?” Your head tilts and the blanket curls at the bottom of your ankle as you move to the edge of the bed. Your legs swing over and you walk up to him, your hands already raising to cup his face, but he moves away. “Tomura?” Your voice is small, as if you’re tending to a wounded animal and he realizes that this isn’t the first time that you’ve used this tone before. “Hey, come on,” you plead, as your hand rests on his shoulder and he has to shrug you away to close the door. “Talk to me,” you ask of him, and he can feel your eyes as he locks the door.

The bed dips under him and it is free of anything uncomfortable. It isn’t like the hard dirt that he’s known for the past few months, it isn’t a bed with springs digging into his back, and it isn’t a bed surrounded by four walls with his old figurines. It’s a new bed, soft and alien to him.

You stand in front of him, crouched to your knees and your hands resting against his thighs. He knows he should tell you something- you’ve teased and chastised him enough about how communication is important in a relationship, but he doesn’t know what to say. What do you say to a person who believes you are good, who wants to see the good in you that they ignore everything else about you? What do you say to a person who looks at you with endearment and understanding?

He doesn’t want to cry. He shouldn’t. It’s not like him. It isn’t him. “I’m tired.” his voice cracks and he looks at you for a second, his bottom lip teased between his teeth and his head lowering almost immediately once he catches your eyes.

“Oh honey,” you coo, and the space beside him is taken, as you wrap your arms around him, your hands lifting off his shoulder for a brief second, only to latch back onto him. “Is touch okay?” He nods, unable to answer. He feels your hand thread through his hair, untangling the few knotted pieces and scratching at his scalp. “It’s okay, Tomura. No one’s here, it’s just me and you.”

It’s just you and him. There’s no one else. It’s him in your arms as you shush him gently, slowly pulling him closer to you. You mutter soothing words to him, pulling him slowly further into the bed. The pillows soft as they cushion his body, his hand held and knuckles kissed and he lowers himself, his head resting on your chest.

“You can hold my hand,” he says, watching as his bare hand is interlaced with yours. His hand is calloused, scarred and imperfect, and it fills your hand perfectly, overlapping and watching as your fingertips brush over a faint scar between his knuckles and the webbed part of his hand. You’re much warmer than he remembered, and without his gloves, you’re softer too.

“And you can hold mine,” you reply, a hand curving to brush his hair. “You can hold mine anytime you want.” He knows you’re being sweet to him because of how vulnerable he is, and he wonders if it were any other time, if it were someone else even, if you would be as kind. “What happened, Tomura?” You press further and exhaustion is heavy on him, dragging along him and opening old and new wounds. “Talk to me, honey.”

What is he supposed to say? What should he tell you? Does he have to? Would you be angry at him if he doesn’t? Would you pull away from him and would he be the cause of the failed relationship? He isn’t ready and perhaps he’ll never be ready to say it outloud. As short as the time frame was, he’s over it. It’s in the past. The screams and blood will always taint his skin no matter how many times he washes his hands, but it’s in the past. He’s accepted it. But he can’t tell himself the same thing about you. He wants to tell him that you wouldn’t leave him, not this far into the relationship, not after everything that you did and ignored, just to be with him, but it’s different. You may not be perfect, but you’re perfect for him. To him, you’re his everything. He wants you and he wants you to accept everything that he is.

“A lot of things resurfaced about my past,” he speaks slowly, testing the waters and when you press your lips to the top of his head, allowing for him to continue, he does so. He rises above, his knees straddling your body and your hands cup his face, brushing back his hair that falls like a white curtain separating the both of you from the outside world. “Kiss me, please,” he croaks, lowering his head, until he can feel your breath on his lips.

It's a rush of emotions, one where he falls onto you, gasping as if he’s dying, choked breath followed by tears that slide down his cheeks and linger on his tongue. You’re caught by surprise, your noise of shock muffled by the kiss. He lowers himself, his hands free of cloth, except for one wrapped in bandages, but he touches you. He lets his fingertips roam over your body, to touch against your neck and feel every small movement, the soft inhale, the way your spit travels down your throat, the beating pulse that is erratic and pounding under his fingertips. His hand hurts, aching with every harsh movement, warmth leaking out and if it weren’t for the thickness of the bandages, he's sure red would have stained the both of you by now. Your hands move from him, pulling down his hair, leaving him in a whining mess, and you hold his with your hands pressed and curled onto his back. His hands never leave you, dragging down your body, a piece of your clothing crumbles, tearing at the seams and leaving your collar ruined. When he pulls away, your face is heavy in a flush, your eyes wide and dazed but holding some semblance of rationality behind them. Pink flashes out to wet your lips and he goes to capture you in a kiss once more, so desperate to feel you but when you turn your head, he meets your cheeks.

“Tomura,” you whine, your hands back on his head, cradling him until he pulls away, his head turning, face burning in shame at the rejection. “I need you to talk to me first.” You turn away and your cheeks are heavy in color, and your smile isn’t one that he’s used to. “Please.” It isn’t you begging, it isn’t you on your knees pleading and crying for him to share himself, but it’s enough for him to make his mind dizzy and rest his head on your shoulder.

“Later,” he says, and he can feel your disappointment by the hitch in your breath. “I promise. Just- Just kiss me, please. I don’t wanna think for a while.”

Your hand is soft compared to his skin, running past old scars, past his skin that is dry, and you move past his ear, burning hot to cup the back of his head and pull him into a kiss and that’s all the acceptance that he needs. Your body bumps against his, and while you are gentle, he is in a frenzy, ready to rid himself of emotion and just give in to you, and he lays above you with burning eyes. He isn’t sure what to make of it, to feel your body so soft and giving and it makes his itch. A burning desire to scratch infects him, ruins him to his core and he’s left choking against nothing, his body collapsing beside yours and his hands clawing towards you like a child scared of the dark. His nails run down his neck, and old wounds are opened, leaving him with bloody hands and poison that runs through his body and forces him to turn away from you.

“Tomura,” you coo, your hands over his arms, pulling him to see you. “Sweetheart, you’re safe, you’re safe.” You repeat it as if it’s the only thing that can hold him together, as if anything else said to him would cause him to fall apart before you. He’s cradled against your chest, and his hold on you is tight, nails digging into your arms and he’s alone with you for a moment. “You’re tired,” your words are said in a soft whisper and he can only nod. “Don’t rush yourself. You went through a lot-” your hand flutters over where his hand is bandaged, held together by a brace and it hurts in the worst possible way- “just take a breather, okay? You’re allowed to rest, you’re allowed to feel good.”

He is destruction, a burning sense of desire to watch the world crumble away, leaving only things that his comrades care about. And leaving you for him. He could care less about anything else, he just needs you at this very moment. You hold onto him, letting your lips press against the top of his head and he’s realized that he’s still in his suit, his shoes still on and dirtying the bed with the dirt beneath him.

“I’m getting the bed dirty,” he says and for the moment, that’s the only thing that matters. The bed you share with him is ruined by him. “I didn’t mean to,” he says without emotion, a blank slate for him to fill in and when you move away and shift yourself away from him and he looks at your wounded, so fearful, so resentful of everything that bubbled up, and he’s reaching out towards you, his hand latching onto yours while the other nudges against your thigh.

The corners of your lips tilt into a sad smile, and you hold his hand, bringing it up to his lips to kiss softly at his knuckles that have been ravaged by his life. “I’m not going anyway,” you murmur against his skin. “Let me just help you change.” His hands are left empty, nipped by the cold air in the room.

It’s an intimate moment as he watches you fix your hair, your smile faint, but there as you fix yourself. The back of his hand is rubbed against his nose as he watches you untie his laces, his shoes removed and placed on the floor below the bed. In a brief moment of realization that he should help you, he shrugs off his jacket, letting it fall beside him, uncaring as it slips over the edge of the bed and crumples onto the floor. He struggles to unbutton the top of his shirt, fumbling with his fingers, the button catching and slipping and frustration starts to bloom. There’s a seed planted that he could just decay the shirt, but then your hands replace his and he’s left staring at you, watching as you slowly and delicately unbutton him, his shirt removed and his body chill.

Scars and bandages are wrapped against him, fresh gauze that is wrapped around his side, stuck to his skin and with his chest bare, his skin pricks with tiny bumps all over. “I’m cold,” he says, his mouth pulled into a frown.

You give him a soft hum and push yourself close to him, your lips pressed over a scar that curves around his chest. Your hands are pressed against his stomach, and with your touch, he feels vulnerable, as if it's his very soul that is bare and not him. He isn’t sure what to make of it, what he’s supposed to do as you kiss over every wound that decorates his body, your lips against his rib cage, and his heart beats faster with every kiss. He’s exhausted, but he forces his eyes to stay awake as you kiss him, as you let yourself hover over everything that he is, kissing his scars and brushing the tip of your nose against the edge of the gauze and he can only muster half a laugh, smiling at you, his hand combed between your hair as you look up at him.

“Let’s go to sleep, okay?” You rise and unbuckle his jeans for him, and he helps you shimmying out of them, his mouth pulled into a thin line when you pull down and accidently brush the rough material against a bruise.

The mattress cushions and molds to his shape as he sinks down and it’s much too soft for him. He isn’t used to something like this and yet, when the blanket that smells like spring covers against him, tucked under his chin and your arms that circle around him, everything is lifted off of him. Every overbearing weight, every hate and sadness is lifted from him and he’s left with exhaustion and the desire to just touch you. He turns around, his body close to being bare and his legs entangle with yours, and he buries himself into you, his eyes halfway closed and slowly, he pecks at your collarbone, his lips sticking to you and his breath is shaky and warm as he pulls away.

He wishes he could tell you what he needs to. He wishes that he could tell you everything, and that it wouldn’t change a thing and yet, he knows better. He knows you’d comfort him, give him the love and care he so desperately needed when he roamed the streets. He knows that you cradle him and treat him as if he were someone made out of porcelain. He needs you to think of him as someone strong, as someone who had gotten through life’s cruelty with only scars on his skin, not the repressed emotions of a child who was too scared to talk and reached for his mother’s arms.

“I got you Tomura,” you say his name as if it were something pure and sweet on your tongue, and he yearns for it. Your hands rub away the goosebumps over him and there’s a sort of light feeling that wraps around his heart. “I’m not going anywhere, okay? It’s just you and me.” His eyes are heavy and he focuses on how your chest rises and falls, how your fingertips tap against his body and circle over a smooth strip of skin that was once a scar, now healed. “I’ll be here for you.”

[mianavs]

No Escape

You wanted to start a new life but your old one wasn’t done with you just yet

Osamu x runaway!reader

a piece i wrote for @sugawara-sweetheart​ ‘s decadence collab 

a/n: heavily inspired by my time working at a restaurant minus the hot boss bit. using Kobe as the location of Miya Onigiri 

tw: smut, assault, implied imprisonment

wc: 1.8k+

It’s only been three months since you ran away to Kobe but you’re already settling comfortably into your new life.

The studio you’re renting is tiny and the faint smell of mildew doesn’t leave no matter how much baking soda and vinegar you use to clean the walls and floors—you can’t stand the smell of bleach. Nevertheless, it’s warm and inviting after a long day at work when all you want to do is collapse on your bed to give your weary legs a break. Most importantly, it’s your home and no one is there to lock you in while taking away the key.

Your work is hands-down the best thing about your life. There is no where you’d rather be than in a hot kitchen with sweat dripping down your face as you chop ingredients, sauté vegetables, and plate your creations. It all started with a home economics class in high school that led you into accepting a scholarship to a culinary school that you attended for a year before your life was turned upside down by—

“Y/N! The order! Is it done?”

Your head snaps up to find your boss Osamu Miya drumming his fingers on the counter as he stares you down, thick brows knitted together. You suck in a breath and dart your eyes down to the three onigiri that have yet to be coated with Furikake seasoning. Swiftly, you press the seasoning onto the rice balls before handing the plate over to your boss.

“Done!”

Osamu looks up from the plate and lets his eyes linger on you before nodding wordlessly and taking the food to the customer. It’s a busy Friday evening and you’re understaffed again so Osamu’s waiting tables while you’re working the kitchen along with two other cooks. The orders pile up on the line and adrenaline courses through your veins as you dart around the kitchen gathering ingredients and dodging your coworkers.

Shifts like these drain all your energy and by the time the clock hits 10pm, your legs feel as if they’ll fall off at any moment. Still, you don’t mind the hectic rushes during the day because they keep you from revisiting the painful memories you keep buried away in the darkest recesses of your mind.

Cleaning up after a long busy shift is the hardest part about working at a restaurant like Onigiri Miya. The building is old and the unwelcome critters like to come out at night, so Osamu is quite anal about storing ingredients and cleaning.

It’s not that you hate cleaning but obsessive cleanliness makes your blood run cold and your throat close up until you can’t breathe. It takes you back to that pristine home that became your own personal hell.

You’re scrubbing the outside of the huge metal rice cooker when one of your coworkers lets out a yelp which is followed by the sound of splashing water. The acrid fumes of bleach assault your nose and you look down to see your shoes covered with the cleaning agent.

The scrub sponge slips from your hand as a wave of nausea sweeps over you. Bile rises up your throat and you grip onto the nearby wall to get on your feet before staggering to the bathroom.

The flickering lights of the dingy bathroom distort your vision further but you make a beeline to the sink regardless. You turn on the hot water and pump a ridiculous amount of soap before frantically rubbing your hands together until your skin is red and raw. Your heart hammers inside your heaving chest and hot tears blur your vision as the voice that haunts your nightmares rings in your ears.

Filthy

Dirty

Gross

You’ll never be clean without me

You nearly jump out of your skin when a heavy hand lands on your shoulder. Every muscle in your body tenses painfully and a single thought echoes in your head like a mantra.

He found me

He found me

He found me

But it isn’t him. It’s Osamu forcing you to face him as his fingers dig into your shoulders. Suddenly, you can breathe again and you deflate like a balloon.

“You’re okay, Y/N. I got you.” His rich voice never fails to calm you down during your panic attacks and you wonder how you ever got so lucky to have him as a boss and—

He pulls you to him, pressing his lips against yours in an abrupt kiss. He coaxes you to submit with every languid stroke of his tongue, every touch that burns through your clothes, every groan that rumbles in his chest. Your body always resists him at first and you wonder if it’s due to the wounds of your past that still feel fresh or the inappropriateness of your relationship because Osamu is your boss. Those thoughts eventually melt away along with your resistance and you open up to him in more ways than one.

It’s your first time at his flat but you don’t see much of it because he has you against his front door as soon as you cross the threshold. His lips latch on to your sensitive neck, swiping his teeth against your skin and littering it with marks. It isn’t until his hand buries itself inside your undone pants that your lustful haze dampens.

“W-we shouldn’t be doing this.”

Your protest falls on deaf ears as Osamu palms your throbbing clit and pushes two long digits into your needy cunt. A jolt of pleasure runs through your body and you grasp at his shoulders, hair, and back while he pumps his fingers at a fast but steady pace.

From your previous trysts at the restaurant, Osamu already knows his way around the fleshy walls of your cunt and aims toward that spot that has you coming undone in minutes. You’re keening and holding on to him for dear life when your release washes over you and covers his entire hand and wrist. Like clockwork, shame and terror take root and a cruel husky voice embedded in your memory resurfaces.

Dirty

That one word is all it takes for you to unlatch yourself from Osamu and glance at the mess you’ve made. You’re trembling like a leaf waiting for a heavy hand to send you across the floor or for harsh fingers to grip your hair to throw you like a ragdoll, but Osamu isn’t him so he brings his two fingers to his mouth and licks them clean; his eyes locked onto yours the entire time.

That single action is what breaks down any lingering walls that still stood between you and your boss and you rush at him planting a hungry kiss on his lips, savoring the taste of your cum still on them. He matches your fervent kiss and leads you to his bedroom, leaving a trail of clothing in your wake.

You end up on his lap with his cock buried inside your messy cunt and you see stars with every upward thrust of his hips. He latches his mouth onto a nipple and suckles on it until it’s red and throbbing before switching to the other.

“S-Samu! Ah-”

He bites down on your nipple and it’s the explosion of pain that drives you over the edge—the way your body was trained to do. Your fleshy walls convulse around his cock and cum gushes out of you coating your conjoined bodies.

“Fuck-”

Osamu curses and buries his teeth into your shoulder as hot spurts of semen shoot into your womb and fill you up to the brim. The two of you cling onto each other as the aftershocks of your orgasms subside. There’s a stinging pain coming from your breast and shoulder and you know without looking that he’s drawn blood.

But you’re used to it and at least Osamu doesn’t kick you off him and call you a filthy whore.

He eventually pulls you into bed with him but the itching need to clean yourself overwhelms you.

“We should clean ourselves up.” You suggest, pushing against his chest to no avail.

“Later,” he mumbles and tightens his hold until there’s no space between you. “How about you stay the night?”

It’s posed as a question but it’s more like a statement especially since he has no intention of letting you go. There’s a foreboding tightness in your chest but Osamu presses a loving kiss on the top of your head and you forget all about it.

You wake up to the sound of male voices but a husky voice stands out from the others. It’s a voice you know all too well because it haunts you night and day. Your blood runs cold when you realize he’s in the bedroom conversing with two other people and your heart shatters when you hear Osamu. You keep your eyes closed praying that they leave the room so you can figure something out but the conversation suddenly stops.

“I know you’re awake, Y/N.”

A cold hand sweeps a strand of your hair to the side and the nauseating smell of hand sanitizer has bile rising up your throat.

In a bout of madness, you launch a pillow at Kiyoomi Sakusa and make a break for the door. You take a couple of steps before two pairs of hands stop you. It’s Osamu and a man who looks just like him who hold you down while you struggle against them like a wild animal.

“YOU FUCKING BASTARDS! LET ME GO! LET M-”

Sakusa’s hand goes up and then there’s a loud crack followed by throbbing pain on the side of your face. Even with your blurry vision you can still make out the disgust on Sakusa’s face as he watches you cough up blood.

“It doesn’t matter how loud you are. No one will come for you.”

