#just like what happened to me in real life

[astonmartinii]

i love him, it's ruining my life [guilty as sin part one] | charles leclerc social media au

pairing: charles leclerc x fem sainz!reader

a contract ends, a relationship is exposed and even with everything on the line, she still loves him.

MASTERLIST | SERIES MASTERLIST | TIP JAR

yourusername

liked by charles_leclerc, landonorris and 621,099 others

yourusername: out and about town

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user1: girl? girl? GIRL?

user2: carlos' career is DEAD AND SHE'S POSTING VACATION PICS ON INSTAGRAM

user3: at least they're cute instagram pics

landonorris: y/n i think it's time you finally take that phone off of do not disturb

yourusername: but that's the perpetual state of my phone i am a poet i was born to be in the woods, if you have news tell me now before i close this app in 20 seconds

landonorris: i don't want to air your brother's business out in a public instagram comments literally just scroll through your timeline idiot

yourusername: wait let me open the family group chat

yourusername: WHAT

user4: are we about to see her reaction to carlos losing his seat in real time?

user5: let me grab my popcorn one sec

yourusername: WHY DID NO ONE TELL ME?

landonorris: take your phone off DND for once in your life and maybe you’d be clued in on the news

charles_leclerc: and while you’re at it reply to all the tiktoks i sent you

landonorris: not the time leclerc

charles_leclerc: but but but my tiktoks… i finally got a tarot card reading that resonates

landonorris: NOT THE TIME

charles_leclerc: don’t hate the player hate the game

carlossainz55: really?

charles_leclerc: i am TALKING ABOUT TIKTOKS LEAVE ME ALONE

yourusername: this is a lot - gosh can’t a girl go on holiday without everything imploding (i'll check the tiktoks in a second)

user6: anyone kinda weirded out that charles is just here joking with y/n as if his teammate and her brother hasn’t just been forced out of a job?

liked by carlossainz55

user7: babe he wasn’t forced out of a job, his contract wasn’t renewed. the last time i checked this was a sport where they compete not sit around and sit kumbaya

liked by charles_leclerc

user8: oh! they’re both liking shady comments already, it’s been a day since the announcement

user9: this is gonna get ugly isn’t it?

user10: awful, truly. i’m sat.

carlossainz55

liked by landonorris, maxverstappen1 and 1,029,458 others

carlossainz55: love all, trust a few and do wrong to none

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user11: .... right, what ever the fuck that means?

user12: i mean i was just here to celebrate the win what is all this poetry

user11: are we shading charles? lewis? ferrari?

yourusername: shakespeare, really?

carlossainz55: i can read you know

yourusername: oh really, that's news to me

user13: erm you guys i thought the whole job loss thing was meant to bring the family together....

user14: they joke like this all the time this is just sibling banter

user15: idk it's reading a lil more tense than usual, not that there's any reason for that (that we know of)

charles_leclerc: doing the tifosi proud ❤️

carlossainz55: will do while i can

user16: yall .... what happened to the chemistry

user17: they were never friends - pierre tried to tell yall

landonorris: a carlando podium !!! lets do this every week

carlossainz55: golf buddies and podium buddies - you love to see it

landonorris: LETS GO WILD AND PUT IT ON FERRARIS TAB THEY OWE YOU

landonorris: i mean let's celebrate your triumph good pal!

user18: the PR monster got lando :( rip

carlossainz55: just being able to win in front of the most important people in my life is enough

user19: does anyone else think it was weird that y/n wasn't at the race?

user20: like y/n loves australia she litr says that she was an aussie in a past life...

user21: also the most recent carlos comment... is y/n not one of the most important people in his life?

user22: do we think something has happened? like maybe he thought she should've cut her holiday short to come home to support him?

user23: also the fact that her and charles were immediately like joking around with each other? maybe it just rubbed him the wrong way

user24: but not even considering her an important person to him? and also that just seems like he's shifting all the blame to charles when it's ferrari who haven't extended the contract

maxverstappen1

liked by charles_leclerc, danielricciardo and 892,309 others

tagged: kellypiquet & yourusername

maxverstappen1: she says she's a professional third wheel, i call that being a LEECH

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user29: unlikely trio but somehow my favourite

user30: y/n really be their overgrown child

yourusername: how am i the leech when i paid for the ice cream mr millionaire 🤨

maxverstappen1: ever thought about how i want to spend quality time with my girlfriend?

yourusername: won't someone think of the children

maxverstappen1: ur 23

yourusername: that's it! p and i are unionising against this if you find suspiciously well drawn crayon graffiti on your walls it was NOT me

maxverstappen1: don't threaten my walls if you still want to come to races

yourusername: low blow 😩

user31: does that mean... she's not going to races with carlos?

user32: she's always been in his garage tho like even with how close her and max have always been SHE'S ALWAYS IN GARAGE 55

user33: i feel like this has something to do with the whole seat situation i'm not sure how but like i think there's something weird going on here

kellypiquet: don't worry @yourusername it might be max's house but it's p that has the final say

yourusername: no one gets bluey like i do

maxverstappen1: yeah but while you're here you get the best seat at the tea party IT'S NOT FAIR

yourusername: well one of us can name all the disney princesses and one of us can't

user34: so.... y/n is living with max? but i thought her and carlos shared an apartment in madrid?

user35: guys i'm so confused

user36: we need the twitter detectives on this asap

charles_leclerc: no lec... when i specifically sent you a PR bundle, you hate to see it

maxverstappen1: you only sent that to us for y/n

charles_leclerc: maybe! but i have it on good authority that you loved the vanilla

maxverstappen1: ummmmmmm no i'm a professional athlete, y/n ate all of it

yourusernames: FALSEHOODS

charles_leclerc: i know who i believe

maxverstappen1: why is everyone ganging up on me in this comment section

user37: charles sending lec to max's house just for y/n WHAT DOES THIS ALL MEAN

user38: and does it have anything to do with carlos maybe kicking her out

yourusername

liked by charles_leclerc, maxverstappen1 and 673,892 others

yourusername: gotta make sure i give p a reason to tell me stick around

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user39: charles is always in the likes before me and i have notifications on

user40: they seem like such close friends it's so annoying that they're never spotted together at a race and we have no pictures of them :(

charles_leclerc: why do i never get any baked goods i literally sent my ice cream to my arch rivals house just for you

yourusername: you're never in the fucking country that's why

charles_leclerc: i have this kind of demanding job i don't know if you knew

yourusername: i also have the demanding job of being sexy and i cope just fine

charles_leclerc: i heard you got employee of the year, hard to be too upset when you're the competition

yourusername: better luck next time babe

user41: openly flirting with the guy that caused her brother to lose his job, this girl is just shameless

yourusername: do you think charles is the literal ceo of ferrari?

user42: why are you defending charles more than your actual brother?

yourusername: i feel like i gotta make this statement every three buisness days on here but like you people don't know what happens in our personal lives and i can defend my friends if i feel they're being unnecessarily questioned

user43: queen snapped omg

user38: they always be out here trying her like she's not a writer and poet SHE WILL READ YOU FOR FILTH

maxverstappen1: pretty sure she'd replace you with me in like two seconds so you're safe until [redacted] gets home

yourusername: i'm pretty sure with the right campaign i could sway jimmy and sassy to my side as well

user44: who the FUCK IS REDACTED

maxverstappen1: wouldn't you like to know 🤨

yourusername: max ???

maxverstappen1: what? i didn't have friends growing up i like that you tell me secrets

yourusername: oh :(

maxverstappen1: you wanna tell me more?

yourusername: NO YOU ALREADY KNOW THE BIGGEST ONE

maxverstappen1: true 💅🏻

user45: so like the secret is defo a relationship right?

user46: do we think carlos knows?

user47: by the fact that he's not in these comments... probably not

user48: so like he looses his seat and finds out his sister is in a secret relationship? someone give the guy a break

user49: or maybe, just maybe, there's a reason that y/n hasn't told carlos and he's not the guy we all think he is

liked by charles_leclerc

user50: OH? this war is so on ....

f1teaspill

liked by user51, user52 and 31,845 others

tagged: yourusername & charles_leclerc

f1teaspill: the war at ferrari is heating up... turns out there's a lot carlos didn't know and FOR YEARS. yes, you're reading that right, y/n sainz and charles leclerc have been in a relationship for at least two years and believe us we have a VERY credible source like WITHIN THE FAMILY level source.

the most important thing about this whole relationship is how carlos did not know for years, so how much more was hidden from him? did y/n know about the seat swap for lewis? was she leaking strategies to charles? was she sabotaging her own brother?

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user53: OH SHITTTTTTTTTT

user54: cancel me if you will but i think the hottest couple in f1 just dropped

user55: the fact we've been robbed of content of them for years .... i'm angry I NEED THE POETRY ABOUT CHARLES

user56: i'm gonna need y/n or charles to drop all the pics in response

user57: y'all a source "within the family"? did these fools find out about y/n's relationship and immediately run to an f1 TEA PAGE???

user58: that's some goofy ass shit

user59: i find it funny that instead of sitting down and thinking about why their daughter/sister didn't feel comfortable enough to tell you about her relationship they're like i know EXACTLY who needs to hear this

user60: the way it's proved her completely right to not tell them

user61: do you guys think this is like a tv show or like fan fiction? in what world is y/n sharing strategies to fuck over her own BROTHER?

user62: also be for fucking real... strategies? ferrari? at least try and be realistic

user63: also.... walk with me .... why would y/n and charles conspire to put lewis hamilton in carlos' seat? LEWIS FUCKING HAMILTON AND SEVEN TIME WORLD CHAMPION? WHY WOULD CHARLES WANT TO TAKE HIM ON OVER A GUY HE'S ALREADY BEATEN TWICE

user64: see this is the point! sainz camp you can try and demonise charles and yOUR OWN DAUGHTER all you want but we all know it's bull shit

user65: one thing about this that really rubs me the wrong way is that the sainz camp clearly expected that if y/n was in a relationship with charles that she would've been a double agent for carlos? and because she's not fucking insane they're now going for character assassination of their own SISTER/DAUGHTER

user66: THIS THIS THIS

user67: carlos won't even consider y/n an "important" person in his life but expect her to sacrifice or exploit her relationship for cheap psychological points

user68: also y/n isn't even at most races so how is she getting carlos' strategies to give to charles? this shit doesn't make any sense

user69: carlos himself has said in an interview that y/n is useless when it comes to racing that she's just a supportive figure rather than someone who has any in depth racing knowledge

user70: this is insane level hating with all the evidence out here... and against your own family...

user71: this just makes me think that y/n wasn't in australia for a reason - like was she banned from carlos' garage

user72: and the fact she's been staying at max's it just makes me think that y/n was kicked out of her and carlos' apartment

user73: now tHATS INSANE

espnf1

liked by pierregasly, maxverstappen1 and 1,025,788 others

tagged: carlossainz55, charles_leclerc & yourusername

espnf1: well... this could be awkward

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user77: espn babe you're just like me

user78: *slides $5 across the bar* get a camera in the ferrari garage?

espnf1: we're working on it 😩

user79: pierre and max here... they really are the paddock gossip girls

maxverstappen1: i guess carlos couldn't handle that i knew who redacted was before him 🤷🏻‍♂️

carlossainz55: really?

maxverstappen1: don't put your sister on the streets and i won't dunk these jokes on your head

user80: is this like the official f1 civil war?

carlossainz55: you don't know anything max, i'd really keep your nose out of our business

maxverstappen1: i actually know exactly how you guys move, you tried it on 17 year old me and it becomes my business when my best friend calls me with no where else to go (also i know you changed the locks while you were in maranello so she wouldn't be able to go to charles, you're not slick)

carlossainz55: i never took you as a lap dog max

yourusername: calling him the lap dog when you're the biggest bitch on the grid - bold

carlossainz55: you're burning a lot of bridges for a talentless slut who had to start fucking my teammate when we cut you off

yourusername: keep throwing your PR to the fire and see who fucking hires you, i guess we'll both be unemployed bums

user80: also imagine calling her talentless like she isn't a well established poet LOL

user81: guys this is getting so bad so quickly

user82: we got the whole rest of the season of this

user83: mad respect to max for sticking up for his bestie

user84: and her actual boyfriend isn't?

yourusername: charles will do his talking on the track like he always does. he won't debase himself with bickering in instagram comments, funnily enough ferrari don't like that - might be the reason he still has a seat and someone doesn't

carlossainz55: or he's a pussy who has his woman talk for him

yourusername: at least he has a woman to talk for him, he doesn't behind his dad at any sign of trouble. i've always known i didn't matter to dad the moment i wasn't a boy but i'm not afraid of him or you and i know exactly how you work. good luck

user85: do they know we can all read this?

user86: when i'm in an oversharing contest and the sainz siblings walk in

user87: those ferrari debriefs are gonna be AWKWARD

yourusername: especially since he doesn't have binotto to hide behind any more

user88: girl you good?

yourusername: i've never been better, this has been building for years even before charles and i got together

yourusername

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tagged: charles_leclerc

yourusername: i love you, it's ruining my life

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user89: y/n i'm gonna let you finish but we could really get the best poetry out of all of this

user90: for real like yeah i'm sorry your brother tried to make you homeless, exposed your relationship, accused you of treason and called you a talentless slut - but think of the poetry!

charles_leclerc: i love you and i hope you're okay

yourusername: i'll always be okay with you

charles_leclerc: it's out now and no one can take us away from each other

charles_leclerc: i'd actually love to see them try

yourusername: i'd go through this fortnight of hell over and over again if it meant i'd still keep you

charles_leclerc: i'd like to say this is the end of it but i think we're in for the long run now

yourusername: i'm prepared to go to war for you

charles_leclerc: there's no one i'd rather be on the front lines with

user91: oh brother... YOU'RE IN A RELATIONSHIP WITH A POET WE GET IT

charles_leclerc: * in love with

user91: oh my bad

charles_leclerc: no worries

user91: STILL GROSS BRO

liked by maxverstappen1

charles_leclerc: max ???

maxverstappen1: you guys need to calm down cause i'm not good with words and kelly is gonna start scrutinising my cards and i DO NOT HAVE THE VOCABULARY FOR IT

yourusername: lol

maxverstappen1: lol? LOL? did our brief yet forced stint as roommates mean nothing?

yourusername: fine i'll ghostwrite your valentines cards

user92: so this is all a bit melodramatic

user93: he CHANGED THE LOCKS BRO SHE HAS THE RIGHT TO BE MELODRAMATIC

liked by charles_leclerc

user94: okay so now we're in full blown f1 civil war - who is on each side?

user95: well max and pierre are on charles' side. i'd also add in lewis, seb, oscar, esteban, george, alex, yuki and daniel

user96: so carlos has lando and fernando?

fernandoalo_oficial: it might not be blood but that's my daughter

user96: ????

user97: did he just show up to diss carlos and then refuse to elaborate?

user98: sounds like a nando thing to do .... also just leaves carlos with lando lol

user99: this feels a bit unfair

yourusername: all is fair in love and poetry

fin.

note: so as soon as i had this idea (litr TTPD release day) i have been so busy and WHACKED with the worst writer's block but i hope this is a good start and rest assured knowing the beef will only get worse... I LOVE DRAMA

taglist: @aadu2173 @rhythmstars @kqliie @booksandflowrs @2bormaybenot @firelily-mimi @evie-119

[whytheylosttheirminds]

I Remember Everything - Rafe Cameron (Chapter 3)

Summary: You left the island two years ago, leaving the love of your life a shattered man in your wake. Now, when you return, you find the sweet boy you once loved has transformed into a monster of a man. How can you detangle the real Rafe from the terrible things he's done?

Timeline: begins toward the end of obx season 3 and is mostly canon.

Content: this story contains sexual content, alcohol and drug abuse, and brief mentions of violence. All chapters are 18+, minors do not interact!

(Prologue and Ch. 1) // (Ch. 2)

“I like the lilac, but I just wonder if the lavender would’ve gone better with your complexion,” your mom said as she eyed you critically. You were standing on a pedestal in the middle of Sally’s Dress Shop, trying on the bridesmaids dress your mom had picked out for you to wear to her wedding. The dress was far too frilly and pastel for your taste, but if wearing it would please your mom and make this week move faster, it was worth it.

“I think this is fine, mom,” you were trying your hardest to keep your tone polite, determined to keep this outing from turning into a fight. After all, it was your mom’s wedding week, and despite all of the history between you, you really did want her to be happy. 

By the time you had returned to the table last night, your mom had already paid the bill. The three of you drove home in silence, your mom giving you her patented silent treatment. This morning when you came downstairs dressed and ready for your fitting, she simply started talking about the flower arrangements for the reception, like the night before had never happened.

“I think you chose well,” you said before your mom could change her mind on the dress again. You’re lying through your teeth, you think this dress might be one of the worst choices she's ever made, but the satisfied smile on her face makes your discomfort worth it. 

“Do a spin for me,” she asks for the tenth time today. When you roll your eyes she pouts and says, “please?”

You smile and twirl for her again, giggling when you nearly lose your footing and fall off the pedestal, grabbing your mom’s shoulder for support. Your mom laughed too, and you realized you couldn’t remember the last time the two of you laughed together. It was nice.

Rafe has been avoiding going downtown as much as possible these days, keeping his outings to the Island Club and having his friends come to him if they want to party. Even though his dad had officially taken the fall for everything, he knew people still whispered about him as he walked by. I heard he was there. I heard he did it. They say his fingerprints were on the bullets.

Today, however, he had a meeting with a potential buyer of some of the melted gold, a jeweler on main street. He slid on his sunglasses and locked his car, trying desperately to act like today was just business as usual, like he hadn’t just put a hit on his own father.

He walked quickly from his truck toward the jeweler’s store front, but stopped in his tracks as he passed Sally’s. There you were, behind the glass, spinning in a puffy purple dress, before nearly falling on your ass. He cursed himself for the way he flinched, as if he could reach out and catch you through the window. Why was it still his instinct to catch you? 

Two Years Earlier…

“Rafe!” You squealed as he pulled you through the side door of the ballroom into the dimly lit alley. “They were playing my song!”

“That’s why I had to get you outta there,” he leans over you, backing you slowly up against the wall. “You looked way too fucking good dancing to that song.”

Rafe started rifling through the layers of your prom dress impatiently, trying to get his hands on you.

“What are you doing?” You playfully swatted his arm, thinking he must be teasing you.

“I need you,” he growled.

“Right here? In the middle of this gross alley?” You started to think he might not be kidding.

He finally gets his hands under the heavy fabric of your gown and begins kneading the flesh of your ass, making you gasp. His open mouth found yours, and you can immediately taste the alcohol on his tongue. You pull back from him and reach up to grab both sides of his face, hoping your touch would ground him a bit. He looked at you frenzied, his pupils shrinking to pinpoints.

“Baby, are you drunk already?” You said as gently as possible.

“Just on you, baby,” he slurred, attempting to dive back in for a kiss. 

“Wait,” you turned your head, causing his mouth to miss yours and land sloppily on your ear.

“What the hell?” He backed away from you in frustration. His chest was rising and falling quickly, nostrils flaring, and you wondered if he was also high. He’d only done coke once before, as far as you knew, but you remembered how panicked he was after, his heart pounding violently as you tried to calm him down. 

“It’s okay,” you assured him. “We just need to slow down a bit.”

You approached him with your hand outstretched, like he was a stray dog you were trying not to scare off. He didn’t look at you, but allowed you to slip your fingers into his, squeezing gently.

“I just wanna dance with you,” you whispered softly. Je just glared back at you, so you pouted your lips, knowing he found it irresistibly cute when you did that. He couldn’t hide the crooked smirk growing on his lips, and his breath steadied.

“We can party hard later,” you promised. “But I wanna remember this part, with you.”

He looked down at your hand in his and ran his thumb over the promise ring he had given you just a few weeks ago. You lifted his hand to your lips and kissed it softly.

As you swayed softly to the next slow song, he bent down and laid a kiss on your bare shoulder. For a moment, you thought you were successful in bringing him back down to Earth. You were full of pride, truly believing that you, and only you, would always be able to fix him when he was broken. 

Now…

Rafe stood frozen at the dress shop window, just watching you. When you tucked your hair behind your ears, it was like he could still smell your pretty coconut shampoo. When you smoothed down your dress, it was like he could still feel your soft hands on his bare skin. When you said something to your mom, it was like he could still hear your voice whispering in his ear I will love you forever, Rafe Cameron.

But you hadn’t meant it, had you? You couldn’t have, or you would’ve stayed. And if you had stayed, maybe he wouldn’t be where he was now. Maybe he would’ve married you, taken you away from this island like the two of you used to dream about. Maybe he wouldn’t be a thief, a liar, a killer. 

It was too late now, too late to undo it. Too late to get back to who he was before you left. But there was something about the sight of you, the presence of you, even through the tinted window glass, that made him want to try.

Decisively, he turned back toward his car, feverishly dialing Barry’s number. Praying to whatever God was good enough to create the girl in the window that it wasn’t too late.

Looking back at yourself in the mirror, you stopped short when you saw the reflection of a figure in the window. By the time you turned around, it was gone, and you were the one left wondering if you were imagining things.

Two Years Ago…

“Ma’am can you tell us what happened here tonight?” The cop questioned you.

Rafe looked up at you with pleading eyes. White button up stained with blood, eyes glassy and red. His suit jacket, the one you had picked out together to match your dress, had been ripped to shreds.

“I don’t know,” you said to the cop, not removing your disappointed eyes from Rafe, his bloodied face illuminated in the blue-red light of the sirens. 

“We’re going to need you to give a statement, ma’am,” the officer clarified, “for the record.”

“For the record…” you shook your head at the boy on the curb, arms held behind him in handcuffs. Arms that used to hold you every night, arms you didn’t know if you could trust anymore, “...I don’t know him.”

With that, you walked away, the shattered glass from your car window crunching under your heels with each step. Rafe had no choice but to sit there and watch you go, aching with something completely unrelated to the accident.

“Y/N!” He yelled after you, unable to suppress the pain in his voice.

You just kept walking.

Now…

You woke up with a start, clutching your bedsheets. Sighing, you tapped your phone screen and it lit up in the darkness. 5:53am. 

You weren’t surprised, you hadn’t gotten a full night’s sleep in two years. You knew how this would go, once your brain was awake there would be no turning it back off. You sighed and threw the covers off, your old childhood bed creaking loudly as you stood up. You winced at the noise, your mother was a light sleeper, a lesson you’d learned the hard way too many times. 

You pulled on an old pair of leggings and a hoodie, and slowly crept down the stairs. Once out the door, you found your old bike in the shed in the backyard and rode off into the soft morning light. No clear destination in mind, you rode around the neighborhood, down to the beach. You watched the waves crash as you passed them. It had been two years since you’d seen the ocean, and you had nearly succeeded in convincing yourself you were okay with that. But now, the sun rising over the sea, salty air consuming your senses, all the hard work you did to delude yourself unraveled.  

Without really meaning to, you ended up at the cemetery. You parked your bike and let your memory lead you right to your dad’s plot.

His grave clearly hadn’t seen visitors in a while. You made a weak effort to brush the dirt off of his headstone, before smiling and choosing to leave it as is. “God made dirt, dirt don’t hurt” your dad would’ve said. 

For a while you just sat there, fingers combing through the grass as you listened to the birds chirp loudly in the trees above.

