#and the way they change with the seasons (so to speak)

[deareadersmanuscript]

I Can See You

Image: Pinterest

Paring: Bf!Spencer Reid x BAU!gf!Reader

Summary: Reader is the "new girl" at the BAU, and she thinks that her having a boyfriend is a bigger deal than it actually is. Aka Spencer being a simp for his hot new co-worker who just happens to be his girlfriend.

WC: 2.9 K

A/N: brief mentions of typical CM violence, mention of Spence getting shot at the end of season 9, one "fuck," suggestive content including talking about sex/sex positions but no actual smut, established relationship, secret relationship, female reader insert (but no Y/N) , slightly based on "I Can See You" (FTVTV) by Taylor Swift from Speak Now, Taylor's Version

You brush past me in the hallway, and you don’t think I, I, I can see ya, do ya? 

“Have you met the new girl? Is she nice? Why do I always ask if she’s nice?” Penelope asked, looking anxiously at Reid and JJ in the break room as they made their morning coffee. 

“She’s really nice,” JJ said. “And incredibly smart. Might give boy genius a run for his money.”

“I’ve lectured with her before in seminars,” Reid offered, taking a sip of his coffee, and giving Penelope a flatlined smile.

“So you’ve known her for a while?” Penelope interrogated, scrutinizing Reid for any sign that he knew more than he was letting on about the BAU’s newest agent.

“Just professionally,” Reid shrugged, a slight tint of red blossoming on his neck.

“I think Reid thinks she’s cute. At least he looked that way when she came to get her paperwork,” JJ teased, causing Reid to choke on his coffee.  

“What’s she like? Is she cool? Does she like to hang out? Does she dance? Would she want to go out for girls’ night? Does she like Doctor Who?” Penelope ranted. 

“I’d love a girls’ night that involves dancing and Doctor Who,” you said, walking into the room. “And you must be Penelope Garcia.”

“Eeep!” Penelope squeaked turning around and looking horrified. 

“It’s nice to meet you,” you said holding out your hand for a handshake. 

“It’s nice to meet you,” Penelope said, taking your hand in hers. “I’m sorry. Please don’t think I talk about people behind their backs. That’s not my intention.” 

“It’s all good,” you shook your head. “New people are always scary. It changes up the team dynamic.” 

Penelope and JJ started talking about planning the next girls’ night, but you were focused on making your cup of coffee to calm your nerves on your first day in the BAU. You brushed past Spencer slightly, reaching toward the cabinet above his right shoulder to get a mug. Unfortunately, the cabinet was almost empty, and the only reachable mugs were in the very back. You pawed at the bottom of the cabinet until you felt a strong presence behind you and the scrape of a wool cardigan against your skin. Spencer’s hand reached up into the cabinet and plucked a mug down, setting it on the countertop for you. You smiled at him gratefully, watching his eyes darken just slightly under your gaze. 

“Thanks,” you mumbled. 

He nodded. 

“Any time,” he said, his voice low and soft. 

You proceeded to prepare your coffee, taking a deep breath, and feeling shaky under your handsome coworker’s gaze. You had to get it together, especially in front of other people.  

“Well, I’m so glad to have you on the team, although I’m not glad to tell you that we have a big case, and it’s going to be pretty stupid scary, and I’m not looking forward to presenting it, but at least you’re going to Phoenix, and it will be warm there, so yay?” Penelope rambled. 

“Phoenix?” You asked. “That’s interesting because there are only 15 known serial killers from the state of Arizona, whereas California has the largest population of 147 known serial killers, Texas has 82 known serial killers, and Florida has 78.” 

“Really though, most states average between 15 and 30 known serial killers per state. And actually Vermont and North Dakota has the lowest number with only two serial killers per state,” Spencer added. 

“You know it’s really interesting because North Dakota has roughly 56,000 more people than Alaska, but Alaska has nine known serial killers,” you added. 

“Oh my God, JJ, you’re right. They are both freaky smart,” Penelope said. 

“I know. I told you she’d give boy genius a run for his money,” JJ said, walking towards the door of the break room. 

Penelope followed, but you and Spencer lingered behind, as he topped off his coffee mug. 

“Do you think I give you a run for your money?” You asked softly. 

“In more ways than you know,” said Spencer, slightly brushing his hand against yours as he left you in the break room. 

You struggled for breath, closing your eyes, sighing, trying to get your act together. It was pointless though. How could you help but have a crush on your incredibly handsome, incredibly intelligent, incredibly thoughtful coworker? You just hoped you could keep it under wraps. 

And we kept everything professional, but something’s changed. It’s something I, I like. 

You blamed it on Morgan. He was the one who brought up sex. Or maybe you should blame it on the sexual sadist who was decapitating women after having sex with them. Or maybe you should blame it on the fact that Spencer Reid unintentionally made you horny every second of every day. Maybe it was the purple shirt with the white polka dots. Maybe it was the glasses. Or those dark curls. Or the way he was sitting in the chair, his legs slightly spread, making you want to crawl in his lap… you was getting ahead of yourself. 

“I’ve had sex, Morgan. I just don’t feel the need to broadcast it every time it happens,” Spencer defended flatly.

You tried to calm your blood pressure, hoping that you weren’t turning red from thinking about your coworker having sex. Or more specifically, thinking about him naked.

“Yeah? What’s your ideal position? Missionary?” Morgan derided. 

“The efficacy of sexual positions is dependent upon the environment and the biological factors at play,” said Spencer. “So the ideal position is dependent upon my partner and our location.”

“You mean Spencer Reid has had sex that is not in a bed?” Morgan asked indignantly.

You choked on your coffee, your face turning red with embarrassment. 

“Okay, cool it Derek. You’re scaring the new girl,” JJ teased. 

“You’re not scaring me, I’m just… isn’t it uncomfortable to think about your coworkers having sex?” You asked, nervously fidgeting with your hair and giving Reid a side-glance. 

He looked frustrated, or like he might spontaneously combust at any second if one more person mentioned intercourse.   

“I mean, it’s kind of obvious we’ve all had sex. We’ve all had significant others. We don’t have to talk about it,” said JJ. 

“It’s not obvious about Reid. He’s never even lived with a girl. And other than Lila Archer, I’ve never seen him even kiss a girl,” said Morgan. “Besides, we can keep it professional.”

“Says the man who had a whole HR seminar written about his inappropriate conversations with our technical analyst,” Spencer said, standing up from the conference room table. “I’m going to go to the M.E. and get the report on the latest victim. Want to come with me?”

Spencer looked at you when he said it. You were a little surprised, a little embarrassed, a little nervous by the whole thing. You nodded though, gathering your phone and your bag.

“Sure, I’ll come with,” you said, quickly standing.

Spencer nodded and was already out the door, content to let you trail behind him. It was only when you got into the SUV that Spencer reached over the center console and picked up your hand, kissing your knuckles. 

“Spence,” you chided, laughter in your voice, “we’re at work.”

“For the record, my favorite position is missionary when we’re in our bed, it’s doggy when I have you bent over the kitchen counter, it’s standing up against the wall when I’ve come home after a long case, and it’s you riding me on my lap when we’re in the SUV at work,” said Spencer, pulling you in for a kiss. 

And it was perfect, like all his kisses were. The way he’d put hands on either side of your face, the way he drank from your lips like he had spent years without water. The way that he softly caressed your neck. The way his tongue prodded slightly against yours, making you shudder. You was lost in the moment until the sound of a short siren made you push him away. 

“We need to go to the M.E. You can’t be distracting me. We said we’d keep it professional,” you said, tucking some hair behind your ear, turning away from him, and sighing deeply. 

Spencer laughed, leaning over and kissing your cheek. 

“Well, you need to stop being so cute. Maybe I could resist better,” said Spencer, putting the SUV in reverse and pulling out of the precinct parking lot. 

“We said that we could do this. When Hotch offered me the job. We said that we could make it work. That no one would have to know,” you reminded him, keeping your eyes focused on the road so that you wouldn’t cave and try to pull him in for another kiss. 

“But why can’t people know? We’ve filled out all the appropriate paperwork with HR,” Spencer reasoned. 

“Because I don’t want people to think I got this job because of you,” you explained. 

Spencer frowned, but he didn’t argue. It was pointless anyway. You both knew it. So you rode the rest of the way to the M.E. in silence. 

I could see you in your suit and your necktie. Passed me a note saying, “Meet me tonight.” 

It was hard being in the FBI and being a woman. It was even harder when your boyfriend was the resident genius of the FBI. Your blood, sweat, and tears and hard work had brought you to the BAU. And sure you’d met Spencer at a FBI seminar, that had led to coffee and a long conversation about Charles Dickens, that had led to a dinner two days later where you got into an argument over alternative theories over who Jack the Ripper was. And that had led to a weekend Doctor Who binge where you kissed the first time after falling asleep on the couch and waking up at three a.m. And that had led to a romantic date at an Italian restaurant with candlelight. Which had led to another date day at the art museum where you held hands, and Spencer gave you his purple cashmere scarf. 

And because of you expertise in female serial killers, Spencer invited you to help him with a seminar he was teaching at the FBI academy. And you definitely had sex afterwards. And then you started spending the night at his place. And then you spent the night at his place so much that you moved in. And shortly after that Aaron Hotchner from the BAU had called and invited you to join the team after Agent Alex Blake had left. Spencer had just been shot, and you’d been nursing him back to health when you got the call. You’d had several long talks with your boyfriend, and a huge fight over how you needed to be protected and not him, and that had led to lovely makeup sex and a long conversation with Aaron Hotchner and Jack over dinner at your place. Which had led to you signing a mountain of paperwork for HR and starting your job the following week. Which brought you to the precinct in Phoenix, Arizona where you were currently rolling your shoulders. You’d been there for three days and had one new victim, and you were starting to think that you would never be able to figure out where or who the UnSub was. 

You made eye contact with Spencer, and you noticed that his fingers were twitching. You bit your lip, wondering if he was wishing he could massage your shoulders. He was so good at doing that, and you always appreciated it, laying face down on the bed, your back covered in massage oil, candles flickering in the bedroom, soft jazz playing on his record player… You were getting ahead of yourself again. And besides, you were at work. You stood, just to stretch and, walked over to his side at the murder board. 

“What are we missing?” You asked. “There’s gotta be a connection between the victims we’re not seeing. It’s not physical. It’s not career based. It’s not even age based, really…” 

“Blonde women in their late twenties is not very specific,” Spencer agreed. 

You felt his elbow bump yours, the scrape of his hand against your wrist, and the feeling of a hotel room key in your palm. You acted like nothing had happened, putting your hand — with the key — in your pocket. It was only later, when you’d gone to the bathroom, and the key fell out and clattered on the floor that you realized Spencer had written a note on the paper sleeve. 

Meet me tonight, scrawled in his scratchy penmanship. You tried to bite back a smile. You couldn’t wait to get back to the room.

Of course, the UnSub had other plans, but at least he finally showed his hand and made it possible for you to take him down. Since it was 2:00 a.m. when you’d finished up at the precinct with processing and gathering your paperwork, Hotch decided you all could wait until later in the morning to leave. You’d gather in the hotel lobby at nine for the flight back to Quantico. You walked to your hotel room like normal. Why wouldn’t you? But the closing of everyone’s room doors had barely finished echoing down the hall before you were out of your hotel room with your go bag and headed toward Spencer. 

Using the key, you entered, and you were barely in the room before he had you pushed against the wall, kissing you like a man possessed. It was something you were used to after long cases, when he hadn’t seen you for several days and then came home. But you weren’t used to it when you’d been with him for days on end. 

“I’m so in love with you,” he mumbled against your lips, and you almost laughed from the feeling of him and the absurdity of the statement. 

Of course you knew he loved you. And if anything, working together had proved that you were excellent partners. 

“I love you, honey,” you said for the one hundred millionth time, scratching at his chest through his suit shirt, pulling on his tie in between desperate kisses. 

“I can’t keep lying like this. I love you too much,” Spencer said in desperation as he removed your shirt. 

“We have to be professional, Spence,” you reasoned, throwing his tie on the floor. 

“Fuck professional,” he said, and then you were up in the air and he was leading you over to the bed, and all rational (and professional) thought left your brain entirely. 

I can see you. Oh, I can see you. 

“What are you doing?” Spencer mumbled in the quiet of the early morning light.

“Attempting to sneak out,” you whispered, although God knows why because you were still in his room, trying to yank on a pair of jeans you could wear for the plane ride home.

“Out of where?” Spencer asked.

“Your room,” you said. “What if someone sees us?” 

“Sweetheart, no one is going to see. We can walk down to the lobby together, and no one would think anything of it,” Spencer yawned, sitting up and turning on the light. 

“I’m not taking any chances,” you informed him, shoving your arms into a button down shirt and hastily buttoning it. “I’m going back to my room.”

Spencer groaned, getting out of bed and following you sleepily to the door. 

“Whatever, sweetheart,” he said. 

You opened the door, ready to leave, when Spencer grabbed you by the waist. He was only in his boxers, and with his messy bedhead he looked utterly incredible. If you’d been at home, he could’ve easily convinced you to stay in bed until time for the plane to take off. But instead you only melted a little when he gave you a soft kiss. Just enough that you practically pushed him in the floor when you heard a wolf whistle behind you. 

Spinning around, you found the whole team standing there, smirks plastered across their faces, paper cups of coffee in their hands. 

“Well, I wondered why neither one of you responded to the text about meeting for breakfast,” JJ said.

“Damn, pretty boy. I didn’t know you had it in you,” Morgan said.

“Just wait til Penelope hears about this. She might break the sound barrier,” JJ said.

“I knew you couldn’t keep it a secret,” Rossi laughed.

“I thought they’d at least make it longer than a week,” Hotch added. “Meet in the lobby in twenty, you two.”

“If they aren’t going to have a morning quickie,” Morgan laughed. “At least now I know who to direct my questions to about your bedroom activities, Reid.” 

“Oh shut up, Morgan,” JJ teased, slapping him on the arm. 

“My home is always available for weddings!” Rossi called. 

The team had disappeared down the hallway before you turned back around to face your boyfriend who was leaning against the doorway and biting back his smile. 

“Spencer!” You whined. 

“I didn’t know they would be out there,” he shrugged. “But I’m glad they were. Because now I don’t have to keep hiding how much I adore you.”

“But… but…” you stuttered. 

“But what?” He asked. “No one was upset. No one thinks any less of you. And now maybe Morgan will finally believe I’m not a virgin.” 

You pouted. “I can’t believe the one second I walk out the door happens to be the second they walked by. They would’ve never known!”

“Oh, they would’ve figured it out this morning,” Spencer shrugged, leading you back into the hotel room.

“How would they have figured it out?” You pouted, arms crossed. 

Spencer smirked. “Because that’s my shirt.”

[jarofstyles]

King Of The Jungle 2.0

Hello my lovebugs! Here we have it. The first section of rewrite for these two.

Now, I do want to preface this by saying these sections are smaller than the original parts, mostly for my sanity’s sake, but it will end up being longer with the added stuff and the next parts I am writing. I want to give it more time to go through, add more detail, make things more fluid, and ultimately make sure it’s more on par to our writing now. We originally wrote this in 2019 and put it up in 2020… 5 years ago, and if I think too hard about it I will feel ill, haha. But! The original King of the Jungle is still up and will continue to be up- but I wanted to bring this fic back to life. There will be changes but the main plot and subject matter of the scenes will be staying the same. Please let me know what you think!