He crouches down in front of you and his lips twitch in amusement as you struggle against Osamu and his twin brother. Cold black eyes examine your face before his hand digs into his pocket and takes out a handkerchief.

“I thought I lost you forever, Y/N. Thankfully, Miya introduced me to his brother who just so happened to know a certain girl from Tokyo with a mysterious past.” He wipes the blood off your face and watches the fight in your eyes die out with every word he utters.

“You don’t know how worried I was when I came home and you weren’t in your room.”

Your stomach lurches when he brings his face to your head and inhales your scent the way he always did since your high school days when you didn’t think anything of it. You curse the day you ever decided to befriend Sakusa.

“You’ll have to be punished, of course, but I promised Osamu I wouldn’t be too harsh with you. After all, you’ll belong to the three of us now.”

As if on cue, Osamu presses a wet kiss on your cheek and memories of last night cause hot angry tears to stream down your face. You were foolish to trust Osamu but even more foolish to think you could ever escape you captor.

[whythinktoomuch]

stranded in memory

It’s not clear how Lex has managed to pull it off, but he did; he got into Supergirl’s head, and he did it quite literally so as to achieve it quite figuratively, and now Kara Danvers might be lost forever. 

It’s after the second attack—the second time Supergirl storms into the DEO to demand, where are you keeping them?—when they first notice the ugly scar at the base of her neck. 

Red and angry, poorly healed despite living on Kryptonian skin. 

No one manages to get close enough to examine it though, what with Supergirl tearing through metal walls and burning down entire facilities to conduct her frenzied search. 

But whatever it is, the mechanism embedded in her skull has somehow made it so that Supergirl can look Alex Danvers right in the eye and strike her down with heat vision for masquerading as her sister. 

The resulting burns forcibly put Alex on bed rest despite extensive, swear-riddled protest. 

“It appears that Kara’s retained all her memories, but none of ties to reality that would allow her to recognize you,” Brainy concludes to the comfort of absolutely no one. 

“Well, is she even Kara anymore then? Shouldn’t we approach this like we would any other threat?” asks one lone agent, subjecting himself to Alex’s absolute unmitigated fury in the process. 

Lena keeps her distance at first. She’s seen the damage:  

her penthouse somehow upended, 

countless conference rooms and offices at L-Corp torn apart, 

the entirety of National City scrambling for cover as Supergirl makes reckless use of all her superpowers. 

And she knows that Supergirl must be looking for her too. Lex wouldn’t have done any of it, without the guarantee that Lena would end up coerced into direct involvement. It wouldn’t be worth it otherwise. 

And so, she locks herself away in an underground, lead-lined panic room, built for such an occasion. 

Because... well, if it’s true that Supergirl almost killed her own sister, how could Lena ever hope to survive the encounter? She wasn’t even on good terms with the Supergirl that would remember her in the first place.  

But then, things grow darker and even more dire. No one’s died yet, by some unbelievable stroke of luck, but there have been many close calls. So many that the city has started losing faith in their own Girl of Steel. 

And Supergirl has been winding down, slowly but surely, her physical condition unable to keep pace with her inner drive. It won’t be long before some branch of the government or another successfully shoots her down, but there’s only one that will never go for the kill shot. 

So, Lena finally resurfaces and joins forces with what’s left of the DEO, and gets to work on a kryptonite-powered snare. It almost works. 

Supergirl flies right into the trap, immediately twined by thick cords of sickly bright green wrapping around her body. She starts thrashing against her bonds, growling out warnings in a dead language whenever anyone tries to get close. 

"Okay, this isn’t working, guys,” Dreamer says, after her third attempt and subsequent failure to grab hold of the wrists tied behind Supergirl’s back. “She’s still too strong.” 

But at the sound of Dreamer’s voice, the red disappears from Supergirl’s eyes. She sits up, startled, and calls out, “Nia?” 

They’re all overwhelmed with relief then—Supergirl, and maybe even Kara, included—because at last, Lex’s device seems to have worn off.

But when Supergirl turns around to greet Dreamer, finally face to smiling face, a darkness sweeps back over her features. “You,” she says, her tone strangled with bitterness. “Who the hell are you, and what did you do with Nia?” 

Dreamer frowns, utterly baffled. “Kara, what are you talking about? It’s me... Nia.” But she takes a step too close, and Supergirl headbutts her into the ground. 

A brawl ensues, and Supergirl manages to throw everyone off her and escape by way of ungainly, lumbering flight, still bundled in kryptonite laced restraints against all impossibility. 

They find the mangled contraption some miles away in pieces. 

Nia’s head is very bruised and somewhat concussed, but she thankfully emerges from the medical bay relatively unscathed. 

Ultimately, Lena’s the one who figures it out, by repeatedly asking for the play-by-play of the failed capture and then reviewing the body cam footage for further research. There’s no way to know for sure, of course, but time is definitely running out, with Supergirl now facing an entire fleet of military aircraft armed with kryptonite. So, Lena takes her findings and rushes onto the scene. 

Supergirl is making her last stand, forced into a final corner with her back against the wall, eyes still blazing with heat vision. Until she hears a familiar voice crackling in her ear, the DEO comms whirring back to life. 

“Kara?” calls the voice, and Supergirl becomes a statue, breath stuttering, almost unwilling to believe her own ears. “Kara, can you hear me...?” 

“Lena...” Supergirl says her name like a prayer, a slight tremor starting up in her legs and traveling all over. “You’re okay? Oh god, you’re okay...” 

Everyone starts yelling then—Alex and Brainy and Nia, nameless stiff-lipped military men trying to secure a clear shot at the fallen hero—but Lena heeds none of it as she walks onto the battlefield. Supergirl whips her head around, regarding her approach with suspicion. 

“It’s still me,” Lena says through the earpiece. “Right now, I’m just in the lexo-suit for my own safety.” 

“I... I can’t see your face...” 

“I know, Kara. I know.” 

Lena, now firmly in the way of anyone who plans on taking aim at Supergirl, stops just a few short steps away from her. “Okay, I need you to trust me now, Kara.” 

And Kara, the Girl of Steel now fallen to dust, starts to cry. “Something’s wrong, Lena,” she says. “Something is so terribly wrong with me, and I don’t know what to do...” 

“I know, and it’s going to be okay,” Lena says, her own emotions sealed away behind purpose. “But right now, I just need you to trust me. Do you trust me, Kara?” 

Kara nods right away, one hand roughly swiping at her eyes. 

“Close your eyes.”

Kara draws back, shoulders stiffening, a bright red gathering in her gaze. 

“Kara, it’s still me,” Lena tells her gently. “I can come to you, but you just need to close your eyes first.” 

“Why?” Kara demands. 

“Do you trust me?” 

Kara’s eyes run all over the sleek design of the lexo-suit, swallowing hard when her x-ray vision can’t breach the surface. “It’s you?” 

“It’s me, I promise.” 

Kara shuts her eyes, disappearing the threat of heat vision along with the darkened blue of her sunken gaze. Warnings come flooding through Lena’s earpiece from well-meaning almost friends, but she gets out of the suit anyway. The tell-tale hydraulic hiss of the lexo-suit opening brings a low rumble to Kara’s chest, but her eyes still remain shut tight.   

“All right, Kara. I’m right here, okay?” Lena says, and Kara struggles to keep her eyes closed at the sound of her voice, now unfettered by technology or static. “No, you’re okay, Kara. Everything’s going to be okay. I’m right here.” 

Lena repeats the sentiment a few times as she approaches Kara in a careful stride. The closer she gets, the harder Kara breathes, teeth gritted and grinding in frustration. 

“Hey, I’m here,” Lena says once within reach, and Kara’s hand shoots out, catching Lena around the wrist. It’s a painful grasp, but Lena grimaces her way through it. “It’s me. You can tell... right?” 

“... Yes,” comes the trembling, grateful answer. 

“Your mind’s playing tricks on you,” Lena explains to her, still soft, still gentle. “Lex did something to your brain, and... you’re just having some trouble trusting what you see right now. But we’re going to fix it, okay?” 

“Okay.” Kara squeezes her eyes shut even harder, and finally lets her hand slip off Lena’s tender, bruised wrist. 

As Lena starts unwinding the scarf from her neck, she lets her eyes roam all over Kara’s face; she’s never been quite this close before. It looks a little different at the moment, somewhat worse for the wear. Deep creases in her strong brow, lips worried and worn, ash and blood of innocent bystanders smudged across one cheek, and her eyes... fluttering, but firmly shut. 

All it would take is one blink, Lena realizes. One look, and she could very well lose her life in Kara’s arms. 

Kara’s breath hiccoughs when she feels soft cotton wrapping around her head, smelling of Lena’s sweat and perfume, and covering her eyes. And all at once, she’s surrounded by the people she loves. 

Alex embracing her and tugging her to safety, whispering words of regret and forgiveness into her hair. 

Brainy and Nia patting at her shoulders, squeezing her hands, as they offer all sorts of affirmations. 

But Kara reaches out, blindly and yet somehow all too aware, and manages to snag the hem of Lena’s shirt. She gently, desperately tugs Lena closer. “You’ll stay with me?” 

A warm hand carefully undoes Kara’s grip on the shirt, inviting it instead in a tangled grasp, both firm and comforting. 

“Always,” Lena says. 

(next part here)

[ghostdrew22]

angst fic where ravenclaw!reader has thalassophobia and is playing with the water by the shore in the dark lake with the necklace draco gave her before they broke up a few years back when the new girl he’s been going out with throws the necklace into the middle of the lake in spite, and the reader cannot afford to lose it djeiwis sorry if it’s messy u dont have to do it ure uncomfyyy

Prompts:

If you die, I’m going to kill you.

Jump In || Draco Malfoy

Requested: Yes Pairing: Draco Malfoy x fem!reader Warnings: ANGST, a bit of swearing, panic attacks and thalassophobia mentioned. Summary: Years after breaking up with Draco you find that the last gift he gave you is still the only thing comforting you, and his new girlfriend doesn’t like that.

WORDS : 3546

Gleaming, twinkling Eyes like sinking ships on waters So inviting, I almost jump in

The crescent moon outside begs for your company and you oblige, preferring to be alone than stuck in a room full of people who pity you. You lift the bottom half of your dress from the ground and sneak out of the ballroom nonchalantly, anxiety dissipating as the soft breeze comes in contact with your face.

The sound of your heels clacking against the cobblestone fills the air as you walk toward the boardwalk hanging above the lake, and it reminds you of a time when Draco would bring you down here. The lake behind the Malfoy Manor has always been subject to your fear, and you rarely ever go toward it, but tonight you’ll do almost anything to feel alone and normal for once.

The tiny ripples forming on the surface send shivers running down your spine and you look up at the sky immediately in an attempt to subdue your anxiety. A few meters away lies the ballroom, full of dignitaries and old family friends of the Malfoy’s who attend their annually ball every time without fail, and you can hear the faint sound of laughter mixed with a beautiful crescendo. You shut your eyes, take a deep breath and drag your fingers up to your neck to toy with necklace lying around it, as you try to imagine that you’re anywhere else.

You’d thought that it would be easier, coming to the ball and seeing him with his new girlfriend, but it had proved to be a bigger challenge than you’d anticipated, and residual feelings that you’d been trying to stuff down for months had resurfaced like anchors being pulled up from the bottom of the sea. It reminded you of what he said that day, “I’m yours forever, even if you’re not mine.”, and the only thing that stopped you from running back into his arms was the chain hanging around your neck.

A silver chain with a midnight blue sapphire dangling on its end, worth one of your arms and a gift from the blond himself. He had given it to you as a promise, one to love you till the sun stopped rising, and at the time you had thought that it was the perfect gesture. But reality hit and you soon realized that a life with Draco Malfoy would be one filled with envy and uneasiness, and you knew then that you both deserved more.

The necklace’s monetary value reminds you that Draco belongs to a long and esteemed family line which demands attention that you cannot cope with. But the fact that it had been his proclamation of love reminds you that in order for you both to lead happy lives, you must be apart. The way it gleams beneath Chandeliers is so captivating that it always brings you back to earth; a life with Draco is inviting, but some invitations mustn’t be accepted.

But I don't like a gold rush, gold rush I don't like anticipating my face in a red flush I don't like that anyone would die to feel your touch Everybody wants you Everybody wonders what it would be like to love you

All eyes instantly fell on him the second that he appeared; sporting that notorious smile which always brought people to their knees, and a priceless suit that hugged his figure so well it made all the straight men positively envious. A true Malfoy; charming, rich, attractive, easily the whole package. You didn’t get a chance to speak with him because he was instantly preoccupied with the ramblings of his mother as she dragged him around the room with pride, showing off the son that she’d done such a good job at raising.

Draco’s life had always been politics and he’d been raised to invariably stand tall, look presentable, get good grades, converse well. You watched him in awe every time, admiring the grace and ease with which he conducted himself. But it made you wonder when he’d been taught the art of letting the spotlight go, to focus all of his attention on the one he loves instead of the search for approval. And the answer was that he hadn’t, Draco never grew out of the desire to have everyone’s praise and approval.

‘If everyone loves you, if everyone wants to either be you or be with you, then you’ve succeeded.’ He’d told you late one night after one these balls. You’d looked at him with pity, not having the heart to tell him that love and validation are not synonymous, and you’d hugged him so hard that somehow you both knew it was all coming to an end soon.

He grew up being a magnet to both jealousy and admiration, a symphony of applause being the background track to the movie of his life, and he didn’t know how to live any other way. When all you’ve ever known is lustful stares from fellow peers, stolen glances at the back of your head, and unbridled acclaim masked behind attraction, then it’s hard to put that life behind and settle for the love of only one person.

Walk past, quick brush I don't like slow motion, double vision in rose blush I don't like that falling feels like flying 'til the bone crush Everybody wants you But I don't like a gold rush

He truly was magnificent though, even you couldn’t deny. Years ago, when he’d walked down the stairs in one of those clad black suits, he had met you at the bottom of the stairwell and you could’ve sworn that you were floating on cloud 9. He had smiled so brightly at the sight of you, had laughed so sweetly in the space of your ear, and fit so tightly into your side like it was a home made only for him, that you were intoxicated on the feeling of him and hadn’t noticed what was happening.

You were falling in love. You weren’t flying, no, you didn’t have wind beneath mystical wings that you’d somehow managed to grow. You were falling, and at a speed so treacherous that you didn’t even realise it was happening until it was too late. One day you were falling, and the next you were ruins buried so far into the ground that you couldn’t even tell where the earth stopped and you started.

Falling in love with him was fast, like a bullet train, but everything after was so slow that you felt as if you weren’t even moving at all.

What must it be like to grow up that beautiful? With your hair falling into place like dominos I see me padding 'cross your wooden floors With my Eagles t-shirt hanging from the door At dinner parties, I call you out on your contrarian shit And the coastal town we wandered 'round had never seen a love as pure as it And then it fades into the gray of my day old tea 'Cause it could never be

Promises to run away together and start a life somewhere off in a distant town.

Fingertips, laced with the narcotic effect of young love, tracing lines across the expanse of each other’s faces and trying to figure out which of the other’s features would be inherited by your children.

Dreams about a time when your lives would no longer be dictated by the paths your parents had set out for you, but instead by the spontaneity and reassurance that came with endearment.

Tastes of tea replaced instead with the taste of each other as long-forgotten tisanes made home on bedside tables because you both got lost in the haze of tenderness.

Arguments about mundane and useless concepts that would go on for longer than necessary, because he insisted on disagreeing with everything, and always ended with your acute responses.

Lives that had once lacked passion, that had once been so dull they compared to Snape’s drawling, instead replaced with all the colours that the world had to offer.

It was the perfect life, the one you two had planned.

But it was too perfect to ever be real.

You take a deep breath and unhook the necklace to observe it once more, hoping that it’ll provide some comfort for the ache in your chest.

'Cause I don't like a gold rush, gold rush I don't like anticipating my face in a red flush I don't like that anyone would die to feel your touch Everybody wants you Everybody wonders what it would be like to love you Walk past, quick brush I don't like slow motion double vision in rose blush I don't like that falling feels like flying 'til the bone crush Everybody wants you But I don't like a gold rush

“Y/N.” A voice slurs behind you.

You turn with furrowed eyebrows and roll your eyes when you see who it is, “Pansy.”

“Don’t be rude.” She hisses and hiccups as she stumbles toward you, “What are you doing out here?”

“Could ask you the same thing.” You narrow your eyes at her, “Are you drunk?”

“Just a tad.” She replies as she hiccups again and finally stands before you. You watch silently as she gracefully sits on the wood below her, making sure not to create creases in her dress or fall over in her heels.

“Shouldn’t you be in there? On his arm like a trophy?” You ask, and inwardly groan when you hear how jealous you sound.

“Probably.” She shrugs and looks out into the water. “It doesn’t matter though, I’m not you.”

She looks up and into your eyes, you look away immediately. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to take from that.”

“Yes, you do.” She states bluntly, “He told me why you left him. That was really selfish of you.”

You gasp and turn to look at her, “How dare you? You have no idea-“

“No, actually, I do.” She gets up from the ground swiftly as a fire rages in her eyes, “You think I don’t know what it’s like to be like him? We’re the same, we were practically raised on the same blueprint. Despite what you think, there’s a lot more to the issue than what lays on the surface.”

“Oh and I guess you have all the answers?” You spit out with a scoff.

“I thought Ravenclaws were meant to be smart.” She shakes her head and hiccups as she turns to face the water, “Draco’s entire life has always just been this.” Pansy turns and gestures toward the Manor with a grimace.

“It’s always been about being the best in the room, just so that he can earn five seconds of approval from his parents. But you came, and you showed him more, you gave him a glimpse of what love feels like. Then, because you were scared and couldn’t hack it, you left him.” She continues and you grip the necklace tightly in anger.

“That’s not what happene-“

“How can you possibly expect him to come back to me, to this bullshit, when he’s experienced actual happiness? How is he supposed to come back from you?” She finally turns to face you and you hear a slight crack in her voice with the last words, “I love him so much and if I could make him half as happy as you do then I would.”

