#she looked RADIANT in the series finale

[milswrites]

Hobbies Part 5.

~Azriel X Reader~

Summary: In an attempt to keep Azriel away from Elain, Rhys sends him on a sabbatical to the Day Court. With a lot more free time on his hands Azriel needs to find something to keep him occupied. Unfortunately he meets Y/N who has the annoying habit of not staying away. Can she teach him that there’s more to life than he thought?

Grumpy!Azriel X Sunshine!Reader

Series masterlist

Warnings: Lots of fluff. Tiny bit of angst (I can’t even tell at this point). Very vague references to sex. Cliffhanger (Whoopsies)

Five hours later, once Azriel had planned out the date and bathed the sticky multicoloured icing from his skin, he had begun pacing his flat in anticipation of Y/N’s arrival. Shadows swirling around him, sensing their masters spiked anxiety. Should he have offered to pick her up from her own place? Does she even know this is a date? He had asked her to go out but he had never explicitly said the word date.

He was sweating profusely under the black dress shirt he had adorned for the occasion, glad he had one packed. Azriel had been with plenty of women over the years but taking one on a date? This would be the first.

It was only after she had left his flat that he realised he had never even given her a definite time to meet, just a vague promise of seeing her later. Azriel blames Y/N for this lack of communication, planting the kiss on his cheek and leaving him speechless.

So here had been for the last hour, moon now high in the sky, waiting for her to arrive. Having far too much time to overthink about everything that could go wrong. He had to stop himself from anxiously walking over to the mirror in his bathroom for a sixth time to make sure his hair was in place and question whether he should wear other clothes than all black, not wanting to look like death personified next to Y/N’s radiant self. No, he would stick with what he was comfortable with, Y/N wasn’t one to judge. That and Azriel didn’t own anything other than black clothes and he was sure if he ran to the shop now he would miss Y/N.

Finally, a soft knock at his door broke his pacing. His shadows all flew to the door whispering in excitement, waiting for it to be opened so they could be blessed by her presence. Straightening the collar of his shirt, Azriel took in a deep breath. He wasn’t going to let his fluctuating attitudes ruin tonight. He would allow himself to have fun.

He grabbed the handle of the door, looking up to the ceiling and praying to the Mother that tonight would run smoothly, and slowly pulled it open.

~~~~~

If Azriel was the personification of death, Y/N must have been that of life. As she stood there in his entryway, mouth slightly open as her eyes drifted over Azriel’s form, he couldn’t help but think that everything in his life just felt like it now made sense.

He looked from her dress, a soft pink which Azriel thought complimented her oh so beautifully, the entirety of which was patterned with hand embroidered flowers of a deeper shade of pink, and forced his gaze to move to her face where a nervous smile was resting.

“You look…wow” he finally spoke, gulping as he took in the sight of her. A rosy blush that matched her dress crossed her face, “Thank you. You clean up nicely too”. A matching tint formed on his own cheeks.

“So what’s the plan?” She asked curiously, looking up into his eyes which were still trailing the length of her body.

“Uh well I realised I don’t actually know anywhere nice to eat in this Court so I’ve kind of planned something else” Azriel tried to keep it vague, hoping to keep the true plan somewhat of a surprise.

“Sounds perfect! Lead the way!” She grinned, before stepping to the side to allow Azriel and his wings to fit through the doorway. Before he could even step out, his shadows rushed towards Y/N twirling around the skirt of her dress. Fearful that his shadows would scare her, Azriel went to angrily call them back. But he was stopped in his tracks by a melodic laugh slipping from her lips as she began to spin round with them as if they were dancing.

It was at this point Azriel made the decision to not stand there stunned like he usually does in situations where Y/N makes his heart pound and he doesn’t know what to do. Instead, trying to find some semblance of confidence, he reaches out to take Y/N’s hand which was outstretched for balance as she spun. He grabbed it in his own scarred one, and raised them together, allowing her to twirl underneath him, shadows in tow.

Their surroundings forgotten, this little dance continued for a few minutes, smiles on their faces as they were absorbed into the moment. Spinning and moving together fluidly. Wanting to feel her even closer, Azriel reached out his other hand hoping to come into contact with her waist, only to be interrupted by a squeak from the end of the corridor which caused him to draw his hand back.

His head snapped towards the sound, eyes viciously landing on the neighbour who earlier that day had witnessed him standing there in his frilly yellow apron. A low growl came from Azriel’s throat as the neighbour awkwardly rushed forward to pass them in the corridor, Y/N’s hand leaving his to make space for the neighbour to get past with a high pitched “sorry” coming from them as they sped round to the other stairway.

Azriel’s shadows had stopped dancing, electing to disappear during the awkward moment. The moment was gone much to Azriel’s disappointment, the embarrassment of being caught creeping up his spine was testament to that.

Noticing his red ears, Y/N placed a calming hand onto his chest, which of course made them even redder. “Come on! I’m excited to see what you’ve planned!” Of course Y/N wouldn’t be phased after being caught dancing in the corridor.

“Yeah” Azriel sighs, dejected. Annoyed at the lack of control he had over his body prior to being caught, and so when the pair walked out of the building he made sure to leave some space between them, not wanting to do anything else rash that would undoubtedly lead to further embarrassment.

~~~~~

Azriel led the way, walking towards the location of the date. He wanted to talk, but after what had transpired outside the flat he was afraid to and so he had to put up with walking in silence. Y/N clearly wasn’t bothered as she hummed happily, either having not noticed the arm length of space between them or choosing not to comment on it.

Azriel was kicking himself, he was on a date with a beautiful woman and he couldn’t bring himself to find the words to speak. He wished he had his brothers with him. Cassian would have prepared him for the date, he would have made sure his friend was filled with confidence and prepped lots of things for Azriel to talk about. Rhysand would have fussed over his clothing and given him tips on how to flirt, how to complement a woman and make her blush until her knees wobble.

Yet his family had abandoned him here. But now weeks later after the fact, Azriel couldn’t help but feel grateful for the events that had transpired otherwise he would have never met Y/N.

Y/N who was walking next to him, eyes full of love and admiration as if she was taking in the moonlit surroundings for the first time even though she undoubtably walked these streets daily as she headed to and from work.

On and on they walked, Y/N’s humming being the one thing that kept Azriel earthed, preventing him from freaking out and flying off in fear that he couldn’t do this right. Fear that he didn’t know how to act on a date. Until finally they approached the garden Azriel had found during one of his nightly flights around the city.

Azriel had originally landed in this hidden piece of paradise because he was searching for a little trace of Elain, a reminder of what he was missing out on from being away from home. Only once he had entered the gates to be greeted by garishly bright sunflowers his thoughts were only on Y/N.

He had spent hours walking around the garden on the first night he had discovered it, appreciating the hundreds of plants and flowers that grew inside of the gates. It was only after his third visit here during his nightly outings that he pictured Y/N here with him, walking along the trailing path, smiling up at him as she smelt the flowers, admiring their beauty as he admired her. It only made sense to Azriel that he had to bring her here. See if Y/N reacted to it in the same way she did in his dreams.

Her reaction did not disappoint. Azriel held open the gate for her, allowing Y/N to enter with a gasp upon her lips.

“Oh Azriel it’s beautiful! However did you find this?” Y/N was whispering, her awe at where she was overwhelming. Azriel silently watched on as tears filled her eyes, trying to cement this moment into his mind forever. Y/N in her pretty pink dress, standing in the garden.

It was only after he was certain the picture of Y/N, surrounded by flowers as beautiful as she was, was permanently fixed into his brain did Azriel then allow himself to talk. “There’s more” Azriel too spoke in a quiet whisper, afraid of interrupting the perfect moment that was occurring.

Y/N’s eyes which were filled with an emotion Azriel couldn’t place, looked to his expectantly. Gently, Azriel placed his scarred hand onto her back and led her through the garden, allowing her to stop whenever she wanted to appreciate a flower she found particularly beautiful. Until finally the plants broke away, revealing a clearing in the middle of the garden where Azriel had set up a blanket, jars of faelight holding it down and twinkling under the light of the moon. A wicker basket was placed on top, filled with goods he had bought from the market earlier in the day.

“Oh Azriel!” Y/N cried out, taking a step towards the picnic. His hand moved from the small of her back, tentatively grabbing her hand and pulling her towards the blanket to sit down.

“I know it’s not fancy, I should have probably taken you for a meal out. And don’t worry I didn’t do any of the baking, wouldn’t want to poison you again.”

Y/N didn’t even laugh at Azriel’s joke, she just threw herself over the basket on the ground and latched her arms around his neck, pulling him in tightly for a hug. It took three deep breaths before Azriel responded, wrapping one arm around Y/N’s body which was pressed against his, whilst using the other hand to brush the hair that had fallen from behind her ear back.

She pulled away, wincing in pain from the basket that had been digging into her stomach. “It couldn’t be more perfect Az” she smiled, resting her hand over his.

The two ate the food Azriel had bought, making light conversation about the garden they were sitting in and the food they were consuming. Until finally, stomachs full, they both laid back onto the blanket in order to gaze at the stars shining above them.

“What’s it like? In the night Court I mean” Y/N shyly asked, as if afraid of talking about the spymasters home might set him off.

Azriel felt no spike of anger as she mentioned his home court. In fact he didn’t even feel the painful longing he usually did at the thought of it, wanting to be nowhere else but in the present with Y/N.

“It depends where you are. The Illyrian camps are no paradise. But there’s some places…a city that is so magnificent it still takes my breath away every time I see it. That’s where I live. Sometimes I spend hours flying above it and no matter how many times I do I always see something new.” Azriel said whilst closing his eyes, allowing himself to picture it.

“Ah Velaris, the secret city,” Y/N teased, causing Azriel’s eyes to snap open as he sat up and looked at her in shock, “Helion’s a talker” she shrugged as if it was common knowledge.

Azriel laughed and settled back down, head resting onto his hands behind his head, gaze once more returning to the stars. “I’ll take you one day” he confirmed, wanting nothing more than to share his home with Y/N.

He didn’t have to look at her to know she was smiling as she replied, “I’d like that.”

“Maybe you could make a dress just for the Night Court” Azriel mused, imagining what Y/N would look like in all black before deciding he wasn’t sure if he would want to see her with her colour taken away.

“I’d make you a matching tunic so we could wear them together, only I’m not too sure how to make clothes for Illyrains.” Y/N brushed his wing lightly with a finger as she said this, causing Azriel to stiffen as they twitched responsively.

Obviously he didn’t expect Y/N to know about the sensitivity of an Illyrians wings so he did his best to calm himself, nervously stuttering, “yeah the wings are really something.”

“It must be the best feeling ever, flying.” She said wistfully, staring at the night sky as if imagining she was up there. “I can think of some better feelings…but yeah it’s definitely up there” Azriel spoke, turning his head to admire Y/N. The moonlight making her skin shimmer.

“If I were born with wings I’d travel the whole world. I would see everything Prythian has to offer.”

Azriel wanted to burst her bubble, tell her most of Prythian wasn’t even worth visiting. Yet he held his tongue, not wanting to dampen her dreams. Instead he encouraged them, “where would you fly to first?”

“To Velaris,” she said, finally turning her head to meet his eyes, “I’d have to pick you up first before we go.” Her hand creeped over to Azriel’s which was laying on the blanket before entwining their fingers. “I have a big wingspan, what makes you think you’d be able to keep up?” Azriel warned, smirk on his face. “I think you’d wait for me” Y/N said knowingly, matching smirk on hers. “I’d wait forever for you if I had to” Azriel squeezed her hand as he said this.

“Just you and me and the whole world to explore. Sounds like a good dream.” Y/N smiled sadly, no doubt referring to the fact she didn’t have wings like Azriel’s and reminding him their planning was all based on fiction.

Adamant he didn’t want to see her sad, Azriel shot up onto his feet, hand held out to Y/N to pull her up, “Come on!” He ordered.

Y/N sat up on the blanket, eyebrows creased in confusion, “What?”

“Come on!” He pressed, pushing his outstretched arm even closer to her impatiently, “We’re going flying.”

Y/N released a sound of disbelief, grabbing onto his hand and jumping up from the ground excitedly, “Brilliant! So how do we do this?” She asked, referring to how she would be carried.

Azriel’s eyes widened slightly, “uh well it would probably be easier if I just…” and with that he grabbed her and swept her into his arms, one going behind her back for support and the other holding up her legs.

Giggling in anticipation for the flight, Y/N once more ran her fingers down Azriel’s wings in admiration as he spread them wide and shook them ready for flight. He flinched abruptly, almost dropping her in shock before he stuttered, “It’s probably best you stop touching them or I don’t think we’ll ever get round to flying.”

This time instead of just her cheeks flaring red, her entire face flushed, clearly now understanding the implications of touching an Illyrians wings. Finding himself liking her response, Azriel bravely sent her a wink before shooting into the sky. Y/N’s arms flying around his neck and face pressing into his shoulder with a squeal at the speed he had launched from.

Azriel steadied out once high enough in the air, but Y/N still kept her face tucked into his neck in fear. “You can look now” he teased, urging her to lift her head but all he felt was the firm shaking of it against his shoulder so he continued, “We can’t go flying the world together if you won’t look at it? You won’t see much like this.”

That got her attention, Y/N’s head raising, but her eyes didn’t take in the view. Instead they found their home on Azriel’s face. “But I don’t have wings” she pouted up at him.

“But I do” he said with a laugh, batting his wings a little harder so they blew her hair into her face playfully.

“You mean it?” She asked in disbelief that he’d be willing to carry her just so she could see the world.

“Only if you take a look” he whispered into her ear, daring her to break eye contact and take in the view. And so she did and Azriel couldn’t have been more in love than he was in that moment.

Y/N beamed as she looked down on the city. “Look you can see the palace!” She pointed out the large building that towered over the rest of the city, “and my house! This is amazing!”

Azriel didn’t move his gaze to take in any of the sites, instead it stayed locked on Y/N as he replied, “yeah it is.”

“I’m going to want you to fly my everywhere!” She cheered excitedly.

“Wherever you need” Azriel replied, taking his focus off of where he was flying so he could rest his head against hers while she sat happily in his arms, “I would never put you down if you asked me not to.”

Azriel could see the struggle it took for Y/N to pull her eyes from the stunning sight of the twinkling city at night but she managed to, turning to Azriel and shifting slightly in his arms to face him better.

“And if I asked you to hold me forever?”

“Then nothing, no one, would stop me from holding you until the day the Mother takes me.”

Y/N released a small strangled cry at Azriel’s words before she leaned forward in his arms to softly place her lips onto his. Responsive, Azriel meets her halfway, their lips moving together in a passionate dance. Y/N went to deepen the kiss, drawing her tongue languidly against Azriel’s lower lip and in his surprise at her need to take control he completely forgot the two were in the air, relying on the beat of his wings to keep them afloat.

And so they fell.

Y/N releasing a scream as their lips tore apart and Azriel struggled to regain his grip on her flailing body as he turned his attention back to flying. Once she was secure in his arms one more he spread his wings out wide to level out, stopping their freefall.

Y/N panting slightly as her adrenaline at being dropped slowly evaporated, bravely placed her lips near Azriel’s until they brushed before pulling away as he eagerly tried to meet them once more. She shakily spoke against them “I think we’re going to need a rule about kissing while flying.”

Barking out a laugh, Azriel agreed before asking her which direction her home was in. He held her even tighter as he flew in the direction Y/N had pointed in, not wanting to permanently scar her so she never wanted to fly with him again.

He landed as gentle as he could, pulling her closer against him to make her feel safer as he did so, before he carefully placed her back onto the ground, a large hand around her back to ensure she didn’t stumble as she regained her footing.

“I think it’s safe to say this has been the best birthday I’ve ever had.” She grinned up at him, her hand finding his once more.

Azriel opened his mouth to reply but was interjected by one of his shadows moving up to frantically whisper in his ear, causing a frown to adorn his face. In her euphoria Y/N failed to notice this, instead she led him by their interlocked hands towards her front door.

“Would you like to come in?” She asked, dropping his hand to unlock the door. He cursed under his breath at the untimely appearance of his shadow. “I’d love to really but I’m sorry, I best go home. It’s getting late after all” he had to force the words out, throat closing tightly to try and stop him from saying them.

Y/N’s smile stayed on her face, Azriel knew if she was disappointed she wouldn’t let it show.

“That’s alright”, she said perhaps a bit too overly happy, “you’re right it’s late. Besides, I have something fun planned for us tomorrow, I should get that ready.” Azriel released the breath he didn’t know he was holding at the fact she wanted to meet him tomorrow, Y/N mustn’t be too hurt.

“Oh yeah”, he smiled back at her, batting away the shadow that was still whispering in his ear, “what fun things have you got planned?”

“That’s for you to discover tomorrow” she chided before her lips came to meet his once more. Azriel kissed her back, deeply breathing in her vanilla scent and gripping her waist tightly to avoid his hands wandering elsewhere. His shadow, annoyingly still chittering away into his ear, causing him to reluctantly pull back from the kiss.

“Tomorrow” he huffed, disappointed he had to leave and couldn’t come inside as he wished.