Check out our Patreon for early access to our writing and 300+ exclusive writings and series, and 3x a week updates!

WC- 2.7k

Warnings- mention of parental death, mention of hunting, some angst but mostly curiosity, etc

The big noise that had hurt Harry’s ears had brought people. 

People that looked a lot like him. Five fingers with short nails, mostly naked body, soft looking hair that covered the tops of their heads. Dull teeth, sloped noses on somewhat flat faces. Front facing eyes and two legs.

It was… strange.

Harry hadn’t seen his own kind very often since his mother and father had been killed by the jaguar. The same jaguar he killed years later and used as a skin to keep himself warm in the rainy season, now. The revenge did little to soothe his young and fragile heart, the wound slowly patching up over time but never to be fully healed. It had been for survival, out of necessity, but he didn’t lie to himself and say he felt remorse. He loved the creatures he called his friends, the respect for those around him had grown along with him as the years had gone by. But the circle of life had been the hardest lesson to learn. 

In some situations, it was kill or be killed- and he would rather be the one on top. 

He had gotten extremely lucky, he was pretty certain. Being alone in the lush, dense rainforest, there wasn’t much a child his age could have done to survive on their own. After his parents had so violently been ripped from him, the reality had set in his little mind that he was completely and utterly alone- until he had been rescued in a way that he hadn’t seen coming. 

The troop of gorillas found him four days after the tragedy had taken place. The fruit harvested before the incident had been eaten by his protesting belly, the water drained from the flasks, Harry had laid in a ball as he tried to ignore the hunger pains in his belly and the headache that had formed when two curious young gorillas had found their way inside the treehouse. 

The scene had been, to the best of his ability, cleaned. The stains of blood still laid on the floor, the scent of death not far from where their bodies had dropped, but Harry had done everything in his power, like his father had tried to teach him, to be safe. 

In a strange way, he knew they weren’t a threat when they came in, and vice versa. Rolling over to face the young gorillas, his bottom lip wobbled as he tried to speak, but he wasn’t able to say much- though he knew they most likely wouldn’t fully understand him verbally- there was an understanding spiritually. It was as if his voice had been stolen along with his parent’s souls, but he hadn’t needed it with them. He was alone, and it was obvious they hadn’t expected to find any life in the dwelling built up in the trees- so they grunted and went to the door, waiting for him. 

Harry didn’t have much else to lose by following them.

 It was a blur after that, his beginnings with the troop. Learning how to survive. The animals were more empathetic than he had ever expected them to be. The head female— Mama, he called her in his head, had taken him in. It was something he would be thankful for as long as he lived. He was just a child with no real knowledge of survival, no real understanding of the world except from the fading memories of what his father had told him, so he was taught by the troop.

 Even with the inability to speak to one another verbally, he quickly understood through body language. Showing him things and letting him repeat them. Corrections were more physical than he had been used to. And as he grew older, the instincts kicked in. Learning how to tie the strongest knots, skin and hunt for himself, harvest the berries and fruits ripe for the taking. What animals to avoid. All of it. 

He protected their space. The troop stayed nearby, some even choosing to sleep in nests higher up in the very tree that held his dwelling. The territory had become his own, one he shared with them all. It had stayed that way, untouched and undisturbed from anything except an occasional leopard that tried its luck with one of Harry’s spears. 

Until now. 

Harry hadn’t ever seen someone that looked like him in the jungle up close until the past few days. Watching from the trees, a safe distance away, he saw a woman. It took him aback, really, because in a ray of the warm sunlight stood the most beautiful creature he had ever seen. He had felt a weird twinge in his body, a yearning that was completely unfamiliar to him. An odd warmth spreading from his chest to his groin, making him antsy. The beautiful woman had taken her time ambling down the trail, following the larger group but at a distance as she was obviously lost in her own head. She had coverings on. More than the cloth he wore around his waist, it was fitted to her body, wrapped around her legs and up to her waist- and then a covering up top that was close to her skin. That gave him a view of her that he hadn’t expected.

He wanted to see more. 

The feelings he had accrued had unsettled him at first, but he found himself wanting to feel more of it. Any other time he’d seen the people in the forest, he’d stayed away. Watched from a distance to ensure he and his found family were safe, spear in hand in case they got too close to him or his own camp.  

It was the first time he’d broken his promise to keep away from the strange people and gone to them.

 Only at night, under the cover of darkness had he gotten close enough to her sleeping place to see that she had curves on her soft looking body where he was hard and built. Her hair was tied up somehow, like how he tied vines. It had annoyed him because he’d wanted to touch it, but he didn't disturb her. The plan had always been to stay far, far away from anything that could be a threat- and he knew these people could be a threat.

Somehow, though, he was more curious than irritated at her presence. 

Different. He’d wanted to see more of her. Of their differences, similarities. 

However— he hadn’t expected her to be the one to find him first.

 His home wasn’t on their trail, perfectly camouflaged up In the trees and the path covered in vegetation. Vines hung around and kept it from being seen easily from the ground, like a hammock. His mother and father had built it and it was a steady foundation, climbing vines and a ladder he had reinforced many times. He watched from above as she walked around the large base of the tree looking slightly unsteady and took it all in, curious look her features as took it all in as her face flushed in surprise at the fact that the large winding wood wasn’t just a vine.

 It was a support for the house in the trees. 

His home wasn't large by any means but it was big enough for Harry to sleep comfortably with his old sleeping pad stuffed with old skins and dried leaves, keep watch from above and widdle wood. His fire was on the ground where he roasted meats when needed, his belongings stored up in the home. There wasn’t much that he had positions of. Animal hides he had tanned, a leaf stuffed pillow. Books that were faded and tattered from the repeated use and wear. His knives he had been using since he was left alone and other things he had found and made. Spears, a place to sit, a support for the pot his parents had managed to salvage to sit on over the fire- he didn’t need much else. The jungle provided what he needed. 

But now, the pretty creature was in his camp, closer than he’d ever experienced and he didn’t know what to do.

—

“I’m going to get some water from the river Papa, I won’t be long!” Y/N called out, pushing her braids behind her shoulders. 

“Please, be careful! Watch out for snakes... Keep your surroundings in mind. Please.” Her father begged and Y/N let out a small sigh. “Use your knife if you have to!”

“I promise. I’ll be fine.” 

The Y/L/N  family were a wealthy bunch. Funded by the Royal Wildlife Preservation Society, Y/N and her family have been traveling around to the rainforests and different terrain all over the world doing studies on several species of animals. 

She’d spent a few seasons on the Savanna, watching from a covered vehicle as lions prowled around so close she could almost touch them, naming them based off of their little differences she’d been able to find. She drew them in her journals, watercolor them when she had the time. The same went for the elephants, though it was mainly the young ones that got a wild hair and decided to investigate them before the hovering mothers called them back to them. Giraffes and Zebras kept their distance but it didn’t make their presence less magical to her. 

Her favorite experience, though, was getting to see a cheetah on the hunt. Getting to see its magnificent body nearly fly through the wild grasses to take down a wild hare, it had seemed like something out of her dreams. Violent, perhaps, but the circle of life. Seeing the fur hanging out of the wild cat’s maw, she couldn’t help but admire the strength and beauty of the animal as it settled close by the truck where they sat silently to watch it eat its meal. 

It was hard to comprehend how she’d gotten to do what she did, but Y/N was thankful for the fact that she was able to see such things. 

But now the gorillas were their main focus. Y/N’s favorite animal of all time, the ones that fascinated her the most. So intelligent, so strong. Similar to humans to a point that she had seen the way that they reacted to human children behind glass, and a mother grabbing her own to show the human her own. They were more intelligent than anyone even knew, including her, and she couldn’t wait to get closer to them.

 There was a specific band of gorillas that her family had been tracking for years, but she had never been able to go on those excursions because it was too dangerous and she was far too young. The rainforest was harder to navigate than the Savanna, harder to anticipate. More risks. Harder to find her if she wandered off. But now, as an adult, she was allowed to come. She’d been waiting for ages to be here, and she felt a thrum in her veins being able to walk around and feel free. The jungle was incredibly beautiful, full of life, and she couldn’t believe she had actually managed to get here.

 About three days ago, their team had set up in a secluded area, set up camp with fire and comfortable layout beds, though they had special zip up bedding to prevent any surprises. Apparently there had been an incident with a snake once, and no one was keen to repeat it. It wasn’t luxury, but it was far better than she’d expected when originally coming out.

 Y/N had tested her ability from a basket making class she had taken and weaved them an overhang for the sleeping area when she couldn’t sleep, making it from banana and coconut tree leaves to let the rain trickle off of their tents to keep them as dry as possible with the damp surroundings.

It was amazing out here. The cover of the trees, the trickling sound of the stream close by that eventually lulled her to sleep, it was a dream come true.

After three days, Y/N felt like she knew the area well after following the men around like a puppy, mentally mapping the trails and markers they set. She had a relatively good memory and trusted herself to keep to where the trail was, but it still surprised her father let her go on her own. 

He was protective in a sense, especially when it came to the jungle.

The trail had been marked by the footsteps of the team and little dots of spray paint on trees that would eventually wash away, Y/N stayed observant of her surroundings. It wasn’t lost on her that she was in the home of many creatures, a guest of theirs. It was her job to keep herself safe- But it was around noon and well, she felt rather safe and at peace as she took her time ambling about. Exploring where she could find when the sun was at its highest and leaking through the heavy leaf cover to give her some more warmth.

 The river was her favorite place to be, the water was clear and fresh coming off a specific rock and into a watering hole. Y/N was always careful around rivers, knowing it was most likely slippery, but she was still clumsy. The area surrounding it was wet, along with the leaves on the ground. It was harder to keep her balance off trail, and honestly? There were better options for her shoes, but it had been too exciting this morning when her father let her go off on her own- she hadn’t bothered changing out of the ones we usually had around camp. 

After her third near heart attack with slippery leaves, she had the brilliant idea of looking for a vine that she could use as leverage. Scavenging the surrounding area until she reached a rather large tree that had a vine hanging from it. There were plenty higher up, but this one in particular was almost touching the ground. Her saving grace. 

She tugged on it, thinking it would come off but to her surprise it was tied.

Looking up, she saw it. A… house? A structure. Surprisingly sturdy looking, snug in the middle of what had to be an ancient tree based on the width of the giant trunk. It was hard to get a proper look. 

It was probably a lookout of some sort. Did other groups have permission to be out here? Why hasn’t anyone mentioned it?

Y/N wasn’t much of a climber, so she didn’t bother to attempt to get up there at all. She wasn’t sure if she should call up. Considering she knew their group was the only authorized group to be out there, she wasn’t sure if she wanted to draw attention to herself. Who knows who was up there or… what? She didn’t want to disturb any animals on her own. 

Instead she put on her thinking cap, looking around to search for clues of civilization- and found them fairly quickly. There had been a place built for a fire with what seemed to be fairly new ash, some scraps of fruit and pits off to the side in a dug hole. 

Where could she find fruit for herself? A banana sounded so good right now.

What really sold it, though, was the wood shavings and sharpened bone. Which… was odd, but it led her to confirm what she already knew. It wasn’t hard to come to the conclusion she had a gut instinct about in the very beginning.

Someone was up there. Someone human. 

There wasn’t any abnormal noise, no movement from the tree house when she looked up at it, but she had goosebumps on her neck. That all too familiar feeling that had her shivering. 

Something was watching her.

[freakonaleash222]

thinking about how norman himself said daryl would be so shy and awkward during sex that he would prematurely ejaculate and wouldn’t want to talk/think about it afterwards and i like to think that merle’s stories of how sex was always rough and filthy and sloppy never sounded appealing to daryl. and when his shy, stolen kisses behind the barn start to linger and he wants to try sex with you for the first time, he’s so startled by how gentle and patient you are with him that he’s so overwhelmed just touching you that he comes in his jeans and can’t even look at you for a few days after but he so badly wants to try again and doesn’t even know how to ask like ugh early seasons daryl specifically would be sooo awkward but so endearing during intimate moments

TALK TO ME

daryl dixon x f!reader

summary: daryl and you start sneaking off behind the barn to make out, leading to something you didn’t think would happen with daryl

warnings: MDNI 18+, smut, implied sex, f!nger!ng, daryl cumming in pants, awkward daryl

You could easily tell that Daryl hadn’t got much experience with girls by the way he kisses you. Gentle, soft, wasn’t sure where to put his hands. Sometimes awkwardly at your waist, or in your hair - but he was always scared of hurting you.

You thought it was cute - how nervous he was around you.

The two of you hadn’t ever gotten past the kissing stage, just making out behind the barn until someone came looking for you, and then the two of you would part until the next day.

Until now,

His hands were in your hair, same as usual, gently tugging at it as his tongue slipped into your mouth, battling against yours as he pressed you up against the barn wall.

And then you felt it.

Pressed against your thigh.

Daryl was hard from making out with you.

You grinded against him, making him groan into the kiss as you rocked your hips against his, not daring to break the kiss between you two.

His hands dropped to your waist, gripping harder than usual as his rocks met yours, the two of your moaning and panting against each other.

And then they dropped lower.

You gasped as Daryl’s hands found your ass, squeezing it gently until he moved his hands to your thighs, gently parting them as he knee pressed against your core, making you whimper.

His hands lingered at the top of your panties, both of you waiting for him to make the next move.

“Can I?”

You nodded instantly, your hands grabbing his shoulders as his fingers dipped into your underwear, carefully running his fingers along your folds before diving two fingers inside of you.

Your breath hitched as your head fell backwards, letting him take control as he thrusted his fingers in and out of you, occasionally curling them into your walls.

His thumb circled your clit, making you whine, and your high already coming close.

“I’m gonna cum.” You whispered, receiving a nod from Daryl as he curled his fingers once more, causing your high to hit you as you came round his fingers.

Daryl’s face changed as he watched you cum, his eyebrows furrowing as he leant against the barn wall with his elbow, his face coming closer to yours as the two of you panted, and he let out a groan which you knew would embarrass him later.

“Did you just cum?” You didn’t mean for the question to sound as it did, you thought it was hot that he could cum from just fingering you, but he was clearly embarrased as his cheeks turned a dark scarlet, and he completely avoided eye contact with you.

A week goes by,

Daryl’s more awkward than ever; not even being able to look at you without physically cringing at the memories of your last interaction.

Every time you tried to speak to him, he’d tell you he was busy doing something, muttering stuff under his breath as he stormed away from you, his head turned downwards - glaring at the ground.

Finally, you managed to catch a moment with him where he couldn’t say he was busy.

While he was trying to sleep.

You didn’t mean to scare him, you were just desperate to talk to him. You unzipped his tent, not knowing how to warn him of your entry - with there being no door to knock on.

He shot upright from his make-shift bed, his eyes squinting, indicating him waking from a sleep.

“I-I didn’t mean to wake you up.” Suddenly you’d forgotten how to speak - the awkward tension was slowly eating away at your words.

“S’fine.” He grumbled, settling back down onto the bed once he realised you weren’t a walker trying to murder him.

“Look, about the other day..”

“Don’t gotta say anything ‘bout it.” He shrugged, turning onto his side to face the wall of the tent, still avoiding your eyesight.

“Daryl, it’s not a big deal.”

He scoffed, letting his head rest against the pillow as he practically pretended you weren’t there.

“I’m serious, Daryl, It’s..Can you just look at me please?” You cut yourself off, trying to get rid of the one-sided conversation by at least getting him to look at you.

He stifled a groan, twisting round onto his back as he propped himself up on his elbows to look at you. You smiled slightly, already feeling at ease as he finally met your eyes.