“You can.” You breathe out shakily, “If you two try a little more then you’ll realise why it just makes sense.”

“Love isn’t about sense Y/N. It’s not about appearances, it’s not about applause, it’s not about any of the crap that him and I were raised to prioritize.”

“You call it crap but that’s all he knows, and he just isn’t ready to give it all up.”

“Why do you get to decide that for him?” She tilts her head to the side and raises her eyebrows, you look away from her.

“I should probably get back inside.” You mutter as you start to turn toward the manor.

“You’re righ-“ She gasps and you turn to see what’s shocked her, “You still have it?”

“Have what?”

“The necklace.” She points to your hand and you nod awkwardly in agreement, “I helped him pick it out.”

“Oh.”

“A sapphire to match your virtue and faithfulness.” She says absent-mindedly as her eyes lock on the piece of jewellery. “Guess he got that wrong.”

She laughs coldly and you scrunch your face in confusion, “Excuse me?”

“You’re just like the rest of them.” Before you even know what’s happening she’s reached for the necklace in your hand, “You love him until it’s no longer convenient, until the paint starts to chip.”

“That’s not true.” Your voice comes out shaky and lacking conviction, it makes her laugh again in disgust.

“And then who has to pick up the fallen pieces? Me.” She continues to ramble as she walks toward the edge of the boardwalk, you feel your breathing start to pickup as you try to focus on her instead of the lake behind her. “As if I don’t have my own pieces to pick up.”

“Pansy, please just come here so we can talk about this nicely.” You respond and swallow.

“No. You don’t deserve a civil conversation.” She spits out as she finally reaches the edge of the boardwalk and hangs the necklace out by her arm, “In fact, you don’t deserve anything. You don’t deserve his love and you definitely don’t deserve this pendant.”

“No!”

What must it be like to grow up that beautiful? With your hair falling into place like dominoes My mind turns your life into folklore I can't dare to dream about you anymore

Everything after falling in love with Draco happened in slow motion. You don’t know how, or when, but your life had become a slackening slideshow of bad decisions.

You hold your breath as you watch the necklace fall into the lake. It’s as though minutes, hours, days pass in that moment, but you know that it’s merely a few seconds. When the splash finally sounds, you let out a huge gasp and Pansy laughs as she turns to leave.

Panic sets in and you start to contemplate your options. You could jump in and get it yourself? No, that’s absurd, you’re not going to overcome your fear that easily. You could rush into the manor and find someone who’s willing to get it for you? No, no one would take you seriously.

You shake your head and decide to just do the easiest thing; try and work up the courage to get it yourself. You start to pull off your heels and scrunch up your dress so that you can step into the water and you walk toward the edge of the boardwalk.

But as soon as you’re near the water you realise that you can’t do it and your panic rapidly worsens. You step back a few paces before falling to the ground and pulling your head into your knees as silent sobs begin to shake your core.

Breaths, in rapid beats, are going to and from your lungs as the sound of the water swishing fills your ears. Nausea begins to set in your stomach as you think more and more about your terrible predicament, your fear of bodies of water and your sadness at losing the necklace combining to form one indestructible lump in the pit of your stomach.

“Y/N? Are you out here?” A voice calls out from a yard or two away and you try to recognize it, but everything is foggy in your state of trepidation.

“Shit, Y/N!” The voice calls out once more and you hear footsteps pick up to a run as the person approaches you. “I swear to Merlin, if you die I’m going to kill you!”

You realise that the person still hasn’t noticed you, and is probably assuming the worst, so you try your best to croak out a word- any word.

“Here.” You manage to rasp out between sobs and wheezes, and the person immediately runs toward you.

“Y/N? Are you okay?” They ask as they pull your head out from your knees and you try to nod slowly.

You blink back a few tears and try to focus on the face in front of you, “The- the-“ You try to say and shake your head of the confusion as the words refuse to formulate.

“Hey, breathe princess.”

You recognize the nickname and then soon enough your eyes register that Draco’s kneeling in front of you. “Draco?”

“Yes, it’s me.” He responds softly as he cups your face in his hands and tries to wipe a few of your tears, “Take a few deep breaths for me, yeah?”

You nod and do as told, breathing until you finally calm down and manage to think clearly again. “I’m okay.” You breathe out and he sighs in relief.

“I was so worried, Pansy came in rambling about getting back at you and something about tossing and water- And I was just so scared that she’d thrown you in or something, because I know that you can’t swim and you’re terrified of the lake so I-“

“Hey, slow down, I’m okay. I’m right here.” You respond and manage a weak smile. He nods and sighs again. “She didn’t toss me into the water, though I think she would’ve liked to. She threw in the necklace. Shit! The necklace, it’s still down there!” You exclaim as you try to stand up but find that your legs are asleep, and end up coming back down instantly.

“Calm down. What necklace?”

“The one you gave me, the one with the sapphire that you said was a family heirloom?” You ramble and he furrows his eyebrows.

“You still have that?”

“Yes, I do. And it’s at the bottom of the lake and I need to get it back!” You stand up and Draco immediately does the same, placing his hands on your shoulders to keep you still.

“It’s just a necklace Y/N, you don’t need it.”

“It’s not just a necklace, it’s-“ You pinch your nose and sigh, “It just means a lot to me, okay?”

He narrows his eyebrows but nods in understanding, “Okay.” He steps back from you and pulls off his suit jacket, looking absolutely magnificent with his toned shoulders showing beneath the well-fitted shirt.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m going to get it for you.” He shrugs and you shake your head.

“You don’t have to, I can figure something out.”

“You tried to figure it out and you had a full on panic attack, I’m the best option.” He says sternly as he looks at you and you nod in agreement, “Now just wait, very far away, and let me find it for you.”

“Thank you.” You call out behind him but he doesn’t respond.

At dinner parties I won't call you out on your contrarian shit And the coastal town we never found will never see a love as pure as it 'Cause it fades into the gray of my day old tea 'Cause it will never be

“Here you go, in perfect condition.” He says as he drops the necklace into your hands and runs a hand through his hair. He looks gorgeous and you look down to avoid getting lost in his eyes.

“Your suit is wet.” You mumble with a sniff and he chuckles, the sound makes your heart race.

“We have magic, I’ll dry up.”

“Thank you.” You whisper as you finally look up at him and he smiles, that same hypnotic smile. “I don’t know what I would’ve done without it.”

“It’s just a necklace Y/N.” He smiles softly and you shake your head as tears begin to stream down your face again.

“No, it’s not just a necklace.” You sniff, “It’s you and I. It’s all that I have left of the love that we had, it’s all that I have left of the life we were going to build together.”

“Y/N.” The sternness in his voice makes you swallow hard, but you pull your hand up to indicate that you’re not done.

“Let me talk, please.” He nods and you continue, “This little gem is all the words that we never had the chance to say. It’s the nights we would’ve spent climbing into bed together, in our little house that’s tucked safely into a small town. It’s the cups of coffee I was going to make you when you woke up in the mornings, and the cups of tea you would’ve made me when we went to sleep. This little gem is the only thing I have to remind me that our love was real.”

“It also doesn’t hurt that it costs a fortune huh?” He asks with a grin, despite the fact that there’s sadness in his eyes, and you nod with a choked out laugh.

“Definitely a bonus.” You say as you laugh a little more and wipe away a few tears.

Draco pulls the necklace out of your hands and opens it to put it around your neck once again, and you turn around so he can put it on. “Look, Y/N, life is too short to fill up with ridiculous mistakes. You left me, like I never mattered to you, and it broke me.”

You turn back around quickly, “That wasn-“

He twists you back around abruptly, “Let me talk now.” You nod and he continues to hook the chain around your neck. “It took me months to decipher what you meant when you said that I had too much love for the spotlight, that I didn’t have the capacity to let it go. It took me months to finally grasp what you meant when you said that people fall at my feet, that my contrarian demeanor is a crowd-puller. And the recognition hurt, a lot, because I realised that you we right about most of it.”

You feel his fingers leave your neck as he places a soft kiss on your shoulder, “What was I wrong about?”

He pulls you back to face him and smiles as he looks down at you, “The only thing you were wrong about was my unwillingness to let it go.” He pulls you into his arms for a hug, and you sigh in his arms.

“You can’t just leave this life Draco, we both know it isn’t that simple.” You muffle into his chest and the vibrations of his chuckles make you smile.

“That’s where you’re wrong angel, I can just leave this life. You never gave me the option but,” You pull apart and he smiles so wide that you think his face might come apart, “I would give it all up, for you.”

Gleaming, twinkling Eyes like sinking ships on waters So inviting, I almost jump in

His eyes are shining as they look down at you with adoration and commitment, and it takes all the strength you have left inside to not pull him back into your arms. He brings his fingers up to the sapphire and rubs his thumb along it.

“It’s not all you have Y/N.” He pulls your chin up so you look him in the eyes, “I’m still right here.”

~~~

get added to my taglist 

taglist: @dracoscene @dreaming-about-fanfictions @astoria-malfcy @gwlvr @wh0re4blaise @marrymetheonott @dracomalfoyposts

~~~

hi lovies! guess who’s finally feeling good enough to write again! :) we’re going to ignore the fact that the FOOLWAG sequel is beating my ass though

I will not lie, I had a great time writing this, possibly one of my favourite requests by far. I was originally going to make the ending angsty but I figured  @evermoreeve (thx sweetie<3) reminded me that we all deserve a happy ending now and then.

anyway, i love you all,

jean <3

[lightsovermonaco]

His Good Sweater: Chapter 9

Masterlist

As always thank you to my beautiful bestie @acollectionofficsandshit you can also thank her for all the Max content in this chapter. Its a long one, enjoy!

Word Count: 9.6k

Recommended song: “Hate the way” by G-Easy and blackbear

The one thing that never failed to lift your spirits was your dad's homemade blueberry chocolate chip pancakes. Whenever you were upset as a kid, whether it be your team losing a sporting event, your high-school boyfriend dumping you for the head cheerleader, or getting rejected from an ivy league college you never expected to get into in the first place, his pancakes had been there to cushion the fall. Clever as he was, he always messed them up in some insignificant way like leaving off the whipped cream and hiding the container so you were forced to talk to him in order to remedy it. Then he would crack some stupid joke or cheesy pun that would just barely have the ghost of a smile curling your lips.

Blueberry chocolate chip pancakes were no match for the heartbreak of losing your best friend.

The morning after, you only trudge to the kitchen when your stomach's demands to be fed become too loud to ignore. A steaming pile of fluffy pancakes sits at your usual spot, no syrup in sight. You don't have the energy to find your dad and ask where he's hidden it, instead picking at them. You knew the flavor should be fruity and sweet but every bite tastes like ash. One pancake is all you can manage before nausea roils, threatening to make your meager brunch resurface. 

"Some is better than none," Ben murmurs behind you and you drop your chin in the barest of nods. "We can save the rest and you can warm them up later."

"Thanks," you mumble when he takes your plate. You pull your blanket tight around your shoulders as your gaze turns to the window while your brother washes your dishes, wishing for all the world that you could make your uncooperative limbs move and help him but the mental effort it requires is too taxing. Instead you stay curled up on the chair, the noises of the house waking up around you a dull buzz in your ears. At some point your mother kisses your head and hustles out the door to work, her husband close behind. Ben is the last to leave and is reluctant to do so.

"Promise you'll text me if you need me," he says. "Mom already gave me permission to cut class after trigonometry."

"Sure." You both know it's a lie and a bad one at that. Your voice is dull and flat, completely void of emotion. 

"Mom said she's coming home early anyway,” he tries. “Something about overstaffing at the greenhouse."

"Okay."

The mechanical spooling of the garage door tells you he's finally gone. Your elbows slide forward until your head rests on the table, unable to hold it up any longer.

Every fiber of your being yearns for him, to hear the distinct r's and flowery lilt of his accent as he comforts you through the heartbreak, always knowing exactly what to say. It was second nature to call one another when either of you had had a bad day or a good day or just a normal day - you'd talked so often that last year you had convinced your parents to add international minutes to your phone plan. 

Your fingers itch to dial the number you had long since memorized, knowing it would ring no more than twice before he picked up. He never let it go to voicemail unless he absolutely couldn't avoid it and you had a hunch he was waiting for your call.

Despite knowing better, you scroll through the messages on your phone. Love was evident in each witty remark and wish goodnight, pulling at your heartstrings. Your finger hovers over the delete conversation button, and after a minute of debate, you can't bring yourself to do it. You would allow yourself one reprieve to look back on and remember the good.

It would be so much easier if he had given you a reason to hate him. If he'd cheated or intentionally led the media to your house, hating him would be easy. You wouldn't have to admit that you still loved him because his betrayal would have yanked out the newly blooming bud of love you nurtured and crushed the fragile petals. Instead, you were left knowing that it had been your choice to inflict damage in him. You had no right to seek comfort in his arms or even ask how he was doing. You deserved to be miserable for causing him to feel the same way. 

Yuki is the first to check in on you. You don’t know what he expects; you lie through your teeth when you tell him you were fine.

The press is asking me for my thoughts. No idea why. I told them not to stick their noses where they don't belong.

At least someone had the guts to stand up to those bloodsuckers. Yuki was the last person you'd suspect to do so, but the scrappy twenty-something continued to surprise you.

Thanks, you type back. How is he?

You hesitate. You didn't really want to know the answer. Pierre was devastated and just as broken as you are. You delete the last part and opt to refrain from subjecting yourself to biting off more than you could chew.

I'm here if you need me, is Yuki's reply.

Charles, Daniel, and his newly promoted girlfriend were the next ones to text you, all offering varying degrees of support. Daniel's friend was the one that offered to sucker punch anyone that came near you without your permission, and actually dragged a single huff of laughter from your aching lungs.

I'm good thanks. But if I need a bodyguard you'll be first on the list.

Just because Daniel can lift me with one arm doesn't mean I'm not punchy!

I believe you.

Spent, you set your phone down and retreat under the down comforter. The bright pink clashed with your earthy decor, but at least the old blanket didn't smell like Pierre. Your mother had taken it upon herself to erase all trace of him from your room when she had managed to coax you into a shower, and the half hour you had spent letting the scalding water run over your skin had given her plenty of time to do so. The absence of him hurts almost as much as the trace of cedar you know you're imagining when you breathe deep.

It has to be impossible for so much agony to be contained in your body. No matter how much you try, the tears won't stop flowing because Pierre's crushed expression had taken up residence at the forefront of your consciousness. 

It didn't help that so many of your recent memories were touched by his presence. Getting into university served to remind you of the ecstatic call you'd gotten after his race that Sunday, voice strained with a mix of excitement for you and the disappointment of his race ending crash on the opening lap. Even something as simple as staring at the saggy bean bag chair in the corner brought back the memory of the countless times he had lounged there, sprawled out like he owned it.

Max's text brings you briefly back to reality.

You doing okay? Dan told me what happened.

No, was all you say back. Within a minute, Max's face occupies your screen. You sigh but accept the call, laying the phone on the pillow.

"I don't feel like talking, Max."

"That bad huh?" He asks, concern lacing his usually chipper voice.

"Yeah. That bad." As if that summed up getting your heart torn to shreds.

He's uncharacteristically quiet for a beat. "Wanna hear about Vic's day? She had some crazy clients at her salon- it'll take your mind off it."

"I guess," you say, utterly nonplussed. You could care less if he kept talking or not, you wouldn't be paying attention. He prattles on for a few minutes, seemingly unaffected by your silence as his words pass through one ear and out the other.

"Told you it was crazy," he says finally, your cue to respond. You hum noncommittally and Max just sighs.

"Look, I don't know how I can help you unless you come here. I know you have a flight booked- do you still wanna come to the gala? My date's been stolen so I'm in need of one."

"Who stole your-"

The realization hits you before you can finish. Pierre. Pierre stole Max's sister and left him without a date. Something about his willingness to replace you so quickly rubs you the wrong way. It shouldn't have been so easy for him to find someone new; he should be hurting just as much as you. Fundamentally, you knew nothing would happen between Pierre and Victoria. She wouldn't go for him out of respect for both of you and you were thankful in the knowledge that it was completely platonic. Still, it was like rubbing salt in a wound. 

"You know what? I'll go." It was the most you'd said all day, your throat scratchy with disuse. Max whoops on the other line and you could almost see him punching the air in victory.

"Great! When's your flight get in? I'll bring the Acura and pick you up." 

You put him on speaker and login to the airlines website to punch in the flight number. Last night you'd debated canceling the flight that Pierre had paid for, determined to stay home and be miserable. Looking back you were glad you'd trusted your gut and left the reservation untouched. If he could find someone else to attend the gala with, so could you. "I land in Nice at noon on Friday. It'll be a short flight, I can text you when we take off."

"Sounds good. I'll set up the spare room for you. Victoria is staying here too, I'm sure she would love to help you get ready and do whatever it is girls do before fancy events."

"Hey, Max?"

"Whats up?"

You trace patterns through the condensation left by the glass on your nightstand. "Thank you. For understanding."

"That's what friends are for," he assures you. "Is there anything you wanna talk about now? Or are you planning to wait until you're here?"

"Ben's been keeping an eye on me. I'm okay for now." Better now that you had something to look forward to.

"All you have to do is call," he promises. "I'll listen, I don't have anything going on this week besides streaming."

You latch on to the small redirection and run with it. "You and the twitch quartet?"

"They've been kind enough to allow me to join them on the sim this week, yeah."

"I'll try to catch a race. No promises though." 

"See you Friday. Try to contain your excitement."

Your lips twitch upward. "Bye Max."

**********

The rest of the week was more of the same. You stayed home and your family dealt with the swarms of people that still gathered on the lawn each morning not so patiently waiting for you to tell your side of the story. You had decided that the best course of action was to keep your mouth shut and let them figure out for themselves that there was no longer a story to report thanks to the wedge they had driven in your relationship.

By the time Ben drives you to the airport Friday the buzz has died down. You hug your brother tight before checking in for the flight and texting Max. His response is immediate, letting you know he's excited to see you.

You wish you could return the sentiment. You wanted to see your friend, sure, but you were beginning to dread the upcoming gala. Max would be your crutch and you knew he was okay with that, but it still felt wrong. 

