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merrybloomwrites · 3 days

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I Hear Them Calling (Chapter 8)

Story Summary: Alpha Harry Styles and omega Y/N Y/L/N meet under less than ideal circumstances. Overtime their paths will cross and they will be drawn to one another in ways they never expected.

Chapter Summary: Y/N joins Harry for his last few shows in California and they take their relationship to the next level.

Prologue ; Chapter 1 ; Chapter 2 ; Chapter 3 ; Chapter 4 ; Chapter 5 ; Chapter 6 ; Chapter 7

Word count: 3.8K

CW: smut, knotting, p in v sex, heat cycle

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Waking up on New Year’s Day, wrapped in your alpha’s arms, is truly the best way to start the year. Your scents mix beautifully together, and his bedroom feels like a sanctuary. The two of you spend the entire day at his house. It’s comfortable, domestic even the way you fit seamlessly into his home. You cook dinner together and once again end the night making love.

Even though you wake up the following morning the same way as the previous, there’s sadness in the air. It’s the day you leave to fly back home. Since Harry has a few meetings and other plans, he won’t be joining you in the states for a couple of weeks. It’s a shorter separation than the last one, but you still don’t want to say goodbye.

The alarm on your phone rings, and you roll over to face Harry. He presses a kiss to your temple, then nose, before finally reaching your lips. Just as the two of you are getting into a rhythm, tongues dancing in each other’s mouths, your second alarm goes off. You know that if you don’t get up and get ready now you’re going to miss your flight. Which wouldn’t be the worst thing in your opinion. But there’s an in-person “start of the year” meeting that you need to be at in a couple of days. So you pull yourself away with the last bit of personal restraint you possess.

Harry helps pack the last of your things while you shower, and he has breakfast waiting for you. Both plates are set in front of the chair that Harry’s sitting on, and you’re confused for a moment before you see the pleading look on his face. Understanding his silent request, you move to sit on his lap. You feel him relax beneath you as you grant him this last moment of intimacy.

After breakfast is finished you turn in Harry’s lap, straddling him now, so you can start to say goodbye. Even though he’s driving you to the airport, you both know you can’t share a proper moment there in case he’s spotted by fans.

The first thing he does is douse you in his scent. You melt the second his nose runs against your neck. He’s thorough, kissing and licking against the gland there, ensuring that you’ll smell of your alpha for your journey home. With one final, gentle, nip of his teeth on your skin, he pulls away satisfied.

“I don’t want to go,” you say with a pout.

“I know baby. I don’t want you to leave either,” he replies.

“Just two weeks, right?”

“Just two weeks. And then I’ll come get you and we’ll be in California together,” he confirms.

“Okay. I can do two weeks.” You take a deep breath before slotting your lips to his. It’s a short kiss, but it’s full of love.

You glance at the clock and sigh.

“Time to go,” Harry says sadly. The two of you get up and head to the car. Harry insists on carrying your bags, and then keeps his hand on your thigh for the entire drive. It’s these little ways that he shows he cares about you that you’ve never experienced before. He’s always making you fall for him even more.

When you arrive, he quickly shimmies his sweatshirt off and hands it to you. It’s doused in his scent, and it’s one of the coziest things you’ve ever worn.

“Thank you, alpha,” you say.

“Of course, omega. Call me when you get home, okay?”

“I will.” This comes out barely a whisper, as you fight to hold back tears. Harry releases calming pheromones and you take a deep breath to recenter yourself.

After a final goodbye you enter the airport, going through check-in and security. It’s an uneventful day of travel, and this time you manage to take a nap on the plane. One short uber ride later and you’re finally home.

You send Harry a quick text to let him know you’re home safe and that you’ll call him after a shower. You need to wash away the grime of traveling, but unfortunately this also washes away Harry’s scent.

There are still a couple bags of scented items that he’d given you, so you decide to spruce up your nest again. After your shower you call Harry and talk on the phone while you build it. The nest brings you the peace your omega requires to fall asleep without your alpha for the first time in weeks.

The time before Harry arrives passes slowly, as you knew it would. The touch deprivation doesn’t get too out of hand like it previously did. You have a telehealth call with your doctor during this time, just to check in with her. She explains that the symptoms being better likely means your omega knows it has an alpha who will always return to take care of it. It’s weirdly satisfying to know that there’s medical proof of how healthy your relationship with Harry is.

And then, finally, Harry is here. He stays with you for a few days, attending meetings in New York or taking phone calls about upcoming projects while you do your work. Each night is spent together watching movies, playing games, or just talking. Your friends come over and it’s perfect how seamlessly Harry fits in with the group.

The two of you fly together to California where Harry will be doing a number of shows in Los Angeles and Palm Springs. You stay at his LA home and cannot believe how beautiful it is. You go with him to rehearsals, where you enjoy watching the behind-the-scenes process as well as hanging out with the band and crew. You attend the shows, always in a VIP section, away from any danger, in order to calm Harry’s alpha.

You wake up early the morning of Harry’s birthday and sneak down to the kitchen of the beautiful Airbnb he’d rented in Palm Springs. Your goal is to make him a surprise breakfast in bed. He’s just starting to stir when you walk back in carrying a tray of food.

“Happy birthday,” you say as you place the tray on the dresser before leaning in to give Harry a kiss.

“Thank you my love,” he replies.

“Brought you breakfast, all your favorites.”

“It smells delicious!”

With that the two of you sit side-by-side in bed, drinking coffee, eating breakfast, and occasionally feeding bites to each other. When you’re both full you move the tray to the side again and grab a couple presents you’d hidden in the closet.

“What’s all this? You didn’t have to get me anything,” Harry says.

“It’s nothing special, just a few things that made me think of you.”

He unwraps the gifts, a huge smile on his face as each is revealed. As you said, none of it is expensive or fancy really, but Harry can tell the thought you put into each gift.

“Thank you baby, it’s all perfect.”

“You’re welcome,” you reply. “There’s actually one more thing,” you add shyly, shifting as you kneel in bed next to him.

He picks up on your nervous pheromones and takes one of your hands in his to soothe you, unsure of where this is going.

“So I’ve been thinking about this a lot over the last couple of weeks and uhm, I’m ready. To be knotted.”

Harry stares at you for a long moment, and part of you fears that he’ll reject you, but that fear quickly vanishes when he says, “Are you sure?”

“I’m sure. I’ve never felt so safe and cared for by someone. I’ve never wanted to literally be tied to another person. Not until I met you, alpha.”

He takes a deep, steadying breath, the air filling with pheromones indicating just how much he wants that.

“My omega, I will always make sure you’re safe, no matter what’s happening. If you change your mind, just tell me and we’ll stop, promise?”

“I promise,” you reply as you lean in to press a deep kiss to his lips.

The kiss starts slow, hesitant, and you can tell Harry is afraid to push too far. So you take control, running your tongue along the seam of his lips until he opens his mouth. When your tongues meet, a shift occurs, and Harry once again becomes the dominant alpha you’re used to in bed.

His hands come up, one around your waist and the other cupping the back of your neck to keep you close to him. After a few minutes of deep, passionate kisses he breaks away to kiss and nip along your throat. When he gets to the scent gland just under your ear he begins to scent you thoroughly, licking and leaving small bites. You’re boneless in his arms and you know your underwear is ruined with the slick pooling there.

It's a rush to get out of your clothes, until every article from both of your bodies is scattered on the floor. Your omega instincts kick in and you follow them, moving until you’re on your belly and then lifting your backside into the perfect presenting position.

“Not like that, baby,” Harry says as he gently manhandles you so you’re on your back looking up at him. “I want to see you this time. Plus, it will be more comfortable when we’re tied together.”

The reminder that you'll be literally stuck together has a wave of nerves and a wave of desire running through you simultaneously. It’s a scary thought, being stuck to someone in such an intimate way, but you know it will feel good and only bring you and Harry closer emotionally.

He presses kisses down your body until he reaches your core, literally growling at how wet you are, at how sweet your slick smells. After the first couple tentative licks he begins to eat you out in earnest. This is something you’ve come to expect in the weeks since your relationship with Harry became physical. He rarely goes straight to penetrative sex, preferring to bring you to at least one orgasm first. Even though today is his birthday, it’s no different than usual. Sometimes you think it’s more for him than for you if his enthusiasm is anything to go by.

It doesn’t take long before he brings you to climax, your breathy moans and cries of his name mixing with obscene sounds of Harry eating you out. Once you’ve fully ridden every wave of pleasure he begins to move back up your body. You lazily make out before Harry pulls away to reach into the bedside table drawer. He pulls out a condom and you watch with lust-hazed eyes as he rolls it along his length.

He's hovering over you again, silently checking one last time if you’re ready. You smile and nod, leaning up for a gentle, chaste kiss. It’s as he presses his lip to yours again that you feel his tip at your entrance. Your jaw goes slack as he slowly pushes fully inside of you until his hips are flush to yours. What happens next is a beautiful, passionate blur, as he brings you to climax once more. He scents you some more as you catch your breath, and then you cry out in pleasure as he begins thrusting again.

It's as you reach your third orgasm of the morning that you feel his hips starts to stutter. You wrap your legs around him, giving a silent signal that you still want this, still desire him to knot you.

When his knot finally locks in place you gasp, the feeling unlike anything you’ve ever experienced before. There’s definitely a twinge of pain, your body not ever having something so large inside. But at the same time there’s a warmth, both from the cum filling the condom and from the knot itself. Harry’s cries of pleasure ring in your ears and he’s kissing you before moving to your scent gland once again, frantically scenting you, ensuring that everyone will know you’re claimed by an alpha.

Once his inner alpha is satisfied that his omega smells only of him he calms down.

“Are you alright my love?” he asks.

“I’m good,” you reply. “Feels so good.”

“I could say the same. Being locked in you feels like heaven. Jesus, you darling, are perfect. Absolutely perfect.”

You blush at the compliments, your omega preening at all the attention from your alpha. He continues to scent and kiss you for the twenty minutes you’re tied together. It only takes a couple minutes for you to get used to the feeling, and then there’s an emptiness when he finally pulls out.

“C’mon baby, let’s get cleaned up,” he says before carrying you into the bathroom, needing to give into his instincts to care for you in any way he can.

Harry continues to dote on you the rest of the morning and scents you again before you both leave to get lunch with his friends prior to soundcheck and the show. Sarah gives a knowing look when she sees the two of you, but you can’t even feel embarrassed that the other alpha picked up on how you spent the morning. Especially not when she gives you a hug and says, “I’m so happy for the two of you.”

The rest of the afternoon passes quickly and suddenly Madi Diaz is on stage opening the show. You’re in Harry’s dressing room as he finishes getting ready, and though you’re dressed in a light skirt and tank top, you still feel a bit warm. You make a joke about how hot they keep a venue that’s literally in the desert, and Harry just gives you a questioning look.

Before he can ask what you mean, he’s being called away to grab his mic pack and head to the stage. You give him one more kiss for luck before going to find your spot in the VIP section.

Harry enters the stage a little while later, holding onto his birthday balloon. Even though you’d just been with him as he got dressed, you’re practically salivating at how good he looks. Even though you try to prevent it, there’s definitely slick leaking into your panties, so much so that you take a quick bathroom break to clean up. You’re also sweating, leading you to wonder how everyone else around you looks completely cool when it’s practically a thousand degrees.

When the show ends you all meet backstage for a drink to celebrate Harry’s birthday and the end of the US leg of tour. You’re tucked into Harry’s side, fighting off the desire to pull him away from the crowd so he can knot you again. You shake your head slightly, shocked at how getting knotted one time has made you insatiable.

You look up and notice Sarah watching you closely before she leans over and whispers something to Mitch. He then looks at you as well, as though studying you and you begin to feel somewhat self-conscious causing you to tuck further into Harry’s embrace.