“It was hot.” You say casually, with a shrug. Daryl frowns, looking confused.

“You think it was hot?” He repeats

“Yeah, you came from just touching me. That’s hot.”

His cheeks blushed that familiar shade of red again, and his eyes glanced down at his lap before meeting yours again.

“Do you wanna..” His sentence trailed off, attempting to get you to finish it.

You grinned, shifting yourself closer to Daryl, “You wanna do it again?”

He tries to hide the smile appearing on his face as he nods, pulling you into an aggressive kiss, filled with regret from ignoring you and not speaking to you sooner.

[verityasian]

“Mine…”

>>>pairing: toxic!bf Rafe x toxic!gf reader

>>>warning: toxic, playful, possessive, and deeply co-dependent, unfortunately no smut

>>>summary: Rafe flirts with a girl to make you jealous since he loves seeing you angry.

A/N: inspired by Chuck and Blair in season 3 of GG iykyk. this is probably as close to smut as I can write🫣

Rafe saw you the second you walked into the room.

You always made an entrance even when you pretended not to. Even now, dressed like trouble in heels that were made to crush egos and a dress that clung like sin. But you didn’t look at him. You looked everywhere else, nursing your drink like the glass offended you.

So he played his card.

The girl at the bar was easy enough to pull in. Soft smile, basic flattery, the kind of desperation that mistook his silence for mystery. Rafe barely touched her. Just leaned in, slow and calculated. Just enough to let her fingers graze his bicep. Just enough to make sure you saw.

And you did.

You always did.

He felt your presence behind him before you even said a word. The temperature dropped. The air changed. You stepped between them, your body a wall of practiced elegance and venom. “Sweetheart,” you said to the girl, tone faux-kind, “do you always hang off men who aren’t yours or is tonight special?”

The girl blinked. “Excuse me?”

“I mean, it’s adorable. Really. Trying so hard with a man who hasn’t looked at you once.”

Rafe sipped his drink, watching the moment like a front row seat to his favorite show.

The girl stammered. “I didn’t—he said—“

You tilted your head. “He’s mine. But don’t worry, you���ll make a great pity post in a group chat.”

The girl’s face crumpled. She fled, heels clicking too fast across the floor.

Rafe didn’t move.

You turned to him, eyes still blazing, glossed lips —that Rafe loved to bite— turned down in a frown. “You enjoyed that.”

“Did I?” he said, smug. “Looked like you did.”

“You’re sick,” you snapped, breath short.

Rafe grinned, leaning down your height just enough that you smell the bourbon on his breath. “You’re worse. And I love it.”

You dragged him by the wrist out the side exit, not saying a word as you headed straight to his truck. He followed without hesitation, enjoying the way your nails dug into his skin far too much. The door slammed behind you both, and the second you turned to speak, he was already kissing you.

It wasn’t gentle.

It was teeth and tongue and tangled limbs across the bench seat. His hands in your hair. Yours fisting his button-up. You bit his lip; he growled into your mouth.

“She really thought she had a chance,” you muttered against his jaw, voice breathless.

“She was a pawn,” he drawled, lips trailing down your throat. “You’re the queen.” He kissed your pulse like a brand, his voice thick. “And I like when you get mean.”

You laughed—wild and giddy, drunk on jealousy and adrenaline and Rafe.

He pulled back just enough to look at you, hand still cradling your thigh. “I’d let you ruin me,” he murmured. “You know that, right?”

You smirked. “I already have.”

He kissed you again, deeper this time. Slower. His hands slides beneath your dress, mapping out your soft skin like he always does.

You let him. You move down his neck, glossed lips leaving tacky residue on his skin as you murmur,

“Let’s do that again…”

“pretty when you cry..”

“say sorry..”

[climbthemountain2020]

Feysand | Ao3 | One-Shot (for now)

After the second trial, the mating bond unexpectedly snaps for Rhys in the dungeons.

Happy Leo Season to my bestie @popjunkie42! I'm so glad we decided to be literally insane this spring and ask the question "What if we literally did something Feysand for every day of the first half of August like lunatics?" I love you, and I can't wait for our next trip to stare longingly into each other's eyes while sharing avocado toast again <3

I listened to him, let him keep me tethered to sanity as I was escorted back to my cell by the guards—who still kept their distance. Rhysand’s words echoed through my mind, holding me together. But when my cell door closed, he went silent, and I dropped to the floor and wept.

I’d cried for hours, nothing but the feel of the cold stone settling beneath my body to ground me, and even that did almost nothing anymore. The tears didn’t stop, not when my face was raw, my teeth chattering, my legs numb. They came in steady streams, cutting hot lines down my face and tracking into the hollow of my throat. I didn’t bother to wipe them away.

What did it matter? What did any of this matter?

My life was forfeit anyway. Amarantha had no idea how close she’d come to winning tonight—she had won. Tamlin had watched, eyes wide open and body unmoving, as Lucien and I were almost killed. Whatever part of me had thought that he just needed motivation—that certainly , if he worried enough for my life, he would come around—was dead in my chest. 

I supposed I shouldn’t have been surprised. Had anyone ever loved me? Put me first? If I’d been the one captured here, would anyone have ever come?

The cries strangled in my throat, a garbled sound coming out unbidden at the thought. 

Pathetic.

Still, I sunk my face into my hands, letting the grief consume me. I’d come here for him, and I’d die here for it. He couldn’t even be bothered to speak my name. The reasons I’d had for coming here seemed to evaporate, each straying just out of reach as I tried to grasp and hold them close. I thought I’d loved him. I laughed at myself harshly—it sounded threadbare. I didn’t know what love was. I wouldn’t have recognized love if it had taken my hand in its own.

I felt the moment the air changed, Rhysand’s presence so obvious to me even in the smothering dark. I didn’t want to run from it. I wanted to lean into the void—see how far and deep it went. See if it might swallow me whole and save us all the trouble.

“Go away.” I still muttered the words, but there was nothing behind them. They emerged flat and lifeless, falling onto the floor between us. I didn’t look at him.

“Now, now,” came his smug and chiding response, though I thought I sensed the slightest hesitation in his words. Perhaps it was my loss of common sense. It wouldn’t be the first time. 

“You’ve just won your second task, Feyre. There’s no need for tears.” 

I scoffed, but the sound felt hollow. Everything felt hollow. I didn’t want to spar with him, didn’t have the energy to send scathing comments his way. What better position was he than I? Sleeping in that monster’s bed each night. For the first time since I saw him in the Spring manor, it wasn’t hate I felt for him, but a splash of appalling pity. Surely, I’d hit rock bottom if I was commiserating with the pampered High Lord of Night.

In another life, I might have been disgusted. But in this one, I was just tired. I simply lay my temple to my knee and closed my eyes, the hot tears spilling down my leg. When he gripped my wrists, I didn’t fight him, didn’t even pull back. And when I felt his breath fan across my face, I let it happen, inhaling slowly. He smelled…warm. It was strange and lovely, jasmine and wine and something that smelled like the days when the winds would rip across the woods of my village.

It took me a moment to realize that he’d licked a tear from my face, a stripe of wet heat across my skin in the frigid cell. I pulled back, not quickly, and looked at him waiting with a smirk playing on his lips. But then, while my gaze settled into his, a piece fitting into a slot, it was as though he’d been punched. Twilight eyes wide and horrified, Rhysand’s hand gripped his chest. It was enough to make me straighten my spine.

“Rhysand…”

But then I felt it, something strange crawling up my chest, up my throat. The emotion choked me, horror and fear and confusion and…adoration? The feelings were strong, so violent that they whirled around inside me and took pieces of me with them. It rushed through my ribs, down my spine, clearing out parts of me and setting them down somewhere else. When my eyes met his, I somehow understood that the feelings weren’t my own. My exhale was sharp, and Rhysand looked stunned enough that the breath might have blown him over. He was still so close to me, the warmth of his body physical against my prickled skin. 

He looked wild, feral, his breath heaving as he scanned every inch of my face. Then, my chest caved inward. The air gasped into me, sawing back out as the pressure on my chest intensified to blinding levels. Had he been sent to kill me? Was this how it ended?

“What is—what’s happening?” But I didn’t get a response. “Are you here to kill me?” Even through the panic, I was struck by how tired my voice sounded. His brows furrowed, his movements twitchy and strange against the elegance he normally held. The twinkling darkness exploded around us as though he couldn’t control it anymore, and a strangled sound ripped out of Rhysand in the dark before it embraced us both, pulling and tugging and ripping the very fabric of me until the air changed around us.

My eyes opened, and I was no longer on the ground. Instead, I could feel fabric brushing against my skin, a murmur of lips against my hair as I came back into myself. It took me a moment to adjust, the low light of scattered sconces bathing this new room in a soft glow. A fire in the hearth. The smell of food in the air. The scratch of embroidery against my cold and dirty skin. Rhysand’s warm arms banded around me. Searing. Good.

Instinct told me to scramble away, that I shouldn’t be so close, but something in me felt so brutally settled, so intimately soothed, in his arms. The pain in my chest had dulled to a steady but quiet thrum, the feelings swirling in my mind back to being my own. I felt a curious sense of loss. Had he lost control of his magic? Had the bargain somehow pushed us together when he’d gotten close?

It didn’t matter, none of it did. 

It felt good to be held.

“Feyre.” My name was a whisper on his tongue speared directly into my veins. I’d never felt such startling clarity in a moment, such a strangely vivid feeling of being outside myself looking in. “Feyre,” he whispered again—a hymnal, a prayer. It was such a departure from our normal nature, but it didn’t feel wrong at all.

“What happened?”

He didn’t answer, his arms pulling tighter, my body easing into his. What did it mean that I didn’t want him to let me go? I hated him. I—

It was the first time I’d felt good in as long as I could remember. Oddly, the first time I’d felt safe. The notion was ridiculous.

Suddenly, we were moving, his body cradling mine as he stood, long, graceful legs carrying us across the room. A door opened, candles flickered to life, and the sound of water filled my ears. I wanted to ask why he was filling a bath for me—if he planned to drown me. If he wanted me dead, he could do it within my mind, save himself the wetted sleeves.

At the thought, he seemed to hold me tighter to him, arms strangling like vines around me—like he couldn’t pull me tightly enough. If he was going to end my life, at least I would know this comfort at the end. I thought, in all my days of hunting, I’d never seen a predator soothe their prey before consuming it whole. 

I could feel his lungs expanding beneath my cheek, chest pressed tight to my face. Could hear the pounding of his heart. I tried to sync my beats to his, focus on the warmth of him, the foreign but strangely settled feeling of being cared for. It was wrong, but I wanted the comfort of it. I craved it on some level that felt beyond consciousness, beyond sense. My muscles were coiled tight, something bordering painful still twisted around the bones of me, but it seemed to vibrate with every synced breath the two of us took.

He set me down gently, and my body screamed in protest at the distance. He reacted like he’d heard it, fingers lingering long past what was appropriate, holding on to touch an elbow, a shoulder, as though he couldn’t bear to let entirely go. What had happened to us? This was not my enemy, and somehow, that was more concerning than anything else.

When I lifted my gaze to look upon the male I’d have sworn just hours ago I hated, my breath caught along my throat in a jagged line, tearing out of me like I’d never seen him before. His hair was wild, an onyx halo around him, tufted up in places. Those eyes of indigo were wild, wide, open and without an inkling of the smugness I’d come to expect. In fact, every bit of him looked so honest and broken open, I almost swore I could see inside . 

There was a tug to him, a need to keep him close that I’d never felt before. Not with him, not with Isaac, not with Tamlin. Not with anyone. I felt as though I might scream if he wasn’t close, like if he left my sight for even a moment, the mountain might come crumbling around us.

“The bath. It’s for you.” His words were stunted, stuttered. For the first time since I’d met him, the High Lord seemed unsure. But I couldn’t think over the swell of emotions inside of me. I yearned to feel clean—the hot water and steam and oils so inviting I could nearly cry with the feeling. But the want to be close to him, to stay with him, seemed to override all else. He stepped back, and a whine crawled up my throat. The sound had hardly hit air, but Rhysand had frozen stock still in the doorway, his fae ears probably hearing it like a scream.

“Don’t go.” The words were out before I could stop them. I vacantly thought I might hate myself for it, but I needed him to stay. He had to stay.

He hesitated, eyes squeezed shut, pausing for just the smallest moment before turning back as though some quiet decision had been made. He took a step back towards me, fists clenching and unclenching again, skin white over the knuckles. He spun on his heel to face the door, his fingers tugging wildly through strands of inky black hair then settling in a death grip on the door frame. I could feel him coming undone, and it comforted me, oddly enough. 

“Undress, and get in.” It was a plea, spoken softly through gritted teeth. I moved, shuffling out of the rags on my body and letting them fall to the floor. I was embarrassed by the pile of them at my feet, nothing but horrid strands of cloth telling the story of what I’d seen since I arrived. I’m sure I didn’t look much better. There was a mirror back over the sink, but to see it, I’d have to walk past him. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to see myself that badly anyway.

Rhys was so still it felt otherworldly, unnatural. My eyes rested on his back while I leaned down to graze my fingers across the surface of the water, so warm that my skin pebbled in reactivity. I could feel the tightness of his chest, the tense hold of his shoulders. I knew without any explanation how hard he was holding back from looking. He wanted to see me, and I knew it with such a clarity that it felt like a thought of my own.

Who was the last to see me so bared? Tamlin? Something about the thought of him felt twisted, wrong. I had given Tamlin everything, and in return, he’d given me silence. Tamlin had no place here in this room, humid with steam and notes of tea like my father once brought back from the continent, heavy and spiced.

When my legs hit the water, I shuddered, the heat enveloping me. I wanted to wash the sweat and fear and crumbling stone from the dungeons off my skin. I wanted to scrub away the failure, the shortcomings, the humanity of me, until I felt nothing but the ache of raw skin. I sunk in until the lapping surface covered my chest, smoothing hands up and down my arms.

Still, Rhysand waited, preternaturally still, his back to me. I felt suddenly, achingly alone.

“You can turn around.” The words were a whispered permission, a quiet acquiesce. I wasn’t sure where this sudden change of heart had come from, perhaps the idea that we were both idiots caught in a trap here. Neither of us wanted to be here. At least he might survive.

I closed my eyes, laying my head back as my body floated beneath the bubbles. He was close to me, though he moved without sound. His presence was all-encompassing, consuming, that strange sparkling night of him comforting rather than frightening as it pulsed beside me, within me. 

He didn’t speak. There were no quiet remarks, sharp on his tongue—no prodding or poking to rile me up enough to respond. He simply sat by the tub, our thoughts loud and our bodies closer than ever. There was no fae wine to dull the sensations, to pull a curtain across these memories tomorrow. There was just him beside me, close enough to feel his breath.

When he moved, I felt it, the darkness ebbing and thrumming around us, and I cracked open my eyes. He offered out a muslin cloth to me over the water, no tricks on his face, no challenge offered. His fingers were inches from my skin, jaw tight, and eyes fixed so steadfastly on my face that I wondered if he thought he might turn to stone if his gaze strayed. But I wanted it to stray. Some part of me, some loud part, wanted him to see me. Wanted him to want me. I could feel that he did.

So, instead, I held his gaze in mine, turning my head slowly to the side and exposing my neck. It was quiet, more submission than I’d ever showed to him, perhaps to anyone, and the effect was immediate. His sharp intake of breath exploded in my own chest, the world collapsing in his eyes. Then, almost painfully slowly, he dipped the cloth beneath the water and drew it up softly to press against my neck.

