#yes i am thrilled that last tag is back

[iholdwhatican]

reunions

pairing: art donaldson x reader x patrick zweig

read part 2 here!

length: 3.8k

tags: y/n is art donaldson's wife ; birthday party ; surprise visit from patrick ; art is down bad ; patrick wants y/n ; possessive!art ; the boys are fighting ; no use of y/n ; pining ; sexual tension

summary: you want to make your husband's birthday special, so you invite his attractive, charming, estranged childhood best friend in the hopes that they'll make amends. surely nothing will go wrong, right?

author's note: i can't stop thinking about them i am so ill. this is the first of presumably many challengers works. and yes i did make a new blog just for this, don't judge me. this is a drabble that was stuck in my head but I do have more for it should it be wanted! preferably something that leaves you sandwiched in between them :3

originally posted by iholdwhatican

You told yourself this whole thing happened out of the goodness of your heart. You’d just wanted to be a good wife and make your husband’s birthday the best it could possibly be. Because Art Donaldson was the most amazing person you’d ever known, and he loved you, and he deserved the world. There was nothing off limits when it came to him, no line you wouldn’t cross. 

You knew how much Patrick had meant to him, how much he missed his best friend. Your cheeks hurt from how wide the stories made you smile, how happy he sounded when he recounted the things he’d gotten into with the eccentric tennis player. And you knew how sad Art was that they didn’t talk anymore. 

So what better time to remedy that than for his birthday? That was a wonderful surprise, right? Right?

Upon meeting Patrick Zweig, your first thought was how the hell this man got along so well with your Art. Not to say he was a bad person, but he was just so… much. He was cocky, indomitable, the kind of person that knew what he wanted and what he was worth and wouldn’t settle for anything less. He was a force not to be reckoned with, no matter what. He was also unbelievably charming (and not bad on the eyes, which you would never admit), and you hated the way his sweet-talking got under your skin. 

He asked you how Art was. You told him he was fine. Retired, now. Making the most of a quiet life. You’d just celebrated 3 years of married life. He asked to see wedding photos and you didn’t miss the sadness in his eyes at missing the event. You happily obliged. It was the most romantic day of your life, after all. 

And you couldn’t help but internally pat yourself on the back. Patrick missed him too. You could mend the broken bridge between them, and your husband would be thrilled. He’d reward you for your good work. 

You asked Patrick to come to Art’s party. To make contact again. To come back into his world. He only hesitated for a moment, asked if Art knew and was okay with it. 

The lie slipped off your tongue easily. Of course, he’s wanted this for a long time. It’s a surprise, but a most welcome one. You didn’t have details on what happened between them- only knew of a falling out while Art was in college- but it couldn’t be that bad. Anything could be overcome, right? 

Patrick accepted and you hoped the lump in your throat was from excitement and not dread. You thanked him for meeting you, told him you’d forward him the details, and went back to your husband. 

The day of the party came, and you were so nervous you could hardly take it. You’d spent the last couple of days working yourself into a frenzy, convinced that this reunion was a terrible idea and your husband would hate you. You had no right to bring an estranged friend back into his life, on his birthday no less. And without saying a word to him. 

God, what the hell was wrong with you? 

You gripped the edge of the kitchen counter and downed your third glass of water. It did nothing to soothe the dryness in your throat. Or the pounding of your heart. You wondered how fucked you’d be at the party if you took a Xanax right now. Or five. 

Just then, Art peeked his head into the kitchen, donning a sweet smile when he spotted you. He looked as handsome as ever, sporting a well-fitting polo shirt and khakis. His hair was growing out again, starting to show those boyish curls you’d fallen in love with all those years ago. He made his way over to you, wedding band sparkling on his finger, and your heart melted. 

You loved him so much. Had you ruined his birthday with your stupid meddling? Maybe even ruined your marriage? 

“Hey, beautiful.” He greeted, sliding a hand around your waist and kissing your head. It was a familiar gesture, a normal one. He loved touching you, keeping you close. You loved it just as much, “The cake was just delivered. You went way overboard, as usual.” 

You pretended you weren’t overcome with dread and cupped his cheek, “Shut up. There’s no such thing as overboard. You deserve this, okay? You deserve to be celebrated.” 

Please, please don’t be mad at me for inviting him. For bringing him into our world. Please still love me. I did it for you. I’d do anything for you.

His eyes crinkled as he smiled- in that perfect way you adored so much. He leaned down to kiss you again, this time on your lips. It was gentle and caring and everything you were to each other. It made you want to cry. Art was everything. All you wanted was to give him the same. 

The doorbell rang, breaking you two out of the moment, and your husband pulled away. He tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. 

“Well,” He spoke, looking at you like there was nothing else in the world, “That must be our first guest.” 

You hummed happily, “Guess it’s time to celebrate you, Birthday Boy. Shall we?” 

“We shall.” He teased, doing a mock bow as he offered you his hand. You took it, laughing, and the two of you made your way to the front door. 

You took a deep breath and tried not to focus on the unhappy way your stomach was churning. 

The first hour of the party went by with a pleasant lack of reunions-turned-altercations. Patrick had yet to show his face, and you wondered if he might not come at all. Part of you was relieved at the idea, while the other couldn’t help but be frustrated. 

He said he would come. What if the surprise didn’t end up being a bad thing? How would you know if he never showed? 

God, you needed a cigarette. 

You’d spent the entirety of the party so far glued to Art’s side, being his doting wife as you made conversation with everyone. Your eyes continued to stray to the door, looking for a certain dark-haired man. Every single time, you were disappointed. Disappointed, yes, but not surprised. From what you’d heard, Patrick wasn’t really someone who could be counted on a lot. 

Maybe this whole thing was just a big mistake. And maybe the part of you that truly felt let down at not getting to see him again was something you should never, never look into. 

You patted Art’s chest and stood on your tiptoes to whisper in his ear, “I’m gonna check on the food. I’ll be back.” 

He nodded, smiled, and pressed a kiss to your temple. His arm released its grip on you and he continued his conversation with an old Stanford buddy without missing a beat. He was fucking incredible. At everything. You were crazy about him. 

The food didn’t actually need to be checked on. The caterer was high-quality, and they knew better than to fuck up one of your events for your husband. You had full trust in them- you honestly just needed a breather. This whole night had felt like a cold fist clenched around your heart. 

Instead, you grabbed yourself a large glass of wine and made your way to the patio to enjoy some cool night air. 

The area was blessedly empty, allowing you to slip out of the hostess facade. You were more than happy to do it, especially when celebrating Art, but the circumstances tonight were making it much harder than usual. Which was, of course, entirely your own fault. Way to go, you! Knocked it out of the park tonight, didn’t you? 

You sighed, leaned against the railing, and took a long gulp of your drink. The weather was slightly chilly, and it felt amazing against your heated skin. Already, you were finding it easier to breathe. And think, for that matter. 

“Shouldn’t you be at the party, Mrs. Donaldson?” A familiar, spine-tingling voice spoke, breaking you out of your peaceful moment. 

You whirled around, eyes landing on Patrick fucking Zweig leaning against the wall of your house. A lit cigarette hung from his lips, his hands nonchalantly tucked into the pockets of his dark jeans. They went well with the button-up shirt he wore, a stark contrast from the shorts and hoodie he’d had on when you first met. He looked good- really good. Enough to make a pit grow in your stomach. 

“I thought you weren’t coming.” You blurted out, thankful that the darkness was shrouding your red face. His face was just barely illuminated by the orange glow of the cigarette, and you watched as he looked you up and down, “Also, how’d you get back here? I didn’t see you walk into the house.” 

Patrick kicked off the wall and walked over to you, pulling the cigarette out of his mouth. His curls fell over his forehead, and you found yourself fighting the urge to brush them out of the way- the same way you always did to Art. You swallowed deeply. What the hell was wrong with you? 

“I told you I’d come, didn’t I?” He responded matter-of-factly, blowing a puff of smoke into the air. The smell made you nostalgic. You and Art had made a pact years ago to quit together, but God did you miss it sometimes. You licked your lips and tried (and failed) not to stare, “I snuck in through the back. Thought it’d be less messy that way.” 

You had no idea how he’d been able to get back here, but you decided you weren’t gonna ask. It didn’t matter in the long run, anyway. Besides, he was probably right. You had no idea how Art was gonna react, and it was smart to have it happen in an isolated area. 

“Probably smart.” You muttered, taking another swig of the wine. The feeling of his eyes stayed on you, burning into your skin, but you didn’t meet his gaze. You didn’t want to think too hard on why. 

“He doesn’t know you reached out to me.” It wasn’t a question, but you responded to Patrick’s words regardless. He’d find out eventually. 

“No.” The admittance came out with a heavy breath, like you were releasing the weight that had been on you all night. In a way, you were. You ran a hand over your forehead, “I don’t know what happened between you two, he doesn’t talk about it. But I just- I’m terrified he’ll hate me for bringing you.” 

Why the hell were you pouring your heart out to this stranger? What was it about him that drew you in so much and made you want to bring down your walls? How was this charming man already under your skin from one damn meeting? And how the fuck were you supposed to explain any of this to your husband, his estranged best friend? 

You needed another drink. Or ten. 

“You really love him.” Again, not a question. But you answered. You had to. 

“More than anything else in this world.” 

Patrick offered you his half-smoked cigarette and you took it without thinking. The sting of the smoke in your lungs was like coming home. It was so good it almost made you cry. But lots of things made you want to cry right now. You could taste mint on the cigarette, like he’d been chewing gum before lighting up. The same kind Art always chewed. 

It made something flip in your stomach. 

“Well, from what I can tell, you’re pretty great. Super caring, based on how far you went in an attempt to make him happy. Shit, you tracked me down, which is a feat in itself. And you’re gorgeous, obviously. I’m surmising that you’re basically the whole package.” He spoke calmly, as if every one of those words didn’t make your heart jump into your throat. You chugged your drink to use it as an excuse for your rosy cheeks, “So I don’t think there’s any way he could hate you. Even for inviting me here.” 

You were speechless for five long seconds as he took the cigarette back and inhaled. Then you finally got your brain to stop lagging, “You don’t even know me.” 

“I know enough.” He countered, continuing the pass back and forth of the cigarette, “And I know Art. He wouldn’t marry someone beneath him. The fucker somehow always gets the ones way out of his league.” 

You didn’t comment, but you knew what Patrick was referring to. Tashi Duncan. The now pro-tennis player that he’d had a thing with back in the day. You didn’t know the details, but you knew she was a point of contention between the two men. 

Honestly, you tried not to think about Tashi. She was gorgeous, super talented, and an overall seemingly great person. Art had passed up on that for you, and it got to your head a lot. You wondered if he regretted it. Or at least wondered what his life could’ve been like. 

You didn’t think you were out of his league. In fact, you thought the opposite. Not that you needed to tell Patrick that. Your insecurity and jealousy issues could stay yours alone. 

“Well, I don’t know about that.” You murmured.

The cigarette began to dim as you took the last drag, flicking it off the balcony and down into the grass below. With both the alcohol and nicotine gone, you started to think you probably needed to get back to the party. Your husband would be looking for you, and you didn’t want to keep him waiting. You just had to figure out how Patrick would fit into the equation. 

“If you weren’t taken, I’d be trying to charm the fuck out of you right now.” 

The statement caught you completely off guard. You looked over at him, eyes wide, and tried to keep your cool at the sexy smirk on his face. God, he was so fucking attractive. 

You blinked once, twice, a third time, “What?” 

His smile grew at your flustered state, “I have great taste in women, and I’d flirt with you if I could. So I’m saying you’re definitely a catch. And totally out of Art’s league.” 

You licked your lips. Subconsciously, “I’m pretty sure that was flirting.” 

“Was it?” He didn’t even have the decency to look ashamed, “Oops.” 

You ran your finger over the rim of your wine glass, trying to think of something to say. You came up empty. You were married- to this man’s childhood best friend. To the love of your life. He shouldn’t be flirting with you. And you definitely shouldn’t be enjoying it. 

“There you are! I was starting to worry.” Art’s voice broke the tense silence, and you turned around to watch him making his way to you with a smile. Then he spotted Patrick and his smile dropped as his face filled with recognition, “You- what the hell are you doing here?” 

You opened your mouth to speak, to explain and mediate the situation, but the dark-haired man beat you to it. 

“Your pretty little wife invited me.” He said, which was probably the worst thing he probably could’ve chosen. You internally buried your face in your hands. 

Art’s jaw clenched and his eyes lit up. It took you a moment to realize that the expression was anger. Honestly, it took you by surprise. It was extremely rare to see him angry, and never was it directed at you. And though he was looking at Patrick, you were terrified that in this instance it was. 

“Let me explain.” You immediately choked out, clutching your empty wine glass like a lifeline, “I really just thought that-” 

“She thought you missed me and wanted us to reconnect. As a birthday surprise. Isn’t that sweet?” Patrick butted in, throwing an arm over your shoulders. Art looked ready to murder someone (probably the tennis player holding you), “I doubt it was easy contacting me, but she managed. All for you.” 

You laughed nervously, ducking your head, “Well, that’s not-” 

“Let go of her.” Art demanded. His voice was cold and dangerous. Possessive. It made something twitch in your core. Oh, you liked that. 

The brunette didn’t hesitate to do as he was told, holding his hands up in surrender, “My bad, man. I just feel like we’re already such close friends from hanging out together. Don’t you think so?” 

The last part was directed at you, and Patrick nudged you. You gave him an incredulous look. 

The charming, sweet man you’d just been talking to was gone. He was replaced by a cocky, near-disrespectful antagonist who was trying to egg your husband into some kind of altercation. And he was using you as the bait. 

You couldn’t lie that you were frustrated, but it did feel a bit nice to be in an almost tug-of-war between the two men. You liked being an object of affection or desire. 

“You should head inside, baby.” Art spoke to you, though his furious gaze never left Patrick, “Our guests will wonder where the hosts went. I’m gonna talk to Patrick for a minute.” 

You’d be damned if you told him no. Even though this situation felt like a mess that was definitely all your fault. Damn you for inviting Patrick. Damn him for being so captivating. And damn Art for loving you so much that the sight of another man touching you made him see red. This entire thing was like a whirlwind. 

“Okay…” You whispered, moving towards your husband and the house. You gave Patrick a small smile, hoping to convey your thoughts to him. Please don’t hurt him- he’s my world. Then you stopped at Art’s side and placed a hand on his bicep, “I’m sorry if this was a bad idea. I just wanted to make your birthday special, is all. I didn’t mean to fuck it up.” 

He finally looked at you, just long enough to give you a loving smile and a shake of his head, “You didn’t ruin anything. I’m so proud of you for doing all this for me. Don’t worry.” 

Then he kissed you, only to stop and pull away, “Is that- were you smoking with Patrick?” 

You sucked on your teeth and nodded, “Yes, a little. I’m sorry. I just-” 

But then he was kissing you again, hard and needy. Like he wanted to fuck you right then and there. Your face burned bright red, and you could feel Patrick’s eyes on the two of you. Art had never acted like this in all the time you knew him. But right now, within thirty seconds of being around his old friend, he was putting on a show to prove that you were his. 

You belonged to him. And he wanted Patrick to know it. 

You really, really fucking liked this. 

When he pulled away, you felt dizzy. From both the kiss and the wine you’d downed. You barely had time to take a breath before he was lightly patting your cheek and sending you inside. You managed to take a look at the two men before rejoining the party. They just stared at each other, like they were in a standoff. 

It was unbelievably hot. 

As you went back to your guests, lips still tingling, only one thought was coming to you. 

You wondered how long you could keep Patrick around, just to see what it would do to your precious husband. 

[lizzieisright]

Brick by brick

mean dom!reader x sub!Abby 

Summary: Sometimes Abby likes to piss you off and get in trouble. 

Tags: top!reader, bottom!Abby, temperature play, tied to bed, edging, throat holding(?) oral (r!abby), fingering (r!abby), strap-on usage (r!abby), aftercare, Abby calls reader ma’am. Everything happening here is consensual and was discussed beforehand.

Wc: 5.1k

The title from Arctic Monkeys "Brick by brick" (I wanna build you up/Brick by brick/I wanna break you down/Brick by brick)

MINORS DON'T INTERACT I'll hunt you for sport 

-/-/-/-/-/-

Usually Abby is a good girl. She likes the praise, she likes following your orders because you take care of her and she doesn't have to think for once. And you always reward her, spoil her even, but she doesn't behave like she's spoiled. She is a good girl.

However.

Sometimes Abby is bored. Sometimes she wants to be the pain in your ass and annoy you, because it's so hard to really piss you off and she loves finding this button that makes you cruel.

There's not so many rules Abby can break though, but she finds a way.

When Abby gets in that mood you usually can tell - she is too playful than her usual self. Abby who is suddenly tugging on your hair? Pinching your side? That's the innocent start of something that will piss you off eventually and you will put her in her place. Because later on her playfulness turns into her being moody and rude and if playful Abby can get you to be playful as well, rude Abby just makes you return all her bitching back to her.

But you like the game and you know why Abby is doing it, so you play along.

Today started exactly with Abby being a little mischievous as she pretended to bite you, which she knows she isn't allowed to, because you can't have visible marks at work, then stole all your books, then you heard "you can't make me" when you told her to move because she was in your way, and now you expect the last straw to break, because Abby has been frowning and pouting for a while and not in a fun way because all her efforts were useless against you. Or so she thought.

"Hey, princess, can you bring me some water?"

Abby looks up at you from the couch where she is reading.

"No." She is dead serious and it turns your voice into steel after the whole day of her being a brat.

"Abby." You cut sternly, not leaving a room for arguments.

And it works, because Abby gets up and goes to the kitchen. When she returns you don't look at her, you are too busy.

"Thanks." And then you look. "What is this, Abby?"

This is a glass full of ice cubes.

"Wait." Abby shrugs.

The blatant disrespect makes your blood boil. Abby sits back on the couch like nothing happened and that pisses you off even more.

So you take that glass in your hand and come over to the couch, grabbing Abby by the jaw hard enough for her cheeks to squish. She is immediately relaxing into you out of habit, but her stubborn pout tells you she is going to be a problem.

"You've been acting out the whole day, princess. Wanted to piss me off? Congratulations, baby, I am pissed off. So right now you're going to take that glass to the bedroom and you're going to get the ribbon and you're going to wait for me."

Abby frowns, clearly wanting to disobey, but you're faster, grabbing her by her hair and tugging her head backwards until her throat is bare for you.

"Don't make it worse, princess. You know I will make it worse if you act out again."

Abby feels thrills going down her spine - she fucking loves when you threaten her. Sometimes, when she can get you super pissed off, you seem actually dangerous and it turns her on so much she will try to make it worse on purpose.

"What do you need to say?"

"Yes."

The sharp tug on her hair is so worth it. It's painful and you're holding her too tight, but Abby enjoys it so much.

"Try again."

"Yes, ma'am." Abby corrects herself immediately and you smirk, satisfied.

"Go."

You let Abby go and give her the glass, and while she is going through the collection of ribbons in the closet you wash your hands, get your hair out of the way and take some towels with you.

When you enter the bedroom Abby is already stripped to her panties and she is sitting on her thighs with a ribbon in her hands. Abby is so pretty, especially since her clothes don't hide her curves and muscles, the combination that drives you crazy: Abby is so strong and ripped, but her cute tits are soft and round and her hips are plushy. You watch her for a moment and she looks back at you, but  doesn't say anything - she knows she is in trouble. The glass is on the drawer.

You'd usually praise her and tell her what a good job she did, but you're silent now. Brats don't get praised until they've learned their lesson.

"Lie down, hands above your head." You give an order and look at her expectedly. Abby obeys and looks at you with big innocent eyes as if she doesn't know what she did. "You wanted to get in trouble, princess. Now you'll have to face the consequences." You put the middle of the ribbon behind the metal bar of the bed and tie its padded ends around Abby's wrists.

"I just wanted to have fun." Abby complains and you smile cruelly at her.

"You've had your fun. Now I'll have mine." You brush your fingers along Abby's neck and she tenses. "What? Already desperate?"

"No."

You frown and squeeze her throat hard: it feels dangerous, like you're actually trying to hurt her, but Abby knows from how there's pressure only on her arteries that she is safe with you. You know exactly how hard to squeeze to get that adrenaline going but not to actually scare her.

"No, ma'am." Abby corrects herself, but your hand is still on her throat.

"It's the second time, princess." You say in your cold voice, and Abby shivers: the pet name makes it sound so gentle but the intonation makes it scary.

"I'm sorry, ma'am." Abby utters as she looks at you, desperate to see your satisfaction.

You let go of her throat and sit back between her legs. Abby is gorgeous, every line of her is a work of art and discipline, years of training showing in each curve. She is lethal and so fucking dangerous she could easily break every bone in your body, but instead she is helpless and weak underneath you, and it gets to your head every time.

You drag your nails on her chest just lightly and purposefully avoid her nipples, making circles over the edge of her areolas and Abby is breathing hard as she watches your hands move. She can't do anything, she can't touch you in any way and she can't get away from this. You watch Abby squirm and pant as you trace her ribs and go lower, over her navel and to her hips, appreciating how warm and soft her skin is. Abby bites her lip and expects you to touch her, but you caress her thighs, every fucking line of her muscles, and then you go up.

Abby barely holds a disappointed moan, but you look at her anyway and read her reaction. You know Abby is easy to tease, she is sensitive and responsive as fuck and she is probably getting desperate already, but you're not in the mood to take it easy on her.

Your eyes dart to the glass on the drawer and you smirk again, taking one of the ice cubes in your hand - it's already melting, slippery in your hand. Abby is watching you with wide eyes, waiting for what's next, and you smirk at her again.

"Do you think it will feel good, princess?"

"Yes, ma'am." Abby nods and waits more.

"Let's find out."

You put the ice cube on her abs first just to taste the waters, and Abby tenses and gasps. You watch her while you move the ice cube to her breastbone, just between her tits, and her breath hitches, goosebumps covering her skin from the sudden cold. You lean down and kiss her neck with an open mouth, savouring the salty taste of her.

"How does it feel?" You whisper in her ear and she shudders.

"Good, ma'am. Really good." Abby swallows, her lips dry.

"But do bad girls deserve to feel good?" You tease her. You're curious if she's already going to beg or do you need to wait more.

"I'm sorry ma'am, I'll be good." Oh, she is already begging. Cute little thing.

"It doesn't matter that you'll be good, baby. What matters is that you've been bad."

You put the ice cube on her nipple and Abby mewls and twitches, tries to get away from the cold, but you press her down. You circle her nipple with the smooth ice cube and it perks up right away. Abby whines, but it only amuses you. You feel how cold her skin gets under your fingertips and you lean down to suck on her nipple and she arches into you, the change in temperature feels too intense.

"Ma'am- ma'am-" She whispers desperately, her thighs are closing on you, but you force them apart. "Please-"

"Shsh. You wanna be good?" Abby nods. "Then be quiet."

Abby closes her mouth and you move away, tracing the ice cube to her neck, leaving a wet cold trace on her skin just to lick it right after. Abby whimpers and bucks her hips again, hoping she'd be able to hump your thigh, but you move away again and leave her no chance of relief.

"I think this one is too warm now." You take another cube and rub it against her other nipple. Abby whimpers and tries to get away, but with her hands tied she doesn't have enough room and you smile. You look down and she is so fucking wet already as if you let that cube melt in her panties. "Oh, you're enjoying it, huh?"

"I do, ma'am, it feels so good." Abby whispers frantically.

You hum and lean down to bite on her nipple, licking the cold water from her skin and Abby moans and pulls her arms, probably to touch you, but the ribbon keeps her in place. The contrast of your hot mouth on her right nipple and a cold ice cube on her left nipple makes her head spin from how good it feels and she is sure she won't last when you actually touch her.

You take the ice cube off her nipple and put it in your mouth, letting it clink on your teeth, and you pull her underwear down and throw it somewhere on the floor.

"Open your legs." You order and Abby obediently spreads her legs. "You see how good you can be? But you decided it would be fun to be bad." You say it with mock disappointment as you lie down between her legs, moving the ice cube on your tongue. Abby is wet and so fucking pretty you lose your mind every time you see her naked.

You give Abby no warning, no built up, nothing, and you press your tongue right on her clit. Abby shrieks in surprise because your tongue is cold and when you move it up and down the ice water drips on her clit and it's so fucking intense and it's a little painful, but it mixes with pleasure and Abby squirms around, her arms pull again and again because it's so much and she feels like she is close and then you push your fingers into her and you start fucking her hard and your tongue and your fingers feel so good and your tongue and the ice cube and Abby is done-

Except her orgasm doesn't come. Your mouth is not on her anymore and you pull your fingers out. You lick your lips and clean your chin with the back of your hand while Abby looks at you, upset.

"Oh, you thought I'd let you cum?" You laugh and Abby wants to cry. "Oh no, princess. You'll have to wait."

"No, ma'am, please." Abby begs and bucks her hips. "Please, I was so close."

"Poor little brat." You coo mockingly and take another ice cube: they're melting so you know you don't have long to play with Abby like this. "You told me to wait until all of them melt, right? Well, I'm going to melt them on you."

Abby whimpers and arches into you again like a cat, and you caress her stomach in appreciation.

"Pretty." You cannot not say it, even if you're supposed to be strict right now. Abby is beautiful and you can't stop telling her that.

"Thank you, ma'am."

You are surprised to hear it - usually Abby gets shy when you compliment her, but apparently she really wants to be good right now.

You put the ice cube on her knee and move it down, closer to her cunt, and you can feel how she is shaking. Abby is so wet she is dripping after almost cumming and she looks so good like this you even consider eating her out again right now, but you want her to calm down a little.

Abby is watching you with the saddest puppy eyes known to a man, but it doesn't move you. You move the ice cube closer to her pubic and put it just under her lower stomach, knowing that if you leave it there to melt all cold water will go on conjunctions of her thighs.

"What if I just leave it here to melt, hm?" You draw with a cube on her pubic and Abby twitches, bucks her hips again. "And I won't touch you until it's gone, what if I do that?"

"No, please, ma'am." Abby begs and you suck a bruise on her thigh. "I'll be good, I won't try to get in trouble, I promise!"

You laugh.

"Don't lie to me, princess." You bite down on her thigh hard enough to leave teeth marks.

"I'm sorry, ma'am, please-"

You take the ice cube inside your mouth again and while you're swirling it around, you slowly drag your fingers between her folds, circling her clit gently. She is warm and absolutely drenched and you don't want to stop touching her. Abby tenses and closes her eyes, and it makes you smile, but it's not a nice smile.