After everyone is done wishing Harry a happy birthday Sarah makes her way over, effectively pulling you both off to the side.

“Y/N, are you feeling alright?” she asks.

“Yea, I’m fine, why?” you reply, lying slightly. Because the truth is you feel a bit off, but you have no clue what is going on. You begin to feel cornered by the alpha, and even though you’re normally good friends with her, you don’t want her around you right now. The only alpha you want is yours. And you want him alone.

“Are you sure? Because you seem like you could be slipping into heat. I know it’s none of my business but I’m just worried.”

Just like that all the air escapes from your lungs. The room starts spinning and anxiety builds in your chest. Because you realize she’s right. Your doctor said your mini-heat would hit in February, and here it is, February first. Being knotted that morning probably helped trigger it as well.

“Oh my god,” you whisper.

Harry is still by your side, similarly shocked that he didn’t pick up on the signs either.

The heat haze starts to settle over you, as though you noticing what it is has the process speeding up. “Harry, I need to go,” you say, fear lacing your voice. You know that being an omega in heat is extremely vulnerable and here you are in a venue surrounded by people.

“I know,” he says, his voice strained. You’re not sure if he’s more affected by desire or a need to protect his omega, but you can tell he’s under immense stress at the moment. He calls his assistant Jada over to make arrangements to get you home safely.

You’re vaguely aware of conversation happening around you, but the fuzziness in your brain makes it hard to understand what they’re saying. You turn your head, blindly seeking out Harry’s delicious scent. It's an unconscious decision to start scenting him right there in front of his friends, and you don’t realize you’re nipping at his scent gland until he’s gently pulling you away.

You start to whine, trying to move closer again, fighting against him until he says “Omega, listen to me.” Immediately your eyes meet his, and you’re snapped out of the daze. Part of you knows that he just used his alpha voice and while normally you’d hate that, your omega preens. This isn’t just any alpha, this is your alpha, and you know he’s using his voice to help you, to protect you.

Once your eyes are locked into his and he knows he has your attention, Harry says, “Jada and Elin are going to take you back to the house. There will be a couple beta security guards there as well. They’ll all take care of you and make sure you’re safe.”

You nod, showing that you understand. But then tears well in your eyes and Harry gently asks, “Omega, what’s wrong?”

You don’t answer, you don’t want to say it, because it feels silly and childish. But you can’t keep anything from him, not when he looks so worried and you whisper, “I’m scared, Alpha.”

“Oh my darling,” he says as he pulls you in for a hug once again. “I know it’s scary. It’s been a long time since you’ve experienced this huh?”

“Yea. I just, I don’t really remember the couple of heats I had, I just remember feeling untethered. I didn’t like it. I felt so alone.”

“Baby, I promise you won’t be alone. The others will be there to check on you, and our room smells of our scents which will soothe you. And I’ll be there the second it’s done. It’ll only be a day, maybe two tops. Over before you know it, okay?”

“Okay,” you answer, and he leans down to place one quick kiss to your lips. He doesn’t dare do more, not wanting to set off a wave of your heat while you’re still in a public space. Plus, he’s holding on to the last bit of control he has, finding it harder to contain his alpha as your scent continues to grow sweeter.

With one final hug you say goodbye and are led to the car that’s waiting. You’re in the backseat with the window down, the cold air keeping you from feeling like you’re burning from the inside out. Back at the house Elin leads you to the master bedroom, where you’ll end up spending the next 27 hours.

The mini heat isn’t awful. It’s painful at moments, your desperation for a knot overwhelming you. Shortly after arriving at the house Jada brings a box of supplies. In your aroused state you don’t question where they got a new knotting dildo at midnight, but you’re grateful for whoever found it as it helps get you through.

Elin and Jada check in on you at regular intervals, making sure you’ve eaten and seeing if there’s anything you need. You assure them that you’re fine every time, but the truth is you still feel alone. It’s a loneliness that’s deep in your bones, your heat making you desperate for the touch of another person, and not even in a sexual way. You just want to be held.

When Elin knocks on the door at 3 am, 27 hours after getting to the house, she finds you wrapped in a mountain of blankets. That alone alerts her to the fact that the heat is over. She texts Harry immediately, and 15 minutes later he’s running into the room.

The second he walks in, you break, tears streaming as sobs wrack your body. He wraps you in his arms and begins to scent you, not needing to ask what is wrong. He understands. You’re exhausted, physically and mentally. Your inner omega has been on edge without its alpha there. You are simply overwhelmed by the experience.

Harry sits with you, holding you tight and murmuring sweet things until your sobs taper off into quiet sniffles.

“You okay?” He eventually asks.

“I’m okay,” you reply truthfully. It had been cathartic to cry, to let it all out.

“Do you need anything?”

“Just hold me please,” you answer.

“Of course baby. Always.”

Harry keeps his promise, continuing to hold you close as you get some rest. In the morning, he gets breakfast delivered to the house so he only has to leave bed for a moment to grab it from the front porch. He then draws a bath and helps gently wash every inch of your skin.

Since you have the house rented for a couple more days you decide to build a fresh nest. You kick Harry out, needing to do this by yourself. You do, however, run out to the living room more than once so he can scent certain items. Once it’s complete you call for Harry and he joins you immediately.

“This is beautiful,” he says as soon as he sees the nest you’ve constructed.

“Really?” You ask, always a little unsure of yourself when you try to follow your omega instincts.

“Really. It’s perfect,” he reassures you.

“Lay with me?” You ask.

“I’d love nothing more,” he replies and follows you into the center of the bed nest. You curl yourself into his side and relax. It’s no surprise when you begin to purr, Harry rumbling in contentment next to you.

In that moment something becomes clear to you. This is your alpha. Your future is with him. You won’t bring it up just yet, but you know you want him to join you for your next heat, and whatever may come after.

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AN: Thank you so much for reading! Next chapter should be the end of the main story but I’m sure I’ll do some extras after that!

Taglist: @akkatz @pandeebearstyles @walkingintheheartbreaksatellite@theekyliepage@numafarawayglxy @booberry019-blog @hillzrry@ssareidbby @gem1712 @acesofspadess@houseofdilfs@shaquille-0atmeal-1@kissitnhekitchen @amateurduck @poguestyleskye@n0vaj3an@snwells@drunk-teens-doing-drugs ; @fdl305@creativelyeva@daphnesutton@selluequestrian@lovingfurypanda @stardream14 @tbsloneely@eversincehs1@boomitsallie1@rose-garden-dreamz@fictionalmensblog@buckybarnessimpp @ottawaoutlander @storyschanging @jerseygirlinca@stylesfever@alwayslovingharry @daphnesutton @harrydeary

#harry styles x reader #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles x you

52 notes · View notes

cripplecharacters · 8 hours

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Hi! I have a myriad of minor chronic conditions and symptoms, but nothing that's actually been identifiable enough to be diagnosed by a doctor. That's a relevant piece of information, because there's a character who I'm writing with more severe/debilitating versions of some of my own symptoms, and I'm struggling with giving him any actual defined diagnoses because of it. The actual question here is: If I'm basing these symptoms off of things that are happening with my own body, and the character is not in a situation where he'd get a diagnoses in-universe, is there a reason I can't just leave it as a mystery?

I suppose the main reason I'm struggling with the question in the first place is that upping the severity of the symptoms in question means that, unlike myself, the character will be using mobility aids, which makes me feel like I should do more research on why he'd be using them. I have no idea why, once in a blue moon, my right leg just decides to refuse to hold my weight for 10-45 seconds, but I do know that if I know that if it happened more regularly/for longer periods of time I'd probably invest in a cane due to instability walking. I'll be posting this work in a space where people will be able to ask me questions about it directly and I can already feel the comments being typed lol. So, I feel like I should have an answer beyond just "His symptoms are based off my own and unfortunately I don't have a diagnoses", but like... do I actually or am I just getting in my head about this?

Hi,

It’s completely okay to have a character who doesn’t have a specific condition or diagnosis you can point to if you’re basing it off your own life experience.

The truth is that this happens all the time. I also don’t really know why my knee is awful and sometimes can’t hold my weight or is incredibly painful to bend, and I’ve been to doctors (who had suggestions but no specifics) and was prescribed physical therapy. I did the PT. It didn’t do much, but I tried it.

You clearly have an experience with your conditions and symptoms and just because you haven’t gotten a diagnosis doesn’t mean your disabling symptoms aren’t real. It also doesn’t necessarily mean you’ll never get a diagnosis, either.

I completely understand your hesitancy, though, because the truth is that some disabled characters are created with a vague idea and end up having some sort of Ambiguous Disorder that is just for plot reasons. That can be harmful and ignore the realities of real-life conditions and disabilities just for something to be more Appealing or Plot Relevant.

But it doesn’t look like that’s what you’re doing at all—you are in fact pretty well-researched, because you’re basing your character primarily in your lives experience and, in good faith, making them not exactly the same as your own.

“His symptoms are based on my own, and I don’t currently have a specific diagnosis” is a reasonable answer. It’s true, and it’s not dismissive or misleading in any way. You can also add “I did research on how A and B would make someone need/do X or Y,” as needed. Like specific mobility aid research, or potential conditions, or related symptoms.

Overall, you can feel confident in your creation of your character and that your depiction is reasonable, and it also might make you more comfortable to answer questions if you feel equipped to elaborate about the symptoms or the aids rather than about the diagnosis.

Hope this helps! :)

— Mod Sparrow

#howisa-raven-likeawritingdesk #mysterious disability #mobility disabilities #mod sparrow

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nikethestatue · 18 hours

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Chapter XVI

You Are the One

One time, Elain Marie Paige Archeron had everything she ever wanted. She had love. A love that was pure and clean and genuine. A love that did not ask for anything in return. The kind of love that was true, and kind, and forgiving, and protective. She couldn’t remember a time when she laughed as much as she did in the last three months. She recalled waking up every morning for the past three months and feeling lighter, like there was joy and a promise of good things. Now, in hindsight, she realised that it was because she was in love. But also because she was loved. No one’s ever loved her like that before. No one looked at her in the same way, like she was precious. Like she mattered. Like she was someone’s favourite thing in the world.

Only Elain Archeron did not hold on to that love.

She took it for granted.

She took the man who offered her his devotion and his loyalty and his unconditional, undeniable and passionate love for granted, never thinking that she’d ever lose him.

But she did.

She lost Azriel.

“Remember, darling, that’s nature…simple biology,”

“Daddy, you aren’t going to be talking about how babies are made?” Elain sniffled, half amused, half horrified.

Her father smiled a sad smile and shook his head no.

“You have to remember that it’s the sperm that chases the egg. It’s the man who pursues the woman. Not the other way around. A man will chase and will not give up until he gets that sperm into the egg.”

“Ew, dad!”

“You are a big girl, my pretty rose. You know what I mean.”

Elain considered his words, and as graphic as they were, they also made sense. He was correct.

“Love was invented to make nature more palatable,” he continued, “but biology never changed. It’s still about the sperm and the egg. Therefore, let him chase you. And if he doesn’t, then you’ll know the answer. But never chase a man, sweetheart. It’s his nature, his responsibility and his destiny to chase after a woman.”

She sighed and looked out the window.

It's been almost two weeks and Azriel hasn’t sought her out. The sperm hasn’t chased the egg. Azriel hasn’t chased her at all.

At first, it was just…silence.

For four days, it was silent.

Her texts went unanswered. There were no call backs. She even went old school and sent Azriel an email! And that didn’t get a response either.

She was ready to go all the way to Canary Wharf and be the weird girlfriend who busts into her boyfriend’s home and starts to demand answers.

But he finally messaged her with a one word text: ‘training’. That’s all it said. No apology and no explanation. Not an ‘I am sorry for ignoring you’ or ‘I’ve been swamped with the team stuff’. No, she didn’t get anything other than ‘training’.

