#i kinda don't know how to tag this oops

[torchvic]

hi i saw @hausmalasada's oc neli and thought "wow that's so cool" so i drew her lol (i hope that's cool or something)

[ratstuckinamarble]

Hey! Saw you were having a bit of a rough time lately, so I wanted to sketch ya a quick little thing to keep pushing the jock Lagoona agenda hopefully help raise your spirits a little

I- thank you... I don't even know what to say. That's so incredibly sweet I'm kinda tearing up.

I'll always be here to pass the jock Lagoona agenda along ('-'*ゞ Gosh look at these cutiiiies, the vibe on all all your drawings of them is absolutely immaculate.

[ghostcasket]

I was wondering if I could write about your gay hallmark characters, but not as continuing the story (I wouldn't do that. It would be rude as fuck) but as fanfiction for your fanfiction.

hi! thank you for asking first, i really really appreciate it! just a clarification, my piece isn't fanfiction--100% original fiction!--but yeah, go for it, write all you want, i'd just rather you didn't post it. if you really want to, please just make sure to tag & credit me so ppl dont confuse it with canon 😊 thank you!

[technologyvoid]

4th and final scheduled post (really really hope I'll get rid of this before it posts-)

@chilei-the-hotsauce @whatcouldpossiblyg0wr0ng there may be cause to panic just a little bit

Edit crisis averted I live I think

[account-name]

idk if i'll end up with anything nice enough to post but i am finally out of art block for now and am working on redesigning my designs of the trio

[weeknd-ogoc]

LOOK AFTER YOU ✩ MAX VERSTAPPEN

SUMMARY: in which max and you have always found it really hard to move on from each other.

(inspired by the fray's song, look after you.)

FACE CLAIM: cindy kimberly

CONTAINS: reader!alonso, spanish!reader, angst due to past memories of your relationship with max, emotional cheating, use of y/n, could possibly trigger your daddy issues lols & kind of right person, wrong time trope!

AUTHOR'S NOTE: kinda felt like i rushed it and didn't go the way i wanted idk lol but hope you guys like it anyways! also i'm close to 1k followers, you guys are truly the best & ilysm !! 😭

yn_alonso

liked by fernandoalo_oficial, lance_stroll and 1,386,543 others

yn_alonso as my father says class not ass 🎀 #26

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fernandoalo_oficial mi nina bonita, te queiro mucho 🥹🥹

yn.alonso i love you pa 🥹💓

username i aspire to be y/n when i grow up

username ate as usual, happy birthdayyy!

landonorris TAKE ME IM READY

yn.alonso lan please 😭😭 fernandoalo_oficial norris, i'll see you soon. username oop her dad is going to go after you

alexandrasaintmleux I LUV YOU BAE

yn.alonso I LUV UUU charlesleclerc 🧐🧐

username ah i love it happy birthday! 🥳

lilymhe 26 has never looked so good!!

lance_stroll 😍

liked by yn.alonso

maxverstappen1 happy birthday! 🎈

yn.alonso thank youu! 💘 username lmaoo someone go check on kelly!!

posted on may 27th, 2023

✩

ever since you were born your father had been super protective over you, even at your grown age he was still meddling in your life whenever he possibly could but you couldn't complain about it because you liked to meddle in his life just as much too.

"if you don't quit eating that burrito..." you told your father as you took the burrito out of his hands just for him to snatch it back. "you're going to stink up my kitchen."

he rolled his eyes and put the burrito down. "which i paid for so technically speaking this is my kitchen too."

now here you were in paris on a date that your father had set up for you and on the phone with him.

"i'm with lance right now at an ice cream shop." you told your father through the phone while lance was picking at your ice cream cone. "no, lance is driving us."

he chuckled when you passed your phone towards to him and he put it up to his ear for a few seconds before speaking. "yes sir, i will drive carefully and she will be back in her house by eight."

once the conversation was done he handed your phone back. "he said i better be sleeping in the guest room and that he would see us tomorrow morning."

had it been any other guy, your father would've definitely flew out just to spy on the two of you but he actually liked lance and encouraged you to hang out with him — except the both of you only liked each other as friends so lance covered for you when you had dates with someone.

just a few years back your father pushed a few boys out of your lives due to them not being the correct fit for you.

"dad it's not fair, it's just one date!" you remembered your seventeen self yell at your dad. "max is a good guy and he even asked you for permis-"

he shook his head. "i don't care what he did, i am your father and you do as i say!"

then there was the time when you were twenty-two, there was pictures circulating of charles leclerc taking you out for dinner and also a video of him leaving your hotel room the next morning.

"you can do better than charles, he doesn't know how to settle down and that's not the type of guy you need in your life!" your father ended up calling you as soon as he saw those pictures. "i liked max better."

✩

maxverstappen1

liked by yn_alonso, charlesleclerc and 1,532,879 others

maxverstappen1 happy 22nd birthday to my baby! ❤️

tagged: yn_alonso

comments disabled

username mi mama y papa 🥹

username enjoy your day y/n!!

yn_alonso i love you 😚

maxverstappen1 i love you more ❤️

username why are they actually the cutest i'm cryinggg

fernandoalo_oficial look after her tonight, see you guys tomorrow!

maxverstappen1 always!

username 🎂

kellypiquet my favs, happy birthday y/n!

posted on may 27th, 2020

✩

max looked back at an old post he had posted for your birthday back when you guys were still together.

everyone loved you, your dad had been in formula one for the longest time so everyone basically saw you grow up but nobody knew you the way he had grown to know you — the two of you had been broken up for a few years now but remained friends, only greeting each other once in awhile whenever you guys had to.

"i don't understand why you haven't deleted your pictures with her." his now girlfriend, kelly told him. "we already take car of her ca-"

"it's our cat." max corrected. "so it is my responsibly to watch her just as much as it is hers."

during the short time that you guys had moved in with each other in 2020, he had gifted you a siamese cat and named her saturn which the both of you now co-parented for.

he had been playing with penelope when she rushed into the room talking about the comment he left on your post. "whose y/n?" penelope asked as she passed a tea cup over to max.

kelly let out a huff and sat down with them. "nobody important."

you were still important to him.

he had began liking you in his first year of formula one and you obviously liked him but it had been complicated to even see each other due to your dad being so overprotective over you.

"i really don't think we should sneak around..." max quietly advised as you pulled him into your hotel room but as soon as your lips reached his he changed his mind and just at eighteen years old, he did not really get how to do this boyfriend thing since you're the first girl he had ever taken seriously but he quickly learned because you had began to feel like home to him.

"her dad is a cool guy but when it comes to her he is kinda scary." daniel ricciardo told him as they walked to an interview. "better hope he doesn't find out."

max at the time thought you guys would not get caught — aside from your father not wanting him to see you, his father also didn't particularly like you because he believed you were getting in the way of his racing. "forget about seeing that little girl, you're not about to let some girl ruin your career that i helped you prepare for." he remembered his father telling him after seeing you guys kiss and max dragging you into his hotel room earlier that day.

you of coarse had been in the bathroom hiding, listening to their conversation and max was trying to defend his relationship with you but his father was not having it.

so it wasn't long before you heard a smack and his dad telling him he better not see you around again then max was saying everything his father wanted to hear to finally get him out of his room and be back with you.

as you heard the door close, you heard something being thrown at the door and you slowly walked out of the bathroom to see some tears coming out of max's face. "i swear i hate him!"

you had gone to wipe the tears off his face and as you hugged him, you saw the glass cup that was thrown at the door. "it's okay baby..."

in that moment max realized that every time he was losing his control and felt like the city was spinning around, you were the only one who knew how to slow it down.

"i mean we just won't get caught next time." you gave him a halfhearted smile while wrapping your arms around him while he nodded hugging you even tighter.

but during the last race of his first year your father had caught you guys after following daniel who was trying to cover for you guys.

✩

fernandoalo_oficial

liked by yn_alonso, maxverstappen1, and 1,122,342 others

fernandoalo_oficial i wanted to wish my little (not so little anymore) girl a happy birthday! i had you at only seventeen years old and it has been you and me since the very beginning, i wish i could go back in time to see you as a little girl one more time but those are powers i have yet to figure out. #26

feliz cumpleaños mi niña bonita 💛🌻

tagged: yn_alonso

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username crying in daddy issues

yn_alonso pa i'm crying! te amo mucho!! 💛 (i love you so much)

fernandoalo_oficial i love you more!

username my dad could never

username does she want a step mother???

yn_alonso uh no i don't 🤺

mclaren happy birthday y/n!!

liked by yn_alonso, fernandoalo_oficial

username what! i remember when she was 6 first entering the paddock!

username not max in the likes!!

username well they're friends lol

username she's so beautiful 😭

astonmartinf1 happiest birthday to our favorite girl!!

liked by yn_alonso, fernandoalo_oficial

posted on may 27th, 2023

✩

everyone knew fernando's daughter meant the world to him.

as a single teenage father he remembered the moment he first laid eyes on you, he had wanted to quit racing because he knew his career was time consuming and he wouldn't be able to give you all the time in the world.

"no puedes, fórmula uno siempre ha sido tu prioridad número u-" (you can't, formula one has always been your number one priority)

fernando shook his head as he looked towards your crib, you were only a few weeks old and had just fallen asleep after about an hour of fussing. "ella es mi primera prioridad ahora." (she's my first priority now)

it took a good while before your grandparents could get him to continue doing what he had always loved doing and when he finally entered formula one, he had decided to bring you along to wherever his races were just so he could make time to spend with you — of coarse his mother could not stay away from her only granddaughter so she tagged along.

at eight years old, his little girl was beginning to do as she pleases.

"y/n, no more cand-" your father stopped as he saw you opening up the chocolate wrapper with a smile. "you better no-" you had finally bit into your snicker bar and gave him another toothy smile that he adored. "after that one, you better not have another."

you nodded and ran off with schumacher's kids, later splitting another chocolate bar with mick.

"crees que tengo algo de qué preocuparme?" he asked referring to what he was currently seeing, he watched mick and you chasing each other around. (do you think i have something to worry about?)

his mother chuckled and shook her head. "nando, solo son niños."(nando, they're just kids.)

at thirteen years old, he was trying everything in his power to make sure you stayed his little girl.

"no, find another dress that goes down below your knees." your father told you and continued going through the other dresses.

you shook your head and tried on another dress that you somewhat liked.

"now that's beautiful!" he nodded his head to the dress.

you gave your grandmother a look but she shrugged and you groaned. "papá, me gustó mucho el otro vestido!" (dad, i really liked the other dress!)

so after bickering back and forth about the dress, you had won and your father was now paying for the two hundred dollar dress and whatever else you had him holding throughout the store.

at sixteen years old, he had finally started seeing you as a beautiful young women and not his baby girl.

"escúchame..." he began and dangled the keys to your brand new car that he had just bought you in front of your face. "you will drive carefully! no listening to music too loud, no texting or calling and i want to know where you are every hour." (listen to me)

you nodded and kissed his cheek. "yes pa, thank you so much!"

"and no boys in the car!" he sighed and gave you the keys to the car. "i really wish you had failed your drivers test again."

at eighteen years old, he was now beginning to worry about the growing friendship you had going on with max verstappen who was on his first year in formula one so he had his eyes on the both of you at all times.

"have you seen y/n?" your father asked people around the paddock and they all shook their heads. "i swear when i find her..."

being the horny teenagers that you guys were at the time, the both of you had finally found a spot where nobody was around and he had gently kissed you but before the kiss could get any further there was someone who cleared their throat.

"your dad is looking for you..." daniel ricciardo said as he gave the both of you a look. "i sent him back into the mclaren garage so you have a few minutes to wrap this up before he figures out you're not there."

there was another person clearing their throat and all three of you turned the other direction where your father stood with an angry face. "hi pa." you mumbled as you walked into his direction and he looked at max who was walking towards daniel's direction.

"i won't tell you again to leave my daughter alone."

at nineteen years old, he had a received a phone call that every parent had dreaded to ever hear.

"i'm sorry pa, the car just drove past us and i did-" you cried as he carefully hugged you.

you had been celebrating your birthday with max verstappen and lance stroll, who you had befriended this year when he joined formula one — you had been driving when you hit another car leaving you in a neck brace, max with a sprained wrist and since lance was in the back he just had a few scratches but nothing too serious.

"shh, estas bien..." (you're okay)

even though you were now nineteen and officially dating max for a few months now, as usual had made sure it was fine with your dad that you guys would be going out together and after another talk about keeping his daughter safe, he allowed you to go out with him and lance.

"i'm scared..." lance whispered to max just before entering your hospital room.

max nodded but he knew he was going to probably get it worse from your father since it was his responsibly to always look after you. "me too, he's going to kill me."

just before they entered the room they heard you apologizing to your father about getting the car crashed and that you'd pay him back but he shook his head. "the car can be replaced y/n but you can not be replaced, do you understand that? when max called me about you being here i swear my heart dropped and i couldn't even think clearly." he kissed the top of your head. "i'm glad that you are okay."

✩

yn_alonso

liked by landonorris, fernandoalo_oficial, and 1,541,292 others

yn_alonso so we both had a little hangover this morning but he placed second anyways, proudest of you! 💚

tagged: fernandoalo_oficial and astonmartinf1

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username BEST FATHER AND DRIVER

yn_alonso amen

username the cameraman had it out for you today

yn_alonso YES he were trying to catch me throw up in my little bucket i brought.

landonorris a king, congrats on p2 my father in law! 💚

fernandoalo_oficial oh shut up lando but thank you. yn_alonso 😭😭

username 🏆💚

username was it weird seeing your ex boyfriend on the podium with your dad?

username the real question was it weird seeing kelly after all the drama last year? 😂😂 username i'm new to f1 what was the drama??? username some video got posted during the fia prize giving ceremony a few months back showing kelly telling max not to speak to y/n username omg did you see the video of max going to hug y/n and fernando today? 🤭

posted on may 28th, 2023

✩

your father had invited max to the party he was secretly throwing that same night — he never had anything against max and he even still considered max part of the family so it wasn't awkward when max gladly accepted to go.

"a party for y/n? you are kidding right?" kelly asked as she saw max getting nicely dressed, it took her a good convincing to get him out of his usual red bull shirts so him wanting to look nice for this event was weird to her.

he applied his cologne and shrugged. "it's also for fernando so you can come kells if you really want to."

"they're not even your fami-" she shook her head with a small smile, after all max never gave her a reason to believe he couldn't be trusted. "i'll wait for you here."

so a few hours into the party he had found himself sitting outside on the porch with you and saturn on his lap. the two of you clearly had a bit much to drink since you guys were giggling a little too much causing people to look at the two of you whenever they walked by.

"twenty bucks they'll get back together by the end of this year." george whispered to his friends as they walked by for the fifth time in twenty minutes.

"thirty if they hook up tonight." alex then said.

"as if kelly would let that man go." lando responded with a laugh.

somehow you guys always ended up together at times like these or at least whenever kelly was not around, max really enjoyed these moments with you because it just reminded him of his past self with you.

"i need to go pee, come with me." you giggled as you dragged him with you but let him stay outside the door waiting for you.

he knew the two of you were perfect for each other but the two of you had constantly broken up and gotten back together so when kelly came around you had just broken up with him and he was looking for a quick fling — the morning after he had seen pictures of you and charles at the same hotel so he thought maybe you were looking for a quick fling also.

you guys had gotten back together a few weeks after and months after that, everything was going well between you guys so that was when he got you saturn as a gift also buying a shiny ring for you.

"of course i give you my blessing max!" your father told him giving him a hug. "took you long enough to finally propose to my little girl."

weeks later he had everything set up to propose to you but it was quickly ruined when kelly had been looking for him and even showed up to the apartment you guys shared.

"look my dad is waiting for me, let's just get this over with so just say what i know what you're about to say." he remembered you telling him with tears in your eyes.

you guys had plenty of breakups in the past but somehow this one felt different. "i'm not cheating on you if that is what you think."

you scoffed. "so where have you been the past few days? why is she looking for you at our apartment?"

just say it now max.

before he could continue thinking about how your last breakup went, you had came out the bathroom and held the back of your skirt.

"the zipper is stuck." you said turning around, letting him see the back of your skirt. "help?"

as he helped zip up your skirt, the three musketeers were giggling like little kids at what they were seeing and alex put his hand up for the money he was owed but quickly put it down at the next thing they saw.

you thanked him for helping you and he nodded. "it's my job to look after you." he quietly said as he finished zipping up your skirt, you had been looking through the mirror in front of you and seen the looks he was giving you.

"i'm glad you still wear the necklace..." max told you with his hand on your zipper then going to wrap his arms around your waist, resting his chin on the top of your head now looking at you through the mirror. "i would still be wearing the bracelet you gave me if it wasn't fo-"

"kelly." you nodded and just before you could shake him off.

he quickly shook his head and turned you around. "the chain broke and i haven't replaced it, would've fixed it sooner if i knew you still wore your necklace."

the two of you stayed looking into each others eyes and before anything else could happen your father walked in.

"i'm looking for my granddaughter!" he said and luckily for you guys he had been a bit tipsy he didn't realize how close you guys were. "ah there she is, hello guys we're cutting the cake c'mon!" he took saturn off one of the chairs she was resting on and quickly walked off.

even though your father hadn't seen that interaction there were the three men who did and were trying to decided who owed what to who.

✩

yn_alonso

liked by lance_stroll, maxverstappen1, and 2,468,386 others

yn_alonso 🤫

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fernandoalo_oficial delete this immediately

yn_alonso no 🥰

username ooh who are you looking at??

username who took the picture is the real question

username i'm ynsexual

username our girl is in love!!!!

fernandoalo_oficial no she's not

username i'd do whatever 🧎🏾‍♂️

landonorris she was looking at me

maxfewtrell i can confirm fernandoalo_oficial it's no times for jokes landonorris oh sorry father-in-law, see you at dinner.

username not her dad trying to do damage control and lando messing with him 🤭

username i hope it's lando he's always in her comments

username they'd be the IT couple!! username i dont think so cause he has said before that it's just for laughs, he loves seeing her dad get mad.

username she had a past relationship with max so could it be them?

username max and her are my endgame username don't forget about granny kelly

lance_stroll pretty girl 🤍

liked by yn_alonso

username whoever it is will be the public's enemy 😭

posted on may 29th, 2023

✩

max had found himself panicking on the inside when he saw your name pop up on his phone for the second time today while he was streaming on twitch — the two of you never called each other so he worried for a second right before penelope came to the room to hug him.

"hey p." he quickly flipped his phone over when he heard other footsteps follow along.

username: lmao why does he look so nervous?

username: is he still wearing the pants from last night?

username: he said he just got back home so possibly

username: penelope is adorable 😭

username: that was y/n calling him!!!

username: oh here comes granny kelly

obviously nothing happened last night with you, he left shortly after they cut your cake without saying bye to you and he ended up crashing at charles's place but the way everyone was assuming it was him who took your most recent picture on instagram, kelly was a bit annoyed with him.

"y/n called, she said she's taking the cat to the vet because she was sleeping all morning and suddenly woke up to throw up or something like that."

"oh no! will saturn be okay?" penelope asked looking over to max which he nodded in response and assured her the cat would be fine.

he let everyone on his stream know he had to go due to a family emergency and quickly got ready to go.

just before he could leave kelly was still going on about last night. "you just got back home and you're leaving again? over that stupid cat? over that whor-"

"watch it." he quickly turned over to face her giving her a look. "i already told you that i crashed at charles's and had it been one of our cats i would've booked a flight home as soon as i could."

"but you are always putting her first.." he began walking towards the door but she blocked it with her arms crossed. "if you leave to go see her, i hope she lets you stay at her house because you will not be welcomed here anymore."

✩

yn_alonso

liked by fernandoalo_oficial, lilymhe, and 989,321 others

yn_alonso for everyone who was concerned, saturn is doing much better! turns out she is pregnant and will be making max and i grandparents! 👵🏼💓

tagged: maxverstappen1

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fernandoalo_oficial upgraded to great grandfather! 👴🏼👍🏼

username i know those kittens will be spoiled just as much as she spoils saturn 😭

username imagine fernando? he's going to go crazy buying them things!

lilymhe ahh i told you!!

yn_alonso would've saved me a lot of money if i just listened to you lmaoo 🥲 alex_albon as if it actually hurt your bank account 😒 yn_alonso ugh you're such a hater, get out of here!!

username omg congrats saturn!!

username max is going to be a grandpa!!

posted on april 3, 2023

✩

you flicked max's forhead as soon as he arrived to your apartment and before he could even ask why you just did that, you were already carefully swooping saturn into your arms. "she only hangs around your cats so it's your fault this happened to her!"

in that moment max already figured out what had happened because his mind went back to finding saturn being real cozy with one of his cats one time.

"in my defen- ow!" you had just flicked him again and placed saturn back down onto your couch just to hit him with a pillow.

he stopped the next hit and he chuckled as he threw it at you. "she'll live but yes i'm sorry i should've told you when i saw them getting close."

so to keep you calm he did what he always did back when you guys were together and you were a bit mad with him, ordered your favorite kind of pizza and put on one of your shows you like to rewatch every now and then.

before the both of you knew it the sun had gone down and you wondered why he stayed as long as he did this time, he would never stay more than an hour.

"well i'll take these to sink..." you quietly said once you felt his head rest on your shoulder meaning he was starting to fall asleep. "i can bring you a blanket if you'd like or?"

"i can wash them." he shook his head and stood up, grabbing the plates from your hand. "but i do want to finish this episode with you so bring the blanket."

you nodded going into your room and grabbed one of the many blankets you had on your bed.

this was starting to remind you of every time you guys broke up, he'd show up buy you the pizza and watch the shows he swore up and down he hated then he'd somehow swoop you off your feet.

the both of you guys had always tried seeing other people in the short time you guys were broke up but it never worked and it resulted in finding your way back to each other — but the both of you had been broken up for three years now so you just always figured there was no chance of getting back together since he was now with kelly and he seemed genuinely happy.

when you brought back the blanket max was already laying down on the couch and just as you were about to hand it to him, he pulled you onto him and you tried getting up but he held onto you. "max, you can't do this to kelly..."

"she kicked me out, it's done."

even though you still felt a bit wrong about this whole situation, your arms wrapped around his neck and hid your head into the crook of his neck.

you had missed this feeling.

"you don't understand how much i missed you baby..." he found this as an opportunity to hug you tighter and place a kiss onto the side of your head. "i should've never let you leave me in the first place."

you groaned hearing those words and he chuckled. "it was a pretty dumb decision."

you guys were now locking eyes and he wanted to kiss you but he stopped himself before he could. "i want you to know this isn't a rebound thing, i want to make this work with you but for real this time. no more breakups."

"no more breakups." you repeated his words with a little nod. "but we're taking this slow max so no kissing right now."

he groaned and sighed. "fine but stay here with me so i can look after you."

✩

liked by yn_alonso, charlesleclerc and 2,983,009 others

maxverstappen1 good way to end the month!

tagged: yn_alonso

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yn_alonso te amooo ❤️

maxverstappen1 te amo more ❤️

username bro is literally winning in life 🧍🏻‍♀️

landonorris i am up for adoption (just in case)

yn_alonso sorry we don't take in strays 🙂

georgerussell63 please just get married already

alex_albon ^^ i agree maxverstappen1 trust me, i'm working on it.

username NEVER break up again! 😭

username this was not very girls girl of her.

fernandoalo_oficial nobody is as happy as i am right now! 🥲

liked by yn_alonso & maxverstappen1

username ah more kitties!!!

kellypiquet wow alright.

username grandma is that you? 😂😂

username FINALLY!

posted on march 2, 2024

𝐦𝐲 𝐦𝐨𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐬𝐩𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐬 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭!

© 𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐤𝐧𝐝-𝐨𝐠𝐨𝐜 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟒. 𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐦𝐨𝐝𝐢𝐟𝐲, 𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭, 𝐨𝐫 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐠𝐢𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐳𝐞 𝐦𝐲 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤.

[rosyblooom]

levi's jeans | ln4 smau

PAIRING: lando norris x fem quadrant!reader SUMMARY: y/n loves levi's jeans—it's all she wears, ever. so when lando has to draw her in a quadrant video, that's what he draws: levi's jeans. a bad attempt at flirting? maybe, but it gets the ball rolling. A/N: been listening to 'levii's jeans' 24/7 since the album dropped omg

Youtube - Quadrant

Twitter

Instagram

yourusername

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tagged: landonorris

yourusername happy now??? i don't only wear levi's jeans see😌

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username the lando tag??? lmao his drawing is still on her mind💀

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[ caption: New Quadrant video out now!! Swipe up to watch ]

Youtube - Quadrant

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[ caption: 👖 ]

[ tagged: yourusername ]

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[ caption: let's ride 🏍️ ]

[ tagged: landonorris ]

f1gossipofficial

liked by username, username, username and 12,400 others

f1gossipofficial After two months of being spotted together numerous times in London and Monaco, and stirring up dating rumours, Lando Norris and fellow Quadrant member Y/N L/N were recently seen off the coast of Spain, soaking up the sun and looking pretty cosy.

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yourusername

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tagged: levis

yourusername so happy to announce my levi's x y/n collab that's coming out next week friday!!😭 as everyone probably knows (and is sick of lol) i love me some levi's, so this collection has been soo much fun to work on and i'm very excited for you guys to see it!!🤍❤️💙

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landonorris

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landonorris Never getting sick of your levi's jeans obsession🤣 So proud of you baby ❤️👖

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username took yall long enough🤧

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3:35 ─────────ㅇ─── 4:17

[astrxealis]

sometimes i overthink and get overly anxious but then my worries are quelled and that feeling is just. the best

[godsandmonsters505]

Roll Like Thunder | Negan Smith

dbf!Negan Smith (The Walking Dead) x younger fem!reader

(AU where the apocalypse never happened)

Summary: Negan is your dad's best friend and the two of you settle some tension while on your family vacation.

Warnings (18+): age gap (reader is college age, maybe 20-ish, and Negan's age is not specified but I'm feeling early 50s), smut (fem receiving oral, unprotected p in v), possibility of getting caught, edging

Notes: this actually kinda turned out sweet in a way I think, which is surprising because that's not often an outcome when I write for Negan lmao. not proofread yet because I just wanted to get it out to you all asap, but will edit if needed when I get the chance. hope you enjoy!! (also the intro is kinda long oops)

Grabbing your glass of wine you take another much needed swig, cringing at your dad and uncle. They always find some way to turn every conversation into a political argument while the rest of your family eat their meals and exchange knowing glances

Family holidays were always like this. The one time a year when everyone was together: your parents, aunt, uncle and cousins. Only this year, there was a new addition.

Negan had grown up being a close friends with both your father and uncle and they are still best friends to this day. He recently went through a messy divorce and this is his first Christmas without his wife in a long time. Your dad never was good with showing kindness or friendship, but your uncle had convinced him it would be a good idea to invite him to his cabin for your annual Christmas getaway.

And that's how you got here.

You'd always had a little bit of a crush on Negan, for as long as you could remember. Though you never saw much of him as a kid. It wasn't until you got older - old enough to be able to drink in front of your parents - that you got to spend more time with him. Drinking was a big part of their social life, so once you could join in, you got to know him better. You got on well with your parents so you'd have barbeques with them and their friends, join in with conversations in the kitchen when they'd have people over, go out to dinner. But then you went off to college and started spending less and less time with them. So now it's Christmas time, you're happy to be able to spend time with your family. And Negan, more than you'd care to admit.

"Okay fellas," your mom chimes in. "Enough of that."

Negan makes eye contact with you from across the other side of the table and you smirk at each other. You're both all too familiar with watching this from an outside perspective.

"The food's delicious, Negan," she adds, turning to Negan, who had cooked this meal for you all. Sort of as a thank you for letting him tag along. For the first few days in the cabin he felt a little out of place, like he was intruding on your family's time together. But eventually he began to find himself settling. You were lucky to have a very fun, non-judgmental family so everyone was happy to have him there.

You nodded in agreement with your mother's statement. "I'd have more if there was any left." You motion to your empty plate.

"I'm glad it's got your approval, ladies," he grins.

The meal comes to an end and alcohol starts flowing. Your cousins are all younger than you so they head off to their bedrooms to do whatever it is kids their age do.

"I'd better get these dishes cleaned," Negan declares, standing up from his seat.

"No," you say, protesting. "You cooked. I'll clean."

"It's fine, you don't have to," he says kindly.

"I want to," you smile. "Really I'm happy to."

"We'll do them together?" He suggests, coming to a compromise and you nod in agreement.

"You raised a stubborn one," he mumbles teasingly to your dad, patting his shoulder as he walks past him.

"She gets that from me," your mom chirps as the two of you pick the plates up from the table and carry them into the kitchen.

Putting the plates on the kitchen top, you head to the fridge and look inside.

"Beer?" you ask, peeking around the door to look at Negan's response. Though you already have two cans in your hand, knowing he won't turn down the offer.

He nods. "Can't do anything without a drink in hand in this family, huh?"

You close the fridge door and pass him his beer, cracking open his own.

"You should be more than aware of that," you tease. "I've heard what you and my dad used to get up to."

"I'm sure you've not even heard the most of it," he teases back.

You laugh softly under your breath at his response.

"I'll wash, you dry?" You suggest as the sink begins to fill with soapy water.

The two of you get the dishes done relatively quickly as Negan tells you a story from his college days. You have to keep yourself composed and remember who he is. Remember that these stories he's telling of him at your age took place before you were even born. A decade before, at least. But, every so often, as you pass him the plates to dry, your fingers touch his and such a small motion has you weak. You can't look him directly in the eyes as he stands so close to you. That signature grin of his spread across his face.

The two of your finish and you take a large swig of your beer, but it's no surprise that the flush of alcohol doesn't help your body heat. You can only hope and pray that your cheeks aren't beetroot red right now.

"I'm sure you've got plenty of stories, though, right?" He asks. "Being in college and all. And with your dad's genes...God."

A playful smile spreads on your face. "Sure. I'm absolutely not telling you though. My dad would have a heart attack."

"Ahh," he smiles back. "So this whole 'good girl' thing is just an act, then?"

Holy shit. Good girl? He has no clue what he is doing to you calling you things like that.

"I can be good when it suits me." You say, almost flirtatiously, and immediately kick yourself. Why the hell would you say something like that to him?

Your off-the-cuff reply has him grinning. He swipes his tongue over his teeth as he contemplates your words and you almost drop to your knees.

"Let's go see what political debate has become the talking point now," you say, changing the topic to hide your complete embarrassment. You leave the kitchen and head to the living room, Negan following.

Somehow, in the time it took you to wash the dishes, your mom and aunt have gone through a bottle and a half of wine, and they're sat on the floor with your dad and uncle playing some sort of drinking game.

You sit down on the couch and Negan sits next to you. Why? Why could he not just sit away from you? Give you some space to compose yourself? But the action is completely innocent. There is just less than a foot between the two of you, yet it still feels like he is on top of you. Like you're breathing the same air.

"What was I just saying?" Negan says, nudging your arm with his elbow. "Alcohol."

You shake your head in playful disagreement with your relatives' actions.