“That ever get annoying?” You asked your dad in jest. You smile to yourself, knowing your dad wouldn’t have minded. He was too easy going, the calm current that kept you and your mom afloat. Suddenly hit with a pang of longing to see your father again, you wished that you had something to leave here for him. You noticed a grave a few plots over, completely covered in fresh blooming flowers. 

“Somebody was popular,” you say to your dad’s headstone. “I’m sure they won’t miss one flower right?”

You stand and approach the grave, wondering who it was that inspired such an outpouring of love. 

“Sheriff Susan Peterkin” 1977-2020

You frowned. She must’ve died recently, then. Strange that your mom hadn’t said anything, surely Chip had known her, being on the force. You remembered Peterkin, she came to your school every year when you were growing up. Back then, she was just a beat cop who pulled the short straw and had to give the anti-bullying presentation, but you remember her being very nice.

You plucked a tulip from one of her many bouquets and felt like you should say something.

“Um, hi. I don’t know if you knew my dad, but I think you would’ve liked him. I’m sorry for whatever happened, but thanks for always being so cool.”

As you walked away from her grave, you noticed another newly dug plot a few yards away. The plot was small, if something was buried here, it wasn’t a body. Still, there was a small plaque over the fresh dirt. You approached, having to get pretty close before you could make out the name…

“Ward Cameron.”

Your knees buckled beneath you, the tulip you were holding slipping from your grasp. This grave couldn’t have been here for more than what, a few weeks? The grass had barely begun to grow. Maybe your mom could have just forgotten to tell you about Sheriff Peterkin, but surely the very recent death of Ward Cameron hadn’t just slipped her mind. Clearly, something bigger was going on. 

And Rafe…Rafe.

You regained your footing and started running, past Sheriff Peterkin’s grave, past your father’s, blowing him a quick kiss.

You found your bike and started pedaling as fast as you could. Not even pausing to think through what you’d say when you got there, just knowing you needed to see him, to be with him. Suddenly, it made more sense. He was grieving. Their relationship was complicated, but even when he was pissed at him, Rafe still worshiped his father.

You pulled up to Tannyhill, but the gate was closed. You tried some of the gate codes you remembered the Camerons used to rotate through, but none of them worked. After your fifth attempt, the system locked you out. You rang the bell, not sure if he would even let you in when he realized it was you, but you had to try. No answer, he must not have been home.

You sat by the wall for a few hours, waiting for him to get home. Eventually, your stomach ached with hunger, and you really had to pee. You decided to go home, collect yourself, and come back later. 

By the time you arrived home on your bike, it was almost noon. Chip was just walking in the front door, home from work. He had been pulling double overnight shifts to pay for the wedding and he looked exhausted. Luckily for both of you, the wedding was just a few days away now, and all of this would be behind you soon.

When you walked in the living room, he was mid-conversation with your mother, who quickly shushed him at the sight of you. He looked at her in confusion, clearly not reading the silent message she was trying to send with her eyes.

“What’s going on?” You asked, feeling just as lost as Chip.

“Just telling your mom how we brought in that Cameron boy again last night-” your mother cut him off with a harsh, “Chip!” and he threw his hands up in surrender.

You and your mother looked at each other for a long moment, saying nothing, and at the same time, everything. 

“Don’t,” she pleaded quietly.

You turned fast and ran toward the door, grabbing her car keys and your purse off the dining room table as you passed.

“Y/N, do not do this,” your mom was up from the couch, running after you as you headed for the front door. “Tonight is my bachelorette party and tomorrow we have the rehearsal!”

“I’ll be back in time, I just have to-”

“No you don’t! You don’t have to!” She yelled, trying to grab the handle of the door before you could get to it, but you beat her to it and threw open the door.

“I’m sorry,” you called behind you as you ran to her car in the driveway. “I’ll be back soon.”

“Don’t bother,” she yelled from the front steps. 

You stopped in your tracks, hands pausing on the handle of her car door as you whipped your head towards her in surprise.

“If you leave right now,” she said, eerily composed, “If you go to him, I don’t want you at my wedding. If you do this, y/n…I don’t ever want to see you again”

Your mother had said many harsh words to you in moments of frustration that she tried to take back later, but the way she was talking to you now, her tone so even and her words so carefully selected, you wondered if she’d practiced this speech. Then it dawned on you, she knew you would do this. She knew if you found out about Ward, that you’d run to Rafe’s side. And she was fully prepared to cut you out.

You opened the car door and got in, not looking back at your mom as you peeled out of the driveway.

Twelve Years Earlier…

“No, Rafe,” you scolded, hands on your hips. “You’re the cop, and I’m the robber!”

“Well too bad. I wanna be a robber, too,” he said, taking off the plastic sherriff's badge you had given him and throwing it in the playground dirt. 

“We can’t both be robbers, that doesn’t make any sense,” you told him. 

The rules of make-believe were very clear, and you’d always been a rule follower. That is, until you started spending your recesses playing with Rafe Cameron. He was always in trouble.

“Sure we can, we’ll be like Bonnie and Clyde!” He encouraged, handing you his plastic toy gun.

“Bonnie and Clyde,” you agreed with a smile, taking the gun.

Suddenly, you didn’t care so much about breaking the rules. Not if it meant you got to keep playing with him.

to be continued

a/n: y'all are blowing me away with all your kindness about this story!! I hope you keep loving it!!! Lots more to come (including some smut if you're patient🤫) 🫶

If you asked to be on the taglist and I forgot you, I'm sorry and please let me know!!

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[dunmeshistash]

Okay I think I'm ready to write the second part of this post about Milsiril

To make it easier for me I'll just divide this into her relationship with Kabru, Mithrun and Helki (her ex-canary prisoner teammate)

First about Kabru

This is an extra from the daydream hour 5. The caption says "Something like this might as well have happened" so its probably not canon but could be. I honestly think his reaction to Milsiril visiting and being overbearing says a lot about the type of relantionship they have. This is the fakest bitch in the whole of dungeon meshi, he never says what he trully thinks unless there's an advantage to doing so, he's a people pleaser that does and says anything to make people like/trust him. And yet he immediatly converts into "Mooooooom you're embarassing meeeeee" when he sees it's Milsiril.

This translation used "Mom" but as I understand the original he uses the more formal version so I think it would be closer to "Mother" but still he acknowleges her as his Mother, and he acts like her kid in every interaction we see between them.

I really don't understand where the idea that he learned to be fake from being "forced" to be her adoptive son comes from.

(Continuing under a cut)

The other interaction we see between them is the Kabru extra from the Adventurer's Bible

Kabru comes to her with a deep fear he clearly has had even before she adopted him, he trusted her with this fear and she did not disappoint him, she comforted him and then gave him the information he needed to believe what she was saying

I'd also like to point out in no moment she discouraged him from calling his his bio-mom "Mom". He also says she taught her children everything they asked

I doubt this would only be true for him, it also mirrors something she said in the manga

"You can go ahead and learn all you want about something else." I believe it when Kabru says she made every effort to answer her children's questions. I think this is also the way she expresses the love she has for them. Plus I love the thought bubble with Kabru mirroring what he learned from her. I also love this daydream hour, she sacrifices her own comfort to do something for Kabru.

Milsiril isn't a perfect mother tho, besides the fact she is overprotective she comes from a very different culture from her children. I like to call her Kabru's white mom cause I think that would be the real world equivalent. This extra is the one I think the most about showing this context perfectly

Kabru wants to share Utaya sweets but looks at his mom looking gloomy/rejected so he talks about fruitcake instead. This very rude for Milsiril to do since she's kinda trying to overwrite his actual cultural background, but I think its done more as a "I want you to like the things I like" rather than something nefarious, and once again Kabru doesn't hide at all his distaste for it, he does the bare minimum to please his mom since she's being dramatic but he doesn't lie to her, he shows how displeased he is about fruitcake, something he refuses to do when eating the harpy omelette that is way worse, because he must make a good impression for Laios. Kabru is honest with his overbearing white mom once again.

Now a little about Rin, from Kabru's context, this is her extra in the Adventurer's Bible

(look at Helki he's such a gremlin i love him) anyway, Rin has a trauma about elves, they really mistreated her so she hates them, but when they notice she isn't thriving they go to Milsiril for help (Helki specifically I'll talk more about him next). I think this indicates she really has a better understanding of short lived kids, her kids are thriving differently from the ones the other elves try to care for. I'd also like to remember she lives secluded from other elves so while Kabru probably had lots of interactions with elves during his life, most of it was probably spent with Milsiril and her other adoptive kids. She also asks Kabru if he would do this to help Rin, he isn't being forced or anything, I also think it's good that Milsiril knows she cant take in any more kids, this to me shows she's worried about the quality of life her kids have. That is all to say, Rin is the one with elf trauma, not Kabru, because Kabru had Milsiril to shelter him from them.

Helki

This will be short and sweet since there's barely anything about Helki, he's her prisioner companion from her time in the canaries, but he was pardoned after Utaya, it says so in the Canarie's Structure page in the new adventurer's guide but I cant really find it translated again... so here's google's machine translation (I remember it saying "Retired and pardoned as a reward after Utaya", something like that)

so officially he isn't a prisoner anymore, but I think he still works as a canary, even so he and Milsiril seem quite close, he is the one to go talk to her about Rin, He is there when she's training Kabru (both laughing at Kabru and then participating). I saw people theorizing she stays close to him because he is also someone who she can feel superior to, but I don't believe it at all, he's STILL in contact with her even after they have nothing to with each other, I think they really have a friendship, and there's no point where it seems like she feels like she's better than him or that he's less than her, people seem to interpret Milsiril and her relationships in the worst possible ways every time and I don't understand why.

This segways into Mithrun

I've also seen people assuming she only got close to Mithrun because now he needs her and has no power over her, once again with the theory that Milsiril surrounds herself with people she can feel superior to. But once again, Milsiril had a change of perspective about Mithrun after seeing his Dungeon

Rather than she feeling superior to him I think rather she realized he was just like her. (And I think she's friends with Helki for a similar reason, it's probably easier to see him as an equal than other nobles)

I've also seen this part used as proof of that. "He said that you've got suspicious ulterior motives and that I shouldn't listen to you" as if that's true, but this is past Mithrun, the one that didn't trust anyone and thought ill of all his teammates, ofc he doesn't believe someone would help him without an ulterior motive. This doesn't prove much about her real motivations.

Also before she showed up, Mithrun was being cared for by servants hired by his brother, he isn't someone helpless she has power over, he is still a member of an important Noble family that has a caring brother providing for him, he can do without Milsiril, he had done without her for 20 years before Utaya happened and she quit the Canaries.

This is all to say I think Milsiril is just a white(elf) adoptive mom doing her best, I don't see much of anything nefarious about her or her motivations, she is flawed as all the dunmeshi characters are, she isn't a perfect mom, she isn't an evil mom, she's just a person.

Elves in general also see short lived species as "children" so I imagine this makes her "You'll always be my baby" attitude way worse, she really treats pre-teen/teen Kabru like he's a toddler sometimes. But she also respected him enough to go all out in training him. I think they're a family with everything that entails.

PS: I didn't get much into Interracial adoption since this is something that happens irl too and I don't know much about all the issues that entails, but in the end, in this case, it seems like a net positive for the kids she adopts considering all we see about how she raised Kabru.

[helenanell]

A Breath Of Life || Part Two

 Part One 

Pairing(s) :  Reader x Art – Reader x Tashi - Reader x Art x Tashi

CW: MDNI - Smut. Infidelity (kind of?). So much love and lust. ANGST. Manipulative behaviour. 

Notes: Fem!Reader, No use of y/n. This is really just me exploring my own bisexual panic some more.  Spoilers for the film.

Wordcount: 4.2K

━━━━∙⋆⋅⋆∙━━━━

The moment you won the match that sealed your victory at Wimbledon,  the applause was rapturous.

And yet, Tashi’s triumphant shout was louder to you than hundreds of clapping hands. 

The sound of her celebration became yours, and when you let out a yell of your own, your racket falling from your hands, you became one with her. 

After that, her eyes did not leave you. You didn’t look but you knew it to be true, just as you knew the sun was shining onto your shimmering skin; Tashi was an incomprehensible being bearing down on you. 

When you lifted the Venus Rosewater Dish above your head–the silver trophy given to the women’s single’s winner–your smile was beatific. Not because of the rush of adrenalin, or the way your spirit had been buoyed by finally achieving what you knew you could, but feared you wouldn’t, but because you knew that in your victory Tashi had found her own. 

It had taken over a decade, but together you’d realised your dream. 

You knew deep down that you could have made it without her, but it would have been tasteless; a honeyed feast turning to ash in your mouth.

Achieving the title with Tashi by your side had turned everything technicolour. All of your senses were heightened and your sense of self revitalised. 

You lived for tennis and Tashi had helped that life become something glorious. 

When you stepped off the court it felt like a kind of conquest: your domain now stretched beyond the white lines that had so far confined you. You had taken more than a trophy, you had stolen space in people’s consciousness.

 You would not fade into the annals of time because your name had been recorded- it was to be engraved in metal which would be buffed into an unmissable shine. 

Even as you stepped into the plush locker room, you knew the winning moment was already being replayed and analysed. It made you smile to think that as commentators noted your form, they were publicly voicing the effects of Tashi’s coaching on you, to the entire world. 

You felt burned by her, but not as if she had branded you, rather that she had subjected you to such heat, that the very makeup of your body had been altered. 

Now, you're sitting on the wooden bench in the locker room with your head hanging low, sweat still dripping from your face when the door opens. 

You shoot to your feet, your beleaguered body screaming at you to slow down.

When you turn, you find Art standing in front of the now closed door. 

The sight of him takes away your breath. 

He is here too. 

In your greatest moment of euphoria, when you’ve never felt more tangible–more real–you get to be near him. Suddenly, all of the time that had passed between you didn’t matter.

He's with you now. 

Art leans back against the door, hands going into the pockets of his immaculate navy pants. A matching blazer that has been left unbuttoned stretches across his muscled torso, his sunglasses hanging from the neck of his white shirt. 

His cropped blonde hair is messy enough that you know he's been running his hands through it; with anxiety and elation he’d been dragging fingers through the blonde locks as he watched you play.  

Art has become something beyond handsome to you. Retiring has returned his vitality and it has been a stunning metamorphosis to witness. 

But it's change you’ve made yourself witness from a distance. The two of you have not been in a room alone together since he’d hidden in your bathroom as Tashi had convinced you to let her become your coach. 

For the first few months, things had felt far too fragile to acknowledge what had happened between the two of you. You and Art had come to a silent understanding that you needed the time to build back up a foundation with Tashi. 

If you were to remain in each other's lives, you needed solid ground.

But you had just won Wimbledon. You had just given Tashi a victory. Did either of you have the fortitude to go on denying yourselves? 

It has been a solid minute since Art entered the room and neither of you have shifted so much as an inch.

You’re fixed on the spot, watching him as he drinks you in. His gaze is laying possessive claim to your body, noting all the places the white vest and skort are clinging to your sweat-slicked curves. 

But it is when his eyes settle on your face, that a sort of peace soothes his expression.

“You were amazing.”

You can’t help but smirk, allowing yourself to feel cocky for once. “Of course I was, I won.” 

Art’s cheeks dimple with the strength of his grin.

“It’s not about the win. It’s how you moved when you played- like you could bend the whole world to your will. It was so beautiful. And you…” He pushes off the door and walks right up to you, chests almost brushing as he nudges your chin up with his finger. “You are so, so stunning.”

As he leans in, even though you don’t try to stop him, words of weak protest pour out of you.

“Art we shouldn’t. Not here-“

He cuts you off with a taunting kiss, his tongue trying to prize your lips open as his arm wraps around you.

His hand shifts up the sweaty material of your vest and lays his palm flat against the heated flesh of your lower back, all while his other hand trails up your outer thigh and beneath your skort to grab your ass.

You lean into him, hands wrapping around his neck and only when he draws back to kiss his way along your jaw, do you have a chance to speak again.

“Art, Tashi will be here soon. If she sees-“ 

“She won’t care.” 

Your brow furrows, but the confusion isn’t enough for you to stop his lips moving over your neck. “What?” 

As Art answers, his hand leaves your rear to dip beneath the waistband of your skort. You shiver as the pads of his fingers tickle all the way down, toying with the top of your underwear.

“You are all Tashi sees now.” Art clarifies, proceeding to nip at your exposed shoulder with his teeth. “You’re her everything. She could walk in on us right now and it wouldn’t change a thing.”

That gives you pause, indignation spiking at his easy dismal of Tashi.

You pull away from Art and he groans quietly but lets you go, his expression remaining completely content. 

“How can you say that?” You ask, growing irritable even as you let him take your hand in his.

“Because you’re everything that I couldn’t be for her.” He says. 

You sigh exasperatedly. “What does that mean, Art?” 

You don’t know why you’re asking, as you’re certain you already know the truth of it.

Art smiles, his other hand lifting to smooth a few sweat slicked strands off of your forehead. When he’s finished, his fingers settle with running over your cheekbone.

“It means…that you are all of her dreams realised. She resented me because every time I played, no matter how well, she knew it was nowhere near as important to me as it would have been to her had she never been injured. She hated me for not wanting it more….but, you have enough passion for tennis to play for the both of you. I never had that much to draw from. So, as long as you keep winning like you just did, she’ll love you. She’ll love you because you’re doing her justice.” 

After giving that insight that rang so true it almost hurts your ears with its incessant clamouring, Art leans in to kiss you again. You place a hand on his chest, gently pushing him back. 

“You felt like you were playing for her and it made you miserable.” You argue, hurt by the thought that his behaviour towards you is just rooted in gratitude that you have lifted the burden off of his shoulders. 

“It was different for me.” He answers simply. “I was miserable because I knew none of what I did was enough. I was still failing her. Tashi wants to watch great tennis and I didn’t give her that. You will. You are giving her that.” 

The way Art was speaking was producing within you a burgeoning unease; he was steady and assured, like he’d spent a long time thinking about this. And there was an undeniable undercurrent of pleasure to his speech.

A large part of Art was elated that the burden had been shifted onto you. 

But could you really hold that against him? You had seen how he was bending and breaking under the weight, it was why you’d told him to retire.

It was now your job to keep Tashi’s heart beating, you had known that the moment you’d agreed to let you coach her. That had been your choice and one freely made. 

So Art was right, you had to keep winning and you had to do so spectacularly. 

This was not a fresh revelation of course, but the possibility that Tashi wanting you close to her was entirely contingent on tennis, began to terrify you.

 You estimated you had a good five years left before you’d likely be forced to retire, but then what would become of you? Would Tashi even care to have you in her life after that? You were not bound to her like she was to Art by their daughter.

As if he can feel how your mind is whirring through the skin of your cheek, Art tips up your chin again and claims your mouth for another kiss. 

When he pulls away, he rests his forehead against yours, noses brushing. 

“When I think about all that you are, tennis doesn’t even register.” He says sincerely, placing a sweet peck to your lips.

You cherish his touch and ach for more, but it isn’t quelling the panic ripping into your insides like wind whipping up in preparation to become a storm.

“Art, I can’t- I need to tell Tashi what happened with us.” 

No anger or irritation appears on his face at your blurted words, but his other hand falls onto your back so he can pull you closer and you can tell he’s definitely upset about something. 

“What happened?” He rasps. “You’re placing what we have in the past tense. Is it not still happening” His fingers press into your skin proprietorially. 

“I can’t lose her, Art. But I also can’t lose you.” 

“Then tell her.” He says,  bringing your hand to his lips and kissing it. 

“You’re agreeing just like that? It’ll ruin your marriage.” 

His lip tugs up in the beginning of a bitter smile. “Tell her. It won’t change how she sees you.” he affirms “Then you should ask her about Patrick.”

You barely have time to process his implication when the door opens.

 The two of you pull apart as Tashi’s head pops in. She looks entirely unbothered as her eyes glance off her husband before settling squarely on you.

“Get in the shower, we’ve got to get moving.” 

And just like that she’s gone again.

━━━━∙⋆⋅⋆∙━━━━

“Do you need him?” 

Tashi’s question catches you off guard.

You’ve both been sitting in silence- her nursing a glass of wine and you with herbal tea as you both look out across the London skyline. Lights of skyscrapers are strung out across the black like fairy lights. 

You know who she’s talking about, but you’re terrified to acknowledge it.

You stop yourself from giving into the instinct to peer back through the open sliding door and into the hotel room where Art is watching TV. 

“In what way?” You ask, fiddling with the handle of your mug, still looking forward. 

Tashi huffs, putting her glass down and then turning to you, kneeling beside you on the outdoor couch. She takes the mug out of your hand, setting it on the nearby table before curling her fingers around your chin and forcing you to meet her unflinching stare. 

“Will Art improve your game or will he wreck it?” She sees your eyes widen and shushes you, stymying the words that had been gathering on your tongue. “This isn’t about me. I’m your coach, so I need to know that you’re going to keep giving this your all.” 

“I will.” You nod furiously, still held in her grip.

Tashi’s eyes flicker down your lips before finding your eyes again. Her hair is loose and being blown into your face. 

“I need you to tell me that if he’s watching you in the stands, that you won’t choke.” She says. “What the two of you have needs to light a fire in you, or it fucking dies. Do you understand me?” 

“I won’t choke.” You insist, your tone hard.

Her full lips press into a pleased line. “So are you going to keep dominating?” 

Slightly breathless, your eyes fall to where your fingers have been absentmindedly brushing her knee. You let your digits outstretch and as your eyes return to Tashi’s, you tentatively run them over her scar. You feel her shiver. 

“I’m going to keep dominating.” 

You both go still, and just as the corner of her mouth tugs up, she’s leaning in. You inhale a sharp breath as her lips just skim yours. She holds there, not pressing any further. 

When Tashi speaks, you feel her lips form the words against your own. “Then you do whatever it takes.” 

You truly couldn’t say which of you closes the distance, it feels more like an external, undeniable force driving the two of you to converge.

 When Tashi begins to move her lips against yours, her hand cradles the back of your head, twisting into your hair and pulling. You can’t help but let out a soft moan into her mouth, a hand landing on her waist and digging into the thin fabric of her silk shift.

Tashi draws back first, her hot breaths on your face as she presses two fingers to your throbbing lips. 

The question that comes out of your mouth has no malice or jealousy behind it, just an aching curiosity: you want to know her completely, in the way that you used to, and Art’s words from the locker room told you there was something you don’t know. 

“Tashi, what happened between you and Patrick?” 

She doesn’t rear back, she doesn’t slap you like she might have, she just lets out a slow almost contented breath.  

“I slept with him.” She admits calmly. “A few years ago in Atlanta, and the night before the Challenger match against Art.” 

All at once the visceral passion of that match makes so much more sense and even though you’re aware how twisted it is, you laugh. 

“You forced them to have the best match of their lives.” You say, your tone warring between disbelief and awe. 

Tashi answers with another brief, but ardent kiss to your lips, before she’s rising to her feet, her demeanour steady. Her expression is already returning to the stern set of your coach. 

“You need to get to bed. It’s a busy day tomorrow. Your physiotherapist is here at eight am. Nutritionist at eight-thirty.” 

You nod in agreement, lips still tingling as you rise to your feet. 

The night breeze stirs your hair and the thin fabric of your robe. Only when you turn do you see Art leaning in the doorway, his arms crossed against his chest, the fabric of his grey shirt strained against his muscles. 

When you meet his gaze he smiles so fondly that, combined with the residual heat of Tashi’s contact, you’re set ablaze. 

Right now you have both of them.