And so, Elain had changed her mind about trekking to Canary Wharf and waited. Training would eventually be over and he would be back. He'd return to her. Elain wanted to be an understanding girlfriend, who was going to support her man. She realised that he needed to get back into the groove of the game after his injury and get his body back in playing shape. Therefore, when Saturday came about and Arsenal was playing Luton Town, she dutifully turned on the telly and listened to the pre-game broadcast while Piglet raced upstairs and then came back with his red jersey, tossing it to her and urging her to dress him in it. He already knew what he needed to wear when Azriel was playing, and even though he made a mess in his cubby, turning it out and tossing all the other things on the floor, Elain thought that it was too cute how he got so excited and was behaving like a proper little fan.

They watched the game, with Piglet sitting there, enraptured, and howling happily every time Azriel appeared on the screen. How Piglet recognised him, Elain didn’t know–she once hid under a blanket for 10 minutes, and her pug was wandering around in confusion, looking for her, never thinking to pull the blanket off. But here, he somehow was eagle-eyed and was spotting Azriel among the tiny players on the screen.

While Piglet was innocently happy to watch the game, hopping and rolling around, Elain’s mood was more subdued. She did take a photo of the pug and sent it to Azriel. When the game concluded, and Arsenal had won, she messaged him and said ‘Congratulations! Brilliant game’.

Thanks.

That’s what Eain got in response to her message from Azriel.

Thanks.

Angrily, she waited for more, but nothing else came.

Because if he’d responded, she’d confront him and give him a piece of her mind. What did she do to him?? She was a somewhat reluctant girlfriend, but she had the right to be reluctant. He moved like a freight train, but she was more cautious. Besides, she’s lived through many heartbreaks before and every single man that she’s been with has broken up with her. She never broke up with anyone–all the breakups were initiated by the men. And it looked like the pattern was continuing, unbroken. Azriel was also fed up with her and was breaking up.

That night, after the terse ‘thanks’ Elain closed her bedroom door, so Piglet wouldn’t hear her, and wept.

She wept for herself, for her lost love, for her stupidity.

She cried tears of anger, feeling rage sweep over her, cursing Azriel under her breath, calling him names. She was so angry. Angry at him for making her fall in love with him. Angry at him for making her feel. For having hope. Feelings and hope were things that she long ago placed in a place that she did not access and longed to forget. She hated Azriel Night for making her think that she could be loved, with a passion and devotion that Rhys offered her sister Feyre. She hated him for being even worse than Eris. At least Eris never offered her false hopes–he was what he was and she knew that going in. There would be no sweeping her off her feet by Eris. But Azriel…No, Azriel was gallant and strange. He courted her with ferocious intent and was not shy about showing her, and everyone around them, how much he wanted her. He loved her dog. He cooked for her. He cared for her. He cherished her. He joked, but he never pushed her into an uncomfortable place. She didn’t expect to find him and somehow, he landed on her doorstep. Literally. The old saying ‘it will happen when you least expect it’--well, it happened to her. She didn't expect him to sweep into her life and just overtake her whole existence. Because he did. And she hated him and herself, for allowing him so much power over her. She’d given him everything–her heart, first and foremost, but also access to her home, to her sanctuary and to her family. Even her father had accepted Azriel as an appropriate match for his beloved Elain. Elain was her father’s princess. She was the one he loved the most, and the one who gave him the most worry. He’d been lukewarm on Eris, despite Eris’s title and background. But Azriel–Azriel’d wormed his way into Sir Charles’s heart and Elain’s father came to like Azriel quite a bit.

But he never called.

At some point, while operating like a zombie day in and day out, Elain couldn’t stand it anymore and swallowed her pride and messaged Gwyn Berdara.

She was mentally exhausted, thinking nonstop about Azriel and why he was acting the way he was acting. Unable to bring herself to reach out to him yet again, and receive yet another awful, one word answer, she opted for contacting Gwyn. She had no feelings about Gwyn either way–she’d only met her twice in person, and Gwyn wasn’t memorable enough for Elain to develop a strong opinion about her. But Gwyn didn’t respond to her either. Elain had sent a nonchalant sort of message of: Good morning! How are you? Just checking in to see how things are going with Azriel Night? I didn’t want to bother him as he is training and playing right now, but I am curious about your progress with him?

The message remained unread.

However, Elain Archeron did not need to wait for long to get answers to her questions. They came a day later, courtesy of the Daily Mail.

Another Mystery Woman for the Rackish Lothario?

Azriel Night, Captain of Arsenal, never one wanting for female company, has been spotted at The Devonshire with a new companion.

It seems that only a few months had passed since he was photographed on the streets of London carrying another woman in his arms following an attempted robbery. He’d been previously seen with the beautiful partner, now identified as Lady Elain Archeron, on more than one occasion. Hello Magazine even published a holiday spread of the lovely Archeron sisters and their partners in their Christmas edition. London society is still buzzing over the surprise marriage of Lady Feyre Archeron and Lord Rhysand Darling back in December, and over the budding romance between Lady Nesta Archeron, the Duchess of Velaris and Mr. Cassian Night (Azriel Night’s brother).

By all accounts, the romance between the gorgeous aristocrat and Mr. Azriel Night was going splendidly and he’d been seen leaving her luxurious Russell Square townhouse, and even walking her pug, all through the month of December. However, it seems that their relationship is now on pause.

Mr. Night had been spotted dining at the upstairs restaurant at The Devonshire in the company of another woman. The yet to be named companion and Mr. Night enjoyed Sunday lunch at the Soho hotspot, dining on Roast Rib of Beef, all the trimmings and sticky toffee pudding.

After so many trials and errors, will this one be the one to capture Azriel Night’s heart forever?

He was at The Devonshire on Sunday–the Sunday when it was Elain’s turn to cook Sunday roast. When everyone had come to her house for lunch. And by everyone, she meant–everyone. Rhys. Feyre. Her father. Nesta. CASSIAN. Cassian Night, who introduced her and Azriel, was at her dinner table, eating roast chicken and buttery peas. But his brother, Elain’s boyfriend, was on a date with someone else.

A more awkward lunch couldn’t be imagined into existence, even by a talented writer.

Nesta was seething, smoke coming out of her ears. Cassian looked pained and uncomfortable. Rhys didn’t fare much better.

But it was Piglet who broke everyone’s hearts. He sat by the front door for three hours–waiting for Azriel to arrive. He didn’t move. He didn’t eat. He waited.

And waited.

The whole family was here, and surely his dad would come as well. So he waited. He paced and then he lay on the floor, and he looked at the door, blinking his big brown buggy eyes.

Only Azriel never came.

It was a few days later, when Elain on on break between meetings and arranging dates that her phone lit up with a message. She looked at it and her face dropped.

Gwyneth Berdara

Hi Elain! Things are going well, thank you for asking. How are you?

Elain Archeron

I am well, thanks! Forgive me for bothering you,

Gwyneth Berdara

It’s no bother! I apologise for not responding sooner. I had a presentation to create and it took all my energy and time! 😀

Elain Archeron

I can only imagine. I was just wondering how things are with Mr. Night?

Gwyneth Berdara

We made the Daily Mail. Can you imagine? The one time we had lunch together. I can’t imagine spending all my life being hounded by journos

Elain Archeron

Oh, have you? I wasn’t aware that you were in the paper!

Gwyneth Berdara

😂 😂 I am suddenly a mini celebrity. Haha. I am only joking. But honestly? Don’t laugh, but we are mostly talking about football and working out. And hand to hand combat.

Elain Archeron

You are interested in hand to hand combat??

Gwyneth Berdara

I’ve been studying. Self-defence first, and then I got interested in other things. He is showing me some sicke moves!

Elain Archeron

? Okay. I guess thank you for getting back to me. Let me know how it progresses.

Gwyneth Berdara

Will do. Also I didn’t realise the two of you were so close. He talks about you a lot. I know you were his matchmaker too but it’s like you are his GF or something.

Elain Archeron

Well, no worries. I am not. Thanks. Bye.

Elain was even more confused and upset about things after that bizarre exchange. Also, who used the expression ‘sicke moves’?

Professor Gwyn was into hand-to-hand combat? And Azriel was teaching her ‘sicke’ moves? Elain knew that Azriel was a fighter and grew up rough, but…what?

There was no clarity around what was actually happening between Azriel and Gwyn after all that, and Elain only grew more and more anxious.

Another Sunday.

It was Nesta’s turn to cook and host, however, Sir Charles insisted that his daughters come to his house instead. And for that, Elain was grateful.

She was even more grateful to her sisters, who’d arrived without their men. She knew that they were lying when they said that both Rhys and Cassian were ‘busy’ on Sunday, but nevertheless, she was grateful to them. She didn’t think that she could handle another painfully awkward lunch with the handsome brothers who looked entirely too much like Azriel, and with her grieving pug.

She was seated on the sofa, her legs tucked beneath her, her chin resting on her folded hands, as she looked out the window. It was raining. Rain. Rain. Rain. Endless fucking rain.

She barely bothered today–her appearance was sallow and unkempt. She tied her hair in a messy bun, wore a beige jumper and a pair of yoga trousers–attire which was entirely inappropriate for Sunday lunch and not something she’d ever dare leave the house in. But she just couldn't bring herself to care. When the butler opened the door, he stepped back, lack of recognition evident on his face, before he quickly gathered himself and said, “Lady Elain, good afternoon. Please come in.”

Her father, and neither of her sisters comment on her appearance and the maudlin way that she moved around the house, with Piglet trailing behind her, his nose to the ground. No one was surprised when she went to her father’s study and curled up on the sofa, like she did when she was little.

“He’s lost weight,” Sir Charles noted, as he stroked Piglet’s back, while the pug lay unmoving in his lap.

“Two kilos,” Elain said, looking out the window. Expensive cars rolled down the street, taxis and stray pedestrians huddled under their umbrellas. Late January was miserable. Even the warmth of the fire in the marble fireplace didn’t make a difference.

“That’s a lot for a pug,” her father commended. “Is he not eating?”

“He eats, but he doesn’t ask for snacks and mostly he just sits by the door,” Elain answered and wiped the tears that rolled down her cheeks.

“Elain,” he began saying, but she rose up swiftly and rubbed her eyes vigorously.

“I am okay, daddy,”

“No you aren’t,” he said sadly. “No you aren’t”.

She shrugged, like it didn’t matter. And maybe it didn’t. Nothing much mattered.

“Let’s go eat.”

Just then, a knock on the door informed them that lunch was indeed served.

At least life was predictable. Pleasantly predictable here, with her family. There were no treacherous men and no disloyalty.

Feyre and Nesta were already at the table, their expressions worried, even though they tried really hard to act normal.

“Hi Piggy, come here little boy,” Feyre tried to summon the pug, but Piglet didn’t even look at her and just went to his bowl, sniffing disinterestedly at the chicken and rice offering.

Once the wine was poured and the soup was served and the butler left the dining room, Nesta, who’s been clutching at her spoon like she was going to lunge at someone with it, snarled,

“I have to say something,”

“Don’t say anything,” Feyre warned. “Nesta. Don’t.”

“That utter arsehole,” Nesta ignored her youngest sister and clutched at her napkin until her knuckles were white.

Sir Charles winced, knowing that the lunch was about to descend into chaos.

“Girls,” he began with a sigh, but suddenly was interrupted by Elain.

Her voice was monotone and she spoke without inflection, staring straight ahead.

“If I die before Piglet,” she said calmly, while the rest of her family tensed and stared at her with apprehension, “show him my body.”