His eyes focused on my skin and my eyes focused on him as he moved it softly, purposefully over me. He worked in silence, and I watched, the movements unhurried and reverential, steady and quiet, only our breathing and some unearthly tension coiled tighter than a spring between us. For once, I wasn’t focused on survival. For once, I remembered what it felt like to just exist. 

It was so strange to be cared for, the gentleness and comfort such a contrast not only against the life I’d been living, but from what I’d come to expect from him, too. He washed every exposed part of me, methodically dipping the cloth into the water in between. Only when he finished did his eyes meet mine again.

When I was out in the woods, hunting for food for my family, I would sometimes come home late just to see the night sky. Especially in winter, the sharpness of the stars stole my breath away. I could never explain it, the call that I felt when it was just me and the constellations and the wide open sky. But I felt it now.

Those galaxies in his eyes were blown open as Rhysand reached beneath the water and stayed there, his movements agonizingly slow as he brushed the cloth over my skin. I didn’t flinch, just gave him a nearly imperceptible nod when he hesitated. And then, I closed my eyes. 

The feeling that exploded across my ribs was something like humility, something like awe. There was no doubt in my mind that I was feeling him, either through the bargain or through some other means. And when I heard his voice, not in my ears but in my mind, whisper Feyre like a devotion, I thought nothing had ever sounded so beautiful.

There was nothing sexual about his touch, though it moved gently over my breasts, cleaned across my stomach and between my legs. But I wasn’t sure I’d ever felt so close to anyone. The feelings carried as he washed me in silence, the intimacy of it so overwhelming that I wasn’t sure when I’d begun to cry again. I noticed when he wiped a tear, with the tip of his finger this time, from the peak of my nose. Could he feel me too? Was there any way for him to know that, against all odds, these tears were the result of feeling safe? Of feeling true comfort?

It was over too soon, his throat clearing as my head lolled against the porcelain edge of the tub. 

“There are towels. Come out when you’re ready, and I’ll be there.” It was a voice I didn’t recognize on him, soft and low, quiet and lacking the unrelenting snark I’d grown accustomed to. It was both unfamiliar and, at the same time, a voice I felt I’d known all of my life. What had happened between us tonight? What had changed?

The door clicked quietly closed behind him, his footfalls silent as he moved away and a strong ache resounding in my chest as he did. I dipped my hair beneath the water, running my fingers through the knots patiently, though the water was cooling. I stepped out, my body already searching for the presence of his. The towels were soft, lush against my skin as I took my time, the gift of being clean one I’d never take for granted.

I wrapped the towel around me, no replacement clothes as mine still lay in dirty tatters on the floor. Instead, I crept from the bathroom, finding Rhysand sitting with his head in his hands on the side of the bed. It was as though he hadn’t heard me, didn’t notice me there, and for a moment, he looked more human than fae. His shoulders were hunched, curved inwards in a way I’d never seen. For his enormous stature, he looked…almost small. And a part of me ached so desperately to comfort him that I stepped forward.

His spine straightened as the floor creaked, eyes on me like an animal caught in a trap, then flashing to the towel. They were rimmed in red, and if I didn’t know better, I might have thought he’d been crying.

“There’s food. I brought food.” He gestured to the table where a bowl of stew sat. I hadn’t had anything warm in….how long had it even been? I wondered vacantly back to when I’d thought eating the food given to me by a fae would trap me forever. It hadn’t been true, and I was already trapped. Still, a very quiet voice in the back of my consciousness wondered if there was a reason accepting food from Rhysand felt different…right. I moved toward the table, only feet away from him as he ran a hand through wild hair. He grabbed at the pile of clothes folded beside him as though just remembering they existed. This was not the male I knew. 

“And new clothes for you. What I had and could find.” He held them out and I took them, new pants and underthings and a linen shirt that smelled like him.

“Why are you doing this?” I asked, and he turned away, scrubbing a hand over his mouth but not answering as I let the towel drop to put on the clothes. They were painfully soft, so gentle against my skin that I nearly cried. The smell of him was so heavy that my eyelids fluttered while I inhaled greedily, sliding into the seat and taking in the bowl and fresh bread in front of me. The first bite was like pure pleasure, the hearty broth warming yet another place inside me that hadn’t seen the sun in months. I relished it as it slid down my throat.

He hadn’t spoken, still stood with his back turned, so I tried a different way.

“Why do I want you so close to me?” Even though my words were quiet, I could tell they’d hit, his back stiffening as he turned. His face worked, jaw tensing and brow furrowed. He looked as though he wanted to say something, words ready and pressed just behind his lips, fighting and failing to break free. Instead, he crossed the space in two strides, pulling the opposite chair to sit in front of me, our knees nearly touching.

“Things will be different now.” As if I hadn’t known that. As if I could ever go back after tonight, after whatever I could feel pulsing between us.

“Tell me why.” It was a demand, but his shoulders dropped.

“I can’t,” he responded. Oddly, I believed him, detecting no lies in his words. I ate another spoonful, then another, my eyes on him. His gaze tracked the movement of my throat as I swallowed. 

“You’re different,” I observed aloud after a moment, though the silence between us was not uncomfortable.

There was a whisper of a smirk on his lips, plush and perfect despite the anguish written into the lines of the rest of his face. With a small shrug of a single shoulder, he let those twilight eyes meet mine again. 

“Everything’s changed.” There was an apology in his eyes, something broken there, fractured. I felt it, too, rattling in my chest like something had clattered loose and was falling, falling, falling. Unable to be put back in place ever again. But he was right, and I could feel it: Everything was changed.

“Rhysand…” I whispered, a question, but something else, too. Something like an understanding.

“Please call me Rhys,” he responded, that quiet voice fluttering through me lightly like the wings of a moth, soft and gentle and so unlike him. And yet…so undeniably Rhysand. 

Rhys.

I finished my soup in silence, then after a few moments, he stood slowly, like he was holding the weight of the entire mountain upon his back.

“I have to bring you back.” I’d never heard a voice filled with such regret, such sorrow. I just nodded, standing and holding my hand out for his. I wanted him to take it, wanted to feel his calloused fingers against mine. The magical air between us felt as flimsy as a cloud, like any sudden movement would break it, and it would be like tonight had never happened at all. But when he took my hand, it was steady, strong. I could feel his heartbeat in his fingers, matching pace with mine. It was an olive branch, a promise, something that neither of us really had the words to explain. But it whispered that tonight had happened, it had been real.

I expected the winnow straight away, but was surprised when he pulled me to his chest again instead. The weight of him was grounding, the warmth and smell and sturdiness of his chest against me and his arms on my back so poignant that it stole the breath from my lungs. The feelings swimming in my chest told me that it wasn’t just me, and when my arms closed behind his back, his body slumped in relief against mine. It felt natural—it felt like home.

“I am so, so sorry, Feyre.” The words landed like blows, one after the other, as his head rested on mine. I didn’t respond. I didn’t know how to. “But I promise you, I will do everything I can to get you out of here alive.” I felt the press of his lips against my temple, and for just a moment, I imagined them pressed to my mouth.

No one had promised me help. No one had dared to hope for it, let alone speak it. It was a support, a hand in the dark. It was something like trust.

Before I could respond, we were tumbling through that familiar and comforting dark, the rush of a roaring river and the salty wind of the sea barreling around us before the stagnant, humid cold of the dungeons surrounded us once more. Tears were already prickling my eyes when I stepped back and turned away. I didn’t want to shatter the magic, didn’t want him to see. 

I didn’t have to worry. The second I stepped back, he was gone. The emptiness of my cell was exactly how I remembered, cold and dark and fathomless. Full of nothing but my own suffocating sense of loss. Except, now, there was a spark. Something quiet and softly blooming in my chest that hadn’t been there before. Something like hope.

I stepped back to find my pallet, easing myself down and almost jumping in shock to find a fully stuffed mattress beneath my hands. I looked down and saw only straw. Still, I knew what I felt, my hand passing oddly through the material. I felt blindly around what my eyes told me was coarse hay, only to feel plush down and blankets that I couldn’t see. In looking down, I noticed my clothes too, back to the rags I was so familiar with, riddled with holes and grime and blood and tears. But on my skin, they were still the soft muslin of Rhys’s shirt. I could still smell the spice and the sea.

I laid down on the bed, pulling the invisible blanket, soft as a lamb, over my shoulder and closing my eyes. I nearly jumped when I heard his voice in my mind.

Sleep, Feyre. The guards won’t be bothering you anymore.

My heart thudded with the presence of him, the urge to thank him writhing inside me. I wonder if he could hear me, too.

The pulse of the bargain was bright and strong inside my chest, stirring and swirling with the beats of my heart, echoing strangely as though another pulse joined them, too.

Rhys…

I thought the name, and the light inside me flared.

[bm571158]

Burnout- MV1

Part One Part Two Part Three Part Four Part Five

Part Six Part Seven Part Eight Part Nine Part Ten

Part Eleven Part Twelve Part Thirteen🔥

Part Fourteen🔥 Part Fifteen

Tag list: @littlewhiterose @dontsupressthejess @idontknow0704 @vinylphwoar @katyniss

'The Breaking Point'

By the time they landed in Qatar for the second race of the triple header, the bruise was just starting to fade on Talia's wrist. It didn't stop Max looking at it and being reminded of how angry he was though, the idea of some drunk guy with his hands all over Talia made him bristle with anger just thinking about it.

He'd tried so many times to ask her about it, and she just kept changing the subject or telling him that it was fine and that he needed to move on.

Given that he'd already sealed the deal on the drivers championship and it was mathematically impossible for Red Bull to win the constructors Max had assumed he was in for a fairly peaceful end to the season.

But the team were still desperate to work out what issues were plaguing the car. Didn't want to finish the season without having some kind of grip on it. The conversations around Checo's future with the team had intensified again, and weren't sounding in any way positive.

All of it had rather taken the shine off Max's moment of triumph in Vegas. It felt like a lifetime ago already.

Then, just to make it even worse, Talia was busy filming and Leo was there was well. Much to his relief Max had avoided him so far, but that was more because he kept turning off to escape him every time he saw him. He definitely didn't have it in him to be civil with Leo on top of everything else.

It was after sprint qualifying that Max ran into him. He'd just finished with media, heading back towards the Red Bull hospitality for a strategy meeting. His suit tied around his waist, the sun low in the sky but the heat still stifling.

As he rounded the corner with the sun in his eyes, Max didn't spot Leo standing there until it was too late to turn around. Would've been too obvious why he'd turned to go back the opposite way. So Max forced a polite smile and tried to walk by quickly enough that Leo wouldn't feel the need to try to speak to him.

"Vegas was wild, huh?" Leo called. "Thanks for the party invite. I had a great night."

Max stopped in his tracks, turning back to look at him, jaw clenched. "You were there? I think you know you weren't invited."

"Surprised Talia didn't tell you." Leo smirked. "Trouble in paradise already mate? She's a handful that one. Feisty."

It took less than a second for Max to connect the dots in his mind. Fists clenched by his side, he saw red.

"You lay a fucking finger on her ever again and I swear you'll regret it." Max hissed, stalking over to Leo and shoving him back roughly against the wall.

"I've had my hands all over her all day mate." Leo smirked. "I get paid for it too."

Max shoved him back against the wall again as he straightened up.

"You really want to do this here, Verstappen?" Leo asked, nodding towards a couple of people who'd turned to look at the pair of them.

Max couldn't have cared any less who was watching.

"You think I give a shit who's watching?" Max snapped. "I meant what I said. You lay a finger on her ever again and I'll-"

"Max!" GP's voice cut through the paddock, just as Max raised his fist. His engineer running over just in time to grab Max. "Hey, hey! Let him go."

Leo was red in the face, but smirking, as GP dragged Max further away.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" GP asked, keeping a grip on Max like he was afraid he might go for Leo again if he let go of him.

Max didn't answer. His hands shaking, fists still balled at his sides. He couldn't remember the last time he'd been quite so angry. All he could see was the look on Talia's face when she'd come back to the booth, the rip in her dress and the bruise on her wrist.

Leo stood up straighter, smoothing out his jacket. "You're really falling for her, huh? Cute."

Max tensed again, and GP was quick to start dragging him back in the direction of Red Bull.

"Come on. Let's go." GP ordered, dragging Max with him. "Whatever this is about, he's not worth it.

🎥.

Talia stood drumming her fingers against her leg as she waited for the film crew to sort themselves out. They were running late, should've been finished hours ago and as a result she'd missed sprint qualifying while she was waiting to them to finish adjusting lighting and making minor adjustments to the shots.

She was still waiting for them to sort themselves out when Leo arrived on the set out of the corner of her eye, and she turned a way a little as if having him out of her line of sight meant that she didn't have to deal with him.

"I'm telling you the guy is an absolute nutter, completely unhinged. Just grabbed me and slammed me into the wall like some kind of cage fighter." Leo told everyone. "Someone had to come and pull him off me!"

The crew mumbled awkwardly, Netflix pushed their mic in a bit closer, suddenly looking intrigued.

"I know they call him Mad Max. Temper issues and everyone knows it. We should be worried about Talia. The guy absolutely loses it when he doesn't get his way. If I hadn't kept my cool it would've turned into a full on brawl." Leo continued.

Talia's stomach twisted as she looked round and met Leo's eye. He had a smile on his face, like whatever game he thought he was playing he was pretty sure he was winning. Like turning Max into the villain was the only goal.

"I don't understand. Why was he even talking to you in the first place?" One of the crew asked, looking puzzled.

Leo gave a dramatic sigh. "Who knows? I asked him if he'd seen Talia and the guy just lost it. Guess he doesn't trust her? Maybe he's compensating for something!"

A few people laughed nervously, no one questioned him. Talia took a step back, her stomach twisting with guilt. Leo was lying, but she was just as bad because she was letting him. The fear of what he could do to her, her career and whatever was going on with her and Max enough to keep her silent. And as Leo looked up at her with a smirk she realised he knew that all too well.

It was late by the time the filming wrapped up. Talia left wondering how many different angles they could possibly film something from before there wasn't a single new angle left.

But as she slipped away having finally got changed back into her normal clothes she heard a voice behind her.

"Talia."

His voice actually made her skin crawl, and she turned to face him reluctantly, keeping as much distance between them as she could.

"What do you want, Leo?" Her voice was low, guarded.

"You're not very apologetic for someone who's fake boyfriend just threatened to strangle me."

"He's not my fake boyfriend." She said calmly. "And whatever he may or may not have threatened to do, I'm sure you more than deserved it."

"Did I?" Leo asked. "Because no one else seems to think so. Give it half an hour I think he'll be coming to give me the apology he owes me."

"I wouldn't hold your breath on that." Talia muttered, because she couldn't imagine Max apologising to Leo for anything, in any lifetime.

"You're all just part of an act to him, don't forget that." Leo continued. "The second he doesn't need you to save face anymore he'll forget you ever even existed."

She didn't answer him, couldn't. The words hitting far too close to home, to the part of her that sometimes laid in bed with Max's arms wrapped around her wondering exactly how much of this was real and how much of it was just some kind of performance that they'd fallen into.

"Because at the end of the day Talia, you're just some dirty little slut dancing around on stage and enjoying having everyone's eyes on you. What would someone like that ever want with someone like you?"

Leo stepped back without another word, a satisfied smile on his face. He knew from her expression that he'd planted the seed of doubt, made her question Max just a little.