You lean down to her nipple and suck on it, but every time you swirl your tongue around her bead the ice cube touches it too and Abby squirms, whimpering. You suck her nipple inside your mouth to keep it in place and push the ice cube on top of her bead, only swirling it around until Abby's nipple feels cold and Abby is overwhelmed, lost in pleasure, because your fingers never stopped playing with her clit and your mouth feels amazing.

"Ma'am can I cum? Please let me cum you make me feel so good, please." Abby is babbling and your fingers get faster.

Abby is so relieved you took pity on her, god, she needs to cum so bad and your fingers are so perfect she wants them in her mouth and in her cunt and everywhere she could get them-

"Ma'am I'm gonna cum, you'll make me cum, ma'am please-"

And everything is gone again. You let her nipple out of your mouth and suck on your wet fingers, relishing in Abby's taste.

Abby whines, angry and frustrated, and you laugh, amused.

"I didn't tell you you could cum, did I?" You lightly slap her pussy and she mewls. "You'll cum when all the ice in that glass turns to water."

"Ma'am, please-" Abby sobs when you force her thighs apart to look at her wet pretty cunt.

"Please what?"

"Please touch me, ma'am I need you, please-" Abby opens her thighs more and the water from the ice cube flows down.

"Good girl, begging so well, opening for me." You praise finally and Abby whimpers and pulls her arms again, her biceps and her abs flexing.

You lazily thumb her clit and she jerks away, sensitive. You know the more you edge her the less time she'll need to become desperate between each time, and you want her to cry for you, so you don't go slow on her, riling her up again. Abby is loud and she kicks her legs on the bed because it feels good and she has been close two times already, but the ice in the glass is not water yet.

So you stop again and Abby whimpers and tries to press her thighs together, but you press them to the bed and you can see how her clit throbs and her hole clenches around nothing. So you push two fingers inside and Abby sobs, because you're not being slow at all, your pace is brutal and she is on edge immediately, and you know by the feeling of her tightening on you she is getting very very close. You keep fucking her until her thighs start to shake and her moans match your speed because that's it, Abby is going to cum, and once again you pull your fingers out and keep her thighs open while she is thrashing on the bed, pulling on the ribbon so hard the metal bar creaks.

"Please ma'am, please, I wanna cum, please let me cum-"

You look at Abby closely and no, she is not crying yet, so you ignore her and lick the water that is left on her. The ice cube is nowhere to be found, but you don't care. You position yourself between Abby's thighs and push your tongue in her, nudging her clit with your nose. Abby jumps and whimpers, so overwhelmed and desperate: she is so fucking close, and your tongue feels so good in her.

"Ma'am-" Abby sobs and you lick a strip from her hole to her clit. "I'm so close, ma'am, please-"

You fucking love when Abby is begging. You slap her thigh lightly and put your mouth back on her, and finally you hear her little sniffles: she is so overwhelmed she is crying now, desperate to cum. It's intense and Abby can't think, her whole world is concentrated on your mouth and how your tongue rubs her clit just right and how close she is again. Abby's thighs are closing on your head just as her orgasm approaches and you think it's cute how easy it is to read her.

You push her thighs back and just as Abby starts to twitch like she is about to cum, you straighten up on the bed. Abby sobs and tries to close her thighs despite your grip on her, but you double down and press her back harder.

"Ma'am-" Abby sobs and her cute little sniffles soften you.

"You're doing so well, princess." You praise her and kiss her cheek, her forehead and her eyelids. "It's too much, isn't it? You wanna cum?"

Abby sniffles again and chases your mouth, so you kiss her slowly, giving her a moment to calm down.

"It hurts, ma'am." That makes you alert. You quickly look at her wrists, worried the ribbon is hurting her.

"What hurts?" You ask gently, knowing how delicate Abby is  when she is teased like this.

"It hurts because I wanna cum." She admits under her breath and you relax.

"Yeah? You think you deserve to cum now? You've been a good girl for me?"

Abby is too embarrassed to own the fact that yes, she has been good this whole time, so she doesn't say anything.

"Yeah, you've been such a good girl for me." You say, proud of her. "I'll let you cum, baby, but you need to do one thing for me, okay?"

"Thank you, ma'am." Abby sighs and you kiss you again.

"I want you to turn on your stomach and present that pretty ass for me, okay? Don't worry, I'll help you."

Abby nods and turns on her stomach without a problem, the ribbon is long and her arms are not crossed, but she can't get on her knees like that, so you help her push her thighs apart and up. Abby lies down exactly like she knows you like her: her back arched, her thighs wide apart as if she is stretching them, and her pretty, soaking pussy on display. She looks like a cat in heat and you want to ruin her.

You push your pants down and get the strap out. Abby can't see you like this and she gasps when she feels the fat head of your cock running up and down her folds, nudging her clit. Abby is so wet and you feel how puffy she is from the edging and you just can't help yourself.

You sit down on your knees and push two fingers into her, revelling in how tight and hot she is and how her thighs twitch. Abby whimpers and pushes back on your fingers and she is so fucking beautiful like this.

“I’m so fucking lucky to have such a beautiful girl.” You kiss her ass cheek and pump your fingers slowly while Abby mewls into the pillow. “Fucking look at you, so pretty and all mine.” You kiss her back until you reach her neck and you suck a bruise there, marking her as yours. “Are you mine, princess?”

“Yours, I’m yours, ma’am.” Abby whimpers and you kiss her cheek.

“Thank you, baby.” You murmur into her ear and pick up the pace, fucking Abby hard and fast until you feel her tightening on you again. Abby is clinging to her pillow like her life depends on it, moaning loudly, but once again you slow down and pull out. Abby whines, confused. “I know baby, I just wanted to feel your pussy tighten on me again. God you’re so wet, pretty girl.” You lick your fingers and grab the lube.

You spread it over your strap and steady Abby by her hips before pushing inside. Abby whines the whole time and her thighs spread wider to take you deeper, her back muscles showing as she arches into you. You bottom out and stay like this for a second, caressing Abby’s ass and hips, leaving small kisses on her spine. You watch how Abby's pussy is stretched on your strap and your hands tighten on her hips as you restrain yourself from moving yet.

“Good girl, took all of it.” You start moving slowly at first, letting Abby adjust and find a comfortable position. You watch your strap disappear in her and this is the best sight in your life, her big plump ass jiggling every time you thrust into her. “You want to go faster, princess?”

“Yes ma’am. Please make me cum.” Abby begs and pushes back and you knead her ass.

“I will, of course I will. Won’t leave my babygirl without giving her what she wants.” You grab her hips tighter and thrust into her, setting a hard pace to hit her g-spot at each thrust. “I can feel how tight you are, baby.”

“It’s so big, ma’am, fuck.” Abby sobs as you drag your cock over her walls. “It feels good, you make me feel so good, fucking hell-”

You chuckle and keep fucking her, not changing your pace: you’ve had your fun and now you want to make Abby cum, so you fully concentrate on her. Your movements are rough and hard and you push her back on you at each thrust just to hear her shriek and whimper. Abby mewls and squirms around, overwhelmed and overstimulated after being edged for so long, and she can’t think about anything except how fucking good it feels, how your fingers dig into her ass and hips, holding her like you own her, and she can’t help how loud she is, how her mewls and whines are echoing through the bedroom - it’s too much, it almost painful, and she doesn’t notice how you bend down and take what is left of the ice cubes into your mouth. You push her back on your cock and Abby shudders, her thighs are shaking now.

“Are you close, princess?” You say as the ice clinks on your teeth, your breath is hitched from fucking her.

“Yes ma’am, I’m so close, you’re gonna make me cum, please-” Abby is kneading the pillow, hiding her face in it from how overwhelming it is, trying to ground herself.

You hum and snake one of your hands over her hip to rub her clit while you lick her neck with your cold tongue, and Abby shouts and shudders so violently you barely keep her in one place. You know it's too much, she is crying again, but you keep fucking her, because you feel her getting tighter and tighter, not letting you pull out as easily as before.

"Look at the glass, princess." You growl in her ear and punctuate your words with hard thrusts. Abby is too out of it so you wrap your hand around her throat and lift her head. "Is there any ice left?"

Abby sobs, because your pace is relentless and she can't fucking understand what you're saying, but she opens her eyes and looks at the glass.

"Answer me." Another hard thrust.

"No, no ma'am." Abby whines and you feel her tears on your hand.

"Good." You let Abby fall back on her pillow and you bring your hand back to her clit and start playing with it. "Cum."

Abby shrieks and tenses and the liquid hits your hand and thighs. Fuck, Abby just squirted, and it makes your brain fuzzy and you are not stopping, fucking her through her orgasm. Abby is sobbing and pulling on the ribbon so hard you can hear the fabric tearing, she raises her ass in a clear attempt to escape you, but you press her down and bottom out, not caring if it’s too much: your cock needs to be in her to the hilt when she cums.

You don’t move and you kiss Abby’s shoulders, giving her time. She is whining weakly and presses back to you to be closer.

“Good girl.” You kiss your words into her cheek and Abby whines. "You squirted for me, baby, you did so good." You kiss her shoulder blade and Abby leans into your touch. "My pretty girl."

Abby whines and you know she is too deep right now - sometimes she gets so overwhelmed she goes fully non-verbal, especially if she cums as hard as she just did. You caress her sides, pressing your front to her back, and undo the ribbon on her wrists. You’ve never been so thankful for the padded parts you stitched to all your ribbons, because even with them Abby’s wrists are a little red. Abby is not ready to move yet, so you just continue kissing her and caressing her.

“Ma’am.” Abby calls quietly and you smile.

“Hello, princess.” You kiss her neck. “Are you ready for me to pull out?”

“Yeah.”

Very slowly you pull your thighs back and whisper little “shh, it’s alright, you’re doing so good” to Abby until your cock is fully out. Everything is wet: your pants, Abby’s thighs, the towel under her, and you just watch how her pussy glistens in the low light of your bedroom, mesmerised. Abby is fucked out, so pretty and puffy, and you lean down to taste her, you just can't help yourself.

Abby whines shortly and jerks away, but you soothe her with your hand on her hip while you slowly and gently lick her clean. She tastes better than everything in the fucking world.

Abby sighs, content, and relaxes into your mouth: you're not trying to rile her up again, you're just showing your obsession with her pussy and it makes her feel so wanted. Abby knows you're a big softie even when you're strict and she knows she has you wrapped around her finger and it makes her feel feral for you, makes her want to give everything she has to you and take everything you give her in return.

"You wanna cum again, pretty girl?" You ask when you've finished cleaning her up, but Abby is soaked again because your mouth feels good.

"I'm tired." Abby murmurs into the pillow.

"It's not a no, princess." You chuckle and kiss her thigh. “I’ll be gentle, okay?”

“Okay.”

This time you’re not fast and Abby feels her pleasure come in small soft waves as you gently rub her clit on your tongue. Abby sighs and arches her back more into you, lightly rocking her hips against your face. She feels lazy and light and her head is empty, and tongue is pressed on her clit just enough to keep her in this hazy, pleased state. You pick up your pace just a little and Abby’s orgasm starts to build up in her lower stomach so softly she is almost quiet except for her heavy breathing. It doesn’t come crushing on her, instead it feels like all her bones turn to jelly for a second and Abby shudders quietly as her slick fills your mouth. You take it all in while rubbing her thighs to soothe her.

“You did so well for me today.” You kiss her shoulder blade. “You took it so well, I’m so proud of you.” Abby hums in response and you chuckle. “Sleepy?”

Abby hums again, agreeing.

“Stay awake a little longer.”

You grab another towel and gently clean Abby up before helping her turn on her back. You’re very careful with her arms, slowly moving them and massaging them, helping Abby rotate them to ease the soreness. She groans a few times and you pay extra attention to the parts that made her uncomfortable.

“There you go, princess. I know you want to sleep, but we need to shower, and change the bed sheets.”

“Whose fault is that?” Abby murmurs and opens her eyes just to look at you. You laugh quietly and help her stand and then walk to the shower.

Abby drapes all over you as you wash her, her head resting on your shoulder.

“Does anything hurt? I was pretty rough with you.” You know Abby’s shoulders are sore for sure, and it makes you worried. You don’t want to hurt Abby under any circumstances.

“I’m sore.” She mumbles. “It was very intense.”

“Is it good or bad?”

“Good.” Abby chuckles into your neck. “I liked it. I'm glad we decided to try the ice thing.” You kiss her shoulder and hug her, pressing her closer to you.

"The ice thing." You chuckle. "Your brain is still a mush."

"Yeah." Abby sighs, content. "Maybe-"

"What is it?"

"Maybe next time you can edge me longer?"

"Yeah." You smirk. "I can."

[hookhausenschips]

Charles- Alpha Kappa Alpha

Soror Series

F1 Masterlist

Join my taglist here!

Faceclaim: none, just beautiful black women

Credit to original owners

A/N: I’m so sorry it’s taken so long to post, I’ve changed so much because I hated all of them at first. Let me know what you guys think please!!

next; Max Verstappen- Delta

•Instagram•

y/user/n

📍Jackson State University

liked by charles_leclerc, user1, user2, and 852 others

y/user/n: nothing to see here😁

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bffuser: mega slay🤩

y/user/n: I’m cringing for you

user: 👀

y/user/n:🤫

charles_leclerc

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charles_leclerc: congratulations mon amour🥳🩷

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francisca.cgomes: that’s my wife!!!

charles_leclerc: get out of here sewer rat

francisca.cgomes: I will pay a mechanic to ruin your car🥰

y/user/n: Thank you for coming Charlie🩷🩷

user: this is such a hard launch omg

user: I knew Charles was being too quiet

y/user/n added to her story!

seen by charles_leclerc, riabish, lilymhe, francisca.cgomes, and others

lilymhe has replied to your story:

hand in marriage

Charles doesn’t have to know about us🫦

just a crumb ma’am 😭

francisca.cgomes has replied to your story:

It’s purring👀

Come home the kids miss you 😚

charles_leclerc has replied to your story:

You put too much trust into that top mon amour

I miss you so much

Why are Lilly and Kika asking me if we’re serious and if I can fight? They’re scaring me😭

y/user/n

liked by leclerc_pascale, charles_leclerc, lilymhe, and others

y/user/n: You wish you had a nickel

You wish you had a dime

You wish you had an AKA

To love you all the time

You wish you had a quarter

You wish you had a dollar

You wish you had an AKA

To make you scream and holler🩷💚🐩

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charles_leclerc & y/user/n

📍Jackson State University

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y/user/n: Alumni Gala🩷

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francisca.cgomes: Um momento para o vestido? Tu e o Charles estão a falar a sério ou? [A moment for the dress?! Are you and Charles serious or?]

y/user/n: if you’re proposing I say yes, see you at the altar bby💋🫦

charles_leclerc: back off🤺🤺

pierregasly: am I chopped liver?

y/user/n: pierregasly no just an alpine driver😭🤢

pierregasly: die☺️

y/user/n

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y/user/n: onto Junior Year🏎️🛫

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JSUAlphaKappaAlpha added to their story!

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[captions: 👀🗣️]

JSUAlphaKappaAlpha & y/user/n

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JSUAlphaKappaAlpha: I am thrilled to introduce our new chapter president for the 2025-2026 school year, Y/N Y/L/N, a remarkable individual whose dedication to excellence and passion for service have already made her a shining example within our sorority. Y/N Y/L/N is a Political Science-Paralegal Studies major with a heart for uplifting others and a vision for leading our chapter to new heights. Her commitment to our sisterhood and her leadership skills make her the perfect choice to guide us forward.

Together, let us embrace this opportunity to make a difference, to inspire change, and to leave a lasting legacy of sisterhood and service. With unity and determination, there is no limit to what we can achieve. Thank you for your support, and let us embark on this journey together.

Here is what she has to say;

Dear esteemed members of the AKA Sorority Chapter at Jackson State University,

I am deeply honored and humbled to accept the responsibility of serving as your president. As we embark on this journey together, I am filled with excitement and anticipation for the remarkable year ahead.

First and foremost, I want to express my gratitude for entrusting me with this esteemed position. It is a privilege to lead such a talented and dedicated group of individuals who are committed to upholding the values of sisterhood, scholarship, and service.

In the coming months, I look forward to fostering a culture of inclusivity and empowerment within our chapter. Together, we will strive to create meaningful experiences that strengthen the bonds of sisterhood and support one another in our personal and academic endeavors.

As president, I am committed to amplifying the voices of all members and ensuring that each one of us has the opportunity to contribute our unique talents and perspectives to the betterment of our community. Through collaboration and unity, we will continue to make a positive impact on campus and beyond.

I am excited about the potential for growth and success that lies ahead for our chapter. Together, let us embrace the challenges and opportunities that come our way with grace, resilience, and determination.

Thank you once again for placing your trust in me. I am confident that together, we will achieve great things.

Sincerely,

Y/N Y/L/N

President, AKA Sorority Chapter

Jackson State University.

View all comments:

soror1: so proud of you Y/N!!!

soror2: no one more deserving!

charles_leclerc: Félicitations mon amour, tu es venu jusqu'à présent et je suis impatient de voir ce que tu as accompli d'autre ❤️ [Congratulations my love, you’ve come so far and I can’t wait to see what else you accomplish]

y/user/n: thank you for standing beside me through it all Charlie🩷

leclerc_pascale: Félicitations ma chérie ! Nous devons célébrer quand nous vous verrons ensuite🩷 [Congratulations darling girl! We must celebrate when we see you next]

liked by charlotte2304, arthur_leclerc, and y/user/n

y/user/n: Thank you Pascale! Your support means the world to me🩷🩷

y/user/n

liked by bffuser, charles_leclerc, arthur_leclerc, and others

y/user/n: That’s a wrap baby, onto the next chapter😭🩷💚

Comment are limited:

sororalum: congratulations!

soror735: going to miss you beautiful😢

y/user/n: I promise to visit!

charles_leclerc: so many words I could say��️

y/user/n: Charles🥹

arthur_leclerc: so can I call you my lawyer👀

charles_leclerc: absolutely not

[runningfrom2am]

cold nights // part twenty-six

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

pairing: coriolanus snow x fem!reader

wc: 7.3k (WOAH)

masterlists / nav / requests

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

a/n: sorry i made you guys wait so long for this omg!! i have been booked and busy this week but we are so back :)

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

send me any and all of your thoughts! here!

series masterlist // playlist

It's your first day of university, and you don't know if you're more excited or terrified.

It was the beginning of the rest of your life, which is thrilling considering just two months ago you thought you had days left to live. At the same time, though, you knew no one here besides Coryo and Sej, and you didn't share a single class with either of them.

But, staying positive was a must. It would only be a few hours away from them, and you had planned to meet up for lunch with Coryo between your classes, since he had found some for you that started and ended at the same time as his. While you drape your scarf over your shoulders and tuck both ends around the belt at your waist, you smile to yourself. You take a last look in the mirror, to double-confirm that you like the look of the scarf worn that way over your white dress and when you're satisfied you grab your bag and leave your room. Of course, Tybalt is right on your heels.

Walking down the hall, you can hear their grandmother singing the national anthem in the other room, as she always does. You've never loved the anthem or what it stood for, but starting your morning hearing singing is nice nonetheless. Even if the woman who started her mornings with song had decided just to completely pretend you didn't exist, ignoring you at every turn. "Good morning!" You smile as you enter the dining room, Tigris and Coryo already sitting to eat.

"Morning." They both smile at you at the same time as you drop your bag down, sitting next to Coryo. "Are you excited?" Tigris asks as you reach for some apple slices. There are more fancy pastries spread out on the tray as well, but you'd much rather stick to fruit in the morning.

"I am." You grin, biting the slice in half. "A little nervous, though. I must admit."

"You don't need to be nervous." Coryo tells you, and his smile does relax you. But you know he doesn't understand. "I'll walk you to your classes, and I'll see you during our break. It'll be easy and you'll adjust very quickly."

"Aren't you nervous?" You ask, picking up your cup of tea and taking a sip. "It's your first day too."

"Not really." He shrugs, reaching up to mess with his hair. It had only been a few weeks since he cut it, but it was growing back rather quickly. "More excited."

"Oh, well, I'm excited for you too." You hum, taking another bite of your apple and smiling as he pats your leg under the table.

Pulling up to the campus after Coryo insisted that their driver take the two of you, you notice immediately that there were tons more people. Most were people around your age, which you expected. You wonder how many of them are Coryo's other friends, it would be nice to make more friends here. Just like the games. You find yourself thinking. "Safety in numbers", is what Coryo had told you. You needed allies here.

"There's a lot of people." You comment as the car comes to a stop, and Coryo gently squeezes you with the arm he has over your shoulder in the backseat, still shielded by the tinted windows.

"Yes, just stay close to me." He tells you, kissing your cheek. You nod and push the door open, thanking the driver quickly as you climb out with Coryo on your heels.

It's obvious to him almost immediately that you don't fit in. While there isn't a uniform like there was in the academy, he was still wearing dress pants and a button-up shirt- which seemed to be on par with the level of dress all the other students were donning. Mentally, he curses himself for not thinking of that. It didn't even cross his mind- all that did was that you looked beautiful. More done up than he'd ever seen you, and you don't look insecure about it, at least not immediately. Outside of what he can discern of just average nervousness as you seem to shrink in on yourself while you look out over as much of the campus as you can see.

"So, your class starts in twenty-five minutes. Usually, it's a good idea to get there early, that's what I've heard anyway." He tells you as he starts walking down the path toward the doors, and you follow quickly after him.

"How long does it take to get there?" You ask as you catch up, holding onto your bag over your shoulder.

"You tell me." He smirks, jutting out his elbow to gently nudge you. "I have you the tour, where are we going?"

"Oh." You laugh, looking around. "It looks a lot different now. Probably... ten minutes to get to the arts building?"

"About that, yeah." He nods. "In no time you won't need me anymore."

As you approach the entrance to the main building, it doesn't go unnoticed by him that you're being stared at. No doubt every other student here recognizes you, it would be jarring to see a tribute walking among them at school. Let alone be in a class with them. He wonders if they'd feel unsafe with you- he knows he would have without knowing you.

Not necessarily unsafe, considering even watching the games anyone could tell you wouldn't hurt a fly, but... uneasy, is a more accurate descriptor. It even begins to pool in his own stomach, growing more as you link your arm with his. They weren't just staring at you. They were staring at him, too.

"I'll always need you, I'm sure." You giggle, squeezing his arm.

He can practically hear all of their whispers now.

'Is that Coriolanus Snow? That District girl is all over him.'

'She's probably going to give him rabies or some other gross District plague. I won't be surprised if he starts a Monkey Pox outbreak.'

'I heard him and Sejanus Plinth went to District Twelve just for her. They probably came back half animal- no wonder he sees nothing wrong with this.'

Suddenly, he does. Your hold on him, while friendly, feels so sickeningly isolating. He pulls his arm from yours with the excuse of rolling up the sleeves of his shirt while he speaks to you. "Well, we may not always have aligning classes."

"That's true, I suppose." You agree. "An awful shame though, I'll miss being able to have lunch together."

He just hums in agreement, picking up his pace as you move through the halls and out the back exit to be able to access the art building.

"This is you." Coryo says as he stops outside the door to a lecture hall, looking inside briefly before turning his attention to you. There were a few students already inside, reading or organizing their notebooks.

"Oh, thank you." You smile at him. He didn't have much to say on the walk to your class, but you sum that up to him being in a hurry to get to his own. The art building was certainly out of his way, if you remember where all his classes were supposed to be.

"You're welcome." He says, making an effort to match your smile. He could only really focus on the stares you were getting from people walking past, making wide circles around you. You don't seem to notice as you look up at him. "I'll come back to get you after class, so just wait for me, okay?"

"I'll wait right here." You nod, wrapping your arms around him and leaning your head against his chest. "I'll miss you, though."

You feel him tense up under you, and he awkwardly pats your back. You don't clue in until you hear gasps and whispering. You quickly take a step back, cheeks red.

Coryo chuckles nervously. "It's alright, uh..." He leans down to whisper to you. "They're just strict about that kind of stuff here. Don't worry about it."

"Oh, I'm sorry..." You reply, looking around and smiling apologetically at the few people still staring as they walk past.

"I should have told you, that's my fault." He admits, standing up straight before leaning down to talk to you again. "Good luck in your class. I love you, and I'll see you for lunch." He whispers and is satisfied when that brings your normal smile back.

"I love you too." You whisper back, and he grins, giving you a quick nod. "See you later."

You wave as he walks away, and you take a deep breath before walking into the lecture hall.

Now, you're presented with your second big problem of the day. Figuring out where to sit.

You scan the room quickly, deciding the easiest would be the front or second row. There were a few students already sitting down there, and one girl who was sitting alone. She had blonde hair, and red lipstick that you think would match Coryo's coat that he sometimes wears quite nicely. She looked nice.

You smile as you make your way over to the front row, sliding into the seat next to her. "Hi! My name is Y/N, what's-" You whisper, wanting to stay quiet in the already silent room and before you even finish your question she's shoving things in her bag and getting up. "Oh." You frown, looking around as she quickly moves to a different seat. The shuffle caused everyone who wasn't already looking to stare at you, so you just quickly turned to face the front.

You didn't mean to scare her off, you just thought she might want a friend if she was sitting alone, and you definitely wanted one. She didn't even look at you for more than a second.

You quietly pull the notebook Coryo had given you out of your bag, placing it on the table in front of you and looking up at the clock. There were still fifteen or so minutes until your class would start, so surely by then, someone would sit next to you.

Unfortunately, that didn't happen. By the time the man you assumed was your professor entered, every other seat was taken besides the ones next to you. And behind you. There was this glaringly uncomfortable circle of emptiness surrounding you right at the front of the room. It was mildly embarrassing, but at least you didn't have to see everyone staring at you since almost everyone was behind you. But you still had the afternoon class, and the rest of the year to let people warm up to you. It would be okay.

"Okay, I hope everyone is here." Your gaze follows your professor as he shuts and locks the door. "If you're late, that's too bad. I expect everyone to be on time. This door will be locked at nine on the dot. For anyone who doesn't know me, my name is Dr. Nero."

You sit up straighter in your seat. He looks young, probably only ten or so years your senior with well-trimmed but present facial hair and a semi-casual suit. He must be relatively new to the position, and clearly, he took it very seriously.

"Alright, the department wants us to do icebreakers, so we'll get it over quickly. When I call your name on the attendance, tell us something about yourself and what your career goal is."

Shoot. You definitely didn't have any solid plans yet.