“Elain,” Feyre gasped. But Elain ignored her and continued,

“Bring him over to my deathbed. Allow him to smell me. He will understand death. He will understand that I was gone and that I would not be coming back. Allow him to mourn me. But do not attempt to spare him the sight of me and my death. He should know that he was not abandoned. He must know that I died, but that I did not leave him. He must understand that unlike others, I did not abandon him. Not like his first family and not like Azriel. He should not be waiting by the door for me to come back. Take him to the funeral and allow him to watch me be lowered into the ground so he understands the finality of it all. He must know that Elain loved him and did not leave him on his own. She was not like Azriel. She never lied to him.”

What Elain had missed the most was the casual intimacy.

As another week passed and January was coming to a close, Elain’s life returned to its natural, if boring routine.

She worked, taking on more clients–thank god for January and ‘resolutions’ and people wanting to couple up–and that took a lot of her time. She was grateful for the distraction, but the nights and the weekends were tough.

Most evenings, she cried herself to sleep, while remembering all the good things that she’d lived through with Azriel. He wasn’t dead, yet the fissure of emptiness inside her chest that was created by his absence really felt like he had died. There was something unsaid and unfinished about them, which bothered her like a toothache. It was a wound which she kept irritating every time she remembered something about him.

How he was so effortlessly sexual with her, and how his relaxed sensuality allowed her to feel free with her own sexuality for the first time in her life. To Azriel, she was beautiful. Always beautiful. Never awkward or chubby or clumsy or strange.

The way he would habitually slap her bum, every time he passed by her. Or pinch it. Or caress it. Or cup it in his large hand. At first it scandalised her. And then, she grew to love it. She grew to expect it.

The way he strutted around after a shower in only a towel wrapped around his hips, showing off his incredible body…goodness gracious! That was something to behold! The way she learned all the details of his form, no matter how insignificant–his tattoos, the shape of his shoulders, the thickness of his biceps, how his neck was a touch too long for his body, but how that made him appear more graceful. She knew exactly how many abdominal muscles he packed–more than six, and definitely eight, and she knew the shape of his long strong fingers. His hair curled slightly in the back of her neck. His hazel eyes had more green in them than brown, and were peppered with black specks. He had perfect toes. The V of his hips could only be called vicious, because it was so sharp and pointed right at his…The one thing Elain never got to see. She never saw his member. Felt it, knew that it was worryingly large and thick, but she never saw it.

She supposed that she always thought that they’d have more time.

She recalled how one time, they were in a restaurant. It was moderately busy and they were seated by the window. It so happened that there was no one at the table in front of them, or by their side. So what did he do? He parted her shirt on her chest, and when she thought that he’d just cop a feel–something he did often and without hesitation–he bared her breast completely and tugged on her nipple, while kissing her lips. She sat there, completely delirious with love and arousal, while he pinched and rolled her nipple in his fingers, while squeezing her bare tit in his palm. Just as the waiter approached, he tucked her back in and acted like nothing happened.

She missed him.

Sometimes, she screamed into her pillow, a long, tortured scream because she…well, she missed him. There was nothing that could replace him in her life.

She loved him. Loved him when they were together, and loved him now–perhaps even more than before.

He rang her.

Once.

It was a day like any other. A blustery wintry afternoon, only 5 pm and already pitch black outside. Though slowly, but surely the days were getting a bit longer. Just a little. It was early February and Elain just changed into her comfy joggers and a sweatshirt having just come back from walking Piglet. He hated being outside, especially when it was cold and drizzling, and thankfully, it was a quick walk and he did his business in record time.

For some reason, it didn’t register with Elain that it was Azriel’s name on the Caller ID.

She’d become so used to his calls and messages that it seemed normal that he’d be ringing her.

“Hello,” she said.

He seemed surprised when he said, “Hi Elain”.

Everything stopped.

The moment she heard that voice, that achingly familiar, smooth, deep voice she felt her hands shake, and her heart beat wildly in her chest.

She threw her phone on the counter as if it burned her and then, with her finger trembling, pressed the ‘speaker’ button.

“Why are you calling me?” she demanded, her voice barely a whisper.

He didn’t answer right away.

“Why?” she asked again, and to her horror her voice was already hoarse and weak, and she sounded strangled. Because there were tears in her eyes and she was hyperventilating.

“How are you?” he asked softly instead.

How was she?

How dare he?

How was she?

She howled like an animal in her sorrow over losing him.

She cried.

She screamed.

She wondered what she'd done and why he just left her without an explanation?

She didn’t eat.

She didn’t sleep or she slept too much.

“Fine. Brilliant. All good,” she laughed a dry, angry laugh. “I am sure you are doing well too, right? How’s Gwyn?”

He sighed, like the sound of her voice pained him.

“I didn’t like the way things ended between us,” he told her somberly, ignoring her question.

“Well, it was your choice, wasn’t it?” she reminded him.

“I suppose?”

It sounded like he wasn't sure.

“What do you want, Azriel?” she demanded.

“How’s Pink?” he asked instead.

“What do you want to hear exactly?”

Did he want to hear about Piglet crying by the door?

Did he want to hear about Piglet avoiding any football on TV and barking violently for her to change the channel if he saw anyone running on a green field?

Did he want to hear about Piglet sitting and waiting for him for hours, day after day, hoping that his dad would show up?

“You abandoned him,” she accused him savagely. “I told you not to make him fall in love with you. I told you not to allow him to get attached to you. I explicitly told you that this would happen if he thought of you as his own.”

“I am sorry,” he whispered brokenly.

“You did it all. You hurt us, Azriel. What do you expect to happen now?” she questioned him, feeling her voice becoming hysterical. “Two brothers and two sisters together at Christmas. A third sister alone. A third brother who used to date the third sister is now with some random woman. Is this your vision? For all of us to play happy families? Like nothing’s happened. Like we didn’t exist. Like what we had didn’t matter??”

“He did matter,” he argued. “It does.”

She ignored him.

“Cassian and Nesta are dating now. Feyre and Rhys are married. Instead of leaving me alone–like I requested, over and over again–you made me fall for you. Fall in love with you. And then you tossed me aside.”

“You love me?” he breathed a shocked gasp.

“What?”

“You said you fell in love with me,”

“You are unbelievable,” she cried out. He was always deranged, but now he was even more incomprehensible. What was wrong with him?

“My dog is screaming any time he sees Arsenal signage. My heart is shuttered. Is that what you wanted?” Elain broke down in tears. “Is that what you wanted?

“I never wanted that,” he argued quietly. “I never,”

“What did you think would happen?” she insisted, sobbing. “That I can just walk away?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted, his voice devastated. “It all spiralled out of control…I didn’t want any of this.”

She wasn’t listening to him.

She cried.

Cried for her lost love. Cried for the children she’d never have with him. Cried for the future they’d never have. Cried for not knowing what his perfect day consisted of. Cried for the Christmases they’d never celebrate together again. Cried for his touch and for his kisses and for him next to her in bed. Cried for the games she’d never cheer at. Cried for knowing that she’d never see him snuggling together with Piglet.

She cried and Azriel listened.

She didn’t know how long it lasted–felt like an hour–and he didn’t say anything. He didn’t comfort her, but he didn’t ask her to stop either.

At some point, Piglet came over. He looked up at her, watching her weep, and whimpered sadly, before curling himself at her feet.

“I am sorry, Elain,” Azriel whispered at last.

She quieted down, before telling him,

“I wanted to be your wife, you know. I wanted to build a family with you. I wanted to have your children.”

“I understand. And I am sorry.”

“I wish you happiness, Azriel. Even if you robbed me of mine.”

#elriel #elain archeron #azriel #azriel and elain #pro elriel #elain #elain x azriel #my fanfiction #A Match Baked In Heaven #my writing #Elriel fanfic #elain and azriel #azriel x elain #new chapter #acotar fanfiction #modern au

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bosinclairsgff · 3 days

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Slashers reacting to self harm scars

MAJOR TRIGGER WARNING FOR SELF HARM

Warning: talk of self harm, Otis’s is kinda dark, kidnap

Includes: Baby Firefly, Otis Driftwood, Bo Sinclair, The Grabber, Amanda Young

Baby would be laying down with you in bed one night. She loves cuddling you and covering you in kisses. The kisses would start at your neck and go the way down to your hands. That’s when she feels scabbed over cuts on your arm. Immediately she sits up and grabs your arm. “Sugar, what happened?? Are ya okay? Did someone hurt ya?” She asks frantically. You would have to explain to her what happened. She’s heartbroken at first, not understanding why you would do that to yourself. Baby loves you so much and wants you to see how amazing you are. “Oh sweetheart, you don’t have to do that. It’s okay ya know I’ll take care ya.” She says sympathetically, pulling you into a tight hug. “Please don’t do that again sugar, come to me, I’ll help you.” Baby says. You nod in response, maybe she could help you.

Otis wanted to take a shower with you, which you wouldn’t pass up the opportunity for getting him clean. The only bad thing was you had just relapsed recently. You did not want him to see that right now, not knowing how he’d react. Otis went ahead of you and started the shower, getting in first. You slowly followed behind him. “What the fuck is taking ya so god damn long girl, I don’t have all fucking day.” He shouts. You pick the pace up, undressing and stepping into the shower with him. Immediately his eyes fall to your arms and thighs. “What the fuck happened to ya?” He says reaching out to touch your arm. You wince and pull back. “I asked what the fuck happened.” He states in a darker tone. Taking to long for his liking he grabs you by the neck and pushes you against the wall. “You think it’s okay to harm yourself like that mama?” Otis questions again. You shake your head, struggling to breathe. “You ever pull some shit like this again, and I’ll show you real mother fucking pain bitch.” He growls into your ear.

For the past few days you’ve been walking around Ambrose in a long sleeve shirt, keeping it on day and night. Bo starts to notice after the first day. How you avoid him touching one of your arms. Even at night when you usually sleep in one of his oversized shirts, you’ve stuck to a tight long sleeve. So, he confronts you one night. “Darlin, why are you wearin that damn long sleeve shirt in the middle of a Louisiana summer?” Bo questions while tilting his head to the side. It catches you off guard you thought he hadn’t noticed. “Oh I’m not sure. I didn’t even realize I had been wearing a long sleeve shirt. It does keep the sun off me though so that’s good I suppose.” You try to laugh it off. He looks down and chuckles, before grabbing you roughly and the wrist. You yelp in response. Before you can protest he harshly shoves your sleeve up your arm, making you wince in slight pain. His eyes widen at the sight. “Baby, why would you do that? I never want to see this shit again. You understan me?” He barks out like an order, gripping your wrist tighter. “Okay! I promise I won’t do it again, please let go.” Satisfied, he lets go.

It was the third day you had been taken and kept in this hell like basement. You knew it was The Grabber who had taken you. Sometimes when you woke up, you found him sitting near the mattress, just watching you sleep. It scared you but also brought almost a sick comfort. This time he came downstairs he had a small cardboard box in his hands. “I brought you a….new shirt and new underwear. So I can wash your pants.” He says smiling. You say nothing in response, just nodding. He sat down the box in front of you, watching, waiting for you to make a move to look into the box. Scared, you move forward and taking the shirt and underwear out of the box. “Where can I change?” You say, just above a whisper. The man chuckles darkly. “You’ll change right here dove.” His dark smile growing larger. Not wanting to make him mad you take your shirt off, revealing your arms to him. His eyes stay emotionless but intrigued. “Oh my little dove, why do such a thing? Your skin is so beautiful.” He says in almost a kind, caring voice. “I don’t know, it helps me calm down. The world can be so much to handle.” You respond putting the shirt over your head. You couldn’t hide your arms as it was a short sleeve shirt. It was however just oversized enough to hide your most precious parts from his eyes as you changed underwear. Sliding the cardboard box back over to his feet with the dirty clothes you look up at him. He squats down, now eye to eye with you. “What will you do now to handle the world?” He laughs darkly, getting up and leaving you alone in the dark basement.