“Stay here with us.” Tashi asserts, running a hand over Art’s arm as she passes him to head inside the room.

“No need for you to go wandering down the hall in your nightgown again.” Art continues, the corner of his lips lifting as he holds a hand out to you.

You take it, letting him draw you inside. 

When the two of you reach the massive Queen bed, Art pulls back the sheets and you crawl happily into the middle of the mattress. 

All at once your exhaustion hits you, the softness cradling your aching form both lulling you into drowsiness and making your limbs remember each strained movement of the day.  

Your eyes fall shut, so you’re not sure who it is who causes the bed to dip, but you lean into the warmth irregardless. 

Art’s toned arm wraps around your torso as he draws the back of your body to be flush with his front.  He’s already pulling hair away from your neck and laying lingering kisses there, when movement in front of you causes your eyes to flutter open. 

Tashi’s standing in the bathroom doorway opposite you, her form backlit by the warm light as she finishes rubbing lotion to her arms.

 She watches Art holding you and she notes how he’s kissing you, a frenetic vibrancy takes over her expression. 

You hold her gaze as she switches the bathroom light and walks over. When she crawls under the covers, one of Art’s hands is moving past the neckline of your robe, his thumb running over your nipple. 

You sigh, your head falling back against Art’s chest, but your hand is moving forward across the mattress, searching for Tashi. 

It’s such a terrible idea-  an act that will join you all in another irrevocable way, but you have to have it. You have to have them. 

If you’re going to play tennis with Tashi as your coach and Art still in her life…you can’t choose. You can’t separate yourself from either of them. 

Your hand makes contact with Tashi’s as she lays herself right in front of you. She intertwines your fingers and leans down to kiss your chest, her lips skimming your collarbones. 

Art draws his hand away from your breast and his touch travels down your body, between your legs. 

You moan as Tashi’s mouth explores your chest, her tongue brushing over the swell of your breasts all while Art is pressing his knees between yours from behind. Now more open to him, he bunches your robe in his hand and rucks it up until it’s gathered at your waist. He pulls down your underwear.

When Art’s fingers begin to tease your centre, your gasp is lost as Tashi covers her mouth with yours, her free hand threading into your hair. 

Between the two of them, you find security in the ecstasy they draw out of you. Your entire body is flushed and sweating, cheeks red and chest heaving.

You’re beyond overwhelmed, but you try to savour every small touch and shift of their bodies.

Mostly you’re trying to remember the sensation of Tashi, because you have a feeling this may never happen again with her: even in your addled mind as Art begins to roll his hips, a finger pressing inside you, you’re aware that for Tashi this could simply be a form of motivation. You know that if she thought you needed this now, in order to keep playing the way you had today, then she’d do it without question. She’s motivating you.

 But is that all this is for her? It certainly means a lot more to you.

Tashi was the first woman you had been attracted to, the first person to make you question the limited nature of your desires as a young woman. And then she’d been your best friend, you’d loved and wanted her…and then you’d lost her. 

You both knew this wasn’t a sustainable dynamic, it would likely never be repeated, but for now you would savour being desired by the woman who had awoken yours so long ago. 

Right as Art presses another finger into you, plunging them the two in almost lazily, as if he has all the time in the world, he whispers in your ear: 

“Are you okay?” 

Tashi is still kissing you, but draws back when she hears the question, her lips plump and glistening. She’s giving you the chance to answer, you realise. 

The glorious tightness inside you worsens, friction growing as they stop touching you. 

“Yes.” You whine impatiently.

Art chuckles into your neck as you grab his wrist and guide him back into you, his fingers curling inside your warmth. 

But Tashi’s lips don’t return to yours, instead she leans down and presses them to your forehead before she’s crawling out of the bed.

You’re not worried by her retreat because you’ve always been able to read her face. As she backs away, your orgasm drawing closer as Art fucks into you with his fingers, you see that she isn’t regretting anything. In fact, she’s pleased. Not necessarily with what’s happening in front of her, but because Art–someone she has loved and still loves in her own way–can give you the intimacy she can’t quite bring herself to. 

You play tennis for Tashi and Art loves you for both of them. You think you can live with that.

 Even though you know you could, you don’t begrudge Tashi for any of it. She’s given you this. She’s given you Art and in as much as she can, she’s given you herself. 

As she slips out of the room, no doubt to go to her Mother’s suite and to her daughter, you are entirely content. 

Once you’re alone, you buck up into Art’s hand, your ass grinding against his hardness. He groans deeply against your neck and you almost cry out in protest as he pulls his fingers from right when you’re so close to release. 

But you are not left bereft of him for long. His arm moves beneath you, bracketing your chest with his hand and settling with a soft grip against your throat. He pushes down his pyjama pants.

It’s all too much when he begins to tease his hardness against your core. 

“Art. Now.” You reach down and dig your nails into his now bare thigh with force. 

As his grip on your throat tightens ever so slightly, Art complies and pushes himself into you from behind. He sounds drunk as he whispers into your hair:

“This will never be enough.” He thrusts into you with sweet slowness, letting you feel every tiny thing. “I’ll never have enough of you.” 

So lost in the pressure of him moving inside you that you’re alienated from your capacity for speech, you can’t find the language to tell him how this feels for you; you can’t tell him how much it means. 

Then he speaks again, his movements becoming more forceful: “I’ll never have all of you will I?”

You whimper as his hand that’s not on your neck dives between your legs, adding pressure with his fingers even as he fucks you.

“You do have all of me.” You answer raggedly, relinquishing free movement entirely as he cradles your body so restrictively.

He’s like a snake, tingling around your form before consuming your entire being.

“Tell me it wouldn’t change anything if it was just us.” Art begs, his breath catching in his throat and body shaking. “Tell me I’d be enough for you.” 

He thrusts again and you almost break with your shuddering release. You don’t try to remain quiet, crying out into the night. Art continues to move in you, desperate in more ways than one. 

“I can’t Art.” You admit, tears of pleasure and a sweet sort of pain gathering in your eyes. “I can’t tell you that. We need- we need them. B-both of them.” You stutter out, relinquishing yourself to your euphoria. 

Them. Them being Tashi and Patrick.

 You don’t understand Art without either of them. You don’t understand yourself without them. 

Everything was in relation to them, even the sex you and Art are having right now isn’t just about the two of you. And you both know it.

An indecipherable noise comes from Art as he pulls out of you, and in a blink, he’s rolled you onto your back and is pressing himself into you again.

His pace becomes rapid as he buries his face in the crook of your neck, hips snapping against yours.

You wrap your legs around him, driving him deeper as his body begins to tremble.

When Art comes apart, draping himself over you as he gathers himself, a tear of utter confusion rolls down your cheek and falls into his hair. 

Whatever comes next, at least you know you’ll never be alone. Art is a part of you. Tashi and Patrick are part of you. 

Without each other, there is no survival.

[auteurdelabre]

Please, Mister Miller? SERIES FINALE

rating: 18+ GET OUTTA HERE YOUNGIN'S!

words: 13.5k

tags: none. Don't want any spoilers for this chapter!

a/n: Y'all this entire series started with me wanting to try my hand at writing pwp with a despicable lead character. It morphed into a story of finding love in the most unexpected places and the pain that comes with infidelity. It was a challenge for me to do a believable character arc for them, to get you to root for them, to make you feel for them. It was a delight to read your input, your suggestions and to see how invested y'all became. So this is my love letter to you, hopefully a fitting final chapter for these two horny idiots.

love, Emma

ppppsssssstttttt if you wanna be nice and send a broke writer some cash because you like her writing and her stories, the paypal addy is auteurdelabre@gmail.com because ko-fi is givin me a headache.

The End with Mister Miller

In September the leaves fall in Central Park, brown, lifeless and curled into themselves. You think you recognize that in them. That dead, emptiness, the need to pull into yourself and wither away.

Life doesn’t feel real anymore.

It hasn’t since August.

Without him (you won’t allow yourself to think of his name) life seems slow and hazy. Like walking through the world with a headache. Things blur and ripple and don’t seem particularly real.

School is the only thing that saves you. A chance to focus all your attention on something that isn’t him and his beautiful face, and soft curls and sweet mouth. Something that isn’t his muscled arms holding you as he slides between your legs to bring you pleasure. Something that isn’t his voice in your ear whispering how much he loves you.

You think you will mourn Joel for years. You will wear black and trudge from place to place, looking down in the mouth with red-rimmed eyes and a gaping hole where your heart used to be.

No, don’t even think his name.

School is papers and tests and online discussion groups. You throw yourself into the academic life, your essays are well received, your professors are impressed and your peers find you likeable during zoom classes. You enjoy being the one with the answers in this space because outside of it you have none.

How did it go so wrong? How are you not with him in his arms right now? How can you get Sarah to forgive you when she’s blocked you on everything? How can you survive another month without him? Without holding his hand in yours? Without feeling the rumble of his laugh along your back as he held you?

New York is a good place for the lonely hearts though. It’s a big, unforgiving city that doesn’t give a fuck if you live or die. The city doesn’t care if you struggle to pay your rent and go to school at the same time. The city devours as much as it gives. It’s cold and unforgiving to transient residents, to those looking for anonymity within its concrete jungle. And you relish that. You like that no one knows you, that you can disappear into a crowd, that no one cares.

You deserve that.

You helped break up a marriage. You broke your best friend’s heart. You broke broke broke. You stole what wasn’t yours and you relished in it. You fucked him in every inch of that house and you rejoiced in a love that was never yours to have.

Your apartment is cramped, shared with two other girls who work more hours than they spend inside. You don’t care, you don’t deserve friends. You want the only true friend you ever had to be back in your life.  But that won’t happen.

 Food is bland, the sporadic sunshine days meaningless, your existence a joke.  

And it doesn’t get better for a while. 

///

October is much of the same.

///

By November your savings are quickly being drained. The money from scholarships enough to keep you afloat at school but not enough to pay rent which has just been increased. You get a second overnight job at a convenience store to go along with your part time work at the coffee shop by your apartment. You work late into the night, early into the mornings, you write, you study, you collapse into a fitful sleep and then you repeat. 

You have enough for little luxuries, things like the shampoo you always favored. The one that he once told you smelled like Christmas as he trailed his hands through your tresses, watching you read on his lap with eyes so soft you sighed.

Food still tastes bland so you don’t bother with fancy things.  You keep things cheap so you don’t run out of money. You eat packaged pasta, noodles, soups. You’re bloated, your eyes swollen from the salt and your tears. You still cry.

You don’t know if you ever stopped.

You touch yourself to memories of Joel fleetingly. You rarely orgasm. Arousal seems to be missing from most of your days. As if without Joel all the sensations that once brought you joy have been drained from your body, replaced with a poison that turns everything shades of grey. 

You don’t let yourself think about him. But one day he makes himself known. A simple e-mail sent from an address you don’t recognize. The message is short, simple and devastating.

Before I die I want to hold Snowflake one last time.

You’ve deleted his phone number. Blocked his e-mail address from Miller Construction. But this wasn’t on your radar. You hadn’t thought of the ways he could circumvent your pathetically inadequate system. 

You don’t write back. You can’t. It won’t solve anything. Sarah is still there at his place. You know from stalking her public Instagram from a brand new account. She looks happy, does outfit of the day videos, makes lots of posts about missing Charlie. But the story videos you watch again and again are the ones she films at home. The ones of her sitting with a bowl of popcorn on her lap, a movie in the background. A large masculine hand- Joel’s- reaches for a handful. You read the hashtag. #mydadpickstheworstmovies

You remember those nights. That couch, that television. You remember evenings curled up against Joel laughing into his shoulder at something funny on the screen. You remember giggling with Sarah in that room about secretly dating Charlie.

You’re happy to see her wither her father, to know that things have been mended. There is no awkwardness, no strange energy. It’s like they’ve always been – best buddies. It warms you, it brings tears of joy to your cheeks. It’s what you’d wanted, what you’d dreamed of. It’s not quite like you and Joel never happened, but its close enough.

A story pops up when you’re falling asleep one evening, eyes heavy with fatigue. Sarah is walking in the kitchen, humming about what to make for dinner when the camera catches Joel walking into the kitchen, looking at his camera and giving a soft, subtle smile.

“What are you watchin’ old man?” Sarah croons off-screen, zooming in on his face. “More tile orders?”

Joel glances up from his phone, gaze glossy. He sees the camera and gives an exaggerated roll of his eyes.

“Get that damn camera outta my face,” Joel chides with an embarrassed smile. He flips his phone over and you let out a shocked gasp.

To anyone else it would look innocuous, but you can see in that flash of pixels that he was looking at a photo of you. The one from your date night where you posed in front of the I Love you So Much mural. 

You re-watch that one over and over until it expires.

But you don’t write to him.  You can’t. You know it would take just the sound of his voice to have you jumping a plane and meeting him in some dark hotel. Not just for the fucking, but for the way he felt wrapping his arms around you, how his mouth slotted gently, how he smelled and tasted and felt like safety. 

You never had that before.

You may never again.

Your parents haven’t reached out to you since graduation. You know they never will. Your parents are stubborn – especially your father. They will force you to make it on your own; there will be no financial bail outs or sporadic gifts in the mail. They don’t even know you’ve moved to New York.  No one does. You don’t upload to your socials anymore.

And a year ago that would have terrified you, but now? It buoys you. It makes you feel strong. It makes you feel independent. You’ve done this all on your own and you’re surviving. It’s hard but you’re doing it. You don’t need anyone.

In mid-November during a gloomy day a young man asks you out as you walk to the subway. He’s seen you in the coffee shop you work at and he thinks you’re pretty. He’s cute in a wide-eyed, sweet dimpled smile kind of way. Not the right kind of dimple, though. Not the right eyes, or height or hair. His hands aren’t calloused, his neck not long, his shoulders not broad.

He’s not him.

You turn him down kindly, watching curiously when the smile leaves his face and he calls you a dumb bitch. You just shrug, no longer caring what the opposite sex thinks of you. You don’t care what anyone else thinks of you, only the two people back on Rancher Street.

You walk home from work the following week, feet sore from your back to back shifts. It’s late, the sky drizzling and in your hand you carry the plastic bag from the closest bodega. It holds only a few loose packets of instant noodles.

You’re traipsing down one of the snooty streets as you call them. The ones with high end restaurants and lounges that your parents could easily afford. You gaze down at the approaching puddles, wondering how long it’ll be before the snow arrives. You almost bump into the figure that’s come to a sudden stop in front of you.

You raise your head, about to sneer up at the obvious tourist when a familiar set of light eyes gaze back down at you, an umbrella hoisted gently above her head.

“Tess?”

She looks amazing. Her hair is cut to just below her ears, her skin glowing. She’s dressed similarly to how she was when you knew her – professional, tailored.

You on the other hand have gained weight, your face swollen with tears and sodium, your clothing bland and dark. The drizzling rain has made your hair stick unflattering to your face and you wish you were anywhere else.

“Hello,” she says sharply, her smile a false one.

She’s alone, no one walks with her. She looks like she just left a meeting. Your cheeks burn in humiliation at the memory of your last encounter.

“What are you doing in New York?”

“Marketing symposium,” she answers, her eyes scanning you over obviously.

“Oh.”

You have nothing else to offer. Someone bumps into you as they pass, the sidewalks quickly filling up. It’s New York after work after all, you’re surprised a rat hasn’t skittered over your feet at this point.

“I never pictured Joel as a New York kinda guy,” she offers. “Seemed like a Texas boy through and through.”

Joel.

You haven’t heard his name in so long that the sound of it makes you wince.

“We uh. . . We aren’t… Sarah found out,” you blurt, surprising yourself.

Tess blinks in surprise before she nods slowly, her eyes scanning you as you squirm on the cement. People continue to mill around you, but all you feel is you and her locked in this moment, she shielded by her umbrella and you exposed.

“She took it badly then?”

“Yeah. Really bad.”

You wish she would just walk on by. That she would let you shuffle to your shitty apartment with its cracked walls and peeling paint so you can heat up your instant noodles and fall asleep to the soundtrack of your own sobs.

“It’s what you deserve,” she says tightly. “The pair of you.”

“I know.”

You wait for her to give a polite nod and shoulder by you, but instead she seems to scrutinize your face further. You feel it, even as your eyes drop to her expensive looking shoes.

“Let’s get a drink.”

Your eyes dart from her shoes up to her face, confused to see no guile there. There’s no kindness or softness either. It’s an offer, but not one from a friend.

You shift your plastic bag from one hand to the other awkwardly. You don’t know how to tell this woman that you’re broke. That after this bag of instant noodles you have nothing until your paycheck on Friday.

You don’t want her to know how pathetic your life is. Her light eyes dart from your face to the bag and the items inside. She tips her head towards the lounge across the street.

“I’m paying. Let’s go.”

///

“A Chardonnay for me.”

Tess tilts back in her red leather chair, crossing her long legs over one another after she orders. With her jacket off you can see she’s got a tight dress on and she’s obviously been working out. She’s always been a beautiful woman, but tonight she looks like a bombshell. She and the waiter look at you expectantly as the other patrons buzz around. 

“I’m good with water.”

“She’ll have a Chardonnay as well,” Tess smiles up at the server. “And a plate of gyoza bites.”

The man nods, leaving the two of you to sit across from one another awkwardly. You’re still wearing your jacket, your bag of noodles in a crumple at your feet.

You think you must stick out like a sore thumb in this high-end lounge with its soft jazz music and sleek tables. The place is dimly lit with opulent chandeliers hanging from the high roof, shiny black veined marble floors and collection of upper echelon clientele in suits and well-tailored dresses. You feel so out of place in your jeans and you wonder if that’s why Tess chose it.

You can’t say you’d blame her.

The waiter returns with your wine glasses and appetizer, telling Tess to let him know if she needs anything else. He doesn’t even spare a glance in your direction. Tess takes a sip of wine as you play with the stem of yours.

“Why him?”

Tess’s eyes are fixed sharply on yours when you finally lift your gaze to hers.

“Huh?”

“Why Joel?” Tess repeats and there’s genuine curiosity in her gaze.

You weigh what you want to say, aware that what you admit could hurt her further. But then again what could hurt her more than what you’ve already done?

“Because my boyfriend had just dumped me and I felt like shit,” you say with a croak. “And when I saw Joel… I dunno… He was so beautiful and kind and funny and a good dad. . . and it was this instantaneous thing. And I think in my own insecure way I wanted to prove I was worth something. That I was still desirable.”

You break off, feeling your cheeks heat. Its one things to admit these things to yourself, quite another to admit them to the woman whose husband you seduced.

“You need to know it wasn’t like Joel was trying to get me into bed. It was all me from the start.”

“I don’t think he was fighting too hard,” Tess rolls her eyes in a way that makes you feel small.

“I think it was that he liked feeling desired.”

“I thought he was desirable,” Tess interjects.

“I don’t know that he knew that,” you wince with a shrug. You shift in your seat, feeling her gaze heavily upon you. “He uh… He kinda made it seem like maybe you didn’t really express that to him.”

“Maybe I didn’t,” Tess offers softly as she glances out the window at the darkening street. You take a long sip from your wine before continuing.

“He said you wanted kids at first and then didn’t,” you offer. “Can I ask why?”

Tess moves her eyes from the window back to you. Her jaw clicks as she considers her next words.

“I thought that the whole motherhood thing was for me, I really did,” Tess says, popping another gyoza bite into her mouth and chewing thoughtfully. “And Joel is the perfect Dad… Really perfect. Like, he loved helping Sarah with homework and taking her to the park and even making her soup when she had the flu.”

You try not to smile in memory of that side to Joel. That sweetly nurturing part. Tess on the other hand looks perplexed, her shaking lightly.

“The longer I was with him, the more I could see that he was just made for parenthood. Made to take care and protect, like it’s in his DNA. He loves to love. And I think I realized I wasn’t like that. I like my job and I didn’t realize how much I like my own independence. And I thought that Sarah and our love was enough, but . . . " Tess sighs. "I don’t know that Joel ever really loved me.”

“Of course he did. I know he did.”

Tess smiles at your emphatic response.

“I wanted to get married, he wanted more kids and we were of a certain age. It wasn't that unending spark and flame, it was the kind of comfortable fire that keeps your feet warm, you know?”

You don’t, but you nod anyway.

“Anyway...” Tess shrugs, trailing off as she spears a gyoza with her fork. She munches thoughtfully before chasing it with another sip of her wine. Yours is still mostly full, sweating in the glass.

“Tess, what did Joel tell you that day? The day at the hotel?”

The day Tess caught you in his lap, writhing and begging for Joel to come in you. The beginning of the end.  Tess looks mollified for a moment and you immediately regret asking her to go back to that ugly memory.

“You don’t have to say-“

Tess leans back in her chair, mouth pursed as she looks into middle distance. You can tell that she’s replaying that moment, that time.

“Honestly we cried a lot, together. Joel never really cries so it surprised me. He apologized over and over for not ending things with me earlier. I think it would have been different if we’d hated one another, easier maybe,” Tess takes a deep steadying breath, looking not at your face but your ear.

“Then he told me that he was in love with you, never felt that way before, blah blah blah. I told him it was a midlife crisis, he told me it wasn’t. It went back and forth like that a few times. I was convinced it was the sex. That he was just wanting someone shiny and new. But. . . that’s never been Joel’s M.O. He’s never been that guy. I still don’t think he’s that guy, despite everything.” 

Tess shifts, taking a sip of her wine. This entire experience is surreal. From the way you’re talking to one another to the way you sit like old friends at the narrow table. She waves off the server who attempts to take the now empty dishes away.

“Then he told me the same things you did. That it would break Sarah’s heart if she found out that way. Then he told me he would give me whatever I wanted. The house. His truck. His shares in Miller Construction. Anything if it meant I wouldn’t say anything to Sarah.”

Your brows rise, you had no idea about that.

“I said that I would let him keep it all. The house, the shares, everything, and that I would never tell Sarah if he did just one thing for me.” Tess gives a weak smile. “If he just broke it off with you right then and there.”

You stomach sinks, your skin going clammy as if you’re right back there in that hotel room bathroom, cringing as you pray Tess doesn’t realize it’s you who’s just come on her husband’s lap.   

Why did Joel never tell you this?

“He said he couldn’t do it,” Tess says softly, and she shifts back in her chair, legs crossing the other way. She has an almost amused look on her beautiful face, as if she still doesn’t believe it months later.

“He said he’d give me anything else, but that. That he couldn’t give you up. That he was so in love with you that he would give me anything I wanted, except for that.”

You close your eyes, needing to ground yourself for a moment.  This is all new information, private information that was never meant for your ears. But it makes the ache for Joel grow stronger, the desire to see him, to hold him, just one more time.

Tears begin at your waterline and you force them back. You finally crack your eyes open and see Tess staring back at you.

 “You didn’t take any of those things.”

“No,” Tess shakes her head, looking into her now emptied wine glass. “I didn’t.”

“Why?”

Tess gives a sigh, stretching her back as she shrugs.

“I have money; I have rental property in Illinois. I didn’t need his stuff. And it wouldn’t have mattered anyway because the one thing I wanted he couldn’t give me.”

You’re quiet, waiting. The waiter comes over with the bill, discreetly slipping it onto the table and walking on.

“I wanted him devastated," Tess continues. "I wanted him to wake up every day cursing that he ever cheated on me, sobbing, tearing his hair out, regretting every moment,” Tess says with an almost sinister curl of her lips.

“But that could never happen because he had you. I knew that if he had you there was no chance of him ever being anything other than content.”