🎥.

Talia made a beeline for Red Bull without even thinking about where she was going. She wiped her eyes on the back of her hand, ducking past the red bull staff who tried to greet her. She needed Max. She needed the Max who held her hand when the cameras weren't looking. The Max who laughed and taught her how to sim race. The Max that had bought a blanket that he now kept on his sofa specifically because he knew she always got cold.

But as she reached the corridor that led towards the drivers rooms and offices she stopped dead at the sound of voices. Christian, Jos and Max clearly in the middle of something.

"It's not about her." Max said sharply. "I didn't lose control because I was thinking about her. I nearly hit him because he's an annoying asshole and he deserves it."

Christians voice followed, tight and exhausted. "You nearly hit him Max, in full view of all the press in the paddock. That's not nothing."

"I don't fucking care about him." Max snapped back. "He got in my face."

"Because of her." Jos chimed in. "I told you having her around was going to be bad news."

There was a beat of silence. "It's all fake anyway, isn't it? This whole fucking thing. I only did it because you were on at me to do something to divert the attention away from the fact that this fucking team is falling apart at the seams. So I did what you wanted- got the pretty pop star on my arm to distract everyone and give them all something else to talk about. She's not the reason I'm not doing well. The car is shit and the team doesn't seem to know what they're doing. That's why. I couldn't give less of a shit about what Talia is doing, I'm here to race and that is it."

Talia stood rooted to the spot around the corner. She couldn't move. She couldn't breathe. The words settled like a knife to her chest. The same Max that had kissed her when he won his world championship, the Max that had worshipped her body in their hotel room in vegas... it really was all just a business arrangement to him.

Another man who was just trying to use her to get what he needed.

She backed away slowly, silently, before anyone noticed that she was there.

🎥.

It was late by the time Max made it out of the strategy meeting. It hadn't helped that he was late getting there because his Dad and Christian just would not let the incident with Leo go. By the time they'd finished pouring over all the options for the sprint and qualifying it was dark outside.

He stepped out into the almost deserted hospitality looking around in confusion when he didn't spot Talia. They'd made arrangements that morning for her to meet him there when she was done so he could drive the two of them back to the hotel, but she was nowhere to be seen.

"Have you seen Talia?" He stopped a member of the social media team as they walked by.

"She left maybe an hour, hour and a half ago?" She offered. "Said she wasn't feeling well and she really didn't look great. I guess she was going back to the hotel."

"Alright, thanks." He mumbled, pulling out his phone to try and call her as he set off quickly through the paddock to get back to the car.

It went to voicemail.

"Hey it's me. I was just checking if you were okay, someone said you weren't feeling well and I just wondered if you wanted me to get you anything on the way back? Let me know. I'll be back in like fifteen or twenty minutes I think."

She didn't call him back, or text him to say she'd got the message or wanted anything, but he stopped off anyway and picked up some painkillers and her favourite kind of soup just incase.

When he made it back to the hotel the room was dark, the air con humming the only thing breaking the silence.

Talia was already in bed, curled up on her side. The soft glow of the city lights beyond the window illuminating her a little.

Max kicked off his shoes, padding across the carpet towards her.

"Hey, how you feeling?" He asked softly.

She didn't turn around, didn't move. "Just tired, got a head ache. Long day." She mumbled.

Max paused. Something about her voice was off, not cold but quietly removed. Like a door had been closed that he hadn't known existed.

"You should've said, I could've driven you back." He said.

"I didn't want to wait around." She said simply.

He frowned at the way she brushed him off. He'd never known her so cold and disinterested.

"Okay, well I brought you some soup if you're hungry and there's some painkillers in the bag. I didn't know if you'd eaten or whatever." He told her, setting it down on the table. "I'm going to go and shower."

When he came back he changed in silence, slipped into bed beside her, the bed sheets cool against his skin. The distance between them felt wrong, unfamiliar. He'd got so used to her curling into his side in bed every night that the distance between them as she lay unmoving felt as vast as an ocean.

So almost instinctively he reached for her. Let his hand fall on to her hip, his arm around her middle pulling her back towards him.

And that was when she moved. It wasn't sharp or dramatic. Just a slow, wordless shift, sliding out of his grasp and further towards the edge of the bed.

Max blinked at the back of her head, hurt and confused.

"Talia?"

"Just go to sleep, Max." She said quietly .

He stared at the ceiling for a long time, trying to work out what had changed, because it was clear that something had. He just didn't know what, didn't know how to make it right.

[writing-by-me]

The Dream of The Endless Series

PROLOGUE

PART ONE _ AS THE DARKNESS FELL

PARTE TWO _ THE ONE WHO NEVER DREAMED (coming soon)

Summary: The one with whom the Dream of The Endless had his vision, a few hours after leaving a party from which you were exhausted, your whole life changes in a split.

warnings: violence? mentions of alcohol

-You p.o.v-

1665, Castle Combe - Wiltshire, England

The lords' parties could be more interesting if it weren't for the drunken men with their inflated confidence for stupid flirts; this party in particular, the meeting of the dukes with their subordinates to celebrate the start of the hunting season, all of them with their large barrels of beer, it simply goes beyond the meaning of 'exhausting' and 'disgusting'.

So, when you realize that they were all too drunk to notice your absence, you started to weave through the guests, the hot breath of beer from the 'gentlemen' passing by you made your nose twist in disgust. Looking ahead, there is the exit, you are about to leave when the Commander Henry Windsor/your father appears in front of you, arms crossed at his chest, looking at you with that scolding gaze.

"What is this beautiful young woman doing, sneaking away so stealthily from a celebration like this?" You press your lips together in a thin line to stifle a laugh, his tone is playful, likely an effect of the beer considering his flushed cheeks, he is not drunk like the others but he is not completely sober either.

"This beautiful young woman plans to sneak away quietly to her quarters" he opens his mouth to protest with that hint of concern always present in his gaze, but you seem to cut him "Father, I've spent the last few hours enduring hunting stories that were supposed to impress me, coming from the stinky mouths of supposed lords who can't even count their own fingers due to how drunk they are... Please, grant permission for your beloved daughter to withdraw." You put on your sweetest smile, hoping that if the unplanned speech doesn't work, this might convince him.

"Lady Y/n Mindsor, this is the most important celebration of the year." Oh no... The serious tone "Rich families have come, and you, as the daughter of the commander of Wiltshire's royal troop, need to be here... But I suppose you need to rest, since you will have to get up early by the morning." He clears his throat, adjusting his leather gloves. The smile you gave him, for that smile he would find any necessary excuse for your absence, amidst so many things that felt like burdens on his shoulders, that smile from his little girl always made the difficult seem easy, he couldn't help but smile back with that conspiratorial look.

"Thank you, father." With a subtle bow and the smile still on your face, after he steps aside, you finally exit the tent, and the cold night air greets you like a gentle hug. "Good night." You wave as you look back over your shoulder and continue on your way to your beloved and longed-for quarters.

Being alone often sounded like a gift to you, enjoying your own company and loving the way you were the only one capable of fully understanding yourself. So for now, at the party, being alone in your little corner made you feel like being underwater with your ears submerged but still being able to breathe, a silencer.

A few hours later...

From side to side, on your stomach or on your back, you seem to be in a fight with sleep that refuses to show up, even with your long, warm, long-sleeved nightgown, even without the tight hair accessories, even being ridiculously comfortable in your bed, not a wink of sleep.

The party on the other hand...

God, how are they managing to stand? Maybe they're not, maybe they're sprawled over the tables or on top of each other, but they managed to speak louder than the instruments playing.

At least until the night got darker through your window, you noticed the shadows covering the brick blocks on the walls as the candlelight grew brighter, a sudden chill ran down your skin even under the blankets, it was then that the music stopped and the screams began, shrill and terrified.

Father.

It was your first thought. You didn't hesitate to run out of the room as you grabbed your sword by the door, you could feel the beats of your own heart with every step you took down and the screams growing louder. As your bare feet touched the grass, everything went quiet, there were no more screams, you might have thought you were hallucinating if it weren't for the blood... So much blood.

No...

Swallowing dry with the sword raised, each step with extreme care, you seem to be expecting a probable attack from any direction, with teary eyes everything seemed blurry but the white fabric walls now painted red were quite harmful. Upon entering the tent, each step became a careful deviation to avoid stepping on a body.

Your stomach churns, not from disgust, but fear.

A mixed relief with a growing dread radiates with every gasp of air upon seeing that the next body wasn’t your father. Your trembling fingers grip the sword, behind the sound of your own heartbeat and the crackling of the torches, the sound of quick footsteps around the tent makes you look in all directions.

"Y/n..." A hoarse, faint whisper. You immediately turn towards the voice and feel the air leave your lungs as you approach, slumped between two tables is your father, almost completely covered in blood.

For a moment you thought he was someone else, long claw cuts mark his face, his right eye had been pierced and blood completely covered it.

"Father" Your voice comes out lower than you wanted, it fails like your own legs as you kneel beside him "No... No,no,no" Maybe desperate denial could make this scene go away as your trembling hands stretch to his face, hesitant between touching and not touching.

This is a nightmare, please, let it be a nightmare...

You close your eyes tightly, hoping that when you open them again, it is dawning on the walls of your room and none of this has ever happened.

"Be brave... M-my little girl" Henry choked on his own blood, searching for your face with his flawed hands, you leaned into the icy, wet touch, your eyes widen and your brows furrow at the sight of black veins spreading from the cuts to all over his face, like something rotten and toxic. His touch is trembling, and, in an instant, it was gone.

It was simply gone.

No, it can't be, he was fine a few hours ago, everyone was fine. I told him goodnight... I...

The feeling of the knot forming in your throat, when the tears seem to burn as much as the suffocating scream that you are containing inside it is like a punch in the ribs, a dagger that has cut too deep and taken out all air...

The darkness once again, the same darkness that had covered your quarters now wanders around the tent, extinguishing torch by torch as its shadow moves, and as if they were the last source of warmth in the world, everything turns so cold.

A shiver runs through your entire body as a low growl grows louder and louder, your instincts urge you to stay still, a strong and malevolent presence seems to crush you.

Slowly you turn, and there, at the entrance of the tent is the thing, even without light you can see the formless shape formed of dense darkness, with large, bright white eyes cold as if they were beckoning you to death.

Be brave...

Maybe you can cry for your father if you survive this, but now, limiting yourself to short gasps of air, you rise up holding your sword firmly and without taking your eyes off the thing, you adjust your posture, there is still fear, but for you if you are going to die it should be fulfilling your father's last words, being brave.

"Come".

@deniixlovezelda @iamempty13 @therealmhs @vavafaure1994

[redvexillum]

A/N: You thought I was going to leave Sunshine and Vox unresolved after that fiasco? Nah, nah, naw. This is a direct sequel to the story Second Place in Hell. As always, @safination this is for you.

Summary: One last date, one chance to decide if your tangled love with Vox can survive the complicated ties that bind him to Valentino. Under the bright lights of the carnival and the hum of tension, passion and loyalty collide in a night that will change everything. Will your hearts find a way forward, or will the shadows pull you apart?

Tags/Warnings: f!reader, established relationship, break up/make up, oral (f!receiving), oral (m!receiving), p in v, fluff, smut

My Sweet Sunshine Masterlist

You lay upside down on your velvet-soft couch, head dangling over the edge as the seventy-second season of Yeah, I Fucked Your Sister, So What? flickered on the oversized screen. The visuals passed by in a blur, the voices blending into static as your gaze stared through the ceiling.

All this wealth, all this comfort, came from Vox—your former boss, your ex-lover, your mistake. When the two of you got involved, he started showering you with gifts dressed up as company perks, bonuses that made it laughably easy to live in luxury for lifetimes without working another day. Even now, after you told him you were done, after you officially quit, the paychecks kept coming. Regular as ever.

You tried to cut ties. You called accounting. You begged, you demanded, you even threatened to send the checks back. But they always hung up on you, like they were under orders not to speak. So you stopped trying. Let him throw money at a ghost. You told yourself it didn’t matter.

But it did.

Because you still hadn’t thrown away a single thing he gave you. Not even the hundred blue roses he gave you that night. They were arranged in their tall glass vase, perched by your bedroom window like a shrine to something you couldn’t name. One by one, the petals began to curl, to brown, to fall. Every day, the flower got smaller, and you thought, maybe even hoped, that your sadness would fade along with it.

But it didn’t.

The grief stayed as loud and aching as the moment you walked away.

You hadn’t left your apartment in two weeks. The same set of pajamas clung to your body like a second skin. Takeout boxes crowded your kitchen counters. Your hair was a tangled mess. Once, you noticed orange crumbs on your cheek when you looked in the mirror; these were chips you didn't even remember eating. The show had been on a 24-hour loop, reruns rolling one into the next while you barely registered the plot.

Then the logo appeared again, sweeping across the screen in bright, obnoxious colours. Your throat tightened. And just like that, the tears came. 

Again.

You cried the ugly, broken sobs that wracked your body and soaked the couch cushions.

It felt so stupid. You had told yourself a thousand times that you were finished. That he wasn’t good for you. That you had to leave. But none of that made it hurt less. None of that made you miss him any less.

Because when he held you, when he looked at you like he was trying to memorize your soul, it felt real. Even if it was temporary. Even if it was always destined to fall apart.

Yet, a small part of you believed that he meant it in his own way.

You gritted your teeth, dragging your hands over your face to scrub away the tears. No. He was a selfish bastard. He had a choice, and he never picked you. You were done chasing scraps of affection from someone who only knew how to love halfway.

You deserved more. You would find more.

Just… not today.

Today, you would let yourself mourn a little longer. You would eat more junk food, cry over more reruns, and sit among the dying roses like a queen in a crumbling palace of memory. The pain hadn’t left, but neither had your will to survive it.

When the last flower petal fall, you might be ready to stand up again.

“Vox,” Velvette snapped, her voice sharp like glass against stone.

He barely flinched. His eyes remained glued to the screen of his phone, where a grainy live feed showed the crumpled figure of his sunshine curled up on her apartment couch. She hadn’t moved much in days. The drone hovered in place like a ghost, bearing silent witness to her collapse. She cried during the sitcom’s laugh tracks, the soundless tremble of her lips cutting into him like guilt-laced static.

He could barely breathe watching her. Every cell in his body screamed to go to her, to wrap her up in his arms, to beg her to stay, to come back. He needed her more than he needed his next breath.

“VOX!” Velvette’s voice cracked across the room like a whip as she hurled her phone at his head.

He caught it in one hand without looking, his jaw tightening. His eyes slowly lifted from the screen. “What?”

Velvette was livid. She bent forward slightly, her arms pinned to her hips, her red eyes glowing like coals about to catch fire. “If you're done swimming in your own pathetic pity party, I need you to deal with those pathetic rats trying to take a bite out of my models and my business. They’re making moves, and I don’t trust anyone but you to put them back in their place.”

Vox groaned and rolled his head back. “Why not ask Val? Isn't this the kind of thing he gets off on?”

She gawked at him as if he’d suggested handing the keys of Hell to a toddler. “You want me to ask your pissbaby boyfriend to handle a delicate situation with tact and discretion? The same Val who once blew up a fashion house because they spelled his name wrong in a press release?”

Tired and worn thin, he rubbed his eyes and sighed. “Fine. I’ll handle it. Just… let me pencil it in somewhere. Shit. Where’s my assistant?” His voice turned softer, distracted, as his eyes wandered back to the phone and his precious screen. He tapped into the feed again, searching for her. His babydoll. 