#horror #horror fan #horror movie #horror movies #horror films #slasher x reader #slashers #house of wax #bo sinclair x reader #bo sinclair #the grabber x you #the grabber x reader #the black phone fanfic #otis driftwood x reader #otis driftwood #baby firefly x reader #baby firefly #bosinclairsgff #dark fic

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wylansvanhendriks · 2 months

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musical!dmitry isn’t as good as his movie counterpart to YOU. i get him though.

#i get him in way you’ll NEVER understand.#y’all acting like the depth that was given to him is a BAD thing??#him having more connections to anya and a real reason for spending time with vlad is a BAD thing??#they literally put the sad pathetic man from screen onto that stage what’s not clicking???#this is also 3/4 a joke i dont want hate in my notes please.#anastasia #dmitry sudayev #anastasia 1997 #text #userevaz #musical: anastasia

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splashtailstar · 19 days

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I can recite the entire fire scene from memory

And by that, I mean I literally recite it out loud as I drive to school

#sq: ashfur‚ get out of the way. let them get out. as: brambleclaw isn't here to look after them now. lb: what have you done with my father?#as: why would i waste my time with brambleclaw? sq: your quarrel with brambleclaw has to stop. too many moons have passed. you have to —#accept i’m brambleclaw’s mate‚ not yours. you can’t keep trying to punish brambleclaw for something that was always meant to be. as: i have #no quarrel with brambleclaw. lb: that’s not how it looks to me. as: i couldn’t care less about brambleclaw. it’s not his fault he feel for #a faithless she-cat. i know you think i’ve never forgiven brambleclaw for stealing you from me‚ but you’re wrong and so is every other cat #who thinks so. my quarrel is with you‚ squirrelflight! it always has been. sq: all of this happened moons ago. ashfur‚ i had no idea you —#were still upset. as: 'upset?' i’m not 'upset'. you have no idea how much pain i’m in. it’s like being cut open every day‚ bleeding onto —#the stones. i can’t understand how any of you failed to see the blood… … stay there! i can’t believe you didn’t know how much pain you —#caused me. you are the blind one‚ not jayfeather. who do you think sent firestar the message to go down to the lake‚ where the fox trap was #i wanted him to die–to take your father away so you’d know the real meaning of pain. hl: he tried to kill 'firestar?' he’s mad! lb: i’m —#going to fight him. hl: no‚ you can’t! he’ll just push you into the fire! as: brambleclaw saved firestar then. but he’s not here now. he’s #not‚ but your kids are. sq: enough ashfur. these young cats have done nothing to harm you. do what you like with me‚ but let them out of —#the fire. as: you don’t understand. you tore my heart out when you choose brambleclaw over me. anything i did to you would never hurt as —#much. but your kits–if you watch them die‚ you’ll know the pain i felt. sq: kill them then. you won’t hurry me that way. if you really want #to hurt me‚ you’ll have to find a better way than that. they are not my kits.#*hurt #(also with the “my quarrel is with 'you'‚ squirrelfight”‚ i meant to italicize the word 'you')#the power of special interests #*chose #harbor's posts

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angelfic · 8 months

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— THE WAY I LOVED YOU

pairing: theodore nott x reader

summary: in which theodore nott will do anything to get you to go out with him, but you’re just as stubborn rejecting him

warnings: swearing, kissing, dangerous stunts and theo being stupid (ryan gosling in the notebook style), unedited since i wrote this in the middle of the night on no sleep again lol. enemies to lovers if you squint a bit

author’s note: since everyone loves theo i’ll pretend this isn’t just for my own selfish needs <3 (especially the notebook reference) also surprise surprise mc is a gryffindor as always, you’d never know i was a slytherin my bad guys… as always let me know what u think! enjoy, angels 💌

The first time Theodore Nott asks you out, you spill a pot of ink directly into his lap.

It’s not like you meant to do it. But when there’s a Transfiguration worksheet to be getting on with, the Slytherin boy seated next to you by Professor McGonagall asking you out would surely take anyone by surprise.

The second you twist in your seat to look at him in shock, your arm slides the pot right off the desk and directly onto his grey trousers, instantly staining them with the black liquid before you have a chance to speak.

Your hands fly to your mouth to stifle your gasp and you look up at him, anticipating an angry glare in return. Instead, he looks mildly surprised at the ever-growing stain on his crotch, but mostly… amused?

“A simple ‘no’ would have sufficed, darling,” he says, raising an eyebrow and suppressing a smile.

You begin stuttering out an apology and scrambling for your wand to wave away the stain before you can do something stupid like attempting to rub it off with your sleeve. Your cheeks instantly heat up at the humiliating image now plaguing your mind and you barely contain a sigh of relief when you realise the lesson has finished.

It’s a miracle your shoes haven’t left scuff marks on the ground in a cartoonish trail with the speed at which you leave the classroom. Godric knows why Theo Nott of all people wants to ask you out, but since it can’t possibly be for any good reason, you’d rather not think about it too much. This, however, isn’t helped by Hermione pestering you about why you look so flustered for the entire walk to the Charms classroom.

Twenty minutes later, her attention is finally diverted. On the other hand, it’s because she’s berating you for accidentally burning the end of her left eyebrow off with a charm gone wrong.

The second time Theo asks you out, there are thankfully no ink pots around.

“Hey,” he whispers from behind you, making you jump within an inch of your life despite his low volume. You swivel in your chair to glare at him, incredulous. Seeing that he’s startled you, Theo grins. “Sorry. What are you doing?”

“Baking a cake,” you deadpan, once your heart has started beating at a normal pace again. Holding up your Potions book, you feel the annoyance start to seep in when Theo continues looking at you, undeterred. “What does it look like I’m doing?”

Apparently unfazed by your sarcasm, he drags out the chair next to you and spins it around to sit on it backwards. Settling his arms on top of the backrest, Theo rests his chin on them to look at you. “You never did answer my question.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you mumble, eyes scanning the page in front of you but taking in nothing. “If you’ll excuse me, I have to study-”

“Are you going to make me ask you again?” he sighs. You panic a little at his bluntness and continue pretending to read, not knowing what else to do. Theo takes your silence as encouragement and shuffles his chair closer to your own. “Go out with me.”

The arrogance practically drips off his voice, and the pit of anxiety in your stomach immediately turns into irritation instead. “No,” you grit out, slamming your potions book shut to scowl at him. “And I don’t hear you asking anything.”

“Okay,” Theo says slowly, nodding as though he understands. It’s clear that he doesn’t though, because the next words out of his mouth have you stunned. “Please, oh please, will you do me the absolute greatest honour of going out with me?”

”Merlin,” you exhale, pinching the bridge of your nose. Dropping your hands into your lap, you see no solution other than gathering your things to return to the common room. “You’re having me on…”

“I can assure you, I’m not,” Theo says quickly, stopping you from leaving by gently grabbing your elbow. You stop in your movements to catch him looking more unsure than you’ve ever seen, and you’ve never been more perplexed. “I’m completely serious right now. Go out with me?”

“Wh- I don’t even-” you sigh, cutting your senseless muttering off to cross your arms over your textbook. “Whatever happened to a simple ‘no’ sufficing, darling? Aren’t there a million other girls for you to go and pester? Godric knows you’ve got an entourage following you half the- What are you looking at?”

Amazingly, Theo’s expression has lost all trace of vulnerability and now displays a slightly faraway look, his signature lazy grin in full effect. “Sorry, I didn’t hear a word after you called me ‘darling’.”

Resisting the urge to hit him over the head with your textbook, you take a deep breath and grasp the potential weapon tighter in your hands before speaking. “As hard as it is for me to believe that girls actually fall for this rubbish, your history with them shows that they do. Don’t think for a second, I’m going to let you use me like they do.”

Theo considers your words for a few seconds, mulling them over as carefully as though he’s trying to solve a brain teaser. Eventually, he seems to come to a satisfying conclusion, because he tucks his hands into the pockets of his trousers and tilts his head. “So you need me to prove I’m serious about this… and then you’ll say yes?”

“Oh, for the love of-” Huffing, you turn on your heal without saying another word and storm out of the library. Theo doesn’t follow you, allowing you to clear your head and think about the incredibly odd interaction.

You’re climbing through the portrait hole into the Gryffindor common room when you realise you never actually refuted Theo and his theory to make you go out with him. Whether or not it was on purpose, you can’t quite decide.

Over the next few weeks, you start wishing you had stopped Theo before he could start trying to prove himself to you.

You can’t go a single day without the question of going out with him popping up. Much to your bewilderment, it isn’t always him asking. Sometimes it’s his friends, sometimes it’s students at the Gryffindor table who are sick of the multiple owls every morning flocking to your table with a note in their beaks. Sometimes it’s even your friends.

“I mean, really,” Hermione says at breakfast, huffy as always when reprimanding someone. “It’d be benefiting everyone if you just went out with him. Why don’t you, anyway?”

“He’s a Slytherin,” Ron butts in, talking to Hermione as though he’s explaining something to a child. He takes a gigantic bite of his toast before speaking, his next words coming out muffled. “Surely that’s reason enough.”

“No, that isn’t reason enough,” Hermione says sternly, furrowing her brows. “A good reason would have been all the girls he’s always with. Of course, that’s flown out the window recently. He’s also never given them as much attention now that I think about it.”

“He’s definitely not the worst of the group either,” Harry adds, leaning in as nosily as Ron. “Not like we’re talking about Malfoy…”

“Don’t you two have Quidditch tactics to be discussing?” you snap, exhausted by the subject already. The two boys hold up their hands in surrender, before shuffling down the bench. Whether that’s to be closer to the Quidditch team, or to get away from you before you start throwing hexes - you aren’t certain.

The fact you’re awake early in the morning on a Saturday isn’t helping your sour mood, and the Quidditch match being between Gryffindor and Slytherin only adds to this.

“We’d better go and get a good seat at the front, so we aren’t on our tiptoes for the whole game like last time,” Hermione says, already sliding off the bench. You give your cup of coffee one last longing look before you allow yourself to be dragged away.

You haven’t even made it onto the Quidditch pitch before you’re already wishing for that cup of coffee to give you strength, because you find none other than Theo standing outside the Great Hall in his green and silver Quidditch robes.

As soon as he spots you, Theo plasters on that charming smile of his and opens his mouth, no doubt to ask you if you could talk privately.

Hermione interjects before he gets the chance. “Don’t bother, I’m leaving.” She simply sighs when you look at her, betrayed. “He’d have convinced you anyway! I’ll save you a seat.”

You watch her leave, helplessly before turning to Theo and crossing your arms. “Yes?”

“I have a proposition for you,” he says simply, getting to the point. The proposition has, without a doubt, got something to do with you and him and a trip to Hogsmeade, but you gesture for him to continue nonetheless. You can’t deny it’s been entertaining watching Theo come up with new ways to ask you out these past few weeks. “I’ll throw the match and let your lot win if you go out with me.”

This startles a laugh out of you, something between a chortle and a gasp. “Oh, you cheeky bastard,” you exclaim, but you can’t help grinning. That was quite possibly the last thing you expected him to say. “First of all, I think my lot is perfectly capable of winning on their own. And secondly… as funny as it would be, I’d rather not have your death and Malfoy’s subsequent imprisonment in Azkaban be on my conscience.”

You only realise just how wide your smile is when it starts to fade under Theo’s unwavering gaze. His lips twitch up into a smile and you immediately frown as an automatic response. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“You’re bantering with me,” Theo says, grinning as though he’s extremely pleased with himself. You realise with a jolt, that yes you were bantering. “One step closer to agreeing to go out with me.”

“That’s not happening,” you protest, but it sounds fairly weak, even to you. “Like I keep telling you, I’m not going to be one of those girls.”

Theo shrugs. “And I think you already know you’re not one of those girls. It’s fine, I can wait.”