Unlike your brother, Max was waiting at the curb when you arrived in Nice. A nondescript cap was perched on his head, the oversized sunglasses he wore hiding his eyes from passersby. His gleaming orange peel of a car attracted more attention than he did for once, people stopping to ogle the Acura as they came and went.

"Hey you," Max greets, a broad grin causing his trademark dimple to appear as he wraps you in a rare hug. You cling to him, throat going tight at the intimacy of it. Max wasn't a physical person by any stretch; if he was hugging you this tightly it meant he knew how broken you were.

He waited for you to break contact first, giving you all the time you need. You sniff and wipe the single tear that had somehow escaped and laugh lightly.

"Hey," you say, voice scratchy. "Thanks for picking me up." 

He waves a hand, brushing it off. "Vic wanted to come but she changed her mind when I told her I was driving."

"Probably a smart choice," you observe, letting him pop the trunk- which was in the front of the car, since the Acura NSX was a mid-engined beast of a Japanese supercar- "and considering your choice of car, she wouldn't have fit anyway."

"This is true." He starts the engine, the roar of which makes a poor old woman a few yards away drop her purse.

The drive back is near silent, broken only by Max's occasional quips about a landmark or an observation about someone's driving. It was impossible for any driver to turn off the analytical part of their brain, their Formula 1 habits crossing into their daily lives. 

When Max parks at the curb outside his apartment, you move to open the door but he hits the lock button. You glance over your shoulder at him and quirk a brow.

"Am I your prisoner?"

"Are you gonna talk about what happened?"

Sighing, you sink back into the seat. The way the bolstering hugs your sides almost makes you believe you could fade into it if you try hard enough. "I wasn't really planning on it."

It had only been a handful of days since you had broken it off, the wound still leaking fresh blood when you poked at it. It refused to scab over or give you any kind of reprieve from the torture.

"You know you'll have to face him tomorrow at some point. He'll want to talk to you."

"That's why I'm going with you. You won't have a problem telling him to leave me alone."

Max sighs. "Yeah, I suppose. If that's what you think is best."

The trudge up the stairs and subsequent silent elevator ride allows your thoughts to wander to Victoria. It wasn't her fault that Pierre had asked her to come with him after you'd canceled, after all she was already planning on going and the late notice meant it was likely no one else could make it, but it didn't stop the pang of jealousy that rocketed through you each time you ruminate on it.

It didn't help when she wrapped you in a hug the moment she saw you and whispered an apology in your ear, like she knew she'd done something wrong. Tears spring to your eyes again and Victoria shoots Max a leave us alone look.

"Uh, I'm gonna hop on the sim. Help yourself to whatever is in the fridge if you're hungry."

"Thanks Max." Your eyes are pinned to a smudge of dirt on the wood floor, safely out of range of anything triggering. Keeping it together was more of a struggle than you'd expected.

"I hope you don't hate me," Victoria starts genuine concern lacing the words. "It was just easiest-"

"I know," you cut in. "And I don't." Your smile is tight, not quite hitting home as she returns it.

"Well then. Let's figure out how we're gonna do your hair tomorrow, shall we?"

**********

The dress was a single, simple piece of fabric, spun of sunset orange and free of any bells or whistles. The feather light chiffon hugged every supple curve through your hips until flaring out slightly at the bottom just enough to allow you range of motion. The deep vee of the neckline prominently displayed your cleavage, toeing the line between attention grabbing and scandal starting and leaving little to the imagination. The back dropped low, leaving the elegant curve of your spine free to be kissed by the salty Mediterranean breeze.

The dress is nothing special compared to the thousand dollar pieces that the other boy's dates would be wearing, but you didn't have the money- or the will- to find something new. It by no means broke the bank when you picked it up from the second hand store last year, but it looked the part. It had been a showstopper at the spring formal you'd originally worn it to and judging by Max's reaction, it still was.

He let out a low whistle when you stepped into the living room. "I'm sorry, did you pick that out with me in mind?" He laughs and despite yourself, heat rises to your cheeks. You hated being the center of attention, even among friends. "It's the perfect shade of orange to match my tie. I swear I didn't plan it that way!"

"I know you didn't." You give him a forced smile, praying he doesn't call you out on it. The dress you wore hadn't been your first choice. The one you originally planned to wear still sat in your closet at home collecting dust. It had been the perfect shade of blue to compliment Pierre's sky eyes, but it didn't match Max's deeper ocean blue. So at home it had stayed, and you had chosen the orange one because it made the necklace at your throat pop.

Your fingers engulf the stone before you can stop yourself, as they always do when your thoughts wander to him. Him, because you could scarcely think his name before your heart wretches at the reminder of what you'd lost. Flashes of bright smiles and soft kisses filter through your mind, making you lock up. You swear you can feel the ghost of plush lips to your throat and the scrape of callouses over the curve of your spine. Your eyes fall shut, desperate to get lost in the idea of him like you used to.

"You good?"

Max's quiet words startle you back into the present. No, you were in no way shape or form good, but you had no choice to fall back on the familiar mask of humor to cover up your inner turmoil.

"The real question is are you?" You smirk and look him over. The Red Bull navy suit strains over his broad shoulders, suggesting he had put on muscle since the last time he'd been forced into it. "You look stiff as a board in that tux."

"I feel so awkward." He straightens the suit coat and absentmindedly lifts a hand to tousle his hair. You grab his wrist just in time to keep him from ruining his sister's hard work and shoot him a chiding look. He grins sheepishly and lowers his hand.

"Vic would kill me if you got to the gala looking like you got run over." 

"That's a good point." He offers you his arm and you accept the lifeline he unwittingly offers you. "But I refuse to leave the windows up on this beautiful night, so we'll test how well it'll hold."

You quirk an eyebrow at him. "You're driving us there?"

"Well duh. I always drive when I'm at home."

You glance sidelong at the glaringly orange Acura parked at the curb a few floors below. Your dress would blend right in with the paint, but perhaps that was a good thing. It would provide that much more of a shock factor when you arrived and stepped out.

"Just don't crash out on the hairpin," you tease half heartedly. 

He rolls his eyes. "At least it's just the two of us so I don't have to call an uber. Vic's getting picked up by-'' Max cuts himself off and gives you an apologetic smile.

"You can say his name," you whisper, eyes trained on the tile of the hallway as you walk. "It's not like he's gone."

"Getting picked up by... Pierre," Max tries, carefully monitoring his neutral tone. God, you thought you could handle it but you can't, stumbling over your own feet with only Max's grip on your arm to catch you.

He'd dance with Vic tonight, and probably countless other women, his hands drifting over their bodies like they'd done on yours only days ago. You'd be forced to watch from the sidelines and make small talk that no one would remember come morning, utterly unable to do anything about it. At least Daniel’s girlfriend would be there to be the voice of reason, if you could peel her away from Daniel long enough to speak with her for any length of time.

Max was uncharacteristically quiet on the ride to the venue, leaving you to study the city as he drove. Few yachts were left in the harbor as the sun was swallowed by the sea, the owners undoubtedly set sail for a weekend getaway. Your gaze involuntarily searched for the slip that held Charles' Ferrari red speedboat that you'd visited countless times with Pierre. The eyesore was hard to miss when surrounded by its monotone brethren, memories flooding back in droves at the sight of it.

Sighing, you turn away to glimpse what you can of the city through the ridiculously tiny sliver of windshield. How anyone could confidently drive the Acura while having so little field of vision was beyond you. It was probably second nature to Max, who weaves through the narrow streets with practiced ease and barely lets off the gas through the corners. 

The city of Monaco rarely slept, and tonight was no different. Soft yellow fluorescent glow seeps from high rise balconies, the occupants soaking up the last dregs of sunlight before heading out to the casinos and clubs. People spilled out of cafes onto the sidewalks, their laughter lingering on the breeze as you speed past.

The list of people you trust enough to get in the car with and let them drive with such intensity is short: Max and Pierre. Not even Daniel made the final cut, not when his then not-girlfriend had recounted the tale of him losing the rear of his McLaren 570s at a track day and nearly sending them into the wall. According to her, he'd been too busy ogling her to keep his full attention on the road, but it was enough for you to question his judgement at times.

If you close your eyes, you could pretend it was someone else next to you, cutting through the gears like a hot knife through butter and coaxing every inch of performance out of the car that he could with the light traffic. You draw a surf-scented breath deep, lungs aching with the effort. 

Max joins the queue of cars waiting to park outside the venue, your attention trained on the guests stepping out of cars and climbing the wide set of marble steps leading to the sleek glass building. The modern structure is slightly out of place among the Roman-esque buildings surrounding it but the air of importance it exudes overrules any who dare say it doesn't belong.

"I can't tell you how glad I am that there's an open bar," Max remarks, hanging his head out the window to wave at someone. "It makes these events so much easier."

"You're telling me," you mumble, searching involuntarily for a familiar head of dusty blond hair in the droves of people arriving. Instead of sight, it's the unforgettable rumble of his Civic Type R's exhaust that alerts you to his arrival. Your head whips around, eyes eating up the pearl white paint of Pierre's favored car as it slides in behind you. You silently thank whatever deity is listening that his windshield is tinted, protecting you from seeing the smirk you are certain is playing on his lips.

Once upon a time, the cockpit of that car had been your favorite place in the world. You'd spent countless hours inside it eating shitty gas station cuisine and singing along to the radio at the top of your lungs as Pierre drove you to whatever adventure he had planned for the day. 

Max waves at your- his friend, you remind yourself sharply- and revs his Acura in response. He leaves the keys with the valet, picking up on the tension in your shoulders as the white car parks behind you. Max tugs your arm in attempt to turn you away, but your feet are rooted to the spot. 

“I see you found another date-” The flash of a grin on Pierre's face as he steps out is immediately dashed when he notices you on Max's arm.

If looks could kill, Max would keel over then and there. A muscle in Pierre's jaw flutters as he takes in the sight of the two of you together, your hand on the Dutchman's forearm and your matching attire looking for all the world as if it was purposefully coordinated. 

Max lifts his chin, spine going straight under Pierre's threatening glare. “Her airfare was already paid for and she already had the dress. Someone had to take her.”

Your stomach sinks; the last thing you wanted to do was become a point of contention between the two boys, but you refused to apologize for at least attempting to enjoy yourself. 

Pierre doesn't speak again, only nods to Max and pointedly avoids your stare. He tosses the keys to the smart-dressed kid serving as his valet, coming around to open Victoria's door. With his back turned to you, you take a moment to study the crisp white suit he's chosen for tonight. You had always told him black wasn't his color and he seemed to have taken it to heart. White was what you loved seeing him in, and the tight cut brought back memories of a different type of suit in an entirely different city only a few weeks ago. You'd peeled him out of that Alpha Tauri race suit the moment he made it to the trailer, eager to worship him after his podium. You'd be lying if you said it hasn't been the best sex of your life.

"Come on," Max urges, placing a chaste hand on your upper back and turning you around. He leads you up the stairs, his comforting touch never leaving your skin for a moment. The callouses were all wrong, the fingers too broad to be who you wanted it to be, and yet you couldn't help but imagine it was Pierre leading you up, stopping to smile for the few cameras scattered around.

Flashes spot your vision as you pull your face into an expression of excitement. Max murmurs something in your ear that you think is encouragement but the din of reporters is too deafening to be sure.

"How come you aren't with Pierre?"

The shouted question comes from an unknown assailant but it strikes you like a physical blow. You freeze, mouth going dry as you search for a suitable excuse. Max grants you the space of a single heartbeat to respond before he does so on your behalf.

"How about you mind your own damn business and worry about your cheating wife?"

The man who had bombarded you goes slack jawed, Max's wild guess clearly somehow hitting him just as hard as he had hit you.

"Keep walking," he urges you, leading you through the blinding sea of flashing lights. When you hear the same question directed at Pierre, his flippant laugh grates on your nerves.  

You don't have it in you to appreciate the grand architecture of the entrance hall, too busy trying to keep your breathing in check. Max steers you off to the side and places his hands on your shoulders.

"Look at me," he demands, and you drag your eyes up to his face. "Breathe. He's hurting just as bad as you, only difference is he's better at hiding it. Just enjoy the night okay? I'll grab you a drink and we can find Daniel and his friend and you two can catch up."

You nod, placing a hand on your throat. The delicate chain of the necklace is a vice around your neck, the reminder of him pulling it tight. Your pulse hammers beneath your fingers and you focus on it until it slows. "Get me whatever you're having."

Max disappears in the crowd, and you take a seat at the bench tucked in the corner. No one pays you any heed as they walk past, entranced by the elegant decor and fragrant florals. Your head falls forward to rest in your hands and you struggle to take deep, calming breaths.

Pierre was here. Inhale.

He looked happy. Exhale.

He was getting by. Inhale.

You could get by, too. Exhale.

Renewed, you glance up in time to find Max standing before you with a drink of dark liquid adorned with maraschino cherries in each hand. He extends one glass to you and you don't bother to question what it is before swallowing half in one go. "Better?"

"Much." You stand and brush out the wrinkles in your dress. "Where are we sitting?"

"Er, about that," Max starts, rubbing his neck sheepishly. "They put two teams at each table. We're at the Red Bull Alpha Tauri table."

"I see." You take another deep, steadying breath, letting the anxiety ebbing in your veins fade out with the exhale. It was times like this that you channeled Daniel a bit. It sounded silly and you would never admit it, but the slogans on his helmets worked if you focused on them hard enough. All good, all ways.

If Pierre could get through tonight, so could you.

“I can try to see if I can switch tables-”

"It's fine," you say and down the rest of the drink. “I can handle it.”

Max shifts on his feet, his discomfort something you rarely see from him. He usually excelled at keeping a straight face in uncomfortable situations but it seems that your unease rubbed off on him. “We should get going then, dinner will be served any minute.”

You once again take the arm he offers you, the liquor in your veins already granting you false courage. “We would have time to mingle if you hadn’t taken the scenic route.”

“It was nice out,” he protests, and pulls you to a halt when he spots Daniel across the hall. His girlfriend waves at you with a sad smile. She gestures between the two of you to indicate that you’ll talk later before Daniel pulls her towards the McLaren table. That boy was punctual to a fault and would be caught dead before he was late to anything.

Thankfully, the two of you arrive before Victoria and her date and are able to secure seats that ensure there’s a buffer between you. By some small miracle Christian Horner and his wife were absent and instead a few engineers and their significant others sat at the packed table. Max greets Gianpiero while you take your seat, happy to observe.

“Hey!”

You twist in time to see Yuki’s short frame emerge from the crowd and point to the empty seat to your right. “This one taken?”

You shake your head, standing to give him a quick hug. “How are you doing? Where’s your date?”

“Ah, she couldn’t make it. Had some family stuff to take care of. You look great, by the way.”

You dip your chin in thanks, unsure how else to respond. He was in a white suit that you were sure would wind up stained five minutes into dinner. “Did they mandate that you wear white?”

He shakes his head with a rueful smile. “Honestly, it’s the only one I own. I haven't been to enough events to build up my closet yet."

"Well I think it's…"

You spot Pierre before he sees you. His brow is slightly creased as he hunts for the correct table using the same focused determination as when driving his Alpha. For a split second, he meets your gaze. The cacophony of the event fades to background noise and suddenly it's just the two of you and you damn near lift your hand in a wave. You're positive he can see your heart beating out of your chest like in an old cartoon as you curl your fingers into a fist in your lap. Your restraint proves fatal, the floor falling out from beneath your feet when he drops your stare. This was your new normal, you remind yourself. Stolen glances were all you would get.

"I can move," Yuki says, starting to rise. You grip his wrist, holding him in place.

"Please don't." The only other open seats were across the table, and at least then you didn't have to worry about brushing elbows with him all night long.

Yuki nods, slowly settling back in. Max finally takes his seat after giving your shoulder a supportive squeeze.

"You don't have to say anything to him," he reminds you, barely audible over the scrape of chairs and various chatter.

You find anywhere else to look as Pierre pulls out Vic's chair for her and makes his rounds to greet everyone. Daniel and his girlfriend are seated a few tables away and you distract yourself by attempting to read their lips. You manage a few minutes of tenuous peace, catching snippets of Daniel's cheesy jokes and her disapproving, yet flirty, responses.

"Damn, we clean up well, huh?"

You squeeze your eyes shut at the sound of home. His words are honey and you lap them up like you'd never tasted anything sweeter. They weren't even directed at you and yet somehow you twist them to fit your narrative.

Pierre stands at the bottom of the stairs like a chaste high school prom date patiently waiting for your grand entrance. He checks his watch and rakes a hand through his messy hair. You stifle your laugh with a hand, amused by his unnecessary nervous energy.

Taking mercy on him, you clear your throat. His gaze snaps up to you, mouth falling open. You take your time gathering the orange fabric of your dress and descending the stairs, savoring the way he eats you up. He was resplendent in his crisp white tuxedo and you had half a mind to make him late for the gala and strip him out of it then and there and devour him.

Your heels clack on the marble floor of his entirely too fancy apartment and you pause to do a little spin for him, earning you an appreciative whistle for your trouble. A laugh bubbles out of you and you place your hands on his shoulders. His own settle on your waist to pull you flush against him, his body heat soaking through the thin fabric of your dress to warm your core.

"Damn, we clean up well, huh?"

You start when knuckles graze the back of your bare neck. The touch is there and gone but you know immediately that it's Pierre. It's slight enough to be brushed off as accidental to anyone else, but nothing was accidental with Pierre. The barely there contact conveys more than any words ever could. 

He still loved you. You looked stunning. He wishes you were still his so he could prove it to you. All this and so much more contained in a half second brush of his skin to yours.

It all comes back to you in a rush, the emotion you'd so carefully tucked away in a locked box in the back of your mind finally set free. His touch ignites any other thought in your mind that isn't him, burning it away until it's ashes on the wind. 