His world.

Velvette dropped her hands and let out a groan of frustration. “You know what? Why don’t you two just fuck it out like you always do?”

That made Vox jolt. His head snapped up, confusion painting his expression. “Who? Val?”

“No, idiot. Your assistant. The one you’ve been fucking for five years.” Her voice was dry, unimpressed.

He let out a nervous wheeze, laughing thinly. “What are you even talking about?”

Velvette raised a perfectly arched brow. “Really? You think Val and I don’t know? You’ve been as subtle as a car crash. Everyone at VoxTek knows.”

A chill raced down his spine. It was one thing to risk Val’s wrath in private. But public knowledge? Headlines? Tabloids? The CEO of VoxTek cheating on the infamous Valentino with his personal assistant? The fallout would be catastrophic.

“Val knows?” His voice pitched into a whine, his shoulders tensing. The idea of dealing with one of Val’s explosive tantrums made his head throb.

Velvette scoffed and waved a hand like it was common knowledge. “Of course he does. He was the first to figure it out. But it worked in his favour. You left him alone when he ran off to screw around with his latest playthings. Honestly, this open relationship shit is ancient in Hell. You two just took forever to catch up.”

Vox blinked slowly. His mind struggled to catch up with the avalanche of emotion pressing into his chest. He cared about you. It wasn't casual. It had never been. When he was near you, the noise stopped. When he held you, he felt like he was something better, someone worth touching. Being without you made his skin itch. His productivity tanked. His temper frayed. Everything went wrong.

“So… Val is okay with me favouring my assistant?” His voice was cautious now, every syllable weighed with fear. The word he almost said—love—caught in his throat and burned.

Velvette groaned, tossing her head back like she couldn’t believe how stupid he was being. “You are so painfully dense sometimes.” She narrowed her eyes and stepped closer, the heat of her irritation rolling off her. “Val bitches constantly about how moody you get when he does what he wants. You were jealous, remember? But you got your own little toy now, so he figured it was only fair. As long as you don’t throw the word, love, around, he doesn’t care.”

That hit him like a slap. Before you, it did bother him. Valentino parading around with his conquests used to make Vox sick. But after you… the jealousy faded, replaced with something else. Something deeper. Something that terrified him.

Because this wasn’t just sex. Not anymore.

And Valentino? If he even suspected that what Vox felt for you went beyond lust, beyond control, beyond fun… he would burn everything down.

Including you.

Vox swallowed hard, his fingers tightening around the phone still playing your feed. You sat motionless on the couch, eyes blank, a single tear slipping down your cheek.

He clenched his jaw.

“But over the past few years, you two became more like business partners than lovers,” Velvette said, lazily inspecting her perfectly manicured nails. “He gets to screw whoever he wants, as long as your assistant keeps you distracted. It works out for him. Less whining from you, more freedom for him. Win-win.”

“Oh,” Vox breathed, barely able to process her words as his mind began to churn. He leaned back in his seat, eyes flicking rapidly as he ran through years' worth of arguments with you. Every painful fight, every time your voice cracked, asking why he wouldn’t choose you. Why he let Valentino come first. Why he never held your hand in public.

He always said it was complicated, that Hell was watching, that it wasn’t safe. But deep down, the truth was uglier. He needed Valentino. Not for love, but for leverage. Vox had power in spades, but Valentino opened doors, forged connections, cemented their dominance. Without him, Vox would’ve had to claw his way to the top alone.

But now… now maybe he didn’t have to choose.

His fingers twitched, itching to reach for his phone, to see you on that damn security feed again. You looked so small on that couch, tucked in a nest of pillows and grief. He hated himself for letting it go this far.

He stood up suddenly, posture straightening with purpose for the first time in weeks. There was a solution. A way to keep you and stay standing beside Valentino, without sacrificing everything he built.

“Velvette,” he said, voice tight with gratitude and simmering annoyance, “thank you for the information. Though, I would've appreciated it, I don’t know, sometime before my assistant started melting into the couch like a discarded ragdoll.”

His head twitched slightly, a small glitch betraying the surge of emotion behind his words.

Velvette shrugged with maddening nonchalance. Her gaze was glued to her Sinstagram feed. “Not my fault, you’re stupidly slow at reading social cues. I figured you'd already worked it out. You always act like you know everything.”

He opened his mouth to argue, but stopped short. She wasn’t wrong. For all his surveillance and obsessive need to stay ten steps ahead, this had been right in front of him the entire time.

“Hey—where the hell are you going?” Velvette called, irritation creeping into her voice as he turned on his heel.

“To get her back,” he said, determination slicing through every syllable.

She scoffed. “And I’m supposed to care? My problem, Vox,” she said, jabbing a finger toward her chest.

He halted, jaw tightening before spinning back toward his desk. “Fine. I’ll deal with your little fashion war first,” he muttered, dropping into his chair and pulling up data. His fingers flew over the keys, hacking into the rival company's system. His mind easily planned how to bring them down: hurt their brand, mess up their PR feeds, and leak damaging footage. It would be simple.

But even as he laid digital ruin to Velvette’s enemies, he opened a side chat window and sent a message.

He stared at his message, waiting for you to read it, his heart clawing at his ribs. He may not own your soul, but you owned his heart in every devastating, secret way. And even if he could never say it aloud in public, that truth burned hotter than Hell’s fire.

He would get you back if it was the last thing he did.

You should have locked the door. No. You should have packed a bag, left the apartment, and found some cheap hotel where he couldn’t reach you. Somewhere without mirrors, without memories. Somewhere without him.

But you didn’t.

And now, your heart pounded against your ribs, angry and afraid in equal measure. Weeks had passed in silence. Nothing. Not a word. And then out of nowhere, he had texted you.

He was coming tonight.

Why?

You stared at yourself in the mirror, bile rising in your throat. Your reflection made you flinch. Your eyes were hollow, cheeks dull, hair knotted from too many restless nights. You looked like someone who had lost something vital and had tried to pretend it didn’t matter. And then your gaze shifted to the apartment behind you in the mirror’s reflection, and a loud, bitter curse left your lips.

The place was a disaster. Blankets twisted like wreckage across the floor. Dishes stacked in the sink. Old takeout boxes. Forgotten laundry. It looked exactly like what it was. A den of someone grieving something they weren’t allowed to mourn.

You didn’t think. You didn’t even try to tell him off. You just… started moving. You cleaned like you were possessed, vacuuming and scrubbing as if the act itself would erase your shame. Then a hot shower, too hot, scalding even, as if you could scrape off the weeks he had ignored you. You washed your hair twice. You scrubbed behind your ears. You stood naked in the mirror for a moment and hated the way your skin still remembered his touch.

Then came the chaos of choosing what to wear. You tore through your closet in a frenzy, flinging shirts, skirts, and dresses into messy piles on the bed. Nothing looked right. Everything was too much or too little, too obvious or not enough. You told yourself it didn’t matter, that this wasn’t about him—that you were just going for an effortless look. But every glance in the mirror, every outfit change, said otherwise. You were dressing for him. As if the right look might somehow shield your heart from breaking.

In the end, despite all your claims of indifference, you reached for the sexiest lingerie you owned. The g-string was a whisper of lace, soft and sheer, with a delicate little “V” charm dangling at the front—subtle, but unmistakable. It sat low on your hips, practically teasing, hinting at secrets meant only for him. The push-up bra matched in black lace, framing your curves perfectly and giving you just the right lift to feel both confident and dangerously desirable.

For the dress, you chose something soft and bright, something that made your skin glow. A summer dress, pastel yellow, catching the light like sunlight trapped in fabric. White embroidery curled along the hem in delicate loops, brushing against your thighs with every step. The material hugged your figure just right, cinched at the waist and flowing out gently. The thin spaghetti straps rested lightly on your shoulders, letting your collarbones and neckline breathe in the open air.

Warm, inviting, and sweet with a hint of heat underneath, you looked just like the season. And as you gave yourself one last glance in the mirror, your lips parted in a breath you didn’t know you were holding. By five, the apartment was clean. Your hair was curled. Your lips were tinted with colour again. And worst of all, your door was unlocked.

You didn’t even know when you had done it. Somewhere between folding a blanket and tossing a shirt on the bed, you had decided to let him in.

Why? Why had you let him?

You began pacing the floor, hugging your arms tight around yourself. A storm of thoughts battered your brain. Maybe this was your chance to end things officially. You could tell him to stop sending those damn paychecks. You could cut all ties to VoxTek. You could look him in the eye and say goodbye for real.

Yes. That was what you were going to do.

You would be calm. Professional. Cold.

You told yourself he could take his expensive gifts with him. The jewellery, the designer shoes, the stupid limited edition tech that had once made you laugh. He could give them to someone else. Some new, infatuated little soul who hadn’t yet realized how disposable they were.

Then the doorknob turned.

You stopped breathing. Your face smoothed out. You tried to adopt some neutral expression, but the thud of your heart gave you away before he even walked in.

And then he appeared.

Wearing a soft sweater vest and a pair of worn jeans that made him look almost human. In his arms, he carried a bouquet so large it looked absurd. A hundred blue roses.

Your chest ached.

Why had you thought this was a good idea?

You had walked away for a reason. You had walked away and hadn’t once looked back. Because being near him hurt. Because you were weak where he was concerned. Because some part of you still loved him, even after everything.

You thought a few weeks apart would dull it. Make it manageable. Clean the poison from your system. But instead, the ache had only sharpened and the longing grown louder.

“Doll,” he whispered.

That voice. That smile. Lucifer help you.

You didn’t speak. You didn’t move. But then he stepped forward, dropped the roses like they were unimportant, and wrapped his arms around you.

He held you like he would fall apart without you.

“I want to take you out on a date tonight,” he murmured against your shoulder, his breath warm, his fingers sliding along your spine like he was trying to memorize the shape of you all over again.

You should have pushed him away.

But your hands didn’t listen. Neither did your heart.

“What?” you whispered, blinking like you hadn’t heard him correctly. Your hands were still raised in front of you, suspended midair, like they were waiting for instructions that never came. You didn’t reach for him. You didn’t push him away. You just… froze.

Vox pulled back, just enough to meet your gaze, and grinned with a kind of boyish mischief that made your heart stutter. “Let me take you out on a date,” he said, his voice light, teasing. “How about Voxtek World?”

He waggled his eyebrows, like this was some ordinary moment. Like the two of you hadn’t torn each other apart weeks ago. Like you hadn’t cried into your pillow, gasping out that you were done.

Your mind scrambled for something solid, something real. Everything felt upside down. The sudden shift in him made it hard to find your footing. Instead of the speech you had rehearsed about boundaries and closure, the only thing that came out was, “But that’s… really public.”

You scoffed, arms finally dropping to your sides. “Unless this is just another business dinner in disguise.”

But he didn’t flinch. He didn’t look sheepish or sorry. Instead, he leaned in and kissed you.

And your body betrayed you instantly.

You melted into it without hesitation. His lips were the same. The taste of him, the heat of his electricity, the way he held you like he’d never let go—it all came rushing back like it had never left. You hated how natural it felt. You hated how much you missed it.

“No, sunshine,” he murmured against your lips, brushing them once more with his own, “a real date. Just you and me. Holding hands. Maybe making out under the ferris wheel.”

Then he pulled out his phone and turned it off. A small thing, but one you knew well. He used to do it every time before a proper date, a sign that he was present, that the world could wait. That you were his priority.

Your brows pulled together, the disbelief still refusing to let go. You didn’t understand. None of this made sense. If he was doing this, did that mean he broke things off with Valentino?

No. That would’ve made headlines. The media would’ve exploded.

“I don’t understand,” you said softly, voice barely audible. “What changed?”

He met your gaze without flinching. His eyes, for once, were calm. “I know I can’t give you everything you want, doll,” he said, and his clawed finger traced gently down your cheek, the gesture almost reverent. “But I can give you as much as I’m able. I can try.”

You should have been angry. You should have yelled, demanded more than scraps of affection and broken promises. But instead, you just felt… curious. Suspicious. Hopeful. Everything, all at once.

“What does that even mean?” you asked, voice thin with doubt.

He smiled, slow and soft, and slipped his arms around your waist. “It means our relationship, out in the open. No hiding. No pretending. It’s what you wanted, right?” His voice remained gentle, but there was a flicker of fear behind his eyes. Like he wasn’t sure if it was enough.

You should have shoved him away.

But your heart had been aching without him. The ache was so familiar now, so woven into your daily life, that this—his arms around you, the sound of his voice—felt like coming home. You had missed him. God, you missed him more than you’d ever admit.

Maybe with more time, you could’ve gathered the strength to say no. Maybe. But right now, as he leaned in again, as he searched your eyes for something warm, something forgiving, and whispered, “Please, sunshine?”

Your last wall came crashing down.

The love you thought you’d buried clawed its way to the surface, angry and tender all at once. You hated it. Hated how easily it returned. You wanted to scream, to beg your heart to stop caring.

Instead, you exhaled shakily and said, “One date.”

He froze, clearly unsure if he heard you right.

“You get one date,” you repeated, eyes darting away before he could see the cracks forming again. “To convince me. That you’re willing to take a real risk. To be with me, for real.”

His expression softened with something close to awe. And for just a second, you let yourself believe. Not in forever. But perhaps—just possibly—in tonight.

You didn’t know if he was telling the truth. Part of you wanted to believe that he meant it, that he would finally be open with you in public, finally stop hiding what the two of you had. But doubt crept in, curling tightly in your chest. What if this was just another illusion? Another line? Even so, perhaps it was worth clinging to if he was prepared to make the initial move and if he had the courage to risk everything for a brief moment with you in front of the world's lights and eyes.

“But if you fail, then we’re don—”

You didn’t even get to finish.

His mouth crashed into yours with a force that stole the words from your tongue. His kiss was hot and consuming, lips parting yours with a desperation that bordered on hunger. His tongue swept through the seam of your lips, tasting you, claiming you, stealing every protest you were about to make.

“Yeah, baby,” he whispered between kisses, his breath trembling with want, “one date.”

He kissed you again, slow and deep.

“I’ll make sure you’re the happiest when you’re in my arms.”

He said it like a promise. And even though you’d heard those words before, so many times that they should’ve sounded hollow, your heart still fluttered. You melted, just a little, helpless against the warmth of his voice and the tenderness in his touch.

VoxTek World was loud, dazzling, and filled to the brim with sinners. Neon lights lit up the crimson Hellsky, carnival music drifted through the air, and the scent of fried food and artificial cotton candy wafted around you. Everywhere you turned, there was laughter, flashing screens, and animatronic mascots welcoming guests. Vox, naturally, was glowing with pride, chatting with anyone who stopped him, boasting that it was quickly becoming the most visited amusement park in the Pride Ring. He even said it was starting to attract Hellborns from other rings.

You should have rolled your eyes. But instead, you found yourself smiling.

Maybe it was the workaholic in you, the part that had spent three exhausting decades climbing your way through the heart of Voxtek. You weren’t on this project—your time had been swallowed by the demands of Vinder, Vwatch, and VPhone—but you remembered the endless meetings on his calendar. You remembered how he spoke about the park like it was his child. A dream he wanted to breathe life into.

You had almost forgotten that the opening ceremony had been last week. You didn’t watch it. You hadn’t even asked how it went. And now, standing here, you felt a faint, unexpected sadness for having missed it. A strange pang in your chest at the thought of not being there, even though you were no longer his employee. No longer… his anything.

“I would’ve loved to have you by my side,” Vox murmured.