"Hey, mom," you say and her head whips around, as laughter escapes her lips. "Think you've had enough for tonight?"

"Oh, you're so boring," she waves her hand at you dismissively.

The four of them continue for about half an hour as you and Negan observe and laugh. The game finally comes to an end when your aunt and uncle discreetly head off to their bedroom for a reason you don't even want to think about. Your parents follow shortly after, your dad having to carry your drunk mom up the stairs.

You come back from the kitchen where you were getting another lager for you and Negan. As you do so, you look for the TV controller and find a blanket that was lying around. You sit down again next to Negan and look down at your phone to check the time.

"God, it's not even 10 o'clock yet." You laugh.

"Amateurs," he says sarcastically.

You pass him his beer which he thanks you for, then get under you blanket.

"Want some?" You ask, holding out some excess blanket towards him.

"Sure," he accepts, getting comfortable himself.

The whole situation you're in is completely innocent, but it dawns on you that you're currently alone with Negan, tucked under the same blanket. Given that fact, you make a conscious effort not to touch him at all and try to remain composed.

"Put a movie on?" You ask him, passing the TV remote to him.

He takes it from your hand, brushing his fingertips across yours.

You watch him carefully as he selects a film to put on, making sure not to get caught admiring him. He just looks so good. The salt and pepper sprinkled throughout his hair and beard. The tattoos that cover his arms. The way his white t-shirt hugs his body just right. You're brought out of your thoughts when he speaks.

"You seen Batman Returns?" He asks, looking down at you.

"Of course," you smile. "It's a classic."

"Feel like watching it again?"

You nod. You'll watch whatever he wants. Do whatever he wants.

"Absolutely," you answer. "I didn't peg you as a Batman kind of guy, to be honest."

"Like you say, it's a classic," he says. "Plus there's always Michelle Pfeiffer."

You laugh at him. "I feel you."

You polish off another beer as you watch the film. You try your best to pay attention, to keep your eyes open, but you grow increasingly tired. It must have only been fifteen minutes into the film when you finally drift off, reality slipping away.

When you wake up again, it takes a while to fully gain consciousness, You feel something under you head, under your arm, but you don't pay much attention to it.

You feel warm. Comfortable. You don't want to wake up, you could stay here forever. The smell of men's shampoo and cologne comforts you, a soft material under the touch of your hand.

All of a sudden reality dawns on you. You realise that your head is leaning on a shoulder. That your hand is draped across a torso. You shoot up, sitting upright and see Negan smiling at you softly through slightly hooded eyes.

"Oh God," you say, feeling incredibly humiliated. "I'm sorry." But he just chuckles.

You look over to the television and see a black screen.

"Did the movie finish?" You ask groggily and he nods. Fuck. You slept for the entire duration of the film and who knows how much of that time you spent laying on Negan's shoulder.

What you're only just realising now, though, is how close you're still sat to him. How even though you're sat up, Negan's shoulder is casually draped across the back of the sofa, dangerously close to your shoulder blades.

"Why didn't you just wake me up?" You ask, feeling flushed.

"You looked peaceful." He answers, honestly. "Didn't want to disrupt you."

"I'm sorry," you apologize again. "You should've woken me up."

"I didn't mind, sweetheart." He insists. "Honestly."

The pet name drives you utterly insane. As if this whole thing wasn't already enough. Your body feels so hot. What with the blanket, his body heat, your arousal.

"I will say though, you do talk quite a bit in your sleep," he smiles coyly and dread shoots through your entire body.

"Wh-what-" you can't even get a full sentence out. "What did I-"

A flash of a dream comes back to you in that moment. Oh God. Oh God, no. You can't remember the details, but you remember the feeling. Negan on top of you. His body weight on you. The ecstasy you felt. His hands on your body. His name slipping from your lips.

You had a sex dream about Negan while you were laying on his Goddamn shoulder. You're lost for words, but Negan is enjoying watching this play out. He bites his lip, trying to suppress his smug grin as he watches you realise the possibilities of what you might have said.

His arm slowly slips off the back of the sofa and creeps around to touch you, the movement making you flinch a little. What is he doing?

He takes his other hand and places two fingers just under your chin, forcing you to look up at him. The two of you make eye contact and you can't even contemplate what is happening - still a little groggy from your nap - before his lips are coming down gently on yours.

You kiss him back almost immediately. It's a surprising delicate and intimate kiss, and you daringly bring your hand up to his neck to pull him in deeper, but he pulls back.

You worry that he is having second thoughts, but the look in his eyes says the complete opposite. He just wants to get a good look at you before he tears you apart. You feel vulnerable under his hungry eyes but you love how it makes you feel.

The two of you take a moment to catch your breath before your lips join again, this time the kiss rougher. More passionate. His arms wrap around your back to pull your body snug to his and you intwine your fingers into his hair, tugging ever so slightly. His large hands snake further down and grab your hips, pulling you onto his lap. As you get comfortable you shift along his length and gasp, feeling that he is already hard.

"You were practically fucking dry humping me in your sleep," he chuckles. "You can't blame me."

"So that's why you didn't want to wake me up, then?" You're barely able to mumble, teasing him.

"Hmm, maybe." You can feel him smile into the kiss and it makes you want him more. Everything about him is so endearing. He just radiates this warmth, this aura, and it's radiating.

Even now, however, you're nervous to move things along. You know what you want but this is still so surreal, and it would be an understatement to say you feel a little intimidated in this moment. You have enough sexual experience, but this is Negan. This is different. So you're glad when he takes control and begins to lift up your top, pulling it over your head to expose your bra.

His mouth makes contact with the flesh of your chest, sucking and nipping while he reaches around to unhook your bra. He feels his cock twitch when he sees your bare breasts, taking a nipple into his mouth immediately as his warm hands roam and caress your back, travelling over your smooth skin.

As you start to subconsciously grind into his bulge, Negan continues to explore your breasts. You're looking for any kind of relief and you begin to find some as he presses up into you, but both of your pants are restricting you.

You feel yourself crumbling further and further as Negan's hands come around to aid him with his attention to your breasts, squeezing and practically groaning as he does so. The noise changes something inside you, and makes you realise that you need him stripped of his clothes right this second.

You grasp the bottom of his shirt and he briefly pulls away from you to allow you to move it, but the second you're done, his lips are back on your skin, leaving marks on your collarbone and neck. Next, you move onto the buckle of his belt but he swats your hand away.

Pulling back from the kiss, you look to him with wide eyes full of confusion. That look alone is nearly enough to cause him to fold and fuck you right then and there. But he has other plans.

"Be patient for me, honey," he says sweetly, and as badly as you want him, you trust him.

He pulls your body flush to his, so that your breasts are pressed entirely against the heat of his chest. Then he grips your lower back and stands up, holding you tightly.

"We can't do this here," he says, carrying you towards the stairs. You grind up against him playfully as he does so and he stops momentarily half way up the stairs, clearly affected by the action. In retaliation he gently swats your ass and you giggle at his response.

"Shh," he hushes, but he can't hide the grin that spreads across his face as you bury your face in his shoulder to muffle the sound.

Being as quiet as possible, he takes you into his bedroom which - awkwardly - is across the hall from your parents' room.

He puts you down on the bed, barely allowing himself to be away from you for a second, climbing on top of you hastily. He goes back to kissing you, the taste of him intoxicating. The way he kisses are gentle yet so hot and passionate at the same time, becoming increasingly sloppy as they shift from your lips to your jaw, neck, chest, abdomen, until you're a writhing mess beneath him.

Once he has kissed so far that he reaches the waist line of your trousers, he unbuttons them and pulls them all the way down. He throws them onto the floor, leaving you just in your lace black panties. He nudges your legs open and moves his kisses to your thigh. He's slowly breaking you and you're not sure how much more you can take. Painstakingly slow, he trails his tongue up your inner thigh until he reaches the edge of your panties.

Eventually he slips your panties off and you tremble as you feel the cool air of his room against your hot, aching core. He places his hands on your inner thighs to push them open further, mouth watering at the sight of you. The delicate touch of his fingers send shivers up your spine and you're in desperate need of more.

"Please, Negan," you say, barely a croak.

"Shh, let me take care of you," he soothes, his voice low and gravelly as he tries his best to stay quiet. "Wanted to taste this sweet pussy for so long."

As if to affirm his words, he lowers his head and licks a stripe straight through your folds, groaning as he feels how wet you are.

He then moves his mouth to make contact with your clit, your hips raising at the action. He starts off by sucking gently, leaving you aching for more as you reach down to grab his hair, not knowing what else to do. He chuckles as you do so and sends vibrations straight through your core. Unable to control yourself, a moan escapes you lips and he squeezes your thighs warningly, wordlessly telling you to be quiet.

He takes his time to precisely pull you apart, but then his motions begins to get harsher, faster. You feel that rising feeling in the pit of your stomach begin to spread after waiting for what feels like so long. He alternates between kissing, sucking, licking, nipping until you're desperate for more. Sensing this, he teases one finger at your entrance.

"Please," you whimper, legs trembling. He answers your pleading by pushing his single digit inside you in one long push, as deep as he can go, and keeping it there momentarily. As he continues to eat you out, he begins moving his finger, fucking you gently. When he adds a second finger you have to clasp your hand over your own mouth to stop yourself from calling out his name. Your legs wrap around his head, wanting to pull him closer to you in any way possible.

Closing your eyes, you feel that white hot feeling flooding through your veins, but right as you're about to reach your peak, he pulls his fingers out and his mouth away from you.

You let out a guttural sound, one of desperation which causes Negan to laugh under his breath.

"Negan, God, please," you whine, putting both your hands on his head and pushing him back down.

"So bossy," he mumbles with a smile on his face, but he obliges.

He doesn't use his fingers on you again, but it makes no difference. You're already pent up enough as it is that it won't take a lot to make you reach your peak. Plus, you don't doubt that Negan's skillful mouth is more than enough for you.

He circles his tongue around your clit, going back to sucking while using his free fingers to absentmindedly trace little patterns into your thighs. The only noises are your heavy pants and the wetness of his mouth against you, and it fills the otherwise deadly silent bedroom.

He's starting to become more familiar with your body and your reactions and he can tell you're getting close again. To which he stops and pulls away yet again.

"Negan," you almost cry. Tears prick in the corners of your eyes as you throb for him. "Please, I need to-"

"I got you baby," he assures you, stroking the flesh of your thighs comfortingly.

You can't bare it. You almost despise him for doing this to you, but you can't. It's all so surreal: having this man between your thighs. So often you have fantasized of it and though it's so wrong, it's now happening.

Before you can beg again, his lips make contact with you. This time he's a man on a mission. His tongue flicks against your clit as two of his fingers slip back inside you. You're so wet that it's an easy motion, but you still feel the tight, delicious stretch. He allows you to get used to it, building you up until he adds a third finger and you have to use all your power not to yell out his name. You try your hardest not to hurt Negan by squeezing your thighs too much or pulling his hair too hard, but he loves it. He loves driving you crazy, seeing you unwind for him. The noises you make. The taste of you.

Relentlessly, he penetrates you with his fingers, pushing and curling his fingers deep inside you, hitting a spot that eventually brings you your release. One last push, one last flick of his tongue and you're falling over the edge. You squeeze your eyes shut and you can't help the animalistic sound that leaves you as white flashes behind your eyelids. He continues eating you out through your orgasm and it hits you that you think you're doing something you never have before.

Once you manage to come around again, you let your legs relax and look down to Negan who looks up at you. He smiles smugly, your wetness remaining in his beard and it causes you to go weak in the knees.

"Did I just-?" Squirt, you want to say. But somehow it doesn't seem like the nicest word to describe what just happened between of the two.

He nods with a glimmer in his eyes as he makes his way up the bed, his body above yours.

"I've never-" you croak. "I've never done that before."

"You just needed a man, that's all," he gloats and you roll your eyes. "It was hot as fuck, for what it's worth."

He leans down and places a soft kiss on your lips. You can taste yourself on him.

You're still shaking a little, but you manage to pull back a little to look him in his eyes.

"Are we really doing this?" You ask, bordering on timid.

"Do you want to?" He counters.

"Yes," you say, quickly, not wanting him to think you're having doubts. Because there is absolutely no doubt in your mind that you want the man above him. Hell, you need him. But somehow you find yourself feeling a little insecure and needing reassurance. "Do you?"

"Darling," he laughs. "Not to be crude, but you just came all over my face. I want this more than you know."

You nod and smile, feeling more confident. "I'm sorry, I just-"

He interrupts your babbling with a long kiss to your lips, silencing you.

"You need to worry less," he says, bringing his hand to stroke your cheek sweetly.

"Make me." You propose flirtingly, smiling up at him.

"That I can do." His lips crash down on yours and his tongue intertwines with yours.

Reaching down to his pants you fumble with his zip, which he helps your shaky hands undo. He shifts both his pants and boxers down off his ankles, and though you can't see his length fully from this angle, you can feel its hardness press against your lower stomach and he feels big.

"You ready, baby?" He raises his brow at you as he grips his member and teases it through your folds.

"Yes, please Negan," you pant, even after having the best orgasm of your life, you still need more. "Need you inside me."

He groans as he slips inside of you and the way you practically beg for him drives him crazy.

"So fucking tight, holy shit," he mumbles into your ear, his head dropping down to bite and suck on the crook of your neck. "Oh, baby, fuck."

Hearing him say such obscene things affects you in an indescribable way. His voice has always been massively attractive to you, but now...you're done for. The deep rumble, smooth like honey, even lower in an attempt to remain quiet to your family in the surrounding bedrooms. It's like dark magic. It has you hooked. He could say the right thing to you with that voice and you'd cum right there and then.

His movements are slow, savoring the sensation of you around him. He wants to take his time with you. He never wants it to be over.

Instinctively, you wrap your legs around his back and lift your hips up wanting more from you. He maintains his pace, but does start pushing deeper inside you like you wanted.

"I've wanted you for so long," you say, not even in control of your words anymore. It's like he's fucking them right out of you. He moans into your neck at your admission and starts thrusting a little faster, as if in response to your statement.

"Do you know-" he stops speaking for a moment to breathe and compose himself, clearly enjoying this as much as you, "how often I get myself off thinking about you?" He punctuates his point with a particularly hard thrust and that - in combination with the idea of him masturbating to the thought of you - causes you to cry out. You thought he would shush you, but he seems too far gone at this point.

"A fucking pretty little thing like you," he says, his hands groping at your tits, his touch rougher than before, "it'd be hard not to."

"Oh god," you whimper. "Harder, please."

His movements get harsher gradually, following your command and getting you closer and closer every second.

He lifts his head up and the way he looks at you makes your insides collapse. To be the sole object of his attention. How he looks at you like you're all that ever mattered.

"I'm so close, Negan," you tell him.

"Taking me so fucking well, darling," he praises, reaching one hand down to lazily play with your clit. That's all it takes and he can feel it coming as you begin to squeeze around him. He takes your lips in a long, sensual kiss as you climax, trying to muffle your moans as he fucks you through your orgasm. Your hands are wrapped around his back, squeezing into his shoulders as you try your hardest to be quiet. Pure pleasure surges through your veins as he presses his entire body weight into you: suffocating in the most beautiful way possible.

Gradually, Negan's movements come to a halt and he stops moving inside you briefly, letting go of you come down from your high.

"You're gonna be the fucking death of me," he declares and before you can reply, he suddenly starts moving inside you again, faster than the last time, placing a quick peck on the tip of your nose as he does so.

He soon reaches a pace much faster than before and you're rendered speechless.

Your attention is grabbed, however, by the open and shut of a door somewhere. You gasp and your eyes widen at the sound. The possibilities of who it could be and if they'd heard you start to race through your mind but your thoughts are cut off when Negan clasps a hand firmly over your mouth to keep you quiet. He presses you further into the mattress as he fucks you even harder than before, enjoying tormenting you.

You listen closely to the footsteps. They're quite loud - that of a man - probably your dad or uncle. The pitter patter grows closer and your heard races, both from the fear of getting caught and from the sensation of Negan deep inside you. Hitting places you're sure no other man ever has or ever could. You relax a little as you hear the footsteps pass Negan's bedroom and head into the shared bathroom, the door closing afterwards.

Negan takes his hand off your mouth and you gasp for air.

"Oh my god, please don't stop," you beg as he sets a pace and sticks with it, snaking his slender fingers back down to your clit and circling it gently.

"I don't plan on," he chimes. "You're taking me so well."

You've never felt anything like this. Your entire body is numb and slick with sweat. All you can do is grab onto his hair and try your best to lift your hips to meet his thrusts.

To help you out, he grabs your body and switches positions slightly. He lifts himself up then clutches your thighs, lifting them onto his shoulders. Then his hands grip onto your hips and he has access to you in a way that allows him to go much deeper. You know you can't take much more. You're close to crying just from how much you want to scream his name.

Your eyes keep fluttering shut but you force them opening, wanting to keep them on the man doing this to you. His tousled hair, his flexed biceps, his tattooed chest.

"Harder, please," you whisper. "I'm nearly there."

Thrusting harder, he also adds his fingers back to your clit, rubbing harshly. It's almost painful on your sensitive nerves but it feels unreal and it's enough to build you up to near-ecstasy.

Your mouth hangs open but you refrain from making any noise. In one unexpected motion, he lands a slap to your clit and it sends your orgasm rushing.

"Good girl, that's it," he guides you through as your body starts to spasm.

He continually pounds into you and turns his head to the side to place soft kisses to your inner thigh, contrasting the way he now ruthlessly moves inside of you.

You contract around him as you cum and you can tell he is trying his hardest to hold on as he visibly hesitates, not knowing where to release.

"Cum inside me, Negan," you give permission. "Want it so bad."

Those words were all he needed as he spills inside you, the warm liquid filling you.

Gradually, his movements slow down as he fucks you through the both of your orgasms, fucking his cum deeper inside you, and then pulls out and collapses next to you.

You rest your head on his shoulder and to your surprise, he pulls you closer to him, placing a kiss to your forehead.

"Holy shit," you giggle, the whole situation setting in.

Negan's about to speak but his sentence stops forming when the bathroom door opens and closes again. You'd completely forgot about that.

The two of you exchange a glance as you wait for the footsteps to disappear down the hallway. Once they're gone, you relax back into his embrace.

Absentmindedly, you place your hand on Negan's warm chest, tracing the ink of his tattoos. Its surprisingly comforting having him this close, to be held by him. You're entranced by the smell of his cologne and the way his chest heaves up and down, catching his breath. He smiles as he watches you, equally as entranced by you. He can't quite believe that the daydreams he thought were exactly that - daydreams - have come to life.

"We'll have to do this again," he grins coyly, "some place where you can scream my name as loud as you need to." His hands run over your body, cupping your breasts as if to appreciate as much of you as possible.

"I'd like that," you smile back, snuggling into his arms. You know you can't stay here all night, but you'll appreciate it for as long as possible.

[aliceramblez]

BroZone Brothers With An Insecure S/O 😔💗

Tags: GN! Reader, Self-Deprecating Jokes, Low Self-Esteem, Abandonment Issues, Slight Body Insecurities. Fluff/Comfort.

A/N: Here we go with our first request! I really liked this idea as someone who has low self-esteem, and honestly it goes to all of y'all who think you're not good enough— cause you are! Also sorry it took a bit! I've been sick because the universe hates me 🙃

Feel free to leave a request & hope you enjoy! ^^

John Dory

At first, he doesn't really know what to make of it.

He finds it a bit strange, but doesn't question your odd sense of humor, and will sometimes even join in on the joke by saying stuff about himself, thinking it's some sort of inside thing between the two of you.

“Man, I can't believe I'm so clingy, sorry! Feel free to use me as a bad example, at least that way I won't be totally useless, haha!”

“Ha! You think that's bad? Babe, you haven't even seen me when I'm up at night just staring at the ceiling contemplating my life choices.”

It isn't until getting a good smack from Bruce and Floyd that he realizes you're actually being serious. And the prospect of that kinda puzzles him, not gonna lie.

“Look at you, tiger! Got yourself plenty of groupies already— Not surprising honestly. Don't have to worry about backups when you decide you're ready to move on, either!”

After a performance at the Pop Troll village, everyone is gushing over BroZone because of course they are. JD only barely manages to squeeze past the number of fans to get to you on the other side of the podium.

The oldest sibling looks at you in shock, and has to get closer to make sure he heard you right. “Babe, why would you say that?”

Caught off guard, you manage a nervous chuckle as you play with your hair. “I-I mean... Wow, would you look at the time! We gotta meet with Poppy and the others!”

John Dory stops you on your tracks and demands an explanation, which isn't really good for your poor heart. All you can do is kick the dirt and avoid his gaze, since that makes what you're about to say much easier to voice aloud.

“I mean... You're John Dory. You could date any troll you wanted and yet you're sticking with me. It honestly feels like a dream sometimes... And I'm scared of the day you realize you can do WAY better and decide to leave me.”

After processing this, he immediately holds your face in his hands and gives you the most serious expression you've ever seen on him. “I don't want just any random troll... I want you. You're my number one fan, and I'm yours, so don't even think about stuff like that, okay?”

After the exchange, he's always on the lookout for whenever your bad habit wants to kick in again and is ready to stop it ASAP

Spruce/Bruce

He notices it happens mostly when you're working at the cantina.

Whenever you get an order wrong, trip over your own feet or don't remember how to work one of the machines properly, you'll go into an awkward insecure flight response.

You'll say “Oops! Sorry! Clumsy Twinkle Toes, coming through!” while grinning and laughing along with the customers, but Bruce knows that it's affecting you more than you lead on.

It also happens whenever BroZone is getting ready to perform and you don't know what to do with yourself since you're “standing in the way”, despite being told multiple times that it's okay for you to be backstage with everyone else.

When he talks to you about it, you get really uncomfortable and just say that it's no big deal and that you can handle it.

“I've always been a clumsy person, so I guess that's always making me doubt myself over the smallest of things... Sorry if it's annoying.”

Bruce will then proceed to give you a huge warm hug and a kiss on the forehead as he whispers comforting words into your ear.

“Hey, I can be clumsy too! I've always been the worst out of everyone when it comes to choreography. Don't tell JD though, cause I know he'll throw a fit knowing I don't practice.”

He'll throw in other examples that may seem inconsequential to you, but you appreciate the effort nonetheless and smile and giggle through the embarrassing stories he shares.

He helps you get more confident by being there with you while taking orders at the cantina and praising you whenever you get something right— albeit in private as to not embarrass you.

Same goes with rehearsals, where he WILL drag you into the lounge area to hang with his brothers and/or Poppy and Viva when they decide to visit, too.

Overall he wants what's best for you and will try and push you out of your comfort zone, but only in a safe environment where he knows that if something does go wrong, it won't be as catastrophic as you make it out to be in your head.

You never stop thanking him for being your crutch during these times.

Clay

The moment he hears the words come out of your mouth he's completely flabbergasted.

First of all, who said those things to you? Because he swears he just wants to talk to them—

It's at a sleepover with his brothers and the gals at the Bergen Golf Course, and among the many games, snacks and movies watched, pictures are also taken.

As soon as you take a look at the array of selfies, you let out what sounds like a mix between a laugh and a sigh.

“I mean, at least it stays consistent— in photos, I look ugly. And in real life, I'm also ugly!”

As soon as those words leave your lips, Clay is at your side with an almost unreadable expression, only to snatch one of the photos from your hands. “How DARE you say that about the most attractive troll I've ever met? Shame on you!”

He then starts going around the room waving the picture around to his brothers, saying stuff like “Look how attractive my S/O is! I'm dating them!” while you're just blushing profusely and begging him to stop (even though deep down your kinda giddy about it).

After that day, Clay will do small gestures in which he reminds you how beautiful he thinks you are. Everything to outright saying it each morning, joking about it with his brothers, and even bragging about you to his friends in the Bergen Golf Course.

He's a simp and he's totally okay with that because it's you.

Clay feels like he's the luckiest troll in the world for being able to snatch someone like you since he's “the most boring and uninteresting of the bunch”, so he feels like he's hit the jackpot.

You immediately tell him that he's not boring to you and that he's the best boyfriend ever, which only causes him to smirk.

“Doesn't feel good to know the person you love feels so bad about themselves, does it?”

Finally realizing his reverse psychology, you give in with a laugh. “No, it doesn't. I guess... We can both work on that? Together?”

And so you do, and end up helping each other whenever one is feeling down in the dumps, as a sort of personal cheerleader. You truly couldn't have asked for someone better.

Floyd

You're the kind of person who's very vocal about your interests.

So it's no surprise that you have to catch yourself mid-ramble whenever you're talking about something you're either interested in or knowledgeable about. And with Floyd being such a good listener, it honestly slips your mind more times than you'd prefer.

After realizing you've been talking for too long, you turn pink in the face and start apologizing profusely.

“Sorry! You probably didn't need to hear all of that. They didn't call me ‘Chatter Box’ when I was younger for nothing! Haha...”

But Floyd could care less about any of that. He loves hearing you talk, not just because he's not much of a chatty person, but because he just finds it incredibly endearing.

He'll hold your hands in his own and give you the softest smile ever that just makes you think that it should be illegal to be THIS sweet.

“You're just so cute when you get lost in the moment like that. Besides, I love seeing you happy. By all means, I'm glad you get to do the talking for the both of us, otherwise we wouldn't get anywhere in this relationship.”

You laugh at his attempt to make you feel better and melt under the touch of his lips on your cheek.

After that, whenever you go out either just the two of you or with your group of friends, Floyd will encourage you to express yourself. He does this by either asking you a question directly or subtly incorporating you into the conversation by saying something like. “I think (y/n) knows about this kinda stuff. Don't you, love?”

Obviously this all happens with your consent beforehand, since he doesn't want to put you in a tight spot, either.

Either way, he always values whatever you have to say, since you always bring in new perspectives that maybe others didn't think about before.

He will also encourage you to be yourself and not try and match your topics of conversation with things you think other people will find interesting. You deserve to be happy by sharing what you love with the world.

Poppy and Viva are huge helps in the art of feeling confident by speaking your mind, and Floyd couldn't be happier for you.

You thank him by telling him about your day each night, in which sometimes he'll fall asleep to the soothing sound of your voice, which only warms your heart on so many levels.

“Goodnight, my prince.”

“Goodnight, my little chatter box.”

Branch

Just like Clay, this man is ready to throw hands.

Just give him a name and he'll get the job done before sunrise—

He notices that sometimes you struggle with finding outfits for different occasions, either something casual, dressy, classy, etc.

But it's not because you don't have anything in your wardrobe, on the contrary it's pretty much brimming. It's more the fact that you're not satisfied with any of them because you feel like you don't look good in them.

Branch tries to convince you otherwise, saying that you look great no matter what you wear, but you can't help but feel self-conscious in anything that isn't a good old sweatshirt.

He isn't knowledgeable in fashion (clearly) so he enlists the help of Poppy and The Snack Pack to try and cater outfits to your exact measurements, along with any other nitpicks you've had in the past with either texture or material.

I mean, Branch has backup plans to his backup plans, you think he wouldn't keep notes on what kind of stuff his S/O doesn't like— INCLUDING mundane stuff like their clothing?

He surprises you with these, and you can't help but feel attractive in them since he paid extra attending to the complaints you had from your own designs.

“I personally think you look great no matter what you wear. But if you feel so strongly about it, might as well get some stuff you'll actually enjoy wearing.” He'd said when you asked why he did it, and your heart just melted.

You vow to try and work on your self-imagine regardless, which he gets happy over and says he can't wait for you to see yourself the way he does.

[vendetta-ari]

The Vee's (not val) with a reader who has bird features and it's moulting season and how they help them please.

So like I'm kinda clueless when it comes to birds and i don't think google did me right but i tried my best anyway, i included all the vee's though so hope that's alright. enjoy anon!!

{slightly suggestive!!}

Vox would most likely not know what to do when you were molting

He would stare at you all weird while you were struggling to shed your old feathers, laughing to himself, he made sure you wouldn't hear cuz he knew you'd kill him if you found him laughing at your struggle

Before you angrily made a sarcastic comment about it “thanks for the help dear, if you keep staring at me enough I'm sure all of these feathers will be fucking gone y’know!”

“Oh uh- oops yeah sure how do you want me to help, doll?”

He would offer help but a side of him is incredibly weirded out by it and doesn't want to

Seeing you struggle though, he sighed and walked over to help you.

Plucking different feathers out, he ran his hand across your wings making you shudder

He should keep that in mind..

After you were all done you thanked him and he shrugged it off “yea, yea- i'm great i know doll.” 

He stared at your pretty wings for a bit, smiling to himself at his your the hard work you both put in.

Velvette had a few models who had wings so she was used to this, she knew what to do.

She saw you struggling and while you denied help at first, saying you “could do it alone without any help”

She sighed and sat you down and got behind you helping you

“Will you stop being so damn stubborn and let me help you?!”

She happily plucked out feathers and brushed out your wings, she made sure your wings would be looking better than they ever did.

She made you look all pretty and she even suggested going shopping for clothes, something that would look good with your wings.

You rejected her offer again, and instead just wrapped your wing around her, cuddling and keeping velvette close to you.

You both fell asleep there, but when you woke up velvette was gone, and in her place was a small gift bag with an outfit that matched your wings

A small tag was attached to it that said “only the best for you and your pretty wings”

You smiled and walked into her photoshoot she was directing with your new outfit and wings

Valentino also knows what to do, seeing as he also has wings

As for him actually deciding to help you on his own accord though?

Yea no, unless you specifically ask him to help you he won't, hell- he would probably laugh at you struggling.

If you did end up asking him however he would complain about it like it was a chore. He'd act like you asking him this was the most difficult task and it was the end of the world.

He still did it anyway, he plucked the feather out roughly and if you told him that he'd say something along the lines of 

“I thought you wanted help pajarito? Stop being bipolar.”

After being incredibly rough with plucking out your feathers he would pet them softly

He brushed them thoroughly making sure each of them looked good.

When he ran his hands and fingers through the base of your wings you shuddered

“Oh?~ looks like i found a sensitive spot on you amorcito~”

...Good luck

hope you enjoyed lol!!

-Xoxo, Ari

[348kg]

stupid cupid (soul)

ꕤ haku shota 白翔太 (soul) x choreographer!reader

18+ mdni

wc : 2.3k

: friends to lovers

tags : afab reader, fluff, smut, oral sex, vaginal sex, talk of wet dreams, porn with plot (kinda), most basic smut ull ever read oops, jongseob + intak mentioned, reader and shota are the same age, cupid in this case is shotas horny mind, oneshot

synopsis : having a wet dream about a staff member is not the way to go

an : catch me in my writer era … i listened to nct dreams stupid cupid as i wrote this (this only took an hour and i didn't proof read so pls lmk if there's errors)

shota had a problem.

shota had a big problem, a problem he never even considered could be a problem until a few nights before, as he sat up in bed with one hand covering his mouth while the other fisted his throbbing cock, following the explicit dream he had just woken up from.

said problem was his choreographer and friend, who ever since that night has been looking a little too beautiful and perfect for comfort.

and now said problem was touching his waist to help him perfect the move he was working on, and shota was doing everything in his power to keep his erection from showing. as a dancer, he took pride in his body and movement, but right now he felt so out of control of himself and it made him want to melt into the floor where he was currently laying.