“Tomorrow” she confirmed before retreating into her house for the night.

~~~~~

Azriel was growling the whole flight home. His perfect night had been interrupted, he tried to brush away the thoughts of what could have happened if he had entered the house with Y/N. Best not to dwell on what he couldn’t have. He had tomorrow to make up for that.

Roughly landing outside his flat he stormed through the buildings corridor, where he had danced with Y/N, to his door, flinging it open in anger and stepping inside.

His shadows alerting him to the presence in the corner of the room.

“Hello brother,” Rhysand purred, “ready to go home?”

Part 6

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Taglist: (oh my there’s so many of you now! Thank you guys for all your continued support xx)

@minnieoo @thelov3lybookworm @going-through-shit @iluvyewman-blog @laughterafter @amysangel @bigcreatorwombatdreamer @aaronwarnerobsessedmylove @justvibbinghere @honeybeeboobaa @willowpains @tele86 @mysticalfuncollectorus @mybestfriendmademe @starryhiraeth @gorlillaglue25 @moonlwghts @darling006 @anuttellaa @serendipityx150 @xxxalicerogersxx @that-one-little-soybean @scatteredstardustt @naturakaashi @nyx-the-alien @lostinpages13 @namelesssav @dreamlandreader @fightmedraco @maxmouse001

(If I’ve missed any of you off I’m so sorry please let me know)

[seresinhangmanjake]

Not Your Type: Part 1

Jake Seresin x Goth Girl!Reader

Summary: Jake Seresin doesn't usually have to try hard to get women, but the only woman to catch his attention in a long time doesn't want anything to do with him.

Notes/Warnings: Jake is annoying in this part. Unwanted flirting. This is a series, but it will be more like glimpses into their lives over time. Cursing. Eventually 18+

Words: 1269

Not Your Type Masterlist

Day 1: Meeting

“Holy shit.”

Bradley finishes his swig of beer before following his teammate's locked stare. Chuckling as he shakes his head, he says, “Don’t even bother.”

Jake’s eyes don’t waver from the woman who has snatched his attention quicker than a snap of the fingers. “Why not? She–”

“Deserves to be spared from your bullshit,” Bradley interrupts. “You pull a lot of shit on a lot of women, do you really think it’s a good idea to fuck with one that looks like she’ll cast some sort of spell on you?”

The blond’s head turns and tilts to keep his view of the woman covered in black from head to toe as she moves through the crowd. “I’m not so sure she hasn’t already.”

“Jesus,” Bradley mutters, putting the bottle to his lips again. He rolls his eyes at Jake’s lack of blinking while watching her take a seat at the bar. “Goth princess over there is not going to want anything to do with you. You look like a shiny, private school douchebag. You are a shiny, private school douchebag.”

“What do you think the chances are she’s into that?”

“Zero. Did you not just hear me?”

Finally, green eyes meet brown. “You know, you could take a lesson from Bob and be a little more supportive.”

Bradley snickers, nudging his head the woman’s way. “I give it five minutes and you’ll be limping back over here with your tail between your legs.”

Jake pats the brunet on the shoulder. “Thanks, buddy.”

“Any time.” 

—

Out of the chaos of melding sounds, it’s the scrape of a stool over hardwood flooring that manages to stand out. Surrendering your effort to separate one voice from another, you open your eyes to see in your peripherals that the stool—the stool that was right next to you; the stool that was perfectly satisfied being vacant—has been disturbed. It was unmoving and empty, as you liked it, and now it’s occupied, as you do not like it. A knee nearly bumps yours as a body shifts to get comfortable, but it’s pulled back in time to avoid the collision. 

With arms braced on the bartop, the man now beside you leans forward a bit to place himself in your line of vision; not fully, but enough for you to detect a hint of blond hair and tanned skin and pearly white teeth. 

“Hi,” he says. When you glance his way, his eyes gleam, emphasizing the sparkling flecks within the green. “I’m Jake.”

“Is that so.” 

Your lips thin in unenthused acknowledgment and you return your attention to your fingers twisting the stem of your martini glass. The black lip print on the rim makes two full rotations before he opens his mouth again.  

“Are you waiting on somebody?” he asks. “A date, maybe?”

“No,” you tell him, immediately cursing yourself for providing him with an answer. 

Somehow his grin gets bigger. Too wide, too radiant, too confident. He’s too squeaky clean for your taste. “What’s your name?”

You take a sip of your drink and let the entirety of it, aftertaste included, disappear completely before you say, “What could you possibly need my name for?”

“Should I just call you Hot Goth Princess instead?” He smirks. “I’m not against it if that’s what you want, but it’s less personal than I prefer.”

This guy wants your full attention—well, he’s got it. Your brows knit and you shoot him a glare. “No, you should not call me Hot Goth Princess,” you snap.

You don’t know his game, but you know you’re not interested. You’re not interested partly because he should not be interested in you. There’s a type that goes after you; dark, brooding, with tattoos that were done in a dirty garage after getting high. However, you won’t deny there are striking similarities in what attracts you to those men and what this man also possesses. The light eyes, the bone structure, the neat hair and the muscles thick enough to rip the short sleeves of a shirt. He ticks plenty of the boxes on your superficial checklist, but he’s also the antithesis of everything you are. If he weren’t showing signs of being the jerk you think he is, he’d be sunshine-bright to an irritatingly blinding degree; and you weren’t called Vampire Girl by some preteen brats the other day for no reason. 

“How would you like it if I called you Over-Confident Ken Doll?”

You don’t back away when he leans in a little closer. “Sweetheart, if that’s what turns you on I’d be all for it.”

Your eyes narrow. “How does this work on other women?” you ask.

“What other women?” 

That green gaze slowly roams about your face, lingering on your mouth the longest. He stares and after a moment, you think he’s gotten lost. He stares like he wants to lick the midnight hue right off of your lips. He stares as other men have stared; their minds wandering, undoubtedly imagining what a black ring of lipstick would like around their cocks. 

“I only see you,” he says.

He meets your eyes again and in return you roll yours so hard you have a brief moment of concern that they might stay that way. “That is the biggest batch of bullshit I’ve ever heard in my entire life.”

He blinks and flinches, drifting a few inches out of your personal space. “What do you mean?”

A scoff leaves your mouth. “I’m not your type, Sweetheart.”

“You’re not?”

You turn in your seat, facing him. 

“It’s Jake, right?” He nods, and you don’t miss the harsh bob of his Adam’s apple. “Well, Jake, I’m not new around here. I’m a regular, actually, and you know what? You’ve not noticed me before tonight. Not once. But I've noticed you. You’re loud and arrogant and it’s a very specific type of woman that flocks to you.” Your hand plants on your chest directly above your heart. “I am not that type of woman. So whatever this is that you’re doing,” you say, motioning between your body and his, “I don’t buy it.”

Either he’s not quick enough to come up with a logical response or you’ve stunned him into silence. He doesn’t say a thing when you twist back around in your seat and finish off your drink in one gulp, but his eyes on your face are burning. 

“Don’t waste my time,” you continue, “Or risk having your ego bruised further.”

The silence between you lasts too long, edging its way into awkward territory. Thankfully, he breaks it.

“Alright,” he mutters. He clears his throat and stands. “Sorry.”

You avoid looking his way until he’s far enough for a few bodies to partially block your view of him and the friend he joins. The friend laughs as Jake runs a hand through his hair. Still laughing, he says something, and Jake gives a defeated shrug of his slightly slumped shoulders before you see him start to turn his head. 

You whip around, hoping he doesn’t catch you watching him. His eyes linger again and they burn you just as strongly as they did when he was within twelve inches of your face; which means you feel the exact second he looks away. 

Releasing the breath you hadn’t realized you were holding in your lungs, you glance over at him one last time, but it’s the friend who greets you. He smirks at you, then he chuckles and shakes his head. When he pats the shoulder of a hunched-over Jake, you suddenly feel a little bad. 

But not that bad.

A/N: Please understand that Jake’s behavior in this fic is not something I condone. I know he’s a bit too aggressive but it is not my intention to offend anyone. So hopefully I didn't. Thanks for reading :)

tags: @wkndwlff @kmc1989 @sagittarius-flowerchild @dempy @rosiahills22 @xoxabs88xox @matisse556 @hardballoonlove @lynnevanss @pono-pura-vida @tgmreader @amgluvsbooks @ravenhood2792 @djs8891 @shakespeareanwannabe @penguin876 @tgmavericklover @athenabarnes @emilyoflanternhill @wretchedmo @shanimallina87 @crowsreadsarahjmaas @mamachasesmayhem @sky2nd @jessicab1991 @rosedurin @averyhotchner @horseshoegirl @roosteraloha @b-bradshaw @ssa-sadboi @buckysteveloki-me @whatislovevavy @dreamlandcreations

[underdark-dreams]

[Poll results]

A smut piece for Rolan that became a 7k word fic. I don't know what it is about him--I just need him to be happy. 🖤 For anyone else who feels the same!

In Amber

Rolan can't remember what made him this way. Bitter, insufferable. He only knows he wants things with her to be different. A series of encounters between Rolan and the person who is teaching his black heart how to hope.

Tags: Fem Unnamed Tav, Explicit Sexual Content, Mild Hurt/Comfort | Word Count: 7,033 [Read on AO3]

The beloved hero of the Grove has saved them all from the Shadow Curse, apparently.

Word spreads fast, and it's all Rolan hears the Harpers talking about in their rush to take final leave of Last Light Inn. Nearly all had gone to Moonrise Towers with the Druid, but a small group stayed behind with Isobel in case the fight turned to the worst.

Rolan was the first one packed. With the shadows lifting, all he wants to do is travel the road to Baldur's Gate and finally reach his destiny. Leave this hollow place behind him.

At last they are finally moving in the right direction again--the three of them along with Lakrissa and Alfira, led by the Harper rangers.

He glances at Cal and Lia walking beside him. They're in the middle of chatting about the first things they want to do when they reach the lower city. Rolan can't seem to stop checking that they’re still there–as if he might look to find them gone once more.

He hasn't seen their savior since the night she brought his siblings back to him. That made twice now that she'd saved all three of their lives. Few things bristled against his nature more than owing a debt that couldn't be repaid. Rolan didn't like the feeling of being under anyone's thumb.

She wouldn't even accept a reward for saving his brother and sister's lives, just waved him away with a smile on her lips. The memory frustrated him endlessly. He couldn't understand why she took such an interest in helping him and his family. He was even beginning to consider that goodness of heart might really exist…at least when it came to hers.

Half of his mind felt tormented by her inscrutable kindness. The other half thought he'd very much like to kiss her.

Before he could brush away the alarming idea, the Harpers in front threw up a cheer. Rolan looked around to see the commotion.

She and her companions were covered in more blood than he'd seen on them yet, but they were still standing as they led their small army down the path from Moonrise Towers. 

His eyes light automatically to her face–it shines with a radiant smile, but Rolan recognizes the way her shoulders slump under her armor. He is flooded with relief. At least she's alive. 

Their groups converge on the road outside the tower. Everything is a jumble of cheers and shouts as the Harpers jostle forward to reunite with their comrades; a man he's never met claps Rolan’s shoulder hard enough to make him wince.

"Go on, then," says Lia beside him. She's following his gaze knowingly. "While you've got a chance."

He only manages to throw his sister a scowl before she trots away. Is it that obvious?

He decides to take her advice after all. She was right that this could very well be the final time their paths converged. Baldur's Gate was a large city, and whatever grand adventures their savior would face next, he doubted they would involve spending much time browsing magical emporiums.

She gave him a little wave as he approached, the kind one might give an old friend. It pricked his conscience. He'd thanked her for saving Cal and Lia, true, but his mind tossed up all the countless other times he'd been needlessly unpleasant toward her. 

"Seems we owe you thanks yet again," he said, hoping it came off sincere. 

She shook her head wryly. "I've never done any of it alone, you know that. Every one of these people fought like hells in there." 

Standing close, his nose was hit by the thick tang of blood that coated on her armor. How much of it was hers?

"You should go to see Isobel," Rolan insisted. He'd drag her straight to the cleric himself, if she'd let him.

"Do I look that bad?" She was teasing, but there was a strain to it. "As long as I make it to my bedroll in the next hour, I'll be fine. You're sweet to worry, though."

"Stop saying things like that," Rolan snapped, unable to contain himself. "You're so nice, and I'm just a bastard."

Her eyes widened at him, taken aback. "I don't think you're a bastard."

Rolan looked down at his hands. "That's what makes you so nice," he said. He had to get to the point. "Look…I know I haven't been the easiest person to get along with. I've been rude and awful, ever since the Grove, and you didn't deserve it. So." He straightened up properly. "I'm sorry for that."

It's far less eloquent than he'd rehearsed, but she seems to understand the sentiment.

"Don’t worry about it," she tells him. "You feel responsibility for the people you love. That can make anyone forget themselves for a while." 

"I suppose," is all he can manage to say. How well she seems to speak what's in his mind.

Her Githyanki companion approaches with a clear intention to speak with her, and Rolan turns away, not wanting to intrude on the company of her true friends.

"Rolan, wait–" 

The flutter in his stomach humiliates him. Will he ever get used to her saying his name?

She rummages in the pack at her waist. "Almost forgot. I found something–well, stole, but it doesn't matter now." 

A fist is held out to him, closed around something. 

Uncertain what to expect, Rolan offers his hand. Her fingers graze softly against his as they deposit something small and hard. He looks down at his palm.

"A rock," he says, deadpan.

"Not just any rock, it's a topaz."

Rolan blinks at her. "And…what am I supposed to do with this, exactly?"

"I don't know," she shrugs. "Keep it, or don't. It just made me think of you. Matches your eyes." The admission brought a flush of pink to her cheeks. 

He felt his heart skip at the sight, followed by a jolt of fear–as if she might be able to see the hope blooming inside his chest.

He turns away with a tut. "Absurd."

She gave only a satisfied laugh before taking her leave. Once she'd retreated out of sight, he tucked the gem securely into the folds of his robe.

-

Rolan has long abandoned the fantasy that he is his master's apprentice. 

Whipping boy would be a more accurate job description. Perhaps test subject. He is trapped in an impossible game that he can never win, and his highest purpose is to be the canvas where Lorroakan paints his next magical experiment. 

His mind shudders at the way the red wizard's eyes rest on him during "lessons": casually devoid of all concern or care. No matter how hard Rolan concentrates, no matter what he answers, it won't be good enough. And then the pain will follow. 

The mindless Constructs are worth far more to his master than he is. 

There was a time when someone made Rolan feel like he could deserve more, but that time is gone now. All he can hope is to learn enough, train hard enough, and one day claw his way through to something better.

Today, however, will offer the chance of a reprieve. He's been sent to deliver a message on foot across the lower city. Weeks ago he would've seen the task as an insult. Now he wonders whether it might take all morning, if he's lucky. 

If he often feels like a drowning man, these moments of escape are like a sweet gasp of air. He walks with his face tilted up to soak in the sun's warmth. 

The marks of abuse that paint his features have long stopped troubling him. An occasional passerby might stare at the bruises, but since the Absolute army's march, most Baldurians give Tieflings a wide enough berth not to notice. One wearing fine robes is no different to them.

As he passes the bridge to the Counting House, his eyes land on her figure. He stops short in surprise, earning himself a rude remark about clumsy devils from the woman behind him.

Rolan would recognize her face in any crowd. She stood on the bridge in the middle of some kind of confrontation between two women; one of them a beggar, by the state of her, the other finely dressed.

As he watches he very clearly sees her invite the rich one to "piss off", to the woman's indignation.

An affectionate chuckle escapes him. Then he winces, hand rising to the cracked skin on his lip. He tastes a drop of blood.

Swift panic grips his chest. She can't fucking see him like this, not once–more broken and pathetic than ever. Not after how many times she's already played rescuer to him. He cringes in shame at the thought.

At least she hasn't found him trapped behind his desk, there's a chance he can slip away unnoticed yet–

"Rolan?" 

He missed his moment by a hair. It's unfortunate that hearing her voice after all this time freezes him straight to the cobblestones, or he might consider dashing away like a coward.

"I thought that was you! I'd recognize those horns anywhere." 

Resigned, he turns back toward her. But he keeps his face cast down toward the pavement.

"What do you want?" He asks stiffly.

"Hello to you too," she laughs, and he stifles the impulse to watch her do so. "It's been a while. Cal and Lia, they're good?"

"Thanks to you," he concedes. No thanks to me.

"I'm glad to hear it." He watches her boots step closer, tentative. "Everything okay with you?"

She can never just leave him alone, can she. Why does she insist on caring when so many others don't bother?

"Fine, busy with my studies," Rolan deflects. "I've got to get back to the Sundries."

There's a tight pause, and then her voice grows firm. "Look at me."

He curses himself for being unable to disregard her, and for his eyes wanting to take her in despite everything. Slowly, he raises his head to meet her gaze.

Her face is somehow lovelier than he remembered. As he watches, it shatters in shock. He can see her eyes flit from mark to mark as if taking inventory.

"Who did this to you?" She whispers, aghast.

He turns away, unable to hold her gaze. "Believe me, it's nothing that can be helped."

"Rolan–" Her hand extends toward his jaw.

If the thought of her touch thrills him, the thought of being touched by her with pity is unbearable.

"I don't need your help," he spits, slapping the hand away with his own. "And I certainly don't need your damned sympathy!"

The shock and hurt on her face are the last things Rolan sees before he turns on his heel.

-

The archwizard was not pleased with his late return. That night, Rolan comes home with a large fresh bloom of purple over his left eye.

Lia's already limited patience snaps. She flies into his face with angry tears and threats that she'll march straight into Lorroakan's tower herself with shortsword in hand. Cal stands between them, pleading for peace, eyes wide and sad.

"Enough," Rolan orders them both. "Don't you see we're nothing but hellspawn refugees to these people? My position is the only thing keeping us under this roof, the only thing." 

He doesn't stop Lia as she storms out–she didn’t take her sword with her. The door rattles on its hinges as it slams behind her. He pushes wordlessly past Cal to his room, and collapses in a heap against his bed pillows.

His face aches enough that he knows sleep won’t come easy tonight. One hand reaches into the robe at his chest, and he slowly pulls out the small amber stone. His fingers turn it over and over as he closes his eyes once more to escape into imagining.

In some other world, he could've been the one powerful enough to save and protect her. Even be the person who makes her smile. 

He would not be the pathetic, broken man that he is. He could feel worthy to return her tender touches with his own, drawing her close to him instead of pushing her away. Feel her lips on his own…her hands circling his shoulders… 

Rolan rouses himself to stare down at the topaz shining in his palm. He feels his rotten heart crumple. 

He can't remember what made him this way. Bitter, insufferable. He doesn't like the man he is. He wants to be different–he wants things with her to be different. 

The stone grows warm in his fist as he clenches it. She crept deep into his heart a long, long time ago. He'll probably never get the chance to tell her, so he might as well admit it to himself.

And even if he did see her again–what chance did he have that she might feel the same? None. She single-handedly managed to improve every part of his life that she touched. What could he possibly offer her?

In this world, precious little.

-

Lorroakan of Ramazith lay dead on the ground. 

Rolan felt a numb hatred as he stood over his former master, eyes frozen wide in the final shock of death. Months from now the expression might have given him cause to laugh. Today, Rolan can only stare mutely.

One more sick megalomaniac who possessed more power than Rolan could have dreamed of wielding…brought down by his insane, insatiable lust for more. Always always more. For what? In the end, he was just another corpse.

It was she who dispatched him, of course. Why wouldn't it be? 

After all this time, it was perfectly inevitable that she and her friends would be the ones to fly in and deliver him from yet another tragic end. He felt like he was stuck on a wheel going around and around. He couldn't escape her, either in reality or in his own mind.

Rolan comes to himself and looks down at his robes. Blood splatters his front and soaks up to his elbows; a crust of frost coats his boots, from whose spell he can't remember. All at once an overwhelming tiredness soaks into his bones.

The dream of destiny that had carried him here…had it ever existed, really?

He decides to slip away while she's distracted, speaking urgently to one of her companions. Her plans probably extend far outside this room and beyond, but this is where his path reaches a bloody dead end.

He allows himself one last look at her profile before stepping quietly to the portal. He wants only a bath and the release of sleep.

His feet drag along the streets of the lower city as they carry his body home, ignoring any frightened stares at the state of his clothes. Silent as he can, he slips through the front door and down the hall to his room. Cal and Lia's voices carry from the kitchen. He'll face their questions when he wakes. 

In the end, exhaustion and relief overtake him. There will be no more lessons. He falls to bed in a heap and drifts off, still wearing his master's blood on his hands.

-

In retrospect: letting Lia discover him face-down in his bed covered in dried blood was not the smartest decision Rolan had ever made. 

After he'd groggily yelled himself hoarse enough to stop her screams, a sharp pang of conscience drove through him like ice. During the time he thought the two of them were lost to the Shadowlands, he wanted nothing more than to drink himself to an early death.

He never wanted either of them to feel that emptiness. For once, he let Lia hold him tight without protest.

With a few days' rest, and some of Cal's better efforts in the kitchen to date, Rolan's spirits had rallied sufficiently that he felt well enough to leave the house. Even to attempt a cautious return to his place of employment. 

To his surprise and distinct confusion, no one at Sorcerous Sundries had a thing to say about Lorroakan's disappearance, or about any possible employee involvement. 

If anything, the mood around the shop was noticeably lighter. He even caught Tolna humming a soft little tune to her bookshelves. “The tomes never respected him, you know,” she whispered to Rolan.

And once he got over the bizarre sight of Lorroakan's projection, hovering with a vacant smile behind his former desk, he found a perverse humor in it. Who was the fucking errand boy now?

Most of all, Rolan found himself free to finally do what he came to this place for: study magic. He had no archmage master, but he was intelligent, and he now had free access to all of the tomes in the tower library that Lorroakan had enjoyed dangling under his nose.

These days he preferred to spend his days alone in the upstairs, absorbed in theory and practice. His skills grew, and so did his confidence in himself.

If he also felt drawn to the spot because it was the last place he'd seen her…well, he was far too late on that score. He could've finally confessed the feelings that had long been bursting through his chest. 

Instead he had slunk away in silence, too scared to stand in front of her and admit how misguided he'd been all this time. She must think very little of him. She probably didn't think of him at all.

Who knew if she was even still in Baldur's Gate? He searched every face he encountered on the streets, hoping for an answer. It had become a reflex.

At the end of another day, he trudged alone across the twilight square. His hands ached from practicing the gestures for elemental conjurement over and over. One of the Steel Watchers clomped mindlessly past, looking about like Rolan felt. 

The thought of going home filled him with weariness. Cal and Lia's cheerful bickering always annoyed him, in an affectionate way. But tonight, he truly felt he might not be up to it. 

He felt sad. Lonely.

Glancing up, he found that his legs had carried him to the steps of the Elfsong. A drink…that would soothe his sorrows for an hour or two, at least.

The doors swung open to usher a wave of stimulation over his senses. Warm firelight, the smell of roasting venison, tables packed with conversation and clinking glasses. 

He was grateful that many others seemed to have had the same idea this particular night. It made it easier to slip through the crowded taproom unnoticed, catching meaningless slices of gossip and flirtatious banter on his way to the bar.

The surly bartender didn't look overjoyed to be serving a Tiefling. He took Rolan's gold without comment, however, and left him alone with his wine.

As the alcohol spread a welcome relaxation through his limbs, Rolan passed the time by idly watching the groups around him. 

A halfling sat alone with shoulders slumped, staring down his tankard as if he wished to drown in it. Across the way, a large bearded man was leaning across the table in open pursuit of his female companion. Clearly getting nowhere, from her expression. But he looked far too drunk to notice.

In front of the great hall fireplace, a pale elf sat in conversation with a pretty dark-haired young woman. 

Rolan's brow furrowed; he knew those two. His eyes quickly scanned over the room's faces until he found her.

She was removed a ways from her usual traveling companions, seated at a small table in the far corner. He watched her swirl the cup in her hand idly. Her eyes followed the liquid’s pattern, but the look behind them was leagues away.

For the first time in days, Rolan felt his heavy heart lift. She was exactly the person he wanted to be with tonight. Even if it was just sharing a drink.

This was it, he told himself. He had to speak with her or he'd regret it the rest of his life.

But first–he knocked back a very large mouthful.

His heart pounded in his ears as he drew closer to her. With each step he expected she might look up, piercing him with those eyes that visited most of his dreams. But she remained transfixed by the wine even when he drew up beside her table.

Improvising, he cleared his throat. "Hello."

She glanced up at him in pleasant surprise. "Oh!"

They stared at each other for an awkward silence. Then, somehow, he found himself laughing with her.

"Sorry, it's so strange. I was just thinking about you," she said, her face brightening.

The fact that he occupied any space in her brain would consume him later, but he shoved it aside for the moment.

"Mind if I join you?"

She patted the chair next to her. As he sat, he wondered if the spot had been a tactical choice on her part. Their table had a view of the whole room and both exits, yet the wall behind offered a sense of privacy. 

"You're not drinking with your friends tonight," Rolan observed.

"Just taking a little break. We're celebrating another family reunion," she explained, gesturing her glass toward the group around the blazing hearth. 

Rolan looked back over his shoulder. He recognized the one-eyed young man with curling horns, but not the older one whose hand was clasped on his shoulder. Quite clearly father and son to anyone with eyes.

"I'm glad for them," Rolan said. To his surprise, he found he truly meant it. The Absolute had ripped apart so many families in so many ways, including his, leaving the lower streets flooded with the hopeless and broken and displaced. He counted himself and his siblings incredibly lucky, and it heartened him to see another happy scene among so much misery.

“You know–” She eyed him curiously. "I was hoping I’d see you. You ran off before we could talk that day."

He looked down at his drink. "I know. I've regretted it since then. At the time, it was just…a lot to take in."

Her eyes narrowed, but not at him. "I hope you don't mind me saying, but that man can burn in Avernus for all I care. For what he did to you. For what he tried to do to Aylin."

Rolan recalled the runic circle in Lorroakan's library, the one whose mysterious power had at first awed and enthralled him. And then he'd seen the aasimar with the shining wings, and watched the demented hunger in Lorroakan's eyes, and the horrible realization had run through him like a sickness.

"Lorroakan was a monster," he agreed. "I just wish I'd seen it sooner. Or even found the strength to open my own eyes."

He felt a hand rest on his forearm.

"I saw what you went through to get here,” she said. “It’s natural that you thought you had to see it all through, no matter what.” 

Rolan said nothing for a while, just let her kindness soothe into his chest like a balm.

“On the bright side,” he added suddenly, “He did keep an excellent library. I’ve learned more from one of his books than I ever did from him.”

“That’s because you’re a proper talented wizard,” she laughed. “And he was an idiot.”

“A dead idiot.”

“To that,” she said with a lift of her cup, and they both drank. He noticed she used her free hand, not moving the one that laid on his arm.

When he caught her eye after, she was watching him with a smile. "You look so well, Rolan."

He knew what she meant. The last time she saw him, his face had been dappled in marks and bruises from Lorroakan's brutal instruction, with more that she couldn't see under his robes.

Now, the last mark across his cheekbone had faded almost to nothing. He hoped it would take the memories of the meaningless pain he'd endured along with it.

"Thank you," he said simply. "So do you."

He meant it; he realized now that he'd only ever seen her dressed for combat. Tonight she wore soft hide pants tucked into her hunting boots, a linen shirt half unlaced at her collarbones. It softened her. Close beside him and bathed in firelight, she set his heart racing again.

Perhaps it was her closeness or her touch that gave him the courage, or perhaps it was just the wine. He shifted his arm slightly to capture her hand in his.

"No one else has ever shown me the kindness you have. Not even Cal and Lia, though I do love them." 

She watched him speak in silence, and he gazed back at her, as if the answers to everything might be found in her face. 

"I don't understand you,” he said earnestly. “Why you've kept giving me chances. You've been so much more generous with me than I deserve. I've insulted you, yelled at you, I've been an absolute unbearable prick–"

Before he could think, she leaned in to silence him with her lips.

The kiss lasted forever and only a second all at once. Rolan closed his eyes, breathing in the faint smell of lavender on her skin.

Before he was anywhere near ready, she gently pulled away.

"Because," she murmured, "you're a good man, Rolan. And I like you." Her words, the lingering taste of her on his lips, they made his head spin. He felt like he was watching the door to a new world swing open before his eyes.

Before anything else, Rolan had to kiss her again. He released her hand to smooth the hair back from her face, watching the way she tilted into his touch, and gently guided her toward him.

It was deeper this time; he tasted the heady wine on her mouth, her breath a soft tickle against his cheek. As his fingers tangled her hair, he felt her hand wind sweetly over his shoulder, holding on to him.

A wet stripe flashed across his lips. His mouth gasped open in surprise, allowing her tongue to softly meet his, then draw slowly over his pointed teeth. 

The unexpected sensations brought his mind back to reality, and to the fact that they were in a public place. With effort, he wrenched himself out of the kiss. They breathed against each other for a moment. 

"I've got a room upstairs," she murmured. "If you want to?" Her cheeks were flushed from firelight and wine, and possibly even from him.

Whether or not he wanted to was no question: her words sent a fervent rush of blood to his groin. But first, he mustered enough control to hold her back from him for a moment. Her lips were parted in question.

"I adore you," he said. "I think I have for a long time. It's–very important to me that you know that. Before anything else." Even if the anything else was a dream that had kept him awake more nights than he could count.

Her soft hand cupped his cheek; he thought he might combust if she didn't say something. "Thank Gods," she laughed breathily. "I swore you hated me for a while there."

"I had no idea what to do with my feelings for you, I was a fucking idiot." It was all tumbling out of him now. He opened his mouth to continue, but her fingertips went to his lips.

 "Rolan–" Her voice was full of relief, and he was charmed to see the blush across her face deepen. "I feel the same way. I really, really like you."

His rotten heart could have flipped with joy. 

“Now.” She cocked her head askance, and he felt her fingers twine with his. "Make it up to me?"

Yes. Please, please, yes. He nodded in a daze, reeling like he'd sustained a blow to the head. All he could feel was the elation and anxiety swirling around and around in his stomach as he followed her toward the staircase, let her lead him by the hand like a lovesick idiot.

As they passed her companions he pointedly averted his eyes; he couldn't afford to lose any of the nerve building inside him. He'd need every bit of it in a moment.

The dark staircase seemed to ascend forever. Part of him wanted it to–he was no virgin, but the hand she held tight was shaking with anxiety. He wanted to make this perfect.

Overthinking proved pointless. The moment the heavy door closed behind them, he found himself pinned against it with a thud by the length of her body.

His involuntary groan was lost in their kiss. She was everywhere around him at once: hands pinning his shoulders back against the wood, hips grinding into his thigh with no pretense, her tongue pressing against his lips and slipping past his teeth to taste him. She moaned against his mouth, and the sound reverberated from his head to his feet.

His erection was practically instantaneous. He hooked his thumbs over her hip bones, sharp nails finding purchase in her pants, and rolled himself against the yielding softness between her legs. 

Whatever release the pressure provided multiplied it tenfold. Desire coursed through him, burning in his veins hotter than he thought possible. 

The maneuver brought an approving hum from her throat, however. Encouraged, he ground her into him again, and again, as slowly as his body could be convinced to go.

Her hands released his shoulders to rake upward through his hair, pulling his face toward her.

Pulling him deeper into the room, he realized. He stumbled slightly against something; tasting her lips was infinitely more important than breaking the kiss to look where he was going. He trusted her lead, impatient to reach whatever destination she had in mind so he could freely explore her.

Their connected bodies bumped up against the edge of something soft. She pulled away, and his immediate disappointment rapidly turned around as he felt her fingers fumbling with the clasps of his robe. He guided her hands, struggling at the same time to kick off one boot and then the other. 

As his robes pooled on the floor, her palms pressed him away for a moment.

Rolan stood frozen and panting in his trousers. She licked her kiss-swollen lips as she looked over his bare shoulders, his chest. When her eyes reached the obvious hardness straining in his pants, she let out a delicious sound.

Rolan's hands grabbed for her of their own volition. They slipped under the hem of her shirt, against the bare skin of her waist, and wrenched the garment up over her head in one motion.

To look at her directly was almost too much–he felt love and desire churning together inside of him. "Beautiful," was all he could say.

He buried his face in her shoulder instead, fang-like teeth brushing over her skin as he left a trail of kisses along the curve of her neck. She let out a gasp when his hand gently stroked her breast.

"You're so warm," she murmured into his hair. To him, she was pleasantly cool; he shivered when her fingers traced the small set of ridges that ran from his collarbone to his sternum.

But he needed more of her. He hooked both thumbs over her waistband and tugged ineffectually. She quickly took over, shucking them off with a shimmying motion.

The sight of her bare, for him, was almost enough to make Rolan come then and there. He reached out to her hips to steady himself. She was so much more divine than anything his paltry imagination could have conjured.

Through his blazing arousal, he was barely aware of the hands unlacing his pants until she tugged them down to finally let his cock spring free.