The relaxed manner in which he says this has you flabbergasted to say the least. Truthfully, you aren’t completely sure why you haven’t just agreed at this point. No one in the whole school is used to witnessing such extravagant displays from Theodore Nott, so you’ve accepted the fact you’re an outlier in this particular subject area. You’re starting to think Hermione’s right, and it’s pure stubbornness that’s keeping you going.

“You’ll be waiting a long time then,” you say, giving Theo a bland smile.

“Nah,” is all he says, the smile still gracing his unperturbed face. “Keep an eye out for me in the Quidditch stands.”

Theo winks at you before walking away in the direction of the pitch and you linger in the castle for a good few minutes before snapping out of it and walking in the same direction.

You find Hermione quickly at the front of the Gryffindor stand and you’re about to ask how long until the game starts when Lee Jordan’s voice begins to boom from the commentator stand.

“Strong start for Gryffindor with Katie Bell taking the Quaffle and- nope, Vaisey’s taken it and passed it onto Urquhart, his fellow Chaser and the new Slytherin captain.” You’re thankful for Lee’s commentary as it’s easy to follow and you probably wouldn’t have a clue if it weren’t for him. Surprisingly, he keeps it professional enough for a while. “Ginny Weasley tries to take the Quaffle after a near hit there to Urquhart, thanks to new Gryffindor Beater Jimmy Peakes and that very solid Bludger over there. Unfortunately, he missed-”

“JORDAN.”

“Sorry, Professor McGonagall, I meant fortunately. Slytherin Chaser Mattheo Riddle now has the Quaffle and seems to be aiming to score and- oops! He’s missed, thanks to Gryffindor Keeper Ron Weasley. Good on you, Weasley,” Lee says, unable to be impartial as shown by McGonagall’s glare. “As for the Slytherin Keeper, Nott seems to be distracted by something in the Gryffindor stands. Or should I say someone.”

Laughter echoes in every stand, much to your utter humiliation and some people even start whooping and cheering in your direction. Theo’s antics are common knowledge at this point, but it doesn’t make the laughter any less embarrassing. You try and maintain a shred of dignity by standing still and glaring as hard as you can at Theo. Horrifyingly, he starts to fly in your direction.

Lee looks at McGonagall before speaking, but she merely shrugs helplessly, looking flustered herself. “Er, well it seems Slytherin are open for Gryffindor to score. No one seems to be taking advantage, however, as I think I can speak for everyone when I say we want to know what’s going on with Nott and Y/N.”

Glancing at the others, you realise Lee is right and all the players are hovering in place, making no move to continue the game. They look partly confused, but mostly nosy.

Theo stops just outside the Gryffindor stand, his attention focused wholly on you. You raise both eyebrows in question, waiting for him to speak. “Go out with me.”

“Unfortunately, I can’t quite hear what Nott is saying, but I think we can all guess he’s asking her out again,” Lee says, causing a few more cheers and even a couple groans. “Take the hint, mate.”

“Theo, get back to the game!” you hiss, wrapping your arms around you as if it’ll shield you from everyone’s eyes. “You’re embarrassing m- What the fuck are you doing!”

Theo swings a leg over the side of his broomstick so that he’s sitting completely facing you, legs dangling dangerously off one side. Lee sits up a little in his booth and McGonagall looks positively horrified. “For unknown reasons, Nott is balancing precariously in a position no Quidditch player wants to- Merlin, he’s hanging off his broomstick!”

Everyone in the crowd screams and shouts when Theo slips off his broomstick, but they quieten down and watch with fright when they see he’s still holding on with both hands. You think you’re going to faint.

“Theo,” you plead, with the same voice you’d use to coax a bloody kitten out of a tree. “Get back on your broomstick. Please.”

“Only if you go out with me,” Theo says, eyes determined despite breathing a little heavier. The broomstick is thin and despite his strength, it’d be hard for anyone to maintain a grip for long. “Say you’ll go out with me and I’ll get back on.”

“Just say it!” Hermione grabs you by the shoulder to shake you.

Professor McGonagall seems to have shaken out of her previous daze and begins scrambling around for her wand while Lee narrows his eyes to better assess the situation. “Godric, Y/N. Just say ‘yes’ and end everyone’s misery already.”

“But…” you trail off, hands shaking as you keep your eyes on Theo’s white knuckles still gripping the broom. “I don’t want to encourage this stupid behaviour.”

Theo rolls his eyes as though he can’t believe you’re still objecting. He shakes his head at you, though his chest is shaking with laughter. “Go out with me, and I swear I’ll never do anything stupid again. Fucking hell, I’ll quit Quidditch altogether if you want.”

You open your mouth to say something, you’re not sure what, but before you can get a word out, Seamus Finnigan pipes up from beside you. “Personally, I say let him fall off the bloody thing.”

Tutting, you turn to Theo just to find the idiot raising an eyebrow challengingly. His left hand begins to loosen on the broomstick, deliberately.

“Theo, don’t you dare.”

He drops his left hand completely and you scream, the noise drowned out by everyone else’s yells.

“OKAY!” you yelp, heart in throat as you watch Theo dangling from his broomstick with one hand, clearly struggling. “Okay, I’ll go out with you, you stubborn idiot!”

The Gryffindors that hear you, begin to cheer, setting off the other houses and once McGonagall sees Theo begin to pull himself up on his broomstick, she visibly relaxes, slumping in her seat as she clutches her chest. Lee soon gets the message. “Finally, after a good month of watching Nott pine pathetically, Y/N has agreed to go out with the poor bast- Er, beggar. Sorry, Professor. By the way Nott, you’ve got detention for a week.”

Now sitting normally on his broomstick, Theo grins at you like the cheeky bastard that he is, with elation clear as day on his face. You struggle to fight off your own grin and you can tell by his expression you’re not doing a very good job at it. “Pull something like that again and I’ll push you off your broomstick myself,” you warn him, though it lacks any real threat. You were more worried than angry, and it definitely shows. “Okay?”

“No more stupid behaviour,” Theo promises, sounding sincere as he nods, messy hair falling into his eyes. The wind blows it out of the way almost immediately and you find yourself wanting to do it with your fingers. “After this, though.”

You furrow your brows as Theo flies close enough to the Gryffindor stand to get off his broomstick and hop right into the crowd, landing next to you. Broomstick in hand, Theo doesn’t take his eyes off you when he holds it out to Hermione. “If you don’t mind, Granger.”

Clearly baffled, Hermione gingerly takes the broomstick from him and watches the two of you, as enraptured as the rest of the school.

You face Theo properly, looking up at his eyes to see them glittering with pride and achievement. You tilt your head in question, wondering why he hasn’t yet returned to the game.

Theo answers you by gripping your waist to pull you into a stupidly dramatic, dizzying, wonderful kiss. His lips are soft against your own and cold from the wind, but the shiver that runs down your spine has nothing to do with the temperature and everything to do with the way Theo is pressed against you.

You could go on forever, but the cheers and claps and hollering around you remind you that you’re surrounded by all your peers and, Godric, your teachers.

Pulling away, you clear your throat and attempt to gain back some of your dignity by keeping a serious face. Theo attempts nothing of the sort as he’s still wearing a silly grin. You try and avoid his eyes for the sake of your nerves and you mutter the first thing that comes to mind. “Erm, good luck then. I hope you win.”

This is the wrong thing to say surrounded by your fellow Gryffindors as a few of them boo at you.

Theo rolls his eyes at the dramatics, while you simply scowl, pointedly at Seamus who seems to have boo’ed the loudest. Hermione is beaming at you when she hands Theo back his broomstick, though she also gives a little frown directed at Seamus.

Getting back on his broomstick, Theo hovers near you outside the stand. You lower your voice to a whisper that only he can hear. “I still hope you win.”

Theo shrugs, looking more relaxed than you’ve ever seen him during a Quidditch game. “I’ve already won, darling.”

#theodore nott x reader #theodore nott x you #theodore nott scenarios #theodore nott smut #theodore nott fluff #theodore nott imagines #theodore nott x y/n #theodore nott fanfiction #theodore nott

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hxltic · 9 months

Text

bein yelled at by ghost. you’ve been in the army this long, been yelled at by sergeants and others alike, majority men—obviously—but none of them like this. The others you didn’t even flinch as they screamed directly into your ears, probably even worse than other men just to intimidate you as a woman.

You caught him in a bad mood and it seemed completely unrelated to work, but as his partner and soldier, he had to tell you things that you didn’t want to hear.

“Hey, I got your message Simon, didn’t mean for that to happen. Won’t let it happen again.” You place some things of yours down on the dresser as you enter his quarters. He’s standing there in thought, unreadable.

His mask is still on with his gear connected to his body.

“Damn right, you won’t.” He gruffs, heavy in his accent.

All you could do was question what this meant. Would he not let you do it again? Were you being thrown in a different squad?

“What does that mean?” You stop your moving for a direct answer. You almost took that personally.

He explains, “You made an impulsive decision that would have led to half our unit being taken out. The amount we sent to that building was more than usual.”

“I understand, and that was on me. In my defense though: it was a suggestion in the moment, one that the other members also formally agreed to. It wasn’t just me.” You giggle, even though you’re aware these aren’t giggling matters. You just needed to lighten the mood.

“There were 35 men in that building alone. Led by Gaz and König!”

He fully pronounced the words, turning to you aggressively. Had you known this was the severity of his mood, you never would’ve taunted him in any type of way. This was when he had to be your boss.

“I understand but-“

“It doesn’t matter who agreed! You are seen as a leader standing next to me and you introduced the idea. I cannot be there to stop you every time you do something stupid.” His eyes were laced with anger, an anger that arose out of the protection built for his squad over the years.

“Every time?”

He said that like you did something stupid every day. He’s had bad missions before too, and we should all just be happy everyone made it back safe. Well, maybe one or two. He quickly turns to you, but stays in his spot.

“Every bloody time. It’s the mission before that. Then that. You cannot keep jeopardizing this team.”

Despite the offense you took to his words, you understood him.

“I understand.” You speak. For the night, you split off into your own quarters, not wanting to anger him any more than you already have. You’ll just have to be better with your decisions. There’s more than just your life on the line now.

The next few days, you’ve been kind of stand off-ish, hoping he’d come to you when he was feeling so. Instead, you were all assigned a mission, one they’d put you in charge of. Naturally, you’d felt it best to prove yourself and win his attention back. He was still Simon, and you still loved him.

. .

You all returned back to base with a more than successful mission under your belt. This made you extremely happy, as it’s finally a good time to speak to him.

You approach his door, then knock. You never knock.

A deep, “Come in,” is all you get.

You walk in to him sitting at his desk, his back to the door.

“Hey,” is all you can muster. You’d had the balls to walk in, but Simon is still a scary man. Your hands come down from his shoulders to massage over his biceps.

“I’m sorry for the past few days. I hope I redeemed myself?” You try.

“Hm,” He grunts, standing from his desk and filing papers into the drawers. This made you a little wary.

“Are you feeling okay Simon?” You fiddle your fingers together as you watch him walk around to the other side of the table.

“Fuckin’ fabulous.”

Your hands drop. You’d expected something, or some type of praise. Instead, you got this.

“What’s wrong? I thought I did good this time?”

“Is there something you want?” He shoots back. You glance at him, then around the room, then the floor. “No? Alright then.” He continues on as if you aren’t there. You stand in disbelief.

“What has got you so upset Simon? You can talk to me.”

“Did ya come in my room with nothin to say? What are you here for?” he snaps back.

This was a knife in the heart. You’d been terrified of the business portion of your relationship engulfing the rest, but you didn’t want to believe it. Maybe that wasn’t the case. Maybe it wasn’t you.

“Literally what is your problem?” You wanted to yell, but you couldn’t. It wasn’t in your nature. It didn’t feel right yelling at him.

You attempt to walk to his front, hoping that seeing your face would bring him some sense of calmness or bring him back down to Earth, but that was long gone. He’d lost all professionalism or softness.