"—ta?"

all of a sudden he longed to know what you tasted like, to feel your hands in places where you'd never touched him befo—

"shota!" you yell.

he shoots up. "huh?"

"are you okay? these past few days you've been... out of it. is there something you want to talk about?"

yeah, because you were definitely the right person to confide in about his issue.

"i'm fine... i'm, um, sick?"

your face scrunches in concern. "why are you here if you're sick? go home and sleep. it's getting late anyway." you grab his arm to get him off the ground before pressing your palms flat against his back to shove him out of the studio.

"text me if you're still feeling off tomorrow. i can finish off the section we were working on, if that's okay with you?" he could only stare at you. how were you so pretty and perfect and hard working and competent and talented and pretty—

"soul," you wave your hand in front of his face, "are you sure you can make it back to your dorm alone? you don't seem... in good condition right now."

he nods, "i— yeah, i'll be fine. i'll text you when i'm home." you were left in confusion as he backed towards the elevator in big, awkward steps. he lets out a sigh of relief as soon as the metal doors shut.

keeping up with his grueling schedule was tough enough as it is, and this was not helping relieve the constant pressure on his shoulders.

-

"jongseob." shota spoke as he lay in bed that night, turning to face his friend that was sat upright in the bed across the room, nintendo switch in hand.

"hm?" he doesn't look up from his game.

"do you ever have, um... dreams?"

jongseob furrows his brow, letting out a laugh. "yeah, i have dreams sometimes. whats this about?"

"no, i mean, like, those kind of dreams."

he looked up, face morphing into one of disgust. "aw, dude, that's nasty!"

"i'm serious! i need help!" his face burned.

"okay, who was it?" he tosses his switch in front of him.

shota covers his face with his hands, letting out a muffled, "yn." he was sure his face was the equivalent color to a ripe tomato.

jongseob snorts, shaking his head as he reaches for his game again. "don't you like her anyway? ask her out. me and intak have a bet going, so if you did id make $20. no pressure though."

shota shoots upright. "what are you talking about? i don't like her."

the face jongseob makes in response is one that has shota inwardly reflecting on every single interaction hes ever had with you.

"if she doesn't reciprocate it would make both of our jobs very awkward."

"dude... whenever i see you two interact she's completely smitten. she likes you. i even heard some of the other staff talking about it last week." jongseob reaches for the lamp on his nightstand and shuts it off, leaving the room in darkness.

shota sighs, smushing his face in his pillow, still feeling unsure as sleep washes over him.

-

shota 👽

[8:37am] i'm sick (¬_¬”) don't wait up for me

you

[8:41am] feel better!

you stared at your phone screen, mentally running through everything you were supposed to get done today, then racked your brain to scheme up a way to finish before noon. you quickly finished the final steps of shota's routine and dropped off some footage at your bosses office before speed walking out of the fnc building to the nearest pharmacy.

-

when shota answered the incessant knocking at his door that woke him up from his nap, the last person he expected to see was you, much less expected to see you with arms full of gatorade bottles and various painkillers and cough syrups.

"ah... i wasn't sure what you needed, so i got everything. gatorade is supposed to be good for dehydration." you rambled, and he wanted nothing more then to kiss the words out of your mouth.

"you didn't have to do all this." he gestures you into the kitchen, and you drop the pile of cure-all on his counter. he tries to hide the grin that was sneaking onto his face.

"gah, don't make fun of me! i was worried, you've been acting super weird. have you seen a doctor yet?"

"no... uh, it didn't seem necessary."

"what kind of sickness do you even have? a fever?" you stand on your tiptoes to press your palm to his forehead. "weird... you don't feel hot, but your face is super red."

it was ironic, because shota felt like his face was on fire. every time you stepped closer to him and pressed your hands to his body, he could feel his blood rush straight to his dick.

he realized he was staring when you tapped his elbow. you were way too close to him now, your brow furrowed as you inspected his face. all of a sudden he felt something brush against his groin.

he froze. you froze.

you looked down to where your hand sat, mouth opened slightly. "you're not actually sick... are you?" you spoke slow as you looked back up at him, and the soft tone of your voice was not helping shota as he frantically searched his brain for the right response.

sensing his panic, you continued, motioning to his crotch. "is this... for me?" shota thanked god for your confidence that he loves so much.

he searched your eyes for any look of disinterest or discomfort. when all he found was a look that made him feel like he was being swallowed whole, he nodded, voice dropping an octave. "for you."

you took his response as a green light to step forward and wrap your arms around his neck, moving your hips to press your clothed cunt into his hard cock. groaning, he reciprocated by thrusting his hips forward, desperate for friction. you let out a squeak when he reached to grip your waist with one hand, cheek with the other.

you could feel his breath fan your face as he stared at you.

you grinned. "are you gonna kiss me, or just stand ther—"

he cuts you off, smashing his lips to yours. he feels you sigh and he can't help but smile against you. it isn't long before it escalates, groaning into each other's mouths as your tongues dance together. he feels you begin to walk backwards to lead him into his shared bedroom.

"do you know when your members are coming back?" you spoke between frantic kisses, as if he was your only source of oxygen.

"they talked about having dinner plans later, which could stretch out past midnigh—" he held his breathe as you sucked at his neck to cut him off. he grabs your thighs with his strong arms to lift you into his lap and sits down on the edge of his bed. you pulled back to play with the bottom of his t-shirt. taking the hint, he reached to lift it off, leaving his abs that you can't help but ogle at in all their glory. while you're distracted, he unzips your hoodie and throws it to the floor, leaving you in only a red lacy bra.

"were you planning on jumping me before you got here? wearing something so pretty..."

you giggled, kissing your way down his neck, licking at his abs before situating yourself between his legs. he tugged his shorts and boxers down, and his thick, hard cock hit his stomach with a smack, already leaking with precum. you hummed in delight when shota twitched as you licked at his tip, hands moving to wrap around the base of his dick as you took him in your mouth.

"oh, god, yn."

you let out a strangled noise when you started to bob your head, matching the pace of your mouth with your hand as you fisted the bottom of his length where your mouth couldn't reach. you could hear his breathing grow faster and his hips begin to twitch as he grunted out your name over and over, ropes of cum painting your throat as you suctioned your lips to his tip.

"you didn't last very long." you giggled as you pulled off of him, licking your lips to get the remainder of his cum off of your face. shota didn't think he'd ever seen something so sexy, and it wasn't helping him as he attempted to catch his breath before responding to you.

"couldn't help it, you... fuckin— dreamt about that. dreamt about you. you're so— fuck."

you crawled back on top of him, pressing your mouth to his. he chased your lips when you pulled away. cocking your head to the side, you looked into his eyes innocently. "dreams about me? what did you dream about, sho?" shota swore he was going to die if you kept looking at him like that.

"dreamt... about this." he doesn't give you the chance to question him further before hes pulling himself beneath you so his face sits between your thighs.

he tugs at your shorts and panties with his teeth. "can i take these off?"

"please."

shota feels the air knock out of him as he looks straight into your dewy pussy. he kisses your inner thigh, "wet for me, baby?"

"all for you, sho. dreamt about this too— oh!" you gasp when you feel shota press his nose into your core. wasting no time, he presses a kiss to your clit and slides his tongue through your folds in one painfully long lick. your hands flew to grip his long blonde hair, hips bucking upwards in a hopeless attempt to chase the pleasure you were feeling.

"patience, baby."

shota realized quickly that he couldn't follow his own advice, already addicted to the taste of you. how did you taste this good? he licked and sucked at your clit like a starved man, speeding up when he felt your grip on his hair tighten. the pretty noises you were making were making him groan into you in return, and he could feel his dick growing harder by the second.

"sho, oh my god! m'close, m'so close!"

to help push you over the edge, he took 2 fingers and quickly slid them into your hole, fingertips pressing into your gummy walls over and over. you felt the rubber band in your core snap as you reached your climax, hips spasming as he pulled his fingers out and quickly latched his mouth to your cunt, licking up every last drop of your release.

giving you a chance to come back to earth, he slowly readjusts himself so he's over top of you again, and he can't help but marvel at the mess he's made you. the sight of your red cheeks and teary eyes alone nearly had him orgasming a second time.

"need you inside of me." you breathe, leaning up to connect your lips in a lazy kiss. shota reaches into his bottom drawer to grab a condom, quickly ripping the packaging and sliding it over his length. he grabbed his cock with one hand, aligning it with your hole.

"are you sure?" he muttered against your lips. when you responded with frantic nods, he didn't waste a second to sink himself into you slowly, holding back a groan at the feeling of you stretching out as your walls squeezed his cock, and at the whines and begs that began to spill from your mouth. he slowly started to move and you matched his rhythm, hips bucking together. you hadn't even noticed that your bra had come off at some point until you felt shotas lips attach to your tit, licking and sucking while he groped the other.

"prettiest fucking girl in the whole world. want you all to myself. so fucking perfect." your whining intensified at his words, tears falling down your cheeks.

"yours, sho! m'yours!" you began to lose all ability to form coherent sentences as he pounded into your cunt, grabbing your thighs to readjust your legs so he'd have better access to your hole. your thrusts became messier as you felt yourself reaching your high, and the chants of your name that were leaving his mouth signaled that he was too.

"gonna come, baby?" he kissed the corner of your mouth.

"yeah i— shota!" you saw white as your orgasm washed over you, mouth wide open. shota followed shortly after, chanting your name into your skin as he emptied into the condom and pulled out of you. you both took a minute to recollect yourselves, and you watched in a daze as shota left the room, only to return a minute later with a towel. he wordlessly cleaned you up before crawling back into bed. he pulled you into his chest and you reached for his hand to intertwine your fingers.

"in case that wasn't clear enough, i really really like you." you shyly tuck your face into his neck, feeling a blush creep onto your cheeks. shota kissed the top of your head and played with a strand of your hair.

"good, because i really really like you too."

© 348kg please do not copy my work

[jeonghantis]

✧ — NO INHIBITIONS, STRANGE CONDITIONS.

PAIRING ⇝ kim mingyu x reader.

SUMMARY ⇝

road safety could not hold you back from wanting your boyfriend despite how stupid of a idea it is. kim mingyu was just as stupid.

TAGS ⇝ established relationship, smut, pwp.

WARNINGS ⇝ language, gn!reader but with female parts & wears skirts, distracted driving (DRIVE SAFELY PLEASE), explicit sexual content (MINORS, DNI!).

WORD COUNT ⇝ 3.7k words.

note: welp. LOL! mingyu driving drove me mad. this is 2 of 2 fics in celebration of mingyu month. a complete 180 from the first one i fink! oops! and yes i'm aware it's may now and i apologize deeply. but celebrating mingyu should be an all-time thing. the title is taken from the song leaving me feeling confident by the driver era. don't think the song would go specifically with the fic, i just liked the wording. this is completely self-indulgent so as always, not proofread hehe. not as good as i hoped it would be but i hope you enjoy regardless.

reblog for kim mingyu. thats it. (and to support me).

smut tags under the cut.

SMUT TAGS ⇝ ROAD HEAD! (dick sucking while driving), dom/sub dynamics, switch!mingyu, switch!reader, mingyu is kinda sub until he's not, reader is dom until they're not, size kink (reader is smaller than mingyu), use of the petname "darling" "baby" & "angel", dirty talk, praise (reader gets called "pretty"), degradation (whore, slut), hairpulling, mild begging, groping, oral (m), fingering (f), gagging, throatfucking, cunt slapping (once), cum eating, mingyu is ROUGH (man does not know his own strength but is caring afterwards), reader being used as a toy, cockdumb and cock hungry reader, reader probably got major oral fixation, big dick!mingyu like Big Big (could imagine mingyu being ridiculously big or reader just has small hands).

Wandering hands had become quite a shared habit, how natural it was for their fingers to gravitate towards each other. It was always welcomed, of course, when it acted as a need of comfort from the other. When there was not one moment where they were not craving for each other.

But this was a problem. Several problems. Two very conflicting problems.

First, not only is your hand caressing him at the moment, it’s artfully roving over to his crotch. And Mingyu truly loved your bold actions and might have appreciated it if it had been within the confines of their apartment. But it was in the confines of his car, in the middle of a highway.

Second, the problem to the first problem, was that this was his wet dream come true.

It’s a no-brainer what should be deemed more urgent. Mingyu didn’t want to careen their vehicle over the edge and risk their very lives for the sake of getting his dick wet. 

But. 

But the danger, although he knows it should, doesn’t entirely frighten him. It was a wet dream for a reason.

But Mingyu should be smart about this. He has to be smart about this.

Meanwhile, you’re thinking you may be utterly stupid about this. 

Most times, you would consider yourself a cautious person—someone who would always second-guess every decision, and hell, maybe third or even fourth-guessed. Truly, you were an overthinker. Sometimes, you wished you could just stop thinking altogether.

And that time has come now. There was absolutely no question of your decision, not even a single thought process done, when you reached to palm your boyfriend’s clothed dick. You only knew that you were being ridiculous, but it was because Mingyu looked ridiculously hot right now driving the way he does, glancing at you and smiling the way he does. What the hell were you supposed to do?

What you’re saying next is entirely pulled out of the shallowest part of your brain riddled with unbridled lust. And it challenges Mingyu’s logic and worsens his agony.

“Can I put it in my mouth?” you ask innocently, peering at him with big, curious eyes. 

“I might kill us both, babe,” Mingyu said, pearly canines bared when he wore a strenuous smile. He spares an urgent glance at how your hand sits perfectly atop his growing erection, nails dragging on denim. His grip on the steering wheel tightens.

“I trust that you won’t. You’re a good driver,” you claim, smiling sharply as you give him a tilt of your head. “Is that a no?”

There was no immediate response from him, his eyes fixed stubbornly on the road that lay ahead. Yet, you still caught the clench of his jaw under the flash of a streetlamp, the whitening of his knuckles. It was insanely unfair how Mingyu could still look so gorgeous when frustration twisted his features—or was it you who simply loved seeing his frustrations?

Mingyu weighed his options. Their apartment was still many ways away, he doesn’t know if he could tough it out for that long. He’s thankful the highway is nearly void of other cars, but is utterly bitter over how it stretches on seemingly forever, leaving him no room to pull over at all. He had to maintain focus on the winding paths. He tried not to think of the deft work of your hand on him. He tried not to think of how your mouth would soon replace it. But his pleasure-ridden body betrays him miserably—his hips lifting itself into a slow rut right against your hand.

“Endangering our lives just so you could fill your slut of a mouth,” Mingyu spelled out slowly, each word sharp. “Is that what you really want?”

“Yeah,” you chirp, entirely unaffected by his tone and he could practically hear the smirk in yours. “You could say no.”

He looks at you. “I could.”

“So, say it.”

A sliver of a smile as he turns away again. “I don’t think I will.”

“Oh?” The flutter deep in your stomach intensified, the anticipation having you on the edge seat almost quite literally as you’re leaning closer, adding a little more weight on his crotch. “Why not?”

“Because I dreamt of this,” he divulges, an airy sigh slipping from his lips. “Dreamt of your pretty lips wrapped around my cock in the middle of traffic, of your frustration when I’m unable to help you force my entire length down your throat.” 

“How filthy,” you jest, a shit-eating grin pulling your lips wider.

A pointed gaze. “You literally just offered to suck my dick in the first place.”

A shrug. “Fair.” 

Mingyu’s right hand reached for yours. The largeness of his palm fully encompasses your own as he presses down on it, applying enough delightful friction on himself for a strangled moan to get caught in his throat. 

“Just do it,” he exhales, his breathing ragged. “My dick is about to explode.”

“What a poet,” You snicker and give his dick a playful squeeze which only earns more of his choked noises. But thankfully, you’re merciful as you are excited and reckless. He hears the rustle against leather as you’re maneuvering yourself, folding your legs under you. His heart beats a little loudly against his chest, thrumming up to his ears and down to his dick, as lithe, dainty fingers make quick work on his belt and the button of his jeans. 

“Keep your eyes on the road for me, baby,” you say as your hand dives in to finally, finally, bring his awaiting cock out. “We both don’t want to be dead so soon before I give you the best orgasm of your life.”

“Then hurry up,” Mingyu seethes through gritted teeth.

He’s nearly at full length, and though you’ve held him countless times, you’re still marveling at the sheer size of him, how he sits heavily on your palm, throbbing thickly. Your fingers just barely come into a circle when you start to stroke him with an unhurried and leisurely pace, feeling the full extent of him.

“This hard just from me groping you?” you coo, tone a honeyed venom, as you run a thumb over his slit. “Trying to act all cool with me when you’re just as desperate to fill my slut of a mouth.” 

“Baby,” Mingyu said with heavy breaths that taper off into croaked groans. “Please don’t tease.”

“Don’t be so impatient,” you tut. “I promise I’ll make you feel good, but you have to be good and keep driving. Can you do that for me?” 

Mingyu swallows hard, the lump on his throat bobbing, and gives an obedient nod of his head before adjusting himself with a straightened back which might’ve been the umpteenth time he’s done so since you’ve offered your sinful proposal. 

“Good,” you hum, preening at his easy compliance, and dip your head down.

Mingyu bites down on his bottom lip hard when you take one small, tentative lick at his weeping slit. A ditzy giggle bubbles up your throat when he throbs almost immediately in response and your hand squeezes at the base of his cock in return. You continue with a few more teasing flicks, lapping up the bitter taste of him on your tongue, and only when you feel Mingyu’s thighs flex and strain to jerk up into your mouth do you ultimately indulge him.

“Oh fuck,” the poor man cusses out when you down him as much as you could, your mouth a luscious wet warmth as it envelopes around him. “Holy fuck, baby, that’s so good.” 

You hum appreciatively around his unbelievable girth, sending vibrations coursing down the just as unbelievable length that only has Mingyu whimpering praises more. A hand makes up for the rest of him that your mouth couldn’t quite reach just yet; it works in perfect tandem with your slackened jaw as your head begins to bob up and down on him.

Mingyu does not dare steal a glance in total fear of losing all sense of himself at what is most definitely the most lecherous view of his fantasies coming to life. His head stays firmly pinned against the leather-clad headrest, twitching eyes hell-bent on the road. But he could still hear the obscenity of it, all the wet glugs and sucks as your cheeks hollow out for him, and it does all but aid his concentration, gradually winding a burning hot coil deeply set in the pit of his stomach. The wandering habit presented itself as his right hand began to move (thanking the high heavens for making him left-handed), and glided over your back and all the way down under the impossibly short skirt you wore.

“That’s it, angel,” Mingyu drawls out in encouragement, his hand grabbing at the supple flesh of your ass. “You’re taking me so well.”

Hearing his praise and feeling his straying hand only spurs you to dip your head lower, attempting to swallow down more of him. There’s a sense of satisfaction when he bumps the back of your throat and you find that you have been able to take more than half of him in your mouth. But it’s fleeting when the latter half of Mingyu’s dream comes to light sooner than anticipated—that frustration, a consuming greed, of wanting to take him whole. And like he alluded to, you knew it wasn’t possible if he wasn’t fucking your mouth open, which is entirely out of the question. You’re still trying for some form of compensation—a hand wringing at the base, tongue lapping hungrily at the sides of his cock with lewd slurps—and it all comes out good when jerking out moans from Mingyu, but it’s short in appeasing you. It’s desperation now that’s having you creep further along his length, and it’s so so messy with the obscene amount of saliva cascading down his shaft, coating him with a wet sheen. You resist the urge to gag every time he hits the back of your throat and try to veer your focus on breathing through flared nostrils, eyes fluttering shut in concentration. 

It’s laughable how easily that focus is broken when prying fingers begin to pull your flimsy underwear. 

“I couldn’t help myself,” Mingyu averred, flashing a sly smile your way, before he’s gliding a calloused digit over your folds, gathering at the wetness trickling out.

Your mewls are broken and garbled, a new surge of spit gushing down, dripping on his lap. Instinctively, your hips swivel back hungrily in search of more blissful friction, as you peer up at him through wet lashes, a stray tear flowing down your cheek. 

Mingyu catches it when he casts a quick glance again. He notes the utter desperation contorting your expression, the glistening cheeks a sign of your eminent passion, and something deep inside him both inflames and melts at the same time. His eyes are assessing the road when it flickers back up, and there—the greatest silver lining known to man (just Mingyu) kissing the dusky sky—is the end of the highway. He doesn’t speed for it, no, instead he forgoes it, just the slightest bit as his foot eases off the pedal. He forgoes it for the sake of securing the vehicle, for the sake of slipping his a finger inside your wet channel as a reward for the glorious way you worship his cock. 

The surprised, choked-out groan you exude goes straight to his dick, quite literally. And he’s echoing it, staggered but loud enough to drown out the music flowing from the speakers. 

“I’ll pull over soon,” Mingyu imparts, gently hooking the digit and stroking your walls. “Just a little longer, baby, then I’ll fuck your throat. You’d like that too, won’t you?”

You pull off him with a satisfying pop, a string of spit threading between his cock and your glistening lips that’s quickly broken when both hands replace where your mouth’s been, stroking hard and fast. You glance up at him with your bottom lip tucked between your teeth, holding back your moans as your hips sway back into his finger. 

“Be quick,” you whisper, eyelids flickering, and you lean back down to trace the veins along his cock with your tongue. “I want all of you in my mouth. I want you to bury your fingers in me. I want you to abuse me until I'm a mess of spit and tears.”

Fuck. 

Mingyu slams on the acceleration. He’s still commandeering the vehicle securely with one hand, but the finger inside you goes still, letting you use it as you please with shallow rocks of your hips and clenches of your walls. He takes a right when the road opens up and pulls up in a relatively empty parking lot very swiftly with the practiced ease of the seasoned driver he was.

Up until then, you were suckling on his tip, coaxing thick, pearly rivulets out of him onto your tastebuds. If it had been possible to be drunk off of precum, you certainly appeared to be buzzed out of your mind with how much you were giggling and lapping at him for more. You were impossibly gone in the pleasure of giving your boyfriend pleasure that you weren't given enough time to prepare yourself for the absolute reckless and barbaric nature that would be forced upon you.

Safely parked, Mingyu ignored the garbled whines when he pulled his finger away from your clenching walls as he goes to quickly undo his seatbelt. Mingyu reached for two firm fistfuls of your hair, used it as a rein to properly align your mouth for him to shove his way inside promptly without so much of a warning. Gone was his usual gentle nature, he’s completely ruthless. The power of his thrusts is terrifyingly inhumane, his sac slapping up against your chin with ease now that he waives your own comfort. He’s focused on gaining his pleasure and his alone.

“Better?” Mingyu laughs darkly. “Were you struggling all this time? Is your mouth filled up enough now? C’mon, pretty baby. Let me hear those gags.”

You do let him hear it, all the gurgles and violent retches made around him. You fucking know this’ll leave you voiceless the next day—hell, maybe for the next few days if you continue moaning against the repeated force—and yet you’re still indulging him, conceding your entire being to him almost too easily, almost too enthusiastically. 

Like the sick person you were, the brutality has you practically soaking wet through the fabric of your underwear. If you weren’t in such a rough position, you might’ve reached back to relieve yourself of the incessant throbbing of your core. And Mingyu held the mantle now, your authority beaten right out of you, so you weren’t so sure if he would appreciate you doing anything else other than being his cocksleeve.

So instead, with tears a steady stream down your face and lips red and swollen, you let him abuse you, narrowing your focus on the sliding weight of his dick on your tongue, your head laxed for him to fully control with no restraints or complaints. A perfect little toy.

Your pleasurable suffering wouldn’t last for long. Mingyu was close to breaking himself. You feel his thighs tense from where you gripped him for balance, his panted moans rising in volume against your ears. 

“You’re going to swallow everything I give you, you got that?” Mingyu drawled. “Every single bit. You wanted your mouth filled, yeah? You take it all, darling.”  

Your responding, muddled moans are a warm wet ring around him. If you could see him, you’d find how pleasure cruelly contorts his features. It takes a couple more messy, stuttered strokes then the burning coil inside him that wound so tightly snapped so violently. A surge of warmth overwhelms Mingyu, his muscles tensing and seizing, and a long, broken noise is ripped right out of his chest, as he comes in thick ropes of white right into your mouth.

The salty, warm cum of him glides down your throat like melted cream. You do try to guzzle it all down as told, but he always comes in such heavy loads. Coughs threaten to tear your throat but you’re suppressing them with the greatest effort until hot tears streak down your cheeks, your chest heaving wildly. 

“So good,” Mingyu exhales, his grip on you loosened as he takes to petting your hair with such affection as he rides out the remainders of his high. “You’re so good for me, angel.”

Satisfied after gulping down the last spurt of him, you finally let up with a small whimper, your frame quivering as you sat yourself back on your folded legs, your eyes eager when it found him. Mingyu still looked unbelievably good sweaty and flushed. You couldn’t even begin to imagine what you might have looked like with your hair strewn about and swollen lips.

Mingyu didn’t seem to care. He was smiling at you with great fondness as if he had not just abused your mouth like a mere plaything. He reached to wipe some excess cum on your chin with a thumb before immediately shoving past your swollen lips. Still quite pliant, you lick it up earnestly, giving another wanton moan around him.

“Fuck,” Mingyu starts, huffing out a breathy laugh. “You’re my wet dream come true.”

“You’re welcome,” you try to lilt, but it comes out raspy and painful. 

Mingyu notices the wince in your expression and frowns, a hand immediately moving to cradle the side of your throat tenderly. “Does it hurt?”

“Well, you were not exactly gentle, Gyu,” you pointed out humorously, but caught sight of the slight concern lining his face and you quickly followed up with, “But I loved it a lot. It was hot. You were hot.”

Mingyu still looked concerned but at least the corners of his lips twitched at your addition. “I could tell you loved it. You took me really well, angel.”

“And I’d do it again and again,” you said, grinning. “Even though I’m pretty sure my windpipe is bruised.”

His hand lifts to hold the side of your face, a thumb smoothing over your cheek, as he looks over you for a moment. There’s a strange little glint in his eyes, and in your recovering state, you couldn’t quite place what it was, but it has your stomach churning again.

“I should make it up to you, shouldn’t I?” Mingyu murmurs, head cocked to the side as he smiles.

“Could you?” you ask in turn, voice soft. “Please?”

“I’ll take care of you,” he croons, raising his hand up to brush your hair back, his fingers threading through your hair. “Don’t worry your pretty little head.”

Mingyu reaches over you, promptly maneuvering your seat backwards. He eases you until you’re laying flat on your back, and his hands move to grip at your thighs, lifting them and spreading them wide. The breeze that hits your cunt has you trembling and you feel absolutely exposed when Mingyu only watches your tiny frame unfold before him, eyes drinking in the sight with an insatiable hunger. He brushes a knuckle over your soaked folds, tentative, before pressing it roughly against your throbbing clit. You’re whining, arching your back off the seat as a rush of searing pleasure courses up your veins.

You’re whining even louder when Mingyu draws back. You try to reach for his arm but it’s useless when it’s thickly corded with so much power.

“Looks like I didn’t ruin your throat enough if you’re this fucking whiny,” Mingyu remarked sharply with a laugh. He does reach a hand back but your excitement quickly fizzles out just as it spikes when a slap lands quick and sharp on your cunt and you’re jerking in your seat. “Sit still and wait quietly.”

You press your quivering lips into a thin line and nod your head obediently.

With a pleased smile, he pulls back once again. He fixes himself, shoving his dick back into his underwear, followed by sweeping his long hair back and away from his face. He takes his sweet time and doesn’t spare you a single glance as if you weren’t there at all, all the while you couldn’t keep your eyes off of him, the anticipation simmering sickly in your stomach. Then, he’s suddenly reaching for the gear shift, setting the car in reverse, and pulling out of the parking lot.

“W-Where are we going?” you asked urgently.

“Home,” Mingyu replied casually, turning the wheel adeptly with one hand. “Where else?”

You looked down at yourself, at the compromising position he forced you in and forced you to hold. “But - ?”

As if to answer your question, his right hand roves over to you and between your legs. He starts with a press on your clit, then caresses the roughened pad of his finger down to where you leak, before bringing it right back up to start again, and again, and again.

“I promise I’ll make you feel good, baby” Mingyu echoes your words, a vicious smile pulling his lips. “But you have to be good and hold yourself up like that. Can you do that for me?”

“Are you getting back at me?” You meant for your words to come out as an aggravated hiss, but it came out pathetically as a soft whimper.

“Yes,” he responded, not wasting a beat, and peers at you, a dark glimmer in his eyes. “And because this is another wet dream of mine.”

“How lucky,” you start, taking in a shaky breath when Mingyu rubs short, tight circles on your sensitive nub. “How lucky you get to fulfill two of your dreams today.”

“It’s all because of you,” Mingyu grins and, without warning, slides two thick fingers inside you. “Now, answer the question.”

“Yes,” you gasp out immediately, the sudden breach stinging so sharply, but your walls gave a sickly delighted spasm around him anyway. Your arms come up and hook themselves around your knees, bringing it up to your heaving chest. “Yes, I can.”

“Good,” he hums, curling the digits and pressing it roughly against the sweet nerves inside you. “Tough it out because this time, I will not be pulling over.”

© circlesol. all rights reserved. do not re-publish, translate, plagiarise, edit any of my work on any other platform.

[runningfrom2am]

cold nights // part twenty-nine

summary: you were back in the capitol, and you would be damned if you didn't try your hardest to make it worthwhile.

pairing: coriolanus snow x fem!reader

wc: 4.2k

masterlists / nav / requests

tags/warnings: tribute!reader and mentor!coriolanus, r is very sweet (too kind for this world. literally.), sunshine x grumpy trope kinda, he falls first, violence typical for the source material, depictions of mental illness, also she's is very smart (as she should), district twelve!reader.

a/n: ahh shit really hits the fan in this one oops

my asks are also open to talk about this series! (i do have emoji anons open now too!)

send me any and all of your thoughts! here!

series masterlist // playlist

"Coryo." You hum, knocking on your boyfriend's doorframe.

He looks up from his desk, smiling as he sees you standing in the door. You were still wearing what you had worn to class that day, a button up shirt he had bought for you with the orange skirt Tigris made, short and simple as if it was made by your own mother. It matched perfectly with his own mother's scarf that you always wore out, that was left draped over your shoulders. You were looking at him like you needed something, and it just made him light up.

"Love," He closes his book and stands up. "What do you need?" He asks, quickly pushing up his unstyled hair out of his face- the curls were beginning to come back, but they weren't quite as long as they once were. When he's with you, which is almost always, he makes a very conscious effort to keep it up and away from his face.

Your hands are tucked behind your back, nervously twisting your fingers. "Why must you assume that I need something?" You giggle.

"Because I know that look." He pokes your nose as he gets close enough to do so, now standing a foot away and looking at you expectantly.

"Okay, fine." You sigh. "I was wondering if you had any plans for Halloween."

"Hallo-what?" He asks, tilting his head at you. Your jaw drops.