As he goes through the list, you wrack your brain for an answer. What did you want to do? Nothing specific. Maybe you'd write a book, maybe open a daycare back home where parents could leave their young ones with you by donation while they went to work. Maybe you'd be back at the library, but you really wanted to do something good with your education. You make a mental note to ask Coryo during lunch what kind of career you can have with a literature degree.

You look around, trying to remember as many names as you can as the other students answer.

"Teacher", "Artist", "Museum Curator", "Gamemaker".

Your eyes are still locked on the student who said that, a boy with dark hair and brown eyes. His name was Cancor Crane, if you remember what the professor had just called out correctly, and he was staring back at you. He was staring at you with such a vile expression that it looked like he wanted to gut you. A chill goes down your spine.

Then your name is called. You turn quickly, smiling nervously. "Hi..." You say, clearing your throat of the dryness that overtook it. "So, my name is Y/N... something about myself is that I have a cat, his name is Tybalt. Um, because my favourite book is Romeo and Juliet." You look around, then quickly back to your desk. "And I am not sure about my career, in all honesty. Not knowing when the dawn will come I open every door." You shrug, smiling hopefully at him.

"Interesting." Your professor says, tilting his head at you and leaning back against his desk. "I expected your fact to be that you're a Victor."

"I- well, yes. I am." You reply nervously, twisting your pencil in between your fingers.

He hums. "Congratulations."

Congratulations on being the only one to walk away with your life.

"Thank you." You settle on, voice hardly more than a whisper.

"I've never taught a Victor before. This should be an interesting class for all of us."

You took as many notes as you could through the syllabus overview and first lecture. You were pretty pleased with yourself, everything looked organized and you felt prepared for the rest of the course- besides the textbooks that you needed to pick up. Another thing to ask Coryo about.

You don't see him at the door yet, after all, he had to walk all the way back from his class to yours and if he was let out at the same time he should be here in about ten minutes.

"Miss Y/L/N, do you mind staying for a moment?" Dr. Nero asks as the lecture hall steadily clears out. "I'd like to chat with you."

You quickly gather your things, making your way over to his desk at the front centre of the large room.

"Dr. Nero." You smile, bag tucked under your arm. "I really enjoyed today's class. I'm looking forward to the rest of the semester."

A grin tugs at the corner of his lips. "Thank you."

He doesn't say anything else, and you're left wondering what he wanted you to stay for. "I just need to get my textbooks, but I have the list that you gave us so I'll see if I can grab them this afternoon. I'll have them for Wednesday." You say, just wanting to fill the silence.

"Good." He nods, leaning back against his desk and tucking his hands into his pockets. "I watched your games. When they told me that you enrolled in my class, I was immediately intrigued."

"Oh." What are you supposed to say to that? He watched you at your literal worst, that doesn't make you feel very comfortable at all.

"In a good way, I assure you." He says, sensing your nerves. "I feel as though you know more about English literature than anyone in this city. Maybe even more than me."

"I wouldn't say that..." You chuckle nervously. "I just like reading."

"Yes. With an unprecedented level of comprehension for a District-born child."

You want to scowl and argue with him about how the opinions of the Capitol citizens are based on nothing but their own superiority complex fuelled by their win in one war that cost the lives of many, but instead, you just smile and nod. "Thank you, Sir."

"Although, tributes are not given much of a chance to prove that they are more than animals when they are treated as such from the moment they arrive until the moment they die, wouldn't you agree?"

You tilt your head at him. His motivations and opinions are suddenly unclear and confusing to you. "Yes... I-I would."

"Well, I hope to learn more about your experience while we get to know each other." He tells you. "Thank you for coming."

"Yes, thank you." You say quietly, looking toward the door. "I'll see you on Wednesday."

"Yes, good luck in the rest of your classes." He nods to you, and you take that as your dismissal and head to the door. You would just have to wait for Coryo in the hall.

You wouldn't have to wait long, considering he was already there, right where he had left you earlier.

"Hi!" You smile, waving at him but being mindful of keeping your distance.

"Hello." He grins, already starting down the hall as you join his side.

"How was your class?" You ask excitedly.

"Good." He shrugs. "What about yours? That's what I'm more concerned about."

"It was good!" You smile. "I mean, I tried to talk to people but everyone was pretty quiet. And the Professor was nice. I think. He seemed fascinated by the fact that I'm a 'Victor'." You accentuate your point with finger quotations, bouncing between looking up at him beside you and ahead of you to make sure you don't walk into anyone. They seem to be keeping their distance, though.

"Of course he is." Coryo scoffs, shaking his head. "But that's what we want. He may favour you, so go along with it."

"Oh, okay."

Tigris was nice enough to pack you both lunch for the day, yours consisting mainly of fruit. Something you have noticed over the last couple of weeks you've been here is that some of the food scares you- which is something you never thought of. If you can't somewhat accurately identify what it is just by looking at it, you're tempted to steer clear. Coryo insists you'll "get used to it", something he tells you daily about a wide variety of things, but Tigris doesn't mind packing you fruit for lunch or meals you don't help prepare yourself, which you appreciate.

Even for a September day, the sun is beaming down on the courtyard so you decided to eat outside. After all, Coryo says the weather won't be this nice all winter. You rarely got snow in Twelve, so you were excited for the holidays. Secretly, you hoped you could go home for Christmas.

"It's a beautiful day today." You comment, taking a bite of the fresh strawberry you pulled from your lunch container. The strawberries here were something that shocked you as well- they were bigger than the homegrown ones back home. Not nearly as sweet, though.

"It is." Coryo nods, leaning back on his palms in the grass. "Do you like it here so far?" He asks, squinting from the sun as he looks over at you.

"I mean, I've only had one class as you know, but so far it's great." You grin. "I'm excited to actually dive into the readings and such."

"I mean, like, in general." He chuckles. "Also, I have never heard anyone ever say they were excited about homework."

"A precious, mouldering pleasure it is, to meet an antique book, In just the dress his century wore; A privilege I think." You shrug, smiling at him as you place the rest of the strawberry on your tongue.

Coryo scrunches up his nose in disgust while you chew. "You eat the leaves?"

Quickly, you're covering your mouth with your hand to speak. "You don't?" You ask, voice slightly muffled with the slightly sour fruit on your tongue.

"No!" He laughs, shaking his head.

You swallow what remains of the strawberry in your mouth, preparing to defend yourself when you hear someone call his name. You both turn, and your eyes land on a girl with long, dark hair as she walks toward you. With the shoes she's wearing, she only slightly struggles on the grass.

"Clemmie." He smiles, quickly standing up. You follow suit, brushing the stray blades of grass off of your legs and dress while he gives her a hug. A hug? That must be allowed outdoors. "I didn't expect to see you today."

"Yeah, well, they let me out of my cage for the occasion." She replies sarcastically. She must be hot, wearing a white turtle neck in this heat. Then she looks at you, lifting up her dark sunglasses and resting them in her hair.

She has the eyes of a snake.

You're in shock for a moment, but you quickly recover. "Hello, my name is Y/N. Are you a friend of Coryo's?" You ask, extending your hand to shake. You were just happy to possibly be making friends.

She doesn't take it, something you're used to by now. "Yes, we've known each other our whole lives." She answers, looking down at your hand as you slowly lower it back to your side.

"Y/N, this is Clemensia Dovecote." Coryo says, deciding to introduce you properly, since his classmate didn't want to oblige. "She was a mentor as well."

"Oh, congratulations." You grin, biting back the sickness you felt suddenly bubbling in your stomach. "From what I have heard, even being selected for the opportunity is a large accomplishment. You must be proud."

"Yeah, well, I'd certainly be happier if my tribute won." She shrugs.

"Clemmie-" Coryo hisses at her, and she looks momentarily horrified at her own statement.

You look down, nodding slightly with a nervous smile. "It's okay." You insist, laughing slightly and pretending to readjust your scarf and tighten it around the belt.

"I didn't... Not like that. I'm sorry." She apologizes quickly after Coryo had jumped to your defense.

"No, it's alright. I understand." You tell her again, attempting a reassuring smile. "Would... would you like to eat lunch with us?"

"I have to get going, actually." Clemensia replies, looking between the two of you. "I was just on my way to my next class and thought I'd stop to say hi. It was nice to meet you, Y/N."

"You too." You grin, and she nods at you before walking away.

Your eyes stay trained on her as she crosses the courtyard, and Coryo is once again close enough to speak to you quietly so no one else would hear. "I'm so sorry, she didn't mean it like that."

"No, I know." You insist again, already sitting back down. "It's okay." You smile up at him, patting the patch of grass next to you so he would join you.

"She was supposed to be Reaper's mentor." He tells you as he rejoins you on the ground. "But... something happened before the games. She couldn't participate."

"Oh."

He moves closer. "Do you remember that day we went to tour the arena?" He asks and you nod. "And I was late, and you asked me what was wrong, and I told you nothing?"

You do remember that, and you never got answers, but you remember being worried it was your fault. You almost kissed him the night before, and you had made things weird when he just came to do something nice for you; bringing you a book and some birthday cake. You felt horrible. "Yes, I thought I had done something."

"You? No." He quickly shakes his head. "We had to write a proposal for Dr. Gaul, the head gamemaker, about things that could be done to "improve" the games. Like the bets, donations, sending food, and when we were speaking with her Clemmie got bit by one of the snakes."

You gasp, covering your mouth. He looks around, making sure no one is paying attention. Yes, people were staring, but no one would get close enough to be able to overhear.

"I thought she was dead, but they sent me straight to the arena to meet you." He explains. "And like she said, we've been friends forever so I was... quite upset."

"That's horrible." You frown, resisting the urge to reach for his hand as it sits on his lap next to you.

"Yeah." He agrees quietly. "But I saw her in the hospital after the bombing, she was alive but... different. Crazy."

"Her eyes?" You ask and he nods.

"And she was hallucinating, they wouldn't let anyone see her except me because I was there. She was angry with me because I didn't visit her enough."

"Survivors guilt." You smile sympathetically. It was a feeling you knew all too well.

"That's why she's wearing that shirt." He whispers, nodding to her just as she enters the building ahead of you. "She's got scales."

You cringe at the mere idea of it.

"I know." He laughs slightly. He doesn't look away from his hands in his lap, and while you can see he's smiling and laughing, it's doing little to convince you that he isn't upset. "It was kind of my fault, though."

There it is.

"No, most certainly not." You frown. You just want to hold his hand, surely you won't be caught if you do. You were outside, just for a moment isn't likely to get you in trouble. Especially if he was just hugging Clemensia. "Why do you say that?" You ask, settling instead for resting a hand on his arm.

"I... It's difficult to explain." He tells you, and you say nothing, willing him to continue. "So, our proposal was in the tank. Dr. Gaul told us if the snakes knew your scent, they wouldn't bite. But I wrote the paper, not her, and she made Clemmie reach into their tank and pull it out."

"That's not your fault." You tell him, gently squeezing his forearm.

"I should have stopped her. She would have hated me for telling them she didn't help write it, but none of that would have happened."

"Well, she's okay, isn't she?" You smile hopefully.

"Yes, but she just as easily could have died." He insists. "The only thing that makes me feel slightly better about it is that in a way, she saved you."

You cock your head at him, mouth falling open in astonishment. "I... what?"

He looks up from his lap to check your surroundings again.

"I put the letter you wrote to me into the tank." He whispers, and you have to lean in to hear it. "Because I knew if they knew your scent they wouldn't hurt you."

"You... never told me that." You state the obvious, retreating your hand back into your own lap. Part of you wishes he hadn't done that. They didn't quite catch you getting up into the rafters, his warning had been enough, but you should have walked to your death the following morning when you climbed down and found the note in the first place.

"I just... I don't know, I thought it would be worth more if it stayed a secret. I didn't want you to feel... indebted to me, or something." He admits. "But I'm still trying that thing where I tell you everything I'm thinking. Especially about this stuff."

You nod, putting your focus on picking pieces of grass at your side. "Thank you."

"Please don't thank me." He frowns. "I told you. I had to. I knew I loved you even then, Y/N/N."

You give your head a quick shake, already sensing the spiral it was about to fall down. "Let's not speak about this here." You mumble. "Please."

Immediately, Coryo understands. "Of course." He watches you run your fingers through the grass slowly, and realizes quickly that you are counting them. Now was not the time or place for another attack, and he felt foolish for even bringing the topic of the games up. "What books do you need?" He asks, hoping to get you in better spirits. "Anything that looks good? You said you were excited for the readings."

Your lunch doesn't feel like it lasts long enough, even though you had an hour and a half between your classes. Once you got to talking about your books, the time seemed to fly by and Coryo agreed to take you to the bookstore on campus the following afternoon so you could get all your books at once. He had a few to get as well.

He walked you to your next class, a few floors up in the same building and this time you were mindful to not hug him goodbye. He told you he loved you, very quietly, and you said you loved him too before entering the room. Another lecture hall, slightly smaller than the last one.

You mentally prepare yourself to play this game again. Where to sit, and preferably, finding someone willing to sit next to you. Looking around, you see a couple of girls in the middle of the room chatting away. They looked nice enough.

Preparing your smile as you walk up, you slide into the seat next to them. "Hi there, my name is Y/N." You grin, keeping your voice low. You really didn't want to scare them off. "Can I sit here?"

They look at each other with an expression unreadable to you, before one of them nods. "Yeah, we can't see why not."

"Oh, thank you!" You say excitedly, pulling your bag up onto the desk to grab your other notebook out of it.

"You're the Victor." The other girl comments, and you realize they're both staring at you still.

You suck in a sharp breath through your teeth, nodding. "Mhm."

"So... why are you here?" The girl closest to you with a brunette ponytail asks.

"Oh, well, Coriolanus, he was my mentor, he came to visit me back home and convinced me to come study here." You explain. "I want to have a career. Help my family."

"Oh, we know him." She says, and they look at each other again, chests shaking with laughter they're attempting to conceal.

"You do?" You smile. You knew starting with his friends was a good idea, this is just a happy coincidence that you had decided to sit next to two of them already.

"Yeah, we went to the academy with him." The girl's friend explains. You notice then that they have a very similar hair colour, but hers is cut short and curled just above her shoulders. "He always had such a stick up his ass. Took everything way too seriously."

"That's what my brother said, too." You giggle. You weren't sure if they were being genuinely mean or not, but you decided to air on the side of caution. You wanted friends. "But he is truly lovely. Do you know him well?"

"You could say that." One of them answers vaguely and you just smile, tucking your bag back under the table. "Your bag is... interesting. Where did you get it?"

"Oh!" You say excitedly, lifting it back onto the table. "My Ma made it for me. Isn't it pretty?"

They laugh, and your smile fades. You thought it was very nice, made from pieces of scrapped linens that she had used in other projects, stitched together into a pattern that made up your shoulder bag. It was perfect for carrying your notebooks and pencils, you had brought it to school back home all your life.

"It's... something else." The girl with the short hair nods.

"Does your Ma hate you? That's so sad." The other girl pouts, resting her chin on her hand.

You quickly hide the bag away again at your feet. "No, of course she doesn't." You weren't sure what to say. Why were they being mean? They had been nice to you a moment ago.

"Did she make your dress, too?"

You just nod, chewing on the inside of your cheek.

"Wow, yeah, I could tell." You look down at the words, unsure as to what she could see that could be wrong with it. This was one of your favourites.

Admittedly, it was a little short on you, similar in style and colour to the one you had worn to the Capitol the first time you came. But now, looking at what she was wearing and her friend, both with button-up shirts similar to Coryo's and different coloured blazers with a matching skirt, you realize that your attire is very different. Different vastly from everyone in the room as well, as more students are trickling in.

You didn't think it mattered until now.

You don't get the chance to come up with anything in defense of your dress before she reaches out and grabs at the material of your scarf, rubbing it between her fingers. "This is the scarf you had with you in the games. It doesn't look like your mother made it, though. This is mulberry silk."

You jump a little at the unexpected contact, and they laugh. "Uhm, no, she didn't." You clear your throat. "It's a family heirloom. I'm not sure where it came from." Not entirely a lie, it just wasn't your family heirloom.

"Neat. So, where are you staying?" She asks after a moment.

"With Coriolanus and his family. They've been very kind to me." You smile. Their eyes go wide and they look at each other again.

"You mean, on the Corso?"

"Yes, that's what he told me it's called."

"Wow, you really made yourself comfortable here, huh?"

"Well," You laugh slightly. "It's been an interesting transition, but he's made it much easier. He helps as much as he can."

Simultaneously they pick up on the pink flush of your cheeks as you remember the amount of times he's come running when you had a nightmare, only to bring you water and back to his bed to sleep after. Weirdly enough, he made you feel safer now.

"Oh my god." The girl with the bob laughs. "You like him, don't you?"

"Of course I do. He's my friend." You smile, a little confused. That only makes them laugh more, and you pick up on what they were implying. Quickly, you turn even more pink in the face. "Well, I mean, um..."

"Y/N." You turn your head at the mention of your name, looking up at the girl now standing in front of you. She was smiling, and immediately seemed to have a kinder spirit than the girls you were already sitting with. "Come sit with me, Coryo asked me to save you a seat."

"Oh, okay." You nod, grabbing your things again and standing. You were eager now to get away from those other girls.

"Lysistrata, come on. We were just talking to our new friend." The girl with the ponytail pouts, and you look back at Coryo's friend. She just stares at them, something akin to a warning in her expression.

"Where do you want to sit?" You ask her, still recovering from their mildly embarrassing comment as you stand up.

She just nods toward one of the upper rows and starts walking. "It was nice to meet you." You smile at the girls nervously before following behind her.

"Oh, and Twelve?" You stop and turn when the girl with the ponytail speaks up again. "Good luck with Coriolanus, though I hate to tell you I have a head start. We're actually engaged. But like I said, good luck!"

You feel your face pale and you just nod, quickly turning away and focusing your gaze on the long dark braids belonging to the girl leading you up the stairs.

Your mind is absolutely reeling as you follow her to some seats near the back. You didn't know he was engaged. Honestly, you thought you were kind of his girlfriend. He told you he loved you not ten minutes ago, for god's sake! But maybe it had meant something different to him all along. Was this something they did in the Capitol? Because back home if you kissed someone that meant they were your one and only, but maybe that was very different here. So many things are very different here.

"They aren't engaged. Don't listen to her." Coryo's friend, Lysistrata you think her name was, says as you sit down.

You look over at her. "They aren't?"

"No." She scoffs. "Livia just thinks they're getting married because her daddy wants them to. They hardly ever even talk."

"Oh." You reply quietly, looking down the rows at the girls you were just with. That does ease your panic. "Not... not that it matters to me."

"It's okay." She smiles kindly at you. "To be honest, he hates her." She whispers. "I think you've got a much better chance. He speaks very highly of you."

You blush, smiling back at her. "I don't believe we've met properly. My name is Y/N."

"Nice to meet you." She smiles, and for the first time today, it feels genuine. "I'm Lyssie."

"Did you go to the academy too?" You ask for the sake of making conversation. She seems lovely, and you're excited at the idea of actually having a friend in one of your classes.

"I did." She smiles. "I was Jessup's mentor. Coryo and I worked a lot together during the games."

You chew on your lip, nodding slightly.

Today was just full of draining conversations.

"I'm sorry." She adds quietly. "You all deserved better."

"I'm sorry I didn't stay with him." You whisper. "I regret it every day."

"Don't. You did what you had to do, no one holds anything against you. I think you did the right thing."

You just nod, opening your notebook. You have to hope that once you get all these impossible conversations out of the way and people know you better, you'll have other things to talk about. And maybe one day, the topic won't make you want to cry, throw up, and jump off the nearest building all at once.

"He was one of the best of us. He should have won." You say quietly.

"Don't say that." She smiles sadly at you. "I'm glad it was you if it couldn't be him, and he was very sick. He wouldn't have made it much longer anyway."

"I had to go home and see his family." You felt comfortable talking to her, like she wouldn't judge you. It was a relaxing feeling. "My heart breaks for them, they're good people. And they needed him."

"You know his family?" She asks.

"Not really. We've crossed paths here and there, my Ma helps them on occasion with fixing their clothes." You shrug. "Still, though. From what I know, they try to stay in life. Instead of weeping when a tragedy occurs in a songbird's life, it sings away its grief. I believe we could well follow the pattern of our feathered friends."

"Would you happen to know their address? I would love to write to them. To apologize, that is." She explains and you smile, nodding before scribbling it down in your notebook and ripping out the page to hand to her.

"Thank you."

Another two hours, another "icebreaker", and more stares. You hoped that your classmates would eventually get tired of staring at you, you imagined it would make it quite difficult to take notes or pay attention to the lecture.

You felt almost guilty about it. Coryo didn't tell you that everyone would be so shocked but you shouldn't be surprised. Looking down at your clothes and the scarf that had almost entirely been cleaned of the blood stains it carried back to Twelve, you thought maybe it could have something to do with how you dress. Obviously, it would be distracting if you stood out so much, so maybe fitting in would be better. As much as you love your handmade clothes, maybe they would have to be reserved for time spent at the apartment or on rare days out.

Coryo is waiting outside since he got let out a few minutes early. There was no use in starting a lecture when going over the syllabus took a full hour and a half. When students start pouring out of your room, he looks at everyone waiting to see your smiling face. Well, hoping to see you smiling.

Lysistrata walks out first, and with no sign of you with her he grabs her arm to catch her before she turns the other way.

"Thank you for doing that." He says, smiling sympathetically at her.

"Of course." She grins. "She's lovely, we talked for a bit before class."

"Yeah, she is. Anyway, thanks." He nods at her, dropping her arm and with a kind nod, she's back on her way.

He counts his blessings that he had run into her after leaving you for that class a few hours earlier.

"Hey, Lyssie." He grins, stopping her in the hall as she was on the way to class.

"Coryo. How are you?" She smiles and he shrugs.

"I'm alright." He replies quickly. "What class are you going to?"

"Uh..." She looks briefly at her notes. "Geography. B217."

He sighs in relief, and she looks at him confused and lets him pull her to the side of the hall. "That's Y/N's class, would you mind sitting with her? She told me that this morning that no one would and I know she just really wants to make some friends... Could you do that for me?"

"Y/N? As in Y/N Y/L/N, your tribute?" Her eyes go wide and he nods. She didn't pay any attention to gossip and focussed more on getting from one class to another. She didn't even know that you were here.

He chews on his cheek while he waits for her to respond. If anyone was willing to make that social sacrifice, it would be Lyssie. School was never a popularity contest to her.

"Of course I can. Yeah."

When you walk out not long after her, he's quickly joining your side. Earlier, he felt so uneasy having you all over him with people watching and by now he just missed you. If he didn't know better, he would have decided he didn't care- but he has to.

"How was it?" He asks and you smile, as per usual, but he notes that now you have untucked your scarf and are instead using it to drape back over your shoulders and around your arms and back.

"It was delightful." You say happily, following his steps along the hall. "And yours?"

"Delightful?" He asks, smile tugging at his lips. He can't help it. "That wouldn't be a word I would use, but I would say it was okay."

"Okay is better than awful." You shrug.

"Certainly is." He agrees, leaning down to speak quietly into your ear in the loud hallway. "Missed my girl, though."

"Is that me?" You ask, allowing him to open the door to the building for you.

"Of course it's you." He chuckles as you pass him. "What do you mean?"

You laugh. "Well, I met a girl named Livia in my class and she told me that the two of you were engaged."

Coryo groans, letting the door fall shut as he follows behind you. "No, ew. She's... no. Absolutely not. Maybe if I planned on marrying someone I absolutely despise, then she would be the perfect candidate."

"But that's not what you look for in a woman?" You ask, turning to walk backward in front of him.

"Nope."

"I'll take your word for it." You giggle, seemingly nonchalant about Livia's apparently blatant attempts to scare you away. Coryo wouldn't let that happen, and he's glad you didn't see it that way.

He smiles at you as he rejoins your side.

"Coryo." You say, breaking up the peaceful quiet of your walk home. He looks at you. "I think I shall look for a job."

"A job?" He asks, raising an eyebrow at you. "You don't need a job, we talked about this. Just focus on school."

"No, I know." You say quietly. "But I think I would just like some spending money, perhaps get some new clothes. Wouldn't that be nice?"

His heart sinks unexpectedly. As much as he would love to see you blending in more and embracing the culture that came with living in the Capitol, it didn't feel like that would really suit you. If he wanted a Capitol girl, he could have had one. Apparently, that's not what he wanted anymore, but the more you blended in and became "one of them" like he promised Dr. Gaul you would, the more likely people would be to accept the extent of your relationship. However undefined it may still be.

"If that's what you would like, but you don't have to work for that." He shakes his head. "I told you I would take you to the mall, the one with the ice cream shop. Maybe we can go on Friday." Friday was the first day of your weekend- the one day during the week that neither of you had any classes.

"That would be fun." You smile up at him. "I'll just have a look around, see what people are wearing. Get a better idea of what to save for."

"If that's what you want, love."

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

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

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

[liliannadelaphinehartifelt]

Alastor - [ MASQUERADE PT. 2 ]

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A/N: I physically can not refrain from writing smut with angst or implied angst… please forgive me.. ❤️

WARNINGS: [ NSFW ] + [ MDNI ] + [ SMUT ] + [ MATURE THEMES ] + [ MALE READER ] + [ SLIGHT ANGST ]

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“Would you mind if I came to see you again? I'll be in town by the weekend.” You tried not to smile too hard as the question left your lips, carrying through the telephone’s gentle crackling to resonate to the receiving end clearly, and the man you'd grown to cherish after a few short months of quiet correspondence gave a low response.

“I'll have you all to myself?” Alastor tugged your inquiry along with his own, smirking as you huffed dramatically and no doubt rolled your eyes at his words.

“As always, Al. You know I'm not one for having many friends,” you admit, slumping further into your living room sofa as if to sink through cushions and disappear from the blooming embarrassment you felt hearing him laugh again.

It was your second favorite thing about him. His honest charm was the first, and that had yet to change since the last time you'd enjoyed his company. Exactly six months ago, during your second visit to the City of Jazz, it was fun!

Alastor had essentially filled the void you'd been unable to conceal, keeping you on your toes at every turn and stringing you along in affectionate mind games you knew better than to entertain.

It was difficult not to, though; he knew what to say, what to do with you, and how to handle you. At times, you considered the idea of him being no ordinary man.

Devilish.

That's how you'd describe him to anyone who asked. Alastor was a striking character, able to overshadow your persona with a gentle smile, making you feel very accessible.