Despite your better judgement, you lean into him, giving him permission to unravel you. This time you sigh when his fingers ghost over your skin, electricity sparking in their wake. You didn't care who might be watching; the tiny touches were slowly repairing your shattered heart. Your traitorous mind replaces his fingers with the brush of his lips to your nape, imagining the heat as he slides the strap of your dress off your shoulder, lips moving to follow.

You bite your lip to stifle a groan when his heat is withdrawn, leaving you feeling inexplicably naked. You open your eyes to find Victoria's pitying stare paired with an apologetic smile. Max nudges you with his elbow, and you realize someone has addressed you.

"Um, what?"

"I said I like how you guys coordinated outfits," Pierre repeats and openly prods your shoulder. "Obviously Max chose the color."

His tone is playful, but his words are clipped in a way only you understand. Craning your neck, you twist to look up at him. His eyes are cloudy and his smile doesn't reach them, more for show than anything else. "It was an accident."

"Doesn't look that way."

Your retort is ready on your tongue but he doesn't give you a chance to reply before retreating to his seat. His ability to act as if nothing has changed astounds you, as your head is still reeling from the pinpricks of his skin on yours. Instead of being rendered speechless, he strikes up a conversation with Yuki about the Alpha's performance, leaving out the confidential details but giving enough away that it surprises you.

The sheer fact that he can so easily switch off whatever feelings he harbors is unfair. The sensation of his fingers on your neck still lingers and it's all you can do to keep from stepping around the table and slotting yourself between his legs like you had in that bar in London. Your nails bite into your palms, listening in if only for his voice to wash over you and calm your racing heart.

When he mentions the rake angle, you know it's just to mislead anyone who might be eavesdropping. He'd told you the exact angle in the past, and it certainly was not one degree, and it did not cause the level of understeer he was describing.

"The understeer comes from improper tire selection," you blurt. "And driver error."

All eyes turn to you and you straighten. You knew enough about the construction of a Formula 1 car to be positive your assessment was correct. You were almost as certain that he'd said it to force you into speaking to him whether you liked it or not.

"What was that?"

If Pierre could torment you with his subtle touches, you could do the same and call him out when he was wrong.

"Driver error caused the rear end to slide out around that turn in Japan, not the rake angle. That's got nothing to do with it. Your tires were blistered because of you taking an imperfect racing line and they were old. You miscalculated the level of traction they'd give you."

Why no one else had pointed it out was beyond you.

"So you're an engineer now?" Pierre challenges, crossing his arms. Something about the arrogance radiating from him rubbed you the wrong way. You let all the emotion of the past few days surface and add fuel to the fire.

"No, but I've learned enough to see through the bullshit drivers spin to mislead other teams."

Max murmurs your name in warning but your frustration is boiling over. He replaced you tonight, didn't even pause to consider going alone and instead choosing to take Victoria. Sure, it had been your fault that he was dateless, but that didn't give him the right to hurt you too. He knew it would destroy you to see him with anyone else even if it was completely platonic, but he did it anyway.

"Why don't you tell me where I should brake on turn ten since you're an expert all of a sudden?" Victoria lays a hand on his arm but he yanks it out of her grip. "What crack in the pavement? Or is it a mark on the barrier? Drive one lap in my car and then you can tell me how to drive."

It wasn't your analysis that had upset him. You'd done so plenty of times and he had always taken your criticism with an open mind, using it to tweak his driving style to improve his lap time or turn it into a teaching experience so you could learn. No, judging by the way his eyes are lined with silver that he fights to blink away, it's your betrayal that upsets him and rightfully so. You glance around the table but no one is willing to meet your eyes save for Max, who angles his head as if to say fight for it.

But you can't. It's monumentally easier to let Pierre win and sweep it under the rug than to address the deeper issue. "I was trying to help," you say lamely, picking at the salad in front of you.

"You don't get to do that anymore."

The venomous words hit like knives, knocking the breath out of you. Your mouth hangs open like a fish gasping for air but any reply you think up dies on your tongue.

As the music fades out and a man climbs up onto the stage, Pierre gets up and leaves. You track his progress as he weaves through tables, noting Daniel reaching for him as he passes. You flinch when the balcony door slams behind him, an astonished murmur rocking through the crowd.

"You should probably talk to him," Max whispers.

You shake your head, not trusting yourself to speak. You had no idea what you would say. 'Sorry' was insignificant and 'I love you' would be cruel when the barest of thought regarding how the media treated you made your stomach churn. 

Max pulls his phone out under the table and you think you see Charles' name on the screen. Good; someone had to make sure Pierre didn't do anything he would regret in the morning and if it wasn't you, Charles was the next best chaperone. A minute later, the Ferrari driver leaves his seat too, exiting the same way as Pierre. 

Focusing on what's said on stage proves fruitless. Try as you might, your attention is trained on the side door Pierre had disappeared through, praying he returns despite knowing it would mean more barbed words hurled at you. Neither he nor Charles return at any point during the presentation. His absence was quickly becoming a gaping black hole, swallowing up any semblance of sanity you had managed to gather in preparation for tonight.

"Try to have some fun," Max says, nudging you with an elbow. "As soon as this guy shuts up I’ll get us some more drinks and then we can eat and get out on the dance floor and forget about everything, yeah?"

You nod. You already feel the buzz of the first drink, and one or two more would push you thoroughly over the edge into blissful forgetfulness. "I don't wanna be sad anymore."

**********

He didn't know where he was going. All he knew was that he had to get away from you before he said something that would tear whatever hope he held of repairing what was between you to ribbons. He registers Daniel's low, "Gas, you good?" as he breezes past, but doesn't pause to answer. His sights are locked on the wide, carved oak doors that lead to fresh air.

The breath whooshes out of him when he flings open the balcony doors. They slam behind him and he winces. Chalk that up as something else for Helmut to pick him apart for on Monday.

Pierre rakes a trembling hand through his hair and rests his elbows on the railing, sucking in lungfuls of air like he'd just surfaced from a dive in the harbor. 

When you'd agreed to come to the gala with him, he had been overjoyed. You hadn't made it to the winter gala earlier this year due to a last minute exam and he had sulked the entire night. He still had the place card embossed with your name in the fishbowl by his door, the sizable container nearly overflowing with memories of you. Everything from forgotten earrings to plastic hotel key cards filled the bowl and it was a bright reminder of your adventures together. His plan had been to add another place card to the mix after tonight but after what he'd just said to you, he'd rather forget today ever happened. 

He fucking hurt. Everything just hurt, from the shirt collar scratching at his neck to the bone deep ache that had started when he laid eyes on you on those steps, arm locked with Max's. You'd stolen the words from his mouth, the jab he'd planned to toss at Max dying at the sight of you. 

He hadn't expected you to come tonight. Despite anyone's objections, he'd been fully prepared to get completely shit faced to the point that the ghost of your skin no longer haunted his fingertips and your voice no longer sang in his head. But seeing your damned face had shattered the false reality he had constructed, the one where you never broke him and left him scrambling to piece himself back together.

The universe had dealt him another low blow when he discovered Red Bull and Alpha Tauri would be at the same table and he'd be forced to endure your presence at arms length, close enough to touch but absolutely not allowed to do so. It was his own personal hell, constructed solely to punish him for whatever transgressions he'd made in his life.

And that fucking dress. 

The orange painted the aquamarine charm at the hollow of your throat in sharp relief, showing it off like he somehow still owned you. If you had arrived with him, he would have already led you back to the Civic and bunched that damned dress up past your hips to drag his favorite sounds from you with his tongue. If he could just get you alone, he's sure it wouldn't take more than a single touch to have you crashing into him and begging for more.

Seeing you with Max tonight paints an entirely different picture.

It's Max he sees tearing off the dress at the end of the night when you get back to his apartment. Max's hands slide over your hips and you laugh, walking back so you can keep your lips on his as he slams the door shut behind you. You dip your head back when he presses you to the wall, Max unfaltering as his lips and teeth trace the curve of your exposed throat and he slips the straps of the matching dress of your shoulders to let it pool at your feet. Max's name breezes past your lips on a shaky exhale as you become putty beneath his fingers.

No matter how loud Pierre calls your name, you don't hear him, instead cupping the back of the Dutchman's head and pulling him in for a heated kiss. When you do finally notice him observing from afar, agony wracking his body, all you do is grin. It feels real, even though Pierre is certain it's a crazed fever dream, his mind spinning his worst fear to life: you seeking comfort in the company of someone that wasn't him.

Pierre starts when the door squeaks open, the nightmare thankfully dissolving. Charles steps out clad head to toe in blazing Ferrari red and instantly he knows who sent him. The thought alone stokes rage in his chest, the image of your lips on Max's still fresh.

"Not as easy as you expected it to be, is it?" He asks, stuffing his hands in his pockets.

"Fuck off," Pierre growls and immediately regrets it. Beyond you, Charles was his closest friend. They had known each other for ages. It wasn’t a friendship he was willing to sacrifice just because he felt like shit. Pierre sighs and throws him an apologetic glance. "No it's not."

"Why don't you talk to her?"

"She doesn't want to fucking talk, Charles. Take one look at her, she's hanging on Max like she can't get enough of him." Pierre hangs his head in his hands, emotions shifting faster than he did on race day. "I can't go back in there and watch her choose him over me."

"You don't really believe that bullshit, do you?" Charles asks, joining him at the railing.

Not entirely, but he still struggled to understand your thought process. He thought he knew you, but you being here tonight when he had been certain you wouldn't be proved he didn't. 

"I don't know what to believe anymore. I thought it would be forever, that I'd finally found someone who didn't mind my lifestyle and accepted it for what it was, who loved me unconditionally. I thought she was my forever."

"You think she's done with you just because some assholes invaded her privacy?" Charles shakes his head. "She's loved you for a long time, years even. You haven't seen the looks she gives you, but the rest of us have. You hung the moon in her sky, Pierre. That kind of thing doesn't just get swept away by the breeze."

His shoulders curl inward in an attempt to hide the frustrated tear that escapes him. "What am I supposed to do?"

Charles shrugs. "I don't think there's a right answer to that. Try giving her some space. She didn't grow up in the spotlight like we did. It's not an easy adjustment for some people, mate. And blowing up on her when she tries to make conversation doesn't help anything," he says gently. "Let her figure it out and come to you when she's ready."

The concept of letting you go even temporarily was terrifying to him. Waiting on you to make the first move was even worse because he was setting his fate in your hands. 

"I miss her," he murmurs, turning his face to his friend.

"I know." Charles throws an arm around the taller man's shoulders and follows his gaze out over the tiered streets of Monaco's city center. "My suggestion is to throw yourself into the season. Show her you know how to fight, y'know?"

Pierre nods. He could do that. It was how he normally handled his problems anyway; let the track wick away whatever was on his mind and force him to hone in on the details surrounding him in each moment. 

"You ready to head inside?" Charles asks.

"I don't think I can go back just yet."

"Want me to hang out here with you?"

"No. I'll be back eventually."

Charles' hand falls from his shoulder after a short squeeze, the sound of a tinny voice over the speakers temporarily flooding the balcony as Charles returns to the banquet. Pierre allows himself a few more moments of reprieve before slipping back inside just as the applause starts. Rather than returning to the delicately portioned meal that sat cooling before his empty chair, he orders a drink. Whiskey on the rocks, his go to in times of crisis. He takes one sip before the reminder of you ordering it for him in London makes holding the glass of caramel liquid unbearable and he downs it in a single swallow, going back to order a beer instead.

He nurses the green bottle of Heineken as he leans against the wall until the meal is finished and the chit chat starts. You stand with Max, practically pressed against him as you snatch a flute of champagne from a passing server. You search the crowd, brows drawing together when you don't locate your quarry. Pierre had made sure that he was tucked out of the low lighting, unsure if he could survive you stealing worried glances at him all night. 

Charles winds his way over to pass off a roll he snagged from dinner, practically forcing the Frenchman to eat it before returning to his date. He nibbles at it absentmindedly, entirely too focused on you to divert an ounce of focus elsewhere.

Your dress is a glowing sun in a sea of earth tone garments, drawing his eye as you pull Max out onto the wood platform serving as the dance floor before the tables are fully cleared. The flush in your cheeks tells him you're deeper in your cups than you should be; Max didn't know your limit as well as he did. Three drinks was all you could manage before you got tipsy, five if you wanted to be completely blitzed. 

The lights dim and his hiding spot is no longer quite as good as the party lights sweep over him from time to time. Max places one hand on your hip and you place one on his shoulder and grin up at him. Judging by the fit of giggles that requires you to lean into Max for support, you were teetering dangerously on the edge of being wholly drunk. You throw your head back and laugh at whatever Max says in response to your fit, Pierre straining to hear the musical sound over the band. 

"Hey," Victoria says, breaking his concentration. "You wanna get out there?"

Pierre grimaces. He had managed to completely forget about her, too stuck in his own head. "Sorry, Vic. I don't think I'd be a very good partner tonight."

"No worries," she says, a soft, understanding smile on her lips. "I can keep myself busy."

Pierre nods his thanks, his attention immediately returning to the dance floor. Daniel and his girlfriend steal the show, both laughing as he dips and twirls her across the floor. 

Being together was so fucking easy for them, effortless in a way it wasn't for you and Pierre. They never once paid any heed to the photographers that swarmed them or the headlines printed about them, they just laughed the rumors off and carried on. No one could question their love for each other because they were vocal about it- sometimes annoyingly so- and Daniel was rarely seen in public without her at his side. They were always touching, holding hands or stealing kisses or even the near scandal of his hand blatantly on her ass at the podium a few races back, and neither of them cared.

Their love was all that mattered. They didn't care who knew it.

But you and Pierre were far too private to be like that, at least not when you were still trying to figure things out yourself. The first sign of outside pressure had you cracking, and he wouldn't stand for knowing he was the source of your pain.

He tries and fails to convince himself he isn't jealous of the way Dan's hand so easily glides under the navy blue silk of her dress to caress her back without a second thought, wishing he could do the same to you. If he's being honest, he's living vicariously through Daniel for the next few songs, pretending he was someone else observing you and himself on the dance floor instead. It almost works; the way she shudders when his lips graze her ear is strikingly similar to how you'd react. The smile she flashes up at him is agonizingly close to your own wicked grin.

When her mouth finds his, Pierre gathers his wits and turns away. Their blatant public affection flipped a switch inside him, disgust rocking through him for a split second before he pushed it away.

He was happy for them. He knew what a long, rocky road it had been for them to become lovers instead of friends, had firsthand knowledge of the stress they'd gone through before they'd finally admitted their feelings to each other, put their pride aside and got together. Pierre had been the one to offer her advice on a night not much different than this one months ago, helping repair the damage Daniel's idiotic, thoughtless words had caused. 

But Pierre had since become the person who was sickened at the sight of others in love. It reminded him that part of himself was missing and he hated it.

No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't keep his eyes from wandering back to you. You still occasionally scan the room as Max struggles to lead you through a dance. By some stroke of bad luck your gaze snags on him just as a spotlight illuminates his face and he grimaces. A slow blink is the only surprise you let show before laying your head on Max's shoulder. Jealousy spikes through him like wildfire, igniting his blood and tinging his vision with red.

He wants to march over and rip you off Max. He wants you tucked safely against him as his thumb rubs circles on the bare skin of the small of your back. He wants, more than anything, to take you to his apartment and half carry you up the stairs, having to shush you because you're giggling loud enough to wake the dead, and lay you down in his bed. He wants to help you out of that stunning dress and into a pair of his sweats and curl up against you, letting you sleep off your hangover until noon.

He'd fucked up that chance though, hadn't he? He had slipped up and driven you straight into your friend's arms, who he trusted not to make a move on you but not enough to negate the jealousy coursing through him.

In that moment, he hates you. He hates the hold you have on him, the way a simple gesture between half-drunk friends could send him into a spiral so steep he didn't recognize himself. He hates that he can't keep his eyes off you, your gravity too strong for him to resist.

Most of all, he hates that he doesn’t know how to quit you.

@seasidetom @flashcal @limp-wrist-max​ @sunshinesewis​ @lifeofzoemichael @ninuffi @perfectfantasies22 @lamboleglerg @ladyperceval 

[chokemeanakin]

A Reason to Stay

Anakin Skywalker x gn Reader (angst)

Masterlist

Wc: 1.6k

So I’m not open about this kind of stuff, and I never wanted to bring it to my blog because it’s supposed to be my safe & happy space. But I was struggling really bad last night, and I just got to writing (it’s my coping mechanism), and this was the result. I wasn’t going to post it, but then I thought it might help some other people going through tough times as well. So please, read the warnings and if you’re not comfortable with it then don’t read it. I only have good intentions, but I understand that this could be triggering for some people.

Again, if you’re a mutual that regularly reads and reblogs my work, please don’t feel obligated to this time. It covers very sensitive topics so only read if you’re okay with it.

WARNINGS (please read!)- sad reader, depressed reader, mentions of suic!dal thoughts, and mental health struggles

Prevention hotline for all countries

(Gif from @haydenchristensengifs )

Sometimes, it all got to be too much. The thoughts would trickle in like a slow snowfall, and then the clouds would come and the wind would pick up and suddenly there was a whole tempest, the sun blotted from the sky and your mind swarmed in darkness. It was as if you were suffocating beneath heaps of snow, although you couldn’t feel the cold. You were numb, unfeeling, but deep in the core of your body, your soul screamed in agony.

Even just showering was difficult. On this particular day, you managed to get yourself in to clean up, but found tears dripping down your face halfway through, mingling with the warm spray. As soon as you realized you were crying, it was as if the monster inside of you broke free. It burst through the prisons that you had so desperately chained it up in, and began to devour you whole. Your throat closed up, chest squeezing, limbs aching, as the pain claimed every inch of you.

Why did you have to be like this? Why couldn’t you just be normal? You didn’t understand why you had to feel this way, why you had to hurt so much. It was all too overwhelming, and you struggled to see the point of trying anymore if this is all it got you.

You turned the shower knob, cutting the water off before you accidentally stayed in there for hours. Your eyes stared blankly ahead as you got dressed, wrangling the demon back down, building over it, locking it back up. But tonight was a bad night. You could feel it, the hopelessness of it all clawing at you in the back of your mind.