His claws gently brushed a loose strand of hair behind your ear, and the tenderness in the gesture froze you.

Your eyes widened. “What?” You stiffened and quickly glanced around. There were people everywhere. Sinners were walking past, some glancing your way, others pretending not to. And Vox… he didn’t seem to care. He wasn’t hiding you. He wasn’t keeping his distance.

He was touching you. Guiding you. Treating you like someone important.

“The opening ceremony,” he continued softly, his palm finding its way to your hip as he steered you through the crowd. “You would’ve been beautiful by my side.”

He sounded wistful, and you weren’t sure what to do with that.

“I had Velvette pick a dress for you,” he added, then hesitated. “But… well, I know you left. I didn’t expect you to come.”

Your heart twisted. You weren’t sure if it was guilt or something more complicated.

“The park’s still a work in progress,” he said, trying to brighten his tone as he looked down at you. His hand never left your hip. “But it’s getting there. Just like us, huh?”

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t. Everyone was looking. His arm around you, his hand resting comfortably on you as if it had always belonged there and making it clear that you weren’t just some guest. You were someone. You were with Vox.

Your cheeks flushed with heat. You weren’t used to this—the attention, the affection, the public acknowledgment. You had spent so long watching other couples walk by, hand in hand, smiling like the world belonged to them. Now, you were one of them. Or at least pretending to be.

And all the fire you had built up inside you, all the anger and hurt you carried to throw in his face, slowly began to quiet.

Not because everything was fixed.

But because for the first time, it felt like he might actually want to try.

You leaned in closer to him, just a little, barely enough to notice. But even that tiny movement made a difference. His warmth radiated into your body, seeping beneath your skin like sunlight in the cold. Your cheeks were burning, the flush of colour high on your face from the sudden affection, from the way his presence overwhelmed your senses.

“Pretty,” Vox murmured, his voice low, affectionate, almost reverent. “My babydoll.”

He came to a stop in front of the mirror house, pausing at the very first mirror—the only one that reflected your image truthfully before the chaos of distortions inside. The glass caught your reflection perfectly. You saw yourself standing there, tucked into him like you belonged.

And then you saw the eyes. The sinners passing by, stealing glances. Some looked on with curiosity, others with a touch of envy, as if they were seeing something rare and precious. But your attention was pulled downward, to his hand still gripping your hip in a possessive manner.

Then your gaze lifted to your expression, and embarrassment struck like a slap. You looked utterly lovestruck. Your face glowed red, your fingers nervously fidgeting, laced together in front of you like some pathetic blushing virgin. You hated how obvious it was. How vulnerable you looked. How affected.

“You’re perfect in my eyes, sunshine,” Vox said, his voice warm and certain.

He leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to your cheek.

You jolted. Not from the kiss itself, but from where it happened. Out here. In the open. That was the first kiss he’d ever given you in public, and your heart wasn’t prepared for it. Your emotions tangled into a confused storm, eyes stinging with heat, chest tightening. Just weeks ago, you were ready to walk away. To forget him. To reclaim your life and leave all this behind.

And yet… here you were. Basking in his attention. Letting yourself soak in every second of his affection. And you were happy.

 Genuinely, terrifyingly happy.

“Vox, you don’t have to force yourself—”

“Force myself?” he interrupted with a scoff. His grip on your hip tightened, and his gaze sharpened like a blade drawn in the dark. “Babydoll, I’ve had to force myself not to fuck you in the parking lot. Or bend you over this mirror, so everyone here would know exactly who you belong to.”

The heat slammed into your body, pooling low in your belly. You expected something lewd—it was Vox, after all—but not like this. Not here. Not now. In public.

Your eyes widened in alarm, and you hissed under your breath as you glanced around in a panic. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Your voice was sharp, but the blush on your face betrayed you, deep and furious and alive.

Vox only laughed, rich and amused, like your flustered state was his favourite thing in the world. “Just being honest, sweetcheeks,” he said, voice dripping with mischief.

Then his hand slipped lower, bold and deliberate, giving your ass a firm squeeze before settling back on your hips as though nothing happened. “Now,” he purred, “shall we keep this date going?”

You were too stunned to speak. Your thoughts twisted into anxious knots as you simply nodded, letting him lead you along.

But beneath the surface of your flushed skin and racing heart, worry began to spread like a slow, creeping vine.

What if you were pushing him too far? What if this show of affection, this rebellion against the roles he usually played, had consequences? You had seen what happened when things between Vox and Valentino soured. You had seen the cracks in his screen, the dullness in his eyes after one of their fights. He would keep working like nothing happened, but you had seen the wreckage. The broken furniture. The shattered tech. The bruises that never made it to the surface, but you knew were there all the same.

Overlords didn’t maintain their power through kindness. They ruled through dominance, fear, and destruction. And now, for the first time, you were starting to grasp the weight of that power. The danger of it. The cost.

Would Valentino hurt Vox for this?

And if he did… would that be your fault?

A sudden weight pressed against your chest, heavy, and suffocating like wet wool draped around your lungs. The thrill of the date, the joy in his laughter, all of it dimmed beneath the creeping fog of realization. This entire time, all you ever wanted was for him to choose you. Just you. To turn his back on Valentino, to draw a line and say, “This is mine.” But now, as you looked around, that hope felt naive.

Voxtek World stretched around you in every direction, loud and blinding, made from lights, steel, and money. His name was carved into every corner of it, stamped with pride. This place didn’t exist without power. Without territory. Without calculated ambition.

And you had loved that part of him once.

You still did, didn’t you?

That ambition, the endless hunger for more, had drawn you in from the start. You admired it because you were the same. You had your own goals, your climb to make. You fell in love with a man who never stopped reaching higher, and Vox had always been more than a lover. He was your mirror in that way.

However, none of this could have occurred if he had not been perpetually engaging in battles for control, forging alliances, and eliminating threats. If he let go of that power, even for a second, it would all collapse. You knew that. And so did he.

It was complicated. You and him. Always had been.

And maybe that was the problem. You didn’t want complicated. You wanted the good parts. The soft touches. The late-night laughter. The warm glances that said everything without a word. You didn’t want to bear the weight of the rest. The danger. The deals. The damage.

He had told you, again and again, that it wasn’t that simple. That you couldn’t have one half of him and not the other. You understood that now, more clearly than ever. Vox without ambition wasn’t Vox. And if you carved that part out of him, if you asked him to trade it for a quieter life, would you even still love what was left?

You stopped walking.

The joyful screams of riders, the clatter of games, the scent of fried food and sugar all blurred together in a distant haze. None of it reached you. Your eyes stayed locked on Vox as he paused ahead of you, turning back, his expression still bright as he began to describe another attraction. Then he noticed your stillness, and his smile softened. Real. Gentle. Just for you.

And at that moment, your heart spoke louder than your mind ever could.

You didn’t need this date to confirm anything. You already knew. You had always known. Vox wasn’t just someone who passed through your life—he was woven into it. Threaded through your memories, your routines, your quietest moments. You could scream that you were done, you could walk away, but your heart would always follow him, aching.

“I want that toy,” you said, suddenly, voice light and trembling. You pointed toward a nearby booth, needing a distraction, something simple to tether you. It was one of the classic games, glass bottles stacked in a pyramid and a bucket of balls beside them. The prize was a plush, oversized blue shark with a wide, cartoony grin.

It looked just like Vark—Vox’s beloved, ridiculous pet shark, now apparently one of the park mascots.

He grinned and leaned in to kiss your temple, soft and fleeting. “Anything for you, doll,” he said, with a warmth that made your chest ache.

He guided you both toward the booth, his hand never leaving the small of your back. He would get you that toy, no matter how many tries it took. Because that’s who he was. He always tried for you. Even when it wasn’t perfect. Even when it hurt.

And as you watched him step forward to pay, his screen reflecting the neon light, his smile sharp but sincere, you knew the truth.

You were in love with him. Fully. Hopelessly.

But those were dangerous words in Hell. Words that could get people killed when said to the wrong man. Especially one with enemies. Especially one like Vox.

Still, love didn’t always need to be spoken. It could be shown, hinted at, lived out in quiet gestures and stubborn hope. And if that was the only way you could say it, then you wanted to find those ways with him.

You clutched the blue Vark plush against your chest, its goofy grin and soft texture already endearing, and you couldn’t stop smiling. Vox watched you with something warm in his eyes, though he’d never admit to how much your delight meant to him. The carnival lights cast a gentle glow over both of you as you walked away from the game booth, funnel cake in one hand, Vark in the other.

“That thing’s bigger than your torso,” Vox remarked, smirking as you adjusted your grip on the oversized plush. “You really going to carry it around all night?”

You stuck your tongue out at him. “I can manage.”

Vox snorted, already pulling out his Vphone. “Or—and hear me out here, dollface—we could send it to your place. Let the VoxTek drone boys handle it. Hands-free experience.” His lips curled around the last words, oozing with sales-pitch charm.

You burst into laughter, half-choking on your joy. “Are you seriously trying to sell me your delivery service like this is a commercial?”

He grinned wider, looking entirely too pleased with himself. “What can I say? I’m always on-brand. Plus, wouldn’t want your arms getting tired before I find something more fun for you to carry.”

You gave him a playful glare and gently smacked his arm with the Vark plush. “You’re impossible.”

“Efficient,” he corrected smugly, tapping a few buttons before you could protest. “Drone’s already on its way. It’ll be at your condo before we’re done with dessert.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn't stop the bubbling laugh that escaped you again. “You’re unbelievable.”

The two of you wandered through the park, riding roller coasters and spinning tea cups. You shared sticky carnival snacks, cheered over rigged games, and held hands under the glow of flickering lights. It felt easy, too easy, and you knew the night was slipping by too fast.

Eventually, you’d have to answer him. You’d have to decide whether you could live with the dynamic between him and Valentino, and whether you could be the one waiting quietly in the wings.

“Sunshine,” Vox called, his hand warm around yours as he pulled you toward the Ferris wheel. At the centre of the towering structure glowed a massive blue VoxTek logo, and each gondola was shaped like a glittering V, rimmed with bright lights that pulsed gently against the darkening sky.

You gave him a look, half teasing. “This might be the most shameless branding I’ve ever seen.”

He grinned. “How about we end the night here?” he said, guiding you into one of the gondolas.

Inside, the seats were cushioned, the atmosphere strangely intimate. You didn’t even wait in line.

“The VIP fast pass really is something else,” you mused, glancing out at the crowd still waiting. It was a clever, if ruthless, system. The more you paid, the faster you moved through the park. The highest tier—the black onyx VIP pass—was reserved for Hell’s elite, and it allowed complete access to the park without ever waiting in lines.

“Naturally,” Vox said with a smirk, settling into the gondola.

When the door clicked shut, your eyes widened. The top portion of the walls had turned transparent, revealing a breathtaking view of the park below. Neon lights blinked in every colour, the noise fading into a distant hum.

“We live in the age of subscription, baby,” he added with a wink.

You snorted at that, shaking your head. “Don’t I know it.” But your attention shifted quickly to the view outside, the lights swirling below like glowing confetti.

“Congratulations,” you said softly, your legs brushing his as you sat across from him, your gaze fixed on the towering symbol of everything he had built.

“Sunshine.” His voice was lower now, heavier. You turned your head and met his eyes as he reached for your hand and gently tugged.

Confused, you let him pull you closer until you found yourself straddling his lap.

His hands slid down your back and gripped your ass, kneading the soft flesh with a low groan. His head tilted forward, resting against your shoulder, and for a moment, the only thing that existed was the heat between you and the quiet hum of the Ferris wheel as it climbed higher into the sky.

The moment your eyes met his, you couldn't stop the smirk from curling at the corners of your lips. You leaned over him, the plush seat of the ferris wheel cabin creaking beneath your shifting weight. Warm air hummed around you, filled with the faint scent of fried sweets and ozone, the glow of neon lights flickering across the glass walls like distant stars.

“Really, Vox?” you murmured, trying to keep your voice steady even as a low ache twisted in your stomach. It had been over eight months since either of you had properly touched each other, truly felt each other—and not one night had gone by where you didn’t feel the absence of his body heat in your bed. Still, you feigned nonchalance, letting your voice lilt with mock disinterest. “Maybe you can stop by my place tonight,” you said, the suggestion hanging heavy in the space between you, thick with implication. “I wouldn’t mind keeping you up all night… you did say, I could scream at you all I want.” 

A slow breath escaped him, and then that damn smirk returned—cocky and hungry. “Yeah?” he rasped, his voice lower now, richer. “How about now and later?” His words melted into the air like warm chocolate, just before his hands slid over your hips and dragged you down, pressing your heated core right against the stiff bulge in his pants.

You gasped and opened your eyes wide as your body felt a jolt of electricity. The contact was sharp and intoxicating, your breath catching in your throat. You darted your gaze to the window, seeing the other carts gently swaying in the distance. Some riders were even peeking into yours, curious and unsuspecting. Heat rose to your cheeks as the cart dipped briefly, revealing a full view of the line below, before slowly climbing again. You had one more cycle left before the ride would end.

“Vox,” you hissed under your breath, shooting him a look, “You can’t seriously think you’ll finish less than thirty—”

Before you could finish, the cabin jerked slightly, and then all motion ceased. A loud static crackled overhead, followed by the distorted voice of an announcer.

“We apologize for the inconvenience. Due to unexpected technical issues, the ride is temporarily paused. We’ll resume as soon as the problem is resolved.”

You sat there, blinking, the world momentarily frozen. Then you looked back at him, suspicion dawning as his lips curled into a guilty grin. You followed his gaze to the top of the cart, where the glittering skyline of the amusement park spread beneath you like a map of coloured lights. You were at the very top. Of course, you were.

“Vox…” you narrowed your eyes.

“What?” he replied, voice dripping with faux innocence as he raised a single finger. A faint spark crackled at the tip before he extinguished it with a wink. “Total coincidence.”

“You’re such a—” The words never made it out. Instead, you let your smile twist into something dangerous and playful, a silent promise, as your fingers slid down and worked open the button of his jeans.

The soft scrape of denim parting, the sound of his quickened breath, the thrum of his pulse—it was all delicious. You fished him out, his cock hot and heavy in your hand, throbbing with need. Your thumb dragged slowly across the slick bead at the tip, and Vox groaned, his head falling back with a soft thump against the glass wall behind him.

“Oh, baby…” he breathed, hips twitching at your teasing touch.

You lowered yourself between his spread legs, the cool air brushing against your thighs as your summer dress rode up. You felt the wet cling of your g-string, soaked and doing nothing to hide just how much you wanted this. Wanted him.

Vox widened his stance slightly, anticipation written in every tense line of his body. His cock pulsed, thick and glistening, his eyes locked onto yours like a man starved. Lust shimmered in the air between you, thick and golden, like honey melting under the sun.

And you had no intention of letting this end quickly.

Your lips parted, warm breath ghosting over the flushed head of his cock. You gave him a slow, teasing lick, the tip of your tongue flicking over the sensitive slit before dragging down the veined shaft. It was shameless, deliberate—like the time you'd joked about sucking on that blue, dick-shaped lollipop last Christmas, but now it was him you were tasting, and this time, it was no joke.

A deep, shaky moan escaped his throat, raw and low. His claws tangled in your hair, not yanking, but anchoring himself to reality as his hips gave a slight, involuntary twitch. He was fighting the urge to thrust into your mouth, trembling from restraint.

“Fuck, baby,” he groaned, his voice rough and breathless, “I missed this. Missed your mouth.”