You weren't allowed freedom from judgment, public image, and parasocial expectations like every silver screen star was subjected to. Fortunately, you had no obligations with Alastor, no point to prove, and you amounted such casualness to the building of mutual bonding.

He understood fame and its demands.

He understood you…more than most.

Alastor interrupted your wandering thoughts with a witty comment, “Hm, touche, but I suppose I'm the exception.” You scoffed, grinning at the ceiling before making an equally snarky retort.

“Don't sound so full of yourself..” you heard him click his tongue, a sharp sound you wished to hear in person again sooner rather than later.

“But it's the truth, mon cher. Plain and simple.” he concurs, and you shift to sit up straight, reaching for the glass on the coffee table before you, studying the few ounces of liquor before downing the bitter liquid. “Am I welcome or not, Mr. Hartifelt?” You suck your teeth, nose scrunching as the alcohol flushes your veins, promoting your nerves to settle and easing your heart rate as you wait for his answer.

You felt a thrill from just speaking to him. It was beautiful, really, and scandalous to some degree.

Falling for a man you’d met only a handful of times shouldn’t be possible, but here you were, waiting with bated breath to hear his decision to see you again.

Please say yes…just one last time.

Alastor smiled, taking his time to contemplate your offer while leaning back in his desk chair, eyes trained on the intricate soundboard he sat at. He'd grown attached to you in one way or another, unsure if it was pure curiosity or pity on his part. Both reasons hadn't plagued him before your first encounter, and Alastor refused to acknowledge such impractical emotions, reminding himself that you were nothing more than a tag-along for him.

A lonely soul he could very quickly leave behind.

Nothing more. Nothing less.

That's what he forced his conscience to believe, willing itself to envision his compliance to your request as intrigue rather than genuine affection.

“I wouldn't dream of you refusing you, my friend. I look forward to spending time with you soon,” his answer was concise, a brief hint of satisfaction in his tone, and you immediately blurted out a joyous remark of relief.

“Then it’s settled! I’ll see you in two days,” a bright smile stretched across your face as he laughed softly on the other end, “You make it sound as if I’m your only reason for living, my dear.” Alastor shakes his head at his statement, knowing it held truth and proud to know he had such an effect on you.

Am I really that obvious to him?…

A stab of embarrassment hit you square in the heart, a subtle frown replacing your grin as you reflected on the time you’d spent with the radio host. He’d taken you anywhere and everywhere in New Orleans, insisted you join him for dinner on nights he wasn’t broadcasting, and even made an effort to view your recent film. However, he avidly proclaimed his hate for lackluster visual media.

However, he never criticized your films, choosing to compliment your scenes, or congratulating your recent success on his broadcast, as any good friend should do.

You couldn’t recall when Alastor had ever let on he knew of your attraction to him. Yes, he pried at your emotions for the hell of it a few times, but he’d never explicitly acknowledged it.

This was the first time he’d even alluded to such feelings, and your nerves were alert instantly, mind going blank as you navigated your flustered state before murmuring into the phone with a sheepish smile.

“You think very highly of yourself, Alastor..”

“Apologies, my dear. I’m partial to being honest with you. Take it as a form of flattery, if you will.”

His attempt at a modest apology failed, but you had no intention of stamping out his smug nature. Alastor’s blatant confidence was refreshing, and though you wished to keep speaking with him, your evening wasn’t absent of essential events to attend to.

You bid him goodbye with a heavy heart, wishing him a good evening despite knowing he’d put off sleep until the early morning to keep broadcasting as long as possible, and he returned the subtle sentiment before ending the call.

Hours passed, pictures were taken, interviews were conducted, and fans were screaming your name, but the only person on your mind was Alastor.

The following two days felt tortious, a strained waiting game you couldn’t wait to finish, and the second you arrived back in New Orleans and found the time to slip away from your manager, you headed straight for your usual rendezvous spot with the acclaimed radio host.

Club Intime

—- ——- ——- ——- ———

There he was, relaxed in the seclusion of a velvet lounge booth, merely hidden away from the rest of the dimly lit speakeasy. Alastor wasn’t one to socialize unnecessarily. He was content with observing others through the lenses of his round glasses that were beginning to fog up from the fumes of his cigarette, a cold glass half full of whiskey set before him to aid his solitary sedation.

From afar, he looked out of place, cordial, and put together, unlike the rest of the patrons waltzing around. The only unkempt detail about him was the state of his bow tie and collar. He’d undone it the second he sat down, nimble fingers unlacing the stiff ribbon before trying to unbutton his dress shirt's first two clasps. It was a habit he’d yet to avoid after a long evening of work and one you thoroughly enjoyed.

The insignificant results hit just the right nerves, drawing your eyes to his clean-cut features, caramel skin, and hidden scars that he’d once called “unavoidable trophies.” From what or who you weren't sure.

You’d thought to ask him why he felt so highly of his wounds, concerned they’d hit deeper than he let on, but Alastor reassured you through a tight smile your sympathy for him wasn’t needed.

He was a proud man, very sure of himself, and it showed even in a room full of illicit drinkers and rowdy partygoers. Intimidating was the easiest way to describe him, and you felt exactly that way as his hazel eyes settled on you from across the room: intimidated.

You stood at the club's entrance, letting one of the hosts take your coat, but as he asked which table you preferred, you politely declined his offer before looking back at Alastor.

He hadn’t moved, still staring you down with a gentle smile, glasses pushed to the top of his head, and drink in one hand while the cigarette dangled above its rim nestled between two of his fingers.

God, he was beautiful, like a demon straight out of hell.

Alastor tipped his head, signaling you to come his way, and you did with a certain excitement in your eyes. He studied you just the same as you’d done to him, watching your form intently as you snaked through the bustling crowd toward your regular table with him, and by the time you were close enough to call his name, a shameless grin was on your face.

“Al!” You shouted above the drumming music, slipping to sit beside him in the blink of an eye, and he didn’t hesitate to make room for you. “I see you made it to town safely, my dear!” He placed his drink down, taking one last drag from his cigarette before putting it in the liquor. You blushed at the sight of him exhaling the smoke, brown eyes trained on you and an expectant glint in them as he shifted to face you.

“Y-Yes, well, you’ve been an excellent guide the first few times I’ve come here, so I suppose I’m used to the city now.” You smiled at him softly, hoping he’d disregard the stutter in your voice, but knowing him, you were sure he’d caught it very clearly.

Nothing ever got past Alastor.

He hummed, flattered by your praise but more interested in your apparent nervousness. You had yet to act unbothered by him, which amused the radio host.

“Glad to know my assistance was helpful. Do you plan to stay longer this time round?” Alastor rested an arm on the table, chin finding his open palm, and his head now level with yours.

Fuck, I forget how tall he is sometimes…Jesus Christ…

You gulp, blood running hot as his gaze bores into yours, searching for an answer you had yet to give him. It felt hard to breathe for a moment; all you could hear was your heartbeat and the muffled noise of the club.

Why’d he always have to be so close?

Didn’t he know who you were, who he was, what this looked like to other people?

Granted, the onlookers were drunk or too dizzy from dancing to focus on you both.

But the risk of it all, that unmistakable boldness Alastor embodied, had you nervous in all the right ways.

After a beat of silence and staring, you mustered up the courage to give him a response. “Seeing as I have time off from filming, I’ll spend it here. A change of scenery is an actor's best challenge.” You broke eye contact with him, staring into the crowd to keep from fidgeting as he nodded with a low hum, “So, in other words, I won’t be rid of you anytime soon?” Alastor chuckled as you feigned offense at his question, head snapping towards him and a discreet frown on your lips.

“That was quite rude of you to say, Mr. Hartifelt. Especially since I came all the way here to see you…”

A mischievous spark lit up his eyes, smile growing devilish as you glared at him, “Ah, so I am the apple of your eye, mon cher…”

It wasn’t a question.

He didn’t pose the observation as anything else, wanting to bait you into a confession, and he succeeded quicker than you realized.

“No, I did come to experience the city,” you retort flatly, tempted to order a drink and down it to freeze the nerves burning your skin.

Alastor glanced around, assuring no one was invested in your exchange, before dipping his head to whisper in your ear. “Don’t lie to me, cher. I can see it written all over your face, and I must admit it’s a delight to see.” You could practically hear the wicked grin on his lips, sweet and sinister all at once.

Damn. It.

You paled as he pulled back, smirk ever present as he waved a waiter down to order another drink as if he hadn’t reduced you to a fluttery mess beside him.

You sat pin straight, willing to breathe, and on the verge of zoning out completely.

“And what would you like to order, monsieur?” The waiter addressed you, brow raised as you flinched from the sudden question, “I…uh…I-I’ll have the…” you inwardly panicked from the lack of coherent speech left on your tongue, but the building embarrassment dulled as Alastor spoke up for you.

“He’ll have the same as me. Double it and bring the tab as well. Merci.”

“Je vais le faire sortir tout de suite, monsieur. “ The waiter nodded, taking down Alastor’s request quickly before throwing you a strange look and strutting away.

You had to pull it together, or the image you worked so hard for Katina would crumple at one man’s behest, and deep down, you didn’t mind.

It was tiring being perfect, faking your entire personality for the masses's support, and the longer you lingered in Alastor’s company, the more enticing it was just to let it all go.

To drop the mask you wore like an overbearing shroud.

Just once, you’d like to be another person, someone less empty and carnally fulfilled.

One night wouldn’t hurt, right?

You glanced at Alastor, entranced by his lax manner, foot tapping to the swinging melodies and his eyes scanning the room as if searching for prey.

One night with him…wouldn’t be your end, right?

He didn't pretend with you, nor sugar coat his thoughts and actions in hopes of impressing you, and on more than one occasion you both sought some form of imtalcay from the other.

This man had seen what others couldn’t, so why deny yourself a chance at fleeting freedom?

He could pick you apart and put you back together again, and you wouldn’t mind.

So long as Alastor remained the only man to see through you.

One night.

That’s all you asked him for when your drinks arrived, and you were prepared for him to reject your offer, but the sting of refusal never came.

He accepted the arrangement, smile wide, and his eyes hazing over with lust the moment your question reached his ears.

“I thought you’d never ask, cher….”

The night was a whirlwind after that; the tab left on the table tallied to a large sum from the amount of alcohol ordered, and by the end of two hours, you were utterly inebriated.

You met the comfort of your hotel room not long after your time at the hidden bar, stumbling through the door by Alastors lead, laughing softly as his grip on your wrist tightened when you reached behind to close and lock the door.

If you'd seen the malicious edge to his smile as your lips met, you could've sensed danger before it arrived. Maybe if you'd stopped to think properly as clothes were tossed to the floor and his hands met your bare skin, you would've been weary of how cold they felt. Maybe if you'd perceived the rapid pace of your heart as fear for your life and not a side effect of mind-boggling pleasure while he fucked you to the point of tears, you could've vied for safety.

If only you'd seen through his mask, through his glamorous praises, and listless stares…

Maybe you could've survived and tried to fight him, but the rewards of cracking under his pressure rendered such critical thinking useless.

Once. Twice. A third.

Alastor took you from one height of pleasure to the next, forcing whatever bit of raw honesty he could out of you with a series of unforgiving thrusts, swallowing your breathless moans with shallow kisses. He'd never let you utter a word of refusal, using your body to the fullest without a second thought and scarcely sympathetic of how much you could take from him.

At the mercy of your fourth high, you clung to him, nails digging into his scarred back, head tucked into the crook of his neck, and your chest heaving with quiet groans of his name. Alastor could feel the stray tears on your cheeks, melting on his skin, exciting him to no end. “Oh, you poor thing..” he teased you through gritted teeth, biting back a smile as your walls tightened around his cock, another whine rippling your throat at the condensing remark.

“To think so many adore you, and yet here you are…” Alastor pressed his weight down onto you entirely, hands tight on your hips as he deepened his strokes, reaching places inside you that felt almost foreign. You gave up trying to speak, scratching down his back instead as a wordless warning for release, but he didn't let up.

“…showing your true colors to me. I could almost feel sport for you, Cher.” his tone dripped with vague pity, full of satisfaction as he buried himself in you, earning a soft gasp on your part and a fulfilled grown from him.

A warmth enveloped your core as he spilled his cum into you, adding to the amount he'd already so graciously given and triggering your release in seconds.

“Don't want you to feel bad for me..” you huff tiredly, eyes rolling as your cock twitched and leaked between you. Alastor hummed, eyes lowering the sight of skin glossing over with the sticky white fluid, “I pity any soul as desperate as yours, darling…”

“Desperate?” you question him with a lazy smile, ready to correct his comment but failing to as he pulled out of you, leaving you empty and restless.

“Desperate to be loved by any and everyone…” Alastor clarifies, staring at you with a soft smile on his lips as he leans down to graze them over your parted ones.

“Even by a killer like me…”

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I finally completed this!!!! I'm seriously considering getting an Alastor blanket to curl up in because the stress I've been feeling this week is wild…❤️

Quick side note: do you all realize Alastor would be the most toxic partner in history? Yes, he's sweet, respectful, dashing, and everything else needed to be a surface-level perfect companion. But once you get past all of that, there's not a single aspect of your life Alastor wouldn't control, stalking you, weaving webs of lies to isolate you, using minor signs of affection as a way to keep you close, and buying you gifts to mask all his deep seeded antagonism. He would be your dream man but a total nightmare in one way or another.

[ BONUS CONTENT + ]

Pilot Alsstor was something else I love him so muchhhh ❤️ credit to creator

[a-world-of-whimsy-5]

Could I please request Thranduil with a breeding kink with the lavender field prompt? 🔥🔥 thank you so much!! Your writings lift my spirits!

Here you go!

"Lavender Haze"

Pairing:  Thranduil x Fem. Reader (elf/second person POV) | Location: Greenwood the great

Themes: Smut | Soft

Warnings:  Kissing | Explicit language | Mild dirty talk | Breeding kink | Sex in an open field | Penetrative sex | Rough sex | Cream pie

Word count: 1.6k words

Summary : A game of hide of seek take place in a lavender field. What price will the loser have to pay? 

Rating: 🔥🔥 | Minors DNI | 🔞  | You are responsible for the media you consume

Rules and tag form here | Prompts for requests here

 A lavender haze. 

That was all you could see in the periphery of your vision—an endless haze of the richest lavender swaying with the wind. The blooms rustled, murmuring with a hushed voice of their own every time the wind rose. It was sheer happenstance when you came across this field of wild lavender. Thrilled with this new find, you made haste to ride back to Amon Lanc and tell its prince. Thranduil listened with rapt attention and insisted that you take him there. No one knew of such a field, and he wanted to see it with his own eyes. 

The prince came. And he saw. And believed. And a merry chase then ensued. No one besides the two of you knew of this little slice of paradise, and Thranduil wanted to make the most of it. Others would learn of the field's existence soon enough, and the opportunities to be alone within it would grow sparse. 

You ran and ducked behind tall bushes. Hid behind the thick trunks of gnarled trees with branches so low they kissed the soft grass that grew beneath them. And Thranduil chased you still, calling out for you and searching for you, the heady rush of the chase working its magic on him. 

"Where are you, meleth?"

You clapped your hands over your mouth and kept still. Thranduil was close to the oak tree you were hiding behind. You could not hear his footsteps; the prince moved like a wraith, not making a single sound. You press against the bark of the tree, wondering if he heard you or if he knew where you were hiding. 

"Meleth?"

It was as if he were further away now, but you keep yourself concealed anyway. When it sounded as if he had moved quite a distance, you peered around the tree, pleased to find him no longer there. You take off again, giggling and smug, confident you have thrown him off your trail. 

"There you are!" Thranduil ran in from behind and threw his arms around you. He cackled when you squealed and squirmed and tried to free yourself from his hold. His moving away from where you were had just been a sly trick. He was there the entire time, hidden, waiting for you to come out into the open. 

"Th-thranduil!" Giddy laughter ripped through you when you tried and tried, and he simply continued to carry you deeper into the field. "Let g-go!"

"No!" Thranduil's laughter mirrored yours. He listened to you grumble and plot your escape, and laughed again, louder this time. "Yield, meleth. Escape is futile. Surely you know this by now."

"Never!" That never lasted no more than a few moments, when you realized you would not be able to extricate yourself from his vise-like grip no matter how hard you tried. You give up and go limp against him. 

Thranduil sets you down amidst fragrant purple blooms. "Now, tell me. What was our wager again?"

"If I win, you are to be my slave for the turn of a moon," you answer quickly, more than a little disappointed that losing the wager meant not having Thranduil wait on you hand and foot. Literally. 

Thranduil smirked, clearly pleased with himself. "And if I win?"

"I am to let you have your way with me. In whatever way you desire."

"A prospect that does not disappoint you, yes?"

You huff and cross your arms. How easy it was for him to read you! "It does not."

Thranduil smiled wolfishly and sat down, extending his hand to you. "Come, meleth. It is time to pay the piper, so to speak."

You narrowed your eyes and made yourself comfortable next to him, lying down on the grass as you did so. The sky was beautiful, all puffy white clouds against a field of the palest, clearest blue. You rest your head over your folded arms and watch while they stay low and move slowly. Thranduil is content to watch you. He lays down beside you, an enchanting smile slowly working its way across his face when you turn to face him. His eyes light up when you smile in return. 

"I will pay," you reply with a grin. 

Thranduil beamed and leaned forward, the sweetness of his kiss pouring into your throat when his mouth opened over yours. Deft, experienced hands worked on the clasps and lacing on your robes. Your gown loosened beneath his touch. The prince helps you out of your clothes, barely taking a moment to marvel at the sight of you exposed. Thranduil then sat up, his clothes rustling while he rid himself of his tunic and undershirts, belt and sash and boots. They all joined the growing pile by the side. He slipped out of his breeches, sighing in relief when his throbbing cock sprang free. He did not give you time to even think or breathe. He simply captured your lips with his. 

Your nerves were aflame; every inch of you was heated and sensitive to his touch. And you were bold, reaching out to ghost a finger over the crown of his member. Thranduil moaned lustily and drew away, content again to watch, this time while you took him into your hands. He moved his hips, thrusting in time with your strokes. The warmth and frenzy of your pace were unceasing. It nearly undid him and almost made him cum all over your hand. 

"Not like this." Thranduil loosened your grip and pushed you onto your back. "I would much rather finish inside you."

He was so warm when he lowered himself onto you—slowly and carefully—and tried not to lose control of himself and hurt you. He did not enter you immediately. Thranduil kept still while you touched his face and his hair, and ran your hands over his arms and chest and back. The prince was perfect, like an exquisite marble sculpture come to life. 

"Mine," you declare without even hesitating. "All mine."

Joy welled within Thranduil's heart. "As you are mine," he exclaimed with pride before dipping his head. 

He kissed with tenderness, then hunger, then fury, when your mouth parted for the warmth of his sinful tongue. Thranduil knitted his tapered fingers around yours, moaning into your mouth when your free hand slid around his waist and nails dug into his flesh. 

"Naughty girl," he breathed wistfully. "Now open those beautiful legs for me."

He groaned under his breath when your legs slid open and hooked around his hips. Thranduil pushed in, inch by agonizing inch, sinking his shaft into your slit. The prince was built bigger than most, and you felt it in the pressure around your core. He kept still, his chest heaving and his heart racing wildly, while you adjusted to his size. Arousal pooled in your belly when even the slightest movement sent shock waves shooting up your spine like lightning. You no longer wanted him to stay still. You wanted him to move. 

"I am ready."

Thranduil's pace was merciless. He rutted into you like a wild beast, growing drunk on your transported moans.

"Look at how well you take me," he cries against your throat. "It is as if you have been made for me."

All you could do was hold onto him while he bucked his hips against the insides of your thighs. "Perhaps it is because we were made for each other."

"Yes," Thranduil agreed. "Meant for each other. You are mine, just as I am yours. We belong together."

His grip on your hand tightened. He plunged deeper and harder. It made you see stars. "More," you plead shamelessly. "More. Please."

Thranduil grunted softly. "Look at you. Listen to how desperate you sound. Should I deny you?"

"No!" you keen. "Please do not do that."

"Pathetic." Thranduil hissed hoarsely, his hips now undulating every time he thrust. "But I suppose I will concede to your plea. I am going to finish inside you, so you know who you belong to."

"Please." The knowledge of him filling you with his seed unraveled you. "Do it. Please."

He nearly fell apart when he heard. Thranduil let go of your hand and gripped your chin, forcing you to open your eyes and look at him. He wanted to see how your words could undo him. "Are you ready?"

You did see. You saw how his eyes had darkened and how raw, unbridled lust flashed in them. And you were so ready for him.

"Yes," you sob in relief. "So ready."

Thranduil ran his tongue along the curve of your throat. It made you tremble beneath him and whimper against his shoulder. His thrusts grew erratic and relentless. It sent you spiraling and made the world grow dark in your eyes. Thranduil gasped sharply while your walls contracted and milked his cock. It shattered him and made his orgasm rip through him. He glanced at your belly, his thoughts running riot with visions of his spend filling your cunt. It heightened the bliss he was already drowning in. With one last, satisfying grunt, he came to a stop, his arms and body trembling from the exertion. 

Nothing could be heard save for the wind rustling through flowers and leaves and the deeper sound of ragged breathing. Thranduil slowly moved onto his back, taking you with him. You sighed in contentment while he held you against his chest. When you moved, he stopped you. 

"Keep me inside you a little longer," Thranduil insists. "Just a little longer, then you and I can go for a swim in that pond nearby."

[arialerendeair]

Dreamling Week Approaches

Dun dun duuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuunnnnnnnnnnnn!

The prompts for Dreamling Week have officially been posted on the @mr-sadman blog, so make sure to check that post out!

If any of you remember last year, I did a massive reblog blitz of any and all Dreamling content I had in my Dreamling tag and reblogged it all across the entire week!

I’m planning to do another of those - but even bigger this year!

Here’s a list of content I’m planning to reblog:

Dreamling Week content from last year

My Dreamling tag

The tumblr Dreamling tag

Dreamling Big Bang Fics ( @the-centennial-husbands-bigbang for future runs of the bang!)

All of @gabessquishytum’s ficlets! (Yes, ALL, I am ballsy and determined)

All of @softest-punk's works

AND, new this year -

YOUR SUBMISSIONS

That's right - one thing I got a lot of requests for last year was for folks to send me things - SO! I have created a handy dandy form for you to do so! I will be accepting any and all submissions up until June 2nd, when Dreamling Week starts!

Submissions have only 2 requirements!

It must be a Tumblr post. No other links will be accepted.

Limit yourself in terms of submissions.  (If you have 6 fics - do not send me 6 links, please make a masterpost featuring all of them.  If you would like to create a specific universe masterpost for one series - and another for your standalones?  Go for it!  If you want to create one for your art and one for your fics?  Go for it!)

Masterpost Example!

Last but not least!

While I am absolutely thrilled to turn my blog into Dreamling Hell (affectionate) during the first week of June, I would love, more than anything else, to see other blogs join me in doing so, since there is so much Dreamling content out there that I know I haven't seen!! I have lovingly teased @seiya-starsniper into doing something similar, and I hope some of you decide to do reblog sprees (at whatever scale you are comfortable with) as well!

Let's flood the #Dreamling Week and #Dreamling Week 2024 tags with as much content as possible and get ourselves back on the Top Ships of the Week again!

[theywhowriteandknowthings]

You can't always get what you want | Chapter 9 of The Princess and The Duke.

Pairing: Dave York x F!Reader

Summary: Your relationship with Pete grows tense, Nancy meddles, and you wonder if you'll ever get what you want. Maybe you'll get something you need.

You can't always get what you want But if you try sometimes, well, you might find You get what you need

Word Count: 8.4k

Warnings: strained family relationships, abusive parent, threats of physical harm, abuse, mild violence, language, felonies being committed, mild smut, blue balls, angst, shock/dissociation, Police Station/Police Procedures,

Tags:

Author’s notes: Co-written by @angelofsmalldeath-codeine. Things aren’t getting easy quick, sorry/not sorry. The angst and drama will end, we promise. Follow @vi-notifs and turn on notifications for updates when new content drops!

[AO3 link]

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“Pete, I gotta stop,” you wheeze as you double over, stepping off the path and onto the grass of the park. Your lungs burn as you suck in large gasps of frigid air. Texas may be warmer than New York this time of year, but you had a gym membership there. Now you’re being forced to run, outdoors, in the winter.

“Come on, we’ve barely started,” Peter goads you as he jogs back towards you. You look up and groan as you straighten up.

“We’ve been jogging for an hour, Peter, I don’t do cardio, you know that.”

“Well, you should probably start, it’s good for you.”

“I understand the need for cardiovascular fitness, Pete,” you grumble as you glare at him, “Doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

“Fine, let’s call it a day then,” Peter sighs dramatically but you know there’s no malice behind it. You’re pretty sure he’s just thrilled you even said yes in the first place.

“Shower back at mine, then get some lunch?”

“Oh, does this mean I finally get to see this new apartment of yours?”

“It’s been two days, Pete. You make it sound like I’ve shut you out intentionally.”

“Ash has seen your new place,” he says with a pout as you stroll back, arm in arm as you try and leech some body heat from him.

 “Ash also helped me move in,” you point out with a nudge to his ribs.

“Sorry I’m not privileged enough to take a whole afternoon off to help you move, who moves on a Monday anyway?”

“Yeah? And who has random Wednesdays off to go jogging?” You throw back at him, and he rolls his eyes.

“You try being an ER nurse, I am at the mercy of the shift chart. I cherish my days off where I can get them,” he shoots you a glare and you concede defeat with a sheepish grin.

“It was all very last minute, I’m sorry,” you say as you stroll down the street, only a few blocks away from your apartment now.

“I wasn’t fishing for an apology,” Pete squeezes your arm, “But thank you.”

“I know, you’re not precious, but I do know I’ve been spending more time with Ash lately and I am sorry if you’ve felt left out.”

“Bitch, are you dying? Where’s this coming from?”

You laugh as Pete teases you. You’ve missed this.

“Note to self don’t be nice to Pete, ever again.”

“Ok, I deserved that,” he says with a scoff as you reach the stairs leading up to your building, “Damn this is nice!”

“Yeah, I got the rent cheap because of that double homicide last year,” you say with a shrug as you head up the steps.

“That was your place?” Peter steps back onto the curb and you groan as you look down at him from the stoop.

“Pete, please,” you rub your hand over your jaw in frustration, “Not you too.”

“You definitely have ghosts,” Pete responds with an indiscernible look on his face, “That’s fucking sweet.”

Pete bounds up the stairs and practically vibrates next to you as you shake your head. You unlock the door and check your post, as he hovers over your shoulder.