A sigh of relief escaped him. He watched her take him in, her eyes half-lidded with arousal. 

"You're incredible," she whispered. Then her arms slid around his neck, pulling him down into a kiss.

He tried to concentrate on her mouth, but the way his cock brushed and nudged against her skin every time she moved was taking over his brain.

With a motion of her hips, she captured his length between her thighs and rocked forward and back, sliding her dripping wet center over his cock. The revelation of her own state of desire sent his mind spiraling with want.

Rolan let out what could only be called a whimper. He clutched her to him, capturing her bottom lip between his teeth as firmly as he dared, as if she might suddenly disappear and leave him in an aching pile.

She made a pleased sound, then gave his shoulders a push. With his pants still around his thighs, he lost his balance–knees buckled as he fell backwards onto the mattress behind them.

He propped himself up on his elbows just in time to see her kneel on the floor in front of him. Her two hands pushed his knees apart, as far as the straining fabric would allow–

Rolan tried and failed to breathe normally, heart pounding in his ears. It felt like time was slowing to a crawl. Her eyes glanced from his face to the stiff erection between them. A droplet of moisture shone at its tip.

"Can I–?" She was asking him for permission, hands poised on his thighs, her expression heady with arousal.

"Anything," Rolan swore, and he meant it. She could do whatever the fuck she wanted to him right now. Before he could prepare himself, her mouth closed wetly around his tip. 

Truly, nothing could have readied him. He let out a gasp–his head dropped back as his hips rose involuntarily to seek more of her soft, cool mouth. 

He had scarcely adjusted before she took him in further, sliding her tongue down along his length to his very base–then slowly, achingly slowly, back up again.

He heard the rip of fabric as his nails gripped the bedding. He gathered the will to raise his head up to look.

Rolan was mesmerized by the sight of her lips wrapped around taught red skin, his length disappearing into her mouth and returning wet with saliva. She was working him over almost reverently slow, eyes closed as if tasting him.

Tasting herself on him. His cock twitched inside her mouth at the realization. She glanced up at him, releasing him from her lips with a soft, wet pop.

He could have groaned at the loss of her. Instead, he used the moment to work off his constraining pants and toss them away. Before she could reach for him again, Rolan pulled her up and onto his lap.

Her knees sank into the bed on either side as she straddled him, but she kept herself hovering well above him without contact. He pushed aside the ache between his legs to focus on more important things.

He leaned forward to press a soft kiss between her breasts, allowed his mouth to explore. She sighed with pleasure as he alternately licked and kissed across each curve, then drew sharp breath as his teeth sucked at the soft flesh under one breast. 

Her hands, at first resting on his shoulders, flew to grab two fistfuls of his hair. The sensation sent a shiver down his spine.

Rolan pulled away for a moment for admire the purple mark blooming on her breast. He glanced up as though looking for approval. She gave it, tugging his hair to tilt his face into a waiting kiss.

Ever so carefully…mindful of his fingertips, he placed the flat of his palm on the heat between her legs.

“Rolan–” she gasped, breaking away. 

The sound of his own name had never been dearer to him. He was run through with a thrill, and a fervent desire to do whatever it took to make her say it again.

  He massaged gentle circles into her, the base of his palm pressing against her clit in slow rhythm. Her wetness coated him with each stroke. She quaked under his touch, eyelashes fluttering, and his other arm circled her back to support her. He felt her lean against him without a second thought. Trusting completely.

“I can’t believe I have you,” he heard his voice say, perhaps to himself. 

As he spoke he felt the core of her tightening under his hand. Abruptly, her fingers closed around his wrist to still his ministrations. He froze, immediately afraid he had scratched her somehow. But her face shone with nothing but desire for him.

"On your back," she directed.

Rolan nearly pinched his tail under himself in his haste to obey. He swept his legs out from between hers and stretched out as she climbed over to straddle him. 

Now they were finally here, she wasted no time leaving space between them. Her hips rolled down onto him and drew the wet folds of her center across his tip. His entire length throbbed at the blessed return of her touch, the head of his cock burning against her. 

Smoothly, simply, she lowered herself onto him.

The shuddering exhale from his lips met against her moan of relief. Rolan willed himself to keep his eyes on hers, even as her inviting walls gripped him, even as he practically felt his pupils dilate with want. Her features relaxed into a state of pure, unadulterated satisfaction.

Then she started to move her hips.

She pushed her palms against his chest for leverage, riding his cock at a steady pace that felt entirely too slow. Whatever will he had to follow her lead was immediately tested; he was overcome with the need to touch her everywhere at once. 

Care forgotten, he gripped the soft flesh of her back with his fingertips. She cried out softly as his nails dragged from her shoulders to the base of her hips, but he felt her walls clench around him in response. His tail curled up and around her waist of its own volition, holding her as she took him in further with each bounce of her hips.

She gasped and fell over him, hands braced on either side. She was already losing control. He felt his own release closing in, used the new angle of her hips to thrust up into her. 

“Oh, Gods, yes–” Her mouth dropped open. She moved her hips back with each of his thrusts to take him more deeply. 

Rolan thought he might shatter apart. Waves of searing desire swept harder and harder through him. She took him so perfectly, his cock almost painfully gripped by her tightening walls, so wet and lush and sweet and for him–

A hand flew up to the back of her neck to grasp and to pull her down so he could taste her as he came. Lips crashed together frantically as the pace of their bodies started coming apart at the seams. 

In one bright concentrated moment, she shook and trembled violently into him as she grasped for whatever part of him she could reach. He managed one last stuttering thrust before his climax was ripped from him by her own, spilling inside of her clenching center, hurling him outside himself and into the wide Astral plane.

They shuddered against each others' bodies as white-hot waves receded outward farther and farther. Her head dropped to his shoulder as though she'd lost all muscle control. 

He felt her slowing breaths fan out across his chest, and he rested a hand on the back of her head to keep her there.

-

As Rolan stared up at the wood-paneled ceiling above them, something cold dripped down at the base of him. He realized he was still inside of her. He swung his free arm over the side of the bed–still woozy enough from his climax that he nearly slid head-first to the floor–and snatched up his rumpled robes to clean them both.

She rolled off him then and cuddled up on her side to watch him. He mirrored her pose, adjusting against the pillows to make a spot for his horns. One of her fingers found the point of his ear and began tracing.

“How do you feel?” She asked. 

Rolan sighed deeply. “Happy.” He could cast around for another dozen words, but he’d rather take her in. He smoothed a hand up and down along the curve of her side.

“So do I.” She leaned over to spread light kisses along his lips, then his jaw and cheek. His tail brushed against her leg in an idle caress. 

She glanced down. “I didn’t actually know about…that.”

“Am I your first Tiefling?” He teased, though the thought genuinely pleased him.

“First and last,” she replied. The words were instantly locked away in his chest. 

She gave a little shiver then, tucking her body against his warmth. He dug the covers up over themselves and wrapped her up tight with his arms and legs. The simple feeling of holding her brought him a deep sense of calm.

“I love this, Rolan.” Her lips moved against the hollow at the base of his neck. “I wish I could take tonight and carry it with me everywhere.”

Something sparked in him at her words. He opened his eyes and reluctantly released her to feel around the floor at the floor for his stained robe.

"What are you doing over there?" She lifted her head curiously to peer over the bedside. 

"Just need to find something." He rummaged through his layers of discarded clothing before finally, his knuckle grazed something hard.

He slid back up under the covers beside her. She propped herself up against him, resting a palm on his chest with an expectant look.

He held out his thumb and index finger. Between them, an amber stone glinted in the dim light.

Her mouth fell open in recognition. For one second, he was afraid she might cry.

Then she buried her head in the crook of his neck, wrapping both arms tight around him. "I knew you were a darling all along." 

[jishyucks]

Desk Deliveries — ljn

‣ pairing: lee jeno x reader

‣ genre: fluff, implied f2l/coworkers-to-lovers, secret admirer au, office!au

‣ wc: 5.6k

‣ summary: When gifts start appearing on your work desk on December 1st, you have no choice but to hunt down the man who’s been planting them. And with only 7 men on the floor, this shouldn’t be difficult… Right?

‣ warnings: nothing really?, cliche-ish ending, a lot of dialogue (I gotta get this story goingggg)

‣ an: jeno’s wooooo, honestly easier to write than I thought but it’s wayyyy longer than I wanted it to be (I keep underestimating? myself), I just hope it’s up to my own standards lmaooo, but hopefully u guys enjoy!

Series Masterlist

DECEMBER 1

Desk Delivery!

Starting today, consider your desk a treasure trove of surprises.

‘Tis the season of giving, after all, and your radiant presence in the office deserves to be celebrated.

Each gift is carefully chosen, a small reflection of the little things I love about you. I hope they bring a smile to your face and add a sprinkle of magic to your December days.

Stay curious, 

Your Secret Admirer (or would Secret Santa fit the season?)

You almost laugh out loud, blinking at the note sitting on your desk. This must be a joke, right? 

“What is that?” Karina digs her chin into your shoulder, reading the note from behind you.

“Some joke,” you reply, letting her pluck the card from your fingertips. 

She pouts, “But it’s cute!”

“I didn’t say it wasn’t,” you counter, taking the card back.

“I just don’t believe it’s real.”

DECEMBER 3

Today, you arrive at the office greeted with a small, neatly wrapped cube on your desk and you’re beginning to think that the message you were given on the 1st wasn’t a joke and that, whoever it was, was being serious.

You glance around the office to see if any of your coworkers were present, but you seemed to be the first one there. Your brows furrow, carefully sliding the box toward you before ripping the wrapping paper. 

You use your office scissors to slice the tape open, and then once you are sure you can open the box to see what was in it, you take a deep breath in. You push the box away from you so it’s at arm’s length, afraid that something was going to pop out when you lift the flaps open. Counting to three in your head, you ready your fingers to lift the covers after the third count.

Fully expecting there to be fake snakes of some sort, you were met with nothing (thankfully). You pull the box back and peek in to find a mug and a card. Your brows furrow, pulling the card out first. 

I know how much you love that mug of yours, Y/N…

But it’s time to retire that broken one.

Got you a new one. Hope you like it! 

Your Secret Admirer 

You can’t help but giggle at the tone of the writer, placing the card down before going for the mug. You’ve been teased maybe once or twice for using a mug with no handle, mostly because you’ve been complaining about how the edges of the glass edges left behind by the absent handles had been poking at your palm.

Carefully, you fish the cup out of the box, making sure you won’t drop and shatter the present before you can even use it, and you use your other hand to pull the box off. And when you finally get a good look at the mug, you laugh out loud, bringing it up to eye level to get a good look at it. 

It was the exact same mug you already have been using, the only difference was that this one actually had a handle.

You were so caught up in your present that you didn't notice Karina approaching you, “Morning, smiley face.”

“Huh?” you blink at her, confused.

“I would take a picture of you right now, but I’m too lazy,” she huffs, “But you’re smiling like a child on Christmas Day.” Karina blatantly points at your face, “Who’s got you smiling like that?”

You shrug but gesture to the card and the mug, “I don’t think that first one was a joke…”

DECEMBER 4

“Hey! Hey, Y/N!” 

You hear someone call your name, but you don’t actually hear it. It was sort of like background noise to your thoughts, entering one ear and leaving the other. 

“Y/N! Hey!” 

Then, you feel something rough hit the side of your face and you realize that Karina was peeking over the wall of her cubicle and into yours.

“What the fuck do you want!” you whisper. You pick up the balled-up scrap paper she had thrown before throwing it back to her, “I’m trying to work!” 

She dodges the ball with ease, head briefly disappearing then reappearing, “Do you have any candidates for who your secret admirer could be?” 

Karina was speaking a little bit too loud for your liking, so you gestured for her to come closer. She doesn’t hesitate to leave her workspace to enter yours, sitting down on an empty spot on your desk, “So? Candidates?”

You shake your head, “Barely. I was only able to pick out that the writing is a guy’s writing because the girls have neat writing… Other than that, I have nothing.” 

The two letters sitting on your desk were your only explicit clues. Then, you had the thing with the mug, but everyone knew of your broken mug. So really, it was just the handwriting that you had as insight. 

“Okay, so it’s a guy…” Karina hums. She stretches her neck to glance around the office, “And there’s only like… seven? It wouldn’t be difficult to eliminate some of them.” She picks up your two cards to examine the cards. You can see her eyes move back and forth between the letters, pressing her lips into a thin line. “It’s not Renjun.” 

“Huh? How do you know that?” 

“He handwrites,” Karina states, “Like straight-up longhand writing. So it’s not him.” 

“How do you know he’s not just changing up his writing so it’s not obvious?” you narrow your eyes. 

Karina laughs, “Okay, you have a point, but let’s just say that he’s out temporarily, to make it easier on us. In the case that everyone else is out, then it’s Renjun.” 

You don’t notice the way your face scrunches up, your facial features pushing in toward your nose. 

“Hey, what’s with the face?” Karina’s head tilts to the side. It takes a beat and a half before she realizes, “Wait, you don’t want it to be Renjun, do you?” 

You don’t answer, mostly because you didn’t want to outright say that you didn’t want Renjun to be your admirer—no offense to him. Renjun was a great guy, but he wasn’t someone who you saw yourself being with. And if you were to actually build a relationship with this person, you didn’t want it to be Renjun. 

An all-knowing smirk appears on Karina’s face, “Then who do you want it to be?” 

You want to throw a punch at Karina’s knee, but you remember you are still in the workplace and you need to keep it (at least a little bit) professional. “Fuck you, you already know the answer to that.” 

Jeno, Karina thinks.

“Of course you want it to be him,” Karina puts the cards back down, “I should have known. You’re down bad for that man.” 

Karina wasn’t wrong. You and Jeno go way back to your internship days, and your (hopeless) crush on him has been there since then. 

“Down bad for who?” 

From seemingly out of nowhere, Chenle appears at the corner of your cubicle, leaning against it as he takes a sip of his coffee. And of course, wherever Chenle was, Jisung followed, standing right next to the former. 

“Uh, that-that one actor!” you lie in a panic, “From that one show!”

“You suck at lying,” Chenle snorts, “You could have at least named someone. It could have been Nam Joohyuk for all I care.” 

“It’s not you guys if that’s what you’re thinking,” Karina snickers, “Sorry, boys.” 

Jisung and Chenle burst out laughing, almost comically in sync. They even threw in a high-five, though it was out of habit. “No offense, Y/N, but I don’t see you in that light.” Chenle is practically in tears. 

“No offense, Chenle, but I don’t either,” you reply, “Now can you guys please leave my space or I’m reporting you guys to Taeyong.” And that sends them away because it wasn’t the first time they’ve been reported.

“Okay so we can scratch those two off the list,” Karina concludes. 

And you nod. 

So far, so good. This should be easy.

DECEMBER 8

Okay, it wasn’t as easy as you thought. 

All your interactions with the other guys were normal. None of them seemed suspicious enough for you to star, nor did any of them do anything that ruled themselves off your list, and you had to admit, it was frustrating. 

Of all the boys, the most suspicious was Jaemin, who snickered every time he passed your desk. But when you mentioned this to Karina, Karina pointed out that Jaemin was like that in general, always up to his own shenanigans like Donghyuck was. 

“That or he knows something,” Karina thinks, “We should ask him.” 

It was nearing the end of the day and you and Karina were sitting at one of the open tables by the floor’s wall of windows, mugs in hand while you carefully eyed the boys of the department. 

Karina’s about to walk up to Jaemin when you stop her, pinching her blouse to keep her from leaving, “I don’t think Jaemin’s stupid enough to spill anything if we ask. We have to make it subtle.” 

“Subtle, how?” 

You shrug, “Just subtle.”

“Subtle, how?” Karina repeats. 

You want to bonk her in the head, “I guess pretend like you don’t really care, maybe say you think it’s Renjun or something and see what he says.”

Let’s say Jaemin really did know who your admirer was. If Karina were to think it was someone else, she could note the way Jaemin would react to her guesses and you both can go from there. 

You shoo her away and let her do her thing, staying back to pretend you were watching cars drive past down below. 

In 8 days, the only clues you were able to gather included the fact that he was a boy, he worked on this floor (the mug thing), he liked to end his J’s in loop de loops, and there was always some type of water or coffee stain on the cards. 

The last clue was something you and Karina had just recently discovered, simply because the first few cards were wrinkled in the slightest with water, while the most recent one, today's, had been stained with a drop of coffee. 

You’re not sure if these were purposeful or accidental, but nonetheless, you and Karina took any details as clues, hoping that it would lead to a conclusion.

“You haven’t blinked for a while.” 

“Shit, I didn’t hear you come,” you greet Jeno with an awkward smile, shifting your weight from one leg to the other, “I was just deep in thought.” 

Jeno’s eyes disappear when he smiles and your stomach does that thing it does when he does so. It’s so stupid how you’re feeling like a giddy high schooler around this man, but you’ll defend yourself any day and blame him for everything. 

“Is it about your secret admirer?” Jeno questions. He’s facing the window and you’re facing him. You can see him peeking at you through the corner of his eye and he’s smiling teasingly.

Your eyes widen, “Wait, how do you know about that?” You haven’t told anyone but Karina, Chenle, and Jisung, the last two only earning the information for being the most persistent duo on the planet. 

“Word gets around,” he shrugs, “And I pass your desk to and from the elevator.” 

You’re guessing the two younger boys had let it slip out but you disregard them for now, “Oh… right…”

“So, what about him?” Jeno questions. 

“Just… I don’t know who it is….” 

Jeno turns to you and you’re taken aback by how tired he looks. Sure, everyone in this damn office repped the good ‘ol panda eyes, but Jeno’s hair was a bit dishevelled, eyes half closed from fatigue. You choose not to point it out. 

Jeno’s words register in your head and your brows furrow, “Wait… how do you know they’re a he? I didn’t say anything about him unless…” You don’t quite notice the way Jeno freezes up only because he wasn’t moving much beforehand. “Unless you know who he is!”

Jeno shakes his head, “Jisung told me!”

“I didn’t tell Jisung anything.” “You probably told Karina who told Chenle who told Jisung!” At this point, Jeno’s heart is beating at an erratically fast pace and he’s about to panic until Karina returns. She’s pouting, a tinge of disappointment evident on her face and Jeno takes this as his chance to escape.

“What did Jaemin say?” Your attention is easily pulled away from your friend, “Did he say anything?”

“No,” Karina grumbles, “I accidentally let it slip out that this was about your admirer and all he said was, 'Secret admirer, huh? Wouldn't you like to know.'” Karina mocks Jaemin’s voice, rolling her eyes. “But I guess that just proves that he knows something… it’ll just be harder to get it out of him.” 

“Jeno’s being suspicious now, too,” you nod your head to the boy. 

Sure it could be implied that your admirer was one of the guys, but the way the man had handled your questions was definitely something to take note of. 

DECEMBER 10

“Please tell me you’ll be leaving after you finish this?” Another one of your coworkers, Minjeong, was standing at the edge of your cubicle, leaning against the divider. You can tell she’s ready to leave, hands stuffed deep into her pockets, “Everyone’s left besides Mr. Jo.” 

Mr. Jo was the custodian.

“I will, I promise.” You don’t even look up from your screen, waving your hand in her direction as if it would make her scurry away, “I’m almost done. Have a good night, Jeongie!” 

She returns your farewell and leaves, knowing that you won’t budge until you finish your task. 

You genuinely were near completion. You just had a few more points in the report to finish before you reached your goal for tonight and you’ll go home. 

Your fingers are flying across your keyboard, fatigued eyes blinking at the words you were producing in hopes that they were coherent. Your brain had shut down an hour ago and now you were on autopilot.

Who cares if it’s coherent if I’m going to edit it anyway? You think. And now you were carelessly typing, making typos left and right. 

When you finally finish the draft, you grab your mug from your coaster to put in the office’s sink. Your eyes finally catch a break from staring at the screen for so long, practically feeling your ocular muscles relax. Closing your eyes, you blindly make your way down the pathway, which honestly was easy after the amount of times you’ve made your way down it.

But when your feet hit something that was obviously not as hard as a cubicle wall you freeze. 

Shit. 

Your eyes fly open and quickly look at what you have unintentionally kicked. 

“Jeno?” You blink your eyes a couple times to make sure you aren’t just seeing things.

Sprawled out on his desk was Jeno, fast asleep. There was a small pond of drool underneath his cheek, mouth hanging open. You couldn’t help but laugh. 

“Jeno.” You feel the need to whisper now, leaning over to shake his shoulder. “Jeno!” 

He begins to stir, “Huh? Wha?” 

“What are you still doing here?” you ask. 

One eye stuck closed, he glances around the empty office. The side that he had been lying on was flat as if he had been in that position for a while. Jeno yawns and stretches, his back popping a little as he sits up. 

"I was waiting for you to finish," he mumbles, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hands.

You glance at the clock on his computer screen, realizing it's much later than you thought. "Jeno, it's getting late. You didn’t need to wait for me."

He shrugs, a sleepy smile on his face. "I didn't want you to go home alone in the dark. Plus, I figured you might need some company." 

You hit him on the shoulder, “You dumbass!”

Jeno winces even though you didn’t even hit him too hard. “Ow!” 

“I didn’t even know you were here! Dumbass!” You throw another thwack at his shoulder blade, “You’re lucky I tripped over your foot!” Jeno ignores you and starts getting up, pulling out his packed bag underneath his desk, “You should’ve told me you were gonna wait for me.”

“Yeah, but then you would’ve pushed me onto the elevator so that I could leave,” Jeno replies. "Ready to head home?"

Although you and Jeno don’t live anywhere near each other, your place was on the way to his. Usually, you’d walk home and go sightseeing as you walked past the small shops on the way, but because the weather could freeze your arteries shut, you’re forced to transit home. 

"Sure, let's go." You pack up your things quickly, and the two of you head towards the elevator.

As you wait for the elevator doors to open, you glance at Jeno. His eyes are still a bit heavy with sleep, but there's a warmth in them that makes your heart flutter. When he notices you looking, he tightens his lips to give you a tired grin that reaches his eyes. The office is quiet now, only the hum of the elevator breaking the silence.

Once inside, Jeno presses the button for the ground floor, and the elevator starts its descent. The dim lighting casts a soft glow on both of you, and you can't help but appreciate the peaceful moment.

"Long day, huh?" Jeno breaks the silence, his tone sympathetic. “Your secret admirer mystery still bothering you?"

You chuckle and nod, "Yes. But it just makes me more determined to figure it out."

"Any progress?" Jeno raises an eyebrow, curious.

You shake your head, "Not really. It's driving me crazy." 

"Maybe it's someone you least expect," Jeno suggests with a playful smile.

"Maybe," you reply, unsure. The elevator doors open, and you both step out and into the nearly empty office lobby. Then you think out loud, eyes narrowing as you look at Jeno through your lashes, “Maybe it’s you.” 

The cold wind hits you as you exit the building, making you shiver. You pull your coat tighter around you, and Jeno does the same. 

“Why? Do you want it to be me?” Jeno smirks playfully. 

“I don’t know,” you lie, “I’m just asking because there’s a possibility it’s you. Besides Chenle and Jisung, you’re the only one willingly asking about him.” That really couldn’t even mean anything, but it’s suspicious. You’re starting to think this was a joke set up by all the guys, and you’re the target.

“Nope, it’s not me,” Jeno stares ahead of you both, and you miss the way he swallows his spit when he says it, “And I don’t know who it is either. That’s why I’m asking.”

You look at him to detect if Jeno was lying—maybe a nose twitch, multiple blinks, or a dishonest glance to the side—nothing. 

You feel your heart skip a beat, and not in the way you liked. Because, sure, you didn’t care about who this person was, but for the past week and a half, you’ve been raising your hopes that it was Jeno who had been leaving these presents for you. 

You realize that that was a mistake. 

A weak laugh shoots out your mouth, almost sounding like a huff and you force a smile on your face, “Well… that’s a relief.”

DECEMBER 15

Losing a bit of interest in your admirer just because it wasn’t the person you wanted it to be wasn’t fair to your actual admirer. Especially when they were still putting the effort into dropping off those presents and writing those letters.

The day after, you had told Karina that Jeno made it clear that your admirer wasn’t him and she refused to believe it, delusion taking over for your sake. She said something along the lines of ‘can’t say it’s not Jeno until there’s solid proof’. 

This morning you decided to switch up your strategy and arrive at work early. For the past 2 weeks, these little deliveries had appeared on your desk either after you left or before you arrived, and since you had kept track of who left the office yesterday evening, you were sure that he was going to be coming in early this morning to leave his present. 

You greet the security guard in the lobby, leaving your mouth more as a yawn than an actual sentence before you hop onto the elevator and cross your fingers for luck. 

The office is quiet and dimly lit as you enter, the only sound being the gears of the elevators turning as the doors slide open. Once you step out, you’re quick to scan the room before ultimately settling your gaze on your desk. 

The universe couldn’t have timed this any better.

Standing at your desk, you see a figure, gently placing a wrapped box on your desk. You hold back a gasp, clamping your mouth shut with your palm, not wanting to bring attention to yourself. The man appeared oblivious to the elevator letting someone off, his back still turned to you.

You catch the sound of his satisfied hum, and just before he pivots, you quickly move to a concealed hallway, keeping yourself out of sight. A lingering fear holds you back from confronting whoever this person is, but you so badly want to know who it is. You figured it would make the confronting part easier. 

Footsteps grow closer before they stop, and you can easily guess he’s standing in front of the elevators. With curiosity getting the best of you, you risk being seen and lean your head around the corner, just enough so that one of your eyes can see who the boy was. 

Another gasp attempts to leave your mouth when you finally recognize who it was. 

Jaemin?

The elevator arrives at your floor before you can even process that it was truly him you just saw, almost as if you’ve seen his ghost and he was gone before you knew it. 

So your secret admirer was Na Jaemin? 

In a way it made sense. You and Karina had ruled him as one of the more suspicious ones. He and Jeno were close, so Jeno being curious about your progress added up. Now you have solid proof that Jaemin actually was your secret admirer.

How were you going to let him down easily?

DECEMBER 19

Despite having the weekend and Karina's assistance to strategize how to break the news to Jaemin, you found yourself at work on Monday without a clear plan. Today, you mentally braced yourself for another gift, feeling a pang of guilt as you realized your friend and coworker had been investing so much effort, only for his feelings to not be returned.

Today’s box was slim and rectangular, wrapped in the paper you’ve grown familiar with. At first glance, it looked like a wine box, but you quickly deemed it too short to be a wine bottle. 

With a bit of hesitation, you carefully pick at the paper, ripping it open before you slice the tape that was keeping the box closed. Then you pry the box open, flipping the flaps over so that you can see the item from a bird’s eye view.

Huh?

You pull it out—an umbrella in your favourite colour. On the handle, your initials are engraved into the plastic. The umbrella looked beautiful, but considering the other presents, this was… random. 

Your eyes catch sight of a card at the bottom of the box and you stick your arm in to fish it out. 

I bet you’re curious as to who I am, right?

I think I kept you waiting far too long for a hint.

A hint?

Your heart picks up its pace and your eyes scramble to keep reading.

Today’s gift? An umbrella.

Bought one for myself and one for you because we need to be prepared next time.

I don’t know about you, but I didn’t enjoy being drenched in rain at work. 

Your Secret Admirer

A hint.

Hell, it was more than a hint.

Your eyes grow wide as you reread the note over and over, your heartbeat fluttering. It flutters because you know exactly what your admirer was talking about. 

Back during the rainy season, the morning you were getting ready for work, you completely disregarded the weather forecast and left your house without an umbrella or an appropriate coat. And much to your stupidity, you told yourself that it wasn’t going to rain that hard when you heeded the darker clouds in the sky. 

You realized your mistakes on the walk to work when rain started pouring down from the sky, like someone dumping a bucket of rainwater all over you. You were sprinting, sight impaired by the rain pelting your face, flying past other individuals who had been smart enough to pack heavy-duty umbrellas with them. 

Luckily, you finally arrived at your building before you were wet to the bone. When you noticed the elevator was still open, you called out for it, fast-walking through the lobby just so you could catch it. 

“Thanks,” you had sighed out, huffing in relief. 

The man who had held the elevator open for you laughed and spoke up, “I take it you forgot an umbrella too?” 

You laugh at the memory, remembering being thankful that you weren’t the only dumbass who didn’t bring an umbrella—that you weren’t going to be the only one on the floor who would be showing up soaked and dripping wet.

Because Jeno was that other dumbass. 

Even with this realization, with this hard evidence that your admirer could actually be Jeno, you still recount your almost-encounter with Jaemin and the fact that Jeno had denied your accusations. 

You find yourself caught in a web of conflicting emotions. On one hand, the thoughtful gesture of the umbrella brings back memories of that rainy morning with Jeno. On the other hand, the recent revelation and Jeno's denial cast a shadow of doubt on the identity of your secret admirer.

As you stand there, staring at the umbrella, your brain cells are desperately trying to think up a good explanation for all of this. The evidence seems to point to Jeno, yet you can't ignore the possibility that this might be an elaborate misdirection. Or maybe Jaemin was the misdirection?

Your thoughts are interrupted by the familiar voice of Karina, who has just gotten off the elevator. She notices the umbrella in your hands and grins, "Mr. Admirer? An umbrella?"

You manage a half-smile, the weight of the situation pressing on you. "It’s a hint. There’s a memory tied to it.”

Karina arches an eyebrow, intrigued. "Memory?"

You decide to share the story of that rainy morning with Jeno, how both of you got caught in the downpour without umbrellas. As you recount the details, Karina listens attentively, connecting the dots between the past and the present. 

"So, you think Jeno might be your secret admirer because of this shared memory?" she asks, thoughtful. The way her expression brightens at the thought of your admirer actually being Jeno and not Jaemin—just like you wanted.

You shrug, uncertain. "It makes sense, right? But then there's the whole denial part. He flat-out said it's not him."

Karina leans against the reception desk, crossing her arms. "He probably just didn’t want you to find out like that. Maybe he's trying to surprise you later. Who knows?"

You sigh, feeling a mix of frustration and curiosity. "I just want to know. I’m this close to banging my head against the corner of my desk." 

Karina snorts and nudges you playfully. "Confront him again but this time, give him no choice but to confess."

You consider Karina's suggestion, realizing that confronting Jeno might be the only way to unravel this mystery. Gathering your resolve, you decide to have a direct conversation with him, determined to get to the bottom of your secret admirer's identity.

DECEMBER 20

Who would’ve thought that confronting your secret admirer would be nerve-wracking? Cause what if it really wasn’t Jeno and you were making a fool out of yourself?

It’s your break and you’re sitting at one of the lounge tables with Karina and Minjeong, playing with the edge of your instant ramen cup. 

You’re replaying how you want the situation to go down in your head. You want to go up to him, make small talk, he small talks back, you confront him, and he admits it—easier said than done. But your goal was to do it by the end of the day, mostly because you know that if you kept this going for any longer, you’d actually go crazy.

Minjeong and Karina are talking about something, you’re not quite sure what it was when Ningning joins in, “Did Giselle pass by?” 

Karina shakes her head, “Haven’t seen her.” 

Ningning pouts, “I was going to ask her someth—”

And again, you tune them out—not on purpose.

The voice in your head is screaming Jeno repeatedly and it’s driving you insane. You want it to stop, but the only way you can do so is by confronting him.

Then the door opens again and in comes Jeno and Jaemin, laughing about something Donghyuck and Mark related. Karina notices the way your eyes divert toward their direction and she tries to catch your attention, jerking her head in their direction. Eyes widening, you shake your head as if you were saying not now.

“Shit, I got coffee on my shirt,” you hear Jeno huff. 

From where you were sitting, you could see Jeno turning to show Jaemin the coffee stain on his white shirt, pouting. Jaemin laughs, “That’s what you get for using a broken bottle. Just buy a new one.” 

Jeno pouts, “You buy one for me, then.” 

At first, you don’t pay attention to their conversation, passing it off as the usual banter between the two, but then it clicks. Your mouth speaks before you can even process everything, “It’s you!” 

The room grows silent but, frankly, you don’t care because now you’re sure it was Jeno. 

Other than the umbrella and the memory, the only other hint other than handwriting were the water and coffee stains that the cards were always covered in (and you and Karina were still unsure whether that was on purpose or not). 

Jeno’s bottle was broken. 

You rise abruptly, the chair screeching against the floor. Rounding the tables, you navigate toward to get to Jeno, heart beating against your rib cage. Once he is within your reach, you snatch him by the wrist and drag him out of the lounge room and into the hallway. 

“Dumbass!” you smack his shoulder, “It was you! Liar!” You weren’t angry, in fact, you were laughing, disbelief etched on your face.

Jeno looks off to the side, “I… don’t know what you’re talking about…” He’s horribly holding a smile back, cheekbones growing prominent from his attempt. 

“Don’t play dumb,” you say, “The umbrella hint was enough for me to know it was you!” 

Jeno unleashes his smile, physically shrinking and lowering his head as his cheeks grow hot from your statement. “I didn’t think you’d remember it that easily…”

"You've been driving me insane, you know that?" You shake your head, still processing the revelation. "I even thought it was Jaemin for a bit. All this time, it was you!"

“Did you… want it to be Jaemin?” 