Or maybe that was just it, and there was too much professionalism.

You reach him and plead, “Simon please, let me help y-“

“Fuckin’ hell, I don’t need your goddamn help!”

His head whips around, and that was all it took for you to realize the severity of everything going on. You’d physically retracted back and flinched. It’d been a long time since you’d done that.

“What do you want?” He throws the pen he’d held to the wall, and if you could see, you’d say there was a visible dent. That was your second step back, and you only took more as he came forward powerfully, his frame enlarging with each step.

“I-“

“Do you want me to praise you for your fuckin’ job? Now that you’ve decided to take it seriously?” He growls.

This was completely untrue, it wasn’t easy getting into 141, and it didn’t take anything but seriousness. Despite this, it didn’t take away from how his voice seemed to reverberate through your bones. You were retreating from him the best you could, but you didn’t want to look away, afraid it’d make him angrier.

Your hands felt around behind you as you got closer and closer to the wall, but not before detecting a small table that almost had you stumbling backwards when you knocked it over. Along with some more pens, a vase fell, shattering about and leaving tiny shards for your feet to step on the one day you decided not to wear the house slippers Gaz always made fun of you for.

He could literally take your breath away, but the piercing sensation under you couldn’t compare to the expression he wore that was dripping with malice. You felt like prey under a predator, caged to the wall with nowhere to go.

Your back hit with a thump, your hands flying back to the wall but close to your figure. You’d wanted to put them between you two, hoping it’d prevent him from coming closer, but it wouldn’t work. So now you search for separation by forcing your cheek against the wall, eyes frantically darting back and forth between nothing in particular and the raging man towering over you. You don’t think you could look at him anymore.

You whisper, “S-Simon. Please-”

He was so close his breath was to your ear as he leaned over. You were scared. In fact, you’d spoke it so lightly, you don’t even remember if you did or if it was just a thought.

“This,” he was referring to today, “is absolute bare minimum. Your job is to take orders, then get it done with the least. Casualties. Possible. Do you understand me?” He enunciates every part of the sentence, every word, so deep and low but strong that you had no choice but for it to be engraved in your brain. He was infuriated.

You didn’t want to breath too hard, afraid it’d also upset him, so your shortness of breath had you quickly nodding. The last words had you trembling.

“Do you fuckin’ understand me?” His words seem to shake the room, booming loud and clear enough to make you flinch again and your eyes squeeze shut. It was even worse than before—you were terrified.

He made you feel like a little girl again, answering to her father that she could never seem to impress no matter what she did. That’s why she joined the army. So she could be in charge.

But it didn’t stop because your eyes had to blink open to reality, and the time bomb called a response was ticking, just like his already gone patience. It also didn’t stop things from getting blurry, and before you knew or could stop it, there was a tear gathering that eventually released to your cheek.

“Y-yes sir,” you whimper on unsteady breath, Closing your eyes in prayer he would retreat. He was there for a little longer, but once you felt his presence leave back into the heart of his room, you still didn’t move an inch. You eventually shuffled uncomfortably to the door, not even feeling okay enough to close it behind you. You dashed as fast as one could go with millions of tiny glass in their feet, and before tending to it, you shut your door and fell to your butt with your back pressed against it and cried.

It’d been so long since you’ve cried over this specific issue; you thought you’d left it behind you. You technically had, but it was reawakened. The mission fatigued you, and you were so exhausted, but the only reason you didn’t lay your head down in the bed and fall asleep was the glass that would distribute painfully throughout your sheets.

You wrapped your feet and slipped into the night with the occasional sob.

. .

Sometime in the night, your locked room was intruded, assumingely by the one man graced with a key. Large hands scooped you up effortlessly, before bringing your head to one shoulder. You felt warm lips seep into your forehead.

He whispered things to you, things you couldn’t hear, but your head was held protectively with his strong hand over your ear. You’d been rested in another bed, one that smelled like him. He removed the tape from your feet and actually cleaned your wounds before tucking you in and sliding in beside you.

He felt like he didn’t deserve it, the guilt enough to bring him to tears, but he also felt like he didn’t deserve to cry. So instead, he tucks your head into his body closer, praying the sleeping version of you would recognize this as an apology until the morning.

©️ hxltic pt.2!

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augustinewrites · 3 months

Text

cw: it’s just angst

“i’m not mad.”

satoru closes and locks the front door, trailing after you into the kitchen, apprehension rising in the space kept between you. “really? because you seem kind of mad…”

“it’s fine, gojo.” you snap. “i’m fine.”

he watches you, quiet as the two of you go about your evening routine. leftovers from meals brought to the infirmary stowed away. week-old laundry tossed into the basket. you don’t say a word to him, emotions you don’t know how to make sense of still simmering.

“i’m sorry,” he says plainly as you’re both putting away the dishes.

you wipe your hands on the tea towel, glancing over at him. “do you even know what you’re apologizing for?”

he shifts, unsure. “no…”

“of course you don’t,” you sigh.

“then tell me,” he insists, exasperated. “i don’t want to fight.”

“i don’t want to either,” you snap. “but you’re doing it again.”

“doing what?”

“you just spent a week in the infirmary. you were hurt.”

“c’mon,” he laughs weakly. “there was no real chance of me dying.”

“that’s not the—” you voice rises, then immediately quiets when you realize the kids are asleep. “that’s not the point. you’re losing yourself in it again. soon you’re going to drift away from us— from me,” you tell him, bleeding into the pain you’ve felt the last few days. “like you did when we were in school.”

because for as long as you’d known gojo, his drive was to constantly do more. be more. the period of time after the failure that was the star plasma vessel mission was the first time you’d witnessed it. gojo satoru doesn’t do anything halfway. he won’t permit himself to.

that’s what really scares you. he doesn’t know when to stop.

“i’m sorry that i worried you,” he apologizes, sincerity etched into his expression. you know him, know that he’s scared to say the wrong thing, that he’ll mess this up or somehow make it worse. “i had to. the higher ups—”

“satoru,” you interrupt, walls crumbling right in front of him. “i’ve always liked that you care about the jujutsu world. i just don’t want you to only care about it. not with where we are in our lives right now.”

“i don’t—”

“you do! you always have, and i get it. i know the world needs you…but things are getting worse, and we need to start thinking about the future—”

“everything i’m doing is for the future. for the future generation of sorcerers all over the world—”

“i don’t care about the world! i just care about you, and that’s the problem. one person always cares more in a relationship and that’s always been me.”

“that’s not true,” he insists, a desperate edge in his voice. “all i’ve ever wanted is you. all i’ve never needed is you—”

“i need you too! maybe that sounds selfish or needy, but i don’t want there to be a day where i have to tell the kids that you’re not coming home. if you can’t understand that—”

he doesn’t think you realize you’re crying, frustrated tears gathering in your eyes and threatening to spill over. satoru reaches for you out of instinct, your argument the furthest thing from both your minds at this moment. you let him pull you into his arms, let him hold you.

but you’re exhausted.

this is fight you’ve been having since the moment you’d met him, and you don’t think he’ll understand the impact of it until you walk away.

“if you don’t understand that,” you continue softly, “then maybe we need to take a break.”

_____

outside the apartment door, nanami and shoko sit side by side, sharing a bottle of "welcome home" wine.

"guess they forgot we were coming over," the doctor mutters, pressing her ear against the door to see if jujutsu tech's favourite couple was still fighting. “it’s way too quiet in there. you think she killed him?”

nanami sighs, loosening his tie. “it’s quite possible.”

“i’ll be the alibi and you’ll get rid of the body?”

“of course.”

#fushigojo breakup fic part one #gojo x reader #jjk x reader #gojo satoru x reader #keeping up with the fushigojos #jjk angst

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yandere-writer-momo · 3 months

Text

The final part of Mommy! First part

Yandere Short Stories: Mommy

Delusional Yandere Single Father x Teacher Afab Reader x Platonic Yandere Son

Jesse wrapped his arms around (your name)‘s legs, the small boy hummed in contentment when she ran her fingers through his black curls. Why couldn’t she be his mom? She was so warm and gentle… so much better than the woman who gave birth to him.

“Jesse? I think your nanny is waiting to take you home.” (Your name) smiled down at Jesse who only burrowed himself further into her skirts. She sighed at how clingy the young boy was, but she was sympathetic to his feelings. Jesse didn’t have any warmth in his home so he sought it out from her.

“I don’t want to go home… can’t I stay with you?” Jesse glanced up at her with his blue puppy dog eyes, his lips in a pout. “Can’t you just adopt me, I’ll be good…”

“Jesse, I can’t adopt you.” (Your name) felt her heart clench when he started to cry. “Jesse-“

“But all the other kids have a mommy and I don’t! I want to be read stories and I want homemade lunches. I don’t want to be alone!” Jesse buried his face into (your name)’s skirts. His little hands clutched tightly onto the cotton fabric in a death grip. “I’ll be a good boy. I’ll be quiet and I won’t ask for much-“

(Your name)’s thumbs instantly brushed away the hot tears that dribbled down his soft cheeks to smooth the young boy. Her beautiful face now in a frown.

“Shh… you can come hang out with me when you’re lonely at school.” (Your name) warmly smiled at Jesse. She ran her fingers through his thick curls as he sniffled.

“R-really? You’ll let me spend time with you?” Jesse’s voice trembled as he tried to calm his tears. “Can I eat lunch with you everyday? I like when you cut the crust off my sandwiches…”

“Of course, Jesse.” (Your name) reassured Jesse, who buried his face in her skirts once more. This sweet boy… he deserved love.

Unbeknownst to (your name), Jesse had a wicked smile on his sweet face that was hidden in her skirts.

Jesse may have been the spit image of Liam, but he was still his birth mother’s son… and (your name) would be his mommy one way or another.

Jesse often hogged (your name)’s attention from the other children. He’d rush to her first whenever class would start or end to hug her, he’d raise his hand for every question so he could be praised, and he’d constantly ask for help.

Jesse was not liked by the other children but he didn’t care all that much about them.

Because Jesse wanted his mommy to only have eyes for him.

Liam felt nervous at the florist shop he was in. The various floral displays of affection made his stomach twist into a knot. He was so nervous… to buy apology flowers for his son’s teacher.

Liam ran a hand through his dark hair with a sigh. This was an incredibly frustrating experience for him since he’s never bought a gift for a woman before. Especially not one as lovely as (your name). Liam couldn’t get her angry expression out of his head… she haunted his dreams and lingered in the crannies in his mind.

She was an itch he couldn’t scratch and Liam disliked this alien feeling she brought out. Liam didn’t know why his heart pounded in his chest at the thought of her or why his cheeks heated up. It made him anxious.

“And what can I help you with today, sir?” The florist smiled warmly at Liam who nearly jumped out of his skin. Liam had been so lost in his thoughts, the florist had caught him off guard.

“I think I would like a bouquet of roses…” Liam’s forest green eyes glanced at the red roses in interest. “The reddest ones you have.”

(Your name) would look lovely in red… Liam couldn’t help the image of her in a red dress that surfaced in his mind. He didn’t quite understand his attraction toward her, but he hoped it would fade.

Liam stood before (your name) in her classroom, his cheeks rosy as he studied her expression. Her arms held the fragrant roses in confusion.

“Mister Isbert? There was no need to get me roses-“

“I’m sorry for making presumptions about your character. It was unjust of me.” Liam bowed to (your name) in apology. “Please forgive me-“

Liam gasped when she moved closer to him, which and whom snap his head up in attention. His forest green eyes wide when she gave him such a warm smile… he’s never seen a smile like that directed toward him in his entire life.

“It’s perfectly okay. I understand you may have been through some trauma but I assure you I’m not after those sorts of things with you.” (Your name) then turned her gaze toward Jesse who peaked around the corner of the classroom. It seemed the young boy was eager to enter. “I’m just concerned for Jesse is all-“

“I do not know how to be a good father…” Liam shyly admitted, his forest green eyes focused on her confused expression. “I have never been taught warmth.”