"Halloween." You say again, wondering if it was possible he just misheard you.

He laughs, eyebrows raised in clear confusion.

"You don't know what Halloween is? You don't celebrate here?" You gasp.

"No, sorry."

"Oh my god, okay. Well, we must do something." You clap excitedly.

"Slow down, darling. You're gonna have to tell me what it is before I can agree." He chuckles, holding a hand out you to stop you before you got too excited.

"Okay, okay." You agree. "So, it's a holiday, similar to Christmas if you have that."

"Of course we have Christmas."

"How was I supposed to know?" You laugh. "Anyway, it's mostly for little kids, but still. Basically, on the last day of the month everyone dresses up in costumes of monsters or animals or different jobs- whatever you want, and the kids go knocking door to door and adults will give them treats."

"Treats." He states, but it comes out more like a question.

"Yes. Like cookies, or candy if you have it, really anything." You grin, nodding at him excitedly. "My Ma usually makes fudge."

"Okay..." Coryo laughs. "So... sorry, I'm confused. What do we do? Hand out candy to kids who won't come because no one's heard of it here?"

"That's the best part!" You clap. "We aren't parents; old enough to be stuck handing out candy, and we aren't young enough to go trick or treating, so we get to have the most fun."

"Okay..." He urges you on.

"We get to have a party!"

"A party." He eyes you a little bit skeptically.

"Yes!"

"Since when do you like to party?" He seems wholly unconvinced.

"I don't, but it's tradition! I always have fun, I just don't drink much anymore. It'll be good to make friends, Coryo. Please?"

"Anymore?" He laughs, but quickly shakes his head to stay focussed on what you were asking of him. "Love, I wish we could but I don't know where we'd have a party, we can't have it here."

You frown, thinking for a moment. "Oh! I'll call Sej." You grin, already bounding off down the hall toward the phone.

That was that, he couldn't change your mind even if he desired to- but really, if a party would make you happy, then you would get a party. He would make sure of it.

You had spent weeks handing out invitations to the other people in your classes, most of which, as you noticed, ended up in the trash cans or littering the halls. You didn't let it bother you, Coryo insisted that people just didn't tend to hold on to those kinds of things and it didn't mean they wouldn't come. (What you didn't know, was his near-constant cleanup efforts of asking anyone he knew or had classes with to come to his "costume party"- and people didn't like to say no to Coriolanus Snow.)

You had come up with a plan. Coryo would say it was his party, and he would be hosting it at the Plinth's estate. You couldn't run the risk of putting your name on the idea, especially after your interview assuring parents that you were just there to learn- not fraternize. You didn't mind, you knew more people would want to come if it was his party, and that it wasn't a "Halloween" party. Just a costume party that happened to land on the district holiday that none of these kids nor their parents knew about. Hopefully.

You were incredibly excited. You spent the days after Sejanus's parents left town over there making decorations, and begrudgingly, Coryo joined you after realizing you weren't only there to drop things off.

He never pictured himself spending so much money on orange and black coloured paper, but here he was. The list of things he would do for you is growing by the day, surprising even himself.

You had put a lot of time into your costumes, with Tigris's help over the last couple of weeks. It wasn't anything crazy, just a white dress and some small angel wings, and for Coryo a gray shirt with leather straps, some light chain mail on the shoulders, and silver sleeves. You were very proud of them, but you hadn't shown him yet. You would be Romeo and Juliet, and you thought it was just perfect.

You smile as you knock on his bedroom door, already in your costume. You would get there a little early to help Sejanus with some final touches, but you did have a lot of people confirm with Coryo that they were coming. You were excited.

He opens the door, his breath dying out in his throat as he takes in your outfit. He must have died and gone to heaven. "Well hello, angel." He grins as he regains himself, opening the door fully for you to come in.

"Do you like it?" You ask, giving a quick spin even as you're holding his matching costume behind your back.

"You look beautiful." He says quietly, nodding as he eyes how the white satin clings to your figure. He couldn't think of a more fitting costume for you; although to him, you always looked like an angel. But now, more beautiful than ever. Ethereal. "It's stunning, love."

"Thank you!" You smile, pulling his forward and holding the folded mix of fabrics up to him. "This is yours."

"Mine?" He asks, a confused smile on his face as he grabs it and unfolds it carefully. "What is it?"

"You're a knight!" You say, clapping your hands together excitedly. "Well, you're Romeo as a knight. And I'm Juliet." You grin, holding the hem of your dress and prompting him to look at it again.

"Romeo and Juliet." He chuckles, nodding slightly as he looks between the two.

"Yeah!" You smile excitedly. "Romeo! Here's drink. I drink to thee."

He laughs, nodding as he closes the door behind you and pulls off his shirt to put on the costume you made for him. "I love it, Y/N/N. Thank you."

"Of course." You nod excitedly. "I've always wanted to do a couples costume."

"Is that a thing?" He asks, getting ready to pull it over his head.

"Yes. It's so sweet! Couples will wear matching costumes and that's how you know they're together, I always loved looking at other peoples." You explain. "My parents always do matching costumes. One year, they both dressed up as cats. My mom made the ears out of felt, and they carried Tybs to the door with them to hand out candy. It was so cute. Like I said, they do matching costumes every year."

In your rambling, you don't notice how he freezes up completely, face falling. Hesitantly, he pulls it over his head. "How do I look?" He asks, gluing a smile back on.

You smile, nodding at him. "So handsome, Coryo." You confirm. "Tigris helped me make it."

"It's... a little uncomfortable." He tells you, pretending to adjust the light chainmail that hung over his chest.

You frown, reaching out to help him adjust it for a moment. "Is that better?"

He hates to do this- it fits perfectly, but he can't have people knowing you're together. Not yet. "Uh..." The hopeful look in your eyes breaks his heart. "Yeah, that's better." He nods, relieved by the smile that returns to your face.

"Are you ready to go, then?" You ask, tilting your head at him.

"Just give me ten minutes, love. Would you mind gathering up our drinks?" He asks, kissing your forehead.

"Of course, Romeo." You giggle, turning on your heel and leaving, closing the door gently behind you.

He hates himself for what he knows has to do.

When you got to Sejanus's house, you were practically vibrating with excitement as you ran around hanging up decorations and placing and replacing drinks and snacks on the tables, moving them around.

"Sej?" You ask, standing on a stool to be able to reach up above a doorframe.

"Yeah?" He calls back from across the room, turning to look at you.

"I'm out of tape, could you grab me another roll? We brought some, it's in the kitchen. Coryo will tell you which bag." You explain and he nods, giving you a quick thumbs up as he walks by and down the hall. 

Walking into the entrance to the kitchen, his eyes go wide.

There's Coryo, holding out the front of his shirt over the sink and pouring a glass of red wine down the front. Extremely, very intentionally.

"Uh... what are you doing?" He asks, and Coryo's head snaps up, eyes panicked.

"Uh, shit, I..." He laughs slightly, placing the glass down quickly and turning on the tap. "I tripped and, god I don't really know. I'm just trying to get this out..."

Sejanus nodded slightly, trying to hide how unconvinced he was. "I don't know if that will come out." He states.

"Shit..." Coryo sighs, albeit dramatically. If Sejanus hadn't just seen him do what he just did, he would be convinced. Coryo would make a good actor. "Well... Do you have something else I could wear?"

"Yeah... uh, yeah. Just go into my closet and help yourself." Sejanus tells him, gesturing down the hall.

"Thanks," Coryo says, brushing past him eagerly all ready to go and change into something else.

Your friend swallows, watching him as he disappears down the hall. Sejanus knew you had spent hours putting together that costume for him, could he even tell you that he saw Coryo ruin it on purpose? It would break your heart- but he did really want to know why.

Sejanus couldn't tell you. You were having fun, or at least trying to, and he didn't want to ruin that. People were talking to you, and to him, which was kind of new territory for the both of you. Your interview and your kindness in classes and to everyone you met did wonders for your reputations as "District kids". Surprisingly, your classmates had lots of questions and none of them seemed to have any real problems with you in a less pressurized setting. The alcohol was likely a contributing factor.

"Yes! Well, we'd go to the lake a lot. Oh! So, one time, my brother and I spent all day dragging this old barrel up a cliffside just to hang it off a tree at the top. We just spent our time doing the most random stuff." You giggle over the music, clutching your glass to your chest as you continue on a conversation with Hilarius, who you saw as a new friend even though Coryo wasn't his biggest fan. You had probably a little bit too much to drink, spurred on by your nervousness.

"A barrel..?" Hilarius laughs, tilting his head at you. 

"Well, yeah, what kind of stuff did you do for fun, then?" You ask over the loud music.

"Chess, I suppose. Reading, I don't know. Fun wasn't really on the schedule." He explains.

"Well, I'd rather drag a barrel up a hill than do nothing, wouldn't you?" You laugh.

"Touché." He tilts his glass at you before taking a sip.

"Y/N, can I steal you for a second?" You hear Sejanus say in your ear, suddenly beside you and you nod, politely dismissing yourself from the conversation.

You follow him down the hall to an empty corner. He couldn't take it anymore, he had to tell you. "I'm sorry about Coryo's costume, I know you worked hard on it." He says honestly.

"It is okay. Spills happen." You smile.

"Well, yes..." He agrees, looking around quickly to make sure he can't spot Coryo's blonde hair in the vicinity. It was a rare moment he wasn't with you, so now was his only shot. "But... it wasn't an accident."

"What do you mean?" You ask, tilting your head at him with a slightly nervous smile.

"Y/N I... I watched him pour the wine on it. Like, very intentionally."

You don't know what to say, slightly shocked. After a moment of him watching your expression evolve, you begin to laugh. "No, no. Sej, I love you, but how much did you drink before we got here? Because he wouldn't-"

"Nothing." He answers shortly, giving a firm shake of his head. "Not a drop, Y/N/N. I swear."

Your smile fades slightly at his abrupt statement. "Well..." You say quietly. "Why would he do that?"

"I don't know, but I know better than to be the one to bring it up to him. You should ask."

"I mean, he said it wasn't very comfortable before we left the house. Maybe he just didn't want to hurt my feelings." You smile to yourself, nodding as you decide.

"By ruining something you made for him? Yeah, that'll spare your feelings." Sejanus scoffs, looking past you once more to make sure Coriolanus wasn't nearby.

"He tried to spare them, I assume." You sigh, giving him a reassuring smile in hopes that he won't let it worry him. "It's okay. Thank you, Sej, for telling me, but it's really not a big deal."

The knowledge that Coryo ruined his costume on purpose was eating you alive. The feeling of dread sat deep in your chest where it apparently couldn't be drowned out with more wine or posca or anything that you could find or was offered to you. It made you so horribly sad, that even though you couldn't seem to find your boyfriend in any room of the large house you weren't sure if you even wanted to.

Talking to strangers helped, meeting new people. Some people you shared classes with, and you could mostly discuss that. It was a lot of explaining and reexplaining that people in the Districts were more or less normal, just with less access to resources. You got a few laughs out of that, but a surprising amount of understanding nods. Maybe all hope wasn't lost.

You were here to have fun. It wasn't like Halloween parties back home, and the sheer volume of boys in their own father's old peacekeeper uniforms was chilling to you. Even back home, where you knew those old uniforms were lying folded up in an attic somewhere, very few kids would dare touch them even to make a joke out of it. You couldn't take it anymore, deciding to just step out onto the back patio to get some fresh air.

The air hits your lungs and brushes over your skin, instantly giving you chills but you don't mind. Hearing talking over to your right, you take a look only to see Coryo with a few of your classmates, smiling as he leaned back against the wall of the house. A couple of faces you recognized, and one you didn't.

You smile as you walk over to them, squeezing in next to Coryo. "Clemmie, Livia. It's good to see you." You smile at them, and Clemmie gives a polite nod while Livia just takes another sip out of her glass while the other boy with them just continues talking.

"I don't believe we've met, sorry." You smile at him during a break in his story, extending a hand to him. "My name is Y/N. What's yours?"

He laughs, hesitantly shaking your hand. "Festus. Festus Creed." He tells you.

"Lovely to meet you, Festus." You grin. "Are you a friend of Coryo's?"

"Yeah, you could say that." He chuckles and you look up at your boyfriend who suddenly looks annoyed, rolling his eyes.

"I just love meeting his friends." You smile excitedly. "Are you studying at the university? I haven't seen you before." You say, folding your arm around Coryo's and he tenses up, not so subtly shaking you off.

You look up at him for a moment, a confused smile on your face from his actions.

"Would you mind giving me some space?" He asks coldly, almost glaring at you. Your eyes flick to his, but it's dark. They're cold, icy blue even in the poor lighting. His cheeks are flushed, but maybe that's from the chill.

"Oh, sorry." You laugh nervously, taking a step back and abandoning your conversation. "I... um, I'm gonna go get some water. It was nice to see you." You wave quickly to his friends, turning and heading for the door.

"Sorry, apparently my tribute gets touchy when she drinks." You hear Coriolanus laugh behind you as you enter the house again. It was met by laughs from the rest of the group he was with, and your heart dropped practically out of your chest and onto the floor. You wouldn't have been shocked if you looked down and saw your white dress absorbing the remains of your heart.

Your white feather angel wings catch on the curtain of the door as you close it behind you, and you want to scream and rip them off as you feel tears well up in your eyes. You look around for your best route of escape, feeling the familiar tightness in your chest begin to build.

You'll have to go along the wall- clinging to the outside of the room as you avoid the chaos of the middle in an effort to make it up to Sejanus's room. You'd be alone there.

Tears stream down your cheeks as you keep your head up, eyes locked on the entrance to the foyer with the large staircase, which you know you can take to get to your friend's room. Your fight or flight is kicking in, you think, as the music and laughter and voices fade into nothing. You almost expect the familiar clang of a metal weapon to sound out in front of you as it slams into the wall- but you have to make a very conscious effort to remind yourself that you aren't in the arena anymore. Even if it felt like it more and more with every step.

Shutting the door to Sejanus's bedroom, you quickly shuffle over to his bathroom and lock yourself in, freezing when you catch a look at yourself in the reflection. She was hardly a reflection of you; tear-stained cheeks, angel wings- when you knew that these days you were just about the farthest thing from it. You had changed. You hardly recognized her, and that's the thing that forced you to look away.

You don't even hear someone enter the room until there's knocking on the bathroom door. "Y/N? Are you in there?" Lyssie asks, concern dripping through her tone.

You sniff, quickly wiping your eyes. "Yeah! Yeah, I just need a moment." You choke out, trying and failing to keep your voice steady.

"Are you okay?" She asks through the door, wiggling the handle now. "What happened?"

"I'm fine just fine." You insist, laughing nervously as you look down at how badly your hands are shaking.

"Can I come in? Can you open the door for me?"

God, how you wished it was Lucy Gray on the other side.

But Lucy Gray isn't here. Lysistrata Vickers is all you have- so with shaky hands you reach for the door and unlock it, letting her in. She won't hurt you, you're sure.

Her eyes are already wide with worry as she gets her first glimpse at you. "Oh, Y/N, what's wrong?" She asks, stepping in and quickly closing the door behind herself. "Here, sit down..." She nods to the floor, which has clearly been recently cleaned. Even so, she pulls a towel from the rack and lays it out for you to sit on.

"I'm just a little too drunk." You sniff, trying to dismiss her worries, and slide down against the wall on top of the towel she laid for you as sobs take over you.

"Want to tell me what happened?" She asks again, hurriedly reaching for a smaller towel and wetting it with what you assume is cold water, wringing it out before joining your side on the floor.

"Nothing." You shake your head and bring your hands up to cover your face as you cry into them. "I can't... I can't tell you."

"Okay, that's okay..." She soothes you. "Here, this will help. Can you move your hands for me?"

She doesn't want to touch you, no one really does. You lower your hands, squeezing them tight together in your lap as she carefully reaches up to dab the cloth across your forehead. It does feel good on your burning skin.

You focus on taking deep breaths, trying not to embarrass yourself any further.

"There you go..." She smiles. "You're good at this."

You laugh through your tears. "Well, it comes with my title, I guess." You sniff, wiping your cheeks again.

"I'd bet..." She hums. "But you're doing great."

You just nod slightly, running through lines in your head out of nervous habit. "I love him, oh, I love him; but he won't let himself be loved."

You don't even realize you're saying it out loud to yourself until Lysistrata speaks. "Is it... Is this about Coriolanus?" She asks, and you don't want to tell her that it's a quote from a story of her namesake because ironically, she is right, and ironically, that was the only line you could think of when you strained to remember any of it.

You nod slightly, biting into your lip and letting your shoulders shake with the latest round of sobs.

"Oh, I'm sorry..." She gently rubs your shoulder. "He's... He's not very sensitive to people's feelings. I know that. Just try not to take it personally. It's not your fault."

"How could it be anyone else's?" You sniff. "I embarrass him... But I try so hard to be good. I try so hard..." You cry, wet eyes making it hard to see.

Lyssie looks at you, a little confused. "What did he say?" She asks.

"That..." You hiccup, trying to breathe through it so you can explain better. "That I needed to give him space, all I was doing was standing next to him." You sniff again, wiping your eyes. "And he called me his tribute to his friends- it made me feel just sick... And earlier Sej told me that he ruined the costume I made him on purpose, we were supposed to match! Now I just look like I'm desperate for people to like me- dressing up as an angel when everyone here knows what I did! I don't know what I did wrong... Why does he hate me now?"

She watches you silently, trying to put together the pieces. 

"I don't understand." You say again, shaking your head. "He told me he loved me this morning! I don't know what I did to change that..."

"Sorry, he said he loved you?" Lyssie asks, eyes wide.

You nod slightly, looking over at her. Why does she seem so shocked?

"Wait, Y/N..." She pauses, shaking her head slightly. "Are you guys like... together?"

"Mhm." You swallow, wiping under your eyes. "But apparently not anymore."

"Oh my god, I had no idea." She stammers out, snapping out of her shock to pat the cloth on your head again.

"You didn't?" You sniff. "He didn't tell you?"

"No." She shakes her head, but quickly continues. "I'm sorry, he doesn't tell much to anyone, though..."

You let out a shaky breath, leaning your head back against the wall. "I should have known this couldn't work. I feel so stupid."

"He shouldn't have led you on like that..." She replies quietly. "I don't know a whole lot about you, but I know you're not stupid. I also know that Coriolanus always gets what he wants, one way or another."

"I just want to go home..." You cry, shaking your head. "I want to go home."

Lyssie looks back to the door, gently dabbing the damp material across your forehead. "I'm going to go get Sejanus, okay? Can you hold this on your head for me?" She carefully passes the cloth into your shaking hands and you nod, leaning your head down against it instantly.

She gets up and leaves, carefully and quietly closing the door behind herself. If one person in this city knew even a little bit about what you were feeling or how to help, it would be Sejanus Plinth.

taglist: @soulessjourney , @that-veela-girl ,  @dreamyysouls, @rockstarbfs, @maysileeewrites , @baybieruth , @kitscutie,  @fratboyharrysgf0201 , @totallynotkaibiased , @stelleduarte , @secretsicanthideanymore , @bejeweledreverie , @drewsandsebastianswife , @niicole-87 , @queenofshinigamis , @innercreationflower , @nallasstuff , @iovemoonyy , @thatmarvelchick19 , @wearemadeofstardust0 , @regulusblackcore , @puredreamagination , @fantasticchaosthing , @becauseseaotters , @secretsicanthideanymore , @strawberryflavouredkisses-deact, @cascadingbliss

okay suddenly tumblr isn't letting me tag more people than this so i just made some cuts unfortunately :') i just left the max amount of people i could whose users i recognized and see in my notifs all the time :) if you're not on here and you should be i'm so sorry!

also this taglist is closed now!! if you’d like to get a notification when i update, turn on my post notifications!! i promise i won’t spam y'all :,)

[healmydesires]

you’re my medicine ꕤ (a.s)

pairing: anakin skywalker x fem!reader

summary: you’re convinced you don’t like anakin, and that he loves to get under your skin. but one summer, you find out just how wrong you’ve been.

genre: fluff + angst + smut (18+ mdni) modern/lifeguards!au

word count: 16,5k+ (oops... bon appétit)

tags/warnings: frenemies/enemies to lovers (it’s one sided but oh well 🫣), miscommunication, assumed unrequited love from both sides, reader described as shorter than anakin, mutual pining, alcohol consumption, an oc as readers best friend, inexperienced/virgin!reader, a bit of thigh riding, unprotected sex, piv sex, loss of virginity, soft!dom anakin, sub!reader, vaginal fingering, oral (f!receiving), kinda pleasure!dom? idk… I just love pleasure doms, multiple orgasms, creampie, a bit of daddy kink, some breeding kink, overstimulation, size kink, lots of pet names.

a/n: hellooo this is my very first anakin fic. this idea came up to me when I couldn’t sleep and I just. had to fantasise about it… and eventually I just. started writing it. anyways anakin is a new special interest and I’m literally obsessed with him. I just love him sm. ALSO! the title is inspired by bisous by aya nakamura! it’s a french song and I just. associate it a lot with him. hehe anyways ,, hope u enjoy <3 🥺

please don't forget to interact or reblog <3 thank u for reading <3 🥰 if u can, let me know if you’ve enjoyed it, it encourages me a lot!

AO3 • masterlist • playlist

Aquasplash, a water park in the south of France, near the French Riviera. Around sixty kilometres from Nice located in a city called Fréjus. 

Every summer, you come down to the south for eight weeks, to work as a lifeguard. The water park held too many children, multiple variations of slides, impressive sized pools and Anakin Skywalker.

Unbelievable. 

He’s always here during summer. Every year for the last three years and you can’t seem to understand why he keeps coming back to this particular place. It’s not like there aren’t any water parks overseas.

You can’t stand him sometimes. You know that hate is a strong word. One you try not to use often. But the frustration you feel whenever Anakin is around you consumes you to the point where you can’t even spare him a look sometimes. 

You don’t necessarily dislike the man, it’s just that he gets on your nerves in such a unique way and you can’t stand it. You truly can’t remember the last time you genuinely enjoyed his company.

He’s so charming, flirty, arrogant and just overall obnoxious. For some reason, he tries to make your life difficult. It can’t be for nothing. He thinks he can just come into your favourite summer job and sweet talk his way up to becoming one of the assistant managers. The job that you so desperately wanted, ripped away from you by the prettiest and most self-assured man you’ve ever met. All in the year when you thought you could become friends.

He ruined it all.

Yet, he’s still trying to be nice to you since day one. Too nice. You can’t seem to understand why someone would try to make you like them when all you did was being rude to them.

Either way, Anakin Skywalker is a fucking menace.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

It is early in the morning, the heat is already rising, warm and hazy, promising a hot summer day. 

You drive out of the centre of the city, the sun shining, windows down and the radio blasting your favourite pop song at the moment as you hum along to the tune. 

Once you see the “Aquasplash” sign you take the first turn right, moving off the main road, slowly following the small road towards the water park’s entrance. The sound of gravel crumbling underneath the wheels of your car gives you a nostalgic feeling. Bringing you back to when you would come here with your family every summer. 

As you pull your car into the staff parking lot of the water park and turn off the engine, you exhale loudly before closing your eyes briefly. You enjoy the short moment of peace as you listen to your surroundings. All you can hear are the seagulls squawking in the distance and the buzz of insects around you. 

“There’s my favourite princess.”

There goes your peace and quiet.

You swear under your breath, “fucking hell,” as you let your head fall against the top of your steering wheel. You slowly open your eyes as you give him a side glance.

Anakin is leaning against the right side of his car, staring at you with his arms crossed and a smirk on his face. 

“Skywalker.” you greet him rather unfriendly, your voice filled with annoyance.

He shakes his head with a chuckle. “You don’t seem that happy to see me.”

“Nope.” 

A frown forms on his face, but as quickly as it appeared it vanishes. He composes himself and a grin replaces it. “Ouch! You wound me sweetheart, I thought you’d miss me.” 

“Missing you? Boy please.” You scoff and roll your eyes before you push your car door open, hitting Anakin softly with your door, pushing him out of your way after you take your duffle bag out of the passenger’s seat. 

You don’t spare him another glance as you make your way to the entrance of the park, locking your car with a press of a button. 

“I know you’re lying!” He shouts before you hear him follow you. 

This time you don’t reply. Too annoyed to give him your time of day. Anakin loves to bother you, loves having your attention on him at all times. You’re aware you’re a stubborn person and it never seems to make him stop to try and get you to look at him, to notice him.

You head towards the office near the entrance of the park. As you enter the building you notice that it’s full. You smile as you recognise some of your colleagues from last year and you wave at them.

You hear a familiar voice calling out for you and you can’t help but squeal as you see that it’s Padmé Amidala. You quickly drop your bag as you both envelope each other in a big hug.

“I’ve missed you so much!” She cheers as she squeezes you close to her. 

“Not as much as I missed you.” You smile as you pull away, winking at her.

“Impossible.” She tsks playfully. Her eyes move to Anakin who stands behind you and she gives him a friendly smile. “Hi Anakin.”

Anakin greets Padmé, before making his way further in the room. He comes to stand close to Obi Wan who is once again the manager for the summer.

“Alright, now that everyone has arrived, let’s get started with everyone’s assigned tasks and positions.” 

As he starts talking you zone out, still feeling quite tired from your long drive yesterday to the south coast. Padmé smiles knowingly as she sneaks a glance at you. 

Around fifteen minutes pass and he’s still going giving everyone orientation and their assignments, until you hear him call out your name. 

“Yes?” You blink as you make eye contact with him.

“You and Anakin are partners for the summer.”

“What?” You exclaim. You can’t believe what you’re hearing.

You see from your peripheral view Anakin smiling at you cheekily and you can’t help but move your face to his direction, narrowing your eyes at him. He shrugs at your expression and then returns his attention back to his friend.

“What this means for you two,” Obi Wan continues with a smile as you huff out in protest, “is that you will have to share most posts together.” He says as he hands out your timetable. 

“Alright, is this all?” You ask impatiently. 

“Yes—”

You sigh and roll your eyes dramatically before grabbing your bag and your friend’s hand, tugging her along with you, making her chuckle as you walk out the building to go to the changing rooms. Your colleagues shuffle out slowly afterwards. 

“Not a word.” you grumble.

Padmé’s eyes shine mischievously, as she presses her lips into a thin line in mock seriousness and makes a motion to zip her mouth with the hand you’re not holding.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

So far, the first two weeks are uneventful.

Every day whenever the visitors arrive, you are constantly busy. You’ve switched posts here and there but other than that nothing worth mentioning happened so far.

Anakin and you have been sharing the same posts but not that much either so it has been a rather peaceful two weeks for you. 

But this afternoon, you’re partnered with him again to observe the main pool of the water park together. 

“I don’t get it,” your colleague and one of your best friends, Padmé, smirks, eyeing you as she’s sitting at the table in one of the staff's kitchens while you slice strawberries for the both of you. “Anakin isn’t as bad as you make him to be.”

“Padmé…” you groan annoyingly before you continue, “that’s because he didn’t take the job you so desperately wanted for so long.” You’re already tired of this conversation, and it barely started.

Maybe it’s your own fault, for comparing yourself to him or that you resent him for getting that job. You’re quite literally aware of how childish it sounds, but you can’t seem to care. You know how much you deserved that job. 

Your friend rolled her eyes at your words. “You should really let this go, it’s not healthy. Besides… It's been two years—”

You cut her off instantly, continuing your rant. “He can’t just come here and take everything from me. He is already one of the best swimmers and lifeguards out there. He is so fucking ‘pretty’ and smart, he always gets whatever he fucking wants anyways. What else does he want?” 

You tangle your fingers through your hair in frustration as you sigh loudly. 

“Maybe…” she begins hesitantly and your gaze meets hers. “Maybe, he didn’t want to steal this ‘job’ from you. Ever thought that he wanted this job just as much as you?”

You scoff but she continues with a small smile. “And perhaps, my dear friend, you should try and be friendly with him. I meant when I said it isn’t healthy to hold such a grudge for two years. He is only trying to be nice to you.”

“Yeah sure,” you huff as you cross your arms in front of your chest. “He’s too confident around me, trying to get under my skin at all times.”

“Under your skin? I think he just likes you.” Padmé says with a smug smile.

“L-likes me?” You splutter as you feel your cheeks burn hot. 

Your friend shrugs nonchalantly, “it seems obvious to me.” 

Padmé isn’t right, she can’t be. 

“Anakin Skywalker doesn’t like me. Nor do I like him.” You whisper harshly as you sit down across from her with your plate full of strawberries.

“Of course.” She says as she grabs a strawberry from your plate, her voice sounding nothing but sarcastic as she rolls her eyes for the second time since she started this conversation. 

“What?” You level her with a glare. “What does that mean?”

“It means that you’re in denial, that's what.” She says impatiently.

Before you can even reply back, the man himself enters the room with a wide smile. You can’t help but stare at him as he greets the both of you. He’s wearing a white shirt that stretches across his chest, with the blue logo of the water park centred in the middle and red swimming trunks. His hair looks messy but he looks so beautiful, it’s unfair. The fact that he let his hair grow out makes him even more pretty. You’d be lying if you didn’t find him attractive, he’s extremely handsome but you would never admit that to anyone out loud. During the time that you spent observing him, eyes trailing up and down the tall length of him, you didn’t notice how Anakin did the same to you.

“Ready to get back to work?” He asks rather enthusiastically. 

“Sure, Anakin. I’m still on my break though. Let me finish eating and I’m good to go.”

His face lights up at your words. He doesn’t say anything and just regards you with a small smile as he leans against the nearest wall.

“What?” You feel yourself grow warm under his mirthful stare. Feeling rather embarrassed as he looks at you. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

He shrugs, the smile not leaving his face. “You never call me by my name.”

You stare up at him, suddenly confused. You think about what he just said, trying to recall a time where you would call him by his first name. But you don’t remember anything. You always call him by his last name or ‘skyguy’. Heat overwhelms your body at the realisation.

“Well, okay. Don’t make me regret it.” You try to say as nonchalant as you can while trying to avoid looking at anyone, instead staring down your plate. 

You don’t have to look at Padmé to know that she’s staring at you, her smirk dripping with amusement. 

“I won’t,” He winks before moving away from the wall. “See you at the main pool, sweetheart.” He says with a wave as he leaves the room completely. 

You feel relieved once he’s gone, exhaling as you finally meet your friend’s gaze as she looks at you knowingly. “What?”

“Nothing.” She shrugs with faux innocence. 

“That look does not say nothing, Padmé.” You look at her pointedly.

The brown haired girl laughs and shakes her head. You narrow your eyes at her as she continues to giggle.

“What’s so funny?” You huff as you cross your arms in front of your chest. 

“Well, it’s funny that you’re so oblivious to each other's feelings. Your own feelings specifically.” 

Hot warmth blooms across your chest at her words, until blood rushes to your ears, but you scoff either way. “What do you mean, feelings? There are no feelings. I don’t like him.”

You say it confidently even if you could hear a tiny distant voice in the back of your head calling you a liar. You push another strawberry in your mouth as she chuckles at your words.