“So, have you had any paranormal events yet?”

“No, Pete, ghosts aren’t real,” you almost wish he was as superstitious as Ash, “Besides, what would that even look like?”

“I don’t know.” Pete sighs dramatically as if you’re spoiling his fun, “Cupboard doors opening on their own, cold spots, fuzzy lighting?”

“Pete, those things happen daily, I’m living in an apartment building, in Austin, with a corporate landlord.”

“That’s what they want you to think, it’s all about subverting-,”

You’re making your way to the kitchen when you hear the sharp intake of breath from Peter. You half expect him to be pointing to the corner of the room, imagination running wild at something invisible there. He is pointing to something in the room, mouth agape as you raise an eyebrow at him.

“Tell me you haven’t sat on these chairs?”

“Why wouldn’t I use furniture in my own home, Pete?”

“Because these are antiques!” He looks at you like you’ve just kicked a puppy.

“Pete, Dave said I could take whatever I needed, he didn’t mention anything about antiques.”

You shrug defensively as you meet his murderous gaze.

“Bitch, your sugar daddy stepdad gave you over eight Gs of pristine nineteenth century furniture,” he cocks an eyebrow at you, “And you don’t even know what you have?”

“I’m not an antique nerd, sue me,” you shrug as you fill two glasses of water and place them on the counter before heading to your bedroom ensuite. You try not to let his comment about Dave get under your skin, but it stings.

“Did your fancy law education in New York not teach you anything? Or did y’all just have IKEA furniture to snort your coke off?”

“Jesus, Pete,” you snap, “I didn’t do that shit. And no, funnily enough I was negotiating contracts worth more than a billion dollars a pop. I didn’t have time to have hobbies, or addictions.”

“I’m just being a salty bitch,” he grumbles as his face softens, “I want a sugar daddy that will buy me antiques.”

“He’s not my sugar daddy Pete, can you cut that out?” you say as you gesture towards your bedroom, “I’m jumping in the shower, can we talk properly about it over lunch?”

“Sure,” Pete says, his face pensive as you turn towards your bedroom.

You shower quickly and pull on some loose sweatpants and Dave’s USMC hoodie without thinking. You pad back into the open plan space to see Pete leaning against the counter, swiping through something on his phone.

“Alright, shower’s free,” you say, breaking Pete from his doom scrolling.

“I won’t be long.”

Pete waltzes into your ensuite and you can’t help but smile as he starts to sing.

~*~

“You got eyes on her?” Dave speaks into the concealed earpiece as he sits at his desk at the office. Each screen is set up to monitor two separate sets of surveillance feeds. The right one cycling through downtown Austin, where Nancy has been circling the same block for the past hour. He’d caught a glimpse of you and Pete in the neighborhood, missing Nancy by a few minutes as you’d ventured further into the city.

He tries not to think about it, because he knows exactly what street Nancy is on. If his suspicions prove true, she’s trying to find where you live. It feels like a betrayal, he’s tried so hard to keep his distance. He’s not once asked for your address, purposefully keeping things vague when you have spoken.

Now he fears Nancy is about to throw all that hard work away.

The other screen is locked in on an industrial lot on the far side of town. A black SUV is parked in a side street, the target arrived last night and hasn’t shown signs of movement since. Dave’s focus is divided, and he knows it. Anxiety claws at the back of his mind as he tries to manage both situations unfolding in front of his very eyes.

“Nancy’s just slipped into a building, boss,” Ari’s voice comes back in his ear, “Resnik must have given her the address.”

“He’s not that stupid,” Dave growls but doubt worries at the back of his mind. He’s been chasing Resnik for the most recent set of photos and there’s still no sign of them.

“Maybe not, but she’s gone inside an apartment building. Do you want me to get a closer look? Assess the situation?”

Dave sighs, a gust of frustration billowing from his flared nostrils as he pinches the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger.

“Do it,” He snaps as he notices movement on the other surveillance feed, “I need you to handle this Ari, we just went hot.”

Dave ends the call before patching back through to Kovak.

“You seeing this?” Dave asks as he minimizes Nancy’s surveillance feed, pulling up street level CCTV to replace it. He must be focused now, one slip up and this could go south quick.

“Yep, target’s on the move,” Kovak confirms as Dave nods to himself.

“Tail him, I’ve got eyes on street cams, the moment he stops I need you on him like a rash.”

“Got it, boss,” Kovak says, the sound of his engine starting as he begins to follow the SUV.

Dave watches as Kovak’s small hatchback comes into view on the CCTV. Of all the team, Dave trusts Kovak the most. He’s efficient, details oriented, and most of all someone Dave would consider a friend.

“Stay safe out there, happy hunting.” Dave says with finality before settling into his position as overwatch.

~*~

Nancy loiters across the street from your apartment building, her phone out as she flicks through the digital copies of the photos the PI sent over last night. She seethes at the images of the movers taking the furniture up into your apartment building. The loveseat and chairs were supposed to be hers, when she eventually divorced Dave. She was going to take him for everything she could.

But she puts her bitterness aside, looking between your building and the next unit over. She’s eighty percent sure she has the right place. The building number was obscured in all of the photos, but the steps and entryway look right.

She taps her foot, sure enough of the building, but still doesn’t know how she’s going to gain entry now. She flits across the road, narrowly avoiding getting hit by a Door Dash cyclist and leaps up the steps, immediately she finds the building’s intercom.

She smirks at the fresh label for apartment 2B. Your initial and last name spelled out for her. She tries the door but is met with resistance as the magnetic lock holds firm. She curses under her breath until she sees the USPS van pull up down the street.

Nancy pretends to rummage in her bag, huffing and puffing as she waits for the postal worker to ascend the steps. The man pays her no mind as he buzzes the Super’s office. There’s a brief exchange through the intercom before the telltale drone of the lock being deactivated sounds.

“I just found my keys,” Nancy laughs aloud, jangling her own house keys in triumph at the disinterested postal worker. She sneers at his back as he pulls out the mail for the building, paying Nancy no attention as he goes about his business.

“Have a lovely day!”

Nancy shouts at him as he leaves, waiting for him to close the door behind him before slinking over to the mailboxes. She sees yours, apartment 2B, and sees the corner of a manila envelope sticking up in the mail slot. Nancy can’t help herself; she thrusts her hand into the slot and gently eases out the envelope.

“Texas Board of Law Examiners,” she reads aloud as she sees the inked seal printed on the top corner of the envelope, “What are you up to?”

She tears open the letter as she ascends the stairs, she snorts to herself at the bundle of documentation. It’s the approval to have your Universal Bar Examination transferred from New York to Texas. She stuffs the paperwork back into the envelope, filing it away mentally to use against you later.

She reaches your apartment door, trying the handle just in case, but it’s locked. She searches under your doormat and on the top of the doorframe for a spare key but finds nothing.

“Guess we’re doing this the hard way,” Nancy smirks to herself as she gets out a screwdriver and a hammer from her purse.

~*~

You throw down your cutlery in triumph as you finish up your meal, Peter is still pushing his salad around his plate as he mopes over his phone.

“Pete,” you groan as you hail the waiter over to get the check, “Stop being such a clingy bitch, he’s at work, not shagging his assistant.”

“You don’t know that” Peter narrows his eyes at you as he locks his phone, “I just haven’t had a connection like this before, he makes me crazy.”

“You were crazy before Alex,” you raise your eye as you kick him gently under the table, “What’s really got you strung out?”

Peter scowls at you for a moment before sighing and seemingly conceding defeat to your withering gaze.

“I’m going to propose,” he says, his voice barely more than a whisper and your eyes go wide as you try not to scream in delight. You know Peter will kill you if you make a scene in public.

“Fucking hell, Pete. How long have you even been together?”

“Like six months,” he says with a grimace, but you shake your head, your cheeks hurting from how hard you’re smiling.

“Have you picked out a ring?” You ask as you hand the waiter your card, Peter goes to protest but you shake your head, “My treat, I’ve made a lot in tips this month.”

“Thank you,” Pete’s face softens, and his eyes are glassy, “I’ve got a few options, I wanted to see if you would come ring shopping with me?”

“Of course, when?” You’re practically vibrating in your seat as you try and contain the excitement.

“Next weekend? Saturday?”

“Deal, holy shit, Pete,” you say with a sigh, “Who would have thought swinging-dick Peter would be the first of us ladies to settle down?”

“Oh, shut up, you’d be settling down if you weren’t thirsting over your stepdad.”

“Pete, come on,” you slump back in your seat, “It’s not like that, can we just celebrate you right now?”

“You said we’d talk about it properly over lunch. Here we are, so what’s there to even say?”

You suck on your teeth, trying to fight the urge to snap at him.

“Dave’s not some creep preying on his stepdaughter,” you say, knowing he’s not going to back down on it this time so you might as well get it all out in the open, “I care about him, Pete. It’s not about some kink, or the money. I like him for him, and I believe he feels the same way.”

“I’m just saying,” Pete says with his hands raised, “semantics aside, it’s still creepy. He knew where you were on your birthday, came storming up to us like a man possessed. He just gives me a vibe and I’m not into the whole stepcest thing either, hun. Even if it was juicy to watch Mike almost piss himself.”

“After almost getting fucking,” you lower your tone as you lean forward, “gang-raped a few months ago, I’m not exactly pissed that he came looking for me when I was vulnerable. He’s in some government department, Pete, he has to keep tabs on his family.”

Pete raises an eyebrow at you and cocks his head to the side.

“Exactly, his family.”

“Do you know what?” You snap, your chest tight with shame and embarrassment, “You seem to have made your mind up already. I don’t know why I bothered. This is some Nancy level judgement, Pete. I expected better from you.”

“Babe, that’s not-,” Pete starts but you cut him off. You can’t shake the truth from his words, it’s the rot at your core you’ve been ignoring for months. But it doesn’t take the sting out of it, if anything it festers deeper as you’re forced to confront it “I don’t want to hear it Pete, not now. I’ll see you around,” you snap as you storm out of the restaurant, tears running down your cheeks as you step out onto the sidewalk.

You power walk home, ignoring the incessant buzzing of your phone in your pocket. You know it’ll just be Pete, or Ash, and you just want to be alone. Somewhere in the back of your mind you think you’re overreacting, but Pete blindsiding you like that set you off. It’s the kind of shit Nancy pulls all the time, and for one of your supposed best friends to do it to you cuts deep.

You storm through the door to the foyer, not bothering to check the mailbox as you ascend the stairs two at a time. You’re about to fish your keys out of your sweatpants when you see the damage to the doorframe. The dark paint splintered, with jagged slivers of wood jutting out where the catch once was.

You feel like you’ve been doused with cold water as you step back against the wall behind you. You fumble to retrieve your phone, ignoring the multiple missed text messages and calls from Ash and Peter. You pull up Dave’s contact and hit call. It immediately diverts to voicemail, you call again. Voicemail. Your lip trembles as you try to decide what to do. You contemplate calling Ash, but you don’t want to have to deal with her guilt tripping you over Pete, not today.

“I’m calling the police,” you call into the apartment as you knock it open with the toe of your shoe. You wait for a response before dialing 911.

“Oh, honey,” your mother’s voice echoes from inside and you freeze, “It’s just me.”

“What are you doing here?” You ask, voice low as you slowly make your way into the apartment. You keep your phone in one hand, keys held tightly in the other.

“I just thought I’d stop by and see your new place, I see Dave helped you out,” she says with a huff as she nods at the love seat and armchairs.

Nancy is leaning against your kitchen counter, fingertips drumming on the surface. A bright smile plastered across her face. You note the claw hammer protruding from her purse and your stomach churns. One arm is held behind her back, like she’s trying to hide something from you.

“How’d you know I had a new place? How’d you get my address? And Dave just let me take some stuff from his storage locker, he doesn’t even know where I live,” you say with as little accusation in your voice as you can muster. You know this look, the smile that hides the rage so well. Nancy is livid and you stop yourself from asking if she’s had anything to drink.

“Oh, I just asked around, shame Dave gave you these. I was going to make sure I got them in the settlement,” she says cheerily and steps forward, closing the distance between you and you take an instinctive step back.

“And the door?” You tilt your head over to the door.

“Oh, it was like that when I got here, nasty neighborhood you’re living in,” she says without a moment’s hesitation. You might have believed her if not for the evidence sitting pretty in her purse.

“Mom,” you groan, “please leave, I’ve had an awful day and I just want to be alone right now.”

“So, what is this?” She ignores your question, producing the envelope from behind her back and your jaw tightens.

“You went through my mail?” You hiss, rage building inside you as you feel the last tethers of restraint snap.

“Oh, don’t be like that, I did it all the time when you were growing up,” Nancy waves you off, pulling out the paperwork and pretending to read over it.

“Put that down.” You snarl, your fists balling at your sides as you try not to completely lose your shit.

“No.” Nancy looks at you, all pretense of kindness and motherly instinct gone in a flash as she holds your gaze, “You need to admit you’re fucking Dave, on record, because I’m divorcing him and you’re going to help me take him for every penny he has.”

“What?” You ask, dumbfounded as you try and fathom the depth of her derangement.

“You heard me,” she snaps, toying with the corners of each sheet of paper with her manicured fingertips, “Help me take him down, and I won’t shred your application, I know how much this stuff costs. Anders paid for your New York ones after all. What did you do to get Dave to pay for these? Let him fuck your ass? I never did let him do that.”

“Fuck mom, I don’t need to know what you let Dave do to you or not. I paid for these myself,” you say, jaw clenched as you hit dial on your phone.

“I call bullshit, there’s no way you’re not fucking him. You’re wearing that god awful hoodie of his for Christ’s sake, I’m not blind. Are you just using him for his money, or are you doing all this just to slight me?”

“Slight you?” You almost laugh, “I don’t need to do anything to slight you, Nancy. You've made it clear that I do that by just existing. Get out of my apartment, now.”

“What did you just call me?” Nancy snaps and you see her bravado falter.

“Look, I won’t do it, divorce him for all I care, but don’t you dare bring me into it,” you say as you hear the call handler ask what your emergency is.

“My mother has broken into my apartment; she has a hammer and I fear for my safety.”

“Are you in immediate danger?” You hear the dispatcher ask and you suck in a deep breath.

“You wouldn’t dare?” Nancy screeches as her face morphs into a mask of desperation, “I’m sorry, forget I said anything. Here, have the forms.”

“I am, please send help.”

She tries to crowd you, practically throwing the papers into your hands but you shake your head at her. You give your name and address to the call handler before looking Nancy in the eye.

“It’s too late for sorry, Nancy,” you spit, stepping further into the apartment, “I’m not a child anymore, you can’t use me like this.”

“You ungrateful bitch,” Nancy snaps and you barely dodge the slap that comes flying at you. You stumble back, clutching your phone for dear life as you stumble towards your bedroom. You can hear Nancy calling from the kitchen, but you throw open the bathroom door, locking it behind you.

You slump down onto the floor and cry, deep, throaty sobs that wrack your whole body. All you can do now is wait, and hope Nancy doesn’t rip down this door too.

“Miss? Are you still there?” You hear the muffled voice of the dispatcher and bring the phone back to your ear.

“Yes, I’m here, I’ve locked myself in the bathroom,” you respond between ragged breaths as you close your eyes.

“Stay on the line with me, ok? I’ve got officers on the way to you now.”

~*~

“Kovak, sitrep.”

Dave’s eyes burn as he rakes over the surveillance feeds, the SUV entered a parking garage ten minutes ago. Something is off and he knows it.

“Found the car boss,” Kovak’s voice rumbles in Dave’s ear, and he can already hear the disappointment in his teammates tone.

“Abandoned?” Dave asks, already knowing the answer.

“Affirmative,” Kovak says dryly, “Next move?”

“Return to the office; we need to regroup.” Dave sighs as he lets out a heavy sigh. He’s sweaty, tired, and most of all furious that he lost the target. It’s been weeks since the last sighting and this was the best shot they had of getting him.

“See you back at the ranch, boss.” Kovak signs off and Dave takes out his earpiece before throwing it into the top drawer of his desk.

He looks at the time and groans. It feels like hours have passed, but it’s only two in the afternoon. He fishes his phone out of his pants and his heart rate skyrockets as he sees the missed calls from you. He pulls up the security feed from where Nancy was last seen, and he curses at the scene before him.

Three police cars and an ambulance are parked in front of the apartment building, a crowd has gathered around where the police cordoned the area. He feels his blood run cold. Immediately he calls you, but it goes to voicemail. He dials Ari instead.

“Boss?” Ari answers on the third ring.

“What the fuck is going on down there?” He snarls into the handset as he shrugs on his suit jacket, already shutting down his computer.

“Shitshow, boss, you get our guy?” Ari asks, and Dave almost snaps at him but just manages to keep his cool as he locks his office door behind him.

“No, what’s going on, Ari? Details, now.”

“Nancy showed up around lunch time, the girl an hour or so later. Next thing I know the police are here.”

“Was it just my fucking wife? No one else?”

“Just her, but it can’t be good, boss,” Ari says and Dave sighs, he knows Ari can’t get anywhere near the building right now.

“Alright, thanks, Ari. I’ll be there soon.”

“I’d hurry, you might miss your wife being taken out in cuffs.”

Dave smiles to himself at the mental image before hitting the stairs, he’s too anxious to wait in an elevator.

~*~

“Open the door you, fucking bitch,” Nancy wails as you feel her assaulting the door with her whole body.

You’re braced against it, your feet planted firmly on the tiled floor, as you desperately try to keep her out. Your body aches. You’ve been talking with the dispatcher for the whole time, but topics of conversation are wearing thin.

“Officers are arriving on scene any minute now, stay put.”

You don’t have time to thank the dispatcher before Nancy launches into yet another tirade.

“First you fuck my husband, now you call the cops on me. What kind of a daughter are you?”

You don’t answer, she can’t have any proof that you and Dave have slept together, but you don’t know what you could say to appease her right now. Your mind is focused on just surviving, not letting Nancy through the door. There’s nothing else you can concentrate on. “Police!” You hear the shout from beyond the door, followed by a yelp from Nancy.

“Hello, officers, what can I do-?”

“Get on the ground, hands behind your head.” The officer barks and you slump back against the door.

“The officers have arrived, they’re dealing with her now,” you say in a hushed voice to the dispatcher, your body is tense as you wait out the standoff.

“Stay put until an officer gives you the ‘all clear’, ok?”

“I will.”

You hear the static snap and chittering of a taser being deployed before the dull thud of a body hitting the floor. You can’t help but let yourself smile at the image of Nancy being tasered on the other side of the door.

You hear the officers on the other side of the door as they maneuver Nancy’s unconscious form. A soft knock at the door startles you and you haul yourself up onto your feet.

“Is she gone?” You call through the door.

“She’s being taken to the patrol car, she’s out cold. You can come out if you want?” The female officer informs you.

“Ok I’m coming out,” you say, both to the officer and into the handset.

“I’ll leave you with the officers on the scene, take care,” the dispatcher says, and you thank her before pocketing your phone.

You open the door gingerly, eyes flitting around the room to check that Nancy was really gone.

“You got someone you can call? We’ve got an EMT on their way up, so stay put. We’ll need to take your statement down at the station too.” The officer asks and you nod, you’re pulling your phone back out when a call comes in.

Dave

You answer without hesitation.

“Fuck. I’m so glad you called.”

“I’ve been calling you nonstop, kept going to voicemail,” Dave’s voice is close in your ear, and you feel the rush of serotonin flow through you. It’s like he’s already there, anchoring you.

“I was on the phone to the police,” you say with an exasperated huff.

“You ok? What’s happening?” Dave asks and you hear the distorted rumble of his Mustang in the background.

“They’re waiting on an EMT to come check me over, Nancy broke in and started making threats. They’ll want me to make a statement down at the station.” You say as your voice breaks a little, the severity of the situation finally catching up with you. You’re following the officer out of your room when you see the shredded pile of paperwork at the foot of your bed. The Texas Board of Law Examiners logo is visible, confirming that it was the paperwork Nancy claimed it to be.

Way to go mom, adding mail theft to your rap sheet.

You think to yourself as you make your way to one of the armchairs.

“What’s your address? I’m coming to help.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea. She’s already trying to bully me into helping her take you down,” you say as vaguely as possible.

“I don’t care,” Dave says with conviction, and you close your eyes. You’re too tired to argue, and the offer is too tempting. You need him, now more than ever. You give him the address as you set yourself down on one of the armchairs in the main room. An EMT appears in the doorway and makes a beeline for you once the officers let him in.

“EMT is here,” you say absently as you feel your last reserves of adrenaline ebb from your body, “I need you.”

“I’m coming, hold on.”

“I’ve got to go, thank you for helping me, Dave.”

“Don’t mention it. I’m a few minutes out, I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

The EMT checks for any obvious wounds, asks if you’re hurting anywhere. You say you’re fine, you let him check you over for concussion. He asks where you are, what your address is, standard triage as you comply numbly.

You hear a commotion from the hallway and turn towards the door. The moment you see him your resolve shatters. Your eyes are wet with tears and his face falls in despair. His soft brown eyes are wide, his mouth pursed into a thin line as he looks you over.

“Dave.”

“I’m here,” he says softly as he flashes his badge at the officer at the door.

“Sir, we need to take her to the station. Are you her boyfriend?” The male officer from before says as Dave steps over the threshold.

“I’m family,” he says, and you note the strain in his voice.

“We need to take her down to the station, sir.”

“I’ll take her, 5th precinct, yeah?”

“Yes, sir,” the officer confirms and Dave nods.

“Alright, come on, we’ll get this over and done with, together.”

The drive to the station goes by in a blur, Dave doesn’t press you to talk. You barely register the fact that he’s on the phone, talking to someone about counsel. You don’t notice you have arrived until   he guides you by the arm into the precinct.  As he hands you over to the detectives on duty, he reminds you not to speak to anyone until you’ve got legal counsel.

You’re sat at a desk in the middle of an open plan room – you vaguely remember it’s called a bullpen – as you wait for the detective to come see you. Your head feels like it’s floating, your body slumped as you try and stay focused, but everything just feels off. Your fingers don’t feel your own as you flex and bend them in front of your face.

“Miss?”

You look up to see a woman, not much older than you, hovering at your elbow. You smile absently at her and wonder why she’s bothering you. There’s a nagging at the back of your mind, you’re in a police station, something happened.

“We need to talk about what happened,” the woman says as she takes a seat next to you. You like her necklace. You fixate on the silver Tree of Life hanging around her neck as she speaks.

“Can you tell me why you called the police?”

“I don’t know, I-?”

“Not another word,” Dave’s voice booms from over your shoulder and you look up to see his face stony, “Her legal counsel is on the way, she isn’t saying anything else until they arrive.”

“She’s not under arrest, Mr-,”

“Special Agent York, CIA,” Dave cuts her off as he pulls his coat to the side, revealing his badge as he looks down at the detective.

“Agent York,” the detective glowers up at him, “respectfully, why is the CIA even involved here?”

“That,” Dave says with a click of his tongue, “is above your pay grade.”

“Dave?” You say softly as you shudder from a sudden chill, “when can I go home?”

“Soon,” he says, his face softening the moment he catches your gaze, “Here, I’ve got to go speak to the Watch Sergeant, if your counsel – Jimmy – arrives before I’m back, you can trust him, ok?”

“You are coming back through, right?” Your voice is meek and wavering. Something deep within you resents how pathetic you sound, but you don’t have any energy to truly care.

“Of course,” he says softly as he takes his jacket off, draping it over your shoulders, “I’m just upstairs. I’ll make sure someone brings you some coffee, ok?”

“Ok,” you nod as you slip your arms into the sleeves, immediately pulling the fabric around you. You smell like Dave, fresh perspiration, his spiced body wash, it grounds you. Dave leaves without another word and you watch him go.

“He’s a protective one, isn’t he?” The female detective asks, and you nod slowly. She’s pretty, with long dark hair and soft brown eyes. Her suit is tailored and her heels low. Focusing on her seems to help you come back to your senses a little.

“He’s a good man,” you respond with a nod as you bury your nose in the collar of the jacket. You don’t want to be here, you just want Dave, you want to go home.

“So, who is he to you?”

“I’m not saying anything without legal counsel present,” you say, eyes narrowing as you try and figure out her angle. The familiarity of the legal process bringing you back to yourself a little more. The sound of the bullpen is suddenly loud in your ears. You can hear telephones ringing off the hook, the smell of coffee and fried food invades your senses.

“Alright,” she puts her hands up, “I was just trying to make conversation, you don’t have to do everything the CIA agent says, you know?”

“I know,” you say firmly as you sit up straight, “I may be the victim here, but I’m not jeopardizing my case by saying anything until my counsel’s here.”

“Clever girl, you watch a lot of Law and Order?” She scoffs and if it were anyone else, you’d have probably laughed along. But the comment stings at your already bruised ego, and you’re done being talked down to.

“Actually, I was an attorney in New York up until last year, about to transfer my UBE to Texas.”

“I see,” the detective frowns before shrugging and sitting behind her desk.

“Coffee for you, miss,” a young police officer addresses you and hands you an oatmeal and raisin cookie and a to-go cup of coffee, “Agent York said you might be hungry too. This is all I could get from the vending machine.”

“That’s wonderful,” you peer at his name badge, “Thank you, Officer Jameson.”

“My pleasure,” the officer says with a grin before leaving.

You sit there, sipping on the poor excuse for coffee in your hands as you toy with the wrapper of the cookie. You know you should eat but you’re just not hungry. Your name is called from behind you, and you turn to see a sharply dressed man approach you. His maroon suit is designer, his steely hair perfectly slicked-back, his wingtips strike the bullpen floor like punctuation.

“Morello, I trust you haven’t been too chatty with my client? Coercing her to talk without counsel present is a low blow, even for you.”

“O’Hare,” Morello says, her expression hardening as she looks between you both, “you know I’d never even dream of it.”

“Sure, sure.” Jimmy rolls his eyes at the detective, “I need a room with my client, no cameras, no two-way windows. Complete privacy.”

“Captain’s out all day, could use her office, you know where it is,” The detective huffs as she turns to her computer, pretending to look busy.

“Always a pleasure, Morello. I’ll let you know when we’re ready to talk,” Jimmy says, his voice dripping with sarcasm as he turns to face you, “Follow me, I know this place a little too well.”

“You friends with Dave?” You ask as you do as instructed, you have to work to keep up with Jimmy’s long strides.

“Something like that,” he laughs at the notion, “We’ve known each other for a very long time.”