Thoughts popped into your head, and they provided some relief. And then they started to scare you. What were you thinking?

You had two choices, and it could really go either way. One, you could listen to that demon and follow along that dark path, and see just where it could take you. Maybe it would provide an escape from the crippling pain inside you, release you from your prison and give you that sweet relief you could only dream about.

Or, you could get help.

That option didn’t seem as pleasing to you, but you didn’t want to give in to the darkness. It pulled at you, but something stronger pulled you out of that bathroom and into Anakin’s room.

He was putting his uniform away in his dresser when you walked in, shaking and crying, and hugging yourself so hard you were sure to leave bruises on your sides. He turned as he sensed you, face immediately falling as he took in your state.

“Y/n, what’s wrong?”

You stood in his doorway, crumbling beneath the weight of his gaze. It had taken so much strength and courage for you to come to him— this was you admitting you needed help, admitting that you wanted to keep fighting the darkness. Now, you put your trust in Anakin that he would help you the rest of the way.

“I just... can you just...” you weren’t sure what you were asking. You just needed him to be there.

He understood.

Anakin rushed over and threw his arms around you, rocking you back and forth on the spot. He hugged you so tight to his body that you could hardly breathe, and just for a moment his warmth chased the demon away.

His arms were strong and he smelled of soap. He had just taken a shower too, and his sleep clothes were soft against your cheek. You closed your eyes and clung to him tightly, your crying becoming uncontrollable.

“What hurts, baby?” his tone was hushed, thick with concern. He could sense the waves of pain rolling off of you, but couldn’t find any wounds.

“Everything. It hurts so bad,” you sobbed. Your breath shuddered, and you buried your face further into his chest, voice muffled as you added, “I can’t do it anymore.”

Anakin’s heart wrenched as he held your trembling body. He wanted to move you to the bed, but he was afraid you would crumble to the ground. Whatever was hurting you, he could tell it was terrible, and he wanted nothing more than to take the pain away.

“Anakin,” you sobbed again. You couldn’t force any more words out, but the broken sound of his name tumbling from your lips screamed your message loud and clear. Help me.

“Shhh, I’m here. You’re okay. Nothing’s going to hurt you,” Anakin rubbed a hand up and down your shuddering back. His cheek rested against the top of your head, hushing you over and over as you broke apart in his arms. Talk to me, he wanted to say, but he was almost certain that would only make it worse. Tell me what you need.

By the way you melted into his body, your fingers digging into his flesh, he already knew the answer. You just needed him to hold you for now, to remind you what being warm felt like, what being alive felt like. And it was working. The thoughts that had been barraging you, telling you that you were worthless and that nobody would care if you were gone began to hush in time with his strokes. Even with the demon now wrangled into its cage, the aftershocks of its pain remained. You had thoroughly scared yourself, and the crying would not let up.

You’re not sure when Anakin managed to relocate you to the bed. One minute you were standing in the doorway, the next he had pulled you into his lap on the bed, keeping you buried into his chest with a hand to your head. His other hand massaged soothing patterns into your back, grounding you from the swirling tempest inside.

Coming to him was the right choice. You’re not sure where you would be right now if it weren’t for him, and you’re not sure you could survive another round of this if he wasn’t there to hold you through it in the future.

“Please don’t leave me,” you begged, the thought of being alone again frightening you. You didn’t mean just now— you meant ever.

“I’m right here. I’ll always be right here.”

“Do you mean it?” you pulled back, looking at him through tear-brimmed eyes. “You have to promise. I can’t do this alone.”

“I promise. I love you.”

Those words. They punched a hole through your heart, squeezing, squeezing, squeezing. Your throat released a strangled whimper as your fists tightened on his shirt, a fresh wave of tears gushing from your eyes. Anakin released a hand to hold your face, wiping them away as fast as they dripped down your cheeks.

“Please, Y/n, you’re scaring me. Tell me what’s wrong.”

You knew your next words were going to hurt him. But you couldn’t hold the burden on your own shoulders anymore— he deserved to know why you were acting this way, and the only way he could help was if he knew the full extent of your torments.

“I just need a reason to stay.” Your voice came out weak, broken. You could feel his chest hitch, a cold fear trickling down his spine.

You couldn’t mean...

“I’ll be your reason,” his answer was immediate. His panic resurfaced, tears pricking at his eyes as the full realization of what you meant sunk in. How had you been keeping this a secret from him for so long? How had he not noticed?

He had let your pain slip right past him, right under his nose, this whole time. He had failed you, and now he had to make sure he never let you go again.

“You asked for a reason. Y/n, let me be your reason.”

His heart thundered against his chest. Each beat called out for you— Don’t go, don’t go, don’t go. How could he take your pain away? How could he make it all better? Would his promise be enough to save you?

You gasped through another round of sobs, forehead falling against his collarbone. The pain in his voice— you hated putting him through it. But it was helping, his words were helping, and you clung to each syllable like they formed a lifeline.

“I won’t ever leave you, but that means you can’t ever leave me. Deal?” He needed you to look at him, to know you were hearing his words, and that he meant them. He waited until you could breathe again, and then brought your face back up to meet his. His eyes burned bright with a fierceness you had only ever seen when he was on the battlefield. Behind that, they shone with the tears of an intense, desperate fear.

“Y/n, you have to stay.”

Anakin was begging you, just like you had been begging him. The weight in your heart was still there, but your resolve cracked. You nodded. You would stay another day, another night, another everything as long he asked you to. He was enough— he would be your reason.

And while this was not the end of the darkness, or any battle for that matter, it gave you hope— you did not have to fight alone anymore. When you could not find the strength inside of yourself to go another day, he was more than willing to give you some of his. One thing was made certain, the silent promise ringing loud and clear between your shaking breaths and the beat of his resolute heart— he was never letting you go.

Endnote:

This was super personal for me to put on here, so please be nice about it. Also, I do not intend to convey the message that a boy’s love can save you. I just wanted to write about how it’s okay to get help, and sometimes that help is having another person be there for you. That being said, you shouldn’t rely on another person as your sole source of happiness forever, but if that’s what you need to make it another day, then do it.

If you’ve made it this far, then know that I love you and you’re not alone, no matter how alone you feel. My messages are always open, and I’ll be right here if you ever need a reason to stay. ❤️

[hpalways]

Spice and Tea || Zhongli

EVERYTHING seemed to be much grander in the city of Liyue Harbor. The tall, towering structures were built from an endless budget of mora, glistening in the darkness. Golden-amber lights shown from each building, they were nearly blinding, but so beautiful. It were these very details that made the city so popular with the tourists... though it was a rather different matter for those who resided here. Besides the fact, these colors reminded you of something — no, someone. 

This someone was currently in front of you, his tall figure leading you through the streets. His long, ebony hair swishing in a ponytail behind him, the soft-looking strands almost slapped you in the face several times. He then glanced back at you, his golden hues digging into your soul. “Are you alright? You look quite out of it,” he observed. 

Blinking for a few seconds, you cleared your throat and quickly nodded. “I am? I didn’t realize.”

Actually, it wasn’t too surprising that you were. The memory of Zhongli telling you that he was the Geo God was resurfacing. No matter how much time you had to process all of this, you could never truly grasp it. A god? How could someone like him... be something so impressive? But the evidence was there. From the way he looked to the way he acted, his entire being symbolized the city. 

You first acquainted him when you found him lingering around your stall, curious of the herbs and spices that were laid out for sale. Dressed in exquisite clothing in multiple shades of brown, you assumed he was someone of high status. Intimidated by him immediately, you steered clear of him and only spoke when he had any inquires. His voice low and calm, he turned out to be really philosophical. His knowledge of the herbs you tended to was profound, and you couldn't help but be in awe. When he finally decided to buy something, it left you dumbstruck. He didn't have mora on himself. How could someone not have mora on themselves?! He was a mystery to you. 

Chasing him away for making a fool out of yourself, you couldn't believe you wasted time on him. However, that wasn't the last time you saw him. He visited a few times a week, coming without mora as always. To this, you were supposed to kick him out, for he provided no business. But deep down inside, you had no heart to do so, not when he looked so passionate talking about mundane things like herbs. Listening to him speak left you at ease, so a smile would take place on your lips more often. 

So here you were now. The two of you developed a closer relationship throughout the weeks. Yet, the news of Zhongli as a god seemingly complicated things. Why would he spend time with a mere mortal being like you? You were nothing compared to him, a speck of dust within his years. In no time, he would forget you... and the thought of that hurt.

Brushing those thoughts away, you decided it was best to enjoy this moment with him. The future was unknown, concerning the two of you, but worrying would only add wrinkles onto your face. Speeding up your pace, you were side by side with the consultant of Wangsheng Funeral Parlor. He rose his eyebrows, sending you a soft smile that left you flustered. 

"Why do we have to go to a teahouse when I already have herbs to make tea out of?" you complained. "I'll be the one spending my mora too."

He blinked in surprise. He always did this when someone brought up the currency, as if he didn't realize mora existed. "Oh, that's right. The tea is going to cost pretty expensive," he said, humming. He looked unbothered, knowing he was a total parasite to you. Damn, if he was a god, couldn't he at least create some mora and have you become rich?

The teahouse was coming into view, the homely building wide and spacious. Strolling through the front door, you were led to a table for two. Sitting yourself down in front of Zhongli, you watched as he professionally scanned through the menu. 

"Do you have any preferences?" he asked you. "If not, I know a good one. It's refreshing and has this distinct taste that never fails to reduce stress. After all, a lot happened today, did it not?"

He was correct in that. Today, the newest stocks for your spices didn't deliver on time, because the wagon fell into the ditch. This was a great annoyance to your day, but you decided to go check on it, in exchange that you would get your products safely. What you didn't know was that the wagon had ran into hilichurls earlier, who still lingered there when you arrived at the scene of crime. Ambushed by the creatures, it was thought you were to meet your end when someone saved you in time. It was no other than the Geo God himself, the very one sitting across from you at this moment. 

This encounter had struck more doubts within you. The difference in strength and power between you and Zhongli was out of this world. You were so weak, but he slashed those monsters dead with a few hits. It made you wonder if it was better if he didn't need know you; you were such a nuisance for him, someone not worth of his time. 

"Thank you for saving me back then," you said for the millionth time already. "I guess paying for the tea shouldn't be a big deal, since I wouldn't even be here if it weren't for you."

"It was a pleasure saving you. You are my favorite merchant, after all." He crossed his arms across his chest and leaned on the back of the chair, looking pleased with himself. A staff member approached the table and he went to order tea. Once they were gone, the consultant leaned forward, gazing intently at you. His gloved hand lifted from beneath and was placed on top of your head. Stroking your [h/c] locks endearingly, he was throwing you off drastically. He was never this affectionate. "Go get some rest after this. Don't go back to the market -- it should be closing soon anyway."

Much to your disappointment, he removed his hand when a teapot was set in the middle. Porcelain tea cups were stacked beside it, ready to be used. Elegantly reaching for them, he poured the steamy liquid into the fragile cups, handing one to you and keeping the other for himself.

Patiently blowing into the tea, you took a sip and melted at the taste of it. He was right; this was almost enough to erase all your worries away. 

"This citrus and honey scent stemming from it... it reminds me of you, [Y/N]," he said softly. His lashes lowered, showcasing how long and dark they were. Beautiful. Why was he so beautiful? "Soothing and warm. You allowed me at your stall when no else did. You became a haven, if I dare say." He sipped his tea and let out a content sigh. "Most relationships I've had with others were bounded through contracts. Although, with you, there is none and I still find myself returning to see you. Is this the meaning of sentiment then?"

You were thoroughly unprepared with his words. He kept surprising you today. Was he somehow affected by the near death experience you had today? That couldn't possibly be true. "I-I don't know," you choked out.

It was silent for the next few minutes. Averting your eyes away from him, you buried your face into your cup, gulping down the rest of its contents. Now empty, you hurried to pour in more tea, hoping you didn't look as awkward as you felt. Meanwhile, his features were passive to the point it was unreadable. What was he thinking about? 

"Am I making you uncomfortable?" he asked bluntly. Your shoulders stiffening, you quickly shook your head in denial. "I see. And yes, to see you almost dying, it frightened me. I couldn't bear to lose you." Your mouth parted in shock. Did he somehow read your mind? 

But his words... they touched you, making tears prickle the corners of your eyes. Blinking them away, you gulped and fixed your posture self-consciously. He truly cared about you. 

Before you could stop yourself, you summoned up the courage to voice the question that had been on your mind all night long. "Will you forget me someday?"

He chuckled in amusement, shaking his head afterwards. Reaching for your hand, he guided it to the side of his face. His skin soft and smooth under your fingertips, the feeling of it sent your heart racing. His crimson bangs brushed you, tingles erupting on your tender skin. He nuzzled himself into the crook of your palm, fluttering his eyes shut. "Never. You will be thought of during every tea I drink, every herb I analyze, every merchant I meet, and every hilichurl I fight. Memories with you will be cherished forever... so don't go forgetting me either."

[littlemisspascal]

Death and an Angel part 11

Death!Din x Cupid F!Reader

Summary:  “When we get out of here, Din will fly us far, far away,” you murmur, just loud enough to be heard over the sound of the baby's resumed chewing. “I promise you we’ll be happy together.”

Rating: T

Word Count: 3,511

Warnings: captured reader, angst, bonding with Grogu, plot plot plot

Author Note: To anyone and everyone sticking with this series, I love you so much! I know the plot is more than a little thick right now, but answers are slowly but surely being revealed. 

Links to Part 1 and Part 10 and Part 12

Cross-posted on AO3.

Photo Inspiration:

You pace the length of the cell, brow furrowed as you try to organize your racing thoughts. Between the chilly atmosphere and the severed bond wailing for its other half, you imagine you outwardly resemble the jittery and unbalanced mess you feel internally. You refuse to feel humiliated by your appearance, not when the witnesses are Gideon and his minions. They can think what they want about you, believe they have broken your spirit, because that just means they won’t expect it when you free yourself until it’s too late.

However, part two of your plan of escape is proving to be more challenging to conceptualize than you initially thought. The collar is tightly wound around your neck to the point of chafing. Apparently the rule of being able to slip two fingers under a collar is only applicable to animals in Gideon’s eyes because your attempt of slipping your finger between skin and metal is dissuaded by another electric shock zipping through your body.

However, as you lightly trail your fingertips over the cold metal, you’re surprised to feel a noticeable dip in the back. It’s not a design flaw, you think as you try to visualize it in your mind. Your heartbeat quickens as realization strikes: it’s a keyhole.

Any excitement you might feel at your discovery is spoiled by the fact a keyhole is useless without a key. You look at the laser gate, further disappointed as you contemplate the complexity of the tunnel system. There could be dozens of cells down here, potentially thousands of hiding places for Gideon to keep the key to the collar secure. Not to mention, you don’t even know what the key looks like. It could be hanging right outside the cell and you’d have no idea.

Lost in the sea of disparaging thoughts, you don’t notice the return of the baby crawling through the hole in the wall until he latches onto your foot. Startled, you barely manage to refrain from shouting a curse as you stare down at him. He giggles, clearly amused by your wide-eyed expression, and then slaps a silver plastic bag against your shin using the hand that isn’t gripping his favorite black cloth.

“Did you bring me a present?” you ask, taking a seat on the pallet and lifting him up onto your lap. This time when you reach forward, he willingly lets you take the item from him instead of trying to take a chunk out of your hand.

You tear open the plastic, revealing its contents to be five teal-colored cookies.

“Wow, bud,” you murmur, holding one up between pinched fingers. The treat smells distinctively like vanilla. From what you’ve witnessed, you doubt Gideon is the type to offer his prisoners dessert with their meals which means these were probably stolen from somewhere. “Where did you find these?”

The baby only babbles unintelligibly in response, gesturing with his free hand in the direction of somewhere beyond the laser gate. You nod along, feigning understanding, but your eyes can’t help but drift to his collar when he turns his head. The keyhole for his collar is smaller than you expect to see which has you quickly theorizing there is not one universal key for all of the collars. If that theory is true, then it raises the difficulty of escaping yet another level.

With a sigh you cram the cookie into your mouth, finding the tiniest smidge of joy in its crunchiness.

“When we get out of here I’ll buy you a dozen boxes of these,” you tell him once you’ve swallowed, offering him one of the cookies. He coos excitedly and takes a large bite, uncaring of the blue crumbs that rain down upon his coat. “And once Din sees you, I bet he’ll want to spoil you rotten, too. He has a not-so-secret soft spot for kids.”

The baby’s head tilts, reacting to the name-drop by making a confused gurgling sound around his mouthful.

“Don’t talk with food in your mouth,” you scold gently, tapping his nose with your finger and laughing under your breath when it proceeds to scrunch up in an adorable manner. Leaning your head back against the wall, you’re unable to keep the note of wistful longing out of your voice as you explain, “Din is my soulmate. To the rest of the world, he’s known as Death. They’ll have you believe he’s someone to be feared and avoided at all cost. But luckily I’m here to tell you the truth.”

He stares up at you, snack seemingly forgotten in favor of listening intently to every word coming out of your mouth. Distantly you think you should be a little scared by how intense his gaze is, as if he’s attempting to look past your skin to the soul beneath, but you remind yourself all babies are innately curious and don’t know it’s rude to stare.

“He’ll never admit to it himself, but underneath all that beskar armor, he is the most socially inept being in the galaxy. I swear, bud, the first time I met him I thought it was impossible for him to say more than two words or else he’d hurt himself.” Your lips twitch at the memory, the smallest of smiles you can make without it feeling forced. “Still, despite his horrible first impression, I couldn’t get him off my mind. I wouldn’t call it love at first sight, but—look, I know how crazy this sounds, okay? But I felt like I had to get to know him better. There was this voice in my head insisting we couldn’t just remain strangers. It took about ten thousand questions and three more meetings for me to earn his trust enough for him to take off his helmet and let me see his face.”

You take a deep breath and stroke your finger over the baby’s ears, needing to feel something other than the flaring pulse of pain from the bond. “One look at those beautiful brown eyes and I was done for.”