You swallow the tears that burn your eyes. “Why didn’t you tell Sarah then?”

For the first time since you’ve sat down Tess looks hurt, almost wounded.

“Because I know how she idolized her father. I couldn’t be the person to knock him off that pedestal for her. It would make me cruel and one thing you were right about is that I’m not a cruel person.” 

But you are.

You’re cruel.

You knocked her father from that pedestal without care. You took and took and while you have hints you don’t even know how their relationship is faring. Has Sarah truly forgiven him?

“Well at the end of the day you were dealt the best hand,” you muse, taking your wine glass and motioning towards her. “You’re beautiful, you have money, you’re-“

“-Consistently worried that any man I date will cheat on me,” Tess finishes for you. “You know how many second dates I’ve turned down because I’m sure that I’m terrified of being hurt again?”

And there it is; the realization that even after this apology, even after this talk, the damage you have caused with your actions will never truly go away. They will linger like a scar on flesh – faded but a forever reminder.  This breaks your heart and you push the tears from your eyes before they can fall.

“I don’t know how to properly explain how sorry I am, Tess. You never deserved anything like it. I wish … I wish you could punish me somehow,” you say, swallowing thickly. “Like punch me or. . . Something. I deserve it.”

“I think you’re being punished worse than anything I could ever dream up.”  Tess signs the receipt, her signature narrow and cramped. “Being apart from the person you love? That's a different kind of pain.”

This is the first time that Tess has really recognized that you and Joel love each other. That it isn’t a fucking and forgetting kind of relationship. That you love him as much as he loves you and that this is a devastation you can’t seem to move on from. This is what makes the tears slip down your nose, head lowered.

You see Tess push a napkin across the table to you. You take it gratefully, dabbing at your eyes and under your nose.

“Why are you being so nice to me?” you ask through sniffles. “I ruined your marriage. I was… I was horrible.”

“Yes, you were,” Tess nods, taking a long sip of her wine. “And I’ll never forgive you for it. What you did was completely fucked up and selfish. You helped to break up my marriage.”

You want to curl into your shell. You want to run and hide from her scorn and her judgement. But something keeps you there, almost like you want to be punished. You want her to lay into you with her sharp eyes and sharper words.

“But Joel was right in a lot of ways that night," Tess says lightly. "Our marriage didn’t work like we wanted. And while it will never make what you did okay, it does allow me a chance to go out and find someone who actually wants me, who wants the same things as me.”

“Joel wanted you,” you tell her even though it hurts.

“Not enough,” Tess says with her mouth a grim line. “Not as much as he wanted you.”

You don’t say anything to that; you just trace the stem of your wineglass slowly.

“You know, I thought this would be more satisfying,” Tess observes after a beat. “Seeing you broken, knowing that Joel is probably ten times worse. But it’s not. I just feel sad for you. You’re so young and you’ve gotten into such a mess.”

You watch her place her wallet back into her purse.

“And for what?” she scoffs. “A guy you can’t even sleep with anymore.”

“He was more than that to me,” you explain, finger twisting. “I… I’ve just never loved someone before. Not like that. Never felt love like that. Never felt seen by anyone before Joel, not since Heather.”

“Heather?”

You think about telling Tess about your sister. Explaining that aside from Heather love always came with strings back in your house. But you think it would be a disservice to this entire exchange. That she would think you were sourcing pity.

“It doesn’t matter. I just . . .  I just don’t think I’ll ever find love like that again.”

Tess sighs, sucking her teeth lightly.

“Maybe you should be with Joel, maybe you shouldn’t. Back at the hotel I thought it was insane but now? Now, I’m not so sure.”

“Doesn’t really matter does it?” you exhale with a soft laugh to cover the pain. “It’s over.”

“Because of Sarah.”

“Yeah.”

“So talk to Sarah.”

Tess stands next to the table now, purse over her shoulder. You glance up at her, brows furrowed.

“I can’t. She’s got me blocked on everything.”

You’re confused to see Tess smirking down at you.

“Back in my day if we wanted to contact someone we sent a letter.”

///

Dear Sarah,

I don’t even know how to start this. I mean, even as I’m sitting here I’m thinking of all the reasons why I don’t deserve you to give me the time of day. If you’d done the same with my father and helped to contribute to the end of a marriage I’d think the worst of you too.

I saw someone today who encouraged me to write to you. To let you know my side of things. I know that it doesn’t make what happened okay, I just need you to know what I was thinking.

I know you probably think that your dad and I were trying to keep this secret from you because we were ashamed of it. The truth is yes, there is a part of me that is deeply ashamed that I pursued your married father. The selfishness of that action is not lost on me. I will be paying that price the rest of my life. 

I know there is shame for Joel that I'm your college-aged best friend. I know he worries that you'll think less of him (please don't). I know he's ashamed that he didn't end his marriage sooner. 

But I think we are most ashamed of not telling you sooner. We were really scared at how you would react. We even promised each other that when you got back we were gonna have you over for dinner and explain everything. You just caught us off guard coming home early (not blaming you! It's your house!) I just needed you to know that it was our every intent to tell you everything. 

And I think I thought that if we told you together, that if you saw how much we loved each other that you'd give us your blessing or something. I think I deluded myself into thinking I could have it all: you as my best friend and your dad as my soulmate. Now I have neither. 

And I know you might be reading soulmate and rolling your eyes because you and I have never believed in bullshit like that. But Sarah, he is my soulmate, whatever that means. It's like we come alive together, life is even better than normal. Things I hated with Conrad make me so happy with Joel. 

I share everything with him, stuff I've never told anyone in the world. Stuff I thought made me worthless. But your dad never saw me like that. It's like he sees me as what I always dreamed I could be. 

Your dad gave me love that I've never known was possible. The kind of unconditional love that I look back upon with nothing but extreme gratitude. I regret that he was married; I regret that he is your father but I don't regret loving him. Loving Joel Miller was the most wonderful thing I've ever experience; it’s like being warmed by the sun. 

I know this is hard to accept. From the outside it looks really bad. I know. And yes we did a lot wrong in getting together. We'll have to pay for that the rest of our lives. 

We never meant to fall in love, Sarah. We really didn't. And I won't go on about how wonderful and special your dad is because I know you probably don't wanna hear it. I'm just asking that you try to remember our friendship. Was I ever the type of friend to mess around with some married guy for fun? Was I ever the type to purposefully hurt you? Ever? 

Hurting you is the number one thing we never wanted to do. You know how much your dad loves you. You're his entire world. And you see in his actions that you are the most important woman in his life and always will be. 

You are also the only true friend I've ever had in my entire life. I know I fucked things up and I know that I betrayed your trust. I don't know how to show you how sorry I am other than cutting all ties with your father (which I have) and giving you space.  

But I miss you Sarah. I miss the way we laughed together, the way we could depend on one another. I miss your loving friendship as well. I hope one day you and I can talk. I hope one day maybe you'll be comfortable with me seeing your father. But if that day never comes I need you to know how much I love you both.

If you’ve read this far thank you.  I love you and I miss you.

You sign your name, wiping away the tears that fell without you realizing. They smudge the ink on your words, blurring some. 

There was so much more you wanted to put in that letter. How staying away from Joel is breaking your heart being the main thing. How every day without Joel has been torture. 

You slide the letter into an envelope, addressing and stamping it before rushing out in the bitter cold to post it. You come back into the apartment, feeling strangely light.

For the first time in months you fall asleep without crying.

///

Its weeks later before you hear back from her. A short message on your Instagram from the account she previously had you blocked on.

[SMILLER44] Read your letter. 

Thank you. Do you want to talk about it?

She doesn’t answer. You can see she’s read your last message but she makes no attempt to respond.

You don’t push it. You just let it happen. She doesn’t have to come around on your schedule. You don’t know that she ever will. But she’s read your letter, you have that form of closure and maybe that’s enough.

You’re studying for finals the following week when a message comes through at two am.

[SMILLER44] Chsalrie is fgoan and iw miss himsso mhc!!

Sarah very rarely drinks to the point of drunkenness. In habit you respond the way you always have when she imbibes.

Make sure you drink some water.

[SMILLER44] Mnoegyt mom! Iknw@!

You don’t know what to say to that.

She attaches a photo of Charlie from what looks like a recent zoom call. He’s frowning, looking into the camera with a sorrowful expression. It’s clear that their time apart has been really hard for both of them and your heart aches.

I bet you miss him lots.

[SMILLER44] Yeh it hurttsd sobad

I know that feeling.

But it’s only a few more months right? Then he’s moving back to Austin?

Sarah doesn’t reply to you that night. Either she’s fallen asleep in a drunken stupor or she’s remembered that you’re not friends anymore. Either way you don’t hear back from her for the rest of the night.

The following afternoon you look down to see you have another notification from her.

[SMILLER44] Hey Hi! Feeling okay? [SMILLER44] Hungover. Headache. I bet. [SMILLER44] Sorry about the messages.

I didn’t mind at all. Brought back good memories.

Nothing else comes through that day, but your spirit is lighter. Even at the shitty convenience store job you find yourself stocking items and scanning lottery tickets with a smile on your face for what feels like the first time in ages.

For the rest of that week you get intermittent messages from her at all times of the day and night.

[SMILLER44] Where are you living? Address on the envelope said New York? Yeah. That’s me. [SMILLER44] WTF?? Since when did you wanna live in New York? Seemed like a good place to disappear for a bit. [SMILLER44] I guess. You see Pizza Rat yet? Not yet. His cousin tho for sure. [SMILLER44] You have roommates? Yeah two this time. And they suck. One smokes so much weed I think I have a contact high most days. The other one doesn’t clean up after herself. [SMILLER44] Ew And that one always leaves hair in the shower.

You remember that was always Sarah’s complaint during your time together at school. The girls who would leave hair on the dorm shower walls. Or the ones who would leave soap all over the sinks.

[SMILLER44] 🤮

///

A few days later another message comes through.

[SMILLER44] I still can't believe we're graduated Me either. How's the job? [SMILLER44] Management really sux, but I’m learning a lot. How about u? How's Masters? Good actually. I really love it. The apartment sucks tho. 

You attach a photo of the tiny apartment with yourself in the bottom corner frowning dramatically. 

[SMILLER44] Oh fuck that’s a shithole. Yeah.

///

You always let Sarah be the one to initiate every conversation, even if you’re dying to talk with her about your day. You don’t want to alter this delicate ecosystem of messages. And soon it becomes a daily occurrence.

Some days it a meme and an emoji. Other days it’s her in front of the mirror in a new shirt going “Yes or no?” (something that takes you right back to your college days together). Other days it’s like nothing between you has changed.

[SMILLER44] Charlie is impossible to shop for. Christmas is like two weeks ago and I got him cologne& socks. Oh. [SMILLER44] Shitty right? No. [SMILLER44] Be honest It’s not great. I have an idea! Tet him a painting from a photo of the two of you on your trip this summer? [SMILLER44] I like that idea. He loves sentimental shit like that. And you don’t? 🤨 [SMILLER44] Not like him. he wanted to get me a locket with his picture in it Yikes. [SMILLER44] Right????

Having messages from Sarah becomes the light in your increasingly dark days. You’re working, you’re studying, you’re exhausted. But every time you see that notification it makes you feel like you’re back with her giggling in the library, drinking coffee on campus, studying together. And through it all you never mention Joel once.

[SMILLER44] Remember when Conrad got drunk and bought pizza for the entire dorm?  Lol I forgot about that!  [SMILLER44] Did I tell you he tried to reach out to me? Who? Conrad? [SMILLER44] Yeah. WTF? WHEN? [SMILLER44] A couple weeks back. He saw that me and Charlie weren’t living together. Thought we broke up. Wanted to know how I was doing. Are you fucking serious? [SMILLER44] Yup. Told him I was okay. [SMILLER44] Turns out he’s with some girl in Switzerland.

Of course Conrad would rebound with someone his family would be so proud of. A blonde, willowy thing that doesn’t talk back or give him grief when he does shitty things. Who laughs when he treats the wait staff like shit or doesn’t mind when he parties late with his friends.

Of course he is. She’s probably a model with access to her daddy’s oil money. [SMILLER44] Looks like it.  U ever miss him? Conrad? Fuck no. [SMILLER44] U seeing anyone?

This is the first time in your exchange that things have tiptoed on the idea of you and romance. Her question makes you want to laugh. How could you be seeing anyone? Your heart has been ripped out of your chest.

For the first time since everything happened you are angry at Sarah. Furious that for some reason you had to get her approval to love her father. You want to say you know that I’m not! You know why! But instead you swallow and type out a short reply.

Nah. Not ready.

She doesn’t reply.

///

December in New York is rather beautiful. The people even seem a little nicer – sliding coins into the tip jar at the coffee shop. The snow that falls over the buildings takes away the sharpness of the architecture, makes it seem more magical.

But nothing compares to Austin with its warm days and sleepy charm. Nowhere could ever compare, not when Joel doesn’t exist in it.

To you, New York is the most beautiful in the winter. You take this time to enjoy what the city has to offer. You go to museums and you eat shitty street food and you actually go the Statue of Liberty even though it’s a fucking cliché. 

You feel you might be slowly coming back to yourself. The air fills your lungs and you walk down the street back to your apartment most days with a strange sense of hope. Like perhaps there is a life ahead of you again.

Like maybe you could be happy.

[SMILLER44] Hey Hi! How are you? [SMILLER44] Bored. [SMILLER44] Dad is making gingerbread cookies. Pretty sure he's burning them. 

You feel your heart hammer at the mere mention of Joel in passing. You’ve been very careful to avoid that topic, to skirt around anything that could be considered prying. But here she is dropping it into your lap.

[SMILLER44] Now he's complaining that the icing he made is too lumpy. 

Your heart skips a further beat when she attaches a photo.

His hands are held over a mixing bowl, mid motion. He's wearing his soft green t-shirt, one of your favorites. You can see the messy kitchen in the background and it makes you smile so wide your cheeks hurt. 

You wish she'd included his face if only so you could have something new to replace the scant images of Joel you have saved on your phone. The ones you can’t bring yourself to erase.

Nice to see some things never change. 

You hesitate before deleting it. 

I really miss both of--

No. Erase. 

In the end you don't reply. You can't. It hurts too much.

///

It’s Christmas in a few days and you have the week and a half off from your coffee shop gig and thanks to a Christmas bonus from your very kind manager who comments on your amazing work ethic. You think of spending it on a dinner out for yourself or perhaps a better pair of work shoes.

 School is finished for the semester and you think of the days ahead as you walk home from the local bodega eating the last of your chopped cheese. Snow falls lazily around you, flakes sticking to your cheeks as you stroll.  

Everywhere you look Christmas is in the air. Cheerful Santa's wave from department store windows. Ice skating is going on outside Rockefeller plaza, the insane light display at Dyker Heights, the couples snuggled together on horse drawn carriages in Central Park.

You cherish when Sarah sends you messages, but as the date creeps closer to Christmas there is a pang of longing you can’t overlook. This time last year you were entering into something with Joel that would change you. You were in his arms, you were falling for him. Now you're in a shitty apartment in New York trying to focus on studies and paying rent. 

It's possible that Sarah has forgiven you, but she's made no attempt to bring you and Joel back together. The truth is that she may never. 

You might get your friend back in some small capacity, but you likely are never going to feel Joel's strong arms holding you again. Never again going to sigh against his soft mouth as he enters you. Never going to hear those words murmured into your hair: I love you my perfect snowflake.

Paper snowflakes hang from a neon-sign laden window you're currently passing, causing you to still. You read the shop name, your mind on the extra money in your bank account. 

You step inside. 

///

Your phone beeps in your pocket. Sarah has moved to sending you texts now. You sent her a digital gift card for Christmas that morning to some clothing place in Austin and you assume she’s writing to thank you.

[SMILLER44] My dad is miserable. He just keeps moping around the house. 

Out of nowhere an anger begins to boil within you. You want to scream at Sarah that she’s the reason you’re both moping. That she’s the reason you can’t just be happy!

[SMILLER44] He's been like that since the summer.  [SMILLER44] I feel like it’s all my fault.

And just like that your anger for Sarah is quickly replaced with guilt that you could have ever been furious with her in the first place. She’s obviously been the one dealing with the fallout of a father and best friend who are miserable without each other.

Not your fault. You were totally valid in being hurt and furious. What we did was fucking shitty. I meant everything I said in my letter. I wish I had been up front from the start.

[SMILLER44] I think you made him really happy.  I think we made each other really happy.  I love him, Sarah. I’m sorry because I know that must be weird but I’m in love with him, I’ve never stopped. And I’ve never loved any man the way I love Joel. And I don’t think I ever will.

She doesn’t reply right away and you’re concerned that you’ve hurt her or scared her off in some way. You’re in bed, teeth brushed as the scent of your roommates weed filters in under your door when another beep sounds on your phone late that evening. You open the window to air it out, the night crisp before glancing at your phone.

[SMILLER44] It's gonna take a long time for me to really trust you again.  I want to earn that trust back if you'll let me. 

///

Joel Miller has never considered himself to be a good man. Never thought of himself as a bad one either, but in these last few months as he carves in the garage he’s been considering what it is to be good and bad.

Bad men keep secrets from the people they love. Bad men cheat on their wives. Bad men fuck the mouth of a girl half their age, aroused at the thought of being caught. Bad men stay married even as they call up said girl and make her come over the phone. Joel has been such a bad man in so many ways.

But he’s been a good man too. He’s never held your absence against his daughter. Never made her feel as if she isn’t his priority or that she was wrong to feel how she did. Sarah had no mother, Joel was damned if she'd live the rest of her life without a father as well. 

He’s a good man because despite that one mess up he’s given you space and not tried to contact you. He’s a bad man because he still watches that video the two of you made and it still make him come so hard he can only do it when Sarah is out of the house.

But he’s good because the love that he carries for you is beyond carnal and it makes him want to be a better man. Makes him want to be brave like you’re being, cutting those ties from your family. Makes him want to be patient like you and give you space. Makes him reach out to Tess at the end of November and apologize in earnest.

He’s confused by the cryptic little smile on her face over the Zoom call, but he says nothing about it. Just repeats over and over how wrong he was to disrespect their marriage like he did. That he was sorry he ever treated her with such lack of concern. He answers her questions with unflinching honesty, his knuckles turning white as he holds his coffee mug next to him on the desk.

“I’ll never forgive you for what you did, Joel. But I appreciate the apology.”

It’s enough. It’s more than he deserves.

At the end of the day Joel decides he’s just a man. A man who is in love with a woman he can’t have.  He doesn’t let himself look at your photo anymore – the one of you in front of the mural. He doesn’t let himself go on your social media.

He just goes to work early, works overtime and works harder than ever. He comes home and he makes dinner and he listens to his daughter talk about her day and he is content. He loves hearing Sarah talk about the challenges of the job, of seeing her grow into a capable young woman with her mom’s brains and a bit of his looks.

It was a few weeks of strained hello’s when you first left. When he walked back up into the house as your taxi pulled out, looking haunted as Sarah trailed in behind him. Of silent breakfasts and separate dinners. Until Joel bit the bullet and made her favorite dinner, until he insisted she come and watch a movie with him one night until things just started feeling normal again.

Sarah never brought you up. Ever. Not until this last week where her eyes have stayed on his face, sympathy and something else behind them.

"You miss her lots huh?"

"Sarah I don't wanna talk about her," Joel says gently. "You know that." 

Sarah gives him a strange little smile over dinner one night from his favorite BBQ place with the best cornbread this side of Texas. The day is calm and quiet and the house is decorated for the holidays.

“You called her since she left?”

Joel wants to tell Sarah to not ask about you. To never bring you up again. But his daughter deserves answers the most out of anyone. He lowers his fork, still chewing.

“No. She thought it was a bad idea.”

“Hmmm.”

“Sent her an e-mail a few months back. She never replied,” Joel says and he hates the pinch in his voice as he says it. He covers it up with a swig of his beer.

“Probably didn’t want to upset me,” Sarah rationalizes, fork poking at her pulled pork.

“Or she’s moved on,” Joel admits

He’d never say it out loud, but this is his biggest fear of all. That you have indeed found a new boyfriend. One closer to you in age with no baggage and endless love for you. The kind of man who fucks you tenderly, eyes on your face and whispers that he wants to marry you. The kind of man who would support you in school and the man that you’ll eventually carry children for.

The kind of man Joel would want for you if the thought didn’t make him want to punch a hole through a wall. 

///

“I hate this fuckin’ movie,” Joel grumbles as he and Sarah sit side by side on the couch. White Christmas is playing on the television and Joel has had just about enough. A bowl of half-eaten popcorn sits between them.

“It’s Christmas eve,” Sarah says with a cheerful laugh. “It’s tradition.”

Fuck tradition.

Fuck Christmas.

Fuck everything.

Snow and shortbread and every fucking thing that reminds him of you. Of your time with him last year. Your mouth, your body, your whispers in his ear. He sure as fuck doesn’t feel like celebrating.

“S’a dumb tradition.”

“Started because of you, old man.”

“Only because you were a kid and you would scream if I tried to watch anything else.”

“Yeah well you only have yourself to blame then.”

Joel gives her a sharp chuckle of amusement before swiping a handful of popcorn, munching softly. Despite you not being here, he’s so thankful his relationship with Sarah is good. He loves his daughter more than he could ever explain.  

Sarah checks her phone for what feels like the millionth time before relaxing back and watching the “Love, you didn’t do right by me” scene playing on the screen. The sultry intro begins as Sarah hums along.

Love, you didn't do right by me You planned a romance that just hadn't a chance And I'm through

Joel tries to hide his sigh.

What are you doing right now? Where are you? Are you safe? Enjoying Christmas? Did you go back to your parents after everything? Are they being kind to you?  These questions have plagued him since the day you left.

The doorbell rings, startling Joel from his thoughts. He glances over at Sarah, brows raised.

"You expectin' Charlie?”

"Naw, his flight just got in actually. But I think your gift is here," Sarah says with a gentle smile. "I'll need your help bringin’ it in though." 

Joel gives a sound of protestation, rising from the couch with a pop in his back before padding towards the front door after his daughter.

“What kinda gift comes on Christmas Eve?” He teases her, kissing the top of her head as she stands at the door. “And has to be brought in by two people?”

“See for yourself.”

Joel rolls his eyes playfully at her giggling face. His hand goes around the handle, pulling the door inwards and peeking around the corner. The teasing sweetness in his face is immediately washed away and he can only stare.

"Hi Joel," you say shyly on the porch, hand clutching your suitcase tightly. 

You’re dressed in a long skirt, tank top and light jean jacket. Your hair is done beautifully and your lips glossy. You look a little tired from your journey, but your eyes are bright as you gaze at him, your smile so wide your cheeks are pink.

You’re fucking perfect.

A moment passes between you and Sarah hides a smirk.

"I'm heading to pick up Charlie from the airport," Sarah tells you both as she pulls on her jacket. "We’re gonna stay at the hotel by the airport tonight. I'll be back for breakfast and presents tomorrow. I’m borrowing the truck, alright?"

Joel hasn’t stopped staring at you. He just gives a shallow nod to Sarah watching the way you give her a hopeful look as she walks out the door. His heart squeezes when you both reach for one another, hugging tightly. 

"I missed you," you whisper against her shoulder. 

"Same here," she whispers back before pulling away and smiling at you. "Glad you could make it. Hope you'll stay for a while."

"If your dad'll have me," you say shooting a nervous look Joel's way. 