“Did you serve together?” You ask as he leads you upstairs, gaining a few wary glances from the officers on duty. You reach the captain’s office, and he pauses, knocking twice and waiting a moment before cracking the door open.

“Not exactly,” Jimmy says as he ducks his head into the room, “Come on, this shouldn’t take us long.”

“You sure we can use this room?” You ask hesitantly as you linger on the threshold.

“Oh no, we most definitely shouldn’t be using it. Felicia will kill me if she knows I used her office like this,” Jimmy laughs as he flops down on a sofa to the left of the door, “Morello could have sealed off a break room for us, but she likes to fuck with me.”

“Who are you really?” You ask as you settle on an armchair opposite him. You put down your coffee and untouched cookie on the low coffee table before clasping your hands in front of you, propping your elbows on your knees.

“I’m Jimmy O’Hare, lead partner at O’Hare, Schmidt, and Bowles,” his answer rolls off his tongue, a rehearsed response.

“And I’m to believe you,” you gesture at him up and down, “a prestigious law firm’s partner is just going to waltz in and take my measly B&E, and assault case on? There must be hundreds of these cases daily in the city of Austin alone.”

“True, but most people aren’t Dave York’s stepdaughter.”

Your stomach lurches at the reminder of your relationship and you bite your tongue to stop yourself from lashing out. You’re still too raw from your argument with Peter.

“Surprised you’re not in there with my mom if that’s the tenuous link between us,” you scoff and you notice the way Jimmy’s lips twitch at the mention of Nancy.

“I think you know why Dave sent me to help you,” he says knowingly as he points to your chest. You look down, mortified as you remember you still have Dave’s hoodie on. You try not to react but your eyes narrow at the thinly veiled accusation. You cringe internally as you realize you’re also wrapped in his suit jacket.

“Enough,” you say, your voice sounding stronger than you expected it to, “We need to get this airtight and I want to go home.”

“Suits me just fine, let’s go through the timeline of events, walk me through it.”

You sigh and rub your sweaty palms on your sweatpants before relaying the events to Jimmy as best you can. It takes less than twenty minutes before he’s finishing up his notes.

“And the documentation you mentioned, you said it was your confirmation to transfer your UBE?”

“Correct,” you confirm, eager to be done with this.

“So, it’s a Class A misdemeanor, there are fines and prison time is almost certain, especially with the other felonies and misdemeanors she collected today,” Jimmy says and you’re nodding along almost mechanically as you try and work through this last part.

“Ok, I want to file for a Protective Order, we should be able to get one on the grounds of stalking, and violence, right?”

“I was just about to suggest a PO,” Jimmy nods, taking down a few more notes on his legal pad, “She’ll probably make bail, so it’s in your best interest to get one. Between the 911 call recording and the screwdriver and claw hammer, we’ve got a solid case for one.”

“Ok, are we done here?”

“I just need you to read over and sign this statement, then we can drop it off with the detectives before getting your photos taken. I should have you out of here in less than an hour.”

“Great,” you say as you take the statement from him, you scan it quickly before signing and handing it back over.

“Sure you gave that enough due care and attention before signing?” Jimmy asks with a skeptical twitch of his brow.

“Jimmy,” you sigh, “Can I call you Jimmy?” He nods and you continue, “I’m not stupid, you’re clearly very good at this, and Dave has hired you to help me. I also used to skim read case bundles on the subway on my way to court. I know what to look for and how to make a case. If I took longer to review it, I’d be a pretty average attorney. I’m better than that, and you know it.”

 “Dave warned me about your smart mouth,” Jimmy chuckles, and he nods approvingly, “Alright, let's get this show on the road.”

 “Smart mouth? I think you meant to say competent?” you sass back at Jimmy and his face lights up, but he says nothing more.

The next hour and a half go by in a blur. You answer follow up questions from Morello, Jimmy interjecting when needed, and get your photos taken. There’s still no sign of Dave as you finish up with the evidence team. Your phone is dead and you’re about to ask Jimmy to call you a cab when you see Dave come through the double doors that lead to the bullpen.

“There you are,” Dave says, his smile radiant as he sees you, “Jimmy, thanks for this. I really appreciate you dropping everything and helping out.”

“It’s no problem, you pay well, and I owe you at least another hundred favors. It was the least I could do.”

Dave nods and pulls the older man into a tight embrace. They separate with a curt nod and Jimmy makes for the exit.

“Oh, and kid?” He calls over his shoulder, looking at you as he goes, “When you’re licensed to practice in Texas, give me a call. Dave’s got my number.”

“You bet!” You call after him before turning to look at Dave. The sight takes your breath away. His hair is messy, disarrayed from where he’s been running his fingers through it all afternoon. His sleeves are rolled up, his top few buttons undone, you can see the glisten of sweat on his brow. All you want to do is reach out and kiss him, pull him against you and fuse your lips to his.

“Let’s get you home, yeah?” He says softly and you let out a sigh of relief. You walk out together into the frigid air, and it takes every ounce of self-restraint to stop yourself from taking his hand in yours. Instead, you opt to bury your nose in the fabric of his suit jacket.

The ride home is quiet, but you don’t mind, Dave parks in your designated bay around back and you are reminded that you need to get your own car soon. He ushers you through the door while he calls your super about the broken doorframe, telling you not to worry and to go and shower.

You shower and change into a pair of loose cotton shorts and Dave’s hoodie. Your bare feet pad noiselessly as you make your way back into the main room of the apartment.

“Thank you, yes, we’ll both be here,” Dave says down the phone before hanging up. He sighs as he pinches the bridge of his nose, not yet noticing you.

“Was that about the door?” You ask, and immediately Dave’s eyes snap open. His gaze lingers and you see the way he swallows, the bob of his Adam’s apple.

“Yeah, they’re sending the maintenance guy out first thing tomorrow, told us to just wedge it shut for now.”

“That’s safe,” you say with a roll of your eyes as you settle down on the loveseat. You rest against the arm of the chair, bringing your feet up onto the cushion as you rest your chin on your knees.

“I can sleep on the couch, if that’ll make you feel better?” Dave says almost a little too quickly before clearing his throat, “Sorry that was a little forward, if you don’t want me to stay here with you, I can get you a hotel room? That way you are safe, and I can be here tomorrow for deal with the maintenance guy.”

“I want you to stay,” you say as you try not to laugh at Dave’s bashfulness.

“Only if you’re sure?” He says as he crosses the open plan room, you can see the hesitation in his face as he lingers at the other end of the loveseat, unsure if he can sit or not.

“I’m sure, sit with me, please?”

Dave lowers himself down onto the couch and you fight the urge to nudge his thigh with your feet.

“Dave?” your voice is barely more than a whisper as you look at him through your lashes.

“Yeah?” He answers as he leans back, eyes closed as he rolls his shoulders.

“Nancy said something today,” you say softly, “I don’t know if it’s my place to tell you, but she all but said she was going to file for divorce.”

Dave says nothing but he lets out a heavy exhale, his entire body shuddering as he seems to sink further into the sofa.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have brought it up,” you say as you shrink back against the armrest, you wait for the scolding remark. You brace yourself for the reprimand for bringing such a difficult topic up. Your walls come up like armor as you wait for the inevitable sting of rejection.

“Hey,” Dave’s voice is low, and you blink away unshed tears as you realize you’ve curled up, away from him on the sofa, “What’s wrong, what did I do?” He asks and you look up into his dark eyes.

“Nothing,” you mutter, the guilt and shame bubbling inside you like a festering wound, “I’m just dealing with a lot right now.”

“Talk to me,” Dave says as he turns towards you, one arm stretched out over the back of the sofa. It’s a silent invitation, welcoming you. It feels like home, “Let me help.”

You close the distance between your bodies, pressing into his side, just like the night in the basement after Tristan. You keep your hands balled, tight against your chest, not trusting yourself to hold him. He wraps his arm around you, pulling you in tight as he rests his head against your own.

“This helps,” you murmur into his chest as you take a deep inhale, “Thank you.”

Slowly your hand creeps over his chest, sliding up to his shoulder as you anchor yourself to him. It’s innocuous enough, you just want to feel him, but you know it’s not enough, you want more. You pull back and look up at Dave, his dark eyes searching yours.

His lips are parted as his eyes flit from your mouth and back up to your eyes. There’s an unmistakable energy between you now, something you’ve both repressed for a long time. You tilt your head up, your lips almost touching his as you beg him silently to close the distance.

It’s a soft, furtive, sensation as his lips meet your own. Testing, teasing, as he waits for you to respond. You hold back a whimper as you chase the contact. Your lips collide in a burst of hot, eager kisses. Each hungrier than the last as you move your hand from his chest to his jaw, pulling him to you as his tongue darts along the seam of your lips.

You let him in, his thick tongue claiming your mouth with a fervor that stirs molten desire in your core. Your fingers thread through his hair, holding him to you as you slide onto his lap. Your body moves on its own as you hear him groan beneath you, Dave’s hands move to your waist. You grind down onto his hardening cock and shudder as he bucks up into you. His teeth catch your bottom lip as you scrape your nails through his hair, dragging against his scalp.

Your hands wander down his torso now, pulling on his shirt as he groans into your mouth. Your hands fall to his belt buckle, and you feel him freeze beneath you. His hands gently grab your wrists, pulling them away before breaking the kiss.

“Stop,” he breathes as he presses his forehead against yours. He moves his hands from your wrists to your shoulders, gently putting distance between you, “We can’t do this, you’ve been through so much today, it wouldn’t be right.”

Your eyes snap open and the pain on Dave’s face breaks you, it tears you out of your trance and you virtually jump up. Stepping away from him, bile rising in your throat as you realize what you were about to do, the impossible, awful situation you just put him in.

“I’m sorry,” you say as you stand up from the couch, “I’m sorry, I’m going to bed.”

Dave calls your name, but you don’t turn back as you practically run from him. Shame and self-hatred coursing through your veins as you close the bedroom door behind you. You don’t have to lock the door, you know Dave won’t enter your space, he’s too good for that.

Too good for you.

A small voice in the back of your mind taunts.

It’s hard to ignore it, that nagging anxiety that you’re the bad actor in all this. You could have, should have, let this fantasy go months ago. That all of this is your fault. You crawl into bed, wrapping your sheets around you as you sob noiselessly into your pillow.

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[violettduchess]

A/N: It was SUCH a close poll but Clavis managed to beat out both Gilbert and Cyran to win so he is the Prince suitor for @aquagirl1978 and my Summer Days Sultry Nights CCC.

The prompt was "Sundress"

I wanted to experiment a little with form. I had written one Leonardo fic last year that was only dialogue and wanted to try it again.

modiste: a fashionable milliner or dressmaker

WC: ~500

“Clavis? Could you come here a moment, please?”

“Is my lovely wife missing me already? I haven’t even left the room yet!”

“Clavis.”

“Alright little lamb, I’m coming. Oh dear, am I allowed behind the changing screen? I may see something I shouldn’t and my, wouldn’t that be scandalous.”

“Clavis, we’re married.”

“Ah yes, and what a dream it’s been since the wedding. I have a particularly fond memory of sneaking off during the reception and–”

“Clavis!”

“I’m here, Mrs. Lelouch and…….ah…..oh dear. Oh dearie me. What have you done?”

“Please help me. When I tried it on at the modiste, she helped me with all the straps. She made it seem so easy to get into this damned dress but now…..I think I’ve made a mess of it.”

“Hmm. I am quite certain that you are exposing body parts that are exclusively for the blessed eyes of your beloved husband and no one else. Let me just tuck that back–”

“Clavis, you have to fix the whole dress. Not just squish me into some of it! Also that hurts. They’re attached, you know.”

“Are they? I should feel again just to be sure and- ouch! My little bunny turns violent. It’s quite charming how fiery you are.”

“I will swat your hands away if you try that again. I just need- oof– help untwisting these straps here. I believe some of them should go across that way.”

“My, who knew garments could be so complex. Where is the style of simplicity?"

“Says the man who wears seven belts.”

“Only on occasion. Now be a sweetheart and bend your arm like so. Just….further down, darling.”

“My arm doesn’t bend that way!”

“Wait…wait…ah, I believe this particular strap goes like this. Much better. I should consult with your modiste when constructing my next trap. She appears to be a natural.”

“She would never. She is a lady.”

“So were you and I still managed to capture your heart, charm you until you couldn’t bear to be without me, fill your nights with dreams of Lelouchian delight.”

“Oh for heaven’s sake.”

“Your tone notwithstanding, I know you are thrilled to be Mrs. Lelouch. And would Mrs. Lelouch care to duck underneath this strap, watch your head. Ah. My, my, would you look at that. It really IS a beautiful dress.”

“You did it!”

“Of course I did. I am a man of my word and also, I’m an incredibly talented– Mmmph.”

---------💋-------------------💋-------------------💋----------

---------💋-------------------💋-------------------💋----------

“You’re leaving me quite breathless, sweetheart. My eyes close and you kiss me, my eyes open and I see you in this positively marvelous dress with oh so much back exposed. I hardly know what to do with myself.”

“Husband.”

“Yes, my lovely wife.”

“You were able to wrangle me into this ordeal of a dress…..”

“Mmm hmm.”

“How about you now wrangle me out of it?”

“Oh?........Oh. OH. With the greatest of pleasure, my dear. The GREATEST of pleasure.”

Tagging: @alexxavicry @queengiuliettafirstlady @rhodolitesrose @ikemen-writer @bellerose-arcana @thewitchofbooks @aria-chikage @redheadkittys @tele86 @dear-mrs-otome @firestar-otomeobsessed @curious-skybunny @rhodoliteschaos @kpop-and-otome @writingwhimsey @mxrmaid-poet @silver-dahlia @wendolrea @otomefoxystar @nightfoxqueen @myonlyjknight @queen-dahlia @aceuuuuu @scorchieart @bubblexly

[httpsuniverse]

illicit affairs | gr63, mm19

PAIRING: george russell x fem!wolff!reader ; mason mount x fem!wolff!reader

DETAILS & WARNINGS: angst, cheating, profanities

WC: 4.2k words

A/N: here you go! 🤩 and before you finish the story and get confused—yes, there will be a part two to this. :D i haven't betaread this, i just finished it and it's already 3 am here where i live so i'll edit this soon!

TAGGED: @i83andrew

this work is purely fictional. names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. © newuniverse, 2023. do not steal, repost in other platforms, translate and/or claim this work as your own.

—

you knew he was coming.

despite saying no, you know damn well you’d end up in his (well, technically not his) car — the one he’d rent whenever he’s in town or nearby just to see you. a car meant for clandestine meetings.

from satin pyjamas, you change to a pair of sweatpants, a cami top and the very first hoodie you could grab from your closet to cover the skin you were about to show. you look at yourself in the mirror; this is the last time, i promise. you tell yourself, eyes leaving your own reflection as your phone lit up. a notification from him. a simple i’m here had you feeling your blood rush. quickly, you take your phone and a little something that he likes before leaving your bedroom.

“where are you going? it’s 6 in the morning.” your friend asks, they had spent the night over after a girls’ night out. 

“just for a run, i’ll be back in an hour or so.” you replied, slipping on your running shoes. “if you girls get hungry, there’s food in the fridge.”

and with that, you were out of the door and headed to the place george told you. while you walk to the parking building, you throw the hood of your hoodie over your head. once you were in the elevator, you took the lipstick out of the pockets of your hoodie and applied them on your lips. you smiled at the elevator mirror, but felt a twinge of guilt in your stomach. as you exit the elevator of the parking building, you look around the place. the only thing you could hear was the sound of the familiar engine. you’ve familiarised yourself with it by now as this was not the first time this happened, hell, if you were keeping count, this might be the hundredth time you’ve done this.

you walked towards the heavily tinted g-wagon parked on its usual spot, and as soon as you opened the door and sat next to the driver, you faced him.

“i said no to you,” you murmured, hiding the smile that was attempting to burst and pulled the hood off. 

“yet you’re here, meeting me and…” he paused, his attention that was once focused on his phone, now on your lips. “wearing that red lip, classic thing that i like.” he smirked, lifting his hand and running his thumb on your lips. carefully though, not wanting to ruin the beautiful shade of red you had on your lips. he shakes his head, attempting to focus on other things other than you.

once the car starts to move, you find yourself getting comfortable on the seat next to him. a familiar feeling that happens once, twice a month… a feeling you’ve been longing for yet want to forget about. you knew what you had needed to be stopped, yet the thrill of continuing this relationship with him excites you. you know that if you plan to stop, you’ll end up doing it all over again. it was like a vicious cycle that you cannot break.

the thing is, you aren’t exactly in a relationship with this mercedes driver. you’re together, but not together. both of you were in relationships. him with carmen, you with mason. the two of you agreed to settle on this kind of relationship that only the two of you would understand. because if people knew about your affair with the driver, a lot would be mad. they wouldn’t understand. they wouldn’t understand that you both loved your partners, yet the thing between you two gives you both a thrill people could never comprehend even if you explain it.

“weren’t you supposed to be in qatar, supporting your boyfriend for the world cup?”

“my flight’s later in the afternoon.” you say, your gaze glued on the street as he drove.

george scoffs, “you should be preparing now, but you’re here with me.”

the two of you fell into silence, you had zero idea where he was taking you, but you let him continue driving and not mutter a single word. you closed your eyes and rested your head against the car window. you might have slept for a while as you woke up due to the strain you feel on your neck. opening one eye, you realised that the car was parked, and george was nowhere to be found.

you open your eyes completely, seeing that george was in front of the suv. sitting on a camping chair that came with the rented car, silently scrolling through his phone. you were amazed by the view. you’ve been living in this town for a year, yet it never dawned on you that there is a place like this that exists. overlooking the view of the city, the sun will be up any minute now by the shade of the skies.

“kid’s finally awake.” he says, his eyes not leaving his phone but his hand tapped the seat next to him. “are you hungry? i bought food before i drove to your place.”

you shook your head, took the seat next to him and crossed your legs. “why did you want to meet me, george?” you ask quietly, “i thought we agreed last time would be our last time seeing each other.”

he smirked, shoving his phone back into his pocket and leaned against the chair before looking at you. “i know, yet you’re here with me, darling.” he answered, “because if you did agree that last time would be our last time, then you never would’ve left your house. you wouldn’t hop in my car and come here with me. you would’ve stayed and waited for your boyfriend to call or come home to you or to watch his match. yet you’re here with me, baby.”

that, you had no answer to. you shake your head lightly, looking at the view instead of him. you felt the cold breeze of the morning air on your skin, fucking hell was he right. as always. you turn to the driver once again, his eyes fixated on you, eyes that are filled with lust and desire.

—

you remember it so clearly. the day you had met george russell.

you knew george by his name, a little information about him that had been shared across the internet and the little story of how he walked into your father’s office at a young age with a powerpoint presentation in hand to convince the latter that he would, one day, be a successful driver under mercedes.

the day you met george started in a beautiful room, happened a few weeks before the 2022 season started.

your father, toto wolff, was not the type to arrange a whole party. but somehow, he managed to do it despite his hectic schedule—the toto wolff arranged a party for his firstborn who recently graduated from university. y/n wolff was surprised; you never knew that your father was capable of planning such a party (of course, with the supervision of your beloved stepmom, susie). the party was attended by several known people, some staff that are close to your father, family and friends.

“mase, i’m telling you. if i trip and fall—”

“don’t worry, pretty girl. i got you.” mason chuckles, holding your hand tightly as he guides you out of his car. you two stood for a few seconds until you heard the vehicle drive away and despite being blindfolded, you could see the flashes of the cameras through the thin fabric. your eyebrows furrowed, “i promise you, you’re gonna love this.”

mason, your boyfriend of two years, guided you towards the entrance. you heard a door opening, and as your boyfriend’s presence behind you as he unties the blindfold, you hear the music’s volume slowly increase. once your eyes have adjusted after having been covered since you left home, you smiled, seeing familiar faces waiting for you inside the venue.

“herzlichen glückwunsch, y/n. ich bin so stolz auf dich. congratulations, y/n. i’m so proud of you.” your father said, engulfing you into a hug as he held a glass of champagne.

“danke, vater. i never would’ve done it without you. thanks, dad.” you replied, unclasping the hug and turned towards susie and jack who were both waiting for you with open arms.

after hugging what felt like a million people who were part of your family and friends, you turn to your boyfriend who was trailing behind you as you walk along the red carpet. you gave him a smile, your hands resting on his neck as he held your waist so gently. mason’s smile alone makes your knees weak, such a beautiful smile he has.

“so this is what dress up for a very fancy restaurant looks like, hmm?” you teased your boyfriend, pulling him close to you. your lips collided with his, eyes closed as you felt his hand squeeze a part of your waist while the crowd cheered happily. “i love you so, damn, fucking much, mount.”

“i love you, too, wolff.” he replied, hand that was once on your waist, travelled on your ass to give it a squeeze.

your relationship with the footballer wasn’t a secret you two tried to hide, in fact, both of you loved showing affection towards each other in public. you didn’t care that every time mason posts you on his public account, at least one or three obsessed fans would try to spread hate or rumours about you. you and mason didn’t care—because at the end of the day, you knew each other better than other people and you had each other without doubt. toto supported that; he supported your relationship with the athlete (though at first he was shocked to learn that his firstborn posts half-naked pictures with her boyfriend on the internet). toto was glad that you have mason by your side, he knew the footballer wouldn’t try to hurt his first born in any way and he loved the fact that you were the happiest with him always in all ways. after all, father knows best, right?

you and mason mingled all night until your father excused you from him for a little while to meet some of his friends and important people in the field of motorsports. and so, it happened.

“y/n, you remember george?” your father asked after you hugged lewis and thanked him. you faced toto and george, smiling at the tall british that stood in front of you. “he’s driving with us starting this season. george, this is my daughter, y/n.”

it was born from just one single glance - the moment george saw you walk down that red carpet, his eyes never left you. even during the moment where you kissed mason in the middle of the room.

“it’s a real pleasure to meet you, y/n wolff.” he said, extending his hand towards you. you held his hand, shaking it lightly as you started into his eyes. you didn’t know it yet, but those same eyes would be the reason why your life would change in a few months' time. and it was only when you felt a hand creep on your waist that you let go of his hand.

“george, this is y/n boyfriend, mason. you may have know him, he’s—”

“a player for england and chelsea, yes, toto… i know.” george chuckles, offering his hand to mason which your boyfriend also shook.

mason made a conversation with george and your father for a little while, and you join them every now and then. you couldn’t help but notice the little glances that george would throw at you especially when mason caressed his hand on your waist.

maybe it was nothing or maybe he was glancing at someone towards your direction. maybe time even stopped when your eyes met each other, and he smiled. the type of smile you didn’t know the meaning behind.

“y/n, y/n!” you heard jack call, finally cutting the eye contact tension between you and george. “look at this! isn’t it cool?”

jack was showing you a toy that mason apparently bought him when toto invited him at home to plan your surprise party. mason loved your little brother, besides winning your, your father and stepmom’s heart, mason also won the heart of jack. after listening to your brother explain how the toy worked, you stood up and looked around. george was out of your sight, but he was somewhere in the room, staring at the clueless you.

weird, you thought and immediately brushed it off as people approached you once again to congratulate you.

—

not all relationships are perfect. you and mason were deeply in love with each other that in the timeline of your relationship, fights rarely occurred. as you would joke then, you were busy with university and he was busy with football. both of you are so busy that you need to schedule your fights. but it happened one night.

you couldn’t even remember what the fight was about, but it escalated quickly. one thing leading to another. all the frustrations you had, all the pent-up anger from the inside — all of that are released as you yell your lungs out of each other. that’s how you ended up in a club. the only place you thought of going to after you stormed off from your shared house. as always, clubs were filled with people. it was a real challenge to walk from the entrance to the bar and order yourself a drink. after what felt like eternity, you take the drink from the bartender and joined the ocean of people on the dancefloor.

one drink led to uncountable shots and the next thing you knew; you were out of the club and headed somewhere nearby. hand in hand with a stranger, you entered the room and your lips crashed with his. tongues fighting for dominance and hands busy undoing each other’s clothes. “do you still want to continue?” he asks.

“you’ve already undressed me, so what the hell are you waiting for?”

and so, that’s how your night ended. in a house somewhere, with clothes scattered on the floor and a stranger next to you.

i’m fucked. you thought, as your eyes flutter open, irritated by the sun hitting your face so early in the morning. you blink once, twice, thrice. you jolt up once you realise that you weren’t in the comfort of your own four walls. instead, you were in a foreign place, naked in bed. please let it be mason, please… you thought, slowly turning your head to check the person next to you. i am indeed fucked.

george fucking russell was lying in bed, next to you, naked. panicking, you got off the bed, trying to pull the blanket with you to cover yourself as you planned to gather your clothes but failed as you woke the driver due to the tugging. he opened one eye, and you froze on the spot.

“hi,” was all you could say, taking your clothes and rushed to the bathroom.

i cheated… fucking hell, i cheated. i was drunk and i cheated. your mind kept repeating and repeating that same sentence as you stood in the bathroom. as much guilt consumed you like a raging monster, you managed to dress yourself and splashed water on your face to wake you up. mason, you thought. looking for your phone, only to realise that it wasn’t in your pockets and so are your keys. 

after minutes that felt like eternity, you mustered the courage to get out of the bathroom. george was dressed up and was waiting for you on the bed, on his phone as if nothing had happened between the two of you last night.

“i—uh, i have to go.” you say when you saw your phone and car keys. you bit your lip and faced george. “please don’t say anything to dad… and uh mason. whatever happened between us was a mistake and,” you take a deep breath, “we were drunk, i was drunk. i—”

“what happens between us, stays between us.” says george.

the drive to your shared place that usually only takes 20 minutes, turned to an hour and a half. you’ve been driving around, trying to grasp what had happened. trying to figure out whether to tell mason or not. tears were blurring your vision by the time you parked on your usual spot, you knew that once you got out of the car and come home, mason would be on the couch. waiting for you as he tells you that he attempted to cook your favourite dish that your mom used to cook for you every time you were upset. it was the routine that you and mason did whenever fights occurred. 

dragging your feet to the front door, you open the door and find mason, not on the couch but standing on the way. he was waiting for you with open arms, ready to take you in. he expected that you’d run to him, but you fell to your knees and sobbed uncontrollably. 

“shh, pretty girl…” his nickname made your heart drop to your stomach, not the kind that made you smile, but the kind that made you feel guilty. mason lowered himself and pulled you to his chest, gently rubbing your back as you stained his shirt with your tears. “i’m sorry we fought last night. i’m sorry for raising my voice at you, everything that i’ve said was wrong and i never meant them. i’m sorry, baby.”