Saying Din’s eyes are brown feels sinful. It’s like saying the ocean is blue—accurate, but not detailed enough to describe its depth and volatility. There are days when his eyes are the shade of brown reminding you of leather bound journals—ancient and full of profound wisdom, meant to be admired and cherished for an entire lifetime. Other times, they are the kind of brown that matches your favorite chocolate pastry from the bakery down the street from your apartment—decadent and warm with the slightest hint of temptation.

“When we get out of here, Din will fly us far, far away,” you murmur, just loud enough to be heard over the sound of the baby's resumed chewing. “I promise you we’ll all be happy together.”

And I’ll never get tired of seeing those brown eyes everyday.

~~

The hours start to bleed into one another. The baby snoozes in your lap, head pillowed on your thigh, but you have no idea if it’s night or day. Gideon had said he’d let you talk to Din ‘tomorrow’, but that doesn’t tell you how many days you’ve been here in total.

Your legs have started to feel numb from sitting in the same position so long, but the last thing you want is to wake him up by moving. The importance of him feeling safe enough to be vulnerable and sleep is not lost on you. His desire for attention and physical contact is so painfully obvious you hate thinking about how often he must have been ignored before your arrival.

As he sleeps, you’re unable to resist your curiosity any longer and carefully maneuver the piece of cloth out of his grip. Despite its aged and dirty appearance, it is still surprisingly soft to touch. Whatever article of clothing this was torn from must have been well-tailored, you think, imagining a hooded cloak or perhaps a long coat. Your nose twitches when you hold the cloth close to your face to better study it, reacting to the variety of odors embedded in the wool fibers. Maker knows how long the kid’s been dragging the fabric around with him without it being washed regularly, so you shouldn’t be surprised it has absorbed a couple dozen scents.

Still, the faint essence of smoke you detect swirls around in your brain even long after you’ve laid the cloth back over him like a makeshift blanket. Memories of your death start to resurface again despite your best mental efforts to push them away, causing your stomach to clench with nausea as you recall the horrific stench of charred remains.

It isn’t the same, you tell yourself, squeezing your eyes shut and forcing your head to clear itself. It can’t be because that day was fifty years ago and he’s only just a baby.

You repeat these thoughts like a mantra until, without meaning to, you fall into a dreamless sleep.

~~

You’re startled awake by hands seizing hold of your arms and pulling you up onto your feet without warning. You yelp at the sudden rush back to consciousness, brain scrambling to make sense of everything. Your eyes sweep the ground, panic washing over you like a bucket of cold water when you fail to see a tiny green body.

“It’s time, pet,” the twi’lek’s voice hits your ears and you turn to see her standing near the cell’s entrance, a lantern in one hand and a shiny blade in the other. “The Moff is expecting you.”

It takes you a minute to process in your frazzled state, but you realize it must be time to talk to Din. You’re shoved forward by whoever has your arms twisted behind your back, but you manage another quick survey of the cell. There is no sign the baby was ever here and you send a quick prayer to the Maker he had snuck back through the hole without anyone seeing him.

You have mixed feelings about not being blindfolded as you’re led through the underground labyrinth. On one hand, you get to observe everything and everyone you come across, making as many mental notes to flip through later when you’re alone. On the other, you think this must be an intimidation tactic. Gideon wants you to see everything so you know with absolute certainty how high the odds are stacked against you.

There are cells identical in appearance to yours on either side of you, carved into the tunnel rock and blocked from entry by laser gates. Except not one of them contains a prisoner. Either you have severely overestimated the size of Gideon’s collection, or he is purposefully keeping you separate from the rest for reasons known only to him.

Another surprising and unsettling observation you make is how many different types of species Gideon has employed as minions—human, rodian, trandoshan, you even spot a devaronian in the mix. Except for the Cupid twi’lek in front of you, everyone you come across is mortal. It does not make much sense to you why a seraph as powerful as Gideon is relying on mortal henchmen to help maintain control of his secret prison. Your gut instinct is insisting you’re missing a vital piece of information and you don’t like being in the dark about it.

The tunnel you’re being marched down eventually opens up into a larger cavernous space with several dozen lanterns hanging along the walls providing ample lighting. There are several crates spread about the area, and some have been pried open to reveal they are packed full of blasters and ammunition. You rack your brain trying to determine the purpose of the weapons. Yes, clearly, they are meant to cause havoc and destruction, but why are they here? Who or what is the target they will be aimed at?

Gideon stands in the middle of the room next to an empty chair. On his other side is a mortal human male, bald-headed with ginger facial scruff, who has two blaster pistols holstered around his chest and yet another one held by a droid arm attached to his backpack. Overkill much?

You’re shoved in the direction of the chair and gruffly told to sit. Huffing, you wordlessly obey and try not to squirm as all eyes lock onto you as if you’re going to perform a trick for their entertainment.

“You have a minute to record your message,” Gideon says, holding out a piece of paper towards you. “These words I have prepared must be included in those precious sixty seconds or you might find me reluctant to allow you to send a second recording.”

Is he serious? This isn’t the arrangement you previously discussed with him.

“Record?” you repeat, reluctantly taking the paper.

“I never said you would have the opportunity of speaking to Death face-to-face.” You want more than anything to tear the condescending smirk off his face with your fingernails. “Absence makes the heart grow fonder, isn’t that the mortal saying? You would know better than me, living amongst them in that quaint little apartment on Umbriel.”

Of course he knows about your home. Of kriffing course he does.

Heartbeat quickening, you avoid eye contact by scanning the few lines of words he’s written, eyebrows slowly inching up your forehead the more you read. “I don’t understand. This isn’t a demand to kill anyone. What does it mean?”

“Now is not the time for you to know,” he answers cryptically.

You shake your head, insisting, “Well maybe it should be. He knows me better than anyone. He’ll be able to tell I’m confused and—“

Gideon’s heavy sigh interrupts you. Then, quicker than you anticipate, he steps to the side of you and unsheathes his sword, its black blade positioned at your throat. It happens in one fluid movement, and the danger of your current predicament doesn’t sink in until the frightening humming notes of the weapon register in your eardrums seconds later. Your expressionless mask wavers, facial muscles tightening as you fail to refrain from flinching.

“All that is required from you, Cupid 1-1-7, is for you to speak from the heart and convince him to follow this one instruction. Do you think you can accomplish that?” he asks the question as if you have an actual choice. Like you can walk away now and there will be no hurt feelings.

But that is ridiculous. Everyone knows Cupids don’t get to have choices. Not when they are only given orders to obey.

You give him the tiniest of nods, careful not to let your skin make contact with the blade. “Yes, sir.”

“Then let’s begin.”

~~

The nav computer on the Razor Crest contains the coordinates of every moon and planet within each region of the galaxy. There is not one inch of space unknown to Din and yet his search for his angel continues to remain unsuccessful. He doesn’t consider the possibility of her being deceased for even half a second. As her soulmate he would have felt her passing the moment it happened. The bond he shares with his angel might be young and fragile still, but he doesn’t doubt her loss would eviscerate him in the same merciless manner he had done to Hess.

His inability to find her can only mean a powerful immortal is involved in her capture. As Death he roams the universe as a neutral entity. The only enemies he encountered—and he uses that term loosely—were foolish mortals thinking they could outlive their destined time by fighting him, only to ultimately meet their fated ends in the process. Prior to Hess’ demise, he had upheld his sworn creed to the universe and never once was tempted to defy the natural order or break a sacred rule.

Although admittedly strange to consider, the thought that maybe his angel’s capture isn’t meant to deliberately hurt him or her is one that keeps crossing his mind. Perhaps they are merely pieces in a game neither of them recognize nor want to willingly participate in.

As Din sits in the pilot’s seat, staring at the screen dispassionately through the visor of his helmet still coated with Hess’ blood, he is well-aware of Bo-Katan standing behind him, attempting to freeze him solid with her iciest glare.

She is the bravest of his reapers, unafraid to piss him off and counteract his opinions with her own. Yet ever since they left Hess’ body hanging in the warehouse and returned to the Crest, she’s not said one word to him, seemingly content to suffer in silence as a background presence while he contemplates whether he should be the one to track down the twi’lek Hess referenced or if he should have his reapers engage in the hunt.

“We’re going to talk about what happened,” Bo-Katan says coolly.

He grinds his teeth. “We will talk if and when I want to.”

“No.” She forcefully pulls at his chair, turning it around to face her. A snarl escapes him, animalistic and furious, but her green eyes don’t even blink, not the least bit intimidated. “You reaped a soul before it’s destined time. The universe isn’t going to easily forgive you for that. There will be consequences.”

“The only thing that matters is getting her back,” he answers. It’s the truth too. The second his angel was taken he knew there was not one rule he wouldn’t break to have her back in his arms—consequences be damned.

“Do you even hear yourself right now?” Bo-Katan asks, looking him over as if she no longer recognizes him. Her eyes linger just a second too long on his bloodstained gloves. “You’re losing your mind over a soulmate you’ve barely known a year.”

“Have you ever had someone you loved taken from you?” Din counters.

She scowls, eyes narrowing with loathing. “How dare you compare—”

“Answer the question!” he shouts, slamming his fist down on the armrest hard enough the metal creaks ominously.

“Yes.” Her chin dips briefly towards her chest as she takes a second to compose herself. “You know I have.”

Din does know. Hours prior to every major catastrophic event in the galaxy’s history he’s felt an invisible leash wrap around him, pulling him in the direction of the tragedy and demanding he be there to personally reap the souls of the victims in the aftermath. He had witnessed the destruction of Bo-Katan’s homeworld when it was ravaged by a series of bombings orchestrated by an unknown enemy. Thousands had been killed, including Bo-Katan’s sister.

He doesn’t let the silence stretch too long, voice unwavering as he says, “And if you had the chance, would you not kill the one responsible for your pain?”

“It wouldn’t bring her back. Not any of them.”

Din sighs, glancing away, but Bo-Katan surprises him not even ten seconds later, apparently unfinished.

“I’d still do it though,” she says, not sounding the least bit guilty for admitting to hypothetical murder. “I’d carve the heart out of whoever set off those bombs and force-feed it to them.”

“We’re more alike than you may think,” Din says. “Think about that before you question my actions again.”

Any potential response from his reaper is interrupted by the beeping of an incoming transmission. He turns his chair at once, noticing the recorded message’s origin source is a random scrambling of letters and numbers. Every instinct is telling him he won’t like what he sees, but his hand reaches forward anyways, as if possessed by an unseen force, and presses the button to view the recording.

His angel appears as a holographic figure and immediately his eyes zero in on the collar around her neck. Anger threatens to course through his veins again, but Din forces his lungs to draw in a deep breath. Now is not the time to unleash his temper. Now is the time to listen and commit every word she says to memory, to study her every feature for any sign she’s been hurt.

“Death,” she begins, and his entire body tenses at the use of his title and not his name. It’s been so long since she’s addressed him as such, he knows it can’t be accidental. “I hope this message reaches you wherever you are. More than anything I wish I could be with you right now. I’m so sorry I broke my pinky promise to you, sweetheart. The way our bond is...I hate to think you’re feeling as much pain as I do.”

Din’s heart shatters when she starts to anxiously rub at her soulmate marking, sniffling quietly. His fingers itch with the overwhelming longing to hold her hand.

“I’m not safe here. What they’ve threatened to do to me...it scares me. I-I need to ask you a favor, a very important one.” A few teardrops escape the corners of her eyes and drip down her cheeks. Din bites the inside of his mouth so harshly he tastes blood. “If you want to protect me, then you must let go.”

The transmission goes dead.

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[katsulia]

Could i ask for an oikawa version of he offends you

He offends you - part4

featuring : Oikawa, Daichi

genre : angst to fluff

Atsumu and Kageyama version + part2 / Kuroo and Tsukishima version

Oikawa

"Babe I'm home! "you shouted and slammed the door behind you. And no sooner had you taken off your shoes than your boyfriend appeared in front of you like a dog excited to see his master come in.

"Y/N-chaaan," his voice rose in pitch as if to accompany his exaggerated pout. Automatically his arms came around your waist and although you liked being in his arms he was somewhat suffocating. The embrace lasted a few more seconds before he let go of you and you were able to move towards the living room. Your feet were like compote and you didn't want to move. Oikawa joined you.

"So how was your day? "you asked him as you put your bags on the floor before dropping onto the couch. Oikawa sat down on the couch and put his head on your lap.

"I had to say goodbye to my beautiful girlfriend who preferred to go shopping with someone else although we all know that I have the best taste in fashion ..." you couldn't help but hit him in the back of the head as Iwaizumi would surely have done. "Ouch! YN-chan! That was undeserved! You make me suffer even more when I already had to put up with your absence today! "You looked up at his idiocy before he resumed his story. "So I stayed alone in this house, far too big for one person, and I waited for hours for her to do me the honor of resurfacing. "At this level he could easily overshadow Shakespeare's best tragic characters, after all it was Oikawa Tooru. But it was all part of his personality and it never failed to make you laugh.

"Well, since you ask me, I went shopping, away from my very clingy boyfriend." At these words he opened his eyes wide and put his hand on his chest as if you just gave him a blow which makes you laugh out loud. "How dare you? "You tried to catch your breath and kept answering him with a big smile on your face. "I'm kidding, of course I'm kidding. But I still put my day to good use and I finally found a little black dress that was missing in my wardrobe." You hadn't really gone out with the idea of buying a dress, but you had completely cracked at the sight of it and it was a good thing since you didn't have one of those. Usually you were more hesitant as for the purchase of dress and skirt but this time you were confident.

"It is true? I want to see that right now!" Oikawa's eyes were shining and he got up immediately so you could go change. You rolled your eyes but deep down you were touched by his almost childish but totally adorable reaction. While you were pretending to be lazy, he took your hand and pulled you from the sofa. "Go and try it on! I'll wait here." You knew very well that he would not change his mind as he is and you went to your room, sticking out your tongue.

The dress was simple and basic but you liked it very much. You put it on quickly and took a little time to admire yourself in front of the mirror. For you, who was used to seeing you always wearing jeans, it was a nice change but not that unpleasant. The result will be even better when you have tanned legs but even so it was very nice. You took a deep breath and went to join your boyfriend in the living room.

"Tadam!" At the sound of your voice Oikawa took his hands away from his eyes (yes, he was always in excess). You even did a spin around and laughed a little to satisfy the desire for a show that he always liked. "I love it so much! My girlfriend is incredible! Come over here so I can admire the seams more closely!» Immediately you were pulled towards him and you fell on the couch laughing. With a masterful stroke he made you glide on his knees and positioned you comfortably on his legs. You came to put your arms around his neck while his left hand firmly grabbed your waist and his right hand stroked your thigh. "So it's true, do you like it?" It was obvious that Oikawa was totally seduced by what he saw, but using your seductive voice was always tempting in those moments. He was very close to biting his lips. "More than anything else. We should go back to that store, very good work. By the way, which one was it? I would bet on Zara!" You nodded, because he had found out which brand it was right off the bat. But it wasn't that surprising from him. "How did you guess? I bet you looked at the label! No, you saw me put the bag there!" You exclaimed. "Hm not even. But Saya used to go out there a lot and I remember a dress of hers that was in the same style. How Sherlock! " He winked and smiled a big, charming grin.

You didn't want to smile at all. He associated the dress you were wearing, the one you were so happy to have bought, with his ex Saya. Your face decomposed and immediately you began to let go of his hold on you. Does that mean he was still thinking about her? Probably. You wanted to take that dress off right away and throw it away.

Oikawa didn't immediately understand your reaction and wanted to hold you back, but he could sense that you wanted to let go of him. When only five seconds was all right? But it was when he saw the look in your eyes and your head down that he thought about what he had just said. Saya. His ex. Your dress. He was a complete idiot. There was no way to make up for it but he just wanted to show off his detective skills. If Iwa-chan had been there he would have hit him right away and it would have been deserved. But he didn't need him for that, he was already regretting it and he was cursing himself with all the insults in his head.

"Wait babe! That's not what I meant at all! Well ... I mean who cares about her!" His voice wasn't at all steady and he was at a loss for words. He had no idea what he could say in that kind of situation. If it had been the other way around, he would have taken your words too badly and would have been insulted that you mentioned your ex's name. But he was the one who had done that, he was the one who had hurt you and he knew full well that you didn't need that. "Yet you're the one who talked about her when I ..." He was totally panicked and knew he was at fault but wouldn't let you finish your sentence. "Yes I know it's me! And I shouldn't have! It's unwelcome and very inappropriate of me! But I assure you that it is not her that I think of when I see you! Or ever actually!" He had never spoken so fast before, but that's because he knew what he had just done was terrible and he had to act quickly so you wouldn't get the wrong idea. His throat was tight and he couldn't imagine how you must be feeling. He took your hands in his and forced you to look at him. "I'm really sorry... And um... I apologize... I see you all the time, everywhere. I assure you that you are the only person in my mind! And I know it seems like I just proved the opposite, but you are the most important person to me and the one I love the most, I would never want to replace you either with a person from my past or anyone else." Tears were flowing down your cheeks simultaneously and it was almost as if you were in a romantic comedy. (Nothing very unusual with Oikawa).

When he saw that you didn't totally reject his touch he embraced you tenderly. He kept whispering excuses while he was bent over your head. "I know Tooru. " It could still be heard in your voice that you were upset, but you couldn't remain insensitive to a totally vulnerable Oikawa. You, in turn, put your arms around his waist and took a long inhale into the crook of his neck. Next week you'll laugh when you think back on it, sometimes he was completely romantic that it was worthy of one of the greatest shojos in history. But you wouldn't change your relationship for anything in the world, let alone a partner. For the moment you were just enjoying this very intimate moment. It was sure that the food you brought back was cold now, but it didn't matter.

Daichi

These days your schedule was much less busy, which allowed you to enjoy some free time. But unfortunately this was not the case for Daichi, who could not leave the police station at his leisure. It wasn't dramatic either and you organized yourself to coordinate with his work hours. You often treated yourself to a late morning, although you always managed to kiss him before he left the house. During the day you were free to do whatever you wanted and when you weren't going out with your friends you would slump on the couch to catch up on your series. Sometimes, when it was possible, you would join Daichi in the city at his lunch break and find joy in eating ramen with him in the small restaurant near his work. And finally, when the clock struck 8 p.m., announcing Daichi's arrival, you knew that the best time of the day was coming.