“You’re not fooling anyone but yourself.” She snorts. 

You both fell in silence, mostly because you’re ignoring her. By now the plate of berries is empty and all you can do is stare at it. You sigh dramatically as you pick up your plate, moving to put it in the dishwasher after rinsing it off. 

“Anyways, my break is over. I’ll see you later.” You say as you make your way to the door.

“Don’t forget, we’re going out tonight!” Padmé calls after you.

“How could I forget, you’ve been mentioning it every day at least once this week.” You smirk as she sticks her tongue out at you playfully. 

“Don’t act like you haven’t been looking forward to it.” She says as she points a finger at you. 

“Yeah, yeah… anyways, see you after work!”

“Have fun with your loverboy!”

You flip her off and all you can hear are her giggles as you leave the room.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

The air is thick with humidity, the summer heat enveloping you completely, and smells like chlorine. The sun is beaming down on you as you’re sitting on one of the big red lifeguards chairs. You’ve been observing the pool all afternoon, sometimes blowing your whistle whenever some children would do water bombs too excessively.

Anakin is leaning against your chair. You’re simultaneously looking out after all the swimmers in the pool and occasionally listening to Anakin ramble about anything he feels like sharing with you.

“Sometimes,” you ponder out loud, “I wonder why Obi Wan paired us two together and— hold on, why are you blushing?”

“W-what? I’m not blushing.” Anakin splutters as his face flushes more as he averts his gaze.

A devilish smile spreads across your face. “Sure you are.”

“I am not.” He huffs as he continues to try and avoid looking at you. He looks kind of shy all of a sudden. His face is still flushed, his eyes are bright and his plump lips look so kissable— hold on, why are you thinking about his lips? And why do you want to kiss them? You try to mentally shake the thought out of your head but the damage has already been made. You feel a hot flash of warmth spread over your whole body.

You genuinely hope that he doesn’t notice any of that. 

You raise your brows at him, crossing your arms over your chest. You tilt your head as you stare at him.

“Anakin, do you have anything to do with us being paired?” 

“Of course not,” he says quickly, looking flustered.

“Mmm yeah, sure.” You smirk, entirely entertained by the way his gaze keeps avoiding yours. His silence is enough to make you giggle but you can’t enjoy it that long though.

“Why does it matter?” He says more confidently, finally looking at you directly. “Is something up with you? I’ve noticed that you haven’t insulted me in a while.”

You blink at him as your smile fades as heat flashes your face, because you actually don’t know what to reply to him. Anakin is right, you haven’t been insulting him for at least a week. 

You don’t answer him instantly like you usually do, and he chuckles as he shakes his head at you. 

“What?” You say a bit nervously, but you quickly collect yourself, crossing your arms in front of your chest as you roll your eyes at him. “No, of course not. I’m completely fine. In fact I’m keeping all the insults for later.”

“Uh-huh, sure you are.” He says his lips twisting to hide his amusement, his voice dripping with sarcasm. 

“Yes, I am.” You say with confidence.

He’s just watching you and you feel yourself grow warmer under his stare. Suddenly you feel very hot, feeling overwhelmingly warm. Maybe it's the summer weather, or maybe it’s something else.

As silence falls between you two it gives you a bit of time to think. About how the man is always being nice to you. Teasing you, being playful with you. The way he always tries to catch your attention. The way he loves to banter with you. 

Or how you notice a lot of things about him lately. 

Like how his skin tans so easily, how when he gets a bit too close you notice he has some green speckles in his eyes, how blue and black looks so good on him. Or how his white shirts tend to cling on him so well. Or how no matter which room he’s in, whenever he smiles he lights up the whole room. Or how the whole world seems to stop whenever he looks at you. 

You gasp as you look at him, hopping off your chair, walking closer to the tall man.

“What?” He snorts. 

“I know what you’re doing.” You narrow your eyes up at Anakin as you walk closer to him, poking a finger into his warm solid chest. 

“What am I doing exactly?” He looks down at you with an amused smile on his face, looking entirely too entertained. He’s so fucking charming, it’s infuriating you.

Your skin feels extremely flushed, a bit damp, your hair is sticking to your neck and sweat is beading at your chest, your skin and red bikini clinging to your shirt. 

“Stop being—” You stumble over your breath, as it hitches in your throat, realising that you’re both standing way too close to each other. You are close enough that you can see the outline of his features, the faint slope of his nose, his jawline, or the scar near his right eye. Both of your chests are almost brushing, his warmth radiating off on you. 

“Stop being what? Or rather, doing what?” He says, a smile still on his face. Why is he still smiling?

You try to put some distance again between the both of you, but as you do you almost trip, and his arms move quickly, hands coming to steady you on your waist. 

“Careful sweetheart, don’t want you to hurt yourself.” 

“What?” A sense of panic envelopes you as you realise that his hands are still on you. Anakin’s hands feel warm and wide as his palms rest on you, over your shirt. His touch feels dizzying and it feels as if you are growing warmer by the second. 

“Angel—”

“No,” You shake your head frantically, as you push his hands off you. “Stop being so nice to me all the time, stop trying to distract me, stop giving me all those pet names. Just stop. I know what you’re trying to do.” He looks at you with wide eyes as you’re going off on a rant, not able to stop. “You’re trying to get to know everything about me, trying to be all nice so I let my guard down so you can just strike and take, just like you did last time.”

He looks down at the space between the both of you, tilting his head to the side as he frowns. 

“Sweetheart, what do you mean last time?” 

“You know exactly what I mean.” You mumble as you look away.

“No I don’t.” Genuine confusion and concern graces his features. “Also, am I truly distracting you?”

“Huh?” Your cheeks flush with warmth at his words as simultaneously you feel your anxiety bubbling up inside you, embarrassment overwhelming you. 

“You said I’m distracting—”

“I didn’t,” you cut him off nervously as the warmth in your face continued to rise, still not sparing him a glance. 

Anakin says your name in such a soft manner, as he tries to get you to look at him. Suddenly you have had enough of this conversation. Thankfully the loudspeakers announce that the park is closing in half an hour, saving you from talking more about the subject.

“I’d love to stay and chat but I have other places to be!” You say hurriedly as you quickly walk away from him. You ignore him as he calls out after you multiple times, determined to get home as quickly as you can so you could start and enjoy your weekend off. 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

You’re slowly swirling your straw in your favourite cocktail as you’re staring off in the distance, while you’re sitting on a lounge sofa at the new and fancy rooftop bar Padmé convinced you both to go to. Everything feels a bit hazy, probably because of the alcohol that’s warming up your body or maybe it’s the dimmed colourful lightning and the smoke that hangs a bit in the air. 

Your thoughts keep wandering off to earlier today, about the way Anakin looked so confused and how concerned he was when you had your whole rant in front of him. He genuinely looked like he didn’t know what you were talking about when you insinuated that he hurt you last time. What if he actually didn’t know—

You feel your friend nudge you as your thoughts continue to wander. “Did you hear what I just said?”

“Huh?” You blink as you look at her. You were so immersed in your own thoughts that you didn’t hear what she was talking to you about. “No, I’m sorry. Could you please repeat it?”

“Alright,” Padmé sighed. “What happened earlier?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You mumble as you avoid her gaze.

“Come on,” Padmé whispers your name, “I know something happened between you and Anakin.”

You exhale loudly, staring at your drink, shrugging. “There’s nothing much to talk about.” 

“Okay, well. If you eventually feel like talking about it, let me know.” She gives you a small smile.

“Thanks, I appreciate it,” you give her a grateful smile back as you squeeze her hand that’s closest to yours. 

You pull away, leaning against the sofa as you enjoy the last bits of light. The air is still warm, as the sun is setting. You can still hear the soft relaxing music in the background despite the amount of people talking over it. You close your eyes for a moment as you feel a breeze hitting your face, caressing your skin and hair. You desperately needed a night out and you’re thankful for Padmé picking out this location. 

“Man, I truly needed this.” You chuckle after you take a sip of your drink. 

“You mean going out?” Padmé smirks, “I knew you’d love it.”

“Yeah, yeah,” You roll your eyes playfully, “you told me so.” 

“Damn right I did.” She smiles cheekily. “You always love going out.”

“Not as much as staying at home though.” You argue as your lips curl into a smirk. 

“True, true.” 

You both talk and properly catch up, finally taking the time to hear each other's stories since the last time you’ve been able to do so was months ago. She laughs as you tell her about all your dating experiences from the past year. Your dating life is quite literally a disaster. You can’t seem to find someone in life that you can truly connect with. No matter what gender. You either end up with another friend or the dates just stay at the first date. You crave a true connection. Someone you can truly be yourself with. Someone that you can talk to about anything and everything and someone that is truly there for you.

Minutes later your eyes stray from hers for a moment as you look across the bar, your smile slowly fading as you recognise Anakin and Obi Wan stepping out of the elevator that led to the rooftop. You feel your body flush with heat as you make eye contact with Anakin. You hate the way your body reacts whenever he’s around. It’s been reacting to him a lot more lately. He looks so incredibly handsome, annoyingly so, like he always does, but the lightning makes him look even more pretty. He smiles and gives you a quick wave before he leans closer to Obi Wan. He murmurs something in his friend’s ear as he gestures to the direction Padmé and you are sitting. 

“What are they doing here?” You question as you continue to stare into their direction. 

Padmé grins sheepishly at you after she looked behind her. 

You narrow your eyes at your friend suspiciously. “You have something to do with this?”

“I may have invited them…” she flushes as she bites her lip.

“Why?” You groan.

You don’t care that you sound whiny, or that your voice sounds a bit panicked, you just don’t feel like spending a whole evening or night with Anakin Skywalker. A moment that was supposed to be relaxing. 

“Because, we both like them. They are our friends.” She exclaims.

You’re not happy, or at least you convince yourself that you aren’t. But you don’t feel like arguing with Padmé right now. You decide at that moment that the both of you deserve to have a fun evening together and if you have to spend it with Anakin too then so be it. 

“How did you let them know where we were?” You raise one of your brows at her.

“I texted them?” She looks at you as if you asked her the most ridiculous question in the world.

“Okay, yeah, stupid question.” You roll your eyes with a laugh.

“You know, you could always ask for Anakin's number. I’m pretty sure he’d give it to you happily. You’re his favourite girl after all.” She smiles deviously.

You huff, shaking your head in the process. “I don’t need—”

“Hey,” Obi Wan smiles as he greets the two of you, “sorry it took us so long.”

You feel your cheeks flush with embarrassment, you truly hope they didn’t hear what Padmé said. You greet them with a small smile and you finally look at Anakin, finding him already looking at you. He greets you with a small “hi” as he smiles before you see his eyes scan your outfit. 

You’ve spent a good hour looking through all the clothes you brought along with you, debating which outfit would be the best for a night out. You wanted to look hot. So in the end you decided on wearing a black dress, one of those corset dresses with a deep plunge, with a thigh slit on the left side of the dress. You also have dark heels on, not too high but not that low either. You normally don’t like wearing heels, preferring your comfortable white sneakers, but Padmé insisted that wearing sneakers under such a pretty dress is a no-go. Plus you have a small black shoulder bag that’s sitting at your feet. As for your makeup, you’re wearing dark nude eyeshadow with smoked eyeliner, and on your lips you have some pinky nude shiny lip gloss. 

You feel your body grow warmer under his gaze, and you can’t help but feel a bit shy and insecure. You don’t understand why, but you kind of crave his approval.

You’re taking in his outfit. He is wearing a white button-up shirt, his chest a bit more exposed and you have to force yourself not to look too long. You don’t want him to notice that you’re looking at his chest. He’s also wearing some nice blue jeans, the kind that just look good on anyone.

Padmé calls out your name, and as you face her she is already smirking at you. You can’t help but roll your eyes at her.

Anakin clears his throat, “we’re getting drinks, do you guys need anything?” 

“No, we’re good. Thanks for asking.” Padmé smiles.

As both men leave to go to the bar, she turns to you once again. 

“What was that?” Padmé smirks with amusement. 

“What do you mean?” You mumble as you avert your eyes to your lap.

“Don’t act like you weren't staring at each other.” She says with a laugh. 

You sigh heavily, “I don’t wanna talk about it.”

“Oh come on now.” She rolls her eyes playfully.

Before you can say anything back to your friend, you hear your name being called. Your eyes widen as you recognise that voice from anywhere. You quickly whip in your seat as you see one of your best friends standing there, Javier. 

“No way?” You gasp before quickly making your way over to your friend to hug him. “Is this real?” 

He chuckles as he envelopes you in a big hug. “I am very real, yes.” 

Javier is one of your closest friends besides Padmé that you’ve made since working at Aquasplash. He is a Puerto Rican exchange student that came to France to study Engineering. He worked with you for two summers straight until he moved back. You missed him terribly and hadn’t seen him for at least two and a half years. He’s always been a person that could make you feel important. He had a sense of humour that actually made you laugh. He’s one of the smartest people you’ve ever met. A lot of people think you guys have feelings for each other but all the love you have for the man is purely platonic. 

“You have no idea how much I missed you,” you chuckle as you pull back to look up at him.

“I missed you too, buddy.” He smiles warmly.

“How long are you staying?” You ask him hoping he isn’t here for a couple of days.

“I’m here on vacation for at least two months, so we can hang out as much as you’d like.” 

“Ah finally, I almost thought you wouldn’t show up tonight.” Padmé says with a teasing look as she crosses her arms, still in her seat.

“You knew?” You gasp.

“Surprise?” She smiles sheepishly. The two of you laugh at her words. 

“All these secrets.” You tsk playfully as you shake your head at Padmé. 

A moment later Obi Wan and Anakin both return with drinks. The bearded man smiles brightly as he recognises your best friend.

“Oh, hi Javier,” Obi Wan says, “it’s been a long time. How have you been?”

As both Javier and Obi Wan are catching up, your eyes almost automatically drift to Anakin. His eyes are almost narrowing at how close you and Javier are standing. You look at him quizzically before he looks away and sits down across from your original seat. 

You wonder why he was looking at the both of you like that. He looked almost jealous? You’re certain that couldn’t be the case, because you’re sure he doesn’t genuinely like you or feel about you in a romantic way. Besides, it’s not like you care. You don’t have much time to think about it, because Padmé gestures to you to come back to your seat, patting the space next to hers.

Once you are back in your seat your brown haired friend leans closer to you. “Javier looks so good.” Padmé whispers, loud enough for you to hear.

You snort, soon turning into a chuckle. 

“Yeah?” You ask with an amused smile. 

“Yeah,” she says as she bites her lip, hiding her shy smile. 

“Oh, do you have a crush?” Your smile turns more wicked.

“Shut up.” She groans as she slaps your arm. 

“Oh my god, you do.” You gasp.

“Quiet down,” She whispers as she looks around her, making sure that no one else hears them.

You giggle at her antics. “It’s okay, I think he has a crush on you too.”

“Really? You think so?” She asks with hopeful eyes.

Your smile turns soft as you nod. “Yeah, I’m sure. He tends to always look like a lovesick puppy around you.”

“You’re lying.” She pouts as she blushes furiously.

“Of course not.” You say as you look at her seriously. 

“Hmh,” she looks at you in disbelief. As if you’re still not being truthful with her.

“Don’t tell him I told you this but,” you whisper as you look around you before continuing, “he talked about you a lot whenever we would hang out.” 

You wouldn’t expose your friend like that if it wasn’t for a greater cause. You’re tired of the fact that two of your closest friends are pining after each other. Especially since now you know that Padmé has feelings for Javier too. 

“No way.” Her eyes go wide at the information. 

“Yes way.” You nod with a smile.

“Okay,” she bites her lip as the blush on her cheeks turns darker. “You think I should make a move?”

“Definitely, I think you should.”

A couple of moments later, Javier comes to sit next to Padmé. “What are you two talking about?”

You lean closer to the side as you make eye contact with your other friend. “Nothing you should concern yourself with.” You say quickly with the most saccharine smile ever. 

“Rude,” he pouts dramatically. “Is this how you treat your best friend who you haven’t seen in over two years?” 

You stick your tongue at him playfully in response. 

After a few drinks and the night turning darker, as the stars in the sky become more visible, the air is still quite warm, you start to feel extremely at ease. Conversations flowed easily with all of you and it was truly a good feeling to be talking to everyone. Even Anakin. Especially him. 

You’ve all been talking for almost two hours. And in those two hours, you’ve learned a lot about Anakin. Just like Javier, he’s studying engineering. The only difference is he's still studying abroad. He lives in Amsterdam apparently, which is your dream city to one day move into. He would laugh in such a sweet way as your eyes would widen at the information or your interest in the city. Would answer all your questions about one of your favourite cities in the world. 

Or how you learned how much he loves to read during his free time. Or his favourite music, specifically how he is a huge fan of Coldplay. He loves all kinds of music. He said he can’t stick to one music genre. There’s so much more that you’ve learned about him.

The more you know about him, the less you dislike him. The less he irritates you. Maybe after all this time, the irritation was something else entirely, buried under the false pretence of dislike. Most likely it was just pure jealousy. You used to genuinely like him. He always makes you feel things in such a furious way. He makes you think about him constantly. No, you know that deep down it wasn’t just jealousy, it was more than that. 

You know something has changed for you. What exactly, you don’t want to face yet. For now, you blame the atmosphere. Something in the air is making things shift around, feel different.

It’s only after you’ve emptied your second or third cocktail, you honestly have no idea, that Javier announces that all of you should do a game of truth or dare.

It’s as if the universe wants to play with you.

“Oh my god, no.” You groan.

“What’s up princess?” Anakin says with a teasing  smile. “You got anything to hide?” 

“W-what? No, of course not.” You stutter as you feel your body burn hot at his words.

“He does have a point.” Javier says as he tries to stifle a laugh.

“You should be on my side!” You exclaim dramatically. 

Padmé snorts next to you.

You turn to look at Padmé, narrowing your eyes at her. “What about you?”

“I mean…” she shrugs as she tries to fight off the smirk on her face.

“Great.” You turn to look across from you, ignoring the way Anakin is smiling mischievously as he looks at you. “I guess I don’t have to ask for your thoughts on this?” You ask Obi Wan.

The man shrugs and you huff.

“I don’t see why we shouldn’t.”

You groan at his words.

“Come on, don’t be so dramatic.” Javier laughs. You look at him in a fake menacing way which makes your friend laugh even more. “Alright, alright. I will spare you, for now.” He gives you a look that says nothing but danger.

“How generous of you.” You huff, rolling your eyes at him. 

“You’re first,” your best friend says as he looks at you. “You get to choose whoever you want.”

“Nice,” you say with a devilish grin. You’re thankful that you have some time to mentally prepare yourself for once it’s your turn. Because you are certain that if it’s Padmé’s or Javier’s turn that you’re doomed. 

“Uh-oh,” Padmé says with apprehension. 

“Javier,” you start, the man groaning loudly at the mention of his name. “Ok, hold on, why am I not allowed to be dramatic but you are?”

“I’m not being dramatic.” He scoffs, as if you had the audacity to accuse him of such a thing.

“Anyways,” you roll your eyes. “Truth or dare?” 

“Dare,” he picks unhesitatingly.

You snicker at his choice. You pretend to think for a second before you clear your throat, “I dare you to kiss the hottest person in our group.”

Javier’s eyebrows rise together at your bold request. While Padmé blushes bright red next to you. Obi Wan is smirking as he looks at your two best friends. Anakin on the other hand, is frowning. You have no idea why though.

“Is that the dare?” He hesitates.

“Yep,” you smile brightly. 

“You sure?” He questions again.

You sigh heavily. “Javier, you’re the one that wanted to play this game.” 

He gulps before he looks down at the brown haired girl who sits in between the two of you. He moves closer to Padmé, cupping her cheek. “Is this okay?” Javier checks in with her. 

Padmé nods her head shyly but without any hesitation. He says something under his breath that you can’t seem to catch before his lips connect with hers in a gentle kiss. Her arms move instantly, as she wraps them around his neck. 

You whistle as the kiss between them gets a bit more deeper. Eventually they pull away as they gasp for air. Their foreheads are touching as they look at each other with small satisfied smiles. 

“Finally.” You clap your hands as you smile with so much happiness, because your friends finally made a move on each other. You might’ve pushed them into the right direction, but you’re happy that they are showing their affection for each other now.

“You’re dangerous, girl.” Padmé laughs as she turns her head to look at you. But she looks truly thankful for what you did.

“Just doing God’s work.” You say with feigned innocence as you shrug. 

“Before we continue, who wants another drink?” Obi Wan asks the rest of you as he stands up from his seat.

“Me!” You say a bit too quickly and loudly as you stand up from your seat, adjusting your dress as it rides up.

Obi Wan chuckles. He asks the rest of the group what they want as you write down everything down on your notes app so you don’t forget. 

Once you have the orders down, you both make your way to the bar. You feel a pair of eyes on you as you walk away. A chill goes down your spine as you have a feeling who is looking at you. In fact you know you don’t have to turn your head to know that it’s most likely Anakin.

As you reach the bar, you lean over it and try to get one of the bartender's attention. It’s a bit busy, three other people are trying to order at the same time. One of them gives you a nod of acknowledgement, before he comes down to where you two are. Once he takes your order and you’ve paid for it, and leaves, Obi Wan clears his throat.

You raise your head, to look at him expectantly. “Hmm?”

“You know, I’m aware of how frustrated you are that Anakin got the assistant manager position and that you didn’t.” He says carefully. “They picked him because they felt like he was the most qualified.”

You feel slight irritation but mostly embarrassment bubbling up inside you at his words. As you’re about to open your mouth he continues.

“But I feel as if I am inclined to tell you this though.” He starts, “Anakin had a lot of other proposals from other workplaces for summer, other than Aquasplash. A lot of better ones actually. But still, he decided to take on this one.” 

Your mouth drops slightly at the new information. Why would he want to come back every year if he had better places to work at. It doesn’t make any sense. Everyone knows that Anakin is insanely smart and talented. Plus, why would he travel so far just to work at a place every summer with a person like you. Someone that’s been rude to him most of the time. 

“Why?” You frown.

“Why do you think so?” He asks with a small smile. 

You laugh, still puzzled as you shake your head “I don’t know?”

“Sure,” he says as he gives you a look.

Suddenly, you feel overwhelmed as you think about all the moments where Anakin’s always been nice to you, even when you’re nothing but an asshole to him. The way he always tries to catch your attention. Trying to make you laugh. Or the way he loves to spend time with you even if you’re being mean to him. How playful he is. How he loves to tease you or how he seems to only have eyes for you lately. For years actually. Or when his smile would either brighten or soften whenever you enter the room or space he’s in. Or the longing looks he would give you sometimes. 

No. You must be imagining things. 

Your eyes widen as you look at Obi Wan again. You search for a reaction that tells you that you’re wrong. But he just smiles at you knowingly.

You don’t know how or why your feelings for Anakin seem to have shifted so much, all you know is that any trace of hatred you had towards him has disappeared, wiped away to make room for something else. Deep down, you know that this was all just a facade. You’re never truly angry with him. You never disliked him. It was all an act to protect how you always truly cared for or liked him. The feelings you so desperately tried to push away, a feeling that could only be described by a four lettered word. A feeling that might have been around for a long while.

And you’re sure you ruined everything, because you’re such an asshole. 

Suddenly you feel a tightness in your chest. Your breath is turning shallow and ragged and you hear your ears start ringing. It feels as if the sky could be falling down on you any second.

Concern flashes through Obi Wan’s face as he notices a shift in your behaviour.

“Are you okay?”

“I—” you try to speak. “I-I need to go. I’m sorry.” You say hurriedly before you walk away as fast as you can, in need for a moment to be alone.

“Hey, wait,” he calls your name out.

You don’t know why you always feel like running away whenever you’re confronted with something big like your feelings but you know you can’t look or speak to anyone at the moment.

You desperately need to be alone even if it is just for a little while. 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

You don’t know how, but somehow, you ended up at the beach. The moment you leave the building your phone has been vibrating non stop, not reducing your anxiety at all. So once you sit down on the sand you put your phone on silent after sending one message to Padmé that you’re safe, ignoring all the other texts and missed calls. 

You didn’t stray that far from the bar, which isn’t that far from the coast, only a couple of hundred metres.

Your mind starts to wander back to Anakin, the man that you so desperately tried to dislike for years. Which was all a facade for how you truly feel.

You think about how the fact that the one person that you’ve ever fallen in love with deserves better than someone like you that has been mean to him for years all because of something so stupid. 

You wish you could go back in time, so you never held a grudge in the first place. So you could actually allow yourself to enjoy being around him, to think of him. 

You groan as you feel tears well in your eyes again as the thoughts consume you almost completely. 

“Things will be okay,” you whisper to yourself as you try to regulate your breathing while also mentally calming yourself down. 

You decide to focus on the sea.

Looking at the sea somehow never fails to calm you down, the sound of the body of water grounds you. As you watch the waves crash every time they hit the shore, you feel your anxiety gradually dying down.

You dig your bare feet in the sand, your heels long forgotten as they sit next to you. At the moment you don’t really care that you'll be covered in sand by the time you leave. The beach, specifically this one, brings you so much nostalgia. 

Brings you back to when you were a child.

You briefly close your eyes as you inhale the smell of the sea, exhaling a couple of moments later, releasing a bit of anxiety at the motion. You smile as you feel your body gradually relaxing as more tension dissipates, finally feeling a bit more at peace.

A couple of moments later after you feel your anxiety die down, you feel someone’s presence as they come to sit next to you. 

Unhurriedly you open your eyes again before turning your head slowly. Your eyes widen as you acknowledge who is sitting next to you. As your eyes meet Anakin’s you notice that he is already staring down at you. He’s looking at you with so much concern and an emotion that looks so tender. There’s a flicker of yearning flitting through his eyes as he continues to regard you.

Your bottom lip starts wobbling as you squeeze your eyes shut as you desperately try not to cry. 

“I’m so sorry.” You finally break the silence as tears well in your eyes again as you look at him.

“Hey, shhh sweetheart, there’s no need to apologise.” He whispers as one of his hands comes to squeeze your shoulder. His touch sparks a warmth in your body, just like he did earlier that day.

“Yes there is.” You whisper as you look away, your tears falling freely now. 

“Look at me angel,” he says softly. 

He is so caring and gentle with you, you feel awful, you don’t deserve that after being so horrible with him.

“No, I’m serious,” you say as you try to wipe your tears away. “I’m so sorry for being mean to you.”

You’re crying more now, the tears streaming down your cheeks constantly, your make up leaving some tracks because of it. 

“Sweet girl,” He says as his hands come to cup your face, holding you so tenderly, as his thumbs swipe at the tears that fall from your eyes. Your sad eyes look at him as he tries to comfort you. “It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not. I’ve been nothing but an asshole to you. All because of something as stupid as a job position.” You whisper as you continue to cry.

“Princess, are you upset because of that?” 

“Yeah, it’s so stupid.” You nod, as you keep sobbing. “I feel so stupid. I’ve never really disliked you, it was all just bullshit. A fucking facade. And for so long I believed I didn’t like you. It’s so fucking stupid.”

“Shhh, I’m telling you right now, It’s okay, you’re not stupid. I know you feel that way right now but you’re not stupid at all. You’re one of the smartest people I know. I am not upset or angry with you, I don’t think I could.” He says as he quickly moves to wrap his arms around you, bringing you closer to him. “I’ve got you, love.”

Every time your body shakes, he holds you tighter. Eventually pulling you into his lap, as you cling to him, your hands holding onto his shirt as if you are afraid that he’d disappear. His face is buried in your hair, yours against his chest as he holds you close.

One of his hands moves to caress your head softly, as the other holds your body close to him. As his fingers continue to caress your head you find yourself being comforted by it, your sobs eventually dying down as you feel yourself relax and calm down while hugging him. 

His embrace soothes you. Anakin is truly such a  comforting person, you could hold him forever.

You slowly pull away from his chest after you’ve completely calmed down, enough to look up at him. As you stare into his eyes, you feel yourself get lost in them. He is truly, so beautiful. 

Before you realise what you’re doing, you raise one of your hands to his cheek. He closes his eyes momentarily at your touch, relishing it. Once he opens his eyes again, he watches you intently, his cheeks flushing red. You feel his heart racing while your other hand rests on his chest still. 

“Anakin,” you whisper, looking shyly up at him.

He smiles at that. “I will never get tired of you saying my name.”

“Well, I haven't really said it much.” You bite your lip as you try to keep yourself from smiling. Of course, it’s not successful.

“True, but still.” He chuckles, “I will always enjoy you saying it.”

“Hm,” you hum as your eyes shift to his lips every few seconds, “I have something to confess.”

You need to confess your feelings to him. You’ve been hiding them for years, even from yourself, now it was enough. You need him to know, even if he doesn’t feel the same way, even if you misunderstood the whole thing. He deserves the truth.

“Go ahead,” he says as his eyes bore into yours, the intensity making you unable to look away. You’re both breathing in each other's air at the moment. You feel as if you’re being pulled by a magnet, your face slowly moving closer to his.

You feel your body get overwhelmed with warmth, as you mentally prepare yourself to tell him how you feel.

“I’m in love with you,” you say nervously, your confession barely above a whisper. Time stands still in that moment, your faces only a few inches apart, his arms still holding you tight against him, one of your hands resting on his cheek and the other still on his heart. “I think I always have.”

His breath hitches at your words, leaving him momentarily speechless. He looks as if he’s processing the words. Anakin leans in then, slowly, watching for you to pull back or show any other sign of not wanting him close. 

He leans in until his forehead touches yours, and you hold in a sigh at the thought of him being so close to you, the heat of his skin radiating off of him, his scent intoxicating you and filling your senses. 

The tip of his nose nuzzles yours, his warm breath kissing your lips, less than a few centimetres away now, and you move your thumb on his cheek, stroking his skin.

“I love you baby,” he whispers, making you still your movement on his cheek as you look at him with wide eyes. Heat spreads throughout your body and your heart flutters at his words, your cheeks feeling hot. “You have no idea how much I do.” 

“I love you too, Ani.” You say shyly. The moment his nickname leaves your lips, his mouth is on yours.

He kisses you with so much passion, pouring all his affection into the kiss as he holds you tightly. The kiss reflects how much he cares and loves you. 

You gasp into his mouth, feeling him as he moves his lips with yours and pulls your body somehow impossibly closer to his, as if he’s not satisfied enough, needing you as close as you physically can. He groans into you, tilting his head to kiss you deeper, and you open your mouth for him when you feel his tongue tracing your lower lip and licking into your mouth.

He moves one of his hands to come to cup your cheek as the other keeps you close, pressing you against him. He tilts his head as you moan into the kiss, deepening it.

He feels and tastes amazing, his touches feel heavenly, just perfect. You know that you will get addicted to him quickly. 

Nevermind, you already are.

He moans into the kiss, completely losing himself to the feeling, his warm tongue swirls in your mouth as his soft lips still move with yours. He is better than you ever imagined, his big hands gentle yet firm, his kisses overwhelming you. 

You feel the temperature rising between you two. Eventually you have to pull away as you gasp for air. Your forehead rests against his as you both breathe in some fresh air. 