"I wouldn't worry about that," Sarah says with a crooked smirk.

And then with a wave she's off, striding down the driveway with you watching after her. When she and the truck disappear around a corner you turn back to face Joel, looking strangely nervous.

"Hi," Joel finally croaks, still stuck in the doorway in a daze. "I-I can’t believe you're here. How’re you here?"

"Sarah called me. Said she wanted me to be your Christmas gift. I had air miles." 

"Best damn gift I've ever received," Joel says.

As if only now realizing that you are both exposed on the porch Joel urges you inside, taking your suitcase. He stops at the couch, suddenly not realizing where he should put you. He leaves it there by the couch, urging you to join him with a tilt of his head.

“You want a drink?”

“Nah, I’m okay thanks.”

He stands awkwardly for a moment, wanting to grab you, to kiss you, to touch you everywhere but he’s not sure if he should, if that's what you want. Instead he sits on the couch, his knee brushing yours. You both tense at the sensation, as if it's wrong to feel even the hint of one another. 

“So where you been all this time?”

“New York.”

“No shit? Why New York?”

“A good place to be anonymous.”

His eyes move to become fixed on your bare knee under your skirt, desperate to touch the warm flesh if only to prove to himself that you actually are real, that you're here. 

As if you're thinking the same you let a trembling hand go to his forehead, pushing back the curls there.

“Your hair is longer,” you murmur, smiling when Joel’s eyelids flutter shut and he leans into your touch. “I like it.”

“Thank you, baby."

Baby.

Now he takes his time staring back at you. Taking in the circles under your eyes, the soft curve of your cheek, the sensual pillow of your mouth. You're just as beautiful as he remembered, but even moreso because you're real. 

The tension is there, not just because of this surprise but because there is so much you want to say to one another. But neither wants to break this beautiful moment of reconciliation so instead Joel takes your hand in his and brings you to stand.

“Want some shortbread?”

“Sure.”

You follow him into the kitchen, marveling out loud how beautifully decorated the place is. Even more than when you were here last year. You take a moment to enjoy the sight of Joel’s biceps curling under his soft t-shirt as he brings out the plate from the fridge.

“No snowflakes though,” you tease as you take the cookie he offers you. You remember last year they were all over the garland and even in the windows. Now it seems they’ve been purposefully omitted.

“Ah, well, those are in the garage,” Joel says looking strangely shy. You’re curious at this, taking a nibble from the cookie. You don’t have to heart to tell him it’s awful. But he’s smiling dreamily at you and you find yourself sighing and smiling back.

“Show me?”

He nods, taking your hand in his even though you’re only going twenty steps. He takes you into the garage and you look around, expecting to see paper snowflakes hanging from the ceiling. Instead it looks deceptively normal.

Joel urges you towards the workbench where he pulls out a large box from underneath. He lays it on the table and takes off the top, his eyes sailing over to you as you peek inside.

Carvings, dozens and dozens of them. And all of them snowflakes.

Some are as small as your thumb, others as large as Joel's palm. Some are painted, others are wood grain. Some are intricately designed and must have taken weeks, others are smooth and buffed.

"Every time I was missing you too much I'd come out here and carve."

"Looks like you missed me a lot."

"I did."

There’s no hesitation from him and you gaze up at him with limpid eyes.

“You uh… I sent you that e-mail a couple months back,” Joel starts and you can see the insecurity in his dropped gaze. “You never wrote back.”

You raise a hand to his cheek, urging him to look back to your face.

“I couldn’t,” you explain with a tremor in your voice. “I wanted to so badly. But I had to respect Sarah’s wishes no matter how bad it hurt.”

Joel nods, knowing that your answer makes sense.

“I think I was worried that maybe you’d moved on,” Joel says with a wince.

You give him a sad smile before your hand drops from his face. You lift up the hem of your shirt, tugging your skirt down until your hip is showcased. Joel feels his heart pick up speed when he sees the tattoo there covered in second skin. A tiny black and white snowflake. The exact one Joel carved for you a year ago. 

"Got it when missing you hurt too much," you confess. “Still healing.”

Before he can stop himself he's knelt on the ground of the garage. He holds your hips gently, his full mouth going to press against your decorated flesh.  

"S' beautiful baby," Joel murmurs.

He feels goosebumps rise under his touch, and the sensation of your hand carding through his hair.

“How could you ever think I’d move on?” you ask, your voice soft. “I’ve never loved anyone the way I love you, Joel.”

Joel is still there at your feet as if kneeling before you is the most natural pose for him. Because with you he is reverential. His eyes search yours as he stares up at you, his dark eyes soulful.

“You’re so young and beautiful and wonderful and-“

“And you’re so handsome and kind and loving,” you finish for him.  “And I don't want anyone else.”

He gives a ghost of a smile up at you before he kisses your hip again, tenderly, lovingly and through the clear bandage you feel the warmth of his mouth. 

"Joel," you whisper above him.

He glances back up, seeing your eyes glossy and full of yearning. You don't have to say anything more. 

He slowly slides his hand under your skirt, fingertips tracing the curve of your inner thigh, edging your panties. You say nothing, just breathing heavily as you stare down at him while he drags your panties down your calves, over your ankles. You step out of them, watching him place them in the pocket of his sweatpants.

He lifts your skirt, holding it in his hands at the side of your hips. Your pussy is exposed to him and he groans at the sight of it there in front of him. He presses a sloppy kiss to your mound, shivering when you whimper. 

His fingers curl in the waistband of your skirt, pulling it down. He gazes at your sex as it is uncovered, groaning softly at the sight of it wet and waiting for him. The skirt is soon discarded and your lower back is urged against the work table.

His intent is clear as he gently urges your thigh over one of his shoulders. You breathe heavily staring down at him, his dark eyes fixed up at you as his mouth comes to press against your mound. 

"Please," he murmurs between kisses. "Just let m-"

He trails off as he kisses and licks between your legs, eyes rolling back when he hears your shuddered moan above him. You lean your spine heavily back against the work bench, one foot on the ground, the other leg hinged over Joel's shoulder. 

"Joel," you breathe softly if only to hear yourself saying that beautiful name again. The name you avoided thinking of for so long.

His large palms hold you in place, fingers dimpling the flesh as your moans increase. Joel feels tears starting at his eyes as he holds you, the warmth of your skin underneath his hands once more. His perfect fucking woman is here, and she's gonna come on his tongue. 

You came back to him. You came back. 

He slips two fingers into your dripping slot, curling gently so that he can take a moment to admire you. The way your fingers dig into the edge of the workbench. And now this sweet little snowflake, this forever mark dancing on your skin as your body moves for him. 

Overcome, his mouth goes back to your cunt, fingers still working in tandem as he begins to suck you clit in earnest. 

Your head is tilted back as your orgasm approaches. His eyes drift up to you even as his fingers and mouth work between your thighs. As if you can feel his gaze your neck bends forward, your eyes dropping to watch Joel between your legs gazing up at you. 

Your big, strong man is on his knees, laving your clit with his sinful touch while his big, dark puppy -dog eyes stare up at you with reverence. The sight of it has you whimpering, watching as his eyes darken, the black edging out the dark brown of his iris. 

"Uh huh," Joel growls against your pussy, sucking your clit with the perfect pressure as your thighs quake. "You come for me, pretty girl."

And you want to. You want nothing more than for Joel to fuck you with his tongue all night. But you find you need him deeper, need him closer. You need him with his body pressed against yours. 

"Take me to bed," you beg breathlessly.

Joel rises, wasting no time before his mouth is on yours. You melt into his arms, immediately slotting your lower between his. 

"I missed you so much," you whisper.

"I missed you more."

Joel can't contain himself. He's taken you into his arms, shifting you into a bridal carry. He takes you to the bedroom, laying you on the bed with a tenderness you can’t help but almost weep in the face of.

He undresses you slowly, kissing every piece of flesh he uncovers. Then he removes his own clothing, letting the items fall to the ground before you're in bed underneath his covers. 

"I missed you so fucking much," he tells you, peppering your face with kisses as he pulls you against him.  

"I thought about you every day," you say with tears in your eyes. 

For a moment the two of you slow the momentum down, kissing languidly as you card your hands through his hair and he holds your face between his palms. It feels like the most exquisite reunion of bodies and minds all at once and it warms you in way the sun never could.

Eventually his hands drift to your waist, sucking your tongue into his mouth as his hardness seeks your center. The two of you grind together, groaning and moaning into each other’s mouths before Joel pulls back to look at you.

"You want this?"

"You really have to ask?"

With a grin he urges your knees against your chest, opening you to him. In that folded position when he brackets you on either side he feels like he's holding all of you in his arms, like he's protecting you.

And he knows that when he slides into you in this position that the feeling is as incredible for you as it is for him because your eyes roll back and you whimper. 

"Tell me how it feels, baby," Joel groans, slowly drawing himself out and sliding back deeply, his ass and hips flexing. 

"So good," you murmur. "So full."

You inhale deeply, your mouth against his shoulder as the smell of his soap and wood shavings wash over you. The scent of safety and of home. Of love.

He kisses your neck, soft sloppy things as he sinks into you with a groan over and over, your eyes gazing down to watch his slick cock entering into you over and over, so slow and so deep it feels like you’re fucking for the first time in your life. You make a small whimpering sound, hips rolling against Joel’s and you feel him smile into your hairline.    

"There's my girl."

The sound of it, his girl, makes the tears sneak out the corner of your eyes. When you feel the light tap of wet on your cheeks you open your eyes to see Joel staring at you, tears dropping from his cheek onto yours and that sets you off, chin wobbling.

The two of you make love like this, whispered promises of unending love, of desire, of the torture it was to be without one another. And through it all Joel keeps up his slow and steady pace, more wanting to be inside you than anything. There is no rush, no time to keep. Just you and him and the future ahead of you.

When you finally orgasm it’s a powerful thing that has you sobbing loudly even as Joel empties himself into you. He holds you as you cry raggedly against him, your face buried in his neck as you mourn the months apart, about the pain you’ve both caused and ultimately at the knowledge that you are together again.

“I’m never letting you go again,” he promises as he rocks you in bed.

“Never,” you echo.

---TWO YEARS LATER---

It's one of your traditional Sunday walks, both of you with a coffee in your hand. You're finishing up your blueberry croissant and you're enjoying the mild weather as tourists mill around you. 

Normally you both stick closer to home for coffee Sundays. Especially since Joel's workload has been extra tough with his latest project. You only finished school a year ago and have been at your job less than six months. Despite his workload Joel has never been happier.

He loves coming home to hear all about your day. The two of you take turns cooking dinner. Sometimes Tommy and Maria join and those two always stay late to drink and play cards. Tommy likes to give you shit about how you first met, but Joel always reminds him with a severe look to drop it.

Sarah and Charlie are often invited and often attend, bringing over little baked desserts because as Sarah puts it “my dad can’t bake for shit”. 

Unlike before, Sarah doesn’t ask you intense details about your romantic life but every so often when the two of you watch Charlie and Joel laughing about something while they BBQ she’ll cast a soft look over at you and offer a gentle: “I don’t think my dad has ever been this happy.”

You always reply the same: “Neither have I.”

When you and Joel got married three months ago he claimed it was because he felt it was time to ‘make an honest woman out of you’. Which was a boldfaced lie. He was just really really excited to finally call you his wife and have you wear his ring.

You and Joel couldn’t stop beaming the entire time.

Of course your garter had a little snowflake charm on it. A private joke for Joel to uncover when he undressed you later that night. One that he enjoyed very much, especially when he found it was just the right length to bind your wrists together. . .

"Why'd you wanna come all this way for coffee, baby?" Joel asks you now, his free arm around your waist as he guides you through the throngs of tourists. 

"Remember the murals you showed me years ago? I wanted to see them again."

Joel is pleased with this, dark eyes disappearing as he grins broadly. You both wander around the familiar neighborhoods, stopping at your old favorite murals from the last time you were there several years ago: the bread and butter, the I love you so much where you take a selfie with you kissing Joel's cheek. 

"Ready to head back, beautiful?"

“One more?" 

Joel nods, his big hand swallowing yours. You find yourself standing taller when he does this, showing him off. You see many of the women taking second looks when he walks by, their eyes twinkling. Joel Miller is the kind of man that gets better with age and you are reaping the benefits. 

Sometimes he worries he's too old for you, but he still loves you more than you've ever been loved and fucks you like a twenty two year old on Viagra so you have nothing to complain about.  And while Joel does get insecure sometimes about his age, when he watches you bounce up and down on his cock begging for more he knows that you’re more than satisfied.

You turn the corner to find the familiar mural, still crowded with tourists and drawn all over. 

Before I die:________________

"You mind if I write something?"

Joel looks surprised by your question but immediately takes your coffee cup and his free hand. 

"Course not, baby. Take your time." 

You kiss him gently before going over to the mural. There are hundreds of white pieces of chalk all around the ground in front of it. You take a piece and go to one of the free spaces, your elegant swoops clacking against the backdrop of frenzied writing. You drop the chalk to the ground, brushing the dust from your fingertips and sailing over to a waiting Joel.

"Wanna see what I wrote?"

Joel nods, smirking as you grab his wrist and drag him over to the mural. He stands beside you, his dark eyes searching for your familiar looping script amongst the sea of writing. Then he sees it, complete with a little heart beside it. 

Before I die: I want to have Joel Miller's baby. 

Joel smiles sweetly at this, eyes glazing over with adoration as he looks at the mural and then back to you. 

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"One day, baby," he promises you with a sweet kiss. 

You know he's trying not to be too excited. He's expressed his concern of making you feel pressured before. "I'd love to have a baby with you honey. But only if it's somethin' you want. No pressure from me.' How can he not understand that you'd happily give him an entire football team? 

"One day might be sooner than you think, Joel," you say gently. 

It takes him a moment to realize that you're holding your palm over your abdomen. The coffee he holds that you'd insisted needed to be decaf. Then it's like it all comes crashing into focus and his eyes go owlish. 

"You're-"

"Yeah."

Joel is normally not that expressive a man outside the bedroom or even outside the house. So it takes you by surprise when he drops both half-full coffee cups and lets out a whoop before hoisting you into his arms. 

"We're havin' a baby!" Joel shouts, twirling you around. You throw your head back in laughter, arms around his neck as you spin.

The nearby tourists give cheers and claps, causing your cheeks to flush in embarrassment even as you laugh. 

But Joel is soaking it up, eyes crinkled in delight, and you realize that he never had this with Sarah. He was young and frightened. But now he shouts his excitement and you don't have it in your heart to tell him to keep quiet.

Eventually he lets you down only so he can grab your face in his hands and kiss you so soundly whistles begin nearby. 

"Okay that's enough," you tell him with a laugh. 

He takes your hand and starts to lead you back towards the truck, a goofy grin on his face. 

"I thought we were walking?"

"In this heat? I'm gettin' you home and outta the sun."

Not even five minutes have gone by since he learned of your pregnancy and already he's started to worry about how to take care of you. 

"Congratulations," an older couple says as you walk by. You both thank them enthusiastically, the older women grinning up at Joel. "Your wife is so beautiful."

"Ain't she?" Joel says, his smile broad against his tanned face. "Most beautiful woman inside and out." 

"You're a lucky woman," the older woman says with a wink to you. You look up at your husband and feel your heart swell. 

"Ma'am, you have no idea." 

///

"What's your guess?"

"I hope it's a girl," Sarah announces from her folding chair in the middle of the swelling group. 

"Nah, it's a boy," Tommy insists with a grin. "We need more male energy around here." 

Sarah raises a hand to shield her eyes from the glare of the sun, her engagement ring glinting in the sunlight. 

"The last thing this place needs is more male energy, Tommy."

The nearby group laughs as you run your hand over your swollen midsection. Joel's arm is around your shoulder and you feel his laughter rumble against your body. 

You're seven months pregnant and you're glowing. Everyone tells you that. You've never felt as beautiful as you do carrying Joel Miller's child. 

The backyard is decorated with tiny blue and pink baby silhouettes and it's ridiculously full with people from Joel's work, from your work and school friends, with Sarah's fiancé Charlie and his family, and your neighbors. The music plays in the background, the beers and wine are flowing and everyone seems to be having a great time. 

There's a pile of gifts for you and Joel to open later, and your parents mailed you out the largest package you've ever seen. You'd been unable to wait before opening that one with Joel this morning. 

Inside was an assortment of baby clothes, diapers, expensive looking cream, a bottle warming device and another small package wrapped in green ribbon. 

Inside this package was a rattle, a simple thing made of silver. Small and delicate with a pink bow faded over the years. Your eyes blur when you read the note. 

This rattle was once Heather's and then yours. It brought you both a great amount of joy and we thought it was only appropriate for it to be passed down to our grandchild. 

We apologize that we can't be there for the party, but we'd love to have you, Joel, and the baby up for Christmas this year if you would like to attend. If not we understand and perhaps could make plans for sometime in the New Year. 

Love, Mom and Dad

Joel is very excited to see what in his own words are "Where the uptight assholes live". He's still not their biggest fans and you're all trying to work through it. You're happy with how things are slowly progressing so far. 

"I'm voting girl," Maria tells you shrewdly, bouncing her own young son over her shoulder as she encourages him to burp. 

"I'll just be happy it's healthy," Joel insists, squeezing your shoulder gently. 

"Ten fingers and ten toes," you say after him. 

Joel kisses you sweetly. 

"When are we doing this damn reveal?" Comes a voice from the crowd. 

 Several others join in until a smiling Joel is helping you to your feet and guiding you towards the table by the patio that's covered in cupcakes. There's one small cake covered in white frosting and blue and pink question marks. 

Joel stands beside you, one hand on the small of your back. The music is lowered and the crowd comes to circle you and Joel. 

You give a wink to Sarah who returns it with a grin. You can see she's wearing the sash you bought her, the one that says "Big Sister". 

"Okay are y'all ready?" Joel raises the large cutting knife with one hand as the crowd cheers. 

Sarah raises her phone in front of her, hitting record. "Yep. Go for it!"

"How about you?" Joel asks gently, gazing down at your grinning expression. "You ready?"

"Uh huh."

His hand is gripping the handle of the knife and he encourages you to place your hand over his. You both slice down the middle, bringing the knife back out of the cake to reveal pale pink icing along the blade. 

"It's a girl!" 

Cheers sound out everywhere around you, poppers going off with baby rattle shaped confetti. The cupcakes are passed around and everyone gives their congratulations and hugs, citing that you and Joel are going to make the most beautiful baby. 

You feel like you can't stop smiling. Is life supposed to feel this perfect? 

The food is delivered shortly after, and the swarm of guests descend upon Austin's best BBQ. Paper plates and beer bottles soon line the folding tables Joel set up early this morning. 

"For a baby shower being put on for me I sure have to do a lot of fuckin' work for it," he murmured to you this morning before getting up to help Tommy set up. 

You watch the people milling around the tables, smiling to yourself as you watch them laugh and chat. The backyard buzzes with energy and mild chaos and you love every second of watching it.

"What do you think of the name Eleanor?" You muse as you and Joel sit next to one another at one of the tables. "Means shining light."

Joel makes a face as if he's not quite on board.

"Mmmm, s'a bit old fashioned."

You purse your mouth in disappointment. You'd come upon that name in a book you were reading and found yourself completely taken with it. You try to find some middle ground. 

"We could call her Ellie?"

Joel's smile grows at this, whispering it under his breath a few times in that sweet twang of his. Ellie Ellie. 

"I like it." 

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

Joel's mouth finds your temple, pressing a lingering kiss there. His voice lowers an octave, quiet and husky in your ear. 

"You know what I else I like?"

"Mmm?"

"How you looked coming for me this mornin'." 

Your face goes scarlet and you let out a surprised giggle before schooling your features into an exaggerated look of seriousness. 

"We'll have to behave now, Mister Miller since we're both going to be parents," you tell him with mock solemnity. 

You don't miss the way his nostrils flare at the sound of Mister Miller passing through your lips. 

Nor do you miss when he follows you into the house moments later when you claim to need the bathroom. 

He follows you inside in silence, his gaze heated as he comes to cup your swollen breasts through the thin fabric of your dress. You whimper softly, not wanting any passing guests to hear you.

“You’re not wearing a bra today are you?”

“Uh uh,” you grin wickedly. “I know you love it when they bounce for you.”

“Fuckin’ tease,” he grins against your ear before he turns you away from him, hands coming to grip the meat of your ass through your dress.

"Will you fuck me?" You purr, hand coming to graze his already throbbing bulge through his trousers. You shoot him your best innocent gaze, lashes fluttering. 

"Please, Mister Miller?"

He fumbles with his belt buckle as you slide your panties down over the globe of your ass. Joel lets out a grunt before sinking into you, his broad chest bracketing you from behind. Your head tilts back, jaw hinged open. He feels so fucking good every single time.

He fucks you against the door; hand over your mouth as you grip his neck behind you for purchase. Your belly nestles against the door lightly and your hips flex as he drives himself deeper into your drenched pussy.  

"Made me a Daddy," Joel groans in your ear, hips snapping against yours in a fervor. "Let me fuck you full and now everyone knows you're mine."

There's a sound of loud laughter outside and it makes you whimper as his cock pistons in and out of you. His hand is still sealed over your mouth. 

"Take it all, pretty girl. Take it all." 

His hands hold you tightly, but secure. He's paranoid of hurting you and the baby but that doesn't stop him from fucking you until his thrusting hips start to stutter. 

You glance over your shoulder to watch him, eyes shut and teeth bared as he fucks into you over and over. He’s fucking gorgeous like this, neck strained and curls falling into his forehead. One of the buttons of his dress shirt has come undone in the frenzy, showing you a swath of his muscled chest.

Your man.

"Taking me so well," he groans in approval. He opens his eyes to see you staring up at him with hearts in your eyes and he grins down at you. His face lowers to your shoulder as he croons more filth into your ear ending with a sultry:

"Such a good girl."

"And good girls get your come Mister Miller," you remind him breathlessly, a smile lingering as he kisses you soundly. 

"Yes they fuckin' do." 

---------------------

a/n #2: Y'all I had to end it on a filthy note because of how these two started. Don't hate me for it heh heh

---------------------

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[cuubism]

hurt/comfort you say?

I'm a sucker for party or parties unknown trying to (re)capture Dream or otherwise damage/control him and Hob going absolutely feral to protect him... but what if Hob gets badly wounded protecting Dream and Dream has to take care of him....

I know it's not a new idea but..... I love it...

omg yes i love it. a classic

--

Hob hadn't thought you could die in dreams.

Okay, you could die, but you didn't actually, well, die. You just woke up in a cold sweat feeling all discombobulated until it faded to a distant bad feeling and then nothing.

Figures he'd only learn otherwise now.

(Really should have paid more attention when Dream kept telling him dreams are real, Hob.)

Fucking figures.

He gasps awake in his bed with a whole sword still stuck through his chest, and then immediately checks back out again. Happens when you've got a sword through your aorta. When he comes back to life, Dream is standing above him, holding the bloody sword flat on his palms. The blade, the murderous expression on his face, the hallway light haloing his hair makes him look like a holy executioner.

Hob's heart is still pumping blood all over the bedsheets. "Dream, the fucking--" he starts trying to say, then just checks out again.

When he wakes again, Dream is gone, and Hob feels speared through the heart in another way entirely. Take a sword through the chest saving a bloke's eternal existence and he just dips out? But no, that's not like him, not anymore--

Then he's gone again, and when he wakes, this time--

--Dream catches him.