You liked this domestic life even if the lack of productivity was becoming noticeable and you couldn't help but get back to your office files. To make up for this lack of activity, you would dive into the kitchen and try out a lot of new recipes. You even managed to make 100% homemade cold soba when you used to buy them at the supermarket. Daichi always rewarded your efforts with his best compliments and his most beautiful smile. Tonight was no exception to this new routine and this time you had perfected your sushi, eager to get your partner's opinion.

As it was Friday, you had decided to set the cutlery on the coffee table in the living room so that you could eat comfortably and quietly in front of the TV. But it was almost 8:15 p.m. and Daichi still hadn't come through the door. At first you didn't pay too much attention to it knowing that there was a lot of traffic on the weekend, but now the clocks were pointing to 9 p.m. and he still hadn't come in. You were immediately no longer reassured and decided to call him. When after two rings you thought he was finally answering you found yourself on his voicemail. Did he decline your call? It was absolutely not in his habit and you called him back thinking that he had made a wrong manipulation. However, you were not as lucky as the first time and as soon as it started ringing you were redirected to voice mail. As you looked at your screen in shock a message from him appeared. Your fingers were faster than your mind and rushed to display the notification.

From: Hubby I'm at the bar with some colleagues, I'll be back later.

At least you were relieved but somewhat disappointed. It's true that from time to time Daichi would meet his friends and that' s a good thing, he also made time for himself. Normally he had the decency to warn you, he knew you weren't going to say anything, it wasn't your style to complain about him going out with his friends. Despite the disappointment in your heart, you didn't intend to hold it against him and you were still going to enjoy your wonderful sushi. And if you even managing to hold back from eating everything you'd let him have some. That's how you spend your evening in front of the last episodes of Nightmare in the kitchen enjoying your own culinary art.  

On the stroke of 11:30 pm you recognize the sound of Daichi's car engine parked in front of the house. You were expecting him to come home later, but it suited you because it meant that you could go to bed at the same time as him. He carefully hung up his jacket and walked into the living room. His rosy cheeks were an indication of his alcohol consumption, probably in small doses since he'd been driving, and his face was adorable. He slumped down on the couch and he let out a long sigh, it must have been a long week for him.

“How was your day?” you asked him as you stroked his cheek with your thumb. When your fingers touched him he closed his eyes and began to relax.

“It was tiring, I'm exhausted.” You could hear the tiredness that had taken over his body in his voice only.

“I didn't know you were out tonight, but I left you some sushi, your favorite.”

“Aaargh Y/N.” He let a growl rise while keeping his eyes closed.

“Uhm what?”

“You didn't have to call me like that, it made the guys at the bar laugh, almost as if you were the cop!”

“Oh sorry to worry about you! I just wanted to know where you were !”

“You don't have to act like my mother, I don't need that!” He left a long puff and immediately you put some distance between the two of you.

It was quite rare for Daichi to get carried away like that and honestly you were a little upset. After waiting for him all evening and worrying about him, you probably didn't deserve such a reaction. And you knew it, that's why you didn't bother to answer and got up without saying anything; you just wanted this day to end and you hurried back to bed. Yet you couldn't help but recall what he had said. He had almost implied that you had embarrassed him by calling him in front of his co-workers. His words were still ringing in your head and you were just fidgeting in bed, it was impossible to fall asleep even with the lights off.

The sound of running water ceased and was replaced by footsteps signaling that Daichi had finished his shower and was on his way to your room. Immediately you rolled over to your side and closed your eyes. You felt him slide gently between the sheets and take place beside you.

“I know you're not sleeping”. You were surprised to hear him speak but you didn't move an inch. Even though you weren't sleeping you didn't want to talk to him at all.

“I don't want us to go to bed without fixing things.”

“No answer? Okay, I hope you are listening to me then. I'm sorry, I know you were just worried and if I were you I would have done the same thing.” You could hear the regret in his voice but it didn't change the fact that he felt embarrassed in front of others just because you called him. You turned and laid on your back with your eyes glued to the ceiling.

“Okay. But you didn't want me to call you in front of your colleagues. Are you ashamed of me?” Your tone was much colder and dryer than his which was totally understandable as you were in fact hurt.

“No babe, I would never be embarrassed to be with someone as incredible as you, it's just... I know I was going to behave like a simp after I drank to the sound of your voice... And they would never have let me down with that at the station... That doesn't excuse my behavior. But I want you to know that I love you and I would never want to hide you or for you to stop paying attention to me.” He was totally sincere at the time. It's true that it was completely dumb of him to act that way, but he didn't want you to think that he was ashamed of you or anything. Slowly you turned to his side this time and he took the opportunity to put an arm around your waist to bring you closer to him. You could smell his shower gel and his body heat. Instinctively you felt better and much more reassured until you nested your head in the crook of his neck.

“I love you.” You murmured softly and closed your eyes serenely this time. He kissed you on your forehead which made you smile and put you to sleep with butterflies in your stomach.

[sporadiclilbook]

May I request some hcs of Dimitri and a caring! Reader please? like they think he's just their friend and is looking out for him? Like sending him food, asking if he's okay and all that stuff, only because he saved their life.

Sure can anon! I hope you like this

Yan!Dimitri x Caring!reader

Pre-TS

Let's just say, as a fellow Blue Lions student, he saved you during a mission.

Immediately you started to feel like you owed him a favour. Even though he said he's just looking out for his fellow student, and in a way, his citizen. So you decided to become sorta like his unofficial retainer. Kinda like Dedue but without the fighting.

You started to notice how he is tense all the time. So you started to ask everyday how is he doing. It's a simple and small gesture but he's glad that someone cares for him. Especially when that someone is you.

Whenever he had his headaches, you would fetch him some remedy from Professor Manuela and when the whole Flame Emperor thing happened you were there to listen to him.

Were it not for you, those voices in his head would've made him go insane so early. With all of the things he went through, your presence felt like a saving grace from the Goddess.

Felix, knowing how unhinged he is, warns you to not get too close to the boar prince. You brushed it off as Felix being rude as usual but that was your mistake.

You've became one of the people Dimitri care about. With everyone that he has lost, he can't even bear the thought of losing you. He wants to be with you. Or to be clearer, he's a fool in love for you.

But one day he hear Sylvain talking to you during training. He was ready to belittle Sylvain for disturbing you during time when he shouldn't but he can't help but eavesdrop a bit.

"So, (Y/N), you and your highness?"

"What? Sylvain, no! I only see him as a friend...."

"Then why are you so caring for him? Making sure he's okay and everything....Come on there has to be something."

"Because he saved my life and I intend to return the favour Sylvain! It's the least I can do."

Hearing this made him quite sad. You only saw him as a friend. A friend that saved your life. He wanted to be more than that! He wanted to be the one you love and cherish. To be the one by your side for as long as time allows it. Because you're the only one who can tame this beastful thoughts of his.

But he's not easily deterred. He will not give up until he has you. He will do whatever he can. He'll slowly spend more time with you, guilt tripping you a bit in the process. You wouldn't want to abandon him, right? Do you not feel grateful for the time he saved you?

He's even more protective of you in the battle. Dedue has been at his side but now he also has you. You try your best to help him and in turn he tries harder to protect you. Quite easy with his inhuman strength. Your kind-caring heart is no place for such a morbid atmosphere.

Your fellow Blue Lions are.....quite amused at his blatant crush. They'll try to tell you (Except Felix, he's the only correct one telling you to keep your distance) that he clearly has a thing for you but your answer remains the same, you only saw him as a friend. But soon enough, he'll change your mind.

"Thank you for staying by my side. I can't possibly imagine a life without you."

Post-TS below (Azure Moon spoilers)

Ah, this is where things gets more awry. With his sanity barely intact and the war going ablaze across Fódlan, he can't help but descend further. One of the thing that was still pounding some sense into him into staying alive was the fact you were possibly still out there. He won't believe you're dead until he saw your own rotting corpse.

But as the 5 years slowly goes by he can't help but think you're dead. Because he wasn't there for you. Too weak. Too late. Your voice haunts him. In his sleepless nights he kept muttering apologies to the ones that was dead, especially to you.

"Where were you Dimitri?"

"My path ended....because of her...

you know what you must do, don't you?"

"Avenge my death.....spill Edelgard's blood."

"Of course (Y/N), anything....for you...my beloved."

After the resurface of Professor Byleth he was hellbent on making Edelgard pay for your 'death'. Even if it's the last thing he does. But it all changed when all of his classmates reunited. He felt his dead heart twitch at the sight of you. Alive and well.

After disposing of the vermins that plagued the monastery, suffice to say he was quite scared to meet you again. He's a monster covered in blood but you were still ever the same caring person you were once was.

But you approached him anyway, worried about his well-being. He wanted to tell you to go away but he seems to be unable to say it. The words was stuck in his throat. He missed your benevolence so much.

He allowed you to continue as normal. Bringing him food, checking in on him. Honestly, Professor Byleth was grateful to have you around. The man won't budge at all from his sulkings but he seems to listen to you a bit. Even managing to drag him to the dining hall sometimes.

Back then he's afraid of showing his ruthless side but now he's basically putting it on display. His enemies crushed. Your assailants obliterated. He wanted to show you that he was capable of protecting you. Of course you were quite shocked at the display of his monstrous strength but it was war. And yet you can't help but feel sorry for the enemies who were unfortunate enough to cross his path.

But with time he slowly started to heal. After the death of Rodrigue, he becomes less bloodthirsty. Even more so with the return of Dedue (unless you didn't do the Duscur Paralogue). After finally taking down Edelgard, he can finally confess. And he won't take a no.

Courting after gruelling war isn't really the best time so he'll take it slow. Until the moment when he confessed, you will have no other choice but to accept. Even if you deny it.

You still saw him as a friend until today? What about those memories of you fighting together? The moments where you cared for him and when he protected you? Please just love him.

You better not love anyone else because they will end up dead somewhere. If you still reject, albeit with a different reason, he will still try.

Oh, it's because he's a royalty and you're a commoner? Fret not he's the King of Faerghus now, YOUR king. The people can't disobey him now.

Hm? You're from a small noble house? Then perfect! None will ask why he wants to marry you, it'll go smoothly.

Aside from that, the amount of PEER PRESSURE of people telling that you two does look good together is also one of the factor. Can't you see the king is in love with you? Surely you don't want to break his poor heart! He's been through a lot you know.

In the end, no matter what, you will end up marrying him. But he won't let you out of the castle ground at all. He's afraid that something might happen to you. At least you can still enjoy a fresh breath of air in the gardens even if there was some handpicked guards watching you.

You were his everything. You were his fuel to live on. He's not the very best with affection but he loved to hold you close to him. It gave him some reassurance that he didn't fail to save you. The Goddess gave him a second chance and he swore not to failed it.

"I'm glad you're here with me, my beloved."

[starlightsearches]

why is it always hux doesn’t treat his wife right so kylo falls for her and never kylo doesn’t treat his wife right so hux falls for her😔💔

Anon, you are so right. Here’s a little blurb for you, my friend 💖

Armitage Hux x GN Reader (no pronouns but I did add that the reader was wearing a dress because I’m a slut for ball gowns)

Warnings for: language, infidelity, mentions of possible spousal abuse, angst. Let me know what you think!

The night air is warm here. It sticks faintly to your skin, sometimes brushed away by the slight breeze that passes through the trees every few minutes, smelling faintly of salt and some kind of flower that you can’t quite place.

This is good for you: the peace that can be found in simple things. If you couldn’t have satisfaction, at least you could have fresh air on your skin. If you couldn’t have happiness, you’d make up for it in still, summer nights.

The garden exists in a kind of half-darkness—not a true night but different enough from the Supremacy, where the light never waxes or wanes. Nine moons orbit the planet, but you can only see three from where you stand, the others hidden from sight by the surrounding trees, or else set to rise at a later time.

Nine moons. It had been the general who told you that—a passing comment as you boarded the transport before your husband had arrived. You could hardly remember the planet’s name, let alone it’s most popular export, the importance it had to the Order, or any of the hundred other things Ren had told you in the weeks before your arrival here—but you remembered the moons.

You brush the idea away. It’s best not to give weight to thoughts like that; Ren’s pride could not take it, and if he caught you thinking about another man in any capacity . . .

You don’t think he would hurt you. He hadn’t so far, in almost a year of marriage, but you could not ignore the hint of roughness in how he handled you. As if he were only showing the barest kind of restraint as a message—not a threat that violence would happen, but that it could, if he deemed it necessary.

No such courtesy—if you could call it that—would be extended to the general for your indiscretions. Ren would kill him.

The possibility of that feels far away on a night like tonight, so you let yourself think about it for a little longer.

The breeze plays with the edge of your gown as the curve of the fourth moon peers over the tips of the trees. You should really be getting back to the party.

Heaving a sigh, you lift the hem of your dress, padding through the sparse grass of the garden floor, weaving in between the bushes and ducking under low branches; the only sound beside your footsteps is your own breathing. There’s no sign of life anywhere, now that you think of it, no glimpse of the candle-lit veranda or the gilt ballroom beyond flickering through the leaves.

You come to a halt in a copse of trees. It’s a dead end.

You could have sworn that you came this way. Although, you didn’t have to pay much attention to direction of your travels when the only destination in mind was away from here.

A trickle of fear slips down your spine, turning the warm night cooler. You had already spent too much time out here, and it’s not hard to guess how Ren might react if he was forced to come find you.

You turn on your heels, your sense of urgency heightened at the thought, but urgency gives way to panic when you collide with something in your path.

You look up with startled eyes, relaxing slightly when you realize that it’s only the general. He’s caught you by the shoulders, holding you steady with a hand on each arm—whether to make sure you don’t fall over or to keep you from knocking him to the ground, you’re not sure.

He looks stunning—a face made for the moonlight, carved from stone. It takes the air out of your lungs.

A faint blush dusts his cheeks, vague but visible, and he slides his hands off of you with some hesitation, the leather of his gloves dragging over your skin reluctantly and raising goosebumps in their wake.

“Your Highness, my apologies,” he offers you a stiff bow, stepping back slightly, and you wither. Even in total seclusion, he is nothing but a gentleman. Your thoughts from earlier resurface to mock you, but do your best to conceal the hurt.

“No need for that, general. You actually arrived just in time; I got lost on my way back to the party,” he makes no attempt to respond, so you gesture weakly to the sky, trying to fill the silence, “I was admiring the moons.”

He turns just as you do—four moons now solidly visible between the over-reaching branches of the trees. The back of his hand brushes against yours before he pulls away.

He clears his throat, stepping back towards the entrance to the path, offering you his arm, “shall we return to the party?”

You take his arm with a polite smile, wrapping your fingers around the sleeve of his suit jacket, walking in silence for a moment as he leads the way back through garden—on the correct path, this time.

“Did Ren send you to find me?” You interrupt the silence of your journey, curious how the general had known where to come looking for you.

“No,” he offers simply, “the Supreme Leader was . . . otherwise engaged.”

“Oh,” you sit with the odd feeling his answer produces, trying to find it’s source. Were you disappointed that Ren had not noticed your absence? Or thrilled that the general had? “I only ask because I can typically slip from these kinds of events, at least for a little while, without any notice. I was worried that I might have lost my touch.”

He hums noncommittally in response, but you suspect that there’s more would like to say. You can see the magnificent house, and the party within, between the gaps in the trees, your journey almost coming to an end. The general makes no attempt to carry on the conversation, and you worry your lip between your teeth. Maybe you’ve offended him.

“I won’t take it to heart, general; you notice everything,” you say with a lighthearted tone, hoping to assuage whatever wound you’ve created.

His pace stutters slightly, as if he might like to stop for a moment, but the movement is so infinitesimal you’re sure you wouldn’t have noticed it if you didn’t have him by the arm. His response is quiet compared to the sound of your footsteps, the hints of music weaving its way from the open doors and windows out over the garden.

“I notice you.”

The air punches from your lungs. Your lips part, body begging for new air, but you can’t get it back. He tenses against you, and you’re sure you have not misinterpreted his meaning.

“General, I-” you try to speak but the words fail, you’ve lost sight of everything but him, and your lack of focus leaves you vulnerable, your shoe catching on the uneven ground. Your body reacts before your mind can comprehend, your free arm reaching out in front of you, anticipating the inevitable fall.

It never comes—the general has caught you by the waist, pulling you close—your hand meets the collar of his suit jacket instead of the unforgiving ground. When you’re eyes find his, the words die on your lips. His grip doesn’t loosen.

You can see everything when you’re this close, every minuscule detail: the slight glimmer of his pale lashes as they brush against his cheeks, the soft smattering of grey in the green of his eyes, a freckle—darker than the others—just below the corner of his mouth. Your eyes linger there for a moment longer than the rest; what happens next feels like a natural progression.

You slide your arm up, over his shoulder, all the way around his neck before pulling him closer, pressing one kiss to his soft, pink lips, then another. And another.

Then he kisses you back.

His arms solid around your waist, bunching the fabric of your dress under his fingers, your heart plummets from your chest when he deepens the kiss with more intensity than you ever thought him capable. The general’s stoic exterior has come undone under your touch.

He kisses you, harder, deeper, your bodies connected at every point, every line. There will never be enough of him, enough of this. You’ll starve of it, once you go back to-

Shit. Back to Ren. Oh gods, what have you done?

The thought must hit the general at the same time—he tears himself away from you, breathing hard.

“We shouldn’t— I never knew—” He’s stumbling back before he can even get the words out, his expression pure agony, his voice harsh as he says, “this can never happen again.”

You’ve barely regained feeling in your limbs before he leaves you, walking swiftly towards the lights and the music and the chatter, away from you and the kiss that you might have mistaken for a dream had it not left you so empty. 

He disappears from view before you can cry out for him, and you are alone in the light of the moons.