His lips then move to your jaw, travelling all over as he presses soft kisses.  “Do you want to go back?” He whispers as he nuzzles his head against your neck. 

“No, I’d rather stay here all night with you.” You giggle as he then resumes to pepper kisses on your skin. As his kisses become more intimate, moving from your jaw to your neck, your giggles soon turn into little whimpers and moans. 

“Good,” he whispers, his voice sounding much deeper than earlier, before his mouth moves up, his lips trailing towards yours to envelop them in another kiss. 

Reuniting your mouths, Anakin kisses you deeply, his hands busying themselves with tracing your body above your clothes. You can feel one of them slowly going down beneath your arms, softly grasping at your hips and down your legs, on the way back up finding themselves beneath the dress you are wearing.

You move your hips against him instinctively, without a thought, grinding down on him, which makes him pull away with a groan. 

He moves back just enough to press his forehead to yours again. The two of you breathe in each other’s exhales, lips still almost touching as he finally speaks.

“Baby girl, you’ll be the death of me.” He rasps.

You feel your body flush with warmth at his words. Heat pools in your lower body. You bite your lip before giggling, you start peppering his cheeks, jaw and neck with kisses as you grind your hips against him again. 

His hands come to hold your hips, halting your movements. You whine as he holds you back, pouting up at him.

“Oh princess, don’t be like that.” He looks at you pointedly.

“But—”

“I’d love to continue whatever is happening right now, but not here.” He whispers the last part. 

You bite your lip as you try to hide your smile, your eyes twinkling with mischief. Your hands come to tug at the collar of his shirt, tugging him down to you. “Then take me home big boy.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

You both stumble into your apartment once you unlock the door after the fourth attempt. It’s hard to unlock anything when someone as hot as Anakin, or an amazing kisser like him, keeps distracting you with kisses. 

You giggle against his lips as you finally kick your heels off. Your feet are eternally grateful once you’re out of them. You sigh with relief as you feel your body relax instantly. 

“Man, I hate sand.” He laughs as he also kicks off his own shoes. 

You chuckle at his words, “Of course you do.”

When Anakin moves his body to meet you again he wraps his arms around you, holding you close to him. You borrow your head against his chest, nuzzling against his shirt. You’re certain that soon you’ll get addicted to his affection, as if you want him to drown you in it.

“I love you so much,” you whisper against him.

Anakin, pulls away just enough to look down on you. One of his hands moves to cup your cheek, his touch so gentle.

“Will you say it again, sweetheart?” He pleads as he looks at you with adoration. “I just need to hear it again, please.”

You smile warmly up at him, before you stand slightly on the tip of your toes to press a soft kiss to his lips. “I love you, Anakin.”

Anakin traces your face with his fingertips. Pushing the loose strands of your hair out of your face, he leans down to press a gentle kiss on your lips. Pulling back just as fast as he kissed you, “I love you too.”

He laughs as you chase his lips instantly. 

“You’re laughing at me?” You gasp, feigning shock. 

“No, sweetheart.” You pout up at him as he continues to chuckle.

“Yes you are.” You pull away from his touch with a dramatic huff.

“Come on baby, you know I wouldn’t.” 

“Oh do I?” You say as you pretend to think about it for a second. 

He laughs again, as his arms come to wrap your body close to his once again. You feel yourself melt in his embrace, feeling safe and at home.

As much as you love being hugged, you crave more. 

“Ani?” you whisper. He pulls away just slightly.

“Yes, sweetheart?” He says as he grasps your hands and kisses your knuckles, heat enveloping you instantly. You feel your body get all warm and mushy at the affection.

“I… want you.” You say, your voice barely above a whisper. 

He halts his movements at your words, his eyes searching yours. “You want me?” He smiles softly down at you. 

“Please,” you beg as you lean up to trace your lips with his, “I want and need you. I’ve always wanted you.” You press your lips against the corner of his mouth and you wrap your arms around his neck. You look deeply into his eyes, as you continue. “It’s always been you,  Ani. I’ve never felt this way about anyone. My heart has always belonged to you.”

The moment the words leave your lips, his eyes are glazed over, clouded with lust as he no longer holds himself back. His lips envelop yours in a loving but lustful kiss.

His mouth moves, slow and oh so passionate. Anakin kisses you like he has all the time in the world. You love the feel of his lips on yours, you could kiss Anakin all day. So soft and yet so full of passion. He tilts his head a millimetre to fit against you better and you unconsciously perk up on your toes to reach more of him.

You part your lips slightly to catch your breath, inhaling slowly as you taste him and only him. His tongue sweeps across your lips making you whimper. His wet muscle wraps itself against yours a moment later, hot and wet and steady as he tastes your mouth and kisses you deeply.

More warmth pools between your thighs as you continue to kiss each other while your hands wander all over each other. You’re quite certain that your lacy underwear is ruined by now.

Your tongues slowly swirl and dance against each other as your hands try to find purchase on his arms. You feel your core clench around nothing and become even more wet as both of his hands travel from your waist to your ass, squeezing it in his hands and pushing your body closer to him. 

“I’ve loved you for so long.” He whispers against your lips, his hands moving up to hold you. “Sweetheart, you’re my everything.”

You feel drowsy and hot all over, your mind all over the place, your heart beating insanely fast. You’re breathless and Anakin laughs softly as he takes in your state. You need this man so bad.

His mouth trails down your neck, pressing wet open mouthed kisses all over your skin, leaving you a whimpering mess.

“Ani,” you whine as you subconsciously rub your thighs together.

“I got you, kitten.” He whispers in your ear. You whimper at the pet name while he moves one of his  legs, sliding between your legs. You mewl as he presses his jeans-covered thigh against your covered heat which has you clinging onto him.

“P-please, I—” you stutter.

His hands move to your hips, guiding your body to move against him. The friction against your pussy has you moaning and you start to rub yourself against it.

“Fuck, you’re so wet.” He groans as he feels the wetness seeping through the fabric.

Anakin lifts his head and your eyes catch his, his lips finding yours in a rough kiss, not wasting any time as he slips his tongue past your lips. Your body is trembling as he devours your mouth and continues to guide your movements. The man of your dreams is wrapped around you completely, a hand tracing your back, the other holding your hips.

“Pleaaase, need more.” You whine against his mouth, “I need you.”

Suddenly, he lifts you up, and you wrap your legs around him instinctively. The passionate kisses don’t stop as he carries you and looks for your bedroom. Once he reaches your bed he places you gently down the sheets.

The bed dips before he hovers over you. He looks at you intensely as his hands move to your thighs, spreading them so he can fit between them. You whimper against his lips as his fingertips trace the skin of your thighs.

“Anakin, wait.” You say nervously. 

He stops his movements instantly, as he looks at you with concern. “What’s wrong sweetheart?” 

“Nothings wrong Ani,” you nibble at your bottom lip as you look at him. “I just, I’ve never done this before. Being intimate, I mean. I want you, I do, I just wanted to let you know.”

“Sweet girl,” he whispers as he looks at you tenderly, with so much love. “Baby, that’s okay. Don’t you worry about that. I will take good care of you.” 

A small smile forms on your lips at his words, and you nod. Anakin leans down, pressing a soft kiss on your forehead. Your body relaxes completely at the action. His lips move, all over your face, placing soft kisses on every piece of skin. 

“Ani,” you giggle before chasing his lips. As your lips connect with his again, your arms wrap around his neck, your hands tangled in his hair. His lips are so soft and swollen. You’ve kissed each other so much tonight that you almost can’t feel your lips anymore. The kiss is like velvet against yours, and as his mouth moves, delicate and slow, you can’t help but sigh into the kiss.

All you can taste, all you can feel, all you can see, all you can think about is him.

Lust coursing through your bloodstream, you detach your lips from his, moving to pepper kisses along the sharp outline of his jaw, your lips tracing the edge. Instantly, Anakin’s hands drop to your thighs again, his hands tracing the skin then moves higher underneath your dress, towards your ass before pulling you flush against him. You writhe underneath him, your lower abdomen squirming against the outline of his growing bulge.

Your mouth parts, as you keep grinding against him, as breathy moans leave your lips. 

Anakin sits up, quickly removing his shirt, discarding it somewhere in your room. Then moves back closer. He dips his head down, burying his face into the crook of your neck, his soft lips tenderly roaming over the skin. 

“A-Ani,” you stutteringly whimper, your eyes rolling back when he playfully nips your skin. He presses open mouthed kisses to the sensitive spot just below your ear before sucking harshly. Responsively, you mewl. More wetness pools at your core, growing more wet as he takes care of you.

You sigh under him, “I want you,” you mumble quietly.

Anakin runs his nose down the column of your throat before tracing the shape of your collarbone. When he reaches the crook of your neck again, he bites down softly, making you whimper out his name. Lazily, he flicks out his tongue, the wet muscle gliding soothingly over your stinging flesh. He pulls away just a bit as he mutters “I want you too, baby girl.”

“Then do it, take me.” You groan almost impatiently.

Cupping his chin, you pull him in for another kiss, desperately needing to feel his lips against yours once again. He dips his head down almost automatically, as he chases your own, he slides his tongue inside your mouth and you react instantly, gliding yours against his.

Feverishly, your hands begin roaming over each other, hot lust clouding your minds as your kiss grows fervent with desire. You move your hips desperately as you moan against his lips, hoping that he will get the hint. 

“So needy,” he groans against your mouth.

Anakin’s large palms push under the hem of your dress and over your bare thigh under he reaches the junction between your thighs. Unhesitatingly, he presses his hand to your covered folds, and the sudden touch has you breaking your kiss with a strangled cry.

Soft whines spill from your lips, you grind into his hand unconsciously, your walls clenching as you feel him softly stroke your folds over the fabric. The wetness between your thighs is uncomfortable. As he rubs your throbbing clit, you feel your hips stutter at the action. He groans as he feels more wetness at your entrance.

“Such a wet pussy, is this all for me angel?”

You nod frantically, but Anakin doesn’t seem satisfied enough.

“Come on, be a good girl and use your words.” He taunts with a smirk.

“Yes, all yours.” You manage to whimper, your voice sounding strangled and pathetic, as he applies pressure on your clit. “Only yours.”

“That’s my good girl,” he says with a grin. His fingertips find the hem of your dress and you sit up slightly. You raise your arms quickly to help him get rid of your dress.

You feel your body tremble in anticipation, as his eyes roam all over your half naked body, his eyes not being able to stick to one place. Growing wetter under his heavy stare, your inner walls clench around nothing. You feel your heart picking up as his hands reach for your hips, holding them and pressing your body closer to his once again.

“So beautiful.” He whispers as his hands trace your skin.

His lips then crash against yours as you gasp openly into his mouth, desire growing, and take it upon yourself to guide his hand back down to your pussy, this time underneath your panties. His mouth leaves yours to unleash a heavy groan into your neck at the first slip of his fingers between your wet lips.

“You’re so fucking wet, kitten.” Anakin groans as he drops his head to your shoulder, as he runs his soft lips over your flesh, peppering kisses onto your skin. 

His lips trail slowly down to your neck, all the way to your chest. Anakin breathes in through his nose, a flash of heat warms you up at his words and you shiver when he exhales warmly through his mouth and onto your nipple. “You’re a fucking goddess.”

That’s all he says before he wraps his lips around one nipple, teeth just skimming your skin as he sucks and licks passionately, then he pushes one of his fingers inside your pussy. 

The slight stretch causes your walls to contract, and as he pushes further into you, your cunt practically swallows the length. Feeling you grip his finger, he detaches his lips from your breast.

“Fuck— such a tight pussy,” he hisses. “I’ve dreamt of what your pussy would feel like, but I never thought it’d be this good,”

Your soft noises of ecstasy become louder as the pleasure overwhelms you. His tongue starts licking again, long licks with the flat of his tongue over your hard nipple as his other hand keeps pumping his finger in and out of you at a leisurely pace. His tongue swirls around your nipple, tracing its outline over and over again, while he simultaneously suckles at it.

You whine as your core starts clenching around his finger, begging for more. Instinctively you begin moving your hips, grinding against his hand, as he groans against your skin. Anakin’s lips leave your breast with a wet pop and he looks at you intensely as he continues to fuck you with his finger. You are panting heavily, barely able to think straight as he slowly slips another finger inside you. With each movement, you feel your entrance open and close, your eyes rolling back at the sensation.

“Ah fuck, daddy.” You whimper in a daze, not realising what spilled from your lips.

He groans and moves his face back up, to meet yours, engulfing you in a passionate kiss, swallowing all your little mewls.

“Good kitty, doing so well for daddy.” He pants against your lips.

Your breath hitches at his words, bucking your hips up towards his hand in response, silently begging for more. Of course he notices and slips a third finger in, moving them slowly at first as your tight pussy tries to adjust to the addition. 

Little whimpers leave your lips as he fucks you slowly with his fingers. You feel so full, you can’t help but imagine him fucking you with his cock, knowing that he’s probably massive. His pace eventually speeds up as you move your hips along with his movements. His lips move back to kiss you, as you whine against his mouth. Your hands clutch his shoulders as you move along with the pace of his fingers, feeling him curl them and spread them.

“Does that feel good, baby girl?” Anakin moans at the moment he connects his thumb with your little pulsing clit. “My love, do you love it when I play with your little pussy?” He rubs your bundle of nerves at the same pace as he fucks your tight walls. You buck your hips, moaning as you nod at his words. “Use your words, kitten.” He tuts.

You writhe against the sheets as you mewl. “Fuck! Yes, please, please, Ani. It feels so good.”

Anakin leans his head back down, trapping your lips in yet another heated kiss. Instinctively, you feel your legs spread even more open for him as you feel yourself get close to your first orgasm of the night. His tongue slips easily into your mouth after another gasp falls from your lips. You can’t help but moan, whine and whimper as he continues to pleasure you. Your hands wander to the back of his head pulling at his hair softly making him moan into your mouth.

“F-fuck, I need you so bad.” He groans as his thumb applies more pressure on your little nub. He curls his fingers forward with every penetration until your thighs shake.

His eyes stare into yours, lust and adoration written all over them. Once he fastens his motions inside you again, you moan and squeeze your eyes shut. A burning intense feeling, a tight coil in your lower abdomen makes you arch your back beneath him.

“Come for me, my baby.”

You open your eyes slowly, locking eyes with him. His intense gaze is what it takes for you to come undone. The hot feeling spreads all over your body, your body tingling, your hips moving at their own accord against Anakin’s hand as you gasp loudly.

“Doing so well for me princess,” he says proudly, smiling as his fingers slow as you come down from your high. 

As you come back to your senses, you feel his fingers slip away from your heat. You feel your pussy clench around nothing every now and there, your wetness dripping down the sheets, which makes you whimper helplessly.

Anakin climbs off the bed, as he makes quick work to remove all of his clothing. You are still in a daze, closing your eyes for a moment.

Once he removes the rest of his clothes, you feel him move back up to you. He leans down, roving his lips down to your neck, licking and sucking, as his hands cup your sensitive breasts, massing them in his hands. You whimper, it’s too much, everything is too much. You feel so hot as Anakin litters soft kisses down your shoulders to your chest. Your hands find his head once again, running your fingers through his hair as he breathes onto one of your nipples.

“You’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever laid my eyes on.” He says softly against your skin.

Anakin’s lips move slowly down your body, kissing every little place he can find on your skin while he pushes your body back against the bed. His lips travel all the way down to your hips making you whine and beg silently for more.

A mischievous smile plays on Anakin’s lips as he looks up at you through his eyelashes. “You smell so good, I am sure you taste just as good, if not better.” He groans before taking your underwear between his teeth, while pulling it off your legs slowly. Your mouth hangs open as you watch him, truly speechless someone could make this look so hot. Anakin keeps looking at you as he slides down your body, pulling it off you when it reaches your ankles.

Once he pushes your legs wide for him, you whimper as the air hits your wet slit. Anakin smiles as he kisses all the way up to your leg, taking his sweet time to give your body the attention you need. He presses soft kisses from your ankles up to your knees, his hands move along with his mouth, caressing the insides of your thighs as he gradually moves up your legs.

His lips linger on your thighs, licking and sucking some kisses on your soft skin, Anakin’s lips are so close to where you need him the most yet he feels so far away.

“P-please Ani, baby, I need you…” you practically beg, so desperate for him to finally give you what you desperately want.

“I love it when you beg for me kitten,” he whispers against the flesh of your thigh before his lips move higher making your breath hitch. His fingers move to spread your outer lips for him, Anakin smirks as he slides two fingers inside of you, watching the way your body squirms at the sensation, and you moan against the pillow next to you trying to muffle yourself.

“Mmmm you’re so wet for me baby girl, you’re literally dripping on my fingers,” he says before he presses some kisses on your pubic bone, making you buck your hips in response. “Easy, kitty, we have all night.”

“God, d-daddy… please move your fingers or anything. I just. I need you so baaa—” your whining gets cut off once you feel his lips around your clit, sucking it into his mouth, coaxing a loud but broken moan from your throat. “F-fuck!”

You feel like screaming, you don’t know what to do with your hands, feeling so lost and overwhelmed with the pleasure Anakin’s giving you already. He dives between your legs, licking a stripe up through your folds and teasingly dipping his tongue into your entrance along with his fingers before he travels up to your clit, spreading your lips with his wet appendage and sucking your button into his mouth.

You feel your body trembling terribly. You need more. You try to grind your wetness slowly against his lips as your body continues to shake.

Strong arms are suddenly locked around your thighs, securing your hips with his biceps, holding you still despite your attempts to grind your pussy against his lips.

You grab a random pillow as you hold it against your face to muffle your loud noises while your hips move along with the pace of his fingers. A moment later you feel him grab the pillow and remove it from your face, you whine as he drops it next to your body.

“I want to hear you, my sweet girl, don’t hide your pretty face and moans from me.” He says against your wetness as he curls his fingers inside you, playing with the sensitive spot inside you.

“A-ah, Ani, daddy please. I-I need more.” You moan desperately underneath him. You are squirming, it is so good you can barely even figure out what he is doing with his tongue.

Anakin slowly removes his fingers out of you, making you whine at the loss. He chuckles against you, heat spreading all over your body at the action. His tongue is lapping at your lower lips. Loud incoherent noises come out from your throat. You’re squirming at the feel of his tongue moving around your entrance and Anakin just sighs like there’s nothing in the world he’d rather be doing than this right now, eating you out in your bed, and it feels so so good.

Slipping his tongue finally into your entrance, he curls the muscle upward to brush your walls, you practically scream at his actions, arching your back slightly off the bed. Your head swims from his ministrations. Moaning and whining, you continue to writhe underneath him. You can feel the tight coil in your stomach, ready to snap.

“P-please, please. Ani, I’m so c-close.” You squeak when he starts thrusting his tongue in and out of you just like his fingers that had been doing it earlier before, your body trembling as you try to grind your hips into his mouth as you repeatedly whine his name.

“Come on baby, come for me,” Anakin says against your pussy before plunging his tongue back inside. Your trembling hands reach for his head, tugging lightly at his longer dark blonde strands, while moving your hips against his face, fucking yourself onto his tongue. As he applies pressure on your sensitive spot inside you with his tongue, you can feel his thumb circling your clit, making you see stars.

With a bit more pressure on your clit you come with a loud whine, your vision turning white and your ears ringing as you feel your movements against his face getting sloppier. 

The orgasm you’re experiencing feels so intense, the pleasure overwhelming your senses. You feel your pussy gushing against his lips, feeling more wetness slipping out of your entrance as Anakin moans against your cunt. You take in some deep shaky breaths, trying to gasp for air as you come down from your high. Your body trembles heavily as you try to come back to your senses. 

You feel Anakin’s tongue still licking up your pussy as he retreats his fingers from your pulsing hole. His mouth feels heavenly, but you whine at the sensitivity. He moans as he licks against your tight hole, licking up your release, his tongue prodding your entrance again.

“‘S too much.” You whimper at the overstimulation.

Anakin ignores your pleas, moaning against your heat as he continues to eat you out. The man you adore so much between your legs keeps sliding his tongue up and down your sensitive slit. Your little mewls and other noises of ecstasy spur him on, to move his lips back up to your clit. He sucks the nub softly between his lips. 

The walls of your pussy clench furiously, the empty feeling inside you intensifying with every lick, and as your wetness trickles out of you, your core practically begging to be filled.

You begin grinding your hips against his face as moans keep spilling off your lips. “You’re so sensitive, kitten.” He remarks as he presses a kiss to your clit. 

Eventually he leans down, slipping his tongue into your entrance again, he curls the muscle upward to brush your walls, the sight of your fingers bunching the fabric of the sheets in a tight grip encourages him to do it again and again.

You are a mess of his name, you chant his name over and over again. As if his name is the only word that you know at the moment. Your hips move against his face as you continue to whimper and moan breathlessly underneath him. 

Writhing below him, you feel him lick up and press against a sensitive spot inside that has you seeing stars, while your hips buck against his face uncontrollably. Your fingers are once again gripping onto his dark blonde hair rather harshly and your hips push against his face to shove his tongue deeper into your hole.

“Please,” you beg. You’re so, so close. You just need a little bit more to climax.

“Come,” he whispers his demand against you, before plunging his tongue back inside you as his thumb comes up to press against your little bundle of nerves. You come with a loud whine, your hips stuttering as your vision turns white. You cry out his name, your voice unable to remain steady. Your fingers are tightly woven through Anakin’s hair and your hips push so far against his face, you think you are almost suffocating him.

As you slowly come down to reality again and you try to catch your breath, you hear him praising you softly while he continues to lap at your wetness gently, until you whine and nudge him away with your leg because the overstimulation is getting too much for you. Finally Anakin detaches his mouth from your pussy.

He quickly licks the wetness off his lips before he crawls back up to you with a smirk, to kiss you deeply, cupping your face in his hands. You moan at the taste of yourself against his tongue, your eyes fluttering against his skin while you kiss, your arms wrap around him to pull his body closer against yours. You sigh happily, against his mouth, you feel yourself melting in his embrace already. You can feel his soft mouth smiling against yours, as the kiss gets more heated.

“You did so good for me, baby. My good girl.” He whispers against you. 

You pull away to look down between your bodies. He’s incredibly long, insanely so, and somehow even thicker, its rigid girth intimidating against your body. His shaft throbs under your gaze and you can’t help but fixate on it, you swallow thickly at the sight of it, the walls of your cunt constricting around nothing.

You can’t help but wonder if it was even possible to fit inside you. 

His lips chase your own, as he envelops you into another sweet but deep kiss. “Care to share what you’re thinking?”

“H-how?” You say quietly as you stare at him.

Anakin chuckles and you can’t help but pout at the sound of his soft laughter. “Baby, I’m not making fun of you. I swear.” He reassures you quickly as his hand cups your cheek gently. “Don’t worry, it will fit.”

You can’t help but roll your hips against his to feel his cock. You’re whimpering and moaning as you move. It turns slick as you keep grinding yourself against him, and he has no trouble gliding his hips against you and rutting it into your clit.

“Oh, baby,” Anakin groans, and it’s because he reaches down and grasps himself to line up between your lips and slide. He keeps rubbing the head of his cock from your entrance, up to your clit, circling until you squirm underneath him, and back down. Every single time his tip rubs against your hole you tremble more. He loves the sounds you make as he spreads his precum around your slit, where you are still dripping for him.

“Please, daddy.” You gasp openly into his mouth, desire growing quickly. You are still extremely wet, but the thought of him finally entering you with his big cock makes you wetter. Anakin swallows your whines with his lips against yours, hips rolling against yours. He kisses you full with fervour, his grip on you intensifying heatedly.

His broad body covers your own smaller body with his. You can’t help but love how bigger and taller he is than you. You feel so small under his large body, but in a good way. You’ve always had a thing for much taller guys. You love how sexy he is; his deep voice, his big hands, his large, muscular, sweaty body. You love hearing him call you his baby, his princess, his love, all the loving names he comes up with for you. You love how he treats you, how he has always treated you. He makes you feel safe and so loved. 

You are trembling against him, filled with anticipation. You writhe against him, wishing he was just filling your pussy up already.

“Are you ready for me, baby?” He whispers as he looks deep into your eyes. “I’ll try to be as gentle and as slow as I can, okay? Let me know if you want me to stop and I will.” He promises you.

You whine and nod, not trusting your voice at the moment, as you rub your pussy against his dick.

“Fuck,” he moans, “I need you to use your words baby.”

“Okay,” you whisper breathlessly. “I love you.”

“I love you too sweetheart, so much.”

He leans back down to kiss your lips again, he reaches down and grasps himself to line up between your lips and slide. He rubs himself up and down your slit for a while longer before one of his hands leans down to spread your outer lips sliding his dick teasingly around your entrance. You arch your back slightly and whimper loudly out of frustration.

“P-please—” your whine gets cut off at the feel of him applying pressure at your tight hole.

Anakin slides the tip in such a slow way it is agonising. At first he struggles to enter the tight, unused walls of your virginal pussy. Your lips part with a cry. He is so careful, like he is afraid you might break. You let out a long broken whine as he gradually pushes more of him inside you. 

You whine at the stretch of him. He is so huge. Your tight pussy clenches around him as it tries to accommodate his massive girth. He continues to push more of his cock inside you. He leans down to kiss your lips gently as he moves more inside, hoping that the distraction and the kisses will soften the sting.

“Fuck, how are you so tight.” Anakin moans against your mouth, almost undone by the tight embrace of your velvet walls around his cock.

His hips still once he hears your strangled gasp. “Wha— it’s not m-me. Ah, fuck. You’re just huge.”

“Do you think you can handle more?” He smiles tenderly as he looks down at you.

“M-more?” You stammer with wide eyes.

“Yeah,” he says breathlessly.

“Please,” You flutter your eyes close and whine as you nod. You grip the bed sheets between your fingers as you beg him for more.

“Good girl,” he grunts softly. You think there isn’t a possibility to get more wet but as he utters those words you feel your heat get sopping wet. Your pussy continues to pulse and clench around his cock as he moves deeper inside you.

Once he bottoms out, you feel his tip kiss your cervix. Anakin lets his body rest against yours as he allows you to adjust to his size. You feel extremely full, as if he is made for you, and only you. A sudden feeling of completeness overtakes you, the sense of wholeness overwhelming you.

The feeling of him filling you up so completely has you seeing stars and digging your fingernails into his shoulders. You feel one of his hands finding your hand, lacing them together as the other one reaches up to your face.

His breathing is heavy as you squeeze his cock constantly. Small whimpers spill from your lips as you squirm underneath him.

You need more.

You slowly open your eyes to look up at him with pleading eyes. “Please, Ani.”

“You need me to move baby?” He asks gently, as his thumb swipes over your bottom lip.

“Yes, please.” You beg as your pussy clenches around his thickness rather hard which makes him moan. “I need you to fuck me so bad.”

He nods before he starts moving slow and deep, one hand reaching down to play with your clit, while the other holds onto your hand tightly. The sting was hurting for a while, but it easily morphes into a more pleasurable feeling as he moves against you. 

He moans as he drops his head to your ear to kiss and lick at the sensitive skin just below it.

“Such a tight pussy,” he groans.

A loud noise like nothing you’ve ever made escapes your throat, a strange cry of his name.

Anakin’s entire weight is braced on one hand beside you, his other hand moving to rest on your back, under your body, as he pulls your chest into his. Your legs are splayed open on either side of his hips as he grinds his cock into you. The angle is so good, gradually he picks up his pace, leaving you a whimpering mess underneath him. Every time he thrusts into you, his pelvic bone drags along your throbbing clit, making you cry out his name in pure ecstasy.

“You’re taking me so well, kitten. Doing so so, good for me.” He whispers against your skin as he nuzzles his face against your neck.

You whimper as his lips move back up to your lips, enveloping them in a heated kiss. At a certain point you feel him slide into a pressure point in your core that has you clenching like a vise around his dick. Your eyes roll to the back of your head from the pleasure he is giving you. Your legs shoot out, wrapping them around his hips, and your heels dig into the fleshy globes of Anakin’s ass, pulling him deeper into you.

“Feeling good my sweet girl?” He moans, a small smile forming on his lips as he watches your face contort in pure pleasure.

His mouth covers your own instead as he swallows all your little noises, you can feel the tightness return in your belly, the tight coil that pulls tight, tight, tighter. Suddenly everything feels too much. It is just too much for you to handle.

He quickens his pace, his hips snapping up to yours to a fast tempo. “This pussy was made for this me, isn’t it, kitten?”

You can only moan his name repeatedly in response. His hands can’t seem to get enough of you, sliding around your hips and lower back, wanting to feel all of you, touch you everywhere. Your arms wrap around him and your nails dig in his back making him groan. The feeling of the coil is tightening in your belly, tingling down to your legs, ready to snap at any moment.

“You’re so beautiful,” he admires you, cursing under his breath when you purposefully tighten your walls around him. “You look so pretty when you’re stretched around my cock, fuck— I bet you’d look so pretty full of my cum too.”

“Please…” you whimper at the thought of him filling you up with his cum. As your thoughts start to wander, things that you shouldn’t be thinking of yet, all because the thought of him filling you up with his cum has your thoughts going feral. It has you involuntarily clenching around him. (You try to store that fantasy for later.) “Please daddy, fill this pussy up.”

He groans as he buries his face in the crook of your neck.

Fervently, the two of you rock into each other, chasing your own highs. You cling desperately to him, your arms holding onto his shoulders as you writhe together. You crave his kisses, needing to feel his lips on yours, you strain your neck and press your mouth to his. Instantly, his mouth opens, and your tongues begin moving against each other leisurely.

One of his hands slides between your body before you feel him stroke your clit. He rubs your clit with enough pressure to ensure you’d cum. Breaking from the kiss, you cry out against his lips, your breaths heavily intermingling together.

“You want to cum, sweetheart?” 

You nod frantically at his words with your eyes closed as you bite your lip harshly. “Please, f-fuck. Need it so bad.”

“Cum for me, baby,” Anakin urges. His command, paired with the way his fingers caress your clit, and how his cock drags against your sweet spot, has you at the brink of your climax.

Mouth falling open, your muscles strain as you choke out a cry of euphoria. Your whole body trembles, squirming underneath him as you come undone. You held his body closer to yours, your nails digging in his back, scratching it. Head lolling back, your back arches violently as you twist and contort in pleasure under him. 

Anakin groans in your ear as your walls spasm and pulse around his cock, begging him to cum inside, desperate for him to fill you up the way he promised.

Feeling your pussy tighten in a vice-like grip, your inner walls gushing with wetness as you milk his shaft, Anakin moans deeply.

“Fuck,“ he moans, pushing himself up as he thrust deeper into you, the head of his cock hitting your cervix repeatedly. “Going to fill this pussy up, until it’s full and messy.”

His own head falls onto your chest, and with a few more thrusts, he buries his cock as deep inside you as he can before he cums.

He moans loudly, as he comes inside you. The warmth of his seed fills you up and spreads within your walls. His warm cum fills you up deeply, the mild heat of it settling deep inside you and causing you to squirm under him. You whimper at the feel of his cum dripping out of you.