You shake your head, “Honestly, I was relieved it was you… no offense to Jaemin. Why didn’t you admit to it when I asked you?”

“Probably a similar reason for why you said ‘that’s a relief’ when I said it wasn’t me,” Jeno counters, slowly regaining his confidence. 

You chuckle, realizing the playful banter unfolding between you and Jeno. "Good point."

He grins, "Plus, watching you try to figure it out was entertaining." There’s a mischievous glint in Jeno’s eyes as he's holding back a smile.

You cross your arms, glaring up at him, "So you enjoyed torturing me?" 

Jeno panics slightly, shaking his head, "No! It’s not like I was torturing you! It was just something fun! I liked seeing your reactions!"

You playfully roll your eyes. "You're lucky I like you."

Jeno freezes, “Wait, you like me like me?” 

You look at Jeno as if he just said the dumbest shit that’s ever come out of someone’s mouth. “Lee Jeno, I literally told you I was relieved it was you and you think I don’t have feelings for you?” You want to smack him again.

“Yes?”

Smack.

“Ow!” Jeno rubs his arm and frowns. 

“Of course I like you!” You’re looking up at Jeno, “I was working my ass off trying to figure out who my admirer was because I had hopes that it was you!”

Jeno's eyes widen with surprise, and then a broad grin stretches across his face. "You... really?" he stammers, almost disbelieving, “So would… this be the right time to ask you on a date?” 

You stuck out your bottom lip and shrug, half-joking, “I mean… it’s the least you can do after putting me through all that.” 

“You’re right,” Jeno laughs. He takes a step closer, looking down at you with the world’s prettiest smile, “So will you?”

“Will I, what?” you tease, staring back up at him.

“Will you go out with me?”

taglist: @tytrackfebreze @lovesuhng @hoonieji @niinjo @dinonuguaegi @reignessance

an: the answer is yes 👀,,, Felix's is up next and it's gonna be cute

[incognit0slut]

Right Kind of Wrong (12)

She never thought she would be involved in a murder investigation and encounter her one-night-stand again, the awkward guy who isn’t exactly that good in bed—Or is he? Offended by the sentiment, Spencer is determined to prove her wrong… But as he gets tangled with the beautiful stranger, he realizes there is more to her than what meets the eye.

Part Summary: Spencer gets closer to the truth while she feels suffocated by the situation. wc: 4.3k

Series Warnings: 18+ explicit content, graphic details of murders, mentions of suicide, mentions of SA

a/n: Let me give you a long part as a token of my apology for being a slow writer. I hope this was worth the wait

Other parts: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14

"WE BELIEVE WE ARE DEALING WITH A MALE OFFENDER IN HIS LATE 20s TO EARLY 30s," Aaron Hotchner announced, his voice loud and jarring. "Based on the crime scenes, the Unsub doesn't have a lot of experience as they were most likely done in a moment of rage."

The team stood in front of the bullpen, facing a room full of officers and agents scattered along the space. Pens clicked and notepads rustled around them as everyone prepared to add insights to their unfolding narrative.

Rossi, who stood by the evidence board, skimmed his eyes across the room. "It suggests someone who is impulsive and might have difficulty controlling urges. This could also be a sign of an underlying mental illness."

"It's likely that there is some kind of history there, either of abuse or trauma in their childhood," JJ added. "It seems that the Unsub may have difficulty connecting with or relating to others and may be socially isolated as a result. He would mostly like to keep to himself."

Spencer took a step forward and carried on with their profile of the unidentified suspect. "The Unsub might also have grown up in a deeply religious environment. Their beliefs may have become twisted and distorted, leading them to believe that they possess a unique calling to carry out their crimes as a way of punishment."

"Based on the victims, the Unsub has targeted specific people whom they believe have harmed one of our witnesses," Morgan added, his voice seeming to turn deeper as he continued, "Y/n L/n."

A jolt of electricity surged through Spencer's consciousness. The human mind really was a powerful thing. Somehow the simple sound of her name projected the memories he had of her and suddenly he was seeing her face, her radiant smile, her beautiful eyes—he was seeing her so clearly as if she were standing right before him.

But then Emily moved past him, jolting him awake from his reverie as she bumped against his shoulder. "The Unsub has a sense of loyalty to her that they are acting out these crimes as a desire for retribution on her behalf. They might believe that they have a connection or some kind of relationship with Ms. L/n."

"We believe the Unsub might know her personally," Hotch addressed, his eyes, sharp and penetrating, scanning around him. "Go through places where the witness is most likely to go. This could be her neighborhood, workplace, daily commute, and so on."

The atmosphere seemed to shift as he finally dismissed the room. Everyone rose from their seats, each one heading to their respective posts and assignments. It didn't take long for the phones to ring in the background, followed by the constant shuffle of feet as the entire space started to come alive.

And as Spencer turned back to his desk, a familiar man pushing the glass doors of the office suddenly caught his attention. His steps faltered while the man looked around the room as recognition hit him. Spencer walked over, addressing him as one of the witnesses. "Mr. Adler?"

The other man blew out a sigh of relief. "Eric, please." He entered the office and gave Spencer a look. "The people downstairs told me I could find you here."

"You were looking for me?" He frowned. "Is there anything I can help you with?"

"I hope so," Eric replied. "Has there been any missing person report lately?"

The confusion on his face grew prominent at the question. "Not that I know of. Why? Is someone you know missing?"

"A coworker of mine hasn't shown up to work and I can't contact any of his family members," he explained. "I'm starting to get worried."

"What's his name?"

"Oliver Walsh."

Having an eidetic memory helped him recall the name easily. His mind went through all the information he gathered these past few days and remembered the exact name written on the list of employees. "When did you last see him?"

"Three—no, four days ago. He left work looking very troubled."

Spencer's brow was furrowed, his eyes fixed unwaveringly on Eric's. "Troubled?"

Eric nodded. "He seemed distracted."

"Do you have any idea why he acted the way he did?"

"No," he responded. And then it suddenly happened. His eyes, previously engaged in maintaining eye contact, drifted upward for a fleeting second. It was as though a switch had been flipped in his mind and the gears of his memory whirred to life. "Although he did seem to act different that day... especially towards Y/n."

His stomach churned. A subtle tremor coursed through his limbs, betraying the unease that was slowly but unmistakably creeping into his consciousness. "...Y/n?"

"You remember her, right? She was with me the night it happened."

Remember her? She was the only person he couldn't stop thinking about. Spencer cleared his throat and leaned forward. "I'm aware Ms. L/n was also a witness."

"Well, Oliver has been fixated on her for so long, everyone in the office knows this. Y/n mostly thinks of it as a joke but I don't think Oliver sees it the same way as she does."

"And something happened between them on the day you last saw him?"

"I'm not sure." Eric sighed. "I saw them talking after work hours, and by the looks of it, I think Y/n was pissed at him." He then crossed his arms, his brows in deep concentration as he seemed to be recalling that day. "She looked like she was under a lot of stress, actually."

"Did you hear what they were talking about?"

"No. But after that, Oliver didn't seem like himself anymore. Then he didn't come to work the next day..." Eric trailed off, his eyes casting down before he mumbled, "I still don't know where he is now."

Spencer's mind suddenly became a whirlwind of calculated chaos, connecting the dots with lightning precision. His heart raced in his chest, pounding out a rhythm of urgency that echoed in his ears. There was no room for hesitation, no luxury of second-guessing.

He needed to move fast.

"Emily!" He called out as he saw his friend walking past them, quickly stopping her pace at the mention of her name. "Can you help Mr. Adler file a missing person report?"

"Uh..." she looked between the two men, uncertainty written across her face. There were questions lingering at the tip of her tongue but she stopped herself when she saw the urgent look Spencer was throwing at her. "Of course," she decided to agree, her attention shifting to the other man. "Right this way."

With a swift, purposeful stride, Spencer left them behind, his footsteps echoing the urgency that had taken hold of him. His heart was still racing when he walked down the corridor, quickly making his way to the room down the hall.

The door swung open with a resolute push, and he entered the room, his senses on high alert. "Garcia."

"I wasn't doing anything!" The woman sitting before him shrieked, closing the window tabs on the screen in front of her. Usually, Spencer would tease her on how unprofessional it was to be doing something else that wasn't related to work, but he didn't have the time to engage in playful banter.

Spencer stepped behind her, placing a hand on the back of her chair. "Garcia, I need you to find Oliver Walsh for me."

She wasted no time. Her fingers danced across the keyboard with a rapid, almost feverish intensity. "Oliver... Walsh..." The soft clatter of keys echoed in the room as she navigated through files and databases. "There are too many Oliver Walsh in this country."

"He works at the same company as Y/n."

"Should've mentioned that sooner." Her eyes scanned lines of text, images, and documents in front of her. "Bingo. Oliver Conrad Walsh was born on 18th December 1991 as an only child—wait, look at this. His family was part of The Haven Hill... a sanctuary of unwavering faith and profound tranquility?"

"Is it some kind of a cult?"

"I don't think so." Her eyes landed on an old article buried within the archives and clicked on the link before a picture of a worn-out brochure greeted them. "Prospective members are welcomed into Haven Hill, a secluded and serene enclave where faith and tradition unite. It seems like a very tight-knit community with a very religious belief—oh!"

Her fingers moved as she navigated through digital records. "Reid..."

"What is it?"

The screen suddenly displayed a grim history of illicit activities and misdeeds, a virtual breadcrumb trail leading them closer to the truth.

"Oliver Walsh was far from being a saint albeit growing up in a religious environment. Along with his group of friends, he was constantly rebelling ever since a very young age. He had to do a lot of community service for it too; underage drinking, burglary, public disturbances—oh dear."

"Attempt sexual assault?" Spencer read out loud.

"...a group of underage boys was proved guilty of trying to violate a fourteen-year-old girl on school grounds—"

"Garcia," Spencer stopped her, not wanting to listen to the rest of the story. "Give me his current address."

"Already on it," she responded, her fingers hovering over the keyboard.

Spencer's heart pounded in his chest. He couldn't believe this, the suspect was no longer a shadowy figure; they were becoming real, tangible, and within his grasp. Then his eyes caught the shot of the man on the screen. A jolt of recognition surged through him as he scrutinized the suspect's image on the screen. The face staring back at him carried a haunting familiarity.

Memories raced through his mind like flickering images from the past. He remembered him, he always remembered people's faces, and that man right there was the same man he had seen in Y/n's house that afternoon. There was a huge chance this was all a coincidence.

But there was also a possibility of Oliver Walsh being the Unsub.

He didn't know which one was true, but what he did know was that he needed to find out the truth.

The sudden, shrill ring of his phone shattered the intensity of the moment. It was a jarring intrusion, snapping him back to the present. With a swift, almost automatic motion, Spencer reached for the device and answered the call without looking away from the screen. "Yes?"

"Agent Reid," the person on the other line greeted, their words rushed in a moment of panic. "I can't find her."

Spencer pulled his phone away from his face and glanced at the caller ID. Officer Anderson. A sense of relentless panic coursed through him as the realization hit like a lightning bolt. He felt a knot tighten in his stomach, a visceral reaction to the gravity of the call.

"What do you mean you can't find her?"

"I—" There was a sigh. "I-I was watching inside my car and I somehow ended up sleeping. She's nowhere inside the house now—"

"Did you call her?"

"She left her phone in the kitchen."

At that moment, he was acutely aware of every heartbeat, every pulse of blood coursing through his veins. Panic resounded through his thoughts, casting a dark shadow over him. It was a visceral, gut-wrenching sensation that threatened to paralyze him like the ground had suddenly shifted beneath his feet.

"I apologize, Agent Reid."

But then anger coursed through his body. He was suddenly angry—Angry at the situation, angry at the Unsub, angry at the officer who couldn't seem to do his one simple job. His jaw clenched, his knuckles turned white as he gripped the phone tighter, and his eyes flashed with fury.

"Being sorry isn't going to help you find her," he snapped. He then straightened himself. "I'll be there in ten."

"What happened?" Garcia whispered, noticing the sudden tension in his shoulder.

Spencer shoved back his phone and turned to her. "Garcia, I need you to inform the others, I have to go."

"What?!" She yelped, watching as he turned away from her. "Right now? Where are you going?"

But her question was left unanswered as he bolted out of the door.

There was no other way to explain what being followed by a disguised officer felt like. It was suffocating. Even everything felt suffocating these days, and when she meant everything, Y/n really meant everything.

At first, the idea of protection had offered comfort, but now it was an oppressive weight that bore down on her shoulders. Everywhere she turned, a shadow loomed, an unwelcome reminder of the loss of her freedom. The suffocating sensation was inescapable, restricting her every movement.

The constant surveillance had pushed her to the brink of stress and manifested in the form of tension that coiled within her, ready to snap at the slightest provocation. Her patience wore thin and the weight of anxiety rested heavy on her chest. One moment she was on the verge of tears, the next, she was snapping with sharp words, irritable and sullen.

She really needed a break.

"You should go to the gym," Sandy had suggested the other day. "It might help relieve the stress."

After debating whether it was a good idea to visit the gym when she couldn't even remember the last time she stepped foot on a treadmill, she finally decided to slip out of the house. She walked over to the black car she already grew familiar with and stood by the window—only to find Officer Anderson fast asleep behind the wheels.

A pang of guilt tugged at her, but the allure of temporary freedom was too strong to resist. It was an unexpected opportunity, a rare moment of freedom dangling before her like a tempting prize. Was it wise to leave without informing him? Probably not. But she couldn't imagine herself working out—all awkward, tired, and sweaty—with Officer Anderson watching her from the corner.

So silently, she retraced her steps. Her pulse quickened with a mix of trepidation and exhilaration as she walked away. It would be fine, she had assured herself. She would be back before he realized she was even gone. And with that thought in mind, she quickly made her way to the closest gym around the corner.

The place felt both familiar and foreign as she navigated the equipment, but she finally found her place in an exercise routine. Her muscles protested the unaccustomed effort, but with each movement, she could feel the tension slowly dissipating. It wasn't until she could barely feel her limbs anymore that she stopped and left the place.

Even though her body was aching from pushing her body to its limit, she did feel slightly better. Her steps also did feel lighter when she walked back to her home, and her mind felt calmer, and less chaotic than it did when she left her house. But as she approached her street, a knot of unease tightened in her stomach.

The evening's fading light cast long, ominous shadows that seemed to reach out and embrace her front door, which stood ajar. It was an unexpected sight, one that sent a chill down her spine. Two things flashed into her mind at that very moment. One, she realized Officer Anderson was nowhere in sight. His usual parked car looked very much abandoned with no one inside the vehicle. Two, she could probably die if she entered her house alone in this state.

Maybe she should call the police. Maybe she should call Spencer... Yeah right, she didn't even have his number. Maybe she should just call Agent Jareau. Or Agent Prentiss. Yes, that would be a wiser option than to—shit. She clutched her empty pockets.

She didn't even bring her phone to begin with.

She cursed to herself. This was a bad, bad decision. She was probably going to regret this, but she couldn't just stand there and do nothing. So very cautiously, she approached her house, her senses on high alert.

As she pushed the door open wider, it revealed a slice of the dimly lit interior. She couldn't help but hold her breath as she stepped over the threshold, her footsteps hesitant, almost reverent, on the creaking floorboards.

She stepped deeper into her home and slowly entered the dimly lit kitchen. Her breath caught in her throat as she saw a figure standing shrouded in shadows, a silhouette in the gloom. A gasp of shock emitted through her lips, but as her eyes adjusted to the darkness, recognition washed over her like a tidal wave.

"Officer Anderson!" She yelled, placing a hand over her heart. "You scared me!"

"Ms. L/n," he breathed out, his expression softening when he saw her. "Where have you been?"

Guilt washed over her as she noticed the concern in his eyes but she quickly dismissed it, stepping further into the room, and grabbing a water bottle from the fridge. "I went to the gym."

"Why didn't you tell me? I'm supposed to accompany you—"

"You were asleep, I didn't want to wake you."

"You should've woken me up, Ms. L/n."

"You looked like you could use some sleep," she mentioned before glancing at the clock perched on the wall. "I was only gone for like an hour, it's not a big deal."

Officer Anderson looked like he wanted to argue with her, but stopped himself before letting out a sigh. "Can you please inform me whenever you step out of the house, even when I might be asleep?"

His concerned gaze met hers as he turned to her, a mixture of relief and worry in his eyes. Guilt twisted in her chest as she nodded. "Alright, I will."

"And please bring your phone with you at all times."

Her eyes snapped towards the device sitting on the counter. "I did forget to bring it with me, I'm sorry."

With a nod, the officer excused himself, giving her a moment of privacy to collect her thoughts. She watched him go, his retreating figure a testament to his dedication, despite the surprise of her brief absence.

Feeling overwhelmed by the mix of emotions—being scrutinized by an authority, being a potential target of a serial killer still on the loose—she retreated to her room, seeking solace in the familiar confines of her private space. She quickly peeled off her clothes which clung to her body from all the sweat and stepped into her bathroom.

The sound of running water filled the room as she turned on the shower, its warmth a soothing embrace. Steam enveloped her, and as the water cascaded over her body, the tension that had coiled within her began to unravel. Under the gentle caress of the water, she closed her eyes. Her shoulders trembled with the tension she had carried for so long, the weight of guilt, responsibility, and emotions too complex to unravel.

How had things turned the way it did? A few weeks ago her life seemed normal, yet now she was linked to a crime with her name at the center of it. This felt so unfair. Why her? Why now? Wh—

Bang!

She opened her eyes.

What was it now?

It sounded... it sounded like a thud coming from somewhere in her house.

The sudden interruption jolted her from the sanctuary of the shower. Her heart raced as she hastily wrapped a towel around herself and emerged from the bathroom, water droplets glistening on her skin. The door to her room suddenly wrenched open with force before a figure she last expected walked in.

"What the—Spencer!" She gasped, not believing who she was seeing. "What the hell?!"

His gaze met hers, and she saw something in his expression that sent a shiver down her spine. It was an anger she hadn't seen before, a storm brewing beneath the surface of his usual calm demeanor. His jaw was clenched, and his normally warm eyes were steely and cold.

"Are you crazy?" He suddenly snapped.

"Me?" She wailed, tightening the towel around her body. "Are you crazy? What are you even doing here?"

"What were you thinking going out without notice?" Spencer's tone was incredulous, his anger unabated. "Without informing Officer Anderson?"

So this was why he was here? To confront her reckless action perhaps?

She scoffed, crossing her arms over her chest. "He looked like he needed the sleep after constantly watching me with little to no rest."

Spencer's frustration deepened, his brows furrowing. "He's assigned to you to keep you safe. You can't just disappear like that, it's irresponsible."

"Well excuse me for being considerate," she retorted.

"You were being reckless."

"No," she argued. "I was being thoughtful."

"Why are you not taking this seriously?" His voice grew sharper, a desperate attempt to make her understand as he stalked towards her. "Can't you understand you were putting yourself at risk?"

"I was only gone for an hour."

"Something could've happened!"

"But nothing did!"

She met his frustration with a defiant glare, holding her ground as he approached her, his tall, intimidating frame only stopping when he was directly in front of her. She saw his eyes drift down her body before pinning his gaze on her face again.

"Y/n, I need you to be safe."

"I am safe! I've been safe ever since you guys put someone to watch over me. I've been safe ever since the same person has been following me everywhere I go, which if you haven't caught on my sarcasm, has made me feel more like in prison than actually feeling protected." Her voice was tinged with frustration as she squared her shoulders, refusing to back down. "It's like I'm being controlled."

"It's not about controlling you, it's about ensuring that nothing bad happens to you."

"I was simply gone for an hour, Spencer," she reminded him again. "No need to go all dramatic over it."

Then in the blink of an eye, the heated tension that had filled the room seemed to snap, leaving them both breathless and disarmed. But instead of reacting with anger or shouting, Spencer's frustration found a different outlet.

"Why are you not fucking listening to me?"

And in a sudden and unexpected gesture, he cupped her face in his hands. Their eyes locked for a fleeting moment, filled with a mix of emotions too complex to name. And then, in a burst of raw and unspoken desire, he leaned in and crashed his lips on her.

She was too stunned to speak, too stunned to respond. There was nothing else she could do but to give in his advance, because dear god, it felt too good to have his mouth moving against hers again. Spencer had kissed her many times before, but not like this. Not this rough. She could even feel the frustration seeping from his body as his lips moved against hers with urgency.

He continued to kiss her, biting hard at her bottom lip, teeth gnashing against the soft flesh of it as a rumbling noise vibrated deep in his chest. Each time she gasped in response at his teeth, his tongue forced its way into her mouth and lapped so mercilessly that she was left desperate for air each time he returned to assaulting her with his teeth and lips.

"Is this what it would take for you to listen?" He growled against her mouth. "Is this what you want?"

Speechless, she responded to his ardor with a fervor of her own, her body leaning into his, fingers tracing the contours of his face. She continued to stare up at him, trying to quickly piece together what was going on, though she nevertheless found herself aroused. It was as if their desire, long suppressed by their arguments and differences, had suddenly ignited, leaving them both powerless to resist the pull of passion.

"Answer me," he barked out.

"Yes," she finally breathed out. "Yes."

Releasing her face, his hands rose in between them. Her eyes dropped down, watching as he gripped her towel with so much force before he ripped it off her body in one swift movement, throwing the material onto the floor.

His eyes roamed over her body, tracing every curve and contour with an intensity that sent shivers down her spine. His hands traced over her sides before he gripped onto her hips, tugging her towards him desperately. "I won't be able to restrain myself."

She knew what he meant. She was acutely aware of the tension seeping from his body, all the anger, all the frustration. She understood how hard these past few days had been for him, she could even feel it from the taught in his muscles. He was tensed and from the way he was looking at her with hooded eyes, he needed a release.

And so did she.

The intensity of the moment had ignited a different kind of fire within her, and her previous anger and frustration began to fade away, which was why she found one of her hands caressing his cheek, pulling him closer as he leaned his forehead against hers. "Then don't," she whispered. "Use me."

His eyes snapped to her.

"You can use me, Spencer," she assured him. "Use me in any way you want."

There was a moment of silence as he contemplated her words. "Do you mean that?"

She nodded. She missed this—dear god, she missed him so much. She hadn't realized how much she missed being close to him until she was standing naked underneath his heated gaze.

She pressed her lips against his softly. "I'm all yours."

And then he deepened the kiss and she melted into him, her tongue dancing with his. He slowly loosened his grip on her hips and found its way onto her hand resting against his cheek. He pulled away from her, tugging her hand towards him, his mouth hovering above her wrist.

"In any way I want?" He asked, gently brushing his lips over her pulse.

"Any way you want."

He smiled at her then, the first smile she saw on him ever since he barged into her room unexpectedly. But there was something about his smile that sent her into a frenzy of nerves. It wasn't genuine, it wasn't gentle.

It wasn't until his other hand reached behind him that she finally understood what his smile meant. Because right at that moment, to her surprise, he retrieved a pair of handcuffs from his pocket, and with a soft click he carefully bounded one of her wrists, the steel bracelets feeling cool against her damp skin.

And then his smile morphed into a more dominant edge as he leaned closer, his eyes burning with need.

"Any way I want."

>> NEXT PART

a/n: Did you think I wasn't going to insert another smutty scene in between all the chaos? You thought wrong!

.

taglist #1

@tereresrock @casthings @vader-is-hot @maevethelesbian @whereintheworldisspencerreid @reidverseq @niyahwhoreworld @l4venderia @theintrovertedthespian @lovelyxtom @tayzerr-72 @mulbsstuff @dorothleah @stevenknightmarc @prettyboyspenceee @gracesmusings @kalulakunundrum @fearlessmoony @r5court @simp4f1 @thecrazytealady @nyeddleblog @ghostheartbeat @comfortzonequeen @iiheartbowie @louderfortheback @busy-buzzing @alexis-exe2008 @imtherealslimmoony @baeofevery @elamultistan @lyxennz @avid-fic-reader-05

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Don’t forget to interact with the story!

[supermarketbae]

Hello!

Could you do a cute Billy Hargrove x fem reader were they are secretly dating and the party are slowly figuring it out. Like max is confused why Billy is being a lot nicer. Eddie, Steve, and robin wants to know who keeps calling reader when they hangout at her house.

You can write the end however you like! Love your writing! Have a great day!

OMGGGG THANK U SO MUCH LOVE!! (also i'm back taking class courses again so sorry if I've responded late. bAcK To SchOOl FolKs *nerdy goth noises* this can be read as a part three but its fine on its own.

Billy Hargrove x fem reader

What's Best?

Naughty and not so nice the series

The sun had just set, leafless trees casting long shadows around the warm room as their spindly woven branches wafted softly against the windows a sound accompanied by joking and stupid dares. Your friends were oblivious to the sun starting to sink below the horizon. Everyone was happy to finally find some time to hang out together. How late it was getting was a small, trivial matter that was forgotten in the spirit of laughter and much needed relaxation. Max was thoroughly appalled when Billy made no objection in bringing her along to your house, and you thought she had keeled over when, instead of leaving he walked right in with her.

Robin glanced at you questioningly through the night. But you paid it no mind. Billy was starting to be roped into your little group of misfits, and there was nothing you would rather have more. "Soooo what's this talk I hear of my little baby having a boyfriend?" Eddie drawls smacking your butt playfully as he grabs a coke from the counter "Never thought you'd have it in you doll." he continues smirking sarcastically. Your heart shudders for a beat as you subtlety make eye contact at Billy from across the room, you scowl gently as you see his shoulders shaking in silent laughter "Bitch." you say pointedly turning back to Eddie to slug him in the shoulder.

"Wonder who he is, since you practically skip when the phone rings." Eddie smiles grabbing at your hair musing it up. "I do not!" you say wide eyed a light blush settling on your cheeks. You don't dare to look at Billy again to see his reaction. But to your relief, your embarrassment falls on deaf ears as the others continue enjoying themselves. You lean back on the counter as you watch the sight before you; Nancy and Robin talking together on the couch, Robin blushing lightly as she talks animatedly, Nancy grabbing her arm. Dustin, Mike, El, Will, and Max geeking out about some intricate thing. You find yourself smiling softly, blissfully unaware of Billy's approach behind you, that is until strong arms wrapped discreetly around your waist.

"What's up doll." his gravelly mumble tore at your chest causing your heart to constrict. "Nothing much, handsome," you whisper back voiced honeyed but still drooping low. "hands to yourself while you're at it too." you chide teasingly, pinching lovingly at his forearm. Your giggle echoes louder when Billy nips at your shoulder. The sound traveled sharply, catching the attention of your observant friend, Max glances up briefly surprised at the sight of you. She cocked her head in elegant confusion noticing Billy's usually scowling face in a radiant grin. Even more so that he was that close to you.

You caught her eye. A silent promise lay in them.

A soft smile.

She wanted what was best for him too.

And as she watched his face crinkle in laughter as you kissed his cheek secretively, she knew that you were, inevitably, what was best.

--------------------------------<3----------------------------------------

AHHHHHHH im sososososoossoso sorry i started up classes and OMLLLLL @unamused-boss thank you so much for requesting and I hope this brought your idea justice mllll thank you darlingggg

[saerins]

⋆୨ chapter one ୧˚ thorns without flowers, bars with no drinks

⋆୨ if not for you (masterlist) ⋆୨ previous: prologue - all see through just like glass <> next: chapter two - a million miles away, still you connect me in your way ୧˚

⋆୨ synopsis ୧˚ neither of you want this. both you and sae reluctantly agree to this marriage, although sae’s dissatisfaction far outweighs your own. with hidden agendas and old flames, will this ever work out between the two of you, or will your forced spark be doomed to fail?

ೀ series: sae x f!reader | wc 5k | ೀ content warnings: fluff/angst, modern au, arranged marriage, rich!sae and rich!reader, hostility on sae’s part, profanity, your marriage is not off to a very good start, both yn and sae both have other … options. | notes: ty i appreciate all of you who are reading this <3 i added everyone who asked to be tagged ^_^ lemme know if i missed you !!

The day has finally arrived. After two months of painstaking preparations, it’s your special day today. Not that your parents have given you any say on your own special day. You wonder if your future husband got the same treatment too. That is, if he was even interested in it.

Everyone has arrived, the chefs are ready, people are dressed to the nines, photographers are already snapping away. More than half the guests, most of which you barely know, have come to speak to you, to congratulate you, but it all still feels so surreal.

Is this really happening?

There’s a lot of important people in attendance today, a lot of them you don’t even know personally. Which is funny, considering that it’s your wedding. Of course, both sets of parents were in charge of the invites, and your actual friends probably only account for fifteen percent of the entire list. (With Sae’s friends, probably totaling thirty percent.) The rest are spaces filled by people in power—political, business, what have you. It’s no surprise; your parents (and you guess Sae’s as well) are great at networking, and of course these people would attend such an event—two kids of rivalling companies getting married would signify a possibly huge shift in market share, and they’d probably like to be here to witness for themselves if this is some sort of sham. If this lasts, then they’ll have to move their money around, that’s for sure.

It is kind of a sham, but you’re trying to get that out of your head. This can’t possibly be anything but a ruse to further their own gains. Parents are like that, as much as you know.

“Hey, are you sure about this? There’s still time to back out, you know?”

Beside you, your ever observant younger sister offers you a sad smile; a product of the guilt she feels because despite you not telling her, she knows you’re just trying to keep the crosshairs away from her. She must’ve realised that your feet are colder than you thought. But as far as you’re concerned, better you than her.

She has a happy relationship with one of the nicest guys she’s ever met, and the last time you’d spoken to him, he’d confessed to wanting to marry her. The only downside to it all is that your sister is way too filial—if your parents tried to force her to get married to someone of their choice, she’d give in eventually, and you don’t want that.

Besides, you don’t have anyone. No love interest, no potential suitors—what’s the worst that could happen to you? As long as Sae is decent enough of a human being, you’re sure you’ll be fine.

“I’m sure, so don’t worry about me, okay?” Your hands come up to her shoulders, squeezing slightly, offering your best and most radiant smile.

Sensing that there’s only more of your dear sister’s worry coming, you’re grateful that a timely knock comes from the doorway. You hold back a sigh of relief before turning to look at your visitor, and you stiffen up when you realise who it is.

“Is this a bad time?”

Your sister speaks up before you do. “Oh, Itoshi Sae, of course not!” There’s a sense of excitement in her voice that masks her earlier concern; it’s kind of sad that the art of faking is a necessity of living in the world you do. It’s one of the essential skills. You either fake it or face consequences. “I’m all done here, you two should talk.”

With that, she bounces out of the room, and you wonder just what kind of thoughts she’s having—her happiness is kind of infectious. Sure, Reo had said countless times that if Sae was ever a dick to you, he’d punch him in the guts for you. So far, he doesn’t have to. It’s nice that he made the time to visit you before the ceremony, it’d be nice to meet just once before after all.

“Hi, um, it’s nice to meet you.” It’s the best you can do when you’re halfway gaping at how good your future husband looks. There’s nothing that needs to be said for his face; his red-brown hair frames his face just nice, his teal eyes makes it feel like he can see right through you, and those naturally long lashes of his makes you envious. He’s wearing a simple black tux—but you know there’s nothing simple about the price tag. Not for his tux, nor for your couture wedding dress. He still looks handsome all the same, and you realise now why so many girls seem to be all over him from all those forums you’d been reading up on.

Still, as charming as he looks, he makes you slightly uncomfortable with that especially long silence, your eyes falling on his gaze, his teal eyes seeming like they’re posing you silent questions. You remain quiet, waiting for his next move. It’s almost like you submit by default.

Some foolish part of you, the hopeless romantic, is hoping you and him can hit it off right away, but even you know that’s asking for too much. Sae proves you right when he finally opens his mouth.

“I wanted to set things straight before we go through with anything.”

Just like that, with just those few words, Sae has managed to strip all the hope out of you. Nothing good can come out of those words, coupled with that monotonous tone of his. This isn’t the face of a man who’s happy to get married, and certainly not one of a man who is even willing.

Though, can you really say you are?

“I only said yes because I was forced to,” Sae tells you, not explaining more than he needs to. The line is drawn—thick with a black marker, something you can’t miss even if you wanted to. “Just play your part, act happy, and you can drop the act once we’re done with this today.”

There’s something in his bossy attitude that doesn’t sit right with you, but you’re too busy being disappointed in yourself to do anything about it. All you allow is a nod, because even without Sae saying it, you had planned to give your biggest smile later anyway, no matter how fake it is. Thing is, you had imagined that Sae was less… hostile than this. Honestly, maybe you had been hoping for him to at least put some effort into liking the situation, but from how he is now, it doesn’t look like it at all.