“m-mase…” you sob, “i’m sorry.”

“it’s okay, pretty girl.” he runs his fingers through your hair, “it’s okay, please don’t cry anymore. i hate seeing you cry, love.”

“it’s not okay,” you sniff, “it’s not okay, it’ll never be okay.”

mason sighs, planting a kiss on top of your head and let you cry in his arms. the two of you stayed on the foyer until you cried out. when you stopped, your boyfriend suggested that you take a bath to calm yourself. no amount of soap and shampoo and no number of showers and baths can wash away the guilt off your body. it doesn’t change the fact that you’ve cheated on mason, not with a random man, but with a man that’s close to your father.

“all good, pretty girl?” mason peeked his head on the bathroom door, waking you from reverie. you nod your head lightly and watch him walk towards you and sit on the edge of the tub. you look at him, studying his features and mason was all confused, but was smiling at you. “is there something on my face?”

“no… just, admiring you.” lies. you were figuring out a way to confess to him.

he chuckles, “well, admiring me has a price. and it just cost you a bunch of kisses.”

mason leans down, fingers under your chin as his face gets closer to yours. when your lips touch, the memories of last night run back like a flash. it was wrong to kiss your boyfriend with the lips that kissed a different man, and the feeling of guilt came back again.

—

“why not come with me for this year’s season?” toto asked you. you stopped chewing your food and gulped, “it’s been years since you’ve last visited the garage, you told me you wanted a year break before you start working. why not come with me? think of it as travelling.”

“it’s not travelling if she’s going to spend it with you in the garage, honey.” susie laughed, “but what do you think, y/n?”

“i—” you think for a few seconds, “i’ll think about it.”

“oh, what’s there to think about?”

“i at least should discuss it with mason, dad. i mean i do want to show up at his matches, wouldn’t want to miss those.” i just want to avoid george so bad.

your dad chuckles, “i already talked to mason, he said it’ll be fine if you miss a few!”

“but—”

the 2022 season started. you’ve tried so hard to avoid george at all times.

but it was hard now that you’re travelling with your father and attending race weekends with him after years of being absent in the paddock and the garage. toto was glad to have you back with him, it wasn’t easy to convince you but he managed to do so. 

and as much as you wanted to avoid george, he was like a drug that you can never get rid of. the stolen glances in the garage while you stood next to your father, the stolen kisses every time you’ve crossed each other’s paths in secluded places, the full blown make out session that sometimes leads to sex whenever he’s travelling alone. during the summer break, he visited your place not once, but several times. it got to the point where you slept on the same bed mason was sleeping during the nights you spend together. your clandestine meetings continued whenever mason stayed over at your place.

“wouldn’t want them to find out about us, wouldn’t we, hmm?” george says, pinning you against the wall before crashing his lips to yours.

george russell was a drug, and you were an addict. a godforsaken mess.

the confrontation between you and mason happened right after their 2-1 defeat with france in the world cup. all he wanted right after was to rest, but as soon as he held his phone in his hand, a notification from an old friend popped up followed by a message that said: “this might not be the right time after your match, but i think you have to see this”. curiously (and intuitively), even though he wanted to ignore it, he clicked the link that led him to a post on instagram. an account named dramaformula with your name on the caption tied with george’s. 

it seemed like it was a picture from months ago. mason knew that you’ve crossed paths with george when you went to a girls’ trip in mallorca over the summer break. he read and reread the caption multiple times, staring at the picture and trying to see if it were really you. you see, mason knew you like the back of his hand. he knew every curve, every side, every spot of your body after years of dating. just by looking at the photos, he knew that it was indeed you.

you were pacing back and forth inside the hotel you two shared after receiving a message from mason that you’ve read in his angry voice that said “we need to talk” with no message followed. you’ve been nervously biting your nails as you wait impatiently and your heart skipped a beat or two when the door finally opened and revealed mason who dropped his bag by the door and stared at you deadpan. 

“mase—”

“was it true?”

you knew what he was talking about. your friend also sent the post to you, and you’ve seen it even before he did. “do you trust me—”

“was it true, yes or no?”

you gulped, unable to find the words to answer him. mason repeated his question, this time in a much louder voice and a harsher tone. you’ve never seen him this mad before, nor has he used a harsh tone on you. “answer me.” 

“n-no…” you lied, biting your lip as you tried to stop yourself from crying. “mason, i could never do that to you… i would never cheat on you.”

“are you telling me the truth?”

i’m not. “i am.” you lie again, “it is true that george and i were seen together, but—we didn’t do anything. we talked, and that’s it. i’ve never and i would never touch any other man other than you.” you walked until you were in front of mason, eyes staring at each other as you touched his face, “it’s only you, baby. so, please trust me.”

mason hugged you tighter than ever that night, refusing to let you go as you two cuddled in bed. he let the situation die down for a few days and confidently posted you again on his instagram, followed by george’s post with his girlfriend that made your names on twitter trend for at least two days. you had sleepless days, watching mason sleep as you found yourself guilty of lying to him again. 

tonight, was no different from the previous nights.

“where are you going?” asked mason, one eye open as he watched you pull the same hoodie you use every time you meet up with george.

you walk towards his side of the bed, sitting on its edge and ran your fingers through his hair gently. “i’ll just go to the store really quick, have to buy feminine stuff—it’s that time of the month.” you lied, “just rest here. i know you’ve had a long day; i’ll be quick.”

“i can come with you to the store—”

“no, mase. i promise, i’ll be quick, and i’ll be fine alone. you need to rest.”

“you sure?” he asked, and you nodded in response. “okay, take care. i love you.”

you bit your lip, a bit hesitant to speak. “i… i love you too, mase. so much.” you place a kiss on his lips, watching him get comfortable under the blankets. “bye for now, masey.”

and that night was the last night mason last saw you.

and when morning comes, mason would find the breakup letter you’ve written.

dramaformula

liked by user1, user2, user3 and others

dramaformula it’s been almost a month and a half since y/n posted anything on her instagram page. and today, with almost 900k followers, y/n wolff deleted all her posts, removes her bio and unfollows all 354 following—including boyfriend and football athlete, mason mount. what’s happening? what’s the tea? does this have something to do with the previous rumour that she and george were touchy during the trip in mallorca? what happened between y/n and mason? george and y/n? george and carmen? 👀

view all 2,726 comments

user1 if they (y/n and mason) broke up, maybe people like you who keep on spreading rumours are one of the reasons why

user2 agreed 💀

user3 and if they really did break up, it’s none of our business tbh and they don’t owe us anything—not even an update about their relationship lol

user4 girl, ain’t you a f1 fanpage? whg are you posting this lol

user5 according to op, y/n is ‘technically’ part of f1 bc she’s toto’s daughter and was once linked with george during the summer trip in mallorca

user6 this is embarrassing 🫠 just delete the post

user7 no cuz it really is suspicious... mason hasn’t uploaded anything as well and they usually spend the holidays together but this year, no posts about it 🫤

carmenmmundt

liked by f1, mercedesamgf1, georgerussell63, lilymhe and others

carmenmmundt they say all’s well that ends well to end up with you ❤️

view all 2,865 comments

lilymhe omg!! i’m so happy for you two!! x

f1 congratulations, georgerussell63 and carmenmmundt! 💍

mercedesamgf1 well this is BIG NEWS! the beginning of happily ever after 🔔👰

masonmount

liked by fan1, fan2, fan3 and others

masonmount i miss you so much, pretty girl. i hope youre doing well wherever you are right now.

view all 1,862 comments

fan1 what the fuck

fan2 MASON R U DRUNK

fan3 SO DID THEY RLY BREAK UP

fan4 WHERES Y/N THEN OMG

[THIS POST HAS BEEN DELETED]

[thetrashbinseries]

— Fahrenheit ( bangchan x reader )

rated - mature | minors dni

parts - one, two (explicit)

warnings - idol universe, name changed idols, mature themes, drug use, alcohol use, sexual themes, mentions of mental illness, slight angst

x x x

“It’s not rocket science, Chris."

My annoyance hits the roof. What the hell is his problem? Why's he turning this into a damn soap opera?

"You're back in LA. New York—yes or no?"

Chris tiptoes the line ever since last year's scandal close shave. I get playing it safe, but I'm alone in a six-bedroom Jersey fortress. In the U.S. media game, I'm golden. No cancel threats, not yet in my rising career.

But the spotlight got hotter after the last single went viral. Chris, in the crosshairs of relentless management, dances a careful routine.

He's the big shot, leader of the world's hottest K-pop group. His company would shoot themselves in the foot by axing him. Yet, Mr. Libra doesn't dig rocking the boat.

"-I want to, babe, but it's too risky right now."

I sigh. Twisting my computer chair, neon lights bathe me in purples and reds. I'm in the studio, bullshitting on songs for the third album.

I've had it. "Catch you later, Chris." The call drops, facedown on the desk, anger swirling.

"Seriously, fuck you." I spit out, taking it personally.

Being a foreigner feels like the snag. His industry would call me a disgrace tagging along.

I don't need that energy.

Am I settling as his 'little secret'? I'm 29, he's 27 – grown folks. Pings remind me of him, but I silence the noise. Facetime interrupts, Jake, the friend with benefits. Games or busy, no time for emotional plays.

Warner signed my band, deep in commitments, mind racing. A shrink's gift? Adderall for my ADHD.

Now, even less time for the BS.

"Hey, daddy." I purr, thickening my accent.

Jake’s smile fades as he eyes me. "What?" I giggle,

"Stop playing with me like that, y/n."

"How am I playing with you?"

"You're gonna end up with your legs cocked back like last time, girl, cool it."

Laughter ensues. I glimpse his background – a parking garage stairwell. We catch up every couple of weeks via Facetime.

"Where are you at?" I squint.

"Recognize it?" Jake turns his phone, revealing the New York City skyline.

"You're out here? Aw, shit." I lean back in my chair, a half-cocked grin, tongue behind my lower lip.

"Aw, shit is right! What's up? What are you up to tonight?"

I chuckle, rolling my eyes. "Nah, uh, Jake. We gotta play nice. I got a good thing going on right now."

He sighs, exasperation audible. "You two still a thing? Thought you were photographed over there, outside the JYPE building?"

"I was."

"They ain't letting that fly, you serious, y/n?"

"I mean, they're being hard on him, but we're still trying to make it work." I express more hope than Chris does. Jake’s viewpoint is valid – he's been through the K-pop circuit, burned out, went solo, and found massive international success.

Which is why he bitches about it.

It's unfair.

"I do wanna see you, though," I admit, the need for an adventure kicking in.

"That's my girl. Hey, I'm about to hop in the car. Should be able to make it over in twenty. You at your spot in Jersey?"

"Yes, I am, Jake, but don't come in on no bullshit."

"I'm always on bullshit. See you in twenty."

Jake hangs up before I can fight back.

Why is my grin so wide? I roll my eyes at my own excitement, surprised at how genuinely thrilled I am to be around someone who wants to be with me. Scanning Chris's messages puts me in a better mood.

babydaddy: there’s no way you just hung up like that -_-

babydaddy: this is my life…my career…

babydaddy: why can't you be more patient?? this is hard for me too…

babydaddy: we need to talk tomorrow…

babydaddy: about us, and where this is going.

The last message triggers something in me. My stomach twists like it always does before bad news. It doesn't change, whether in poverty in my hometown or a small Jersey mansion. The same sunken gut reaction. We've been going back and forth, but this sounds... final. At some point, he'll grow sick of it. I know I have.

Yet, there's so much I love about Chris. Selfishly, I don't want him with anyone else. He's the man of my dreams, flawed as he is, he’s human. My human. I panic, feeling like my boat has sprung a leak, desperate to plug it somehow.

Knowing myself, I turn my phone upside down, placing it on my desk and stand up, distancing myself from the setting. Something else would trap me; all I want is not to reply to him with charged emotion. It wouldn't help anything.

Jake’s on his way over.

I take a deep breath, letting my anxiety settle. I'll talk to him; he always has good insight and wisdom beyond his years. I look at myself in the mirror. I'm in comfy mode, barefoot, walking across hardwood floors.

Entering the dimly lit kitchen, I brew hot chocolate, curling my toes against the balls of my feet, cracking knuckles as I chew my lower lip, mind drifting to Chris. Resistance is weaker now; the reasons to text back sound more convincing. I shake my head, trying to clear my mind, grab my cup, and sip as I walk past my bearded dragon's tank. It's late; he's asleep, tucked into his pink bed. I stare at each plant, trying to keep my thoughts in check.

My outdoor motion detection buzzes the smartwatch on my wrist, signaling someone's arrival. I glimpse headlights through my foyer. My grin widens; I bite my lip, urging myself to behave.

"Alexa, shuffle my evening playlist on Spotify, downstairs."

The nearest speaker obeys, filling the space with music. My dog scurries around my feet as the doorbell rings, and my bigger dog's deep barks echo throughout the house.

“Hey, cool it!" I shout at them, stepping over the little one weaving through my legs, nipping my ankles for some ungodly reason. I open the door, visibly exasperated, while my larger dog bellows from the top of the stairs.

Jake points to her behind me, furrowing his brows dramatically. "I thought we were friends!"

My dog hurls another final, loud bark before slowly making her way down the stairs. I let Jake in, lock the door, and he takes off his shoes, grabbing a disposable guest pair from the basket by the front door. I turn, starting down the hall, and Jake’s full body weight slams into me from behind, arms wrapping around my body, causing me to stumble. Seemingly unpredictably, he stops us from falling while laughing. I catch my footing, give him a firm shove, swipe stray hair behind my ear, and correct the other side, giving him a side-eye.

"Now, you know damn well I'm too clumsy for some stupid shit like that," I scoff, turning into the living room. I walk over to the glass coffee table near the sofa, grab the nearby gold electric candle lighter, tip it into the wide, three-wick candle, and light each of their blackened tips. The scents of apple-cinnamon, cedar, sandalwood, and vanilla fill the room, complemented by the warm orange glow of well-placed LED lights. I sit on the edge of the sofa, and Jake takes his favorite spot on the oversized black beanbag chair nearby. He pulls his hood off, followed by his knitted beanie, ruffling his dark brown hair.

I've got to say, Jake is a handsome guy, no doubt about it.

But I've got problems, and I've caught heavy feelings for one of my biggest headaches lately—Christopher Bang.

We're in this so deep, at least on my end.

I start to think a little harder, trying to see beyond the rose colored glasses for a moment. His text plays through my head as I scroll on my phone, my excuse being searching for another song to skip to on Spotify. But, of course, I get back to the messages Chris sent earlier.

"About us, and where this is going…"

We'd never had an official conversation about being exclusive. We met by chance, fell for each other, and started sneaking around together. I consider Chris my boyfriend, and I’m saved in his phone under ‘baby.' That's got to mean something, right?

The horror begins to set in—has this been a situationship this whole time? Is that why he never went public?

Anxiety creeps in.

"Yo," Jake snaps his fingers, waving his fingers. Damn, I must've been really distracted, crinkled brows as I stare into my phone, thumb tapping against the glass but not doing anything. I look up at him, raising my brows as if I had just briefly missed something he recently said.

"Hm?" I ask.

He's sitting up more, his left hand stroking one of my cats. "Talk to me, girl," he gestures to the marble ashtray with half of a joint, "And pass it."

I lean forward, grabbing the pink joint and placing it between my lips. I use the lighter nearby, sparking it, blowing a few times, the smoke thick and pungent, rising into the air. I tap it into the ashtray and lean over, passing it his way. Jake takes it graciously, placing it between the center of his pink lips and taking a big inhale. He holds it in, nodding, looking down at it as he blows the smoke out the side of his mouth.

"Chris and I got into it again. He told me they were coming to LA for a show over at KCON, and he was like 'maybe I can fly over to see you,' trying to fit it in, delaying his trip to Korea by like three days, which didn’t seem like a big deal. But then after everything ended, he was just hyper-aware of the attention on them and changed his mind," I begin to explain. Jake has taken a few hits during my story; he's leaning forward, passing me the joint again. I take it, hitting it.

"Did he say why?" he asks. Jake’s voice is low, even-toned. He’s invested in my story and the way I’m feeling, I can tell by the way his laser focus is on me as I speak. His eye contact is intense, fiery, the Aries in him.

"No, he didn’t, and that’s what frustrated me, so we got on a call tonight. He like—called me and was dancing around it, and I was like 'look, it’s not hard, are you coming to New York or not.' I was just... over it," I reply, pausing to take another hit before passing it to Jake once more. "He was all 'I want to, baby, but it's too risky.'” I mock his Aussie accent, and Jake can’t help the cough of smoke that comes out from trying to repress a laugh. He turns his head, full-on coughing a couple of times before he catches his breath again.

"Do you need water?" I ask, successfully holding back my own laugh. I don’t wait for his reply, instead, standing up and taking a few steps over to the mini-fridge and grabbing a bottle of spring water, handing it to him.

Plopping back down on the couch, I sigh. "So I didn’t even let him get the rest of it out. I was like 'ok, I’ll talk to you later' and like, hung up."

Jake places the burnt-out joint tip into the tray, effectively ending our puff-puff-pass session, making us both more relaxed and a little spacey. "Oof, y/n, this is... such a unique situation that very few people go through, and even fewer non-K-idols. I mean, I don’t agree with any of it, right? But it’s not me, and Chan, he’s in like–the peak of their career as a boy group, dude." Jake shakes his head, sitting back, my cat jumping from his lap, considering him having moved too much for his comfort.

"I don’t—care," I blurt.

Jake’s head drops back with a sigh before he picks it up again. "That’s probably part of the problem. Chan’s risking his career; Korea is no joke when it comes to this shit. I promise you, unless you’re physically in the industry as an idol over there, you have no idea. It’s so obsessive, and these companies, the management, they will not let you breathe, and the bigger you are—the tighter they hold onto you because there’s so much more to lose at that point."

He only leaves a half second of pause before he says, "I don’t think you’re compatible with—nor do you deserve, that kind of relationship with anyone."

Ouch.

It hurts that much more because—he’s right

"Now that doesn’t make Chan a bad person, or you a weak person. He’s got a right to this life he’s worked super hard to get to, and you’ve got a right to someone to love you the way you want to be loved, especially while you’re in the beginning stage of becoming great yourself. It’s a huge distraction—maybe not a relationship, but like, that kind of relationship."

I can do nothing but sigh, throwing my hands up and sitting back onto the couch, feeling, well, defeated. Can you blame me? It fucking sucks, the reality of it all that I was trying to avoid.

"Fuck," I finally say aloud.

Jake’s looking at me; I know he feels bad for breaking it down so plain, but he does it because he cares about me and wants the best for me, and I know that. “You still do what you want; it’s your life. Whatever you two decide is what you two decide, but that’s just—my limited experience.”

I scoff with a roll of my eyes, “Limited experience. Yeah ok.”

He laughs.

We both understand the subtext of the brief exchange.

“He says we need to talk tomorrow, about us and ‘where this is going’,” I say with air quotes.

“I mean, hey, it’s an opportunity to get your concerns out there, listen to his, and decide what’s best for you. He’ll decide what’s best for him. If that’s being together, great, if not, great. Either way, you’ll be ok. That’s how I like to see these kinds of things.” Jake says, his words profound and his perspective valuable to me. He leans forward, “We’ve known each other like what? Almost a year now?” I nod to confirm, and he continues, “In that short period of time, I can just—tell that you’re a strong person; you wouldn’t have gotten this far if you weren’t. If you ever need someone to talk to, my line is always open.”

I let another long breath go before laying across the sofa on my stomach, bringing myself closer to Jake as I lazily hug a pillow, resting my chin atop it. His advice is logged in my thoughts. I really don’t want to talk about it anymore—the way he phrased it did something to lower my anxiety so I was going to let sleeping dogs lie. “What about you, huh? What’s got you on the East Coast? You’re never over here, rarely in America anymore for real.”

“Yeah, I’ve been—busy, but it’s a blessing, you know? I’m so grateful that so many people support me, as a solo artist, doing my own thing, my way.” Jake never fails to acknowledge those around him that have supported him, and keeps himself grounded and humble somehow through being an international celebrity. “But I was at the Versace show over in Soho. I’ve got a couple of other shows to see for New York Fashion Week, but I touched down and had to come see you.”

I lift a brow. “I’m not gonna fuck you, Jake.”

Without hesitation, he fires back, “I’m not asking you to, y/n.”

It’s enough to drag a snort from me.

He laughs, “The hotels get lonely, and most places I go, I don’t know anyone. I like it here; you’ve done a lot since the last time I was here.” Jake looks around at the decor. He points to a painting of a cat skeleton on a black canvas. “That’s new, I like it.” He says.

“Yeah? I do too; it’s simple but it matches the vibe of the space, I found it by accident one day.”

When Jake says the hotels are lonely, I believe him. He often confides in me about how lonely his lifestyle can be and how it can drive him so crazy that he’ll call everyone through his phone until someone answers, and when that person hangs up, he’ll keep going. More often than not, he doesn’t have anyone to call, despite my insisting that I was an option. Some nights, when it gets really bad, he’ll have a tendency towards drinking, which is something I don’t like, and we’ve talked about ad nauseam. Of course, he’s always welcome in my safe spaces.

“So what’s new with the band? When you texted me the other day, you had like, tons of shit going on that you were freaking out about.” Jake cracks open the bottle of water, taking a gulp.

“I’m flying out to LA next week for a couple of events, but we’re like focused on album three right now; I’ve been locked in the studio just writing.”

“Ok, ok, you got anything for me to hear yet?” He seems to perk up to ask this question.

“Eh, nothing I’m ready to show or anything, just fragments of songs right now. The label is really pushing the work we did with album two to build the hype up for album three, and that’s the one they funded.” I kick my feet slowly in the air behind me as I talk.

“We should do a song together.” Jake says, quite suddenly. He can tell I’m taken aback. I mean, creatively, Jake and I get along great, but we had never discussed merging on a record before. “An official song, I think it could sound incredible.”

I immediately want to agree, of course, but I have a couple of hurdles I know I need to jump now that I’ve gotten to this point in my career. I hated that. I used to be able to agree to a collaboration immediately. But Jake had even more hoops to jump through; he couldn’t commit to something official now either.

So why was he proposing it?

“I gotta ask the label—”

“Fuck the label, dude.” Jake waves his hand, “They don’t have to know anything, not yet. We’ll just work together and see what happens. Whaddya say?”

It takes no thought for me to reply,

“Let’s do it.”

—

Jake wore me down enough to bring him down into the studio, insisting he didn't have anything important to do until tomorrow evening. I don't want to encourage his drinking, but when he spots the whiskey decanter, he gestures to it as I sit down in the main chair in front of the soundboard.

"What’s in there? Hennessy?" He answers his own question as I spin around in the chair to see what he’s talking about. He’s already over at the mini bar, opening it up and whiffing.

"Yeah, but I rarely drink it. I got it for guests." I turn towards my soundboard again, powering it up and waiting for the two large screens to load. I add another thought to the end of my sentence, albeit, to myself. Not like I have guests anyway.

Jake comes over with a glass, the brown liquor sloshing around as he tilts it in my direction. I roll my eyes, taking it, and he’s already got his glass, which he holds out for a toast.

"To the music," Jake says.

"The music." I oblige, clinking his glass and taking my gulp down a lot less gracefully than he does his, before he pours up another for himself. "Don’t overdo it; you’re gonna have a nasty hangover, and I won’t be the one to blame for it." I press a few buttons, and the house lights lower, back to the blue and purple hue I was sitting in earlier.

"I am a grown man that knows my limits." Jake states, matter-of-factly. He sits in the rolling chair at the table alongside me, pulling himself up to the soundboard and sitting back in his chair, sipping his drink as his eyes dance across the screens while I click around, pulling up my digital audio workstation of choice.

I point to the keyboard nearest to him, "Press a key for me?" He does, confirming it's connected and functional, the note ringing out through the monitors.

"Aw yeah." Jake sits up, setting his glass down on the designated cupholder space on the edge of the mixing table as he places both hands on the keys, beginning to fiddle with the limited random keys and chords he had learned how to play while being forced to learn as a trainee. "Damn, it’s been so long." He says, a half smile on his face. I can tell he’s reminiscing, I just can’t tell if it’s good or bad. "You’re so lucky to have control over your music, you know that?" He says, looking over at me before focusing back on the instrument again, slender fingers of his right hand climbing up the keys.

"I don’t really have total control, not anymore. Not sure I ever did." I say with a sigh. "It’s always been like—an Eli and me thing, not just a ‘me’ thing. I just get a little more attention because I’m the one out front, singing." I continue to explain. Jake’s stopped playing, instead choosing to lean in his chair and eye me over the top of his glass as he sips, listening to me with an empathetic nod. "Now with a major label involved, there are so many other factors now."

"You get the final say though, right?"

"Well, yeah, I guess I do." I say with uncertainty, not because it isn’t true, but because it still feels like the decisions I make have to be based on what everyone else thinks is best for us. If I vehemently object, I’m persuaded down to the decisions of others. Sometimes, it feels like I’m being gaslit. But I don’t have much time to ruminate on that, since everything is moving forward at top speed.

"Guess it’s complicated?" Jake concedes.

I nod.

"Girl, you got it," Jake croons in his gruff voice, eyes closed, fingers snapping to start a rhythm. "And I know it, baby, why don’t you?”

I nod, sliding him away from the keys as I hit some chords to match his singing. Unsure if it's a freestyle or something pre-written, I catch the composition unfolding. Music flows through me effortlessly—my natural talent that's brought me this far. It didn't happen overnight, but creating is the part of music that feels like pure joy, a distraction from all the BS.

Soon, we're vibing out a hook, laughing for hours, blending funk with '90s groove, a nostalgic fusion. My phone rings, freezing me in place. The weight of unresolved problems crashes over me. Jake senses it; I bolt before he protests. His eyes speak understanding; he knows when to let me deal with my demons. I answer the phone, attempting to steady my voice.

“Hello?”

“You answered.”

It’s Chris.

His voice is tired, ironic, as if he couldn’t believe it himself but didn’t care.

It irritates me. Why call back so soon if compromise isn't on the table?

“I just called to say, that I’ll be there in about four hours.”

A lump forms in my throat; I glance around for a clock. Holed up in the studio with Jake, time escaped me.

“But you said—“

‘First class, you are now welcome to pre-board flight 917 to Newark, First class, you are now welcome to pre-board flight 917 to Newark.’

“I gotta go, but I’ll see you in a few, yeah?”

“Y-yeah.”

The phone beeps, leaving me in stunned silence. The studio's muted song hums in the background. I'm not ready to face it yet, still figuring out what this sudden visit means.