Once both of you catch your breaths, Anakin leans his forehead against yours before kissing you tenderly.

You feel him soften inside you, and as soon as you feel him move to pull out, you whine in protest wrapping your legs around him to prevent him from leaving you yet.

“Stay.” You whisper against his lips.

Anakin lets out a breathless chuckle at that.

“We need to clean you up.”

“Right now?” You whine again.

“Yeah,” he smiles as you pout. “How about this, I will clean you up and then we can cuddle as much as you want.”

“Will you stay?” You continue to pout.

“Yes, if my girl wants me to stay I will.” He smiles down at you, looking at you with so much love.

“Oh really?” You grin at him. “Am I your girl?”

He rolls his eyes playfully. “Yes, of course. Who else?”

“I just wanted to hear you say it.” You giggle before you press a soft kiss at the corner of his lips.

“Yes, you’re mine. Just like I’m yours. Completely.” Then his head moves just slightly, to capture your lips in another deep and loving kiss. As you lose yourself in the kiss, you don’t really notice as he softly unhooks your legs from around him. Moments later he pulls out as gently as possible.

You whine in protest, your walls a little raw from his thick girth, and when he retreats completely, you can’t help but squirm. Instantly, his cum begins leaking out of you, causing you to mewl in pleasure, your entrance throbbing and only forcing more of his cum out. 

Anakin sits back on his heels, his eyes drop to your pussy, a low groan falls from his lips. Your legs are spread wide, and your pussy slightly gaping from where he’d fucked you open. But he’s more focused on how his cum leaks out of you, his seed dripping down your ass. Or how your pussy clenches around nothing every now and then. His chest swells with pride, and he can’t help but smile lazily.

Leaning forward, he presses one hand onto your inner thigh, while the other swipes two fingers between your slit, gathering up his cum, and pushing it back into you. You wince at the sensation, a low groan slipping from your throat at the sensitivity. He presses a kiss to your knee in apology after he pulls his hand away.

“Come on baby,” he chuckles as he moves off the bed, taking you along with him. You whine as you realise that you’ll have to come along with him, leaving your soft bed.

“What? I thought you were gonna clean me up?” You pout. Your legs wobble a bit, your body aching as he tugs you to the adjacent bathroom of your bedroom.

“I changed my mind.” He smiles cheekily.

You raise your brow at him, looking at him suspiciously as he guides them into her shower. 

“If you think that we’re gonna do anything but clean ourselves then you’re mistaken mister.” You poke his chest playfully.

“I know,” he winks before he turns the shower on. Immediately, water shoots from the shower head mounted to the wall, the spray wetting your arm. 

Once you’re both cleaned, which took a while because you did more than just clean; lots of kisses and touches were shared, both of you finally crawled back into bed. The night is filled with lots of talking, laughter, your kisses, cuddling, more noises of pleasure and all the love you both share for one another. You know that you’ll never get tired of loving Anakin, regardless of how new your romantic relationship is. And you know he feels the same way about you too. You’re tired of running away, tired of pushing your true feelings away. Finally allowing yourself to be truly happy with the love you have for the man that adores you just as much.

He’s your medicine.

[yeyinde]

infinity in the palm of your hand (eternity in an hour) | reincarnation AU

Johnny "Soap" MacTavish (OG) x Reader | Johnny "Soap" MacTavish (Remake) x Reader

You're grieving for something, someone—a man with kind eyes and a soft smile like the valley in spring: fresh rain over the boscage in bloom—that you've never met before.

And then you find him.

MATURE | 18+ —TAGS: AU, canon divergence: reincarnation; fluff; tagging as fem!Reader due to usage of "bonnie" (not a name—Reader is not named), and mentions of a dress but no other descriptive imagery is used —WARNINGS: grief, loss, unhealthy coping mechanisms, existential crisis, allusions to smut; cosmic horror (but??? it's a romance????) —WORD COUNT: 11,9K —NOTES: I like the idea of fated pairs, soul mates, but I can't write this concept without somehow diving into the cosmic horror of something, someone, controlling you from behind the scenes. So. Um. Idk what to call this abomination. It leaks horror but is meant to be quite fluffy. It's romance. It's a love story. But it's also kinda eldritch. Oops.  This was also originally a request I got back in November (I'm so sorry!). I have since lost the request, but Reincarnation Anon, this is for you!!! 🖤

In Greek, there are two words for time: 

Kronos—chronological, the clock: fixed—measured in seconds, minutes, hours, days, weeks, months, years. The world runs on Kronos. On its merciless rigidity, it's apathetic, unending trek forward. It is cruel, sometimes, but it cares little for you, or anyone else who exists inside its unforgiving realm. Time is linear. A steady March. 

And then there is Kairos. In its essence, and in utter simplicity: timelessness. 

It's often found in grief when the world around you shatters and implodes. When it lapses into pain and agony. Into how and why and—

Nothing makes sense. Nothing matters. 

You've never experienced any such loss. Gran, grandad, friends, family—all alive and well. And yet—

You're grieving for something, someone—a man with kind eyes and a soft smile like the valley in spring: fresh rain over the boscage in bloom—that you've never met before. 

And then you find him.

Or, rather, he finds you. 

(Over and over and over again—)

It starts in university. 

Start, of course, is an operative word. It's an incipient event: a slow burn in the back of your head that gets hotter and hotter, but you can't quite discern why. You just feel wrong. Shaken. The foundation in which you walk wobbles. Crumbles. 

There is an unseen precipice under your feet covered by cobblestone. You know it's there—are aware of the yawning chasm that wants to swallow you whole, but you don't know where it is. 

And then—

There is no phone call, no blunt condolences for any particular loss, just—

A knock on your door. It's just your flatmate, but the rhythm cuts through your head, right down the middle. 

Agony. The world around you flips, topples off its axis, and just keeps spinning, spinning, spinning—

It hits you with the force of a tsunami. A deluge of biblical proportions that uprooted everything you'd ever know, casting you out into a frothing abyss, ravaged by mountain-tall waves that left you asunder. Awash in a tumultuous sea.

It would make sense, you suppose, had you lost someone, but you haven't. 

The most you've lost was a pet. 

And yet—

You sob, scream, and claw at your chest until your skin is torn and shredded, trying futilely to get to where it hurts the most. It's agonising. Brutal. They sedate you—no choice is given when you're so frantic, so desperate. The world slips away. The pain abated. 

But it doesn't stop it. 

They call it grief, and you don't know why. You haven't lost anyone. Mum, dad, gran, grandad. All alive and well. All there, standing clustered around your hospital bed (admitted when you wouldn't stop screaming) looking quite bewildered by you. By the things you say—missing something, someone, gone, just gone—and the way you're acting. 

And it scares you just as much as it does them, but you can't just push it aside, let it go. There is a gaping hole in your chest, one punched straight through your sternum. It's gangrenous, and rotting; the stench makes you dizzy, makes your head spin. Your heart is necrotising between your ribs and spine, but no one knows why. No one understands the agony you feel because everyone is alive. 

They all say the same: we don't know. Depression, perhaps. You just need time. 

Time does nothing to heal the wound. You can't run from the hurt—it's never-ending—but you get better at hiding it, at dealing with pulpy remains of your still-beating heart that slugs on despite the mouldering wound ripped open in the centre. 

They tell you it's Thursday, now. 

Before you'd throw something, thrash, and scream yourself hoarse because what does it matter when your heart is dying, decaying inside of your chest. 

Now, you just nod. Thursday, is it? 

Time doesn't exist to you anymore. It's just an endless stream of days and nights that get easier to withstand as the foreign clock on the wall ticks down the seconds you don't feel. 

The world is a murky haze of confusion and pain. You move on only because you have to. 

Things—

Well. They don't get better, but they get bearable, and you suppose that's the same thing, isn't it? 

And then you dream. 

They come in flashes. Snippets. Little moments of a place and time that doesn't exist, that isn't real. This life was not one you lived. The taste of elderberry has never graced your lips, but you think of the sweet, tartness like it's an old comfort. 

It makes you ache. 

Simplicity bleeds into familiarity into love into—

—you should… you should sit for this—

Crushing heartache. It carries the flavour of gunpowder, and is soaked in charcoal; the soot stains the tips of your fingers when you reach out, curling them in the rough lapels of a gunmetal grey jacket still carrying the scent of ichor, and loss. 

—i… i can't promise you forever, but i can promise you now—

You dream of a man. Of hands on your body. Eyes gazing at you—an alluvial fan in hazel, green, and gold; the shadows cast in the shallow valleys make you yearn for something. 

Something, something—

You wake up, hand to your splitting chest as the agony rips it into pieces. Heartache, grief. It drapes itself over you like a storm cloud. Looming there, ever-present, and ready to chisel open a deluge of pain so visceral you weep. And weep. And—

Your pillow is wet. Nose stuffed, eyes gritty. You've been crying, sobbing, in your sleep again. 

It's a cycle. Memories flood your head until it's splitting apart at the seams, making room for that life it wants to force you to remember, acknowledge, and pretend exists, and one you're in now. 

It breaks something inside of you. Cracks the levee. In the midst of crumbling concrete, and a roaring deluge, you hear a voice. 

(You stare at the bottles lining the shelves in your vanity, and tell no one.)

—excuse me? You dropped this—

HERE

There is a tavern on High Street. 

It's nothing special on its own. Just a building, just a pub. You pass it twice a day on your commute to work, and it should be background noise. A blur of scenery and objects as you stroll through the streets. A melding of the world around you, an inconsequential smear of cobblestone and brick. 

And yet—

Your eyes keep finding it, seeking it out. It's involuntary. Automatic. You pass the grocer and the pharmacy, head angled down toward the grey stone below, and then, like an unignorable force, a gravitational pull, your head lifts. The fairy lights are strewn around the outside coruscate in the gloom. You nearly trip. 

It's strange. Odd. 

It's just a building. Just a tavern. 

—got some of the best brews in town—

But you remember it. Are familiar with it in a way that makes absolutely no sense. You've never gone inside, never heard anyone speak about it. It's a building on a street of many. Ordinary. Plain. Nothing about this place should stand out to you. It isn't eye-catching or garish. It's—

—cosy little spot—

It's an anomaly. Much like—

Well. Much like everything in your life. 

There is a gnawing in the pit of your stomach, one that's so achingly familiar that your head swims from deja vu that shouldn't exist. It fits inside like an augur. A portant. 

How can the unknown be a comfort to you? How can it blister your heart with such ferocity that you find yourself pawing at your face to stem the deluge of tears that cascade down your cheeks in rivets? 

Whatever it is, it's calamitous and entirely unignorable. 

Your life is asunder, in shambles because of it yet each hiss in your ear addles your thoughts until you become overwhelmed by it all. Until the echoes that tell you to wander down a random side street, sign a lease for an apartment you can't afford, to leave the safety of your home country, and—

On a whim, you packed your things up on the behest of that strange, Eldridge feeling eating you alive that made you cut ties with your old, peaceful life, and book the first plane ticket to Elgin. No plan, no money. 

(You'd call it an afflatus had it not been so drenched in the unknown.)

It's paradoxical: you cry when you see that stupid church in the distance, your feet drag you to places you've never been before, and now. 

Now: 

You can't stop staring at a nondescript pub in a sea of many. 

Ignore it. Leave it. You take another route, head down, hands shoved deep in the pockets of your jacket to keep them from trembling. It'll pass. It'll go away. 

It doesn't. 

It pools in the pit of your stomach, noxious and rotten, until you wake up drenched in sweat, hands grasping for a phantom who no longer exists—

—wanna come with me?—

You break on Saturday. 

—i like when you wear that dress—

You wear it, and hate yourself a little bit for it. It's stupid, and out of place, but you do it, anyway. 

—booth in the back is where i always sit, want to come join me—

The inside of the tavern is just the same as you remembered it—

No. No. 

You've never been here before. 

You smell malt in the air; the same amber that spumes in your veins. You dance in circles between the tables, giggling at the people who smear by in a haze of gold and red. 

A hand reaches, snags your waist. "Where are you going, pretty thing? Wanna come sit with us?"

It makes you laugh, and laugh, and—

"There a problem?" Heat against your bare back. Ironclad arms around your middle. His voice is a rumble. A thunderclap. "She's with me. Go on now. Get."

You pull away from him, smirking, and—

The air is punched from your lungs. Longing sits in your throat, heavy and thick. It aches. God, it aches. A phantom pain that never quite dissipates. A raw wound left to fester; exposed and open to the elements. It never heals. Never scabs. It oozes grief and headache into your bloodstream and makes you feel lost. Dazed. Confused. 

It's silly. 

Stupid. 

The warm blends of burnt umber and gold make you tremble. Everything inside is—familiar, in all the ways it shouldn't be. 

You can't be here. Can't—

Something quivers inside of you. The sting of a guitar being plunked by indelicate hands. It snaps, breaks. You turn, eyes wild, wide—

—hey, where are you—

"...goin'—?"

A chest. Warm. Familiar. 

Your neck aches when you jerk your chin up, hands beaded against the hard, firm flesh of a stranger who feels all too familiar, too—

Hazel. A boscage in spring. Warm milk—

"Honey…"

It's out before you can stop it. 

Green and golden widen until they're drowning in a sea of arsenic white. An island of bloom, spring, carved in the middle of a barren, icy land. Lids fall, lashes dust across the shadows of the valley smeared beneath the red seal of his lower lash line. 

Your breath catches when they slide open, a slow crawl over a varicoloured plume of witch elm and wheat. 

—dark eyes, a furrowed brow, long nose, a dusting of charcoal stubble along his cheeks and jaw, and full pink lips—

No. No. 

It's different. This isn't the man who haunts your dreams and whispers sweet nothings into your ear. This is not the cut of a man who once curled his fingers over your hips, lips glued to your pulse as he spent himself inside of you—

Heat sears your cheeks. 

His mouth opens, and closes. Opens again. No words spill out. His confusion is an oppressive silence. 

You swallow down the bitter tang of panic that pools on your tongue, nails digging into the soft fabric of his shirt. 

This isn't that man. 

He just—

"Sorry," you think you say, but it's all a blur. There was a blue ravine in his eyes, one with shallow shores, and crystalline waves that rippled with the breeze. You're sinking in those waters, now. Dragged down to the murky depths of blue, blue, blue that once made you see samsara with just the brush of his lips. Everything sounds distorted. Hollow. 

—you make me crazy. make me want things i shouldn't. Riley thinks i'm whipped. kinda agree with him, but i can't let you go. i can't get you outta my head, and i don't want to—

"Sorry—," you choke, the words a crumpled piece of paper lodged in your throat. Papier-mache seals over your trachea. 

You push away from him, stumbling out of this paroxysm. Flames lick at your heels, carrying you further from the laps of blue that flicker over beige. 

He chases after you. A warm hand around your wrist stops you on the corner outside of a pharmacy. The streets are dusted in white. It trickles from the sky in a thick hail of cosmic dust. 

His breath plumes in front of him when he breathes, pure white tendrils ghosting into the midnight blue silk that covers the town. 

"Hey, you alright? Can I—call someone for you, or—"

"No." You gasp, shaking your head so fast, you're nearly sick with it. 

"Hey, hey." His hand moves, perches itself against your cheek, eyes brimming in the flushed lamp overhead. His brow is drenched with concern. With confusion. And anger. Anger—why, why—

"Did someone drug you? Did you drink anythin'?" 

It rips a bark of laughter from your chest. "Drugs? No. I'm just—"

Spiralling. 

You make a vague motion with your wrist, and hope it's enough to convey the absolute travesty of your life. It meets the mark. 

The divot in his forehead softens, eyes creasing in the corners. Full pink lips knot to the side. Something passes his expression that looks a little too much like understanding to ever sit well in the pit of your stomach. 

You swallow down the acrid residuum of panic, and nod. Why—who knows. It just feels appropriate. 

"I need to go—"

"—I like your dress."

The words tumble over each other, barely coherent amid the amalgamated syllables, but ring with distinct clarity in your head. Your dress. Your brows knot, eyes dropping to the stupid little thing you'd picked out in a shop you had no business being inside. Led by the nose. A puppet on strings. 

You scoff. "I hate it."

You don't. You'd have picked it out yourself if you had that funny little thing called freewill; that precious little something you'd left behind in a dorm on a university campus you haven't thought of in years. 

"It's, ahh—," he rubs the back of his neck, eyes skirting toward the bar you fled from. "It's pretty."

Pretty. 

"Oh…," you say, quite intelligently. "You can have it if you want." 

It's only when his brows buoy to his hairline do you realise the innuendo within that. 

The fire inside dies. Doused with the waters of Acheron.

"Sorry—"

"—'dunno if it'd look as good on me as it does you, bonnie."

Bonnie. Your veins crackle with ice. Bonnie. 

"What—what did you call me—?"

He blinks. "Oh, it's not—," his hand slides away from his neck, scrubbing over the stubble on his jaw. He looks bashful, almost. The man in your dreams is—

Reserved. Cool waters. A rock. 

"It's just a nickname, it's not—it's not anythin' weird, I promise."

A nickname. You should have known that, you suppose; but like many things, it slips, silken and liquid, through the cracks wrought by paradox. 

"Right." Your nails dig into your palms, cutting the flesh until your fingers puddle with something warm, wet. Tacky. The breath you suck in between clenched teeth is a sharp hiss. "I should go."

"Ah, yeah," his brows tighten again, jaw ticking. He looks uncomfortable, unsure. Concerned. His arms come up, folding over his broad chest. And that—

That is familiar. 

You swallow down mildew and honeysuckle. Heart lurching in your chest, a painful crescendo that echoes to the whispered beat of soft words in your head. 

—you should stay, bonnie. stay with me—

"Can I at least make sure you get home safe?"

You can't. You can't—

There is a tavern on High Street that you've been to before in a dream, where you are taken to by a man with a distance in the crook of his smile; a degree of separation that makes you yearn. It pulled you in, gravity and magnetism and that primal something that they often talk about in wordy biology papers you can't understand. 

Maybe it's the chemical slurry in your head—dopamine, serotonin, oxytocin—all mixing together, and polluting your rationale, but it made a shade of roseate fall over your eyes; veiled like a Magellanic cloud. Through the startling nebulae and cosmic radiation, he loomed. Your fingers reached out, latching on to him, and you pulled him into your orbit. 

The reservations slipped, dulled by the way you fit against him. A missing piece. A complimentary artefact. His edges softened until he looked at you with nothing but warmth, affection. 

And then—

Then:

Three knocks in halted succession. Military precision. Boom, boom, boom. 

A man stood before you, achingly familiar in his mutton chops and hat. The gleam of his metals—chest candy—caught in the setting sun. Ochre, gold. You think of him, and you smile. Was smiling when you peeled back the curtain to greet him. 

It wavers. Your heart aches for that person standing in the doorway; you from a dream. 

It drags in slow motion. He takes his hat off, and cups it on his chest. 

—look, i don't… i don't know how to tell you this—

Then—

"—don't." The word startles you as much as they do him. You baulk. "Just… no thank you."

Something rings in the cognitive dissonance that shrouds you. 

It's your turn to walk away.

And so, you do. 

(He doesn't follow. You don't know why you expected him to.)

—be patient with me, Bonnie. my job is my life. my everything, but you–you're my—

It doesn't rain—a rarity in Elgin—but the scent of wet soil, petrichor, clings to the air. 

It isn't raining, but it feels like it should.

You don't expect to see him again. 

And why would you? There are so many people in Elgin, so many men. The chances of finding him again—shaggy mohawk; kind, amber eyes—were nearly impossible. Infinitesimal, really. 

So, you push him to the far reaches of your mind, and try not to dwell on the stranger that smells so strongly of coumarin that your head still feels dizzy from the scent of golden wheat fields in the spring and sycamore when you breathe in some mornings.

Out of sight, out of mind. 

A familiar stranger in a foreign land.

But you should have known better than to expect anything in this strange purgatory you’ve slipped inside where dreams are sometimes a reality, and you can’t stop comparing a hazy figure in your mind, someone you might have loved in a distant life you have no memory of, to a stranger who slots himself into your path like he was meant to be there all along. 

It starts three days later. 

You tuck a book under your arm, and walk the unfamiliar path to a small cafe you’ve never dreamed of, have no lingering sense of recognition in the small building. 

Safe, you think. 

And then—

Blooming honeysuckle. The heady scent of coumarin. Salt, amber. 

He crashes into your life again, and again, always with the same expression of happy surprise when recognition bleeds into wheat-tinged eyes. 

He offers a wide smile, a little wave, and seems unbothered by a dizzying sense of unease that sweeps through each uncanny meeting, each strange divergence of paths always, always, leading to each other. 

In the produce section of the grocery store halfway across town, he holds an unripened apricot and grins at you over the yellow sign above (30% off!). The colourful anchor in Cooper Park, where he stands with his hands in his pockets, eyes listing toward the swans in the background, drifting idly over the dark water. At the counter in a Turkish restaurant, laughing at something the waiter says as he takes his bag of takeout. 

You turn down a random sidestreet, trying to navigate the tight, claustrophobic streets of Elgin, and he's there, suddenly, at the end. Legs thrown over the seat of a sleek motorcycle, fingers toying with the clasp of his helmet. Wander into a shop, and he's already sat at the table. Reach for a carton of eggs in Tesco's and his hand bumps against yours as he tries to grasp the same. 

You hear his voice crackling through the concrete. A whisper in the back of your head. The grit, the cadence, is so different from the man you dreamed about, the hazy spectre who haunts you, that you know, instantly, that it's him. The man whose only resemblance to the ghost latching onto you is his eyes, the hairstyle. The scent. The familiarity blooms in his proximity. Two strangers sharing the same essence of a soul. 

He drives past you on his motorcycle, wanders down the same alleyway, boards the same train, and gets off at the same station. 

A living phantom. 

It's always the same, too. His eyes always shift, somehow catching yours. Easily, effortlessly, finding you even in the midst of a crowded shop, a bustling park, or a loud eatery. 

Each time, you run. And keep running. 

And then once, you catch him. 

He leans with his forearm resting on the railing of a mezzanine at dusk. His wrist resting on the iron, fingers gripping the nozzle of a lagger that dangles over the edge. 

Behind him, music spills out from inside the flat. French doors spread wide open, leaking the whisper of a party into the warm air. 

No one joins him. He doesn't look back. 

His chin is pointed up toward the varicoloured sky streaked with lavender and pink and blood orange. Eyes glowing brightly in the darkness. A field of wheat against the midnight blue gloom of an approaching storm. 

It's mesmerising. 

Despite the urge to run, you stop. Can't help yourself, really. Not when your heart cracks at the expression on his face, eyes drawn tight, brows pinched. Full of—

Longing. 

Like a magnet, then, his gaze drops to the ground where you stand, clutching your book so hard, your joints ache. 

His hand lifts, fingers still curled in a loose fist, and he gives you a lazy wave from above, lips pulling back into that same wide, infectious, grin. Happy—for some inexplicable reason—to see you, his own little poltergeist. 

You hesitate for a moment, burning the image of him in your retinas where he'll stay, a permanent scar, in the black puddles for you to see again when you close your eyes, or look into a mirror. Another ghost. 

And then you turn. Run. 

(He doesn't try to stop you. He never does.)

It is almost clockwork.

The same soft hazel eyes creased lightly in the corners. Broad shoulders are hunched as he gazes down at his phone resting on the countertop. His brows are furrowed today. Irritation bleeds in the crevasse. 

Your fingers itch. You want to smooth it out. 

(It doesn't surprise you that you can feel the phantom warmth of his finger under your flesh.)

It's strange. All of this is. Paradoxical, really. 

You know him. You don't. You've never met him before. You know he'd taste of honeysuckle. 

There is a war in your mind. A long, drawn-out battle. 

(No victor in the carnage.)

You should walk away, leave, like all the times before when you'd spotted him, and ran, but:

Frozen. Paralysed. 

You can't move. Can't—

—maybe, you're just tired of running—

—maybe, i'm just waiting for you to catch up—

His head lifts, and he catches sight of you before you can run. Hazel flashes in recognition. Spotted, you think; but it doesn't matter, it doesn't. 

He isn't waiting for you—

His chin lifts, a smile crooking on the corner of his mouth. 

—you'll be waiting a long time, Bonnie—

You want to run, but you can't. Can't. All you can do is watch as he slides out of the booth, hands shoved into his pockets, and makes his way to you. Tucked into the corner near the counter, away from everyone, everything, but he still spotted you. Still noticed. Still—

"Hi," he greets, low and cautious, like he's trying his best not to startle you. His eyes crinkle. "Didn't expect t'see you again."

You shouldn't be here. "Yeah," you say, instead, huffing. "I, uh… life is pretty funny that way, isn't it?" 

His brow furrows together at your words, eyes darkening with something you can't place. An unknowable emotion, hidden from your prying eyes. You think of him, then, and see the similarities you tried so desperately to ignore each time you saw him. Each time you ran. 

"Aye, it does." 

You should leave him here. Turn around, flee. Forget this place, this microcosm that blooms, and spreads over parts of Elgin you know so intimately; sure, somehow, that you'll find your fingerprints smeared across the ruins despite never having been there before.

Little pieces of yourself. Shedded skin, hope, dismay, peace. Longing. Laughter. It echoes through the tight webs of cobblestone buildings, bouncing playfully off of the pilasters and balustrades, the wrought iron fences, the fanlights, forever embedded in the grout. 

If you go there now, in that beautiful divisional line between new Georgian and old Baronial, you'll hear it whispering through the alcoves, a tantalising sound that rents the air in two. 

But it shouldn't. Can't. 

You've never been there, or here, or anywhere else that wasn't the winding path from your rented flat to the tavern, and the place you eked out from stone to support the vagary of moving to a whole new place for a dream. A feeling. 

And yet—

You taste malt in the air. Smell the barley, the sickly sweet scent of wet dirt on the slick pavement. 

It's familiar in your olfactory senses. Petrichor. Loam. Humus. It congeals in the slick mortar, clinging to the moss that weaves over the old concrete. 

If you looked down, you'd find a little weed growing through a crack beneath your feet, and so, you fix your eyes up, ahead, and try not to weep when the swooping sense of deja vu nearly knocks you off your feet.

But the only thing ahead of you is him. Expectant, curious. He looks at you like he knows you, like he can peel back the skittish layers that cling to your skin until you're shiny and new again. 

It's too much. Intense. Hazel. 

Your gaze drops, fixed on the rounded points of your shoes. There is no pavement beneath your feet—just scuffed linoleum. 

"Do I, uh, know you from somewhere?" 

His voice carries that same heft, that same weight, as the look in his eyes. A strange approximation of wariness and steeled scepticism, blanketed together by intrigue. Curiosity. Concern. 

"No." 

It sounds uncertain. A white lie that crackles in the air between you, nestled amid the sound of chatter muted in the background, as if someone turned the radio on in a different room. Everything seems to contort, and shift around you when he's near. 

A little microcosm eked out inside a cafe you've never been to but know, innately, what you'd order, and what you would recommend. 

"Well," he dips his head like he's trying to catch your eye, and when you lift your chin, the flash of teeth nearly makes your knees buckle. He's softer when he smiles. "How 'bout lettin' me get t'know you then?" 

It's a bad idea etched into the cold marble of a headstone.  

Your mouth opens, but the word that chews through your teeth isn't no, but yes. 

And fuck—

Something in his gaze shifts. Noctilucent eyes widen, staring down at you like he somehow didn't expect a yes at all, and was bracing for the harsh impact of no. 

"Well—" he starts, but the words fall into ash when you duck your head to avoid the crevasse of hazel washed out in flushed gold. "What's your number? I'll call you when m'free next, and we can—"

"Sure," you cut in, hand sliding into your pocket. The cold metal of your phone burns the tips of your fingers when you pull it out. It feels a little bit like a mistake when you hand it over, but he says nothing about the way your hand shakes when he takes it from you. 

His brows draw together in a childish concentration as he taps away at the screen. The artificial light, dimmed as low as possible, brightens the craggy ravines that cut across an emerald tinged boscage; sunlight splitting a lush valley of yellow and green. His puckered lips, the flash of a deep red tongue swiping across his sun-chapped mouth, seems designed to appeal to your baser desires. The one that knows how he'd taste if you pressed you let your tongue grace the tip of his, and can feel the weight of his hands on your flesh. 

He'd hold your hips like he was anchoring you to the earth: tight, warm, and a little bit desperate as he devoured you whole. 

You shiver, and try to ignore the way his pupils bloom into pits of black eclipsing lightened hazel when his gaze settles, hot and heavy, at the brief brush of skin when you reach for your phone. 

"I'll call you," he says, low and strained, like he was choking on the words he wanted to say. "I'll call you as soon as I can, bonnie." 

You nod. It's all you can offer with your heart scrambling up your throat, pulsing furiously against your trachea. 

His nails scrape the skin of your palm when he curls his fingers into a fist, and pulls away. 

"I'll see you around." 

It's not a choice, you want to say. You nod instead. Choke out an equally strained, yeah, and fight the urge to follow him when he finally pulls away. 

"Are you ready to order?" 

The world bursts back into sound, colour. You blink rapidly against the light that seems harsher now than that it did when he was blocking out the sun. 

"Uh, yeah—"

The taste of freshly poured coffee blooms on your tastebuds. 

You order tea instead. 

(It tastes like defeat.)

You only stop running when you can't anymore. When the murmuration in your head turns into screams, and the white-hot agony of grief, of yearning, threatens to make your knees buckle and your bruised heart give. 

You stop, letting him finally catch up. 

(Somehow, somehow, you feel lost and found at the same time.)

His name is Johnny MacTavish. He tells you this over dinner at some upscale restaurant that feels out of place on the old side of Elgin where the walls bleed history, and stink of old bones, and funeral dirt. 

Over a steaming dish of shrimp scampi and burgundy wine that makes your head spin and belly churn, you wonder why it doesn't feel new to you when he murmurs it. 

(A bit late, you find, since you've been texting rather infrequently since you gave him your number three days ago.)

Names never mentioned. Somehow, they didn't have to be. Until now. Until there was emptiness at the end of his question when he posed it, hazel eyes bright and blooming under the hushed yellow glare of the coruscating chandelier hanging above your heads. 

It feels a touch too late when you share your names over dinner despite already knowing he's in the military—opinions clenched between aching teeth and a strained smile that doesn't reach your eyes—and that he normally adorns a Mohawk when he's on missions, but grows it out, rather haphazardly, when he's home. 

Everything between you and him seems to happen in reverse: fears, wants, and worries are known before his given name; the touch of his skin on yours, the taste of his lips, the brush of his tongue, the weight of his palms holding your hips as he buries himself as deep as he can go in a haunting sequence of memories that bare their teeth at the starkness of reality holding them at bay. All of this before you've ever even touched him with your bare hands. 

There's a strange listlessness that envelopes you—a tangled web that spools around you, trapping you in this realm of hypnagogia. The lines between reality and dream blur until they're indistinguishable from each other. Knotted threads married together. Parallel. Concurrent. Where one begins and the other ends is as lost to you as the unfathomable uncertainty of the unknown universe. 