“Okay then, see you.”

Sae barely looks at you before he turns and walks off toward the door, right about to turn the corner when he’s stopped by your parents. Of course, they’re more than delighted to see him. They’d been convincing you hard to this arranged marriage, claiming how you’re so horrible at romance that they really are just pushing you to do this so they can have an heir early. If you ever did have a child, you can only be sure how you want to not treat them like. Your parents can be credited for that.

“You look wonderful, Sae!” Your mother is already gushing over Sae’s look as your father has his arm around him, pulling him back to the door.

“So, this is the first time you’re meeting our Y/N right? What do you think, son?” Your father has his Client Services voice switched on—after seeing him work all this time, you can distinguish it in an instant. You wonder if Sae can.

In front of your parents, you’re shocked to see that he’s already putting on an act. There’s a very subtle smile on his face—something that seems so soft and secretive, something that looks like it’s meant to be viewed by exclusive people only—and you find your own heart skipping a beat. You wonder if anyone’s ever been so lucky to be able to see that naturally.

“Your daughter is…” Sae trails off, and you find yourself swallowing the lump in your throat, inwardly asking. yourself why on earth would his opinion matter to you at all. “Pretty.”

It’s a simple word, with an even simpler meaning, and Sae doesn’t even mean it, but you find a heat creeping up your cheeks and you’re not sure why it’s so easy to appease you.

“You’re hopeless, you know that?” Reo says later on, after your parents and Sae have headed off somewhere and Reo takes their place.

Covering your head with your hands, you groan, absolutely annoyed with yourself. “Is it so wrong that I just want my future husband to remotely like me even just a little bit?”

Reo sighs, wondering what kind of luck you have to be born into a family where that isn’t even possible. Usually, people marry someone after they dated them for a while. After they can ascertain they’re good for them and that they have the capacity to put them first. Somehow, you’d been stripped of that because your parents, of all people, are the ones encouraging you to get married to someone who doesn’t love you. Hell, they even know that you and Sae don’t even know each other.

It’s pitiful, really. You’re a nice person, and Reo would shake you and convince you not to do this if he could, but it’s not like you can afford anyone to lose faith in you. If they do, how will you keep up your act? So, he’ll play his part as your best friend and just support you—he’ll deal with Sae separately if he ever dares to treat you horribly.

“Does he even know how to be nice to people?” You ponder out loud, whining, pouting as you gaze at nothing at all, the ticking of the clock making you more nervous by the second.

The wedding ceremony is half an hour away now.

Reo takes a seat beside you, leaning an elbow against your dresser. “Hmm, I heard about him from friends of friends—but all of them say he’s more of an asshole than your average person,” Reo fills you in, though you probably guessed that by yourself.

Of course, he chooses not to disclose the fact that Sae has an alleged ex he can’t get over, because what good would that do you? You’ll just get all FBI-mode and try to find her socials and find reasons you’ll never measure up and say shit like maybe that’s why Sae isn’t interested in you.

Still, you look like a hot mess and Reo has to encourage you somehow, or else you’ll end up walking up that aisle like you’re marrying Lord Farquaad. “Oi, Y/N, what I hear is he’s just a tough nut to crack.”

“I get it, Reo, I’ll probably end up talking to the wall everyday at home since my husband won’t even talk to me.”

Reo rolls his eyes, pressing his lips into a firm line and putting his hands on your shoulders, taking care not to shake you or else your hairdo will come off and he’ll have your hairdresser absolutely seething. He’s not about to try and owe her anything or else he’ll end up bald just from having to offer her a wig.

“Hey, he’s just a tough nut to crack,” he repeats, and he sighs in exasperation when you still don’t get it. “So crack him, stupid. You’re good at that, right?”

Your eyes widen at Reo’s insinuation, and even more so when you realise it’s an actual good attempt at trying to encourage you. You crack a small laugh and Reo smiles along with you—he thinks that smile looks the best on you.

“If you can crack Nagi of all people, who’s Itoshi Sae?” Reo affirms. Nagi Seishiro, the son of the dean back when all of you were in university, who wanted for nothing except laying in bed all day and playing games, somehow managed to show an interest in helping his mother with her business, and it’s all because of you. Reo still doesn’t know how you did it, but all he knows is that you’re probably magic. (No, he knows you definitely are. You were, once, his once upon a time after all.)

His words stay with you even as you walk down the aisle fifteen minutes later, arm looped around your father’s.

“Be a good wife, okay?” Your father’s words break you out of your reverie. It isn’t the normal way a father would show concern for his child. No, the way he says it is cold and sinister, like it’s a threat. He reminds you why you’ve never had a good relationship with him. “If you screw this up, we’ll all have hell to pay.”

Trust your father to drop a bomb on you right before he passes you to Sae, who receives you with a polite nod. Perhaps, his original reaction is to have no reaction at all—is that nod his form of ‘acting’?

“Dearly beloved, we are all gathered here today—”

The words are lost on you as you try to keep your head in the present. Different thoughts are invading your head from different places that you almost feel overwhelmed from the mess. You can see Sae right in front of you, staring at you, and all you can think of is how you’re going to get along with someone who looks like he doesn’t want to. Growing up with a distant father and a far-too-subservient mother gives you anxiety—what if you end up just like that? Aside from that, instead of the holy words of matrimony, all you can hear is your father’s words repeating themselves in your head.

Hell to pay? Why, exactly? Why did he let go of the flimsy excuse of simply wanting to be his daughter’s matchmaker? What’s he talking about when he involves you in a possible blowback? What’s going on?

“Anytime now, princess.”

Sae’s hushed voice snaps you out of your thoughts, and you scramble to gather yourself. “Yes, I do.”

For some reason, Sae’s hands are now around yours, and the glimmer of the diamond on your ring finger reminds you of the gravity of what you’re doing. You’re getting married—to someone you barely know, for a reason you’re somehow not privy to. You’re signing away your life to be with someone who made it clear he’s definitely not interested, who views you as a chore before he bothers to get to know you.

It all terrifies you, if only because this was not what you ever envisioned for yourself. In the audience, you see Reo’s vibrant purple eyes looking at you, a confident smile on his face, nodding as though telling you that you’ve got this. In some ways, it’s reassuring, because once upon a time, you’d thought of Reo as your Prince Charming.

In front of you—not completely oblivious to your subtle actions: trembling fingers, eyes flicking over to that purple-haired boy in the front row, your shallow breathing—Sae puts a gentle hand on your cheek, slowly guiding you to look straight at him. For his part, he has to at least make this believable, to make his parents believe that he’ll follow through with this for years and years so that they’ll never have to bother Rin. Unfortunately for you, you’re his ticket to that end. Like it or not, both of you are in this together.

“Try to look like you’re happy, at least,” Sae breathes against your lips, a soft curve on his lips just for show, as he slowly presses his lips against your own, a satisfaction washing over him as he feels you kiss him back.

Great, step one is done. Now, for the rest of the wedding.

It’s a tough sell. During the reception, you’re acutely aware of how awkward you and Sae are around each other. He tries, occasionally tucking a stray lock of hair behind your ear, or offering to feed you food. It’s only because there’s a lot of eyes on both of you.

His hand on your back feels foreign, and forced, and you can’t help feeling sad that he’s not someone who cares for you. The only thing tiding you through is that it’s not necessarily that way for you too.

“You’re a horrible actress,” he whispers, low so only you can hear. He’s right, too. You really do suck at this. “If you don’t at least look happy, we’re both in trouble.”

As if you need a reminder. In some ways, his attitude is similar to your father’s, and not in a good way. It only serves to make his touch more alien.

“Hey, look who’s here,” you hear a very boisterous voice approaching.

A quick turn of your head and you can see who you assume to be Sae’s friends, because surely they’re not yours. The one approaching first looks older, dark hair with green tips, behind him another one with blonde hair and wild pink highlights.

“Hello there, beautiful,” the first one says, reaching out to grab your hand and place a kiss on the back of it.

With a click of his tongue, Sae yanks his hand off of you. “Stop playing, Oliver.”

Oliver. That name sounds oddly familiar.

“At least I wasn’t like Mr Embarrassing here who spilled the wine all over one of the bridesmaids.”

Mr Embarrassing cocks a brow, ready to challenge Oliver. But before either of them can say anything more, Sae cuts in.

“These are my friends—”

“I’m Oliver Aiku,” he introduces himself, properly reaching out his hand this time now, waiting for you to take it at your own pace. 

You stare at him dumbly for a moment before shaking it. “As in, the law firm?”

“At your service,” Oliver smirks.

Of course one of Sae’s friends is the son of the most influential law firms in the whole of Japan. Right as you’re still collecting yourself, Oliver nudges Mr Embarrassing.

Looking completely disinterested, he sighs. “Ryusei Shidou.”

“As in,” you pause for a while, afraid you might be wrong. “As in… the governor Shidou?”

Annoyed, Shidou nods anyway, and Oliver begins to tell you to excuse him because he’s in a shitty mood but you’re not really hearing any of that.

Holy crap. So that must be the infamous son of the governor, the one he keeps carefully hidden away from prying eyes. Given how he’s behaving, and how he looks completely unlike a… typical person here, you’re not that surprised. That’s probably just how tradition is, in their family. Much like how you and the Itoshis have their own as well.

The rest of the celebration goes uneasily, your anxiety forever creeping up your spine, threatening to unravel itself and have you running off to Reo for some sense of familiarity—but that won’t look well: new bride choosing to spend the entire celebration with her best friend instead of her new husband? That’ll just bode a scandal for all three of you, and with this many influential people in the room, from governors to influencers, that’s the dumbest move you can make.

“Well, you two look absolutely beautiful together!”

After your first dance, the Itoshis approach you, both of them seemingly happy on the surface, but given how Sae absentmindedly tightens his grip around your hand, you’re not so sure you should believe in the superficial. Right, because you of all people should know the complications that come with being children of such parents.

It’s like Sae realises what he’s doing before he drops your hand, acting like nothing happened at all.

“Sae. What did we discuss?” The way his father calls his name is absolutely sinister. If you didn’t know any better, you swear they feel like absolute strangers.

Fortunately for you, some other guests come by and steal their attention, both of them relegating to one of the other tables. Beside you, Sae’s jaw is clenched—he’s lost any interest in faking anything for now.

Still, you suppose, if you’re going to get along with him, you probably have to try to reach out… right? Steeling your resolve, you place your hand over his, squeezing it a little, “what was that—”

Without even letting you finish, Sae yanks his hand away, and for the first time today, you’re seeing some genuine emotion behind his eyes. 

And they’re not kind. They’re pretty, but they’re ice cold—the veins on his temple are prominent now, and he really doesn’t care if anyone sees.

“You’re my wife, only on paper,” he hisses through his teeth, still cautious in keeping his voice down. His frustration doesn’t know its boundaries, choosing to take this anger out on you. “Stop trying to poke your nose into my fucking business, we’re strangers, and that’s all we’ll ever be. Drop the act, I’m done for today.”

Just like that, he storms off, which doesn’t quite particularly cause a ruse because for a wedding held for the both of you, there’s not a lot of people here that actually care for either of you. It’s as though this wedding is just a pathetic excuse for a larger-scale networking session.

Feeling even more pathetic yourself, you make sure nobody’s looking before you slip away, retreating to the rooftop garden—you need some fresh air after being so uprightly rejected by your on-paper husband.

Back in the dressing room, Sae locks the door behind him, knowing full well you didn’t deserve to be on the other end of his temper but not being able to bring himself to just apologise. Just as well, he figures. From the looks of it, you seemed pretty hopeful for the bare minimum being a good relationship but Sae can’t see it.

He catches his reflection in the mirror, barely recognising himself. A year ago, getting married wasn’t even in his radar. He’d thought of it before, sure, but would never have guessed in his wildest dreams that he’d get married to you of all people. 

There’s always an agenda for why his parents force these things on their children. If he was a shittier brother, he’d have let them drag Rin back for all he cared. But maybe it’s the way he can’t bear for them to ruin yet another dream that he so easily gave in. Or maybe he thought that this idea wouldn’t be so bad in the first place, maybe it’ll give him the chance to want to move past certain things.

Evidently, it’s not working well.

You’re pretty, and that’s something he didn’t lie about. You really are, but that’s all he can say. He can’t say he sees anything, any hope, any reason for him to want this to work out.

Sae sits down on one corner of the bed, pulling his phone out. He scoffs upon realising he doesn’t even have your number. What kind of fucked up marriage is this? Nothing was handled for either of you, so it’s safe to say that the only thing either set of parents cared about was that this went through. 

As he looks through his phone, contemplating whether to ask Oliver or Shidou to think of an excuse to let him bail from the celebrations before it ends, a text comes in, and this time, all the anger and disappointment disappears, all that’s left is the warm feeling of nostalgia and familiarity.

The contact he hasn’t seen in his notifications for a few years now lights up his phone, and all of a sudden he feels somewhat better. Though, her message itself makes him feel complicated inside.

Sae types a couple of responses, staring at it for a few moments before rephrasing himself and sending it through.

Hours later, after the celebrations are done and both of you are forced to drive back to your new apartment together, you sit in the passenger seat, staring out the window as Sae drives, sitting in complete silence.

As much as you want to save what this marriage could be, you’re not sure where to even start after how he flared up earlier.

Sae keeps his eyes on the road, too enveloped in his own thoughts to bother even turning on the music. His eyes occasionally flick over to your figure. Your fingers are trembling. Are you scared of this all or are you just feeling cold? Either way, he can’t bring himself to care. All he cares about right now is just finding a way out of this stupid farce.

After a fifteen-minute drive, both of you arrive at the apartment building; sleek black walls on the front and twenty-storeys high. Each floor is an apartment in itself, and it doesn’t take a genius to know that only the rich and wealthy stay here. By extension, that means your neighbours are either going to be complete strangers who don’t bother each other, or annoying young kids who host parties and have to be complained against.

Both of you head up to the top floor, neither of you knowing what it’ll look like—it was a gift from both your parents, saying how they picked out the best of the best for their children, and then periodically joking about wanting grandchildren. (You and Sae had completely ignored that part of the conversation.) Sae let you carry your heavy bags on your own, choosing to avoid any sort of eye contact all the way up. He’s just busy on his phone, and you can’t help feeling a little lost.

When you reach the top floor, Sae opens up the door; it’s made of heavy mahogany, slamming right back at you after he strolls in. You take a deep breath, pushing on the door to open and barely making it in, sucking it up because the last thing you want after an entirely shitty day is to have an argument.

Sae doesn’t even stop, just keeps walking, placing his suitcase in what seems to be the master bedroom. Truthfully, you wouldn’t know; this is the first time you’re even seeing the apartment. This entire place is huge, and thanks to this being on the top floor, there’s two floors and a high ceiling. All crisp and clean, walls a bright white, full contrast to the outer walls of the apartment.

Ten seconds later, Sae comes back out, finally making eye contact as he looks at you like you’re dumb for just standing there. If he does think that, he doesn’t say it out loud.

“There’s another room at the far end down the hall, you can use that one,” he tells you, matter-of-factly, as though you wouldn’t retort. (You don’t, but it’s annoying that he takes it as a given.) “And there’s only one key, but I’ll make a copy tomorrow and pass it to you.”

How romantic. The first night of your new life together and he’s relegated you to the far end of the house to sleep alone. You’re sure it wouldn’t be past him to enforce a rule of minimum contact at this point.

“Yeah, sure.”

You’re trying not to make a big deal out of this, because what would it even amount to? It’s not like you can get out of this, or else what’ll that do? Just impact your sister. But still, it completely sucks that your husband isn’t someone you love, isn’t someone who even wants to give it a shot, isn’t someone who’s willing to make himself bearable to live with.

An exhausted sigh leaves Sae’s lips as he tosses the keys onto a tray placed carefully atop the kitchen island. “I don’t think I need to remind you, but I didn’t want this and I think neither do you,” he says, his eyebags more apparent now that some of his makeup has caked off. “So I’ll keep out of your way if you keep out of mine.”

Spoken as if he truly hates your guts.

The wariness from everything that happened earlier—the wedding, the entertaining, the scepticism, your unwilling husband. What’s supposed to be a typically happy occasion has drained the complete life out of you, though it deigns to strip your hope entirely. Some nauseatingly optimistic cell in your brain is telling you that you still have to try, that it takes longer for some people to warm up to you, that if you give up then this might really just be it for the rest of your life.

So you nod your head and force a smile, even when Sae doesn’t return it, even when you know he won’t. “Mhm, okay,” you say, obediently, even though Sae just looks on at you emotionlessly, the only sliver of human that you see in him being the slight furrow of his brows. When he turns to walk back to his room, you call a goodnight! to him. All it gets you is a grunt of acknowledgement before he slams the door once he’s in.

Trudging your bags behind you, you dump them on the floor of your bedroom. The walls are pearly white, and the dresser is huge, a top-to-bottom mirror rests on the wall next to the closet. There’s even a bathroom inside, too, though you’d bet it’s smaller than the one Sae’s room has. 

It’s all very nice. Expensive, like the suite of a five-star hotel, and decorated lavishly.

But that’s all this is.

Nice. On the surface. It’s nice only to the eyes. Yet it can’t shake the foreboding feeling inside you that nags at you, warning you that Sae is just going to get even worse as you go.

Right as you’re about to spiral into a descent, you get a text from Reo.

You smile at his offer. Maybe if this was a few years ago. Maybe if both of you had acted on it when you knew the feelings were there. It’s been too long since then, everything that could’ve been is not—but what is doesn’t seem to have any hope of working out. 

Sighing to yourself, you make a mental reminder in your head to keep trying tomorrow. After all, you’re probably the only hope this sham of a marriage has at making it.

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[formuladoll]

how do i make you love me? — lando norris

after celebrating his first podium, lando acts upon repressed feelings as you seem to be slipping from his fingers— right into his rival's hands.

[cw! smut] — masterlist — request a fic!

how do i make you want me, and make it last eternally?

You were no stranger to falling in love. Whether it was the overpowering magnetism or the instinctive selflessness, you irrevocably believed in it all. How could you not? He showed you what it felt like to care for someone— to love.

It was your proximity to the sport that started it all. Even after many doubted your capabilities due to your lack of experience and the blatant sexism tainting motorsports, your vitality and passion got you a position as a broadcaster targeting the younger audience.

Lando would never admit to the countless hours he spent reading your articles or listening to your podcast. It was mesmerizing to witness your energetic self being fascinated by the sport; he was blown away by you, all of you.

He would find himself unwillingly looking for you in the paddock, almost as if a glance of your radiant smile charming the camera would turn his day into one worth living. The late escapades driving through the streets of Monaco, the reassuring talks after a tough race, and the collection of pictures living in his camera testified in favor of an undeniable bond. A mixture of feelings blurring the dividing line supposed to protect you from falling apart— from breaking each other in a twisted maneuver dictated by fate.

Lando admired your unconditional nature since the beginning of your friendship— how you understood his need for comfortable silence on tough days and how you escaped the media pen to celebrate his first podium in Austria. The champagne shower wouldn’t have been as memorable without his girl smiling up at him, letting him know how proud she was with a pair of glossy eyes. Claiming a step on the podium for the first time was bliss for the British driver, and he couldn’t wait for you to see him take the highest position.

A now very much drenched Lando reminisced at the last laps of the race, how everything fell into place for him to demonstrate he is worth it. The strong and impatient knocking of the door to his driver's room brought him back to reality, already knowing who awaited him outside as approached the entrance. "There you are," he exhaled while holding the door, struggling to breathe as soon as your arms wrapped around his middle and head rested on his chest. "I had a good feeling about this one. Your first podium, Lando," you congratulated as his smile grew and your bodies melted together in a meaningful embrace. "Champagne’s on me tonight."

Euphoria consumed him that night. Lando couldn’t help but feel like the timing for his first podium in Formula One was impeccable, he survived a long difficult season with McLaren and everything was finally falling into place. He was hopeful for the future, and it would be impossible not to visualize you in it.

Every light in the nightclub seemed to be attracted to your swaying body, highlighting your presence. His camera held in its memory a series of portraits of what he described as a heavenly sight; Lando couldn’t let it go unnoticed. He fell more for you each time he saw you through the lens, your smile exuding magic from it while your eyes flirted with the camera.

Lando seized the DJ controller after a couple of shots with Carlos and was now mixing, holding your waist with his right hand to pull you into his body and create space between you and the people surrounding him. You swayed to the music as Lando playfully took off his sunglasses and put them on you. “Looking like a proper DJ now, love,” he teased while slightly slurring his words.

You smirked before emptying the contents of your glass into your mouth. "Don’t tempt me, Norris, I might surprise you.” He smirked and went back to playing around with his tracks, “I'm going for another drink," you explained before he let you go with a playful squeeze of your middle— "be careful, please. I'm watching you from here," he answered. With a final laugh, you left a kiss on his cheek and took his camera with you to ensure his tipsy self didn’t lose it.

The nightclub was filled to the brim, which explained why you struggled to push your way through people while getting to the bar. A warm hand wrapped itself around your arm, pulling your body away from the mass and into what you recognized as an exclusive section. "You seemed to be having a hard time out there," Charles said as he slyly gave you a head-to-toe look and offered you a drink.

"Is that Lando's camera? That fucker can't go anywhere without it," Pierre interrupted as he approached the pair of you, holding an oversized bottle of Don Pérignon. You nodded in response to his question after greeting him with a familiar hug. “It was about time he took his first podium. He’s quite talented, just like his beautiful best friend,” he continued with a smirk as his flirty persona made you chuckle. “Come on, you two are looking way too sober,” Pierre complained as his arm guided you and Charles out of the space and onto the dance floor.

Large sips of champagne took place in between drunken laughs, the three of you dancing around as you took turns to hold Lando’s camera and immortalize the night. “Let me see a dip!” Pierre directed so that Charles and you would pose for the picture. He held you by the waist after giving you a twirl, holding your body from falling backward and laughing as the flash blinded the both of you.

The rest of the night became a blur as the alcohol kept you from remembering much. You could vaguely recall Lando letting you know he was taking you both back to the hotel since it was already starting to dawn. Warm white bed sheets wrapped around your body as you woke up in his hotel room. He looked peaceful while sleeping, even though his body barely fit into the small armchair placed close to the bed.

Deciding to take a much-needed shower, you looked back on his infectious smile throughout the night and how proud you were of him. The slightly cold water colliding with your body accompanied your thoughts as the beautiful boy waiting for you outside stirred awake.

Lando woke up to a sore neck and a slight headache, your absence concerning him until the music coming from the bathroom let him know you were having a shower. He tried to take you back to your room after the club but your drunk self couldn’t remember the whereabouts of your keycard. He had no other option but to give you his bed, although he would always do it if it meant you could sleep comfortably. It had been one of the most incredible nights of his life, even if the pounding of his head intensified by the second.

In an attempt to ease the pain, he reached for the water bottle on the nightstand, noticing the presence of his camera right next to it. A soft smile appeared on his face after sliding through the collection of portraits he took of you right after getting to the party. As he navigated through the rest, Lando got to the pictures of his two fellow drivers and you fooling around, a particular one catching his attention.

It featured Charles holding you by the waist with your head thrown back while his arms had you, seemingly taken while you two were dancing very closely. It would be an understatement to say that Lando wasn't particularly fond of this one— he couldn't take his eyes off it. His grip on the camera tightened as he focused on Charles's hands exploring your body, envisioning how much better he could feel against your skin.

It had been incredibly foolish of him not to prepare for the possibility that someone else could also want such a perfect girl, and that the feeling might be mutual. Now you could be out of reach for him, all because of being afraid of loving too hard.

Your friendship was long-forgotten as his priority now that Lando found the photos Pierre took on that bittersweet night. Knowing you could be slipping through his fingers triggered something in him that he had been burying in a pathetic attempt to protect himself from rejection. Jealousy coursed through his system as he ungraciously dropped the camera back into the nightstand, convinced of erasing Charles’ touch from your skin.

The water colliding against the ground came to a sudden stop and Lando took this as his sign to go into the bathroom of his hotel room. Knuckles knocked against the wooden door, he was being gracious enough to let you know he was not waiting until you got out of the bathroom. "Open the door," he demanded.

You slowly opened it, holding a towel against your wet body— "is everything alright?" You asked, an innocent and unknowing expression directed toward the impatient man standing in front of you. "You have no idea, darling," he growled before pushing your body against the countertop. You had never been this close.

“I saw the photos,” he explained while resting his weight against your body, the delicate towel allowing you to feel every crevice of his warm frame. You knew exactly what he meant by that and couldn’t help but feel excited about the fact that very deeply, he knows you are his just as much as he is yours.

“You wanted me to see them, didn’t you? Wanted to drive me crazy by playing around with him— you got it.” He said right before capturing your lips into the most consuming kiss you had ever shared with someone; it was addicting. Your hand left its grip on the towel, allowing it to drop down onto the floor as your hands softly pulled on his curls.

He pulled back, looking down at your body and becoming visibly speechless due to the sight in front of him. Lando didn’t know it was possible to want someone that intensely until he saw you completely exposed for him. He felt the need to worship you, to kiss every inch of your skin. His lips found yours one more time before he dropped to his knees, looking up at you in a pleading manner. An almost desperate nod coming from you had him exploring your body in seconds, his tongue playing with your folds as his hands held your hips.

“Lando— please,” you begged in between agitated breaths, looking down at the boy kneeling for you. It was surreal for Lando to hear the only girl he wanted begging for him to please her, almost as if he wouldn’t spend all day buried in between your legs. His mouth fixated on your clit as one of his fingers stretched your pussy with his spit.

It all became too much as your hand pulled on his hair and guided his face into you. He would never get tired of hearing those pretty moans escaping your plump lips, his body pleasuring you into oblivion. You couldn’t hold back your climax after he finally inserted a second finger into your pussy, repeatedly hitting that spot up your core that your own couldn’t.

He was certain that no matter what happened after leaving this hotel room, there was no going back. You would never forget the way his body collided with yours, how you engraved into each other. He had you, just as much as you had him.

[towriteloveontheirarms]

Let me put my lips to something (Alicent Hightower x Reader)

synopsis: Neglected by your husband, you find a confidant in Alicent, who is being treated the same way by her own husband. The depth of that trust and friendship however stay hidden to the two of you until one faithfull evening.

warnings: period typical homophobia, more porn than plot, kissing, oral sex, afab reader

word count: 3k

taglist: @hopelesswritergall, @urmomsgirlfriend1

(If you want to be tagged for a specific character/fandom/series or in general let me know in my asks, comments or DMs)

It is late when you knock at the queen´s chambers. You are aware it is, but you don´t know where else to go as well. Trying to keep a neutral expression on your face for the servants that walk by you, your foot taps on the stone floor, until the heavy doors finally open. You can tell Alicent is surprised to see you at this time of day.

“The hour is late. Are you feeling well?” She asks with worry coating her voice.

It takes a while for you to find your own voice as you see her standing in front of you however. She looks so beautiful. Her curly, auburn hair flows over her shoulders perfectly and the dressing gown covering her night dress adulates her figure in the most flattering ways.

“May I come in?” You ask quietly so that only the woman can hear.

“Naturally.” Alicent steps aside to let you in.

Together the two of you sit down at the table in her rooms and suddenly you are more nervous than before your knuckles grazed her door.

“I must say, you look positively radiant this evening.” You compliment her in the hope to distract her attention from the way your fingers pick at each other and you eyebrows pull together. To no avail.

“You are amongst friends. Speak your mind freely. What is wearing so heavy on your soul?” Alicent lays her hand on yours to keep you from hurting yourself. Much like you often did to her. The touch sends a spark of electricity through your arm to your heart, making it stop for just a beat. You weren't sure how it had happened but after you married her eldest son, the queen and you had become a source of comfort for each other. Both neglected by your husbands and left to fend for yourselves against a seemingly uncaring world. Or court at least. And some time in the three years you now lived in the Red Keep, you had found yourself falling for the one person you could never have. Not only a woman, but the queen of the seven kingdoms none the less.

"My Queen. My friend. You know I do not like to speak ill of people, even more so when it is your own son I am speaking about. Yet every day more I feel I am not strong enough for this marital bond. I find myself wishing Aegon would simply divorce me. The silent sisters or even the wall would seem like a simpler lot."

“I feel for you and I do not blame you for such thought, my dear. Yet I must also protest. You possess much more strength than you think. I can see it in your eyes. Your husband may not know how lucky he is in having someone so lovely and intelligent besides him…” She pauses in the middle of her sentence and never finishes it. Searching anything in the room but your eyes.

“I cannot thank you enough for listening to my foolish worries. They must seem so small compared to what you have to endure.” Your hands take a hold of her delicate ones and you allow your thumb to caress the back of them to get her attention again.

Unbeknownst to you that simple action drives her heart to pound against her chest in a much quicker rhythm than before.

“If they burden you they are not foolish at all. Better to voice them in the safety of this chamber than to break from them. I have to admit, I do feel like I am trapped in a gilded cage from time to time. Though your presence has made my suffering more bearable.” An inexplicable blush lays itself over the queen´s pale features at the last sentence.

“I will always be here for you, dear friend. For as long as I breathe.” You squeeze the woman’s hands gently to emphasize the intent in your words. Words that speak of a love far deeper than the one for a mere friend.

One of your hands leaves her touch to rest against her rosy cheek. Your thumb caressing over the warm skin. The air between the two of you seems to crack with tension. Her breath falters under your fingertips and suddenly nothing between you seems like it should be between friends. The underlying feeling of her being your husbands mother is gone entirely. It encouraged you to utter the words you swore you would never tell a single living soul.

“May I confess something else? Something darker than what I laid upon you already?” You feel Alicent nod under your hand. It is your only answer as you avert your gaze in shame at the desire you are about to share.

“I had a dream last night. Stemming from desires I tried to hide and pray away for some time now, but all the praying in the world was for naught.” Your voice is barely above a rough whisper.

“What happened in that dream?” Follows Alicent´s question. Equally as quiet at the seriousness of the moment.

“I dreamt about you…” The words come out only slowly. “And me. We were lying in bed. You were writhing underneath me in pleasurer at my touch. It was a most sinful, yet beautiful dream.”

Alicent is left speechless, with an even higher beating heart and an animated fantasy. Despite that, her words speak of the opposite sentiment.

“This… this is highly inappropriate. We are both married and even if we weren´t this could never be by the laws of the seven. It would be better for you to retire to your chambers now” The words have so little conviction that you are unsure who she is trying to convince.

Your thumb wipes over her heated cheek once more and before you know it there are mere inches separating her lips from yours. Your eyes meet hers one last time and with a shuttering breath you taste her lips on yours. It´s only for a moment, but that tentative touch heightens your senses massively. When your eyes open again Alicent´s brown ones are already looking back at you. Uncertain, searching in yours for what to do next, for an answer to all this.

“You need to leave. Now. Before this can lead to anything… more…” The brunette stands up, walking out of reach to wrap her arms around herself. The feelings of shame and want clashed inside of her. Swirling in her stomach in a whirlwind of emotional conflict.

“Please, do not send me away so soon.” You plead in a soft tone. Walking after her to lay your hands on her shoulders. “I am begging you, dear friend.”

Alicent doesn´t push them away. Instead she turns around to take your hands once more.

“What are you doing to me?” She breathes.