"Wha--? Dream?" Everything feels muzzy, and he shakes his head to try to clear it. This... isn't his bedroom. He's lying propped up against Dream's chest, Dream's arms wrapped around him, one hand pressed to the hole in his chest-- to where there was a hole in his chest, it doesn't seem to be bleeding anymore. "Where are we?"

"Don't pay attention to it," Dream says, voice close to Hob's ear. This of course makes Hob want to pay attention to it, but whatever's around him, the sort of nebulous impression of lack of place and vaguely unsettling haze, hurts to look at. Dream tuts in disapproval when he tries to turn. "This is an in-between space. Not for your mind to perceive."

"Great. In between where, exactly?" Hob tries to push himself up, but a bolt of pain to the chest has him collapsing back into Dream's arms.

"Between sleep and waking," says Dream. "Do not move."

Hob's not moving again. His breath wheezes. He feels like there should be a sword stuck through his chest, and there isn't, but he keeps trying to breathe around it. No, wait, Dream took the sword out. "Did I die or not? I thought I died."

Now there's a crease of pain in Dream's voice. "Temporarily."

A shiver of unease runs through Hob. "Dream, you're... not supposed to be able to die in dreams, right? For real?" He's not sure what it means. If his deal with Death extends to whatever kind of soul-death they might be talking about that could happen in the heart of the Dreaming.

"Not in a way that carries through to the waking, but you so love to defy precedent," Dream says, teeth gritted, and Hob feels him shudder, and his hand on Hob's chest grows warmer, like he's... channeling power? "Admittedly, the spell they used to ensnare me had unforeseen effects on the Dreaming."

"Okay." Fuck, he's tired. Too worn out for this questioning. He leans his head against Dream's shoulder. Nice to touch him like this, even considering the circumstances.

"I am unmaking the dream," Dream says, "hence, this liminal space. You have already brought it with you to the waking and so it can no longer be easily reabsorbed into the Dreaming."

"Yeah, I noticed all the blood." He shudders, eyes falling shut. Still as tired as if his body is expelling all its blood somewhere down... wherever. "I saved you though, right? I killed that guy before they could finish the spell?"

"Yes." Dream strokes a hand through Hob's hair, a gentle touch. His voice is softer when he speaks again. "You saved me."

"Good." That's all that matters, in the end. Hob'll live. Always does.

He's... slipping, again, he can still sense Dream's hands on him, but it's distant. "Will I remember it, if you unmake the dream?" he asks. He wants to remember it. Saving Dream, and Dream's hands on him so gently. Even if it means also remembering the slide of the sword between his ribs.

Dream hesitates. "I--"

Hob wakes up.

Again.

In his bedroom this time. He comes to wakefulness groggily, spreads his hands on the sheets. They're dry, no blood--

He shakes himself. What is he saying, blood? Why would there be blood? Fuck his head hurts. And God he had a strange dream--

There's a sword lying across the foot of his bed.

A proper longsword, the metal gleaming unnaturally bright. Hob reaches for it, mesmerized, and as his hand closes around the hilt, a voice comes from his side.

"I thought you might like it for yourself."

Dream. He's perched beside Hob on the bed, looking strained and tired. Reflexively, Hob rubs at his chest with his free hand. Nothing there.

But when he meets Dream's eyes, he catches a feeling in them. A fragile awe. A hunger. He catches it and while the exact details won't come back, he feels the moment, the killing blow, the one that he'd struck and the one that had struck him. And Dream, holding him close after, trying to make it right.

He lets go of the sword -- it doesn't turn back into sand, surprisingly -- and takes Dream's hand instead. Dream watches him, utterly still, then says, "You saved me."

"I know." He knows, even if he can't remember the exact detail of it. Dream did... something to make it sort of not have happened, except it did happen. Sort of. "Course I did." It happened because of course it happened.

"Of course," echoes Dream. And then a tiny smile blooms on his face.

And, of course, Hob chases that smile until they're kissing.

He's not quite managed the boldness to kiss Dream before now. But the echo of Dream's hands in his hair and his palm pressed firm over his heart gives him courage. And it feels so right it's like it's already happened, only he knows it hasn't, he would remember that.

Well, maybe it's happened in his dreams.

Now, he kisses Dream, leaning in, and Dream cradles the back of his head, fingers digging into his hair. He kisses Dream.

And this time he doesn't wake up.

[smusherina]

yard work - chapter 15 (regina george x reader)

fandom: Mean Girls (all media)

pairing: Regina George x OFC/Reader

summary: You'd been in the same class as Regina George since kindergarten. You'd lived on the same street even longer. Once upon a time, when life was sandbox disputes and who got the swing first arguments, you'd even been friends. Now, in junior year of high school, you doubted she even remembered you. The same couldn't be said about you. You definitely remembered her.

chapter 1 / chapter 2 / chapter 3 / chapter 4 / chapter 5 / chapter 6 / chapter 7 / chapter 8 / chapter 9 / chapter 10 / chapter 11 / chapter 12 / chapter 13 / chapter 14

Shivering in the cold, hiding beneath the bleachers, you held your cigarette between trembling fingers. Crouched on your feet so you wouldn't have to sit in the snow, your legs were already going numb.

Taking a drag, you held back tears. She'd tried, she picked you, and you didn't want it. No, you did want it, but didn't believe it.

Your phone beeped. It'd been ringing and pinging since you left. Kylie and Mrs George were worried about you. You'd text them back soon enough, let them know you felt under the weather, and that you were home.

"You're so predictable, y'know," You startled so badly that you toppled into the snow.

"Fuck!" The burning bit of your cigarette fell onto your hand. "Ouch! Fuck!"

"Should be flattered or offended?" Regina—fuck, Regina—stood over you, hands on her hips. She was still in just the camp tee. You spied the hairs on her arms were prickling.

"What do you want?" You grouched, flicking your barren cigarette away.

"What did you think of the song?" She cocked out a hip and crossed her arms.

You got up, not wanting to crane your neck as you had this conversation. You brushed off the snow clinging to your clothes.

"Real pretty. I..." You could pay her a compliment. Casually. "I do like your singing voice."

"I know. You've told me. I also know you're not intellectually challenged, so..." She trailed off, eyebrows quirking and eyes scanning your face.

"Yeah," You sighed. "A song isn't gonna do it."

"Just wanted to make sure you got the message." She straightened her spine and uncrossed her arms, instead intertwining her fingers in front of her. She took a deep breath and spoke:

"I'm sorry. I don't know if... I'm sorry for back then. When I left you in middle school. I don't know if explaining why would help, because," She glanced up at you. "I don't want to make excuses. You were my friend, my best friend, and I should've done better. Done right by you."

You didn't know quite what to say.

"I'm also sorry for Thanksgiving. I'm sorry I freaked out like that. I felt..." She fiddled with her fingers. "Rejected, I guess, and I didn't know how to handle it. I should've handled it better, that's for sure."

You stood there, waiting to feel some relief or happiness or even anger. Anything.

"I know apologies aren't gonna be enough. I tried to prove to you with that song that..." She swallowed. "That you're more important to me than status. I don't need to wow everybody if I had you. I've changed."

She looked up at you, also waiting. Still nothing.

"Do you think you'd already be hugging me if whatever happened today hadn't happened?" She bit her lip. "I'll make them pay, y'know."

"I thought you'd changed." You parrotted her words back at her. Brain whirring to action, you digested that it hadn't been her. Or maybe she was bluffing.

"Not that much. Not enough to not do anything when somebody hurts you."

"I..." You examined her, brow furrowing. "I haven't told many people. Only you and Mrs George. Janis, too."

"You told Janis?" Indignant, Regina's voice rose and arms spread. She was getting cold you could tell, because she shivering intensely, teeth chattering if not for the clench of her jaw.

"It came up some time ago." Back when I was still defending you. "Solidarity, y'know."

"Okay, fine, but why do you assume they had to know? There's been buzz about your sexuality before, unprompted." Her eyes narrowed. "I would know. I took care of them."

You blinked. "What?"

"Obviously. You..." She looked away as if looking for a way to convey what she meant without speaking it. "I just didn't want that. For you."

Was she lying to you? Trying to manipulate you? What was her goal? You didn't trust yourself to believe this was all sincerity and the lack of foundation, the instability of your own conclusions, made you feel crazy.

You circled back, refusing to process Regina supposedly protecting you all this time. What did it mean? No, not now.

"Yeah, but why now? Isn't the timing a little too convenient?" You accused, looking at Regina closely for signs of guilt. "You had every reason, all the power, to fuck me over, Regina. I think it was you."

"What? No. Why would I do that? I just dedicated a song to you!" She sounded frantic. "I've kept you safe!"

"I don't know! Why would Gretchen shout that I was lesbian in the middle of their performance? How would she know unless somebody told her?" You ran your hands through your hair and turned away from her. "Maybe you wanted me to run back into your arms so you could pick up the broken pieces. The pieces you broke."

"I did not tell Gretchen. I don't know why she did that and I don't know why I expected a fucking Britney Spears song to change anything, but I fucking tried!" She took a step back, pausing for a moment. "I don't want to shout. Let's not shout."

"I- are you fucking kidding me? Are you actually fucking kidding? Things didn't go your way, I didn't respond like you wanted, and you don't want to shout. You don't control me, Regina, I have my own life, my own things, I don't need you!"

You inhaled the cold air until it burned in your lungs.

"Okay. Feel better now?"

You felt the blood rush to your head, painting you red and exploding out in a shout.

"Shut up! No! No, I don't feel better. I would've felt better if you ever fucking listened to me or talked to me. It doesn't even matter what happened back then, because, yeah, it hurt, but we were kids. I know why you did what you did and no, it wasn't right, but I get it. Now, though?" Your chest bubbled with hysterical laughter. "We're nearly adults, Regina. Why- why..." Why couldn't you treat me better? That, just less pathetic. "Why did you have to be such a bitch?"

"I get it, okay. You don't have to forgive me. We can just move on." Her voice trembled, from the cold and something else.

You clenched your fists so hard your hands shook, squeezed your eyes shut so tight you felt the tension in your forehead, and so badly wanted to throw a tantrum on the ground like a toddler. Your hands found your hair and tugged.

"I don't know! I don't know!" Your voice was beginning to sound more and more like a wail. "I want to move on, I've had enough of feeling like this but I don't- I love you but what am I supposed to do with that? I should- should just hate you- I don't know what to think."

You pulled, tugged, and felt some rip out of your scalp. The world was spinning around you, leaving you behind in the impossible pressure of space. Your skull was full to bursting, bees buzzing between your ears.

"Who was it?" You hiccuped and resented the hot tears painting streaks on your cheeks. "Why would they do that to me?" You were angry but so, so tired.

"Hey, J, stop that." Regina pulled at your hands, still knotted in your hair. You let her move you, all tuckered out from shouting. Your body shook.

"I'm tired... I wanna go home." Your eyes closed. Regina was still touching you. She had you by your forearms.

"Okay. I'll drive you." She whispered. You couldn't look at her. Shame was crawling down your spine, settling deeper with every passing second.

"With what? Didn't Mrs George drive you?" You slumped against the back of the bleachers. Regina followed, stayed close with her hands on your arms.

"I'll drive your car." She spoke softly. A part of you bristled, not standing to be patronized, but you didn't have the energy anymore.

For a moment, not a word was said. With tentative movements, Regina's hands trailed from your arms to your torso, slipping into your coat and around your back. Her head came to rest on your shoulder as she held you close. Your skin crawled at the contact, but reluctantly, as if your body was used to her, you sunk into her.

Your arms hung limply at your sides.

"Notice me," Your eyes fluttered open when she uttered the melody. "Take my hand,"

Her hands petted at your back, scratching lightly with her long nails.

"Why are we, strangers when, our love is strong?"

In the darkness of a wintery night, breath-creating wisps in the air, she sang and held you. It was impossible to ignore the poetic setting, the sappiness of the moment. Even so, you could appreciate it. A little.

"Why carry on without me?"

It was nowhere as good as she'd been on stage. The acoustics outside in the snow, below the bleachers were even worse than in the gym. But it was just for you, this time around.

You tried to hold your breath, tried to keep it in. Not now, not here. Not for her. Again.

"And every time I try to fly I fall without my wings," She lifted her head and you looked at her. She paused there. "You're the wings." With a little smile, she continued singing. All the while looking at you.

Your head felt too big, like somebody had blown it full of air. You'd float away if she wasn't holding you down.

"I feel so small. I guess I need you, baby," The backs of your eyes heated up, the tear ducts stinging, and you bowed your head. Your arms came around her and wound tight around her neck.

"And every time I see you in my dreams, I see your face. It's haunting me. I guess I need you, baby,"

You sobbed. You sobbed and sobbed, interrupting her song, and wept into her collar. You missed her. You wanted to be with her so badly. You didn't want any of this to happen. You wanted things to be easy. Why did this have to be so hard? This was all unfair.

You cried at the injustice, cried for the hurt she'd made you feel, for the pain you'd made her feel and the names you'd called her. You wept because there was little else you could do.

"I'm sorry. I- I don't know what to do." You tried to breathe in, but your breath kept wooshing out of you. Every single orifice in your face flowed with fluid and you felt thoroughly disgusting. You couldn't stop it.

"We'll figure it out." Regina's voice was soft and her face even softer through your blurry vision. All hazy, gentle shapes.

"I'm- I'm scared." You whimpered, holding onto her shoulders.

"I know." Her arms tightened, holding secure around your waist. "I know, baby, it's gonna be okay."

"I'm still angry with- with you."

"That's okay."

"I dunno if we can... Y'know."

"I don't care. I just want you."

"Woah," You laughed, still sounding a tad bit hysterical. "Deep."

"Shut up." You could tell from her voice that she was rolling her eyes. "I preferred it when you were shouting at me."

Your laughter mixed with a hiccup.

"I don't believe that." Your voice wobbled since you still weren't quite done crying, apparently. Mortifying.

"You shouldn't." She amended, burrowing deeper into your coat.

With her hands rubbing your back, your fronts pressed so close together, you calmed down pretty fast. Your eyes stung and your nose was blocked. You felt dried out, like all moisture had been sucked out of you.

You knew this already. Every time, you'd go back. Every time, she'd wriggle under your skin and find solace in your heart and you couldn't even resist. Not really, anyhow, not effectively.

You wanted to believe she'd be there to stay, this time around.

"Can we go soon?" She asked, noticing your weeping had mostly concluded.

"Ugh," You groaned, head falling to rest on hers. "You think the crowd's been let out yet?"

"No, there's a sock puppet play that lasts ages. I think it was Hamlet or something."

"Sock puppet Hamlet? Reg, I think we need to go back in."

"No, nope, not if I have your keys!" She felt around in your back pockets. You did usually keep them there, but they'd been digging into your ass when you were sitting in the gym. They were in your coat pockets instead.

"Woah, take me to dinner first, jeez," Just like that, her hands detached like your butt was stove-hot.

"Sorry," She muttered. The mood shifted, the lighthearted and familiar air turning awkward.

"It's all good." Was it? It didn't feel weird, there was nothing sexual about what she'd done, but you weren't sure how you could say that. You yourself weren't sure what your boundaries were. You weren't even sure if you wanted to be vulnerable like that now.

She looked up at you with a contemplative look on her face. You looked back, waiting for her to ask something. When she didn't you shrugged.

"Let's go to yours." She said and then waited for you to... Do something again. You nodded. "I'll order, uh... What do you feel like eating?"

"I can cook-"

"I want take out, Jorts, so we're getting take out, 'kay?"

You tried not to smile at that.

"Whatever you say." You patted her on the back. She hummed, satisfied.

"Let's do Chinese. Sound good?" You nodded along, eyes closing. "We sleep. In the morning, we'll go for a walk. We'll talk about serious stuff during or after the walk?"

"Do we gotta go for a walk?" You asked petulantly.

"Yes." She said and did not elaborate.

"Fine, I guess."

Notes: A confrontation! At last! I couldn't keep the readers hanging for long, that would've just been cruel. I do have a nasty tendency to finish chapters with cliffhangers. Am I the drama? Noooo...

Btw, being transparent here, I named this fic "yard work" back when I was still thinking it was gonna be a one-shot, so (at least IMO) it doesn't really fit the series as a whole at this point. If I were to change it to, let's say, "everytime" would that be confusing or what? If the change were to happen it'd only be after this was completed, so no worries there. Just let me know y'all's thoughts!

Taglist will be posted separately! If you wish to be added on there, comment on that post :)

[lovelyyandereaddictionpoint]

Hear me out

Azul, Leona and Jamil (separated) with a reader that when they're alone they decide to put their hands on his cheeks and say things like: "why are you so perfect?" "Who's the most handsome man in the word? You!" "Stop being so awesome, you're smart, strong, handsome and even interesting, who allowed you to be that perfect?!"

Compliments | Yandere Twisted Wonderland

According to your world’s scientist men receive so few compliments. Imagine how much worse that is at a school like Night Raven? So as a friend in-house therapist it’s a mission of yours to cheer everyone on. And of course for all the life-threatening adventures you’ve had you’ve known quite a few of them pretty deeply. But of course a simple compliment means so much more from someone in love:

Jamil Viper

“Hey Jaml?”

“Yes?”

“I wanted to tell you, you really saved the game today. And you looked real cool doing it.”

“....”

“Okay well have a good rest of the day!”

He’s fighting the heat that burns the tip of his ears and his cheeks

And when Kalim asks he’ll turn away 

He knew he was obsessed but he didn’t know he was obsessed 

To think you paid such close attention to him 

This must be love

He just needs to reciprocate right make your heart beat out of your chest like you did him

Now if you happened to do the same to others he’ll be sure to remind them that you just happen to be nice

To pity them enough to want to say something

But if their heads are too big he’ll just take it off  bring them down to size

Leona Kingscholar 

“You know, I think you’re hair is just so pretty.”

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah, it’s so silky for a guy as athletic as you. You’d think muscular guys like you would neglect their looks but not you.”

“Thanks herbivore. For a ditzy prefect you happened to notice somethings.”

He’s quick with a comeback 

But he’s swooning inside

He’s proud that you notice these parts of him

It’ll help in the long run when he tries to woo you

That or he’ll be sure to remind you of what you do like about him after he’s killed your buddies his obstacles

[vigilskeep]

i have never thought of the bg3 paths as railroaded before but oh my god... i see your vision. i think that, for all that can be picked apart in the writing of dragon age, the worldbuilding in that series is so so interested in complicating all factions that you can envision a character who /makes sense/ while bouncing through various ideologies. and the sort of fantasy writing in (most of) the forgotten realms doesn't really allow for that.

dao is particularly the light of my life because the origins mechanic is specifically intended to let you create a character who has a distinctive perspective on the world that’s grounded in the worldbuilding. one of my favourite aspects of this is several origins having completely different codex entries on their own culture as opposed to those an outsider would get. it’s really good! it’s also a reasonably grounded world (while obviously silly) because, like, the basic fundamental premise of thedas, from which they ikea flatpack built almost every feature, is “how would people react to magical and fantastical diversity? the same way they react to human diversity.” you’re meant to feel like, aside from i guess the darkspawn, people are normal and have real motivations. sure it has to fulfil certain roles in a story, and dragon age was manufactured too quickly and purposefully for everything to land feeling authentic, but evil in dragon age should feel recognisable. and in most of the origins they give you a chance to do something that is bad, but also totally makes sense, because of the context of your character belonging to this world where these things happen

in dnd/the forgotten realms it’s a bit different because capital e Evil exists, so there are people and deities and devils (and, to open another can of worms, races) whose entire goal is to Do Evil. it’s also harder to produce grounded evil because in a world where i’m being given basically no context and just told to make whatever i want, i don’t have an inch of the kind of social information i get from for example a dao origin: what my character has been taught to believe they should do to survive, who they are willing to sacrifice, whatever. bg3 also happens to have a main plot goal that is, at least for the first part of the game, broadly selfish (“i am sick, and i need a cure”) which works really well for getting a bunch of people with vastly differing moral standards to band together for the same goal, and not so good for any kind of “greater good” type blurred morality, so that’s out too

however much the worldbuilding factors into this, bg3 specifically went for quite a clear distinction between the good path and the capital e Evil Path, and i find it pretty hard to vary up the good path. when i say railroaded i mean you either do the specific thing that gets you a quest down the line or not. i was really disappointed actually in my playthrough where i totally fucked up in the druids’ grove and caused a fight to break out, because it immediately instakilled tons of characters i knew i would need down the line. the few it spared needed some of the dead ones to stay alive in later quests, so it’s like... oh. that’s just... over. for both factions. bg3 arguably lets you do basically anything you want but they are able to do that because if you fuck around it just breaks the entire quest line from coming up again, which means playing a character who fucks up is not even really going to get me consequences it’s just going to cut content from the game. does that make sense? and then the Evil Path is just straight up evil, like... there’s no way for me to complicate and empathise, here, especially playing a blank canvas character whose motivations i would have to make up from nothing, and who faces basically no consequences for not doing this. the only neutral/cowardly/self-interested option in act 1 is to do neither path, which gets me the least content because i literally don’t get to play the fucking game

i don’t know, i’m not saying it’s necessarily bad just that it’s hard for me, personally, and how i like to create characters. especially when you have my constant restart disease and you have to do this all over again a dozen times just for a handful of different dialogue. does any of that make sense

[rizsu]

"i fucking give up," satoru complains, throwing himself on your bed.

"get off my bed?" you complain, throwing the chips at him.

not only was he uninvited, he also messed up your freshly made bed with clean sheets. surely he isn't going to force you into a therapist, right..?

"don't tell me what to do," he speaks, voice muffled as he's face down on the bed, "it's your fault i'm like this anyway."

you pay no mind to him, tossing your phone onto the bed before you go to the bathroom.

"yeah, yeah. i'm the big bad wolf."

satoru turns his head to face your direction. the side of his face's squished, enhancing his pout. ever since he had that dream he's been like this. it's always some fucking dream and never something that happens in real life. to say he's tired is a severe understatement and just disrespectful.

technically, this entire ordeal is his fault — but technically, you're the one who's at major fault! it's not his fault he caught feelings for you which was against the conditions you laid out. it's also not his fault you're exactly his type. totally not his fault you care for him in a way that blurs the line between platonic and romantic. yeah, not his fault.

‘friends with benefits my ass,’ he curses in his mind, watching the closed door of your bathroom. ‘what is she doing? it does not take that long to pee.’

soon after you re-enter the room, wiping your hands on your thighs before calculating your precise landing spot as you jump.

location: on top of gojo satoru's back.

action: completed successfully.

"what the fuck," he groans, turning to throw you off his back.

you laugh softly, patting his leg with your foot. "that's what you get."

he glares at you, mocking your words in a childish tone.

a silence settles in, both you of go on to do your own things. satoru fiddling with the rubix cube on your bedside table, and you were switching through apps on your phone.

it's comfortable, being in a moment of silence with another person. there's no forced feeling to start a conversation; just the way you like it. peace, beautiful peace.

"OKAY!"

startled, you looked at satoru with the physical expression of ‘???’

"are you malfunctioning?" your tone's disgusted, so too is your expression.

satoru sits up, "(y/n), i decided."

"decided what?" you reply, mirroring his action.

"remember that dream i've been talking about?"

"yeah?"