It's not meant to be this way, you think, watching as he feigns not knowing the name that slips between your numbed lips in the same manner you had only moments ago. Traps surprise in the tilt of his chin, but the display is largely done out of some unspoken agreement that this paradox does exist, and the emotion is fleeting. Temporal. He cloves it down the middle, and discards the excess as soon as you look away. 

(Your name fits in his mouth better than it ever did your own, like it was made for his mouth, preordained to play with the soft coil of his tongue.)

He knows more than he lets on, but you don't begrudge him his secrets—not when you have to turn your gaze back to the curled shrimp on your plate to avoid reminding him he prefers fish over crustaceans when he makes a face at the steamed scallops, and should have ordered the Maple Crusted Salmon instead. 

Like he didn't before, in a life you've never lived. In a place that mirrors this world. 

(It isn't something you should know, but you do. You do.)

You know more than that, too: whispers late at night when he couldn't sleep—internal clock still stuck halfway around the world—and urges you into playing a dangerous game of asking questions of each other when pieces of truth buoy in the dark like bobbing for poisoned apples in a barrel. 

You have to erase the words when you type them out, preemptively answering questions he'd never asked yet, and filling in the blanks to ones you posed yourself. 

Odd, you think. Strange, and weird, and macabre in that way that only deja vu gnarling between the broken crevasse of your grey matter can imbue. 

People don't just—

Know each other. 

And yet—

"They call me—"

"Soap." 

Your eyes snap up. A misstep. A grievous one. You've both been content to ignore this paradoxical magnetism that draws you together like eager poles, unable to stay away (not by choice or freewill, but some design that has no place in rigid structures of reality), and you broke it. Trampled over the unspoken rule left to linger in the foreground while you navigated around it like some misshapen elephant in the way. 

He tries to hide the suspicion, the surprise, but it falls between the empty space of his plate (food he only ordered because he's never been here before despite the familiarity that bleeds from the walls like condensation in June) and the ledge. A proverbial precipice that you leaped down; the steep incline filled with detritus and broken shale sharp enough to carve skin, muscles, from shattered bone. 

You want to swallow the words down, but they sit—innocuous and damning—between the salt and pepper shakers where his hand twitches, curls into a tight fist, knuckles bleaching under the strain of reeling himself in. Joints, cartilage, bulging through translucent skin. Reddened around the angry peaks of distrust and wariness; a summit you're not sure how to descend from now that you've crossed the arching tops. 

(Stuck, forever, at the peak.)

"How—" his voice is gravel, lavascape. Jagged rocks. Lakes of sulphuric acid. "How did you know that?" 

His accent thickens when he's angry. You wonder if he knows that. 

"I—" 

Excuses float like moots in front of you. You reach out, grasping for one, but it dances away in the turbulent wake you leave behind. You bite your tongue until it tastes of oxidised pennies, and then shrug. Nonchalant. Indifferent. Fear curls in your gut. Military, right. You wonder what you'll say if they arrest you for treachery. That you dreamed about him? Stupid. Stupid.  

"You told me," you murmur, eyes downcast and heavy, fixed on the bloody cup of wine you don't like, and trying to find solace in your downfall. "I think. I just remembered it from somewhere." 

It makes no sense, and the weak explanation would crumple like damp papier-mâché if he pressed, even just slightly, against it. A single touch, and the house of cards you built from the ground up on nonsensical lies will come crashing down around you. 

He shouldn't entertain it. Shouldn't let it go. 

"Yeah." But he does. "I must'a, huh?"

When you look up, you catch keen hazel eyes, sharp and pointed like the curved talons of a hawk. Johnny MacTavish is many things, you learn, but stupid, guileful, naïve is none of them. 

"Yeah," you echo hollowly, and give another shrug. "Guess so. It's, ah, an interesting nickname."

The clumsy barb seems to break the surmounting tension, and the pieces fall around you like poisoned raindrops, staining your skin. 

A reminder, then, when it crawls down your throat, that this balancing act can't last forever. That, eventually, your excuses will run dry. Empty. They'll be picked at and poked until they burst like a waterlogged, bloated corpse drifting aimlessly down the Nile. 

"Not the only thing that's interesting about me, bonnie," he says in a way that bleeds boyish charm, but his grin is wide, wild, and untamed. White teeth, sharp canines. You think of a wily fox on the prowl, and reach, reflexively, for the glass of wine, swallowing it down like a lifeline. "But I'm beginnin' t'think y'know that already, don't ye?"

It's a threat. A warning. 

You stare down in the half-empty glass of burgundy, the same colour red as the papercut on your index finger, and try to read the beads of crimson that run down the glass in a bloodied rivulet as if the answer could be found somewhere in the liquid. 

(Crystal Ball. Crystal glass. It's all the same, isn't it?)

"Not really," is what you eventually settle for, hedging through the murk that swims before you, an unsettling fen of unknowns and praeternatural happenings that you no longer than chalk up to happenstance. 

Kismet. 

Horror. 

Some cosmic merging of the two. 

It's all—

Absurd. 

And when you politely whisper to him that he should have gotten the salmon, you can't help but notice the ravines in his eyes widen slightly, the chasm growing and gaping, and taking on new shapes in the boscage that blooms like a familiar friend. 

(Kismet, indeed.)

He tries to pretend he doesn't know what the maple salmon tastes like, but slips up when the waiter passes by, and says it was good the last time. 

You fight the urge to chew on your glass like rock candies between your teeth. 

He stands with his hands in his pocket, rocking back and forth. The uncertainty in his brow is swallowed by the tendrils of pleased excitement that knot over his expression, unable to hide his glee when the hazel of his eyes glow brighter than the sun. 

Isn't this strange, you ache to say, words painted with the aftertaste of brine—sea, salt, and sand that are so uniquely him—but they, too, are swallowed down. 

The urge to lacerate the bubbles of complacency, feigned normalcy, are eclipsed by the raw shock of seeing him happy. Of wanting to make him happy. This stranger in a strange land. 

So, you offer some facsimile of a smile when he asks, words pushed out through a wide grin; infectious, if you had a good time. 

"Yeah," you say, and know that this word, this blase affirmative is quickly becoming your faultline through this mess. The thread keeping you sane, keeping you steady. 

It's at the curve of the word when everything else in the world is devoured by the shadow cast under his magnetic glow. The bright yawn of the sun in shades of white teeth catching on some ephemeral magic still dancing within the aether. Atoms spark. 

You try to run from it, ignore it, but your core teeters on the edge of instability. You think of neurons. Protons. Criticality. Something inside of you heats to almost half of the degree of the sun, sweltering and unrelenting. Pulsing, blue-hot. 

"That's good," he husks, eyes lidded and heavy. "I did, too. Whaddya think about doin' it again w'me?" 

It blooms. A great, scorching mushroom cloud plumes in midnight black in the milky white of your eyes.

You shuffle through the darkness, the artificial, comic night, and try to pat at the walls until you find something familiar in terror, the gnawing sense of loss that permeates through your pericardium, thrumming like a mourning toll. 

Sightless, you nod. "I'd love to."

And you mean it, too.

(Damn you. Damn you—)

Despite that tangled web that snakes around your jugular, twinning threads between the two of you, Johnny MacTavish is relentless in his pursuit. 

Where someone else might have shivered at the ghosts that brim in the tenebrous of your pupils, lurking in the untouched corners where your fingerprints stain the sediment, he lingers. Stays. Fixes himself in your path, and refuses to acquiesce to the whims of the world that keep stringing you along like reluctant puppets to some unseen, unknown marionette. 

It's almost charming in its own right, and really—when has a man fought so hard just to simply coexist in the space you deign yours? When has he torn nails from their beds, clawing at the walls that stand tall and proud, a protective tower of ashlar and dread around you until it starts to give. Until the stone crumbles away under his bloodied fingers. 

But as potent as his statement is, it gnarls inside your stomach like a poisoned seed. 

Bending to the demands of whatever this paradoxical realm goes against every fibre of your common sense that you recoil, almost, for just allowing him the scant space he occupies in your proximity. 

It's a deranged pantomime with some unseen force at the helm, conducting the madness with fingers drenched in whimsy and fate. Notched between its knuckles is the mockery of freewill and choice as it pulls you around a soundstage set in a place you've never been. It makes you dance. Amused god, eldritch horror. It takes pleasure in your discomfort, and glee in your fickle humanity. Weaving webs of tangled kismet until the silken threads are pulled taut and there is no more room, not a single atom, between your body and his. 

A nameless, faceless playwright with you as its shining star. 

Hapless leads stuck in an unending beat, a cantastoria, waiting for the shoe, the curtain, or anagnorisis to drop. 

You want to run again, but your feet are glued to the floor. Tangled in webs, threads of abstract concepts your mind threatens to come undone at the mere thought of. A cosmic sense of surrealism: crushing helplessness. 

This is horrific and terrific in equal measure, but the ache, the agony, of distance hurts more. And so, you stay. Watch as the curtain shudders over his eyes. As the etchings of complacency seem to gnarl in the tussock that line the expansive valley. He looks at you and doesn't see the awful truth nestled in the scant distance between your flesh, unable to be apart for too long. He sees you, somehow, and for him, that's enough. Enough. 

Johnny smiles at you, seemingly unbothered by the precariousness of this dance you're caught inside. In this strange equinox where you can answer questions he hasn't asked, and know things he hasn't said. Where you catch yourself leaning closer, starved for a touch you haven't forgotten despite never experiencing yourself. 

He's content, then, chasing the whims of a ghost, reaching for a fantastical dream in the head of another. 

But as content as he is, Johnny MacTavish is a hard man to catch, you think, noting the distance in his eyes, the arm's length of space he keeps between the version of him not haunted by the wants of ghosts, but such an easy man to love. To fall for. 

He balms the panic—that world-ending sense of uncertainty that nips at your heels—and makes you forget, sometimes, that there is more to him, and more to you, than anyone else could ever know. 

He's kind. Charming. 

A little space inside of your head is eked out just for him, and you find yourself hating that person for falling for some version of him first. Loathe them just a little bit more with each effortless grin he sends your way for tainting the experience of knowing him yourself. 

But you wonder, when he turns away, hiding the shadows in his eyes, and the pinch in his brow, if you really, truly know him. 

Or if the face he's wearing belongs to a phantom.

The dance continues. 

Your feet move to a soundless beat, steps preordained in a sequence lived world's ago. Nothing can feel surprising when you know a man so intimately without more than a touch, when you feel the burn of winter's chill in the middle of summer, and long so desperately for someone you just met. 

Nothing is new, and yet everything is novice. A paradox awakening with each gravitational pull to him, this man who looks only vaguely like the phantom who lives in your head, and tastes of longevity between your teeth. 

An arranged romance. Possession by ghosts who want to drive your bodies until they can live again, and love in tandem, vicariously through your living flesh. 

It makes sense to you, then, to call for an exorcism. 

(It just surprises you that Johnny does it first.)

Johnny has his secrets, just like you have yours. A small morsel of agency after autonomy has been stripped from the bone. 

You see the shadows of those hidden things etched in the topography of his valley-filled gaze, crevasses and canyons that pitch themselves in the tenebrous, uncrossable to even you. 

He reaches for you through the murk, fingers threading through your own, hands trembling with the shock, the electric current that sizzles through your blood at the brush of bare skin against quivering flesh. His hands are rough—worker's hands—and chock full of callouses and cuts, multitudes of scar tissue packed tight on top of each other, a thick layer of a life you will never know. Don't want to know. 

He seems settled when you touch, finally, thumb brushing your skittish pulse point as if he could somehow calm the acrid panic in your chest. 

(And damn him, damn this, he does. He does—)

Magnets fixed together, locked tight. You feel like a conduit to his frenzy, his hidden mania, and feed your own through the line, the red string that ensnares you both in a tangled web, until it's buzzing with shared panic and serenity and joy and helplessness. A feedback loop of emotions too extreme, too flighty, to catch. They run in droves along the lines, weaving into your skin, your chest, your head, and then pulling away to do the same to him. 

His eyes are heavier than steel when he gazes at you, expression caught between relief and longing and fear and—

Something, something. You can't pick it apart. Can't undo the tight knot until it spools, open and known, in the palm of your hands. Some unseen distance. It feels like standing at the highest peak of the valley and trying to make sense of the men in the tussock who look like mere ants from this high above. 

Is it happiness, you wonder. 

(Or maybe it's the same reluctance that wraps it's boney, gnarled fingers around your neck—)

It becomes too much. Too soon, too sudden. In the back of your head, you see images and flashes of a life not yet lived, a world still taking shape. You see him and you and a clock above some blue, broken bed. You see his smile, wide and elated, caught on the dawning sun spilling from the open curtains before it disappears under the covers, taking your laughter with it, stuck between his teeth. 

You see the past, the present. 

And your future. 

Cold. Barren. Three sharp knocks echo in the emptiness of your head. A man, a familiar stranger. You don't know him. You'd die for him. He rents the air in two. Your world in cloves. They fall to the ground, leaving you stranded and alone in the middle.

Future. There's no future. 

Your chest twists. You let go of his hand and find bloody crescent moons embedded in a ring along his flesh, knuckles whitening under your harsh grip. He said nothing about the pain. The flicker of worry across his face is genuine, you think. Real. Current. 

You smell funeral dirt in your nose. The mud is called under your nails. 

You pull away. He lets you go. 

"I, uh," he breaks off into a soft huff, injured hand lifting to scratch at the back of his shorn nape. His eyes slide away from yours, listing seaward. Avoidance undercuts the arch in his brow, the sheepishness in his mien. It's his turn to run, you realise. 

"Glad I met you," he says instead, and it's a confession and a curse. 

A bonfire burns in the river that runs through the valleys in his eyes. It's pitched on the sandy shore: an ochre flicker in the cobalt hue that saturates the land. You see the dark peaks of the rolling hills in the distance, black shapes in draped blue. 

The river is calm. The fire burns a smear of orange across the tranquil surface, meeting the milky white glow of the moon. 

It makes you think of those nights in the zenith of summer, the ones that feel neverending. Timeless. A piece of your history etched in balmy melancholy. Alone in the great expanse with nothing but the trill of cicadas, and the echoing chirp of the crickets hidden in the lush grass below. 

The sky shifts. His eyes plume with lavender-tinged stratocumulus. 

"I really like you, bonnie." It's whispered in your ear, and you wish, oh, how you wish, you couldn't hear it. That you could block the words, and the world, out so that it never reaches you again. 

Sweet longing. Beautiful agony. 

Your heart races, and you wonder how an empty space can beat at all. Can feel anything when it's just a hollow chasm. 

A heat blooms under your skin, desperate and aching. This, this, is everything you've been looking for since your heart split free from its fleshy prison, and ran away to find him, tucking itself in the boscage that glows in the flame on the shores. It's hidden somewhere. The palpitations sound like a song. You could follow it, you think, and find its lovelorn shell nestled amongst the grass that sways to its beat, and tuck it back into your empty chest where it belongs. 

(But it belongs to him, now.)

And you—

You hesitate. 

The words well on your tongue, but you think of fate, of choice, and swallow them down. 

The flames in the distance flicker, growing dimmer and darker as the moments stretch on, unbroken and barren until it's snuffed out. Gone. 

What can you say? What could you say? 

Instead, you say nothing at all. 

Johnny leaves a piece of himself on the table when he walks away. 

(You don't pick it up.)

Johnny doesn't say anything at all when he brings you home, when he stands outside of the archway to your flat, eyes lidded and pensive. A smile snakes across his face, but it's brittle and full of uncertainty, and your fingers ache to smooth the rugged lines in his brow, in the stress in his shoulders. You push it down. Smile for him instead. 

"I'll see you later," you say, and wish the ghosts wailing in your head would drop dead. 

The valley is drenched in ink when he nods, catching your gaze. 

All black, black, black. 

No sounds escape. 

"Sure, bonnie." 

You dream, and when you dream, it's of him. 

He stands at the top of a hill, and when he smiles it's full of starlight so bright it could eclipse the sun. 

In his hand, you see a pair of shears. Your mouth opens, but no sound escapes.  

He says just one word—your name—and then he lifts his hand, and cuts the rope. The sutures knit your bodies together, the string that holds him to this mortal plane, falls in swaths of golden thread to the ground where they're devoured by the earth, dissolved into nothing. Gone, forever. 

There's distance now, and separation. Nothing ties you to him except space. 

You wake up with the ghost of a scream on your lips, and the feeling of silken threads dragging over your flesh. You reach for them, and catch nothing but air. 

Palm pressed to your chest, you feel the rapid pulse under your fingertips, and know that it's back. Back where it belongs. 

Belongs, but doesn't want to be. 

You think of Johnny. 

And you weep. 

He sends a text message, and for the first time since you've met him, it surprises you. Nothing should shock you with him, anymore. You know everything, anything, about him. 

Gonna be away for a bit. Should talk when I get back. 

You reach for answers but they slide like mercury out of your hands. 

You don't dance, and you don't dream. 

You wander down the streets of Elgin, and for the first time since you woke up screaming in your bed with ghosts wailing in agony inside of your head, you get lost. 

Johnny comes back a week later, eyes heavier than you'd ever seen them, and shoulders drawn tight together as he asks you why—

"Why'd'ya keep runnin'?" He asks, words pitched and heavy with something lour and aching, a phantom pain you know all too well. There's desperation in his eyes, a low keen settling in the depth of his throat, echoing with the clamour of his despair. "If you don't want this—;" don't want me: "—then just say so, bonnie, 'cause I ain't forcin' ya t'be w'me, I ain't gonna make you stay. You wanna leave, you can just go—"

Can't. Can't. 

"Johnny—"

"No, none o'that, now. You make up your mind, 'cause I ain't makin' it for ya. I ain't makin' ya do somethin' you don't want to, and I ain't—"

He's pleading, you think. Begging—

For this, this strange thing. This awful, broken calamity, this abomination in the face of free will and autonomy. Despite the rage that hums in your veins at the idea of being controlled, manipulated, he finds something worth chasing. Worth running for. 

Why?

And what?

And—

It comes in flashes, snippets. Fragmented pieces of bright eyes—brighter, maybe, than the sun—and warmth, one hot enough to burn but it doesn't, it won't, it soothes instead. Eases coiled muscles, and absorbs the lactic acid that leaks from shredded, knotted fibres. Hands on your body, on your skin: the press of rough fingertips over prickling flesh. A whisper of curiosity, the slow descent into affection, adoration. Plush lips pillowing sharp teeth, too reverent to ever leave a mark behind—part in fear of marring fragile skin, and—

Letting the ghost of permanence fester, take root, inside his chest where his heart beats—

Jus' f'r you, bonnie. Jus' you.

For once, the phantom touching your body isn't a dream, a half-lived fantasy in another world where a man-made you whole and then ripped you into pieces, letting the scattered fragments blow with the sharp winds howling through the highlands. You know the touch, remember it. Felt it. New, and tangible. A touch that never lingered, too afraid of letting something, something, stick. 

For once—

The snaps flashing, blindingly, through your synapses are not made of dream dust and kismet. 

And—

All at once, it shatters.

—you know, i never thought i'd say this before, but i—

(You were lost in Elgin, but when you see his face, you feel found—)

THERE—

There is a lot to be said about Johnny MacTavish. 

Good things—kind, dedicated, driven—and bad things—bold, stoic, dogmatic—but one thing neither have in common is tardiness. Broken promises. 

So, when Johnny calls you in some distant land you've never heard of, and says: 

Things got bad. I might not—I might not be coming home.

You believe him. 

But the thing is: there's a difference between believing the words being said to you, and understanding their meaning. Your mind is not equipped to latch onto devastating blows with the same swiftness you do ignorant bliss. 

So, when you hear I might not be coming home, you think, instead, of tardiness. Of a missed anniversary dinner. 

(Of all the ones that came before it, and will come after it.)

And you smile. Smile into the receiver with your heart drifting down Lethe. 

"Okay, Johnny," you say, and those words will come back to haunt you three days from now, when John Price shows up at your goddamn door, stupid bucket hat tucked tight to his chest, and rips your heart into pieces. 

But for as much as you are blissfully ignorant, your mind still understands nuance. They used to call it foresight, a sixth sense; hindsight. 

You add, softer than you've ever said the words: "I love you." 

His breath stutters through the line in response. A brief pause. And then—

"If anything happens—" you hate him a little for even saying it; you really do: "just know that I love you, too. And that I hope—ah, Christ, bonnie, you got me all stupid, now—but, fuck, I hope we meet in another life."

It knocks something loose inside of you. Some primaeval thing that nestled in the safety of your ribs, moulting along your moon-white bones and glueing to the soft tissue that pulsed around it. It's shaken. Dislodged. 

It feels a little bit like your soul is being scraped off of bone. 

"Johnny—"

"—gotta go. We haven't heard from Roach or Riley in a while. I probably won't call tonight. So, don't wait for me, bonnie." 

The line clicks before the words I've been waiting for you forever fall from your wobbling lips.

You hate Johnny a little bit for this. For digging his roots deep into the soft chambers of your heart where it gnarled around your pericardium. A perfect little knot. A bow tied nice and pretty just for him. 

It makes it so much harder to bare when John fucking Price knocks on your door, stupid fucking bucket hat tucked tight against his chest, ghosts in his eyes, blood on his hands, and rips your heart into pieces until nothing but the rotten, dying roots remain. 

"I hate you so much right now," you hiss at the tombstone—the only thing you have left of him. "I hate you and I miss you and I wish you were here so I could—"

John finds you with your forehead pressed against the brass plaque, cheeks raw from the rivulets of tears that feel endless—a baptism in grief; in your tear ducts, Noah battles the biblical flood, and loses. 

Eyes that can't see past a shimmering hinterland of death and abject dismay are fixed, broken, against speckled granite. 

It's agony. The kind that makes it feel as if the marrow in your bones turned into a corrosive liquid, molten and devastating, and burst through brittle, hollow bone. 

Price, you've come to realise, seems to know things beyond what you tell him. Always picking up the shedded skin that falls from the people around him. Little pieces of them that he shoves in his pocket to ruminate on when he's trying to put together the puzzle of who they are. 

Words won't penetrate through the haze in your head. It filters in like water through a rhyne, back out to the open sea. 

(He knows this, of course, because you've been shedding pieces of yourself around him for years.)

It doesn't surprise you, then, when he says nothing. When he just falls to his aching knees in the soft humus, resting beside you as your world crumbles into ash and heartache. 

You sit in numbed silence until the sun is swallowed by the dusk that creeps across the sky. The moon itself seems to mourn along with you, hiding her eyes behind a nebulous veil of gunmetal. 

Price, without a word, helps you stand when the gravekeeper comes and ushers you out. He shepherds you into his Jeep and brings you back to the place that reeks of loneliness and dinners for one. A place that still carries the ghost of his presence around every corner, tucked away in each alcove and nook.

He might be gone, but his shadow still lives and breathes the dank, funeral air that clings to your sallow skin. A miasma of loss that tangles itself in every atom around you. 

Price seems hesitant to step inside, but you'd rather sleep on the patio with the chirping crickets and the weeping moon than be inside where the echo of his voice whispers through the halls, and he knows this, because he knows you, and so he brings you in before you can entomb yourself in grief, lost to the elements. He sets you down gingerly on the couch, body now more fragile than fine china, brushing your tangled hair from your forehead. It catches on his weathered hands. You barely feel the pull. 

He looks at you like you're a battle that can't be won. 

"Take care'a yourself, yeah? It's what—" he chokes, then, and you feel the hiccup like a white-hot knife to your gut. "It's what he would've wanted."

What he wanted is gone, and it's dead—just like him.

You don't say these words, but you wonder if he knows them, hears them, anyway. He must, you think, watching as the ashy, smoked cedar of his beard twitches. His mouth gnarls to the side in grief, uncertainty. 

He says your name. You know this because you know the shape it makes of his mouth, but don't you hear it. All it sounds like is a nail scraping over waterlogged, mossy wood. 

Price leaves.

A part of you goes with him.

You rest your forehead against his pillow, the one that smells of him still—warm milk, honeysuckle—and you wish so hard on broken promises, unfilled dreams, to see him again, to hold his face in the plinth of your palms, that your heart feels like it might burst—

—break. 

But it's already broken. There's nothing left to shatter. The pulpy mess he left behind beats not because you want it to, but because it has to. A biological failsafe that does not care about your human emotions even as it quivers and shakes at the loss that tipped your world upside down. A gaping hole sits in the middle in the shape of his smile, and your stubborn heart pulses around the wound. 

Sometimes you think it would be easier to feel nothing at all. To shed the agony like a rotting limb, cutting it as close to the bone as you can, and watching it fall, blackened with decay, and postulating with infectious spores that bud, devouring unblemished, unhurt, flesh until you're a pristine corpse. 

Grief twists you into the living dead. Breaks your head in two, cloved clean down the middle of unrelenting panic and anger—anguish so severe, you can easily convince yourself nothing at all is real. 

But it is. 

And then there is only denial and abject horror at that unimaginable nothingness that looms, blooming in your insides until they turn into a gaping, festering maw. One that makes you feel like you could swallow the whole world and still feel empty. 

No longer a human on the inside but a chasm. The person you were before died the moment his heart stopped beating. Irrevocably changed with three, stark knocks against the door he painted yellow because it reminded him of the way you looked standing in a field of sunflowers. Gone. Gone—

A barren void with its insides scraped out. Hollow. Wind rattles through your chilled bones. It sounds like his voice when it ghosts over your ribcage. 

You chase the sound. 

Running, running, running. Going so fast, it barely feels like your feet touch the ground. A wingless bird soaring across the valleys that gleaned in his hazel eyes. 

Running, running—

Your feet slide against marshy peat. A hidden bog gurgles beneath your soles. 

You don't scream when you sink. 

(The bubbles sound just like him—)

You smile.

—NOW

Eldritch machinations, some fanciful god playing a chaotic game of matchmaker, a dizzying sense of folie a deux—you haven't quite determined what the reason for this is, who or what might be behind it, but one thing you do know is this:

Something might be aligning your paths until all trails lead to him, but when you wander down those Wonderland roads, your heart beats for him. 

A second heart pulses under your skin. One slipped inside when you cupped his cheeks in your palm, and told him when you looked, you saw only him.

It might not be a choice you've made in this lifetime, but it's certainly one you can't bring yourself to regret. 

You run, but this time, it isn't away from him, but to him. 

He tastes of coumarin when you press your lips to his, a kiss met in the middle. 

You're lost, now, in the swell that gusts across the boscage. A breeze dances over your ears. A thousand starlings coo in the clear blue aether above. You feel the tickle of barley against your knees. Rasping tussock sedge curls over your ankle, weaving together until you're tied to the ground. Anchored against the stalks of wheat that shiver in the wind. 

His hands are warm, solid, on your skin. One hand braced on the small of your back, keeping you pressed firmly against him. The other cups your chin like you're made of fine china, polished crystal full of precious gems and rare metals. He holds tight as if he's afraid you'll drift away when he lets go. 

Your head is blooming full of sunflowers. They germinate in your thoughts until the petals burst through, lifting high to the heavens where the sun burns half as hot as his body angling against yours. 

His atoms sing, calling to yours. A buzz, a hum. You feel them stretch, shifting from the prison of you until equilibrium is reached when they merge, tangling together. A new being, a new entity is born from the collision—a person made of two with lungs and hearts that breathe and beat in the same cadence as it's ghosts. Woven together with marionette strings. 

It feels like coming home and getting lost all at once. 

Etched in the delicate flesh of your heart sits a kairos moment. A brief period of nothing that runs as deadly and tumultuous as the Swillies. An upheaval. 

Time is tenuous. Broken. Fragmented. 

An arm stretches out, anchoring across your waist. His mouth presses a kiss to your bare shoulder, eyes glossy in the mid-morning sun. 

"Wha' time's it?" He slurs out, words thick with sleep. 

Your eyes cut to the alarm clock on the end table. A slow, languid smile curls across your kiss-bruised mouth. 

"Eleven-fifteen," you breathe, eyes fixed on the red lines. Your heart stutters when it flickers. "Eleven-sixteen."

"S'too early," he moans, lips rubbing over your flesh. "Stay in bed with me." 

You peel your gaze away from the clock ticking down the seconds (minutes, hours, days, months, years), and turn to him. Hazel in bloom. A boscage in spring. Your eyes mist a little from the morning dew. 

"I love you, Johnny." 

His breath ghosts over your skin. You hear the hitch in his voice when he speaks. 

"Been waitin' a long time t'hear you say that, bonnie."

"Sorry to keep you waiting." 

—don't wait for me, Bonnie. i'll come find you—

—THEN

"Excuse me? You dropped this."

It's raining. Pouring, really. The droplets are the size of pennies and pelt the top of your umbrella with an unforgiving force. It sounds like the clatter of a mourning bell, and drowns everything else out. 

But it catches. Clear. Low. 

You turn, blinking through the thick fog that congeals around High Street in a dense, white blanket. 

"Sorry?" 

A man. He's towering above you, cut off at the chest by the fine points of your umbrella. You lift it, and—

Your wallet is the first thing you see. Wet, covered in grit from the cobblestone. It's clenched between a thick thumb and forefinger, held delicately together. You baulk. 

"Oh, shit—," it's snatched out of his hand, and pulled into the sanctuary of cover. You can feel it already. The mess inside. Still. You hope—

The leather peels back. Mush. 

You groan. The meagre bills you'd pulled from the machine are now wet, sticking together in a papier-mache square. Useless. No one is going to accept sopping wet bills. 

"Alright?" 

"No, I—," you glance up at him, irritation cutting across your brow. No, you're not alright. You're shit out of luck, and stranded here, now. And—

And—

Hazel. It's the first thing you see. Mountains of brown slope into a lush green valley. A cool blue lake cuts through, splitting off into a ravine. 

Your breath catches. 

"Sorry, umm. Yes. I'm—"

Attractive is the first word that springs to your mind when you stare at him—dark eyes, furrowed brow, long nose, a dusting of charcoal stubble along his cheeks and jaw, and full pink lips. Kissable is the second one. 

And then—

Oh, God. 

"Sorry," you murmur again, cheeks heating despite the chill. "I'm fine. Thank you, I'm—"

"You're not," he says, and it's uttered so assuredly that you can't find it in yourself to lie. As if he is somehow able to chisel into your head, and rifle through your problems with ease. "It's all wet, isn't it? Were you heading home, or—?"

It's cliche. Stupid. Your belly rumbles.

Mortifying. Absolutely—

His lips quirk up. A soft, almost secretive smile. Reserved. "Well, I know this place around the back. I could use the company, if you wouldn't mind."

You should say no. No, thank you—because you were raised proper. But all you can think about is the deep, brassy tone that tickles your ears when he speaks. The distant, almost careful way he regards you, as if he's putting himself at arm's length so you aren't scared off by his brawn. 

Hazel is dusted in gold. You want to bask in his warmth for just a moment longer—

"I'll pay you back, I promise."

His brows raise. Hazel framed in white. A soft huff leaves his full mouth before his lips pull up in a slow, genuine smile. 

"Y'alright, bonnie. I'll hold you to it."

(And so, it begins.)