“I merely wish to love you. To worship you, just like you deserve. Even if it is for one night only. Let me prove the true nature of my feelings to you. I care naught for how sinful these desires are. You are too beautiful not to sin.” You lead your friend to her bed and sit her down beside you. “Will you let me?”

Your hands travel the length over Alicent´s arms with feather light touches as you wait for an answer. Taking in the satin of her dressing gown underneath your finger tips and the silky, smooth texture of her hair as you put it behind her ear.

Her soft lips part to make way for a fluttering breath to escape and then she leans in to lock her lips with yours again. It takes not even a second for you to respond to it. At first they brush over Alicent's lips in a slow, sensual manner. You try not to overwhelm her with everything. That however quickly wanes, when her tongue presses against your lip to silently ask for entrance. Of course you let her in letting her tongue explore your mouth and dance with yours as you do. One of your hands wanders down to open the dressing gown and slips it off Alicent´s shoulders. Wandering up the front of her body, grazing her breasts that were now only clothed in a thin nightdress anymore. The way her heart beats against it clearly tangible. Assuring you that your friend is just as excited as you are. Next your hands gently push the older woman backwards by the shoulder, to lay on the bed as you straddle her hips. Letting your hands wander over her breasts over the fabric of her nightdress once more, a small moan falls sounds off into the room. Her body has long since forgotten what is happening right now is a sin. She feels herself being pulled into the heat of the moment, letting her body go loose to the touches of her friend´s hands. You part from her only for a second, trying to gather yourself. It is so unbelievable that you are lucky enough to be allowed to touch her in this way. Then you place a peck to the corner of her now kiss swollen lips, trailing more passionate, open-mouthed kisses along the length of the side of her neck. Looking down, Alicent's fingers clutch at the blankets, her hips instinctively rising towards yours as your bodies brush against each other. Another moan escapes Alicent's lips, as the tingling sensation your touch leaves behind and that excites her more and more.

“Do you know how long I have desired this...?” Alicent whispers in a voice full of passion, her voice catching in her throat.

“Tell me how long.” You murmur against the hollow at the base of Alicent's throat. Mouthing at it and then kissing further down to her collar bones. Alternating between soft kisses and gentle nibbles.

When the queen´s hips raise off the mattress again, you shift your weight to put a leg between both of her thighs, to assist her in her search for more friction to satisfy the need for more stimulation.

Alicent turns her head to be able to look into your eyes, even though they are blurred because of lust and love and the way her body rubs against yours. Her heart still pounding heavy in her chest.

“Since I first saw you. When you came to the keep after the match was made. Your dress was such a beautiful green and you hair… Oh, your hair.” Alicent's voice trails off as she closes her eyes, unable to keep looking for the moment.

“Keep looking at me. I want to see your eyes.” You whisper into Alicent's ear with a soft dominant tone. Waiting until you have your lover´s eyes on you again to push up the nightdress to reveal her pale skin and the rosy nipples that sit atop her beautiful breasts.

“ I cannot.” Alicent says while trying to hide her face, but she can't manage too.

You grab her chin between your thumb and forefinger to turn her face back to you and  her body is overcome with lust, and her mind is consumed by the image of your hair in her hands. Your eyes looking deeply into hers, with a look as if she had created the world and your lips on her supple skin.

“Look at me.” You whisper with more emphasis. “You are so beautiful.”

“Yes, oh yes.” Alicent whispers in a faint voice, her breath catching in her throat.

She feels her mind go hollow and her heart beating so fast it feels like it is about to explode. She moans again and again as she is overwhelmed with so much more than she has ever been able to desire in her lifetime.

“You are a goddess…” You murmur breathlessly against her breasts. Your tongue swirling around the erect buds until they are painfully hard. Blowing on them to elicit another sound of pleasure, before you close your lips around the peaks of her chest to nibble and suck on them.

Meanwhile your hands find Alicent's hips. Leading them with a firm grip in a slow rhythm to drag against her thigh.

Alicent's breath comes out in hot, shallow breaths. Her entire being is consumed with your touch, her body shaking.

“It's like heaven. It's divine, that touch of yours.” Alicent's breath quickens, yet her mind remains empty of all thought. All she understands is the need to feel more.

The older woman´s hands let go of your hair and the bedsheets to take hold of your shoulders. Her nails digging into the flesh as you guide her away from your thigh and instead replace it with your fingers. Reverend touches of your fingertips, pull all kinds of sounds from her. Delicious whines and whimpers and needy pleas for more.

“Please, oh gods, please. More… More...” Alicent is on the edge of losing control. Her mouth opens, but no words can form under the small, deliberate circles you rub into the sensitive bundle of nerves that sits at the top of her fluttering cunt.

You can tell Alicent is close to her release. So you capture your lover's lips in another passionate kiss, swallowing her every loud moan as to not get caught by any guards, your fingers lead her over the edge of pleasure.

“Yes! Yes!” That's all her mind can grasp as her entire body shakes with her release.

Once all the pent up energy is out of Alicent´s system and the shaking dies down to a trembling again, You take your fingers, that had caught some of her juices, away from her wet heat and lick them clean.

“You truly are a delicacy. To be savored, not used and cast aside at the whims of men that cannot even begin to process the goddess that you are.” You groan at her sweet taste.

Diving down between her legs, wrapping your arms around them to keep her hips still, you begin to kiss all around her center. Nibbling and sucking a few, easily concealed marks into her flesh. Teasing her long before she finally puts her lips to the queens wet heat. Letting her tongue swipe out to lick a wide stripe through it.

Alicent feels like a bolt of electricity has hit her. Her entire body is consumed with excitement. She does not want you to ever stop touching her. Every touch is a pure delight that Alicent's body and mind crave. It has her panting and heaving for air, writhing underneath you in no time. Not able to stop the feelings she feels building up in her body, she tries to push her lover´s head away, but her weakened arms cannot stop the force of your touch.

Assured by her actions, you suck on the queen's pearl even harder. The feelings of another oncoming release begin to wash over her again, she is taken back to that moment when her body was pushed over the edge. Her nails raking over your back to leave red markings along it. Until they reach the back of your head.

You willingly let Alicent pull your head closer between her legs and think, that if you were to die then and there, tasting your lover's nectar on your tongue, it would be the happiest death. Nevertheless you live and Alicent reaches her second peak. Alicent gasps for air as her entire body is consumed with pleasure. She is convinced that her heart will give out any second now from how hard it beats. She is in the seven heavens. Would be screaming out her feelings, if it wouldn´t be for your hand covering her mouth. You are eager to please the queen, but you are not eager to face the king´s wrath for doing so. Your tongue guides her through her climax. Making sure not to waste a drop of the sweet nectar from between her legs. While under your hand a muffled whine of your name signals her overstimulation. Then you kiss your way up again. Over Alicent's stomach and chest up to her lips.

"You taste so sweet. Truly divine.” You murmur as you give her a taste of herself.

Shifting your weight once more, you lay next to Alicent. The pinky finger of one of your hands entangled with one of hers as your other hand runs lightly over Alicent's bare arm.

“How do you feel?” Alicent feels her heart flutter, as the simple touch and question. She looks towards her lover, her eyes fixed with adoration. Her cheeks become flushed once more as she takes in her love, not only for you but for the way you makes her feel. Safe, loved, content.

“I do not know how you manage to make me feel this way.” Alicent says as she caresses your cheek.

“I am merely a fool in love, lucky enough to share the bed of the most beautiful woman in all of Westeros.” You say as you savor every moment of the sweet touch. Butterflies raging in both of your stomachs.

Alicent cannot take her eyes away from you. The love she bears for her lover, the way all her thoughts and emotions are consumed by the desire for your touch and love makes her smile.

“Come here.” Her voice remains calm, though it trembles slightly due to her lasting breathlessness. “Kiss me again.”

“Anything the queen commands.” You tease her with a wide smirk. Letting her pull you closer, before laying her lips on Alicent's in a slow, most tender kiss. You wrap your arms around the queen. Tracing the length of her spine with the most reverend touches.

Even the softest movement of your fingers send a wave of pleasure down her spine. She cannot hold back any longer. Alicent's body is overcome with a feeling she can barely describe.

“Love me.” Her voice trembles with excitement, though she cannot say much more. All she wants is you.

“You will never go unloved for another day as long as I live. I promise. In the smallest gazes and touches or in the biggest gestures we can allow. I will always love you.” You promise her and the look in your eyes tells Alicent that you mean every single word of it.

[its-avalon-08]

hearts intertwined (hamilton x sister! driver!rosberg) p13

chapter 13: guard dog behaviour

series masterlist

The club pulsed with music, the air thick with laughter and the sweet scent of expensive cologne. A week after the accident, Y/N was finally out, her body healed and her spirit even more vibrant. Dressed in a shimmering dress that hugged her curves, she moved with effortless grace on the dancefloor, a radiant beacon amidst the flashing lights.

Lewis, nursing a drink at the bar, couldn't take his eyes off her. Every laugh, every turn of her head, sent a jolt through him. It was like seeing her in a whole new light, a light that made his heart race and his palms sweat.

Suddenly, a familiar figure materialized beside her. It was Lando, his goofy grin plastered on his face as he attempted a somewhat questionable dance move. Y/N, never one to miss a beat, mirrored his moves with playful exaggeration. They leaned in close, their faces inches apart, lost in their own little world of laughter and friendly banter.

A cold fury ignited within Lewis. He slammed his drink down on the counter, the ice clinking ominously. He couldn't stand the sight of Lando, all smiles and playful touches, invading Y/N's personal space.

With a determined stride, Lewis navigated through the crowd, his jaw clenched tight. He reached Y/N and tapped her shoulder, effectively breaking the spell between her and Lando.

"Hey, Y/N," Lewis said, trying to mask his jealousy with forced cheer. "Ready for a break?"

Y/N turned, her smile faltering slightly at the tension in his voice. "Hey, Lewis! Sure, what's up?"

Lewis gestured towards a quieter corner of the club. "Let's just… talk. Seems like Lando's gotten a little handsy with you."

Y/N's brows furrowed in confusion. "Handsy? Lewis, Lando's just being his usual goofy self. Besides," she added with a playful wink, "wouldn't that be insane? Dating the Lando Norris?"

Lewis's gaze turned steely. "Your dream? Dating a guy who can barely hold his liquor, let alone… well, you know."

Y/N's smile vanished, replaced by a hint of annoyance. "Lewis, come on. Lando's my best friend, okay? Besides, I'm not looking to date anyone right now."

Her words hung in the air, a challenge and a revelation all at once. Lewis felt a pang of something akin to disappointment, quickly masked by a surge of possessiveness. He couldn't explain this newfound urge to protect her, to shield her from the likes of Lando or�� anyone else for that matter.

"Right," he muttered, forcing a smile. "Just looking out for you, that's all."

The DJ transitioned into a slow song, casting a more intimate atmosphere over the club. Y/N glanced back at the dance floor, her eyes searching for Lando.

Lewis caught her gaze and his heart ached. Maybe, just maybe, he needed to be more than just "looking out for her." Maybe it was time to take a chance, to confess the emotions that swirled within him, a tangled mess of fear, possessiveness, and a yearning he couldn't quite define.

"This is ridiculous, Charles," Lewis fumed, slamming his empty beer bottle onto the table with enough force to make the other patrons jump. "Lando practically had his face in her hair! And she was just… laughing. Like it was nothing!"

Charles, ever the smooth operator on the dance floor and off, chuckled, wiping a stray drop of sweat from his brow. "Easy there, champ. Lando and Y/N are practically siblings. You know that, right?"

Lewis scoffed. "Siblings don't lean in that close, Charles. It's not right."

"Right?" Max Verstappen, who had joined their conversation unnoticed, snorted. "Since when did Lewis Hamilton become the arbiter of all things right and wrong in club etiquette?"

"It's not about etiquette, Max," Lewis growled, his cheeks flushing slightly. "It's just… they're too young for anything serious, wouldn't you agree?"

Max raised an eyebrow, a sly grin spreading across his face. "Oh, I don't know, Lewis. Seems to me you're awfully invested in Y/N's… dance partners."

Charles nudged Lewis with his elbow, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Maybe you're a little… jealous, my friend?"

Lewis bristled. "Jealous? Absolutely not! I'm simply trying to make sure Y/N doesn't get tangled up with the wrong crowd. Lando's a good kid, but…" he trailed off, unable to articulate the jumble of emotions warring within him.

"But what, Lewis?" Max goaded, enjoying the spectacle of the usually stoic champion flustered. "But you wouldn't mind keeping an eye on her yourself, would you? Like a… loyal guard dog?"

Lewis glared at Max, the playful banter failing to mask the truth in his words. Maybe, just maybe, there was a hint of jealousy lurking beneath his concern for Y/N. And maybe, just maybe, it was time to stop hiding from his own feelings.

credits for gif - @lewishamiltongifs

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taglist: @laura-naruto-fan1998 , @xoscar03 , @torossosebs , @jajouska , @lindsayjoy444 , @barcelonaloverf1life , @charli123456789, @heyheyheyggg

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[lciesdepravity]

Depraved Series

Nayeon Arc Chapter 1-1: Quid Pro Quo Blow Tags/Warnings/Genre (WARNING! This Chapter contains heavy depraved smut. This includes the following tags: Blowjobs, Quid Pro Quo, rimming. Also, someone kept on pestering me and I got annoyed so I'm releasing this fic unedited. Read at your own risk.)

Nayeon strutted confidently through the glass doors of the JYPE building, her heels clicking against the marble floor with each step. She exuded an air of self-assuredness, her radiant smile captivating anyone who dared to glance her way. Heads turned, eyes followed her every move, but she remained unfazed.

As she made her way through the bustling lobby, the sound of her footsteps mingled with the melodic hum of conversation and the occasional ring of a cell phone. The air was filled with a mix of anticipation and ambition, the energy of the entertainment industry palpable. It was a world she knew well, one she had grown accustomed to since her debut as a K-pop idol.

Her heart fluttered with nervousness as she approached the executives floor. The main doors slid open, revealing a corridor lined with closed doors, each one looking grand and lavish. Nayeon took a deep breath, gathering her courage as she approached Pres. Ozawa's office. She rapped her perfectly manicured nails against the polished wood, the sound echoing through the hallway.

Knock knock

"Come in," Pres. Ozawa's voice boomed from inside.

Nayeon slowly pushed the door open and stepped inside. The sound of her heels echoed through the room, making her feel self-conscious. She saw Pres. Ozawa sitting at his desk, poring over a stack of papers. He looked up and smiled warmly at her.

"Ah, Nayeon, please come in and have a seat," he said, gesturing to a chair in front of his desk.

Nayeon walked over to the chair and sat down, smoothing out her skirt nervously. She looked around the office, taking in the elegant decor and the impressive view of the city skyline. 

Pres. Ozawa cleared his throat and leaned forward in his chair. "So, Nayeon, what brings you to my office today?" he asked, his voice authoritative.

Nayeon took a deep breath and squared her shoulders. She knew that this was her chance to make a case for her solo career. "Mr. President, I wanted to talk to you about the direction of my career," she said, trying to sound confident.

Pres. Ozawa raised an eyebrow. "Go on," he said, his tone slightly skeptical.

Nayeon took a deep breath and launched into her pitch, explaining her vision for her solo music and the kind of impact she wanted to make on her fans. She felt her nerves building more as she spoke, and she could see Pres. Ozawa becoming more and more uninterested in what she had to say.

"I'm sorry to have to tell you this," he says, his expression serious. "But we can't give you what you're asking for."

Nayeon's heart drops at his words, and she can feel a lump forming in her throat. "W-why not?" she stammers.

"I'm sorry, Nayeon, but your solo career is too risky. JYPE needs TWICE to promote as a whole," Pres. Ozawa finally said, crushing Nayeon's hopes.

Nayeon can feel tears forming in her eyes as she realizes that her dreams for a solo album are slipping away.

"W-what can I do?" she asks, her voice barely above a whisper. "Is there anything I can do to change your mind?"

Pres. Ozawa leaned back in his chair and stretched his fingers. "Hmm, there might be," he says, a sly grin crossing his face. "But it's not exactly what you're expecting."

Nayeon looks at him, confused. "What do you mean?"

"Well, Nayeon," he says, his tone turning playful. "Maybe I can reconsider. Show me your dance moves in More & More. I might see something that changes my mind."

Why does he want me to dance? Is he testing me?

She walked over to the stereo system and started the song. As the music started to play, Nayeon closed her eyes and let the rhythm take over. She moved her hips and twirled around, trying to give her best performance. She knew that she had to impress Pres. Ozawa if she wanted to have a chance at her solo career.

As she sways her hips and rolls her body, she notices that Pres. Ozawa is staring at her with a hungry look in his eyes. She can see him shifting in his chair, and she realizes that he's getting hard. So that's what this was... Fucking pervert just wanted to get off on me dancing.

Ever the professional, she keeps dancing, her body moving with fluid grace as she performs the intricate choreography. She can feel the sweat starting to bead on her skin, but she doesn't stop. She's determined to give it her all and show this old fuck what she's capable of.

Finally, Nayeon finishes her dance routine, nailing the final pose with fierce intensity. Panting and sweating, her tongue slides out as per habit, but she looks up at Pres. Ozawa with a sense of satisfaction. She knows she's given him exactly what he wanted, and she's hoping it'll be enough to change his mind about her solo album.

Pres. Ozawa beckons Nayeon to come around the table and stand in front of him. "You danced well.... Now for the final test."

Nayeon looks at him, her confusion apparent. "M-mwo? What do you mean?" she asks.

In a single bold move, Pres. Ozawa opens his legs and shows her his bulge, making Nayeon's eyes widen in shock. "If you want to go solo," he says, his voice dripping with lust. "Get on your knees and service my cock."

Nayeon freezes... She hesitates, unsure of what to do. She never expected him to ask something like this, and she's not sure if she's willing to go this far for her career. She looks at him, her eyes pleading for an alternative.

Pres. Ozawa looks at Nayeon expectantly, waiting for her to make a decision. When she hesitates, he says, "Well then, I guess no solo for you."

Nayeon freezes on the spot, biting her lip as she weighs her options. She knows that her solo career is on the line, but she's not sure if she's willing to do what Pres. Ozawa is asking.

"How hard could it be to make an old man cum?" she thinks, debating with herself.

"I mean, it's gross, but if it means my solo... maybe it's worth it." She takes a deep breath and looks up at Pres. Ozawa, her eyes filled with hesitation and a hint of desperation.

"I'm not getting any younger Nayeon. If you're not willing to do it then get out." He said, his voice stern, his face annoyed.

Slowly, she gets on her knees in front of him, but she does nothing. Ozawa looks at her with impatience, and she realizes that he wants her to do all the work.

She takes a deep breath and reaches for his pants, unzipping them and pulling out his cock. As soon as she frees it from his pants, she can't help but gawk at its size. 

The size of it is almost intimidating: easily 9 inches long, with a very impressive girth. Nayeon gulps nervously, her eyes wide as she takes it in. She feels a little unsure of herself as she starts to stroke him, using both hands to cover as much of his length and girth as possible.

"Oh fuck," she murmurs. "That's... impressive."

Pres. Ozawa grins at her, pleased with her reaction. "Yes, it is," he says, his voice low and husky. "And your hands are so soft on it."

Nayeon blushes at his comment but continues to service him, using both hands to stroke him slowly up and down. She can feel him getting harder in her hands, and she starts to pick up the pace, moving faster and faster.

As she continues to stroke him for around 15 minutes, her initial discomfort turns into frustration. The old man is nowhere close to the edge, and she's starting to feel like this is an endless task.

"Come on," she thinks to herself. "Just cum already, you old geezer."

Ozawa moans softly, enjoying the sensation of Nayeon's soft hands on his cock. "That's it," he says, his voice commanding.

"Spit on your hands and lube up my cock."

Nayeon obediently spits on her hands and uses it to lubricate the engorged cock head. She notices precum coming out the tip and uses it to mix with her saliva, making the slippery sensation even better.

As she continues to stroke him, she can't help but be amazed by the size of his cock.

"It's so big and thick... Oh god it feels so full in my hands." She thinks whilst she strokes him for a few more minutes, occasionally spitting on her hand to renew the sloppy sensation.

Her arms begin to tire as she continues to stroke him for almost 20 minutes now. She shifts her position slightly, trying to find a more comfortable way to hold him. "Come on," she thinks to herself. "This is getting exhausting."

Nayeon feels conflicted. On one hand, she's enjoying the power she has over him, but on the other hand, she can't help but feel disgusted by what she's doing.

"You're getting too old for this," she says, her voice teasing, trying to distract herself from her own discomfort.

Pres. Ozawa grins at her, a hint of mischief in his eyes. "Well, maybe I just need those plump lips around my cock."

Nayeon feels a shiver run down her spine at his suggestion. She knows what he is implying, and a part of her wants to refuse. But another part of her is curious, wondering what it would be like to have him inside her mouth.

She licks her lips nervously, unsure of how to respond. "I don't know," she says hesitantly. "I've never done that before."

Pres. Ozawa chuckles. "Don't worry, Nayeon," he says reassuringly. "Just open your mouth and it will come naturally."

Nayeon gulps, feeling a mix of excitement and apprehension. She takes a deep breath and leans forward, feeling the heat emanating from his thick cock. She hesitates for a moment but then brings herself to kiss the engorged cock head, feeling it twitch against her lips. "*Tsup* Uhhhmmm~ *Mwah*"

She lets out a small squeal of surprise as she feels his cock twitch against her lips. She can feel her heart racing with excitement as she realizes just how turned on he is by her.

She continues to kiss his entire length, noticing that he is oozing precum. She uses her tongue to lap it up, savoring the salty taste. She then takes his cock between her lips and moves it back and forth.

Pres. Ozawa groans as he watches her smear his precum on her lips. "Hooolyy fuck, Nayeon," he swears, his voice thick with desire. "Your lips are making me so hard."

Nayeon smiles up at him, feeling a sense of confidence wash over her. She leans forward again, parting her lips tentatively as she hesitantly takes him into her mouth, feeling the velvety texture of his skin against her tongue.

She swirls her tongue around the tip of Pres. Ozawa's cock, taking him into her mouth slowly. But as she tries to take more of him into her mouth, she finds it difficult to fit the entire length of his cock inside.

"Holy shhht," she mutters around his cock, her voice muffled by the hard shaft in her mouth. She works inch by inch, slowly but surely, taking more of him into her mouth with each stroke.

"God, he's so fuckin' big," she thinks, her eyes widening in surprise as she takes him deeper into her mouth. Despite the challenge, she's determined to take him all the way, wanting to please him as much as possible.

Nayeon uses her hand to guide his cock into her mouth, taking as much as she can at a time. She feels her throat constricting around the head of his cock, and she moans slightly at the sensation.

"Mmmph, *gulk* *gulk* *gulk*"

Pres. Ozawa moans as she takes him deeper, and she starts to suck him harder and faster. "That's it, baby," he says, his voice low and husky. "Take it all in."

Nayeon hums in response, the vibrations sending shivers down Pres. Ozawa's spine. She can feel herself getting wet with anticipation as she takes more of him in, inch by inch. The decrepit old man groans loudly, his grasping on his desk tightening. He moans at the sensation, his hands running through her hair.

"Oh yeah, just like that," he says, suppressing a groan. "Suck my cock like a good little girl."

Nayeon responds by taking more of him into her mouth, bobbing her head up and down on his shaft. The sound of her sloppy sucking fills the room, the sloppy wet noises of her mouth reverberated throughout the office walls. "Mmmphh, mmphh," she murmurs, her voice desperate for his approval as she fervently bobs her head.

"Oooohhh fuuckk" he growls, his grip on her hair tightening, drawing out a pained moan from the idol. "Fuck yes... Put those dick sucking lips of yours to good use."

Nayeon continues to suck him hard and fast, her hand stroking the base of his cock. Pres. Ozawa takes one of her hands and brings it up to his chest, guiding her to one of his nipples.

"Play with my nipples while you blow me."

Nayeon obeys, using her free hand to play with his nipple, rolling it between her fingers and pinching it gently. She can feel his cock twitching in her mouth as she alternates between sucking and stroking him, driving him closer to the edge.

As she continues to pleasure him, Nayeon's mind starts to wander, thinking about the consequences of her actions. "What am I doing?" she thinks to herself.

"I can't believe I'm servicing this old man for my solo career." Despite her moral objections, she can't deny the small patch of wet cloth that had begun forming in her underwear.

"*Glok*, *gulk*, *glock*," Nayeon gags around his cock, but she doesn't let up. Instead, she parks his full length down her throat for a few glorious seconds, fighting her gag reflex along the way. Her eyes made contact all the while, even as she's tearing up, turning him on even more.

Ozawa moans at the sensation. The tightness of the slutty idol's throat, combined with her mouth on his cock and her hand on his chest driving him wild. He can feel himself getting close to the edge, and he knows that he won't be able to hold back much longer.

Nayeon continues to deepthroat him, gagging slightly as she takes him all the way in.

All of a sudden, He grips her head firmly, pushing his cock even deeper into her throat. "Take it all, Nayeon," he growls. "Deepthroat me like a good little slut."

Nayeon's eyes widen in surprise, but she doesn't resist. Instead, she relaxes her throat and takes him all the way in, feeling his cockhead hit the back of her throat. She gags loudly, but the sound only seems to turn Pres. Ozawa on more.

"Mmmpphh, *gulk*, *glock*, *gluck*, *glurg*," As Pres. Ozawa's moans grow louder and more urgent, Nayeon redoubles her efforts. She takes him in even deeper, using her tongue to swirl around his cockhead as she bobs her head up and down on his shaft. The sound of her gagging and choking on his cock only drives him closer to the edge.

"Oh god, Nayeon," Pres. Ozawa groans. "I'm so close. Don't stop, keep going."

Nayeon's eyes widen in surprise, but she doesn't let up, determined to make him cum hard. She continues to deepthroat him, taking him in as deep as she can with each pass. Her hands grip his hips tightly as she bobs her head up and down on his cock, the sound of her gagging and choking filling the room.

"Uh, uh, uh," Pres. Ozawa moans, his voice thick with pleasure as he gets closer and closer to cumming.

Just as Nayeon looks up at him with a lustful gaze, making eye contact, Pres. Ozawa's body convulses and he swears loudly, his hips bucking as he shoots his hot load deep into her throat.

"Fuck! Take it, you little kpop whore," he growls, his fingers digging into her hair as he holds her head in place.

Nayeon swallows eagerly, continuing to massage his balls as she drains him. She can feel him pulsing in her mouth, his cock twitching as he empties himself into her.

As she keeps looking up at him, her nose still buried in his pubes, Nayeon intertwines one of her fingers with his hand and squeezes it firmly, letting him know how much she enjoys this. Her other hand continues to massage his balls, coaxing out every last drop of his cum.

Nayeon moans around his cock, the taste of his cum overwhelming her senses. She swallows as much as she can, but there's too much, and some of it spills out of her mouth and onto her chin.

As Pres. Ozawa finishes cumming, he collapses back onto his chair, panting heavily. Nayeon licks her lips and grins at him, her face still covered in his cum and saliva.

"I hope that was satisfying, Mr. President," she purrs, running her tongue over her lips.

Pres. Ozawa could only nod weakly, his eyes closed in pleasure, unable to form words, his breath coming in short gasps as he tries to catch his breath.

Nayeon giggles softly, pleased with herself. She looks up at Pres. Ozawa, a coy smile playing on her lips. "So...my solo?" she asks.

Pres. Ozawa grins back at her, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "You'll get your solo," he says. "But there's a catch."

Nayeon raises an eyebrow. "A catch?"

Pres. Ozawa nods. "You'll get your solo if you allow me to use your mouth anytime I call for you."

Nayeon's smile fades, replaced with a look of hesitation. "What do you mean by that?" she asks, her voice tinged with concern.

Pres. Ozawa leans in, his breath hot against her ear. "I mean, whenever I want you, you'll be there for me. You'll use that pretty little mouth of yours to pleasure me."

Nayeon takes a step back, shaking her head. "I don't know, sir," she says. "I have my career to think about. What if I'm not available? What if I have other commitments?"

Pres. Ozawa shrugs. "That's not my problem," he says. "If you want your solo, you'll make time for me. It's that simple."

Nayeon takes a deep breath, considering his proposal. She knows how important her solo is to her career, but the idea of being at Pres. Ozawa's beck and call doesn't sit well with her.

Finally, she takes a step forward, looking him directly in the eye. "Fine," she says. "You can use my mouth anytime you call for me. But you have to prioritize my solo activities, or the deal is off."

Pres. Ozawa nods, a satisfied smile on his lips. "Deal," he says.

"Now, clean up my cock." Nayeon obeys, taking his cock into her mouth and cleaning him up.

Throughout the week, Nayeon was called to service Pres. Ozawa countless times. One time she was practicing a routine with her members when she suddenly received a message from him. "Got a meeting, be under my desk in 5 minutes, we'll be arriving around 10," he said.

Nayeon rolls her eyes at the message, annoyed at the interruption. "Again?" she thinks to herself, already dreading what's to come. But she knows better than to disobey him, so she quickly excuses herself from the practice and makes her way to his office.

Nayeon arrives early, slipping off her heels and leaving only her toes peeking out from under the desk. She knows that being comfortable is important if she wants to do her job well.

As Pres. Ozawa begins the meeting, Nayeon silently opens his zipper and takes his cock into her mouth.

She let out a muffled moan as she began to work her tongue and lips expertly around Pres. Ozawa's cock, taking him deep into her mouth.

Her lips form an airtight seal around his shaft, and she uses her tongue to swirl around the tip, teasing him relentlessly.

"Ummphh... mmmphh..." Nayeon moans, the sound of her voice muffled by his cock. She uses her hands to stroke him as she sucks, her fingers moving up and down his shaft in time with her mouth. Pres. Ozawa's hand gripped her hair, guiding her movements. She could feel his cock growing harder and harder in her mouth, and she knew that he was close.

With her toes curling in anticipation, Nayeon took Pres. Ozawa deep into her mouth, using her hand to stroke the base of his cock. She bobbed her head up and down, taking him in and out of her mouth, and she could hear Pres. Ozawa's breathing growing more ragged.

She swallowed around him, the vibrations sending shivers down his spine. She could feel his cock twitching, and she knew that he was about to cum.

Suddenly, Nayeon changed her technique, using her tongue to circle around the head of Pres. Ozawa's cock while she continued to suck him off.

Finally, he let out a low silent growl, and Nayeon made more muffled sounds as she felt his hot cum flooding her mouth. She swallowed it eagerly, not wanting to waste a single drop, and let out a satisfied moan.

Despite the fact that Pres. Ozawa came quickly, the meeting lasts for another two hours, during which he remained hard. "I can't believe his stamina," she thinks to herself, feeling his cock twitching in her mouth as she continues to pleasure him. "But I need to keep him satisfied."

Nayeon uses every technique at her disposal to pleasure him. She deepthroats him, uses her tongue to flick the underside of his tip, and massages his balls with her fingers. She brings him to climax two more times before the meeting finally ended.

As every other executive egghead left the room, Nayeon slipped her heels back on and emerged from under the desk, a satisfied smile on her lips.

Later that week, as Nayeon was on her way to the bathroom, Jihyo called out to her. "Nayeonnie, where are you going?" she asked, her voice curious.

Nayeon froze for a moment, feeling a sense of panic. She couldn't let Jihyo know what she had been doing with one of the top execs of the company.

"I just need to use the restroom," Nayeon said, forcing a smile. "I'll be right back."

Nayeon walks into the men's bathroom, her heart racing with anticipation. She sees Pres. Ozawa waiting for her in one of the stalls, his cock already out and erect. She bites her lip, feeling a mixture of excitement and fear.

"Nayeon, my dear," Pres. Ozawa says, beckoning her over with a wave of his hand. "Come here and service me."

Nayeon takes a deep breath, trying to calm her nerves. She walks over to him, her heels clicking on the tile floor. "Yes, sir," she says, her voice barely above a whisper.

As she squats on her heels in front of him, her legs spread wide apart to give her better balance. She can hear the sounds of men using the bathroom outside the stalls, which only adds to her excitement. "I can't believe I'm doing this with other men just outside the stall," she thinks to herself, feeling a thrill run through her.

When Pres. Ozawa saw Nayeon squatting on her heels, he let out a low growl of desire. "Fuck, Nayeon," he said, his voice husky. "You look so fucking hot like that."

Nayeon started to suck him off, her fingers working expertly on his cock. At the same time, she can't resist the urge to touch herself, rubbing her clit with her free hand. The pleasure she feels is intense, and she can feel herself getting wetter by the second.

"Oh god, this feels so good," she thinks to herself, trying to stifle her moans. "I can't believe I'm touching myself in a public bathroom like this. But I can't help it, it's just too hot."

She could feel herself getting wetter and wetter, her desire building with each passing moment.

Pres. Ozawa grips her hair, guiding her movements. "That's it, Nayeon, mmmmm~ You're doing such a good job..."

Nayeon feels a sense of pride at his words, knowing that she's pleasing him. She continues to suck and stroke him, feeling the pleasure building inside her. The sounds of men outside the stall only fuel her desire, and she can't help but wonder if they can hear her moans.

As Nayeon continues servicing Ozawa, she hears the sound of the men zipping up their pants and leaving the restroom.

Man 1: "Did you see her? That Nayeon chick is so hot. I bet she's amazing in bed."

Man 2: "Yeah, I would love to get a piece of that. I can only imagine what it would be like to have those dick sucking lips wrapped around my cock."

Holy shit, they're really fantasizing about me.

As Nayeon brings Pres. Ozawa closer to climax, she can feel him throbbing and pulsing in her mouth. She focuses on his pleasure, using all her skills to bring him to the edge.

Suddenly, he pulls her away from him. "Not yet," he says, his voice stern. "I want to see you cum first."

Nayeon's eyes widen in surprise, but she can't deny the excitement that she feels at his command. She uses her fingers to rub her clit, feeling the wetness between her legs. She moans softly, feeling the pleasure building inside her. She can feel Pres. Ozawa's eyes on her, watching her every movement.