"it was about us. so, basically, i fell in love with you and i know you said you don't want any romantic relationships because of the commitment but i couldn't help it after the dream — i want it to be real, i really—"

"take a breather, satoru," you cut him off, placing a hand over his mouth.

maintaining eye contact with him, you slowly removed your hand, "don't rap your words, ‘kay?"

"yeah," he voice goes soft, breaking the eye contact to look at your hand.

"it's true i'm not looking for any commitment, but who knows? maybe i want you the way you want me," you shrugged.

satoru doesn't replicate your nonchalance. in fact, his jaw dropped approximately thirty degrees down! slamming his hand down on the bed, he leans forward.

"please, please don't be rational right now. thy must listen thee heart, not thou mind," he speaks, pretending that he said a ground-breaking philosophy quote.

"what's with the old english? anyway, i'll try to not be rational."

‘he's nervous,’ you think, noting his habit of biting the skin off his lip.

"don't do that," your arm extends to his face, using your thumb to pull his lip out his teeth. "you'll bruise your lip."

the action causes him to groan, throwing his head back.

"oh fuck you, (y/n). just kiss me if you're gonna do that," he complains, pouting at you.

"if you say so," shrugging again, you pull him down to you, initiating the kiss first.

like he said, you won't be rational. you'll save the regrets or whatever for tomorrow.

[ovaryacted]

STORY OF US | CH. 2 - RISKS

PAIRING: DI! Leon Kennedy x fem! reader

SYNOPSIS: A normal Friday night out for drinks with your mentor. What could possibly go wrong?

CONTENT/WARNINGS: MDNI/18+. Canon-adjacent. DSO Mentor/mentee dynamic. Forbidden work relationship. Age gap (Leon is 38, reader is 25). Reader has their own background & lore. Leon & reader have an established working relationship of 4 years (nothing was done until later). Eventual smut. Drinking. Flirting. Smooching. (Sorry to the French, you got lashings from me oops).

WC: 5.8K

A/N: This chapter was a pain to write, but I'm just glad it's done. Had to reupload it because Tumblr is stupid. Thank you to @notrattus for beta-reading this again, hugs and kisses. As always, likes, comments, and reblogs are greatly appreciated!

SERIES MASTERLIST | MAIN MASTERLIST | AO3

Dim lighting and mellow music surround you in the local bar downtown. It was a place you often frequented after work, along with other D.S.O. agents from time to time. The space was quaint, the drinks were cheap, and the additional comfort of coming with a familiar face made the night easygoing. You noticed the group of rookie agents that crowded the pooltable towards the back of the bar, their boisterous laughter filled the room with a lively energy that was desperately needed after today’s events.

“Seems like they’re having fun,” you muttered under your breath, sipping away at your second bottle of beer. Leon sat next to you, glancing over his shoulder to peek at the group of agents off to the side, most of them acting like they didn’t have a care in the world.

“Some of them are being too friendly with each other, don’t you think?” He gestured his head towards the opposite side of the room, lining his lips with his bottle of non-alcoholic beer.

“Now you know that’s none of our business. They’ll go home, forget what happened, and fight two days later. Let them have their fun while they can,” you said with a breathy laugh, Leon following you after.

Seeing the young rookies messing around brought a feeling of envy, silently wishing you had that experience. The ability to explore and socialize with others was a privilege you didn’t have when you were younger, a result of both your sheltered childhood and the premature start of your career in government service. It wasn’t in the cards for you, deemed “off limits” the moment you were put into federal custody as a teenager, and later extended once you were Leon’s responsibility.

In this life, you had limited opportunities to think of anything other than work, so whenever there was a breakthrough, you held on to it tightly until you had a chance to break free. Leon eyed you quietly as you sat deep in thought, having half a mind to figure out what you were contemplating.

“Wish you could join in, huh?” He asked curiously.

“Nah, that ship has sailed long ago,” you shrugged, motioning to the bartender that you were ready for another drink.

Already down two beers, you craved something stronger, ordering a whiskey on the rocks, Johnnie Walker Black. You watched as the bartender poured the amber liquid into a glass, handing it to you with a wink before tending to the other patrons waiting for service. Bringing the cup to your mouth, you took a light sip of the drink, humming at the silky taste of malt with notes of vanilla and honey gracing your tongue. Like a portal back in time, you were 22 again with your mentor giving you a lesson in “real drinking”, his voice ringing in your head as he introduced you to one of your vices.

 “This is a bottle of Johnnie Walker Black. If you want something cheap and smooth that does the job, this will do it. You won’t find a bar that doesn’t have this on hand, and if they don’t move, to another.”

“I’ve been out with you enough times that I got used to the calm nights. Rowdy stuff isn’t for me anymore. Sometimes though, I catch myself thinking about it all, the what ifs, not that it matters really,” you swallowed another sip along with your pride. Being sheltered from the outside world meant sacrificing life experiences you believed you were deserving of, including relationships and dating. It was the price you had to pay for being the D.S.O’s prodigy.

“You’re telling me they kept you cooped up for so long you didn’t have time for anything? Not even dating?” Leon wondered, recalling when he first received your file in his hand, how much you resembled a government lapdog more than he ever did.

“Relationships are kind of hard to maintain when you look and act like you’ll rip someone’s head off any moment." Chuckling bitterly at the question, you looked directly into your glass and swirled the liquid around absentmindedly, the soft clinks of the ice cubes pulling you into a trance.

“Not something that’s been on my priority list. Gotta stay focused on the job, on getting things done. You know better than anyone that relationships are a distraction at most, a big liability.” You met Leon’s eyes for a second and returned to pick at the polished wooden countertop of the bar.

Truthfully, you were reiterating things that have been drilled into your head for as long as you could remember. It was how you adapted to manage the world around you. Remaining focused on your role and position, never venturing off too far from the norm, always following the grain. That was what you knew. It made sense, committing yourself to your duty and leaving little room for anything else in your life was what the D.S.O demanded of you, to keep you rooted in the status quo they’ve built centered around their goals for the organization.

Deep down, you wanted an intimate bond but felt too intimidated to get into one. You wished to feel another body’s warmth but were deemed too closed off to experience it. You wanted to feel the touch of another person beyond obligation but assumed it wasn’t worth your attention. You believed that you couldn’t want more because you were never given a chance to explore it. That may have been something you wanted, but it was easier to shut the idea out and pretend not to care about the emptiness you felt in your chest.

Leon knew what that felt like, that mentality had been his truth for so long that he thought he was a lost cause.

“It doesn’t have to be like that, not forever anyway,” he told you, trying to lift your spirits despite knowing there was some truth to what you confessed.

“You’re talking to someone that has been in a legal guardianship for years. Trust me, I don’t have the luxury of keeping relationships like that,” you stated, glimpsing again toward the newbies to see some of them kissing and placing bets, cheering loudly with drinks in their hands. You blocked out the noise, swallowing the rest of your liquor in one gulp, hissing at the slight burn of the whiskey going down your throat.

“It’s fine either way, not necessarily a bad thing in my eyes. Just how it is.” You called for the bartender again, getting another refill on your drink. In the back of his mind, Leon was probably growing worried, but he knew better than to tell you how to enjoy your night. This will be your last one, keeping your promise of lightening up on the alcohol tonight.

Witnessing the rookies socialize was a painful reminder of what you could never have. It bothered you, and while you kept it to yourself, Leon caught on to your train of thought. The years that you lost to your job made it difficult to look forward to anything beyond fighting bioweapons, if you managed to live long enough to get a different outcome. The flings you did partake in were enough to release some physical tension and keep you busy, but they were nothing substantial or worth remembering.

“That’s how you put yourself in this mindset. You believe that it’s how it needs to be, not realizing that it doesn’t have to be like that at all,” Leon replied, wanting you to understand that you deserved more, even if he doesn’t think the same for himself. 

“Really? Then tell me Mr. Casanova, why haven’t you settled down yet?” You asked him now, the alcohol kicking into your system and clearing any filter you had, which was already zero to none.

You knew he meant well, he always did, but flipping the inquiry back to him was a way to deflect and change the subject. You didn’t want to be the center of attention, much less your love life to be the main topic of the conversation, this way it was easier to run from the truth.

“How come I never see you with someone? You are reaching that age,” you squinted in his direction.

“Are you calling me old?” Leon scoffed at what you were implying.

“Nope, just saying you’re reaching settling down on a ranch with 3 kids and a dog age. No biggy.” You threw your hands up in fake innocence, lips curling into a grin.

“Hmmm, a ranch doesn’t sound too bad…” His expression matched your own, giving you a glance out of the corner of his eye to catch the way yours rolled back. 

“Yeah yeah, can you focus back on my question now?” You lightly shoved him on the arm. 

“I just never found someone I wanted to date, someone who shares my interests, who can be by my side through thick and thin. Someone I can call my best friend and partner. That’s why. Oh, and there is the fact that the D.S.O keeps me busy so I’m too preoccupied saving the world and what-not,” he finishes his speech with another sip of his non-booze.

“Oh, you want the whole package? Mr. Kennedy with his set list of qualifications. I didn’t expect anything less from you,” you snickered at him, drinking more of your whiskey in the process.

“You may be busy but that doesn’t mean you don’t fool around no? Cmon, you can tell me. I’m a big girl, I can handle the drama,” poking at him for fun, you grew curious to know more about Leon’s love life if he had one. The conversation started to flow better, on par with the alcohol that coursed through your veins.

“Maybe,” Leon didn’t react much to you, casually nursing his bottle with a smug smile. He was having fun watching how you behaved when you were on the brink of being tipsy, gasping out in playful shock at his confession. After all, toying with you was one of his favorite pastimes.

“Are you fucking serious? This feels scandalous.” Dramatic in your response, you smacked Leon’s arm as you couldn’t wipe the smirk off of your face.

“Never would’ve anticipated that from you. You don’t give me those vibes.” You joked more with him, not taking his reply seriously considering it was something so farfetched you didn’t see it as reality. Your mentor and your friend, sleeping around, who would’ve thought? Well, many would have, he was a grown man who had free will. 

“Maybe you should’ve,” he said, his face lighting up at the banter. “You don’t think I need a little fun in my life now and then? I have needs too,” he teased you back, finding your lack of ability to believe him amusing.

“Frankly, I thought you didn’t have it in you to speak to women in the first place. Now I’ve been proven wrong. I’ve known you for 4 damn years and I’m just now figuring this out? Unbelievable.” Dumbfounded at this new revelation, you shook your head with another chuckle.

“But hey, I don’t blame you. You get yours, at least someone has to," finishing your whiskey, you tapped your nails alongside the glass. You were given the chance to see two sides of Leon that were usually hidden from most people, his professional side that was more reserved, and this friendly side that was only accessible to those very close to him, you being one of them. 

“And who’s to say that you haven’t done anything either?” His grin widened more, not needing much to know that you had your fair share of fun over the past couple of years, but that was merely speculation.

“Now you’re trying to flip the script on me? That’s mean,” catching on to his tricks, the conversation began to deviate into unfamiliar territory.

“Besides, that’s for me to know and for you to never find out,” you turned to face him completely with a playful pitch in your voice.

Leon observed you, fully taking you in, and for the second time since he’d met you, he really saw you. The way your silhouette curved as you leaned into the bar, your arm bending at the elbow to prop your head up and look at him with a mischievous smirk on your face, and your eyes. God your eyes. Just the slightest bit hazy as you hit the precipice of being inebriated, focused only on him.

You looked pretty.

The thought came into his head one second and out the next, instantly taking a larger sip of his lukewarm beverage to wash it down and tuck it into the recesses of his mind where it was safe. He wished he could drink something stronger, but non-alcoholic beer will have to suffice for now.

“Oh really? Are you hiding something from me? You have that twinkle in your eye,” he didn’t mean for it to come off as flirty, but if you were paying enough attention you would’ve caught it anyway. You did.

“I don’t know, am I? You tell me, Leon,” you contested as if this were some sort of game, reciprocating his prior tone. The energy between the two of you was shifting into something new, something unfamiliar. 

Messing around with other D.S.O. agents was almost frowned upon, but that didn’t mean it never happened, nor did the rules stop anyone from breaking them in the first place. Neither of you ever flirted with each other before, didn’t even remotely think about it when you were in the same room together. The relationship you had was strictly professional and platonic, a bond that took years of trust to develop. Yet all of a sudden, it felt like you were both charting into the unknown.

Leon raised an eyebrow at you, not believing what he was hearing for a moment. His head tilted to the side as he analyzed your expressions, trying to get a read on you and predict where your head was at.

“You are, aren’t you?” His gaze flicked over your figure for the faintest second before focusing on your face again. You caught that too.

Leon was older than you, with more experience under his belt than most of his peers. He was your supervisor, your teacher, and someone who has been taking care of you, making sure you made it out of every mission alive and in one piece. He shouldn’t be entertaining this, but he couldn’t find it in him to stop. It felt exciting, something he never thought he would even consider.

“Maybe,” you mimicked his earlier comeback, mirroring the tilt of his head. You stared at him, no doubt noticing the curiosity in his eyes and how he was left wondering for more. He always saw you as someone he admired, someone he trusted and could work well with. Now? The lines that were put in place to pre-define your role in his life never looked so gray.

“I said I don’t do relationships. That doesn’t mean I don’t do other things.” Your words grew more suggestive as the exchange progressed, the tension becoming palpable between the two of you for the very first time.

“What other things do you do?” Leon didn’t even try to suppress his interest, wanting an answer to something he shouldn’t be concerned with. He’s considered it way back when, thought about how you engaged with other agents in the D.S.O., if you allowed them to get close enough. Whether it was in a professional manner or more, that was for him to figure out.

“I think you know Leon,” you toyed with him, unintentionally seducing him and leaving much to the imagination. You were enjoying this, and you knew you shouldn’t be. Messing around with your mentor and friend of all people? Sure, it might bite you in the ass later on, but you didn’t want it to end.

“What? Did you think I was a saint?” You asked him then, the rhetorical question throwing Leon in for a loop. 

Were you a saint? He found himself genuinely thinking about it, sitting in silence and letting your words hang in the air. His mind went blank, at least in terms of dialogue, but internally he was fighting every sudden urge to picture you in a completely different light. He was reading your body language, your personal morse code, a language he’s studied for years now left him in the dark for misinterpretation. His resolve was cracking, and his growing attraction to you filled his body with an electric rush he couldn’t brush off.

It scared the shit out of him.

“No…” Leon replied, not knowing why that was what slipped out of his mouth but it was the first thing that came to mind. 

“So I’m not a saint?” Another hypothetical question, the truth is you were far from that. In your youth, you used to be a fairly reckless person, getting around without caring much about the consequences of your actions. It was the only thing you felt you had control over, so in an act of rebellion, you indulged in it whenever you could. As you got older, your antics diminished, when really, you just got more selective about who you picked for a good time.

“Then what am I?” You challenged him, leaning a bit closer with this tantalizing energy that was never directed towards Leon up until this point. He’s seen you use your sweet talking for missions where you were undercover in rare instances, considering you didn’t enjoy flirting for the sake of getting information. He wondered about what the men who have been in his place must’ve thought of you, if their perception matched his. 

You didn’t know if you were being intentional with your flirting or if you were simply bored and riding the current wave of entertainment. This was fun to you, a game of sorts, but it was bad enough that you liked this. Openly flirting with your mentor who was 13 years your senior shouldn’t make you feel this buzzed, and yet the guilt seemed to be the last of your concerns.

Your words were the equivalent of pouring gasoline on a small flame that had just begun. Everything in you was enticing, and Leon felt heat rising in his whole being, a reaction he hadn’t felt in a while, a feeling he thought was long gone.

“Definitely not a saint,” he expressed with another airy chuckle. You were taunting him, and he was having trouble coming to terms with the fact that he was falling for it.

You decided to back off after that, now both at a standstill and staring at each other rather intensely. There was an unspoken tension between you, the air thick with desire and want, something that neither of you should feel for each other. You could blame it on the alcohol, or on the fact that it’s been a while since you did anything intimate with another person. But at the moment, flirting with the man in front of you was like taking a bite out of a forbidden fruit. Humming at his comment, you pulled away.

“Perhaps you’re right,” you sounded nonchalant, thinking it was best to call it a night instead of feeding into whatever this was.

“I think that’s enough drinking for me. Do you want to give me a ride home? Considering you’re the sober one here.” It was another regular thing he did to ease his mind, ensuring you got home safely after a night out. Currently, it felt like another excuse to be near him for longer than you should be.

Leon’s face felt hot when you pulled away from him. What the hell was he doing? He had a moment of clarity and he knew this was a mistake. It was too late to do anything now because a seed had been planted despite neither of you wanting to acknowledge it.

“Yeah, I’ll give you a ride home.” He took the first step and paid the tab, walking out of the bar with you behind him. His hand itched to hold yours, but he kept that to himself as the two of you trekked into the night and towards his parked jeep.

The drive back to your place was quiet as a gentle numbness washed over you from your copious drinking, leaning into the passenger’s seat to watch the city landscape of D.C. pass by through the window. The attraction you felt towards Leon was still there, bubbling alongside the beating in your chest like a drum, but you knew opening Pandora’s box would lead to unwanted destruction. It was safer to not address it, to bury it so far into the ground it could never be recovered again. As you pulled into the driveway of your apartment building, Leon put the Jeep in park, stopping in the front.

“Thank you for the ride and the drinks. I needed it after today,” the softness in your features returned as the corner of your lips turned upwards.

“It’s no problem,” Leon returned your smile. He hadn’t felt this way in a while, especially not towards you. He probably shouldn’t have said the next thing he blurted out, but he took a chance and threw caution to the wind.

“You know, you can invite me up if you want.” He wasn’t expecting you to accept, internally cringing and preparing to recoil from shooting himself in the foot. 

“Invite you up for what? Coffee?” You read between the lines to understand his intentions. Despite the nagging voice you heard screaming out yes, the voice of reason was playing tug of war with the little devil on your shoulder. “Are you hearing yourself right now?”

Leon was nervous. His heart was racing, the ignored sense of responsibility started to creep up on him no matter how hard he suppressed it. You were tipsy, and you two were not close enough to start that kind of relationship.

Or were you?

“Yeah, coffee?” He sported the faintest smirk he could muster. He didn’t know where his head was at or going for that matter, a battlefield with rationality and impulsivity grappling for control.

If you squint hard enough, you’d spot the apprehension in Leon’s eyes, paired with the subdued longing hidden in his blue irises. You knew better than to say yes, but the alcohol in your system clouded your judgment.

“Fine, coffee. But you’re only having one cup, you take enough as it is.”

Stepping out of his car and walking ahead of him, Leon’s presence loomed behind you, like a shadow you couldn’t escape from. This was nothing new, he’s been in your apartment a few times, the same way you’ve been in his for brief moments. The motives for doing so varied; more intensive mission debriefs, wellness checks, grocery drop-offs, and mostly to steal more coffee. 

The circumstances of having him come over this time were fairly different, you both felt it. But you remained colleagues and close friends, nothing more. As you unlocked the front door, you tossed the keys in the console table at the entryway and moved into the kitchen, putting some much needed distance between you and Leon.

“What flavor of coffee do you want? I have hazelnut, caramel, toffee nut, you name it.” You listed out his options to him, watching him from the corner of your eye as he leaned against a kitchen counter not too far from you.

“I’ll take hazelnut,” he ordered, observing you as you busied yourself with making the drinks. It felt selfish, raking his greedy eyes over you like you were his for the taking. It was as subtle as it could be, and he was aware being here in the first place was enough to constitute a bad idea. Since he was already in your apartment, he might as well indulge. 

“Where do you think the mission is taking place? I wonder what European country got on the D.S.O.'s radar this time.” Your voice broke the awkward silence in the kitchen, not wanting to deal with the stillness. In spite of being calm, your skin felt feverish, focused on the coffee that started to brew into the pot.

Leon remained quiet. At first, it was just his sight wandering over your body in full attention. Then it was his thoughts, visualizing things he shouldn’t, things about you. And now, it was how he was feeling, a craving for you that was gnawing at him with every passing second. He cleared his throat and forced himself to shift gears to find a suitable answer to your question.

“I don’t know honestly, probably some northern European country.” He hoped his answer would suffice, coming up with it off the top of his head.

“Well, I just hope it isn’t France. God knows it’s always something about the damn French getting their noses into something.” You kept the conversation going while your mind raced. You were never like this, especially not near Leon. Anxious and scared weren’t part of your character, rather you were confident to the point of bordering on arrogant and cocky.

You were out of your element.

Once the coffee was done brewing, you handed Leon a mug, pivoting to face him for the first time in the past 10 minutes.

“Are you trying to say that French people tend to be nosey?” Leon was sarcastic as he spoke, but it seemed to work in his favor. The shift in humor brought your relationship dynamic back to normal, at least for the time being. You two were back to what you have always been, friends and colleagues. Friends and colleagues…friends and colleagues. Those words ran through his head like a mantra. It was a last-ditch effort to repress the silly crush he’d been harboring for a while, and now it felt all too real.

“Yes, that’s exactly what I’m saying.” You sipped your coffee, slanting off a counter opposite to Leon, close enough to face him with adequate space to maintain your boundaries. It felt normal between you, as friends and partners. And in the gaps of your sanity, you imagined being with Leon in a way that was far from friendly. You took another larger gulp of coffee, the buzz from the caffeine waking you up and you hoped it would bring you to your senses.

“That was probably a bad French joke,” you mumbled after some time. Comedy was never your strongest suit, that was more of Leon’s thing.

“I’m sure the French wouldn’t appreciate being mocked, they don’t take kindly to that sort of thing,” he finished his coffee and placed the mug down on the countertop.

“I’m sure they’d cut my head off, but you can’t say I’m wrong.” You were also running on empty, taking both cups to wash them in the sink and place them in the dish rack.

“I’m tired now,” Leon declared, the atmosphere had calmed, and the prior interactions in the bar were long forgotten.

“You’re tired? The coffee didn’t do its job?” You glared at him with a credulous look, arms crossing over your chest.

“Maybe you should go home, get some rest, and enjoy the weekend,” you suggested, not wanting him to leave just yet, to relish what was left of the moment and escape reality.

“The coffee did its job. I’m just tired, been a long day.” He stood up straight from the counter, reading the room and recognizing it was his time to leave. “Talk to you on Monday then?”

“Yeah, talk to you Monday.” You confirmed with Leon, catching the way he looked at you a few seconds longer than expected.

You counted every step he took toward your apartment door, the back of his head disappearing as he went into the entryway. It was impulsive, it was stupid, probably the dumbest thing you’ve ever thought of doing in your 25 years of living. But right now, you could give less of a shit about morality and commitments. 

“Leon…” You called out to him, your feet moving before you could stop them. He had one hand on the door handle, just about to open it when he stopped in his tracks at the sound of your voice.

Bringing your face closer to Leon’s, you placed a light kiss on his lips, one that was short and sweet, just enough to test your wavering limits. You did it without thinking, without knowing if it would ruin your friendship, but you threw reason completely out of the window. Once the kiss happened, Leon was taken aback by it. He stood rigid, short-circuiting at the brief feel of your soft mouth against his.

He wanted more. He needed more. 

“I shouldn’t have…” He heard you starting to talk, ending your worries right then and there with a hand on your waist and meshing his lips with yours without a second thought. You reciprocated the next instance, your hands curling into the material of his leather jacket, bringing him closer than he’d ever been.

“This is so stupid,” you murmured, kissing him again as if you couldn’t get enough. You tasted the sweetness of the hazelnut coffee he just drank, the coffee you made him in your apartment. You longed for more of his touch, craved it, could drown in it for all you cared. “Please tell me I’m stupid.”