“Said I wouldn’t do this.” I mutter, pressing my fists against my forehead, heaving a frustrated sigh. I vowed not to let another man stir my emotions, yet here I am—almost having a meltdown. But my feelings are valid. No explanation after a heated argument, and suddenly he's on his way here?

Maybe he got another perspective from the members or his friends. Maybe he thought about it. Either way, he'll be here in four hours. We can hash it out then.

I muster the calm to return to the studio. Jake sits back, his chair turning towards me. “Well?”

I plop onto the nearby sofa. “He’s boarding a flight here now, said he’ll be here in four hours.”

Jake’s brows lift in surprise. “See? I told you…this was going to push you two in some direction it needed to go. Four hours? My man, okay BangChan!” Jake laughs, toasting with his glass. “So I added some drums, check it out.” He plays the track; the groove multiplies.

“You added that part too?” I notice another musical flair, and he nods proudly. After a few seconds, he turns it off, a slow fade of the volume knob.

“I think that’s enough for me to work with for now, what do you think?”

"The skeleton is definitely there, but what about more instruments?" I question. Jake pushes his chair back, picks up his hoodie, slipping it on as he stands up.

“It’s enough to write to; we can come back to it; if Chan’s on his way here, the last thing he needs is to see another guy here late night.” He slips on his shades, his phone reflected in them as he orders an Uber Black. I didn't think he cared like this, feeling closer to him; he did what he felt was best. I was freaking out about how to get him out in time, and Jake took the initiative.

A relieved sigh escapes me. “I owe you.”

“Absolutely nothing. You don’t owe me anything, sweetheart. I had a good time here tonight.” He tucks his phone in his jacket pocket. “Twelve minutes.”

I nod. “Follow me upstairs, I made some cookies yesterday; you can take some with you.”

“Ooh what kind?”

“Chocolate chip.”

“A classic.”

[iamamythologicalcreature]

An Ask Game for Writers to Procrastinate Working on Your WIP(s)

(Not like I need the assistance, but I'm so thrilled to be thought of as a writer that I'm totally doing this.)

Thank you so much for the invites @aristocratic-otter, @bookish-bogwitch, @shrekgogurt, @ic3-que3n, @ivelovedhimthroughworse, @drowninginships, @best--dress, @you-remind-me-of-the-babe, @monbons, @thewholelemon, @whatevertheweather, and @youarenevertooold! (I think I might be the last one in the 'verse doing this, but that won't stop me from tagging more people at the end.) I've loved reading everyone's answers!

Okay. Here we go. I am absolutely using my flimsy claim to authorhood to answer these. >.>

1. 🦈Tell us the name of your/ one of your WIP(s):

The Haunting of Simon Snow

2. 🍄Describe your WIP/one of your WIP(s) in the format of “___ + ___ =___”

Construction Worker!Simon + haunted manor house = a most interesting summer job

3. 🌍What tags or warnings will your / one of your WIP(s) need if you intend to share it?

Well, it's a ghost story. You can draw some conclusions from that.

4. 🧭An alternative title to your/ one of your WIP(s)?

A Victorian's Gothic

5. ⚠️Which WIP your most likely to finish or update next?

It sure as hell better be Haunting. I mean, my goodness, it's looped around my brain like a too-patient boa constrictor, just sloooowly squeezing.

6. 💾What is your document of your WIP/ a WIP called? (not the stories actual title but what you’ve saved it as)

snowbaz.scriv is my catch-all Scrivener file for all ficcy things

7. 🖍Post Any sentence(s) from your WIP.

There’s a person that I used to be. Magic I used to hold, magic that held me. I have done everything I can to forget that feeling, because it was never supposed to be mine. I was never magic. He’s magic. He’s magic, and I can almost touch him. He’s magic, and he can almost hold me. I live on the edge of almost all the time, so that’s enough. (It’s never enough.)

8. ♻️A scrapped idea for your current WIP.

This was originally planned as a story written in letters. (Doing that with something else, now, and it works way better in a different story.)

9. 🤔What’s a story you’d love to write but haven’t even started yet?

I'm going to stick to snowbaz fanfic for this, because if I broaden it any further, this list will instantly become quite long. (I have a lot of original story ideas.) For snowbaz, though? Well, there's the one I'm planning for COTTA. There are a couple AU's that I've written way too many notes on. And then a Fangirl crossover fic that I sincerely hope to someday write. (Technically I started it, but only a few hundred words at this point.)

10. 🤡How many WIPS are you actively working on?

Actively? One. Maybe two. Kinda thinking two, but the second one is new and more of a game at this point, so we'll see. (Not quite so actively I also have my Baz fic, my "Silence" fic where Baz successfully steals Simon's voice. It's roughly (super roughly) outlined, and I've written several scenes, but it's on the back-burner for Haunting. And COTTA. No more new fics after that, though! I really want to tell that story!)

11. 🛠Is there a scene or anything in the WIP you are struggling with right now?

That's funny. What a question. XD YES. Yes, there are scenes. I'm designing Pitch Manor to get through this damned scene LOL

12. ❤️Not a question, just a second Kudos to send.

Thankee kindly!

On the off chance there are any fic writers left out there who haven't yet done this... Tags! @mooncello, @cutestkilla, @blackberrysummerblog, @hushed-chorus, @fatalfangirl, @onepintobean, @j-nipper-95, @facewithoutheart, @angelsfalling16, @noblecorgi, @alexalexinii, anyone else who wants to. Cheers!

[chicgeekgirl89]

Chapter 4 is up!

Tagging: @lemonlyman-dotcom and @kiwichaeng

Officer Hottie- Carlos

[6:22pm] Why do smoke detector batteries only die in the middle of the night?

T.K. is chowing down on some of Paul’s chili when his phone buzzes in his pocket. His dad is regaling the table with another of his New York exploits, this one about a rather scandalous call at a night club. T.K. had been off that night, but he’s heard the story so many times he could probably tell it word for word.

“An unbelievable amount of glitter,” his dad says as T.K. slips his phone out. As soon as he sees the text he smiles. 

T.K.

[6:23pm] Are you speaking from personal experience?

Officer Hottie- Carlos

[6:24pm] Yes. Two o’clock in the morning last night. Even though I change them every six months. Took me fifteen minutes to figure out which one. So tell me firefighter, why? 

T.K.

[6:25pm] Bad news. Smoke detectors are sons of bitches. They’re like Santa. They see you when you’re sleeping. They know when you’re awake. And they choose to use that information for evil.

Officer Hottie- Carlos

[6:26pm] That seems like a major design flaw for a life saving device.

“Why are you smiling at your crotch?” Marjan asks from across the table.

T.K. slides his phone back into his pocket. “No reason.”

“Nobody smiles at their crotch for no reason,” Judd says, wiping at his mouth with a napkin. “You talking to a guy?”

“I wasn’t talking to anybody,” T.K. says, scooping up another spoonful of chili. It’s true. He was texting. Not talking. He’s a professional at telling the truth without actually telling it.

“I bet it’s that guy from the other night,” Paul says, a smirk on his face.

“Ooh, the hot guy with the six pack?” Mateo asks.

“Son, if you are engaged in sexting I’m going to ask you not to do it at the dinner table,” Owen says, clearly flirting with the line of dad mode and captain mode.

“I’m not sexting,” T.K. says with a roll of his eyes.

“But it is the guy from the other night?” Paul says. “Come on. You can tell us.”

“Is this what it’s like to have siblings?” T.K. asks. “Kind of glad you and Mom never got around to having more kids, Dad.”

“You’re welcome?” his dad says in a slightly bemused voice.

“Listen if you’re gonna text during dinner you’re gonna owe us some answers,” Judd says. “Least you can do for not paying attention.”

“Fine!” T.K. says. “Yes. It is the guy from the other night. His name is Carlos and he’s APD. Happy?”

“Carlos what?” Marjan asks.

T.K. stares at her. “What do you mean Carlos what?”

“What’s his last name?” she says. When he doesn’t answer she sets down her spoon. “You do know his last name, right?”

“I—“ 

“Are you sure he’s real?” Mateo asks, adding more cheese to his chili. “Could be a catfish situation.”

“Catfish?” Owen asks, looking confused. “You think T.K. is talking to a fish that lives in muddy water?”

Judd shakes his head. “I’ll explain it later Cap.”

“I am not being catfished,” T.K. says. “He’s a real guy. A nice guy,” he adds.

“Ooooh you’re smitten,” Paul says with a grin.

“I am not smitten!” T.K. cries.

He does not share the part where he poured his heart out the other night through texts to Carlos. Apparently his New York sob story needed to be released and a somewhat faceless, hot ass phone man seemed like an appropriate person to do it with. He’s not sure if his therapist will be thrilled or horrified.

“Just be careful what you send him,” Marjan cautions. “The internet is forever.”

“Thanks Mom,” he shoots back.

“Marjan is right,” his dad says. “I am all for you sowing your oats or Netflix and chilling or whatever you kids are calling it these days. But you should be careful.”

“One time,” Mateo says around a mouthful, “my cousin thought he was going to some girl’s place, but when he got there, it was actually a dude named Knife. He stole my cousin’s wallet and his cell phone.”

“You know sometimes I really worry about you probie,” Paul says, eyes full of genuine concern.

Mateo’s story takes the heat off of T.K. and the team spends the rest of dinner ragging on him instead. 

But T.K. is still thinking about Marjan’s words hours later when he’s laying in his bunk staring at the ceiling. Everyone else is asleep; he can hear Judd’s chainsaw snores, Mateo’s sleep mumbles, and Paul’s deep breathing. Crazy how quickly those sounds have become familiar to him.

He rolls over and grabs his phone off the nightstand, turning down the brightness so it doesn’t wake anyone else up. He gnaws at his lip for a second before sending another text off to Carlos.

T.K.

[10:41pm] You’re real, right?

Officer Hottie- Carlos

[10:43pm] As opposed to…?

T.K.

[10:44pm] This isn’t a Catfish situation? You’re not really a woman living in Boise who’s going to steal my credit card information?

Officer Hottie- Carlos

[10:45pm] You got me. You’re my third mark this year. What gave it away?

T.K. snorts then looks around quickly to make sure he hasn’t woken anyone up. His fingers fly as he types back.

T.K.

[10:46pm] Prove it.

Office Hottie- Carlos

[10:47pm] Prove what? That I’m real? How?

T.K.

[10:47pm] Idk. Send a picture of you holding a fork.

Officer Hottie- Carlos

[10:47pm] …a fork?

T.K.

[10:48pm] Four tines? Used for food? Popular with mermaids?

There’s no response and T.K. sets the phone down on his chest. He’s stupid. This is stupid. What kind of stupid person asks someone who’s basically a stranger to send a picture of themselves with a fork at this time of night? 

T.K. winces. Weirdest booty call ever. 

His phone vibrates and when he lifts it up he has to clap a hand over his mouth to stifle his laughter.

Carlos has sent a selfie of him holding a fork. His eyes are squinty, like he’s barely awake, and there’s a hint of scruff on his face. His hair is all mussed and he looks so adorable that T.K. feels a very strong urge to kiss him.

He’s also shirtless. Which makes T.K. feel a very strong urge to put his mouth other places.

T.K.

[10:55pm] Do you ever wear a shirt?

Officer Hottie- Carlos

[10:55pm] I was in bed. This is how I sleep. And you’re welcome that I got up to prove my legitimacy to you.

T.K.

[10:55pm] Thanks. Do you want me to prove mine?

Officer Hottie- Carlos

[10:56pm] No need.

T.K.

[10:57pm] No need? What does that mean?

Officer Hottie- Carlos

[10:57pm] I know you’re real.

T.K. thinks for a minute and then his mouth falls open.

T.K.

[10:58pm] Did you background check me officer?!

Officer Hottie- Carlos

[10:58pm] …I plead the fifth….

T.K.

[10:59pm] You did!

Officer Hottie- Carlos

[11:00pm] Okay fine, I did. I wanted to know more about you.

Warmth blooms in his chest, but then is immediately doused like a bucket of cold water has been thrown on it. If Carlos ran a background check…

T.K.

[11:01pm] So…you know about the shooting then? 

Officer Hottie- Carlos

[11:01pm] Yeah. And the incident at the bar.

Shit. He’d really rather Carlos not know about the bar. He wishes nobody knew about the bar. Having his dad pick him up from jail had been a low point in their first few months in Austin. It had taken weeks for his split lip to heal. At least he hadn’t been charged. He hadn’t realized there was still a record of some kind though.

T.K. 

[11:02pm] Great. So you’ve seen the highlight reel of all my finest Austin moments.

Officer Hottie- Carlos

[11:02pm] I actually already knew about the shooting. It was kind of big news. I just didn’t realize it was you.

T.K.

[11:03pm] Yep. That’s me. Remembered for my near death experience and getting my ass kicked.

Officer Hottie- Carlos

[11:03pm] I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have looked. 

T.K.

[11:03pm] It’s okay. Like you said, you already knew about the shooting. And it’s my fault the bar thing is on record anyway. It was really stupid.

Officer Hottie- Carlos

[11:03pm] Everybody makes mistakes T.K.

T.K.

[11:04pm] Well I already spilled my guts to you about New York. So you know I’ve made more than a few.

Officer Hottie- Carlos

[11:04pm] So have I. You just don’t know them yet.

Why does that small bit of empathetic understanding make his heart ache? His therapist would probably say something about how he always feels like he’s too much for people to handle and Carlos choosing kindness instead of running away at the first signs of T.K.’s baggage.

T.K.

[11:05pm] Do you think it’s weird that we never met before the other day? Since we’re both first responders?

Officer Hottie- Carlos

[11:05pm] Not really. Austin’s a big city. 

T.K. rotates his phone in his hand a few times, getting his nerve up. 

T.K.

[11:06pm] Would you want to hang out? Sometime?

Officer Hottie- Carlos

[11:09pm] Like a date?

The alarm blares and T.K. immediately shoots upward, pulling on his boots and turnout pants as everyone else does the same. The fire is a big one and they don’t get back to the station until four am. By then it’s way too late to text Carlos back and honestly, he’s too exhausted to even form words. He drops into his bunk and falls immediately asleep.

[loudlooks]

Day 10 - Jars of fresh jam

30 day challenge notes: quantity over quality, limited editing, stand-alone/unrelated stories unless specifically stated otherwise, not always tiva, chronologically randomly set in whatever pre-s11 season seems to fit

A/N: Ziva catching Tony daydreaming in the bullpen

Tag for blocking/following: 30 days of spring

Prompt: Jars of fresh jam

Word count: 358

-

The sudden thud on his desk woke Tony from his early morning daydream—a more PG continuation of his midnight dream. He glanced at the jar on top of the file he hadn’t been reading, then at Ziva’s far too cheerful face for eight AM on a Monday morning, then at the four other jars she was holding.

Tony held up the jar with a frown and read the neatly handwritten label.

“I made strawberry jam yesterday,” Ziva said with a cheerfulness well-suited for fresh homemade jam, but not for eight in the morning on any day, least of all a Monday.

He pursed his lips. “You know how to make jam?”

“Yes, my grandmother taught me when I was little.”

“How domestic of you,” he deadpanned, trying to process this new kernel of information.

“If you don’t want it,” she said and reached for the jar he was holding, sounding faintly offended.

“Uh-uh!” Tony clasped the jar to his chest, and locked eyes with her. A sly smile crept on his lips as he tried to come up with ways to incorporate this side of Ziva into his daydream.

She frowned, and as his smile grew wider, rolled her eyes and moved on to place a jar on McGee’s desk.

His gaze followed her as she placed the second to last jar on Gibbs’ desk, and then sat down at her own. As visions of Ziva doing domestic chores replaced more thrilling bedroom visions of her, his roguish smile made place for a softness that reached his eyes.

Ziva leaned forward on her desk at his change in demeanor. “What are you thinking about?”

He shrugged nonchalantly. “Just trying to make this Monday morning less dreary.”

Ziva looked out the window, followed a shaft of sunlight straight back to Tony, where it seemed to light up a twinkle in his eye. A slow smile spread on her lips. “Is the sun not bright enough for you?”

With a playful smile, he opened the jar and dipped his finger in the jam to get a taste. He hummed in approval and watched her face light up. “It is now.”

[feralghxuls]

Will You Spill the Wine? (A Matter of Love)

Rating: Explicit

Archive Warnings: Graphic Depictions of Violence

Pairing: Dew/Mountain

Words: 4,437

Tags: Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Heed these tags I am so serious, Blood and gore, Explicit sexual content, Cannibalism, Cannibalism play Temporary character death, Reverse blowjob, Throat fucking. but not in the way you'd expect, Blood kink, Ritualistic sex, Blood letting, Dew and Mountain are fucking freaks (affectionate) <3, Unconventional romance even by ghoul standards, More details about what this fic entails in the dropdown menu of the notes, Mountain is semi-verbal, Telepathic communication, Ghoulish language

Summary: [MIND THE TAGS]

Sometimes, Mountain needs more than what typical kink can provide. Sometimes, being bitten and mauled isn't enough; he needs the most extreme version of it. Dew is happy to oblige.

See notes for clarification and further content warnings.

Mountain wants something. That much is clear. For the last two days, Dew has been keenly aware of his dark gaze on him any time they're in the same room, weighted with desire. And even when they're not, he swears he can feel those eyes on him through the walls. But Mountain hasn't approached Dew yet. So he simmers in the heat of his gaze. Waiting. Mountain knows by now that he has to ask for what he wants.

It's the end of the fourth day when Dew opens the door of his bedroom and comes nose to chest with Mountain. He'd been intending to join the others in the common room, before Mountain's scent had seeped through the cracks in the door and he'd quickly rearranged his priorities. 

Now, he hooks a finger in Mountain's belt loop and tips his head back to gaze up at him, right into those dark eyes. His pupils are blown so wide there's no color left, his nostrils flaring with each breath. 

You need something, Mount? Dew asks, casual, raising a hand to pat at his chest. A low growl rises in Mountain's throat as he reaches for Dew's arm, fingers closing iron-tight around his bicep. Without a word, he turns and pulls Dew down the hall. 

It's not exactly comfortable keeping up with Mountain's long stride when Dew is held so tightly, close against his side, but he doesn't mind. He lets Mountain tug him through the abbey, into the chapel, down the aisle between the pews, down through the trap door behind the altar and into the underbelly of the abbey. Dew's heart is in his throat, hot anticipation prickling down his spine, his cock already chubbing up behind his zipper. He knows what Mountain wants now, without a shadow of a doubt.

It's a long walk through the cool, twisting halls, down a few flights of unevenly worn stone steps, made even longer by the tension twisting sweetly through his veins, before they finally reach the heavy oaken double doors of the chamber. Mountain doesn't release Dew's arm, instead choosing to heft the wooden bar one-handed. He tosses it aside with a loud, echoing clatter, and shoulders the door open. He tugs Dew in with him and doesn't give him a chance to light even one brazier before he hauls the door closed behind them. 

It shuts with a heavy, sullen crash and leaves them in near-complete darkness. 

Light? Yes or no, Dew says, the details of the room steadily becoming clear as his eyes adjust quickly to the darkness. He's not sure how many words of his own Mountain has right now, but he suspects it's not many. Not after days of this expectant tension, of Mountain undoubtedly working himself up to stew in daydreams of this moment.

"No." Mountain's voice echoes in the otherwise silent room, reverberating off the bare stone walls of the ritual chamber, rough like he hasn't used it in days. It's entirely probable he hasn't. It's easier for him to press his thoughts and intentions into the consciousness of other ghouls; it's always been harder for him to speak out loud, even in their Ghoulish tongue. The fact that he chooses to do so now sends a heady thrill through Dew, something that doubles and stretches deep into his belly as he glances further into the room at the stone altar. It sits centered on the dais, quiet and waiting. The silent stone seems to call to him, the same as it always does every time Dew steps into this room, his muscles itching and aching to carry him towards it.

It takes effort to drag his attention back to Mountain; the sound of his breathing is suddenly loud in his ears, filling every corner of the space with each harsh drag of air through his lungs. Dew doesn't need to see his face to know how badly he needs this.

Read the rest on Ao3!

[amaretigris]

Knock-down, Drag-out

Taglist: @hopeisrising @luna2034 @notagreekgal28 @mylittlemermaid221 @daydreamerwithnohobbies @freyagallileaevans @justagirlthatlovedtoread @jonahmermaid23

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Ch. 12 | 1.3k words | Angst

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Your phone screen lit up with a call from Jonah at 9:32 p.m. that night. You made no move to answer it. Instead, you watched the contact screen on your phone vibrate for a few pulses, and eventually vanish. About a minute later, your phone screen lit up again with a voicemail notification. You reluctantly picked up your phone, dialing voicemail, and held it to your ear. You held your breath waiting to hear his voice again.

Jonah cleared his throat.

"Erm, hi. I knew I had a good chance of going to voicemail. I just wanted to call and check in. I know that I said some really harsh things to you the other night, none of which you deserved. Please forgive me, (Y/N). I want you to know that these last few weeks with you have been the best I've had in years. I also want you to know that I don't blame you. I wouldn't let me off the hook so easily either; not after what I've done. I am truly sorry to have caused you pain. You deserve none of it. You came into my life, and took care of me in ways that I didn't even know I needed. However this ends, I want you to know that I'll look back on our brief time together with fondness. Please take care of yourself, (Y/N), if it's the last thing you do for me. Please."

Pulling your phone away from your ear, you hovered your finger over the delete button, but couldn't bring yourself to push it. Grunting in frustration, you locked your phone, and threw it under your pillow.

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The next two days went by as if you were in a dream state. You ran through the motions at work, just trying to get through the day. You picked at your food on your lunch break. You didn't talk to your friends or coworkers much at lunch or after your shift. You kept to yourself, going back to your old habits of reorganizing or counting things during your down time. Pulling into the hospital after lunch, you were surprised when the medical receptionist got your attention as you returned from wheeling a patient back.

"(Y/N)," she called, "over here."

The woman waved her hand excitedly. You internally groaned as you walked over.

"Yes?"

"Guess what? These are for you!"

She pulled a vase of flowers from beside her on her desk, presenting them to you.

"What? That can't be right," you scrunched your brow.

Picking up the little card attached, you quickly scanned it. Your stomach dropped.

I miss you.

♡ Jonah

Sighing and strumming your fingers on the vase, you examined the beautiful bouquet. It was a mix of pink and purple carnations and daisies.

"Well? Don't you love them?"

You shook your head, remembering that you weren't alone.

"What? Oh, sure. Thank you," you forced a smile as you grabbed the vase, and walked away from the desk.

The woman whose name tag said Linda stared after you curiously. What woman wouldn't be thrilled to get flowers?

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

You had to get yourself together. It was Friday, and you'd been dreading this all week, but you knew you had to go to the arena tonight. Even if you wanted to call and say that you couldn't make it, Sebastian had purposely let you know that there was no one else to cover tonight's fights. You had to suck it up if you wanted to keep your weekend gig. It wouldn't be a big deal anyway. Jonah would hardly glance your way. There was no reason to be dramatic. You kept trying to talk yourself down as the afternoon went on, but your stomach was in knots.

Sitting on a bench outside the hospital on your break, you were twirling your hair with one finger, and strumming the others on your pants leg. You had stared off into the distance, and with the people coming and going from the hospital, you didn't notice a form approaching until they plopped down on the bench beside you. Blinking and turning to see who had burst your thought bubble, you were met with Eleanor's smiling face.

"(Y/N), how good to see you again. I thought I might find you here," she chuckled.

"Oh, Eleanor. I'm so sorry, I've been meaning to check in with you. Are you doing well?"

Eleanor smiled again, but it didn't reach her eyes. She reached across to still your hand that was busy twirling your hair. You looked down at her hand, then back to her face.

"I'm doing just fine. You seem quite anxious dear," she sighed.

"I-I'm okay."

Damnit. You knew the stutter gave it away.

"Darling, you don't look like yourself. Have you been eating? Getting enough rest? Your eyes look sunken in," Eleanor frowned.

"Yes. I'm fine, really," you tried to brush it off.

"Please, (Y/N)," Eleanor urged.

"You can be honest with me. Are you really okay?"

You looked down at your hands in your lap.

Were you okay? No one had asked you. Well, people had asked, but they meant it in more of a 'don't be a downer' kind of way instead of genuinely caring about your welfare.

"I'm surviving. The past few days have been pretty dull," you shrugged.

You looked up at Eleanor with watery eyes.

"What can I say? I have to endure it. I don't have a choice."

Eleanor nodded, placing her hand over yours in your lap.

"You are a survivor, (Y/N). You're one of the strongest young women I've ever been fortunate enough to meet," she patted your hands with a smile.

"I know someone who's been just as miserable as you. I won't tell you that you need to go back to him. That is entirely up to you. I'll be your friend regardless of what you decide; but, I thought you should know that his life has been much more bleak without you."

You nodded your head, gulping down tears.

"I won't make excuses for him, but people tend to do stupid things when they're angry or scared. It's up to us to decide if we love them enough to forgive them or not."

Your breath caught in your throat. It was obviously too early in the relationship to be talking about love, but the potential was there. You could see yourself falling for Jonah- quite easily in fact. Would that be enough for you to forgive him? You want to, but you also want to steer clear of drama. You can barely keep your head above water as is. But, Eleanor was right. Jonah reacted that way because he was scared; scared of losing his mother who protected him from an abusive father. It's easy to see how he could adopt a sense of martyrdom when it came to her.

"He sent me flowers," you sniffled.

"No one ever sends me flowers. It was nice to be the one receiving them for a change," you smiled.

Eleanor nodded.

"Yes, he asked if I liked them before he sent them over. I told him they were perfect for you."

Your eyes welled with more tears.

"What should I do? I'm going to see him tonight. I don't know if I can look at him without crying," you admitted.

Eleanor huffed a breath at that.

"Now, sweetie, he's only a man. Don't shed too many tears over a man. It's easier said than done, I know. But think of it this way: you're the prize, and he lost you. If anyone cries, it should be him."

You laughed at her unexpected advice. Eleanor smiled at you again, and your laugh fell into a smile as well. The two of you sat in comfortable silence for a moment.

"Well, I'll leave you to your work. I only wanted to pop in and remind you that you're not alone, (Y/N). You are a ray of sunshine in our worlds. Remember that," Eleanor patted your hand once more before standing up from the bench.

You stood up to hug her.

"Thank you," you whispered.

Eleanor pulled back from the hug, placing her hand on your cheek.

"You're welcome. Make him work for it, dear," she winked.