"Oh god, I'm so close," she thinks to herself, struggling to stifle her moans. "I can't let anyone hear me, but it feels so good. I can't stop now."

As Nayeon's orgasm hits her, she struggles to keep her moans quiet. Her entire body shakes with a shudder. She feels the pleasure coursing through her body, and she can't help but let out a soft gasp. She can feel Pres. Ozawa's hand on her head, guiding her back to his cock. She takes him back into her mouth, feeling his cock twitching with pleasure.

Finally, Pres. Ozawa lets out a low growl. He groaned above her, his fingers tangling in her hair as he thrust his hips forward. "I'm gonna cum," he said, his voice strained.

Nayeon feels his hot cum flooding her mouth. She eagerly swallows it down, feeling a sense of satisfaction. With her mouth still full, she opens her mouth to show him his load, before swallowing it down with a gulp.

"Tank yew, shir," she says, her voice barely above a whisper, the cum making her words slurred. "I'll do whatevah it takes to please yew~"

She then stood up, her legs trembling slightly from squatting on her heels for so long. She fixed her appearance and left the stall, waiting until there was no one in the bathroom before walking out

In another occasion, Pres. Ozawa messages Nayeon again with urgency, "Need to cum toilet. NOW." Nayeon quickly reads the message, feeling a sense of excitement and nervousness at the same time. But then she sees the time and realizes that she's just about to eat lunch with her members.

Her heart races as she reads the message. She can't believe that Pres. Ozawa wants her again. The thrill of being used like a cum toilet by the most powerful man in the company makes her pussy drenching wet with desire. She replies, "What? Now? I'm just about to eat lunch with my members."

Pres. Ozawa replies, "Fine, wait for me outside."

As she waits outside, her mind is racing with thoughts of what's about to happen. She knows that this is risky, but the thought of being caught by her members only makes it more exciting.

When Pres. Ozawa arrives, he urges her to kneel. However, unlike their previous encounters, he presents his ass to her. "Well?" he says, his voice low and commanding. "What are you waiting for?"

On the outside, Nayeon fights as she physically wretches, but says nothing. On the inside, her thoughts are screaming with disgust.

"Oh my god, he wants me to do what? That's so gross. I can't believe he would even ask me to do that. But if I don't, who knows what he'll do."

She hesitates, unsure of what to do next. But when Ozawa wiggles his ass impatiently, she knows she has no choice.

With a deep breath, she reluctantly gives a hesitant lick to his asshole. The taste and smell of him fills her senses, making her gag and almost pull away.

"Oh god, the taste and smell are so overpowering. It's like the smell of sweaty gym socks mixed with the taste of something rotten. I don't know if I can handle this. But I have to, for him."

As she continues to lick his asshole, she strokes his cock, feeling it pulse and throb in her hand. The taste and smell of him becomes more tolerable as she becomes more aroused.

"I can't believe I'm actually getting turned on by this. The taste and smell are becoming more tolerable, even enjoyable. What's happening to me?"

She can hear the sounds of her members chatting and laughing just a few feet away, and the danger only adds to her arousal.

Then, in a burst of movement, Pres. Ozawa grabs her head and grinds against her face, pressing it hard against the wall.

Nayeon's eyes widen as her heart races with a mix of excitement and fear.

"Oh my god, he's grinding against my face so hard. And the wall is so rough against my skull. Bleh~ The taste and smell are so overwhelming, I feel like I might pass out. But I have to keep going, I can't disappoint him."

As she continues to rim his asshole, she strokes his cock, feeling it pulse and throb in her hand. The taste and smell of him become more tolerable as she becomes more aroused.

"I can feel his cock throbbing in my hand. He's so turned on by this. And I'm getting turned on too. What's happening to me?"

Suddenly, as he reaches his climax, he turns around and aims at her face, covering her entire face with his cum.

"Oh my fuck, he just came all over my face. What the fuck am I gonna do if the others see me like this? I need to clean up quickly and act like nothing happened."

Ozawa zips up his pants and says, "Come by my office tomorrow. We'll be discussing your solo more... intimately," he said with a grin as he sauntered off. "Oh, and wear the alcohol-free outfit again, it's my favorite," he added, causing Nayeon's face to turn an even deeper shade of red.

As she made her way back to her group, Nayeon's thoughts were in turmoil. "Why am I feeling this way?" she thought to herself. "Why is my body reacting so much to being used as a cum toilet?"

Nayeon felt a shiver run down her spine as she anticipated another day of face fucking tomorrow.

She does her best to clean up, feeling embarrassed and humiliated. But as she tries to sneak back to her members, her heart stops when she is stopped by Sana. "Unnie, wait. You have yogurt on your chin," Sana says, wiping the substances with her fingers and licking them off. Nayeon's face flushes with embarrassment as Sana swipes it with her fingers and sucks on it. "Mmm~ delicious," Sana says with a wink, making Nayeon's face turn bright red upon realizing what Sana had just tasted.

[imhenritz]

If you are uncomfortable or don't like this for Sanji and Mc, please don't feel like you have to write it or even answer me.

What if Mc gets pregnant in the far future, all the fluff and cuteness of Sanji caring for her.

Being polite like that makes me want to do it more. Don't worry, I had this on my list for a while. I got carried away so there'll be three parts for each trimester. I hope this does your request justice!

Reader’s Name: Mc (Stands for Main Character but made it look like a name)

Note: This moment STILL takes place in the future from my “Giving Him the Love He Deserves” series. It can be a standalone, but it ties in with the story I’ve written before.

[First Trimester] The sunny day embraced the Thousand Sunny as it sailed across the endless blue sea, the gentle breeze carrying the laughter of the crew. On the deck, Mc stood, her hand resting protectively over her small baby bump, her face glowing with the radiance of impending motherhood. Sanji, her devoted husband, hovered nearby, his eyes never leaving her for more than a moment.

“My darling, my love, please, let me do that," Sanji insisted, reaching out to take the basket of fruits she was carrying. His eyes were filled with both adoration and concern, his protective nature in full swing.

"I can handle it, Ji," Mc chuckled, appreciating his care but also wanting to maintain her independence. "I'm not that fragile, you know."

"But you're carrying our precious little one," Sanji argued, his tone gentle but firm. "I won't forgive myself if anything happens to you or our baby."

Chopper chimed in, his small stature not diminishing the authority in his voice. "Sanji-san is right, Mc. It's crucial for you and the baby's health that you don't strain yourself."

Meanwhile, the rest of the crew, being their usual playful selves, seemed to have temporarily forgotten about Mc's condition. Luffy and Usopp, in their typical boisterous manner, were engaged in a friendly wrestling match nearby, completely unaware of the delicate situation.

In a moment of chaos, Luffy and Usopp, fueled by their competitive spirits, nearly toppled over Mc. Sanji, with his lightning-fast reflexes, swiftly maneuvered her out of harm's way, his protective instincts kicking in. Chopper, witnessing the scene, couldn't help but scold the oblivious duo.

"Oi, you idiots! Be mindful of Mc's condition!" Chopper scolded, his tiny hooves tapping in irritation. "She's pregnant, and you need to be extra careful around her!"

Robin approached with a calm smile, placing a reassuring hand on Mc's shoulder. "Chopper is right. We must be considerate, especially now. Mc, if there's anything you need, don't hesitate to ask."

Nami chimed in, her eyes softening with understanding. "And if any of these guys forget, just say the word. We'll make sure they behave."

Usopp and Luffy, finally realizing their oversight, exchanged sheepish glances before offering apologetic smiles. "Sorry, Mc! We got carried away," Luffy said, scratching his head.

Usopp nodded in agreement. "Yeah, we promise to be more careful."

[Second Trimester]

The Thousand Sunny sailed smoothly across the endless expanse of the Grand Line, its crew bustling with their usual activities. Amidst the cheerful chaos, Mc stood on the deck, a radiant smile gracing her face despite the slight bulge of her second-trimester pregnancy. Sanji was never far from her side, his hands almost always around her, protective and attentive.

One sunny afternoon, as the crew gathered for lunch, Mc felt a gentle kick from her growing belly. Her eyes widened with surprise and delight, and she softly gasped, "Ji, the baby kicked!" Her voice carried excitement and wonder.

Sanji's eyes lit up with sheer joy. He dropped to his knees beside her, his hands tenderly placed on her stomach, waiting for another sign of life. "Really, my love?" he murmured, his voice filled with awe and anticipation. The crew, sensing the moment, hushed in anticipation.

Suddenly, there it was – a tiny, yet unmistakable kick beneath Sanji's fingertips. His eyes widened in amazement, and he let out a breathless laugh. "I felt it!" he exclaimed, his face lighting up with pure happiness. His joy was contagious, spreading through the crew like wildfire.

Excited chatter filled the air as the rest of the Straw Hat crew gathered around, their eyes wide with wonder. Luffy, the carefree captain, approached cautiously, his usual exuberance momentarily subdued by the significance of the moment. "Can I... Can I feel too?" he asked, his voice soft and earnest.

Mc nodded, her smile never fading, and Sanji guided Luffy's hand to her belly. As Luffy felt the gentle kick, his eyes widened, his grin reaching ear to ear. "Wow! That's so cool!" he exclaimed, his excitement palpable.

Not wanting to miss out on the moment, the rest of the crew eagerly lined up, each taking their turn to feel the life growing inside Mc. Robin, placed her hand on Mc's belly, her eyes reflecting her deep fascination. Chopper carefully pressed his hoof against her stomach, his expression a mix of wonder and professionalism.

Nami, couldn't help but tear up, her heart touched by the beauty of the moment. Usopp beamed with pride, feeling a sense of camaraderie with the little one even before their arrival.

Brook hummed a soft, lullaby-like tune, filling the air with a soothing melody. Franky, couldn't stop grinning, his laughter echoing across the deck.

Amidst the joy and excitement, Luffy, usually known for his reckless behavior, became surprisingly careful around Mc. He offered her a hand whenever she needed it, making sure she was comfortable, his playful antics momentarily subdued by a newfound sense of responsibility.

As the crew marveled at the miracle of life, Mc revealed her stomach, proudly displaying a small set of feet marks on her skin, a tangible proof of the life growing within her. The crew gasped in amazement, their eyes wide with awe and affection. [Third Trimester]

On a sunny afternoon aboard the Thousand Sunny, the Straw Hat Pirates were going about their usual business.

Amidst the bustling activity, Mc was gracefully making her way through the ship. She was in her third trimester, her pregnancy bringing an undeniable glow to her face. The crew, well aware of her condition, treated her with utmost care, ensuring she never had to lift a finger.

As Mc entered the common area, she found some members of the crew engaged in a hushed conversation, their faces a mix of seriousness and determination. Curious, she approached them, her eyes widening as she caught snippets of their conversation.

"...make sure we have towels ready..."

"...remember the breathing exercises Chopper taught us..."

"...don't panic, stay calm..."

They were discussing what to do when Mc's water broke, a topic they had taken quite seriously, despite the inherent awkwardness. Mc couldn't help but chuckle at their sincerity.

"What's going on?" Mc asked, her laughter bubbling forth.

Luffy grinned widely. "We're practicing for when the baby comes! We gotta be ready, just like in a battle!"

Zoro, nodded in agreement.

Nami chimed in, her practicality shining through, "We've read books and even consulted with Chopper. We're fully prepared!"

Usopp chimed in with enthusiasm, "And we have a secret weapon – Franky built a portable, super-comfortable birthing chair!"

Franky flexed his muscles proudly, "Super!" he exclaimed, his signature pose emphasizing his excitement.

Chopper piped up, "I'll be here to help, Mc! You and the baby will be in good hands."

Sanji, with his usual chivalry, took Mc's hand gently, his eyes filled with love and excitement. "We're all here for you, my love. We'll welcome our little one into this world with open arms."

As the crew continued their preparations, Mc felt an overwhelming sense of warmth and gratitude. Their antics and genuine concern made her heart swell with affection. The Straw Hat Pirates weren't just a crew; they were a family, and in that moment, Mc knew their little one was already surrounded by boundless love and extraordinary adventures waiting to unfold.

══════════════════

Thank you for reading!

Check out the Masterlist too!

Stay tuned for more Future Fluffs aboard the Thousand Sunny, starring Mc and Sanji’s adorable married life, and the Straw Hats joining in on the fun!

Don’t miss out on the fluffs:

Breakfast in Sunny

Caught in Act

Lover

Antics

[marlinspirkhall]

I watched the unaired Selection pilots so you don't have to

But, if you want to, you can do so here, and here (password: “selection”), credit to Media Garage on YouTube

Edit: links no longer active

The Selection (2012)

Strong Hunger Games vibes throughout, the plain-text opening screen isn't helping

Stock-footage of rolling hills gets replayed way too much

ETHAN PECK?

Unlike in the books, America only finds out she's been entered into The Selection after she gets selected, so the plot point about the photoshoot & her radiant smile being the thing which gets her selected no longer applies, I guess

Everyone in the YouTube comments was saying that Aspen and Maxon were miscast & the actors' roles should have been swapped (... No comment. I believe in you, Mr Peck)

This castle is looks too small to fit 24 TV show contestants in it

Fiona, unprompted: “Can you keep a secret, America?”

America: “I have been known to”

Fiona: “I play the violin”

Okay? (This is actually a very sweet moment and, again, Fiona may be the best actress in this)

This episode covered a significant portion of the first book, out of order, which makes me wonder if the intention was to cover all 3 books in one series.

This almost feels like half of a film, making me wonder if someone adapted a film spec script into a tv show spec script

Apparently, Fiona has a secret child and Celeste knows about it, causing Fiona to drop out on day one and tearfully warn America to “trust no one, there's no such thing as friends here”- which is a fucking wild thing to say when she's probably the only contestant who's been nice to America so far & Celeste didn't even need to get to know her to know her secrets because she has spies anyway 😭

It's worth reminding you that they have been at the palace for one entire day total

You think Queen Amberly is being fleshed out in this version but... Hmm

Amberly appears to be the one pulling the strings from behind the scenes (she confronts Celeste about extorting Fiona, tells her "she would have gone home in due time" and to "leave America to me. Anything we do to try and separate them [her and Maxom] will only make him want her more")

Again: IT HAS BEEN A DAY

America sees her servant gathering all her dresses (none of which she has used yet, bar the yellow and green ones) including the iconic blue one from the book cover. America asks what's happening and the servant replies: “Prince Maxom's orders”

Cut to America's family. They open a box with a glittering pair of high heels inside. I guess this is supposed to mirror the part of the book where Maxom cuts off the stipend for 2's and 3's who are in the selection?

If you think this version feels unfaithful to the book, just wait until you see The CW's pilot

IT HAS BEEN ONE DAY

Runtime: one day 45 minutes

Final rating: 5/10, kinda long and stiff in places and the set design was all over the place. Felt like a Hallmark movie (the set design didn't help). Probably would watch another episode of this if it was a full series or a limited series of 3-6 episodes. A little script-doctoring and a better set would work wonders.

The Selection (2013)

I cannot stress enough: this version begins with a sex scene between Maxom and a servant

Okay, I got ahead of myself; it actually begins with another hunger-games-esque black screen with text on it, text which reads “Someday, in the future”, which is read aloud by a woman's voice.

We zoom in on a much roomier-looking castle on a hill, as a random whip sound effect plays (leading into the sex scene, in which no whips are present)

All the female servants in the palace are dressed in sexy maid costumes and I wish I was kidding

The world map explaining the history of Illea is CONFUSING AS HELL, but maybe they hadn't nailed down all the details yet. I'm genuinely not sure

ANTONY HEAD?

Aspen is introduced tied to a St Andrew's cross and being watched over by a guard. America asks the guard to free him, he chases her through the streets, she circles back and cuts Aspen down

America's selection is similar to the 2012 pilot, except Aspen is present. America asks her mom why she'd enter her into the selection when “You know I'm with Aspen”, so uh, I guess they're not keeping it a secret here.

There's also no mention of Aspen being of a lower caste than her, nor of America having a job other than the vague title of "laboring class" which hangs over them all, vaguely

This is a masterclass in editing and pacing. The dialogue is okay, but the added geopolitics make no sense. Any issues with this are smoothed over by the fact that the plot keeps moving forwards at a breakneck pace to keep you distracted.

The lack of breathing room would probably be too confusing for an audience who wasn't already familiar with The Selection

The set here is absolutely beautiful but unfortunately it gives me Merlin vibes, and casting Antony Head as the king does not help with this.

Maxon attempts to pull a Mr Darcy. He then tells America that if she runs away with Aspen, the guards will beat him to a pulp and they'll both spend the rest of their lives in prison. America suggests that she make the monarchy look good so the working class don't side with the rebels. Looks like we're going full Hunger Games.

Celeste's handmaiden seems way too devoted to her; they turn out to be lovers

Just when you think Maxon might start redeeming himself, we see the palace guards swarm Aspen and kicking him. Maxom stands nearby on his horse overseeing this so there's no question of whether he did it or not

Final rating: 6/10, I would absolutely watch another episode of this. It was an absolute mess, but I've seen teen wolf, so I'm not gonna pretend I'm above it.

This feels like the kind of pilot which would get greenlit just to attract hateviewers.

Summary:

Neither protagonist had red hair and neither adaptation was trying particularly hard to give it to her (2012: dark red box dye. 2013: blonde!)

These actors are doing their best and some of them even seem to be having fun (good for them)

In the 2013 pilot, the writers lampshade America running around “like an action hero”, but she promptly forgets how to do that by the midpoint of the episode, so w/e

It feels like the 2013 pilot was a reworking of the 2012 pilot, because there were too many similarities carried over from one script to another which weren't present in the original book, like Fiona having a secret relationship.

I forgot to mention that Aspen has a brother in the 2013 pilot. He seems to be adapted from the palace guard who has a relationship with one of the contestants in a later book.

I can't get over how fucking weird of a decision it is to make the kind and likeable love interest into a power-corrupt despot, but it does feel more true to an actual monarchy. I assume they were trying to give Maxon a bad-boy vibe, which doesn't make much sense because that's supposed to be Aspen's whole deal.

There was a whole subplot in both pilots where an advisor character is revealed to be working with the rebels at the end of the episode

Extremely funny to me that the 2012 pilot makes a point of mentioning that sex before marriage is illegal and the 2013 pilot opens with premarital sex with the prince regent

[jellyfishsthings]

WARNINGS: this is quite angsty...no actual smut happens just a tiny scene. Also I messes around with some scenes so I feel like it doesn't follow the storyline in the series... that's about it... (should a do a part 2?)

He was nursing a long drink of whiskey on ice as he stared at the blank wall. The year was 1963, and he was currently sitting on a lousy couch in Dallas. The apocalypse was going to take place once again mere days away. He felt bone tired, no one around him understood the stakes and the pressure he was under. He got out of his jacket a black and white photo. A young woman in her early twenties had a huge smile plastered on her face, her head was slightly cocked to the side and loose hair from the messy bun that rested at the top of her head framed her beautiful face. She seemed radiant, her eyes were crinkled from her smile and she seemed like a goddess to him. A piece of heaven that he left behind.

“Who's that?” Klaus whispered in his ear and Five jumped from the sudden sound and he glared at his brother. Out of all his siblings, Klaus was the only one who would understand him. “She is beautiful.”

“She is my wife.” Five said quietly. His voice was soft and colored in an emotion that Klaus couldn't recognize.

“Your what?”

“Are you deaf? I said she is my wife, or at least she was.”

“What happened?”

Five had been at the Commission for several years. After a failed experiment he had turned back to his twenty-year-old self. He had heard whispers of the Scarlet Angel all around him, everyone seemed to talk about his rival, especially in his presence. It was supposed to be the deadliest assassin of the Institution besides him. One gray day he was called into the Handlers office. That was when he saw her for the first time. A tall woman was seated on a chair, her beautiful face turned towards him as he entered the room. Five had never been one to find in someone's physical beauty but at the moment their eyes met he could swear that his heart skipped a beat.

Their first assignment together had been such a success, that they were stuck together permanently. Throughout the following years, Five found himself falling for her harder every day, with every word she said, with every laugh she caused from him, the way she always had his back and defended him whether she agreed with his actions or not. Their fights were the best thing that ever happened to him, she always found ways to leave him speechless, with her smart comebacks, the way she was animated when she got angry, her hands flew around her, her face got angry red and her hair bounced with her movements. He had never seen someone look so exquisite when they were yelling at him. She made him feel alive, adrenaline coursed in his veins. She always got the better of him. She was so… infuriating. On one of those occasions he finally had enough.

He grabbed her face and smashed their lips together to silence her. She was breathless when he distanced himself from her. Her eyes were wild and her hand flew to his cheeks, slapping him. Before leaving him frozen on his spot. They were supposed to be undercover as a married couple at the gala of their target. They had been discussing tactics and strategies when things escalated.

With a deep breath, he tried to calm himself down and headed back towards the ballroom, searching for his supposed wife. They stayed together all night, dancing and acting like a couple. It seemed natural to him to be this way with her. Having her in his arms, and showing her off. Finally a few minutes shy of dawn, they tiptoed towards a huge room where their target hid diamonds. Diamonds they were going to steal after killing him, so the crime would seem like a robbery gone wrong. Just at the last corner, they were almost caught. Five quickly hoisted her up before he pinned her to a wall and he placed his face on her neck. Her skin flashed and her heartbeat was rapid beneath his mouth.

“Play along.” He whispered sweetly to her skin but she was shocked by his actions. So he had no choice. He sucked at her pulse point receiving an immediate reaction. Her legs drew back on his hold, her back arched, her eyes closed and her lips released a quiet breathy moan. At that moment he knew he was already addicted to her. He couldn't hold himself back any longer. He bit and sucked on her neck and her hands tangled into his hair as she tugged at the short strands on the back of his head. She was moaning in his arms and her hips rolled against his. He raised his knee and she started riding his leg shamelessly. He wanted to be inside of her or he was going to burst. He wanted to shut her smart mouth so it would no longer fire comebacks at him. He unbuckled his belt and lowered his pants before pushing her underwear to the side and he waited for a confirmation to continue. She could ask him to kneel, to beg and he would gladly do so. Just to steal one moment with her.

A loud bang echoed through the walls and they snapped out of their daze. But the damage had already been done. Their partnership had been blown to proposition forever. And the rest was history.

Several years later, and many happy years together after being married in secret. It happened, their big bang, the thing that embodied the doom of their relationship. Five had always been a pessimist, even in his early childhood. He was a firm believer in Murphy's law, which stated that when something could go wrong in a situation, always expect it to go wrong. They had traveled in Germany during the Second World War. Five posed as one of the ranking officers in Auschwitz as his wife was expected to do the same. Only, she had been compromised and now she was one of the prisoners. The terrible labor that she endured every day was the thing that would plague him for years to come. After completing their mission and several wounds later they managed to get back to the safety of their home.

“Why didn't you listen to me?” Five snap in frustration and terror. His hands shook as he tried to stitch a big guss on her stomach. She looked paper thin, her bones were visible and her veins along with her arteries stood prominent against her pale skin that lost its color.

“I did. I disagreed with your plan either way. And we had to do something drastic. I took a risk and I lost. It happens.”

“And did it have to happen in one of the most terrifying places that ever existed on this Earth?”

“Snap out of it. You would have done the same. And always where we are atrocious things have happened. So you don't get to lecture me. I am my own person. I made a call and it happened to be wrong. But if I hadn't done that we would have eventually failed this mission. And you don't get to lecture me when you have done nothing but be untruthful to me since the moment this started.”

“Wh- what are you talking about?” Five whispered, his voice quivered with unshown emotions. He could see the inevitable impact between them before his eyes, he had just hoped he could have a few more moments with her. A few more minutes, a few more hours, days, or years. Anything really.

Her eyes were hard and full of hatred. She pulled herself to her feet. The pain that consumed her must have been blinding. The open wounds leaked with blood that stained her skin. She moved towards her coat where she retrieved a dark green notebook and she slammed it against their kitchen table, before placing her hands on her hips and firing a challenging look towards him.

“You know I want to get back to my family, sweetheart.”

“Don't sweetheart me. These equations are only for one person. So is there something you want to tell me, dear husband of mine?”

“Please let me explain…”

“Explain what? That this meant nothing to you? You are an egoistic son of a bitch Five. And I am done with you. And you know why? You made the mistake of placing a date when you started. Our wedding date. You have already shown your true colors. You can leave now. And you can take this, I don't need it any longer. Either way, it was fake and it meant nothing to you.” She said before throwing her wedding ring at him. It thudded against his chest and he caught it mid-air, as he watched her walking away from him and slamming the door of their bedroom in her way. He stood frozen in his place. It was done. The one thing that made him feel alive, the one thing that made him happy left him. He lost it under his own hands. The same night, he left a letter behind him before he traveled back in time, back to his family. To them, he seemed a shy seven years older than when he disappeared. But they didn't know about the two things he carried with him from his last life. Her picture in the breast pocket of his smart jacket and her wedding ring on his collarbones as it hung from a golden chain, both hidden from the world.

“Five. That is just … I don't know what to say.”

“Then don't. It is already hard to think about her.”

“How long has it been since -”

“Six years, eight months and twenty days. My early attempts to get back to you weren't really successful.” He whispered as he toying with her ring. It was gold and smooth to touch, his name had been engraved on the inside. It had been a blast to convince the person you made them that his name was actually Five. And he smiled at the fond memory.

“Will you ever see her again?”

“I don't know. The selfish part of me wishes that, but another part of me knows that it is better this way. Because she is free and safe from me. Klaus, if you don't mind … no more talk please.”

Klaus looked at the pained expression on his brother's face. He had never heard him utter the world “please”, at least to him. So he simply nodded and stayed with him in silence before their peace was disturbed by their reality.

words: 1.781

[sp00kymulderr]

Cherry

Chapter one - Super Graphic Ultra Modern Girl

Series masterlist

Pairing: Dieter Bravo x ofc, bi!f!reader x ofc (eventual dieter bravo x reader x ofc)

Warnings: Nothing major for this part. Breakup angst, alcohol, jealousy, pining, cursing, not enough Dieter in this part sorrrry.

Word Count: 2.3k

Summary: After a bad breakup, a phone call with your newly married best friend leaves you with an interesting opportunity.

A/N: This one goes out to all my bi babes. There's a lot of set up here, but stick with me and I promise this story gets interesting real quick.

The third glass of the bottom shelf wine you’d picked up a few hours ago goes down a lot smoother than the first two. A bloom of flavour in your throat that warms what otherwise feels numb.

Your fingers twitch as you glance down at your phone, aching to look at Charlie’s Instagram one more time - just to make sure she’s okay, you rationalise. Make sure she’s not fallen into a well, or been abducted by aliens or something. 

You kind of hope she has been.

Stevie Nicks sings Landslide through the tinny Bluetooth speaker on your coffee table, and you hum to the song that makes tears well in your eyes. Charlie hates this song, but since Charlie is now your ex and all her belongings had vanished from your home this morning it doesn’t really matter. She’d hate the wine too. You have to remember it doesn’t matter.

An errant tear slips from your eye - definitely because of Stevie and not Charlie - and as if on cue your phone buzzes loudly making you jump. A splash of wine lands on your couch. This week really isn’t working out for you.

A look at the phone screen makes you roll your eyes. The photo that comes up with the call is of you and Eva, your best friend for longer than you can even recall. You’re both wrapped in each other's arms and smiling wide, stupid toothy grins as you pose outside the modelling agency in LA that had signed her on for her first big break.

Eva was destined to be a model, really. She’d always been ‘pretty’; all curves, warm beige skin that practically glowed, entrancing chestnut eyes and long dark hair that fell in natural waves. But in high school she’d transformed from pretty to gorgeous seemingly overnight. 

From that moment on no one ever forgot Eva.

She was more to you, though. To you she’d always been beautiful. Always. For a long time you’d passed the twist in your stomach when you looked at her for too long off as jealousy, but how could you ignore the stutter of your heart when she smiled at you a certain way? The more you two grew together, the more perfect she seemed to become. The more you wanted to look at her, spend time with her, be in her radiant presence. 

Not that her looks mattered. Eva was kind, fun and a little goofy. She liked stupid slapstick comedies and she crocheted silly little animals in her spare time. You had a frog on your dresser she’d made for you years ago. She cared deeply about so much, and she always fought for what she believed in and what she wanted. It wasn’t a surprise to anyone when she’d jetted off to LA several years ago to live her dreams out, then.

Of course no one is truly perfect, which is why you’re currently staring at your phone as it rings again and again, debating whether to pick up. Eva had always been drastically spontaneous and had a history of bad decisions. Usually harmless to anyone but her (the name of a one night stand permanently etched on her hip comes to mind), but two weeks ago she’d made what you could only see as the worst decision of her life.

You sigh, place down your wine glass and finally answer the phone.

“Hi Eva” you grumble down the line, turning the music off so you can hear her.

“You didn’t call me back last week” She offers instead of a greeting. You can hear something in the background that makes your eye twitch, a man’s voice and the clink of a glass.

You'd found out about this particularly bad decision not from your best friend, but from the noisy article on some dumb celebrity gossip website that had somehow made its way onto your timeline.

And you'd scoffed when you looked at the caption because of course Dieter Bravo had gotten married on a whim in some corny Vegas chapel, but then you had to do a double take upon seeing the picture of his bride; dolled up in a simple white dress that made her skin glow, platform white heels, dark hair in a bun atop her head and the same bright smile that had made your heart flip so many times in your life.

It was Eva.

Your Eva.

Eva the model who was leaving the chapel leading on to the Vegas strip with a wedding ring on her finger and Dieter fucking Bravo by her side. And they were smiling, laughing. Paparazzi shots of the two of them kissing in the street after the ceremony flitted behind your lids every time you closed your eyes for the last two weeks. 

You could only assume it was a drunken whim that had turned your best friend from your Eva to Mrs Dieter Bravo.

So you were mad at her right now. Mad that she’d married some trainwreck celebrity she barely knew. But the real gut wrenching pain you felt was that she hadn't even told you; you'd had to find out after the fact through stupid papped photographs that made you want to claw your eyes out. You weren’t jealous, absolutely not.. You just wanted Eva to be happy. How could she be happy with a guy like that? You had heard plenty about Dieter Bravo; he seemed to have often been the subject of some ridiculous Hollywood gossip in the past, and then there had been that god awful Cliff Beasts documentary you'd watched for a laugh that certainly didn’t paint him in a great light. Sure he was an Oscar and Emmy winning actor now but jeez, from what you’d seen he wasn't exactly what you'd call marriage material.

Yeah, you were hurt. 

"What? Say what you want to say” Eva sighs when you remain solidy quiet for a long minute.

"I don't have anything to say"

Her breath huffs down the line and you can practically hear her roll her eyes.

"You got married, Eva” You finally speak again, voice coming out quiet and more bitter than you’d wanted it to.

“I did, cherry” She responds. 

The nickname she’d given you in grade school was never going away.

“You got married! To fucking…to Dieter Bravo!” It makes you laugh a little to say it out loud, and Eva can’t hold back her own small giggle at that.

“Yep”

You can tell she’s smiling, there’s that cadence in her voice that lifts when she’s really happy. Usually it’s your favourite thing in the world but right now it makes you fucking ache. Reaching for your glass of wine you take a big gulp before speaking again.

“I just…you didn’t even tell me. I’d like to know if my oldest friend is getting hitched, you know?"

“I do know, I do…I-” She stops and there’s a rustle of noise on the line as she shifts, “I wasn’t trying to hide it from you, it just happened so suddenly…we didn’t exactly plan it. He made a joke about it and the next thing I knew we were on a flight to Vegas”  

So it really was a spontaneous decision. You couldn’t even pretend to be surprised.

"I could've....Eva, I wanted to be your maid of honour if you ever got married, isn't that what we always said?"

"You can be my maid of honour for the next one" Eva offers.

Ok, she got you there, you can’t stop the laugh that comes. At least until you hear a man's gruff laugh in the background. For a moment it makes you see red at the thought that he's involving himself in your conversation even in the smallest way.

"Ev. This isn't a joke. You get why I'm mad right? And to Dieter Bravo of all people - look, is this a PR stunt?" You mutter a little meanly, taking another sip.

“Wow, screw you” She retorts, but it’s playful. “He’s nice...really nice. He’s fun. You told me to have all the fun I could have in LA, remember?”

“You weren't supposed to marry the fun, Eva!” You protest, but her happiness in the face of the ridiculous situation makes it so difficult to stay mad at her.

"Wait til you meet him, cherry pie. Just wait, you’ll get it. And…I am sorry, okay?” The line is quiet for a moment and you hear her moving presumably to a different room “I really am. But I didn't call to tell you about my married bliss. I heard about Charlie"

God, your stomach twists in knots at the mention. Being mad at Eva had been a good distraction from the breakup even if only for a moment.

"Oh, right”