“You’re stupid,” he said in between kisses, igniting the new flame of passion in your foyer. A thrill of pleasure ran through him, wrapping a thick arm around your body to press you into him, standing chest to chest. “I’m stupid too,” he mumbled, his voice a little muffled, moving one of his hands to hold your soe jaw in place, not wanting to part from you.

“So damn stupid,” you kept trying to talk to him, getting lost in the feeling of his plush mouth moving over yours in a succinct rhythm. You shouldn’t be doing this, shouldn’t be kissing your mentor and your friend, shouldn’t be kissing someone that had so many years accounted for in both age and life experience.

How could something so wrong feel so good?

“We shouldn’t be doing this…” Your defenses crumbled with every press of his mouth, moving back a step as Leon pinned you against the wall. His hips rubbed into yours as he held you in place with a hand on your hip, a low groan escaping him at the contact.

“I know,” he whispered to you. He wasn’t listening to you, wasn’t listening to logic that was usually found in his level-headed psyche. He was hearing what he wanted to hear, the voices that told him to kiss you, to touch you, to claim you as his like he had wanted for so long.

He was addicted to you, wanting to consume you whole after starving for so damn long. He deepened the kiss to make room for his tongue, stroking yours in affectionate swirls. His hands moved from your shoulders to trace down the curve of your spine and caress your denim-clad thigh, thick fingers kneading at your body and giving you an experimental squeeze.

The kiss got more heated as Leon devoured every hum and sigh he could pull from you, chasing the taste of your coffee with his tongue. You moaned into him when his touch roamed to grab a handful of your ass, your fingers running through his blonde hair to keep him in place. Neither of you were thinking straight or concerned about the aftermath of what may follow after these turn of events. The adrenaline from the impulsivity was wearing off and anxiety was barging through you fast enough to give you whiplash. 

“Leon,” with a gasp of his name and a huff of your breath you shoved him away, seeking purchase on the wall. You didn’t want to stop, but you had to before things went too far. You held his gaze with his blown pupils, lips plump and tingling, your cheeks warm to the touch at what transpired.

“You should probably go,” you conveyed a shaky voice, not wanting to upset him but this decision was for the best.

Leon caught his bearings, left speechless by the recklessness of your mutual actions. The actualization of what occurred was starting to sink in, scrutinizing you with a look of confusion and his heart beating so fast he could feel it in his throat.

He wanted this to continue, wanted to hold you close and taste you again and again, wanted time to stop so this could be your new normal. He realized you were making the right decision, the one he should be making as your mentor.

“You’re right, I should go.” His breathless voice swayed as he talked. Reaching for the doorknob of your front door again, he opened it to take one step over the threshold of your apartment.

“I’ll see you Monday?” A short question, one that suggested more than what was asked. It was a silent code for you, to check in to see if you were on good terms with one another, to find out if this night ruined everything that’s been built over the past 4 years.

“Yeah, I’ll see you Monday.” It was a dry response, but it was good enough. He looked back at you one more time, feeling the need to say more than just that, but he said nothing.

Leon stepped outside and shut the door behind him, his hands going to his sides and fantasizing what could’ve been, what could still be if the circumstances were different. He may have left your home, but the feelings he had for you did not. He just had to hope time would heal it, that the yearning would eventually go away, that this improper crush would cease to haunt him.

You stood there with your feet planted into the hardwood floor, staring at the closed door as your mind played catch up. You couldn’t make sense of it, of what just happened between you and the man you held in such high regard. Your gut fluttered and your body throbbed, a fervency you haven’t felt in the past few weeks flourishing when that was the last thing you wanted. You shook your head to yourself, running a hand through your hair and releasing a quivering exhale.

What did I just get myself into?

©️ ovaryacted 2024. Please don’t repost, copy, translate, or feed into any AI. Support your fellow creators by reblogging, commenting, and liking!

[alicenotalice]

I’ve been following Etho for ten years and Joe Hills for maybe ten months, so a proper Joe Hills guy might have a different read—but to me they have equal and opposite energies as characters/personas/performers. They are both Just Normal Guys who are also Baffling Cryptids; but Etho is a faceless, bodiless entity who can cause colleagues and fans alike to pop their monocles and clutch their pearls by revealing mundane details about his physical reality (He eats sandwiches! He grows stubble! He experiences local wildlife! Stop, no more, my heart can’t take it!)

But Joe Hills of Nashville Tennessee, meanwhile, has built his whole persona around being...I’d say “uncompromisingly present.” The fourth wall is his canvas, his own self is the paint. Tune into a stream of his and you’ll likely be met with his giant, transparent, real life face imposed over the screen as he regales chat about his time at a local pinball tournament or the troubles of renting in Nashville

They are both weird little guys who’ve been around forever and don’t give a damn what the current prevailing wisdom has to say about how to run a gaming channel. And they’ve started crossing paths more and more, ever since TCG and DO2 and HC Vault Hunters—and for my small part I’ve found it wildly compelling!

Because—ok. Etho’s default mode in one-on-one collabs is to let the other person pick the play, and then back it. Figure out what the bit is and go along with it. Harmonize and amplify—which is how we got slapfights with Gem in the Decked Out lobby as well as “the ship burns, everything burns.” Meanwhile Joe’s improv comfort zone, to my eye at least, appears to lie upstream of whatever’s “expected.” He delights in the odd and surprising, he’s gleefully contrary, he’s helpful and wholesome, he’s a pain in the ass. King of malicious compliance, Joe Hills

A lot of their in-person interactions prior to the current season felt a bit like their cryptid energies cancelled each other out, leaving two Very Normal Guys having friendly if light conversation and being generally accommodating (the best example I can think of is Joe’s HC VH episode where Etho joined him on a cursed vault run). I suspect it’s because Etho was trying to defer to Joe to set the tone and pick the bit, while Joe was waiting for Etho to pick a direction so he could provide friction by running counter to it—so the banter never actually had a chance to start. That said! Both of them separately are charismatic performers who are very good at what they do, so even without a chemical reaction between them they manage to put on a good show…but imagine. Imagine if they DID have that reaction…

And that’s why the stonefrog deal is so fascinating to me—Joe Hills and Etho have a Bit now. A dynamic. A place where banter could theoretically happen. And that dynamic has gone through several tone shifts since Joe decided to lightly menace Etho by making the delivered stone shulkers spell out “Ethowo”

And again! It’s not like this is a major plot line in either of their videos! It pops up often on stream, but only because Joe spends most of his time there putting mountains into shulkers, and gets a lot of questions as to why he doesn’t just use TNT. It’s not a big deal…and yet. And yet!

[lvcky-g1rl-syndr0me]

⋆୨♡୧⋆bitchless era ending soon⋆୨♡୧⋆

walking into the meeting room y/n couldn’t help but internally scream. what the hell was he doing here? why didn’t her manager tell her about this? especially since she was just in practice and didn’t have time to dress up and hopefully look not a hot mess. her mouth dropped open in shock, resisting the urge to yell “what the fuck” in front of everyone. after a moment of awkward silence her manager spoke up. “y/n meet riki, riki meet y/n. you guys will be working together from now on. we set up this time for you to meet and talk and get to know each other.” she gestured to riki’s manager, “we’ll be going so you two can talk freely. have fun!” the two left and left riki and y/n alone. while y/n was having her internal panic, little did she know, so was he. the moment he saw her he knew he was fucked. after heeseung gave him no help, he had no idea what to say to her. “soo…” he said “your debut was really good!”. y/n didn’t know what to do. her celebrity crush of 3 years, just complimented her music. all that she could muster was “uh- thanks you too”. thanks you too???? why the hell would she say that? he laughs slightly, not being able to help but think about how cute she was. “um are you excited to start mcing?” she asks, nervousness clear in her voice. he smiled, “yeah i am, what about you?” she tried her absolute hardest to not say something stupid again and said “yeah! just a little nervous though. i’ve never done anything like this before.” riki saw his opportunity, he knew he had to take it. even though he had absolutely no idea what he was doing. “we should hang out sometime. i’ve done it a couple times before, i could give you some tips to make it easier!” no. fucking. way. too many thoughts were running through y/ns head. did nishimura riki really just ask her to hang out? there’s no way this is real. never did she think that this would happen “uhhhh- yeah! yeah sure that would be fun!” whatthefuckwhatthefuckwhatthefuck “okay nice! how about tomorrow?” whatshappeningwhatshappeningwhatshappening “yeah sure. that sounds perfect” holy. shit. cha y/n is hanging out with nishimura riki. “okay, ill see you then” riki had never been more nervous in his whole life. he couldn’t wait to shove this in all of his members faces. “im sure you have to get back to practice, right?” there was no shock as to why he knew that, she looked like a sweaty mess. “yeah, actually. i do. so i’ll see you then!” she overthought her every word, and move. how could she not when she’s around him. to her, he was perfect. “see you around!” riki left the room and practically ran back to his dorm. that couldn’t have gone better. y/n however, was freaking the ever living hell out. “did nishimura riki just ask me out? no that’s not possible we just met eachother! it’s friendly! that’s all!” after what felt like hours of contemplating she decided to go back to the dorm, tweet about it, and tell taesan and jaehyun. i mean, how was she supposed to go back to practice after something like this?

masterlist | next | previous

luckys note!: i’m sorry this took so long guys!! schools getting crazy since it’s almost the end of the year. but i hope you enjoyed the first written chapter! this is my first time like, actually writing so i hope it turned out good!

© lvcky-g1rl-syndr0me, 2024. do not copy, translate or upload any of my works without my permission.

(📌) PERM TAGLIST IS OPEN!

(🩷) MIDNIGHT FICTION TAGLIST! @nctislifue @akuspic @pkjay @siya-bean @eun-chaez @wavetosunoo @gweoriz @luminouskalopsia @soobiary @ivyannemarie @rikikiynikilcykiki @emma2black @enh4ht @wooziswife @jjunie-0 @yumilovesloona @wth121 @riksaes @isaxshin @allforhee @rikisgeef @chxrlvspp @sunghoonsarmpit @autumn583 @tzuyusluv

(dm me/comment under the midnight fiction masterlist to be added!)

[nalyra-dreaming]

Oh I love these:

Jacob Anderson

On Sam Reid's performance as dream Lestat: "I noticed after we did a few scenes together with that dynamic, I would just notice Sam copying me. I would have to be like, 'OK, he's studying the way that I stand or the way that I say things. It's the story. It's what's supposed to be happening.' But occasionally I was like, 'I don't do that!' Now I've seen the season, and I'm like, 'It's genius.' I'm looking forward to seeing what Sam says about playing Louis, essentially. It's Lestat as Louis remembers him, filtered through the things that Louis doesn't want to say, and can't say. And maybe the things that Louis is embarrassed or ashamed about, Lestat just says it."

Sam Reid

On Lestat and Armand's relationship: "They have a very, very, very messy relationship. I think a big part of why Lestat didn't want to go back to France, in Season 1, when they were in New Orleans, is because he doesn't want to run into Armand. He doesn't want to see Armand. He's got a very, very complex relationship with him. It's not like he's like, "Ugh, Armand!" [Disgusted noise] It's like, "Ugh." [Exasperated noise] He's not twisty, turny, thinking about Armand every single day or whatever. He's like, "Ugh, I just would rather… Yeah, I don't want him around." But when he does the flick of his wrist when he thinks about Armand, he's also flicking a huge chunk of his life away."

Delainey Hayles

On Louis and Claudia's relationship: "The book became like my Bible in a way, where I was able to look back and look at how Anne Rice describes Claudia. And I was taking into consideration that it's been her and Louis for a very long time. As a child, you absorb your surroundings. Claudia has spent a lot of time with Louis over the past couple of years. So I think, in a way, his empathy kind of rubs off on her."

Assad Zaman

On the show's memory theme: "I personally think often we equate — if the memory's a little bit inaccurate, then the feeling isn't real. [But] if you think back to our childhood, we elaborate on the stories in our heads so much, and often the tiniest things, moments that meant a lot to us become bigger as we remember them. Time slows down or speeds up, and people become larger or smaller in our heads depending on how they made us feel in that time. I think [there's] a lot of that this season — when we go into Paris, I think that's where the performative nature comes into it. We get to really embrace those emotions. The love between Louis and Armand, the romance, is one of the most beautiful parts of it, the way it starts."

Eric Bogosian

On his experience working on the show: "To be working on such complex material and be asked to do things that I haven't done before, and to be working with such amazing creative team — I mean... I've been around. I'm not speaking from, like, this is my second show or my third show. This is like, my 35th show, or 60th, or something. So when I say that Rolin [Jones] is amazing, Hannah [Moscovitch] is amazing — that's our writing team — and that Jacob and Assad are amazing — these guys are very generous. And I think a lot about [how] when you go into deep work as an actor, you have to feel safe. I have definitely not been safe [in the past], especially with men. Men can be real jerks on set, and the audience can't see it, because we have to do our job. But if you're with a bully star, it's hard to go to where you need to go to. And Jacob, who's mainly who I'm working with, he's a very loving guy. Maybe people don't want to know this about him. Maybe I'm only supposed to say things like, 'In real life he's actually a vampire,' but in real life, he's actually a real, very sweet man. Very human."

Ben Daniels

On Santiago's approach to the theater: "It's like people trolling on Twitter. It's like, they're hidden behind the screen, but his screen is the fact that he's pretending to be a human. And he sort of is getting those mortals by the scruff of the neck and saying, 'Look at yourselves. Look how ridiculous and pathetic you are.' But they lap it up because they think it's a show."

THERE'S MORE!

[damiansgoodgirll]

i knew i had to make a part two so here we go

damian priest x reader

here’s part one if you missed it - what i always wanted

what i always wanted pt. 2

“is everything okay?” rhea knocked on the bedroom door for the fifth time in two hours. you locked yourself in the room when you found out that you were pregnant. you didn’t want to see anyone as your mind was racing and you weren’t thinking straight.

rhea knew something was wrong. you never locked yourself in before and even when you were too sad to talk, you were always available in case rhea needed you.

so yes, it was weird for her to have you locked in a room.

“y/n please…can you say something?” she asked again, desperate. you knew well that she was capable of tearing the door down.

“uhm…can i please stay alone rhea?” you were sitting on the bed. the pregnancy test still in your hands.

“no”

“rhea…”

“no, let me in or i’ll break the goddamn door!”

you didn’t want to argue anymore so you simply unlocked the door and let her in, leaving the pregnancy test on the bed.

“so what’s going on?” she asked before eyeing the bed and seeing the test laying on it “no way…is it…is it positive?” she asked and you nodded, tears in your eyes again “is it damian’s?” she asked again and once again you nodded.

she knew the answer. she wanted you to confirm it.

“he doesn’t know yet right?”

“he doesn’t have to know rhea!” you almost screamed.

“don’t you think that he’s gonna find out eventually…” she said, sitting on the bed next to you.

“i don’t want him to know…he’ll get with me again just for the kid and i don’t want that, i absolutely don’t want that! it was pretty clear he didn’t want to raise a family with me but i know he will be feeling guilty if he knew he left me pregnant and alone…” you said, tears falling from your eyes “he’s the only man i’ve ever loved but i can’t force him to be with me…”

“do you think he doesn’t love you anymore?” she asked and you slightly nodded “oh girl…you couldn’t be more wrong…he’s broken without you, i see it everytime we are training together, he can’t stop asking me about you…he wants you back but he’s too scared”

“that’s why we broke up in the first place rhea! when i talked about a possible pregnancy he took a step back, being too scared to even have that conversation with me! i - i don’t know if i can handle a pregnancy without him but i don’t want him back just because of this…” you told her, rhea understanding your position.

“you two need to meet and talk. like real fucking adults. he would never back up from this, not only for the baby but because of you, he loves you, he wants you back, he’s sure you hate him and he rather be a ghost in your life that having you telling him that you hate him, you two need to meet. right, fucking, now” rhea said and even if her words shocked you a bit, you knew she was right.

“i’m texting him…”

“good! i’ll leave you alone, i’m going out for a few hours, need to do groceries, text me if you need me here okay?”

“okay” you smiled at her.

you composed a little, drying your tears and fixing your make up a little, at least to look presentable.

damian swore he missed a heartbeat when he saw your name popping up on his phone. you wanted to meet him at rhea’s place and he couldn’t wait for it.

he almost ran to his car when he saw the text message.

not even twenty minutes later you heard a knock on the front door.

taking a few deep breaths you stood up to open the door.

“whatever happens, it’s me and you little bean” you whispered and smiled softly touching your belly before letting him in.

“hey…” he slowly greeted you.

“hi”

“how are you?” he felt awkward. like he didn’t know what to say.

“i’ve…i’ve been better…”

“yeah…” an uncomfortable silence before he started talking again “so, you wanted to see me?”

“yes…there’s something i have to tell you, why don’t we sit on the couch?” you asked and he nodded so you led him into the big living room.

he sat in front of you, his eyes never leaving your face.

“y/n…i’m…”

“no damian, please, let me talk…it’s really important and…uhm, well, it’s something you have every right to know…” you said, never meeting his eyes.

“okay…”

“damian i’m pregnant.”

silence.

an awkward and uncomfortable silence.

“you…are pregnant” he repeated and you nodded “and it’s mine” he said. not asked, he was sure that the baby was his baby.

“i know you didn’t want that and i…”

“i love you y/n” he interrupted you “i never stopped loving you and the day we broke up was the saddest day of my life…i can’t believe i’ve even been so stupid to let you go…that’s the biggest mistake i’ve ever made” you were speechless “i want a family with you, i want our house to be full of kids…” he slowly got up and knelt in front of you “i want to wake up to our baby crying because they’re hungry, or because of a nightmare…i want to hold them while they are sleeping, i want to have a family with you, i’ve been too scared to admit it to myself, and for that i let you go and lost you…”

“you could never lose me damian…”

“i lost you the moment i broke up with you…” he says crying a little.

“you hurt me, a lot…and it will time to forgive you but i can’t live without you here, i love you so much damian and i missed you so bad these past weeks…”

“i love you, i want you back and i’ll fight through hell if i have to” he said making you smile.

“what about the baby?”

“i want this, i want this y/m, i’m serious…i want to have a cute little family with you, i want to be a dad, and i know you’ll be an amazing mom, i just know it…” he sat back on the couch next to you, taking your hands into his bigger ones “let’s do this, let’s have this baby together, cause i ain’t leaving you…”

you smiled, thinking about how you missed him and now that you had him again.

“let’s go back home” he said and you nodded, having him to lead you back home.

the little home where you will be growing an amazing family together.

[my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction]

Not too smutty but--

Shimmer!Kane is definitely the type to keep your bed "messy" by average standards but insists the blankets are arranged specifically to be a "nest".

Every time you remake the bed, twenty minutes later you come back and it's a mess again; blankets piled and arranged almost perfectly in the middle, pillows strategically placed for the most comfort...

You ask him why but he can't really tell you (instincts, duh!). But it's perfect to snuggle in! (And y'know nice and cosy to pound your brains out later if you want)

I am screaming over this!! (Also I'm so sorry this took me so long!)

Shimmer!Kane x afab!Reader • Rating: 18+ pals • Masterlist• ao3• want to be tagged? | request info • ko-fi •

A/N: My brain is just like is this a one shot? Is there a part two? What am I doing? Also I have to tag @ominoose just because all of their amazing Kane fics and head canons have just shaped my brain.

Warnings: pining, dry humping, over use of italics, typos, not beta read, railroad sentences, please let me know if I've missed a warning!

Word Count: 811

“Kane, what the fuck?” You sigh, no real heat in your words. 

He looks up at you from where he’s crouched over the bed, the faintest hint of a quizzical expression on his features. 

“What are you doing?” 

He shakes his head a minute, obviously not understanding. 

“I just made the bed, and now you’ve,” you gesture half-heartedly, “done whatever this is.” 

The pillows were piled seemingly haphazardly in the middle, the duet cover bundled up. As you looked you realised that he had also brought the bedding from his own bed onto yours. 

“It’s fine when it’s just your bed, but can you not come in here and mess with mine?”

You’d been assigned to ‘monitor’ him, try to help him adjust back into everyday life after… whatever happened. You weren’t privileged with the details, or even the vague notion.

He continues to look at you with that quiet stare he had, like he was trying to read the dictionary definition for every single word you said. 

You sigh again, moving towards the bed and beginning to put your pillows back at the top of the bed. 

Kane stood quickly, putting his hand softly on your forearm to stop you. You stare at him, a small frown of confusion on your face. 

When he doesn’t say anything for a moment you move to continue your task, but his grip tightens. 

“Stop.” He whispers, his voice barely audible. 

Your frown deepens. “What? Why?” 

You swallow as he stares intently at you, his lips slightly parted, his pupils dilated. It’s only now that you realise how close he’s standing to you. 

“Kane?” You whisper, your heart thudding in your throat. 

He was handsome, of course he was. But looks weren’t everything. 

He was kind, considerate. He listened when you talked, did little things to be helpful, affectionate. He made you drinks without even asking, usually bringing them to you a second after you realised you were thirsty. When the temperature dropped close to freezing a few weeks ago, he’d warm blankets in the tumble dryer and bring them to you, offer you hot water bottles and put your slippers by the radiator when you weren’t wearing them. 

He liked to be in the garden, around plants and animals and taking care of things. The apple tree hadn’t stopped blossoming, despite its leaves coming in since he’d been here. The forget-me-knots hadn’t been hampered by the late frost. Bumble bees and butterflies gathered around the honeysuckle that had bloomed exceptionally early, its sudden growth spurt meaning it was now covering most of the back wall it leant against. 

You liked him being here. 

You liked him. 

Kane carefully placed his hands on your shoulders and gently guided you with your back to the bed before he slowly moved you, urging you to sit  and then lay in the middle of the pillows and blankets. 

You stared up at him, a little bewildered as he climbed in next to you. 

“Comfortable?” He asked in that soft voice of his, but you weren’t sure if it was really a question or just an affirmation. You nod your head anyway. 

He pressed his lips together, deep in thought for a moment on your reaction, before he moves to lay on top of you, pressing his thighs between yours and settling his hips against yours. 

You freeze out of surprise. He’s never done something so bold before. You look up at him, his nose barely an inch from yours. 

Your mouth goes dry, anxiety building under his heavy gaze, like a scientist looking at a specsamin in a jar. 

“Kane,” you whisper, “what are you doing?”

“Are you uncomfortable?” 

You shake your head without thinking and there’s a little flicker of emotion that crosses his face. Satisfaction, you think. 

“Why, erm,” your mind is short circuiting with him this close, the warmth radiating off his skin, the sweet, almost floral smell that permanently surrounds him fills your lungs. The way the hard outline of his cock presses against your core. “Why did you bring your blankets in here?” You blurt out. 

“Making a nest,” he says simply, like that was all the information you would need. “Wanted it to smell like us.” 

He dips his head lower, nuzzling against the side of your neck and breathing deeply. 

“A nest?” You gasp as he rocks his hips against yours, leaning closer so that your chests are flush. 

“Hmm.” He continues to run his lips and cheeks over your neck, feeling your skin and sighing contently. All the while he rolls his hips languidly, dragging his cock against your heat. 

You can’t hold back the shudder and whine as his fly presses deliciously against your clit. 

While it doesn’t hamper his movements, the sound obviously amuses him and he focuses his actions solely on making you repeat it.

Thank you for reading!

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