You responded by taking him deeper, your lips wrapping around the head and sucking with a wet, deliberate pull. Your tongue swirled underneath as you bobbed slowly, creating obscene, sticky sounds that echoed off the walls of the ferris wheel cart. Saliva spilled from the corners of your mouth, coating him, making everything slick.

Your hand slipped down, cradling his heavy balls, rolling them gently in your palm. They were hot and full, tight against your skin. Vox hissed through his teeth, claws tightening in your hair, mussing it as he tried not to fall apart too soon.

With a loud, wet pop, you pulled back and met his eyes. Your lips were red and swollen, cheeks flushed with heat. “You’re not going to come that fast, are you, sweetheart?” you teased, your voice thick with challenge.

The moment your words landed, something dark flickered across his face.

Unexpectedly, he grabbed you and threw you across the opposite seat. The entire cart swayed with the sudden motion, groaning slightly from the shift in weight. Your breath caught, but you didn’t hesitate—you spread your legs wide, unabashed, letting him see how soaked you were. Letting him smell the heat radiating off your skin.

He growled low in his throat as he knelt between your thighs. His eyes locked onto the tiny scrap of lace stretched over your pussy, the g-string damp and clinging to your folds. “I was wondering if you were wearing anything when I grabbed your ass earlier,” he said, his voice gravelly with lust.

Lifting one of your legs over his shoulder, he pressed his face flush against your core, burying himself between your thighs. “Fuck…” he breathed into your skin, the vibration of his voice sending shivers down your spine.

Then, with a sharp snap of his claws, the thin fabric gave way. The sound of your gasp bounced off the glass, and your back arched as his hot, smooth, eager tongue finally touched you. He licked a slow, deliberate path through your folds before plunging his tongue into you.

You moaned, breath hitching as he fucked you with his tongue, curling it inside and tasting every inch. Then his thumb pressed lightly against your clit, swirling and teasing your swollen nub with purpose. You cried out, fingers clawing at the seat beneath you.

“I missed this taste,” he groaned between laps, his words muffled against your drenched cunt.

You could feel the subtle rhythm of his other arm moving, jerking himself off as he devoured you. He took his time, savouring like a feast, moaning praises against your skin. Pleasure built slow and heavy in your belly, your eyes prickling with tears from the intense heat, the endless teasing.

And then, through the hazy fog of lust, you caught movement out the window. A sinner in a nearby cart had their face pressed to the glass, eyes wide, mouth parted. Oh, God! They could see the outline of your body, your head thrown back, your chest heaving.

Luckily, Vox was on the floor. They couldn’t see the filthy, glorious things he was doing between your legs.

As if plucking the thought straight from your mind, he pulled back with a slow, deliberate motion. His eyes met yours, knowing, sly, and mischievous, and his lips glistened with your arousal, his tongue flitting out to taste it.

Without a word, he moved you, coaxing your pliant limbs with a confidence that made your breath hitch. The cabin swayed gently as he manoeuvred you into position, the low hum of the Ferris wheel and the occasional creak of metal amplifying the pulse in your ears. The seat’s edge dug lightly into your knees as you bent forward, bracing yourself with trembling hands on the seat in front of you. Your back arched instinctively, hips raised in silent offering.

Your thighs pressed together, seeking friction, and your body trembled with anticipation. You could feel the heat of him behind you; he was tall and commanding, and he fit every curve you showed. His fingers skimmed up the backs of your legs, pausing to squeeze the soft flesh before trailing inward, slow and teasing.

“V-Vox…” you breathed, shivering as his cock slid between your folds, smearing a mixture of your slick and his spit against your wet entrance.

His hands gripped your waist, guiding you as the swollen tip of his cock teased your core, nudging in and out of you in slow, shallow motions. It was maddeningly delicious.

As you opened your mouth to tell him to be quiet and be more discrete because people were still looking, he pushed deeper into you and buried himself with one smooth, firm stroke.

Your mouth dropped open, but no sound came out, only breathless awe. His thick length pressed into every perfect spot, and your body clenched greedily around him.

Your legs trembled, vision swimming from the dizzying pace of his thrusts. Just as your body threatened to collapse, Vox caught you with one arm around your waist. The other slipped beneath your loosened dress, claws gliding up the soft underside of your breast. With a low, dark chuckle, he shoved his hand under your bra, gripping and massaging the plush flesh like it belonged to him.

“Ah, Vox!” you cried, your back arching as his cock slammed into your deepest point, knocking the breath from your lungs.

His claws tugged on your nipple, rolling and twisting the swollen bud while he kept driving into you, each thrust sharp and brutal. Your slick walls fluttered around him, every drag of his cock lighting your nerves on fire.

The cart rocked with every movement, creaking as it swung wildly from side to side. Your hair clung to your sweat-slicked skin, sticking to your face and neck. Tears welled at the corners of your eyes from the sheer intensity of it all, but you didn’t try to stop them. You caught sight of the sinner again through the haze of lust. He had his face stuck to the window of the next cart, hoping to get a better look.

You grinned through the chaos, breathless and bold. Let them watch.

“Oh fuck, baby,” Vox groaned, voice rough and desperate, each word rasping past his lips between wet slaps of skin on skin. “You feel so fucking good, so tight and messy for me.”

His grip on your breast tightened, clawed fingers tweaking your nipple hard enough to make you cry out. The pain sharpened the pleasure, sending electric jolts straight down your spine to your aching, soaked pussy.

“Fuck, I need you to scream for me,” he growled in your ear, biting down lightly on your neck. “Let every miserable fuck down there know who this pussy belongs to. Can you do that for me, baby?”

“Yes! Yes, yours!” you sobbed, throwing your head back, overwhelmed by the relentless rhythm of his cock rearranging your insides.

“Damn right,” he snarled, panting, as he dug his fingers into your hips. “And I’m not even close to done with you, doll.”

He lifted you like you weighed nothing and slammed you back down onto his cock. Your cunt swallowed him whole, slick and twitching, milking him greedily.

“I want you all fucking night,” he huffed, thrusting up into you with enough force to make the cart shake. “Might bend you over the hood of my car in the parking lot. Fuck you right there while the engine’s still hot.”

Each filthy word made your core clench harder around him. The cart smelled of sex, thick, heady, and animalistic. It clung to your skin and his, soaked into the fabric of your clothes, the air itself damp with sweat and arousal.

“Maybe you suck me off while I drive us home,” he whispered against your ear, voice dripping with promise. “Tonight I’ll make you come so hard your legs give out. So hard you can’t talk right for days. All you’ll know is how to scream my name.”

Before you could respond, he shifted, gripping your waist and driving you forward. Your knees hit the seat in front of you, and you gasped, both palms splaying against the glass as he continued to fuck you in earnest. The chill of the window shocked your flushed cheek while your saliva smeared across it, dripping slow and wet down the surface.

Then—slap—his palm cracked against your ass, the sting sharp and sudden. Your breath hitched, but pain melted into pleasure the moment he rammed back inside. Your pussy, raw and hungry, sucked him in like you’d never let him go.

“You like that, huh?” Vox grunted, every word ragged. “You like being fucked like my personal fuck doll?”

All you could do was moan, choked and hoarse, as the pleasure crested higher and higher, tight and trembling at the edge.

“Fucking perfect,” Vox groaned, never slowing, fucking you through every twitch and tremble, like he had every intention of wringing out every last drop of your sanity.

Your scream tore through the cart, raw and trembling, as your body convulsed with an earth-shattering climax. Muscles clenched, nerves aflame, your pussy pulsed around Vox’s cock, holding him tight like it never wanted to let go. You barely registered the creak and lurch of the Ferris wheel starting to move again—time felt irrelevant, lost beneath the weight of pleasure.

Then, with a deep, guttural growl, Vox came with brutal intensity. His hips slammed flush against yours, holding you still as he spilled himself inside, thick and hot, in powerful waves. You could feel him paint every inch of your insides, each pulse of release forcing a gasp from his throat and a whimper from yours.

He stayed buried in you, panting against your skin, his body trembling slightly from the force of it. And when he finally pulled out, slow and careful, you felt everything. A warm, slick fullness slipping free of your swollen cunt, followed by the soft, obscene plop of his cum spilling onto the seat below.

You didn’t move. Couldn’t. Your limbs were jelly, your mind fogged and distant, adrift in a post-orgasmic haze. Vox smoothed your hair and fixed your dress with unexpected tenderness, but he hardly tried as you remained a mess, dazed, used, and glowing.

When the cart doors opened, and you stepped out with him, your ears barely caught the ambient noise of the amusement park. Voices, music, laughter—background static compared to the ache between your legs and the steady slide of wetness down your thighs. His seed mixed with yours, warm and slick, coating your inner thighs with every step.

Then you saw it.

A small droplet of milky fluid hit the pavement beneath your feet.

“Oh, shit…” you mumbled, staring in disbelief.

Vox glanced down and grinned, wicked and smug. “Sunshine, might want to take an extra day off work before you come back into the office.”

Your head whipped toward him. He looked so calm, so collected, as if he hadn’t just fucked you senseless in a rickety old cart and left you dripping with the evidence.

“I know I gave you enough vacation,” he added casually, draping an arm around your waist, “but I need my sunshine around. Gets too damn dark without you.”

You barely had time to breathe before he pulled you in close, his arms circling you fully in the middle of the walkway, in plain view of everyone. The breeze ghosted between your legs, cool and teasing against your flushed, overstimulated skin, but you only leaned deeper into his embrace.

Because at that moment, it hit you.

You couldn’t walk away from him.

For all his chaos, for all the lust and rough edges, Vox had wrapped himself around you in more ways than one. You saw it in the way he held you now, not just with his arms, but with his presence—possessive, warm, and fiercely yours.

So what if this wasn’t a fairytale romance? You had something real. Something raw and alive. And Vox, for all his twisted tendencies, was trying. He was trying to be more than just an overlord who took what he wanted.

You gave him a sly smirk and leaned in close. “Understood, sir,” you whispered. “I assume that means you’re taking tomorrow off too?”

He grinned, teeth gleaming, eyes filled with heat and something softer. “Baby, I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

And he didn’t.

He didn’t change overnight. He didn’t cut Valentino off or turn into someone new. He still answered when Val called—sometimes with a sigh, sometimes with silence—but he always came back to you.

You understood.

Whatever Vox had with Valentino wasn’t simple. There were obligations, entanglements, histories thick as blood and twice as binding. It wasn’t just a matter of walking away. You’d stopped asking him to.

That's why you didn't fight him when his phone rang, and he stood there with that tension in his shoulders that meant he was going to leave. You just looked at him, steady and quiet, and said, “Come back when you can.”

And he did.

Every time.

He didn’t promise he’d stop answering Val. He didn’t pretend the world he lived in wasn’t dark, messy, and far from fair. But he gave you something more honest—his effort. His presence. His trying.

It wasn’t grand or romantic in the traditional sense, but it was real.

It was in the way he brushed your hair back when you were tired. In the way he asked if you’d eaten, or pulled you close when your laughter faded. In how his voice softened when he said your name, even when the rest of the world demanded the hard edge of him.

And you?

You stopped expecting easy. You let go of fairytale endings and leaned into the complicated truth of him.

Because it was never about making him choose between you and the world he couldn’t escape.

It was about choosing each other, again and again, even when it was hard. Even when it hurt a little.

There were still days he had to go. Nights when Valentino's grip pulled him away.

But there were mornings when he stayed. When he reached for you first. When he made time, not excuses.

No, this wasn’t perfect.

But as he curled around you that night, voice low and lips at your temple, you knew…

Whatever came next, you’d figure it out together.

✨ KOFI -- DISCORD SERVER -- xREADER COMMUNITY ✨

[notthebear]

carmy wants to cook- flat out you don't go through three star kitchens and excel in them if you don't want it, and i'm speaking from personal experience in that

however, he was trying to prove himself, specifically against mikey, against his home life. and so many chefs i've known have had moments where they sit back and say 'idk if i want this. i used to love it but i've changed and it's not the same'

so many people have mid-career shifts, it's not unique to chefs

the way carmy draws, i wonder? if he didn't have his 'fuck you watch this' mindset against mikey- would he have done something else? would be be a different kind of professional creative? and he's just so full of talent that it happened to manifest as cooking and he excelled at it?

maybe that's what we'll see in season 5, and maybe it's something that will tie into the Wright House and whatever he had going on with that table (like really please address that chris)

[rhaenyras-alicent]

can't stop thinking abt the concept of arthur hearing about this 'emrys' throughout different occasions here and there in the beginning of s4, and at first not thinking much of it, then when the name keeps getting repeated from different villains/sorcerers he interacts with, it finally catches his attention and he becomes genuinely concerned. he makes it a bit of a personal mission to find out who he is, but it's all a very lowkey side plot that's not the main focus (think of the 'traitor' arc also in s4). of course he talks about it with merlin, but to avoid suspicion, merlin shuts him down every time and tries to make him think this mysterious sorcerer is nothing to worry about.

as more time goes on, and the more arthur learns about this powerful sorcerer always protecting him from harm, and as much as he hates to admit this to anyone, most of all himself, as he's only ever been taught to hate magic and anything to do with it- he starts realizing 'emrys' is less of this evil entity that he has to hunt down and kill, and more of a guardian angel that he has genuine interest now in getting to meet. which would also be interesting in terms of contradicting morgana's plot in the same season.

then, in the s4 finale, something that merlin does or says at the end makes him finally connect the dots. he says nothing. the season closes with him just.......... left with the unbearable conflict of it all. the feeling of absolute betrayal from his own friend- the closest person to him that he turned out to not really Know at all, the anger at being lied to and his own obliviousness, all with also the gratitude to this man who has been protecting him without asking for anything in return, the confusion of why he's doing any of it, and the question deep down whether he even deserves it. he is just. left with so many questions and contradicting feelings that he just... says nothing. and we are left with this as the cliffhanger for s4's ending.

[dennisboobs]

:) i certainly have no issue dressing in drag :)

^guy who has no issue dressing in drag btw

glenn said that dennis' drag name is victoria von hemen btw

(Source)

[kacievvbbbb]

Rewatching Gumball is knowing that while there is no actual real overarching plot the episodes are still so amazingly interconnected.

I love how they do foreshadowing, how they build on little moments that we see through out other episodes. It's Banana joe's mom's future paintings being a small joke in "The Shell". Rob being in the deleted place with all the forgotten things in "The Void" after we see that Gumball and Darwin have a hard time remembering him and then completely forget him once Darwin kicks him into the sewers a whole season earlier in "The Pony". He then literally still has parts of the void ingrained in his design when he comes back. It's the fact that Penny and her family being hollow shells with something inside was being played as haunting jokes for episodes before the one based entirely around it. It's the fact that characters like Sarah have always been a little fourth wall breaky and so an episode like "The Fan Fiction" is so completely in line with her character that it's unremarkable in context, hell there's an episode where she sings the ending song to end the show and avoid an awkward conversation her being able to take some control of the show feels like the natural evolution of that.

The background characters in gumball have such distinct personalities that have been pretty consistent and built upon since season 2 which is completely insane and unprecedented for an episodic 2010 children's cartoon. The show might not have had an arc but it has always been continuous.

You do really get the sense that this is a world where everyone is very hyper-aware of the rules in which they operate. The show might reset at the end of the episode but the people don't

[snakes-of-the-undercity]

Vi is gifted kid burnout but in the english major way

[shima-draws]

Finished season 2…

[aliusfrater]

[shadystranger]

this moment so fucked up💀