“You wanna talk about it?” Her voice is gentle now, sympathetic. You wish she could hug you like she used to when you were sad.

“I’m fine” You lie, “I mean I thought she'd be my... doesn't matter. I’m okay" Massive lie.

Eva says some comforting words that you barely register. 

You feel like you’re constantly standing at the edge of what your world could be. Maybe it’s why the marriage riled you up so much. You can’t pretend she doesn’t sound happy. And here you are broken up with again, alone again. Before she’d left to live her dreams, you’d had visions that maybe it’d be Eva you’d end up with. Maybe if you could just let yourself be fully real for once…Maybe she’d realise, and you could have been something bright and glowing and joyful too. 

A whole lot of maybes that meant nothing in the end. 

It’s just you now.

You zone back in to the call at the words ‘Bora Bora’ and ‘Don’t worry about the cost, cherry’

“Wait, what?” You stutter, trying to understand if you’re hearing her correctly

“Take a few weeks off, come with us. The hotel is paid for, we have one of those fancy bungalows. We’ll sort the flights. You need this and I miss you”

"I..." you hesitate nervously, biting your lip “I miss you too. But…”

Eva tsks at you, familiar with that tone even down a phone line.

"What are you going to do instead? Sit on your couch for three weeks and scroll her instagram for hours on end? I'm not letting you do that. Come on, cherry pie, we'll have so much fun. It'll be like old times" Eva gives as much enthusiasm as she can, but that hint of concern has notched in her throat. She knows you too well and she’s right.

"Like old times?" you huff  "Except it'll be me, you, and your husband"

"You'll like him, I promise"

The call ends with your promise to think about it.

And think about it you do. All night, all of the next day. It’s a stupid fucking offer for them to make. It’ll be so awkward. What if he’s a nightmare? What if she’s not the same with you now she’s got a ring on her finger? You should say no.

You should really say no.

Two weeks later, after a day of sitting too long with not enough leg room, the little Air Tahiti plane lands in Bora Bora.

Your legs shake as you step off the plane. It’s possible you’re still in shock that you even agreed to this. Your stomach knots with nerves, as your bags are unloaded and you head over to the arrival area to find-

There she is. Your breath hitches in your throat. Your heart beats faster. God, you really had missed her. It’s been months, and she’s still so her it makes everything suddenly feel okay.

“Cherry!” Eva squeals gleefully, dark glossy hair bouncing as she runs up to crush you into an insistent hug. You laugh, you can’t stop laughing as you hold on to her. 

Your Eva.

“Oh my god, I missed you” You feel like you might cry as she utters similar sentiments into your ear.

When she finally lets go and steps back you finally notice the man behind her. Not that Dieter Bravo would ever be easy to ignore. 

He's what you'd expected; The mess of brown hair sticking this way and that, the too casual clothes, scruffy facial hair. But he’s also…well he’s gorgeous, not Hollywood good-looking like the waxwork movie stars in all those big action films. You’ve seen his face before on screens and in pictures and yet you’ve never fully understood that this man is pretty, he’s different. He’s enthralling, even just at first glance. 

Dieter tilts his head so you can catch his big brown eyes beneath the sunglasses he’s wearing and you have to stop yourself staring too hard. He’s what you expect, but he takes you by surprise too. He raises his left hand to scratch at his chin, a glint of the rings on his fingers catching your eye as you observe him before stepping forward with a friendly smile which he returns with a wry one of his own.

“You must be-” You start before he cuts you off.

“The fun, yeah” Dieter pushes his sunglasses down his nose and gives you a wink, followed by a grin before he turns towards Eva.

Your stomach flips, a twinge of jealousy as he takes hold of her hand and they share a glance at each other. You’re still processing the interaction with him but it’s impossible to ignore the way Dieter's face lights up when he looks to her - a brilliantly bright but bashful smile like he can't believe she's there, his eyes snapping up to meet hers like it's the first time seeing her.

Like he's desperately in love with her.

At least the two of you have something in common.

Tagging those who asked and those I think might be interested (pls tell me to remove if you want!):

@morallyinept @tightjeansjavi @covetyou @i-own-loki @bastardmandennis @tinytinymenace @chronically-ghosted @party-hearses @perotovar @schnarfer @5oh5

[holllandtrash]

better luck next time | lando norris, pierre gasly

pairing: lando norris x reader, pierre gasly x reader part 5 to better left unsaid (the better series)

what started as a quiet day in monza ends in shatters, tears and painful questions, the most important one being why

word count: 6.2k tags: slight mature content but not really also i think we can probably blame max (fewtrell) for everything

Lando just so happened to be standing outside of the McLaren motorhome when you walked past with Pierre. He might have been in the middle of a conversation with Max, but as you strolled on by, the world seemed to move in slow motion. 

The sunglasses did little to cover how ecstatic you were to be there, nor did they do anything to hide who you were. The media, fans, employees, people knew you as Lando’s friend, but all of that was changing all because you showed up with Pierre. 

A breeze caught your hair and you raised your hand to push the strand out of your face. Your playful smile widened when Pierre leaned in and said something, resulting in you nudging his side jokingly.

Maybe Lando was reading into Pierre’s expression too much, but to him he just seemed smug and arrogant, all because you were at his side. 

Lando knew you were stunning, he wasn’t blind. But today there was a different energy to you as you walked past in your all-white attire that only highlighted your already radiant glow. Your top was sleeveless and cropped, showing off your arms and a bit of your stomach. Your jeans hugged your curves and flared above the only hint of colour in your custom pink and red Air Force 1’s. 

Were you wearing pink shoes because of Alpine? Lando could remember the days you showed up to the paddock in similar neutral outfits but with a hint of papaya so people knew where your support lied.

“Lando.”

He snapped his head towards Max, clearing his throat and trying to play it off as if he wasn’t just checking you out. Lando wasn’t subtle though and before Max could call him out, he glanced back in your direction only to find that you had disappeared somewhere in the paddock.

“You were staring, mate,” Max said. A month ago, Max would be encouraging Lando to do something about this. He would be overjoyed knowing that Lando was finally seeing you the way you had always seen him.

Now, Max was a little annoyed. 

That was evident by the dead stare and semi scowl on his lips. Max wasn’t impressed that Lando was now giving you attention. 

Lando shrugged, “She looked good, that’s all.”

“She always looks good,” Max rolled his eyes. 

“Should I have said hi?” Lando looked down the paddock again. No point though, he knew you were long gone. What was he going to do? Run after you? 

“Absolutely not.”

Lando was taken aback by that answer. “She doesn’t hate me. She said it herself, she still cares about me. It’s not like we’re not friends anymore.”

“Give her time, Lando,” Max told him. Lando wasn’t thinking about anyone but himself. He could have played it off as if he was trying to fix your friendship, but he only wanted to get you away from Pierre, even just for a second. 

Max nudged him towards the doors of the motorhome, knowing that Lando wouldn’t have remembered that he had to get ready for the last practice before qualifying. He’d be thinking about you for the rest of the day, wondering what you were doing in the Alpine motorhome, wondering if Pierre knew to tell the hospitality staff that you liked lemon in your water. 

Lando couldn’t help but think about how he usually kept an extra jumper in his drivers room, strictly for you to use. Pierre probably didn’t know that you didn’t like wearing team branded merch so you would never ask for an Alpine hoodie if you were cold, but you were also too kind for your own good and if it was offered, you wouldn’t know how to say no. 

Pierre probably didn’t know that you preferred to watch practices and qualifying from the hospitality lounge and that you’d only stand in the garage during the races. You hated being in the way and even though Lando assured you time and time again that you were always allowed in the garage, you felt better knowing that you wouldn’t be bothering the team or the drivers during the early sessions. 

Lando did worry a little when he thought about you spending time with a French team. You spoke very little French, barely enough to get by in a conversation and while there were certain rules in the garage and on radios about speaking English, those rules didn’t exist in the motorhome, where you’d probably be spending most of your time. 

You consumed every second of Lando’s thoughts. During the briefing, during the meetings, during interviews and it wasn’t until he was climbing into the car for the last practice session did he finally become aware of his surroundings.

You would have noticed instantly if Lando was distracted. You would have told him to snap out of it and to do his job. Instead, it was Lando’s engineer who asked him if he was alright. 

And the answer was no, Lando was nowhere near alright. He didn’t like that you were somewhere in the paddock but he had no idea where. He didn’t like that you would be watching Pierre all weekend. He didn’t like knowing that you might go these next two days without exchanging so much as a word.

More importantly, Lando didn’t like this burning realisation creeping in, reminding him that he might just be too late. 

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paddocksleuth ohh is that the alpine team i seeee

itselenaberri 💕💕

Hanging out in Alpine’s hospitality lounge with Elena was a fun change of pace. You two got along well, the conversation flowed naturally and it was heartwarming to listen to her talk about her relationship with Esteban. She casually asked if you and Pierre were an item, but you didn’t have an answer for her. 

You wanted to say yes, but you also hadn’t put any labels on it, nor were you in a rush to.

“Look, we both know that Pierre’s history with women isn’t ideal,” Elena took a sip of her mimosa before continuing. “But he seems to really like you. Since the start of the season, he’s never flown someone out to accompany him. He wants you to be here.”

“I can’t remember the last time he was in a relationship,” you admitted, trying to think back to all of those gossip blogs and reports on social media. You came up short. Pierre’s flings with girls never lasted more than a weekend.

“No one’s caught his eye quite like you did,” Elena smiled as she spoke. You wanted to believe she was being honest, she had no reason to lead you in the wrong direction. Stability was something that everyone was after and she had it with Esteban. It made sense she’d want his teammate to find it too.

At the end of FP3, both Alpine drivers came and stopped by. They had obligations all day so you didn’t expect to see Pierre until after qualifying, but then you spotted him walking your way across the hospitality lounge and the warmth that spread through you was undeniable. 

If you were in the middle of a conversation, it was completely disregarded now. You tilted your head up as he approached, a smile spread across your cheeks. Pierre caught you off guard by leaning down pressing his lips to yours, his hand resting where your jaw met your neck. 

He was still in his fireproofs, his racing suit draped around his hips. He had literally come straight from practice and the first thing he wanted to do, before even saying hi, was kiss you like there was no one else in the room. 

You didn’t care that other people were near you. They were probably looking on and gossiping about how you were Pierre’s new girl, but none of them knew that you weren’t like the other paddock flings. You weren’t going to disappear after the race weekend ended. 

They didn’t know that you had woken up this morning with his arms wrapped around you. How he pulled you against his chest and left a trail of kisses along your back. No one here knew about the heated kisses you shared after getting out of bed, making it nearly impossible to make breakfast or get ready for the day. Pierre was intoxicating, filling every one of your senses since your eyes fluttered open and you couldn’t get enough of him. 

“Hi,” Pierre whispered against your lips, bright eyes meeting yours as traced his thumb over your cheek. He gave you one more peck before pulling out the chair next to you and sitting down. Immediately, his hand found your thigh. 

You came to find that Pierre always wanted to be touching you. Either playing with your hair or grabbing your hand, anything really. If he was within an arm's reach, he’d reach for you.

“Are you ready for qualifying?” You asked, turning your body to face him so he knew he had all of your attention. There were a few hours until he had to get back in the car, but you didn’t know how long you’d be able to keep him until he was called away. 

“A little nervous but the nerves are good,” he said. He squeezed your leg, “Are you going to come to the garage to watch?”

You shook your head, “I’ll stay up here. I don’t want to get in anyone's way.”

Pierre found that thought amusing, “Chérie there’s a designated spot for visitors, you wouldn’t be in anyone's way.”

“I think I’d rather watch from here,” you told him. “I never watched-”

You didn’t finish that sentence, not because you lost your train of thought, but because one microscopic gesture from Pierre had you not wanting to finish. He remained expressionless, but you caught the way his left eyebrow twitched, like he was waiting for you to say Lando’s name, almost challenging you to. 

You changed the topic, going for more of a lighter note, “I’ll watch the race from the garage, I promise.”

“Good,” that seemed to suffice and you avoided bringing up Lando. 

“Come on,” Pierre said, tightening his grip on your hand as he stood up, “I want to introduce you to some people.”

———————

When the time came for qualifying, Elena left to go stand in the garage. And even though Pierre had managed to introduce you to a good portion of the Alpine team, all of them telling you that you were more than welcome to stand in the garage, you still decided to watch from the comfort of the Hospitality lounge. 

Qualifying started off as normal. It was hard to get an idea for track conditions and lap time in the first few minutes, but already it seemed as though Pierre was off to a good start.

One driver on the grid who wasn’t starting off strong, was Lando.

You didn’t want to care, but when the camera kept focusing on him and the reporters spoke about how there was an unresolved issue that might keep him from getting out on the track, you started to care a bit. 

You didn’t want to see Lando fail. He was a good driver, you’d always want to see him succeed. 

So in between Pierre’s lap times, you held your breath until finally Lando was given the green light to put in a flying lap. He didn’t have much time, the first session was almost over, but you had faith in his abilities as a driver. 

Pierre was safe in his P10 position and would move on to Q2 so you allowed yourself to focus on Lando’s lap time.

He wasn’t setting any records, but his time was better than the bottom five drivers. As he started the third sector, he was .5 seconds ahead of Zhou who was sitting in 16th. You could breathe. He would make it through. 

Or at least, he would have.

Had he not exceeded track limits.

You watched as the countdown to the end of Q1 hit 0 and the camera focused on Lando’s car heading into the pitlane. He thought he was safe. He thought he made it through.

And then the radio message aired, his engineer telling Lando his time was deleted. 

‘No, no, no,’ he groaned into his headset. F1TV picked it up. The camera still tuned in on him and his car in the garage. Even with the helmet on, the disappointment was evident. 

It was another few seconds until he actually climbed out of the car. He pulled his helmet off and handed it to a team member. He rubbed his face and dragged his fingers through his hair. He was upset with himself. This wasn’t a team error, this was on him.

Had you been watching from the McLaren motorhome, you would have already been on your way to the garage, ready to greet him with open arms as he sulked away from his team. You would have walked with him to the motorhome, reminding him that he still has a fighting chance this weekend and that starting from P20 wasn’t the end of the world. 

But you felt glued to your chair. You didn’t know where you stood with Lando and if he would even want you to attempt to cheer him up.

You opted to text Max instead, waiting a few minutes until you knew Lando would be out of the garage.

You typed out a message and then deleted it and then typed a similar one, only to not hit send again. You knew Max was staring at his phone screen watching that typing bubble appear and disappear until eventually he put a stop to it, already knowing what you were trying to say.

Max: he’d probably appreciate it if you came by

It was embarrassing how fast you stood up. You caught a glimpse at the screen and saw the second qualifying session wasn’t going to start for another few minutes. You could be in and out of McLaren before anyone even noticed you had left Alpine’s Hospitality. 

You walked down the stairs and stepped outside. The paddock was much quieter now compared to earlier, everyone had their eyes on the track, media included. Which meant no one even noticed you opening up the doors to the McLaren motorhome and sneaking inside. 

Lando’s drivers room was on the second floor, but you had to pass the lounge on the main floor to get there. Lucky for you, the only person sitting there was Max. He stood up the second you walked in, looking about as nervous as you felt. 

“Are you sure?” You asked, not even sure what you were asking? Was Max sure he would want to see you? Was he sure it was okay you were even there? 

“Y/N he just had his worst ever qualifying,” Max pointed out, glancing towards the stairs. “He doesn’t want to talk to anyone, but he needs to talk to you.”

“I don’t want to overstep.”

“You won’t.”

“How do you-”

“Before everything, you were his friend,” he reminded you. “And he was yours. That’s what he needs right now. I don’t know where you two stand currently and I don’t even think it matters, but you’re the only person that he’ll listen to, Y/N.”

You looked at the screen behind Max. Less than a minute until the second qualifying session. You’d end up missing the first bit but as long as you caught where Pierre ended up, you’d be fine.

Max nodded his head towards the staircase and neither of you had to say another word. 

Slowly, you walked up the stairs. You heard faint music coming from the other side of the door and you held your breath before knocking. 

“Piss off Max.”

A chuckle passed your lips. That was a very typical Lando response. It was also one of your responses. After spending years together, you picked up on each other's mannerisms and sayings. 

You leaned your head against the white surface, eyeing his name plaque on the wall, “It’s- it’s not Max.”

It wasn’t humanly possible for Lando to open the door any faster than he had. You nearly got whiplash when you blinked and all of a sudden, you were face to face. 

God he looked rough. 

He wasn’t one to get emotional, but you could see the frustration in his features. Max was right, he looked defeated with himself, with the car, with this race. There was no hopeful glint in his eyes, nothing that gave you an ounce of confidence that he would bounce back.

It broke you.

All you could do was step forward and drape your arms around him. Lando hesitated, you felt it, but eventually he wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled you against his body. He exhaled a heavy breath as his head dipped to the crook of your neck and you could feel his hands tense around you. 

At this point, you had crossed the line you created by stopping by after being the one who said you needed space.

But it didn’t matter. What mattered was Lando was upset and he needed you. This was your downfall, it always would be. You loved being needed by him.

“It’s just one race,” you said, but something told you this reaction was about so much more than this qualifying gone wrong.

You didn’t want to be the first to let go of this embrace, but you had to. You had to at least try and put distance between yourself and him, even if it was the hardest thing you would ever do. 

So you let your arms fall to your side and you stepped back. Lando inhaled a deep breath and this would have been the perfect opportunity for you to leave. The door was still open, there was nothing keeping you there. You gave him a comforting hug, maybe that was all he needed.

But you stayed.

When Lando sat down on the couch, something pulled you to follow. The door swung on its hinges and shut quietly. You just knew that Max was standing at the bottom of the staircase, probably wondering if he had made a mistake by telling you to go see him.

He braced his elbows on his knees as he dipped his head. He loosely pulled his fingers through his hair but his gaze stayed glued to his feet. When your leg brushed against his, Lando didn’t flinch at the contact. 

“You know what’s the worst part?” Lando asked, shaking his head. “It’s all my fault. I’m the one who messed up last race. I’m the one who exceeded track limits. I’m the one who keeps making mistakes.”

“You got a podium in Austria,” you reminded him, but that didn’t seem to lift his spirits. 

“Because of Ferrari’s fuck ups.”

“No, it’s because you’re a good driver,” you nudged your elbow against his, but he didn’t seem convinced. “Lando, you’ve had a few shitty runs, that doesn’t mean you’re a shitty driver.”

“I feel like a shitty driver.”

You didn’t come here to pity him, you came here to help him get his confidence back. 

“Hey do you remember that summer when we were sixteen and we tried to teach ourselves how to play poker?” 

Lando raised his head. It was clear he had no idea where you were going with this trip down memory lane, but he nodded.

Of course he remembered that summer. He was in Formula 3 and during the break his family decided to vacation in the French Riviera and obviously, you were invited. There was one night where his sisters were spending the evening on a friend's boat, his parents had gone out to an event and the two of you were left alone in the summer house. 

It was your idea to learn how to play poker. You pulled up a how-to guide on your phone as Lando found his dads poker set in the billiards room. You weren’t playing for money, just bragging rights, but you both took it way too seriously, determined to learn the ways of the game.

“Do you remember how awful we both were?” You asked, the question followed by a laugh that seemed to lift the corner of Lando’s mouth in response. 

“I remember you were the worst dealer and kept giving me cards I couldn’t do anything with,” Lando said and you smiled to yourself. That was what you wanted him to remember. 

“But yet at the end of the night, you ended up winning.”

Lando shook his head, still not following, “What the hell does poker have to do with Formula 1?” 

You dropped your hand to his knee. You shouldn’t have, but you did it anyway, giving his clothed leg an assuring squeeze, “Because you’re in a similar spot now, Lando. You’ve been dealt some shitty hands but the game isn’t over. This race, this season, none of it’s over. You are the only person who decides when it ends and I don’t think you’re ready to give up yet. I don’t think you’re done fighting.”

He didn’t have a response for you and you considered that a win on your part. Lando loved to argue so the fact that he was staying quiet told you that you managed to get through to him, even just a little. 

Lando smiled again. It didn’t quite reach his eyes, but it was something. It was hope. Despite everything, you still believed in him and his abilities as a driver and that was enough. That was what he needed to hear.

Slowly, you watched the light return to his eyes. His features softened, he unclenched his jaw and he nodded. Lando dropped his hand, letting it rest over top of yours. It was a gesture you had shared hundreds of times before and it wasn’t supposed to be anything but friendly. 

It was impossible to miss the way his gaze dropped, landing on your lips as his tongue darted out to wet him. His eyes quickly met yours again. 

A month ago, a move like that would have weakened you. 

You didn’t know what to feel anymore. 

“You ‘gonna be okay?” You asked and then you felt his hand tighten around yours.

You needed to leave the room. 

“I’d be better if you hung out in McLaren,” Lando admitted. The air in the room suddenly felt heavier. “But yeah, I’ll be okay.”

“Alpine’s not that bad,” you wanted to remind Lando that you were there because of Pierre. Pierre booked your flight. Pierre held your hand as you walked through the paddock. Pierre was the one who made you feel wanted. 

And instead of watching his qualifying session, you were with Lando. 

Because Lando made you feel needed.

Even if it was temporary, even if it was borderline toxic, even if it was just another tactic he would use to keep you around, Lando knew exactly what to do and say to make you feel as though he needed you. That he wasn’t the same person without you in his life.

Space. You needed space. You couldn’t keep allowing yourself to do this. 

You cleared your throat, “I should go.”

Lando nodded, his line of sight darting to the door. The closed door that probably should have remained open for both of your sakes.

Why hadn’t you stood up yet? Why hadn’t Lando let go of your hand? Why did you text Max? Why did you even come to his drivers room in the first place? 

Why? Why? Why? Why?

And what if…

“Lando…” Your voice was barely above a whisper. Whatever you were trying to say didn’t matter, it wasn’t like you were telling him to fuck off or saying goodbye. And the second Lando realised you weren’t going anywhere, you weren’t leaving, the way you said his name sounded like a chorus of angels. 

And then his lips were on yours. 

There was no thinking things through here. If you had thought about the repercussions for even a second, you wouldn’t have left the Alpine hospitality. Instead, Lando’s hand travelled up to cup the side of your face, the pads of his fingers brushing against your hair. 

There were twenty different voices screaming at you, reminding you that this was a bad idea, that Lando didn’t love you, but all of those voices were drowned out by the quiet groan that emerged from the back of his throat when you slid your tongue past his lips. 

He gripped your waist and pulled you to sit on his lap. Your legs straddled either side of his hips as his fingers dug into your skin. You spent hours thinking about what it would be like to make out with him in his driver's room and now here you were, on top of him and clashing your tongue against his. He twisted his fingers tighter through your hair, keeping you as close to him as physically possible. 

You swore under your breath when Lando attached his lips to your jaw. He moved his lips tantalisingly slow, using the grip in your hair to give him better access to your throat as he trailed downwards. When he took your earlobe between his teeth you automatically bucked your hips against his. 

It wasn’t fair. Your body shouldn't have reacted like this with him. You shouldn’t have wanted this as bad as you did, not when you just had one of the best nights of your life with Pierre yesterday. 

But Lando’s breath was hot as his teeth grazed over your skin and it sparked a fire within you. You ran your fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck, pulling at the strands when he found that spot below your ear and worked to leave a mark like his life depended on it. 

“Lando-” his name was caught off by an embarrassingly loud moan that had you praying there was no one in one of the nearby rooms. Lando kept sucking on your skin, determined to not let you walk out of here without this visible reminder of him, this reminder that no matter what, you’d always be his. 

Even if you were trying to give your heart to someone else, even if he would never love you the way you loved him, you’d always be a little bit his. He’d always had this unspoken control over you. 

“Lando I-” you choked on your words, clenching your legs around him as he pulled back, meeting your eyes. 

He looked proud of himself, of course he was proud of himself. He had a cocky kind of arrogance to him and you wanted to slap that smirk right off his face.

You needed to get the fuck out of this room.

And Lando knew you like the back of his hand. He caught the way you glanced towards the door. He saw your timid swallow when Pierre’s face came to the forefront of your mind. He could see it in your eyes that you were regretting all of this.

“Don’t go,” Lando urged quietly, tightening his hold on your waist when you made the sudden move to stand up. He pulled you closer, spreading his fingers across the small of your back. His lips found your jaw, but his kiss was soft compared to earlier. Gentle, like he was afraid anything more would break you. It probably would.

“I have to,” you laid your hand against his chest to brace yourself as you climbed off of him, feeling his growing erection beneath his trousers as you swung your legs off. 

Lando held on as long as he could, his fingers trailing down your arm and connecting with yours before you finally stepped back. 

You turned around, knowing there was a mirror in this driver's room, but the second you caught your own reflection you had no idea who the girl was staring back. Her hair was dishevelled. Her throat was red with a very prominent, darkening spot below her ear. Her hands were trembling.

You caught Lando’s eyes in the mirror and the haze lifted.

“Oh my god,” you breathed out, fingers hovering over the childish hickey he had left on you. “Lando I can’t- I can’t go back out like this.”

He pushed himself off of the couch and you found yourself frozen as he approached you from behind. One arm snaked around your waist as he gently pulled your hair over your shoulder, so he too could see the mark. 

“So then stay here.”

The nerve of this man. 

He didn’t understand that there would be consequences for your actions. Lando didn’t care that you had to go back to Pierre after this, he only cared that Pierre saw who you really belonged to. 

He was selfish and conceited and vain and didn’t care about what was best for you.

Lando didn’t like that someone else could make you happy. He felt threatened. He felt as though he was losing you, he was, and the only way to keep you from leaving was by giving you what you wanted. 

Because at one point, you did want this. You wanted the intimacy with Lando. For years, you craved it. You wanted Lando to see you the way you saw him.

But it wasn’t real. 

He just didn’t want you looking at someone else the way you once looked at him.

You grabbed his wrist and peeled his hand off of you, practically elbowing him in the chest as you turned around and put space between your bodies. When Lando tried to step forward you backed up, your head hitting the mirror behind you. 

“You can’t do this,” you found your voice. “It’s not fucking fair Lando. I’m with Pierre, you know this. You can’t just decide you want me all of a sudden, that’s not how this works.”

“But you can decide you don’t want me all of a sudden?” Lando retorted. He sounded much more sure of himself than you did. “Come on, Y/N, I know you. You may be with Pierre but you still love me.”

You wanted him to be wrong so fucking bad. You didn’t want to love him. 

“You can’t use that against me!” You snapped at him. “My feelings are not a game, Lando. You can’t just use them to your advantage. You can’t string me along like this. You can’t show me attention because I’m into someone else. You can’t kiss me after making it clear you don’t want me. You can’t pretend to love me now that I’m trying to get over you!”

Tears were starting to well up in the corner of your eyes and you told yourself to hold it together. You were not going to cry over him, in front of him. 

Lando clenched his jaw, “What if I’m not pretending?”

It felt as though your heart fell to the pit of your stomach, “What?”

“What if I’m not pretending?” He repeated. “What if I do love you?”

You so badly wanted to believe that to be true. 

But you shook your head slowly, “You don’t.”

“Y/N-”

“Stop, Lando. Please.”  you cut him off before he could make some sort of grand gesture, before he could sweep you away with the words you’ve been waiting to hear. A shaky inhale passed through your lips, “You don’t love me, you just don’t want me to love anyone else.”

He opened his mouth to argue with you, to dispute everything you had said, but one more weak breath from you had his lips tightening into a thin line. Whatever he had to say, it wouldn’t help. It would only hurt. It would just make things harder.

“I’m leaving,” you finally announced with a sniff. You blinked a few times to get rid of any threatening tears, not like it helped. 

His gaze dropped to your neck and your stomach turned in knots. You couldn’t hide Lando’s mark from Pierre, not forever, but you couldn’t necessarily walk out of this motorhome showing it off either.

You swiftly turned and reached for the closet doors, pulling them open and grabbing a plain black jumper, one that Lando always kept in his driver's room. You slid it on, knowing Lando wasn’t going to fight you on it and it only took a few seconds for you to bunch up the hood around your neck until you were confident you could get through the rest of the day without any judgmental stares. 

Lando just stood off to the side and watched as you fixed yourself as best as you could. He stayed quiet when you dabbed at the corner of your eyes. He bit his tongue to keep from saying anything else in an attempt to get you to stay.

“This didn’t happen,” you told him, referring to everything that had occurred since you stepped foot in this motorhome. Lando’s hand twitched, but he just balled his hand into a fist and nodded. 

When you reached for the door, Lando stepped forward, “Can I just-”

“No,” you were firm, your tone sharp. “You don’t have a fucking right to do or say anything right now. This ends here, Lando.”

You made up your mind. You couldn’t crawl back to Lando. You couldn’t keep letting him have this control over you. You had to stop loving him otherwise you would just end up in this painful cycle, always asking yourself why and what if. 

When you were confident Lando wasn’t going to say a word, you grabbed the handle of the door and pulled it open. There was more commotion in the motorhome now, more people than before. You just slid your hands into the front pocket of the jumper and made your way down the stairs. 

You tried to avoid Max, but he jumped off the couch and followed you outside, at least having the decency to keep his voice down when he grabbed your arm and turned you around.

“What the hell happened?”  Max asked, glancing at the motorhome. “I heard nothing and then I heard yelling and then-”

“It doesn’t matter,” there was a growing lump in your throat, but the second you tried to swallow it away, it triggered the tears you were holding back. You inhaled a strangled sob and shook your head, keeping your eyes away from Max. “I’m leaving. I can’t- I can’t be here. Lando, he-”

But you couldn’t even begin to try and explain yourself. Not with every second word being followed by a gasp for your air. You wiped your eyes and just shook your head. Your were hurt. You made a mistake. Your sudden emotions were the best explanation Max would get for now. 

“Look I don’t want to make things difficult but-”

Max’s words were cut off when you heard your name being called from behind you. You recognized the French accent as it ripped through your chest. 

“Pierre didn’t make it through to Q3,” Max explained quickly. “He texted me asking if he knew where you were and when I didn’t answer he just- well I guess he assumed.”

You couldn’t breathe. 

“Chérie, what-” Pierre approached you, but his words escaped him the second he came face to face with your tear stained cheeks and painful expression. He eyed the McLaren motorhome behind you and you watched as the muscles in his jaw tensed.

Pierre could have jumped to his own conclusions. He could have caused a scene right there in the paddock. He could have assumed the worst, knowing you had left McLaren crying. You wouldn’t have blamed him if he just turned and walked away from you, not wanting to get involved in this type of bullshit Lando created.

But he draped his arm around your shoulders and tugged you into his side. Pierre dropped his chin to the top of your head, pressing his lips to your hair, “Let’s go, okay?”

You nodded, there wasn’t much else you could do. 

Pierre grabbed the pair of sunglasses that was resting on top of his head and handed them over to you, figuring you’d want them to hide how red and puffy your face was. You slid them on and kept your head down, assuring Max you’d text him later.

The two of you barely stepped away from McLaren when the motorhome doors flew open. You looked up, your heart shattering even more when you spotted Lando practically tripping over his own feet to catch up to you. 

Pierre stopped walking and eyed up the British driver slowly. He didn’t drop his arm from your shoulder, making it very clear that he wasn’t going to leave the two of you alone.

Lando obviously hadn’t expected Pierre to show up. It threw a wrench in his plans, whatever they were. Maybe he was going to try that grand gesture again. Maybe he was going to apologise. You had no idea and you honestly didn’t care. 

Shockingly enough though, it was Pierre who spoke first.

He raised his free hand and patted Lando on the shoulder, “Sorry about qualifying, mate.”

Lando nodded, his attention darting between you and Pierre, “Yeah, not ideal obviously.”

Pierre started to back up, taking you with him, “Better luck next time, I guess.”

His words cut deep. Pierre wasn’t just talking about qualifying. Pierre was referring to how Lando was losing his own game, how he played his cards that first night in the club and now barely stood a chance at winning you back.

But you had no idea that Lando wasn’t about to give up that easily.

part 6 here read all parts here

--- this is a shameless plug but i started an f1 podcast with my friend and if you want to listen to the first episode you can find the links to it here hehe