“Well I have no issue teaching you how to spend time with a child… if you’d like of course, mister Isbert.” (Your name) smiled at Liam whose cheeks went aflame.

“I’d love to…” Liam cleared his throat and gave (your name) a soft smile. “And please, call me Liam.”

The two adults smiled warmly at each other which made Jesse perk up from his spot. Maybe he’d get her to be his mommy after all…

(Your name) laughed when Liam tried to tie Jesse’s shoe laces. The businessman was clueless…

“Here, let me help.” (Your name) gently took the shoelaces from Liam and slowly tied them in front of him. “The dragon goes under the bridge, through the loop, and into the castle!”

Jesse giggled at the rhyme, his eyes sparkled at his dad. “See! Mommy knows how to tie shoes!”

Liam blushed in embarrassment when (your name) and Jesse shared a laugh. He never knew how simple this was… how a family should be.

“Why don’t we read a book together?”

Liam glanced over at (your name) while she picked out a fairy tale. A ray of sunlight hit her at the perfect angle that made her even more angelic.

Liam never knew someone could be so beautiful…

Weeks went by of Liam’s ‘lessons’ of fatherhood. The two adults would laugh together as (your name) tried to teach him how to be more affectionate with his son, unaware that the businessman started to be affectionate with her as well… Liam came to terms that he loved her.

Liam loved the young woman who was eager to help him mend his relationship with his son and teach him how to love. To not take out his trauma onto Jesse and to be more open to change.

Liam became a better person by being around (your name) and he had no interest in going back to the way his life was before he got to know her better. The two of them were truly a power couple! She’s shown him a new side of life he never knew existed… who knew Jesse would indirectly introduce Liam to his soulmate?

Liam blushed as he sat at his desk, his head filled with thoughts of (your name). The image of her holding Liam in her arms burned in his mind.

How could someone look so perfect holding his child?

Liam dug into his desk drawer and pulled out one of the many drawing Jesse had made of (your name) and him. The three of them as a happy family.

Liam lit up a cigar and took a deep inhale of the smoke. Yes… he’d ask her to be his wife. To be Jesse’s mom.

Liam held the picture close to his chest. He needed to tell her how he felt… of how he loved her.

Liam upped security around the school as usual since he dropped by for the lessons. Liam wanted to ensure this entire ordeal remained private, he had no desire to add more stress onto poor (your name)’s life… today, they were gong to become an official family.

Liam sighed dreamily as he thought of what was about to happen today. (Your name) would be so beautiful as his wife and future mother of more children. He wondered how many siblings Jesse would like? To add onto their perfect family.

“Is there something wrong, Liam?” Liam perked up when (your name) softly called his name, she was careful not to disturb the sleeping Jesse in her arms. “You’ve been lost in space for a while now.”

“Would you be interested in dating me?” Liam’s blunt question nearly made (your name) fall over in shock. Date him? Where on earth did he get the idea that she wanted that sort of relationship with him?

“I don’t think we should.” (Your name) smiled warmly at Liam who frowned at her gentle rejection. “You’re a CEO of a big corporation and I’m just a measly kindergarten teacher.”

“I could take care of you.” Liam whispered softly. “You’d never struggle financially and you could be with Jesse every day. Don’t you want Jesse to be happy?”

(Your name) glanced down at the young boy who remained asleep. She did care about Jesse… but not enough to date his father.

“I’m sorry but I can’t do that.” (Your name) sighed softly as she handed Jesse to Liam to take. “I hope you find someone on your level to be with, Liam.”

Liam could only sit on the floor in shock when she walked to her desk to gather her belongings. She didn’t want him? Why didn’t she want him?

Liam tried to speak but he couldn’t find the words to stop her. How could he tell her he’s never felt this way before? That he wanted her? That he-

“I love you!” (Your name) froze in the doorway when Liam blurted out his declaration of love.

“W-what-“ Liam scrambled to his feet to try to stand before her. His lithe body hovered over her like a shadow.

“I love you and I’ve never felt this way before… please give me a chance.”

“I’m sorry, Liam-“

“I won’t accept no as an answer.” Liam felt his stomach twist but he needed to get her to be his… he needed her. “I’ll ruin your life if you don’t accept my love. I’ve never wanted anything in my life as much as I want you.”

Jesse stirred awake in Liam’s arms, the young boy’s eyes wide at his father’s words. “Become Jesse’s mom. I’m serious about being with you.”

“I-“ (your name) was cut off by Jesse who excitedly reached for her.

“Mommy? You’ll be my mommy?!” Jesse began to cry when he hands grabbed hers. “Mommy. Mommy!”

“Yes, Jesse.” Liam smiled down at Jesse as he pulled (your name) close. “Miss (last name) is going to be your mommy.”

“No-“ (your name) gasped when Liam suddenly bent down to kiss her which made Jesse smile brightly.

“We should head home, right?” Liam turned to Jesse who smiled brightly at his dad. “Like a happy family should.”

3K notes · View notes

cherry-leclerc · 5 months

Text

lolita ☆ cs55

genre: age gap (10 years), porn with plot, affairs, forbidden romance, angst, mentions of suicide, mentions of drugs, tragedy, erotic literature

word count: 14.9k

You were young, alluring, floating through a disastrous life with the touch of a thousand angels. Carlos was successful, irresistible and someone who often kept a distance from catastrophe. Never in a million years did he think he would have a complete moment of weakness. Especially the week of his wedding.

nsfw warning under the cut!

18+... sexual tension, penetrative sex, dry humping, riding, size kink, oral sex (f and m receiving), semi - public sex, deepthroating, praise, fingering, handjobs, lots of dirty foreplay, slapping (like once AH), a bit of edging, overstimulation, a bit of crying, sucking on fingers, squirting - i should stop now, oh god.

inspired by this and this !

STOP AND READ:

This by no means - in any shape or form - is something that should be admired or looked up to. It does deal with serious topics such as: grooming, suicide, and drugs. While the reader is of age (19), this is not my way of impulsing my own readers - especially younger ones, if by any chance they come across this - to follow this mindset. Dark themes will take place and if that is not something you are comfortable with, then that is okay, I definitely have more light hearted fics in my masterlist. “Love stories” aren’t always filled with flowers and rainbows, they can also be hurtful and confusing, often misunderstood. This is fictional. Given, this is inspired by Lolita and Blue Velvet by Lana Del Rey (*everyone cheers*) – what that means is that this story will not have a happy ending. Verses of Lolita by Vladimir Nabokov are also mentioned (extremely controversial book - as it should be).

cherry here!…hi, guys! i hope you all enjoy and i’m gonna do it now: I’M SORRY.

She was as dangerous as poison could ever be - with no good intentions. She was malicious, sweet laughter that would make anyone fall in love. An Angel walking on Earth, curiously making it her playground.

He was intelligent. A man of few words, but also simply so, the seven deadly sins all wrapped up in one. Keeping a distance from things he knew would bring him no good.

But in order to understand, we would have to take you back to where it all began.

Where Paradise met Hell.

Growing up in Italy for some odd reason made you out to be the girl you were. Men there would throw themselves at any opportunity if they saw a single daisy looking girl in eyesight. At first it felt as if you were walking a tightrope; you knew it wouldn’t be the wisest idea to fall straight into their traps. Except, slowly, it made sense.

They knew how to sweet talk someone so young and naive - you’ll give them that. It only took one taste and that was the moment you knew.

You liked them older.

Men fucked in a way boys never would. Every single one would always put your needs first - but there was this one man that had you realizing how fucked up you could be in order to get what you want. That’s one prize you’d cheat to win.

And that’s a story for later.

Moving away for college was the best decision you felt you would ever make in your entire life. Given, Italy was home, but the people in it weren’t. Often, you find yourself missing your rendezvous but studying abroad in Spain wasn’t much different.

Note; you didn’t grow up with a tight knit family. Your mother was a drug addict with half of her days knocked out on the couch, your father was someone who was occasionally in the picture. He tried his best.

And your older sister, Ollie?

Well, you’d honestly forgotten you even had one.

Some may say that you’re a whore, a slut, a homewrecker, or any other Spanish slur that spits Madrid, but you never cared. You were having fun and why were you the one always being blamed? Perhaps, men, too, should think with their heads rather than their dicks.

Which is how you find yourself still repeating the familiar pattern you had started a long time ago. Riding your professor shouldn’t feel this good. Mierda, he would groan as you bounce up and down like a bunny. Mewling, you shake the feeling of remorse. Not when he felt this good.

Your phone ringing is what makes you stop, him still inside of you, twitching. Ciao? His calloused fingers would slide up to pinch your nipples as you lightly gasped.

“Tesoro! Haven’t heard your voice in so long.”

Your father’s tone makes you wince at the reminder. Occasionally, he would check up on you in a way you would assume other fathers did for their daughters. You could never hate him, though. In his own way, deep down, he still cared.

“Papi, how are you?”

Sliding off of his lap, you zip your dress back on as you pace the lecture room. Bored, he takes out his secret whiskey from under his desk. Your sister is getting married in a few weeks! I was thinking you could fly back home so you could join us. The thought alone made your stomach churn as you bit down onto your thumb. Signaling at the older man, you click your fingers, hinting for a glass of your own. He obliges, handing it to you.

“I’m busy with summer courses. Maybe I can send a gift?”

You try everything in the book in order to get out of what seems like a crappy, dull, Italian wedding. It had been ages since you last stepped foot there. In no right mind would Ollie’s wedding be the one to change that. But he says things that get to you. I haven’t seen you in years. Neither has your sister. She misses you, you know?

You bite down on a snarky remark as you down the rest of the gold liquid. Last time you spoke, she promised that you were dead to her. That she never wanted to hear from you again. In the moment, it hurt, but you grew used to the idea. And what younger sister doesn’t pick up on what older sister says? Now, you despised her as much as she did you.

“Ovviamente. I’ll be there.”

It’s hot as soon as you land. That you didn’t miss. Ale, your fathers chauffeur, picks you up with a bright smile. Saddened, it dawns on you that you hadn’t seen one of those in ages. He’s nice. Let's you sit in the passenger's seat as he introduces himself. He mentions he has 5 granddaughters and has been married for almost 50 years. It’s sweet. Makes you feel human.

Pulling into the driveway, you almost want to correct him. This isn’t my fathers house. You must be mistaken. Only, he says he isn’t. That he had recently moved into his Italian mansion a year ago. You’re skeptical for a minute, but realize you can’t be one to tell. Years have passed; things change.

Still, that didn’t stop you from gawking at the ginormous house that sits on a hill; overlooking all of Tuscany. It even had a beautiful view of the ocean. Why couldn’t you grow up with this?

“I’ll inform your father that you have arrived safely.”

Taking it all in, you slowly pace the entrance, analyzing everything in sight. The crystals hanging from the chandelier, large - expensive - portraits, shiny mirrors. Quirking your head to the side, you glide over to the golden trophy sitting in the middle of the spacious entry.

Carlos Sainz Sr. : Rally Driver of-

“That belonged to my father. He passed away a year ago.”

Startled, you grip onto the trophy tighter as you slightly jump in panic. You curse yourself for being caught as you delicately place it back down before turning your attention to the booming voice.

Instantly, you’re hit with lust. Standing in front of you is a tall man - around his 20’s, perhaps - dark brown eyes narrowed down on you like knives. Messy, untamed, brown hair. Large nose, plump lips, dark brows. His figure is something you can’t wrap your head around that even exists. Richard Mille's watch clung onto his wrist. Giorgio Armani pressed up against his chest, it almost looked as if it didn’t fit due to his rippling muscles. Woody, rich, scent filling up the room.

He was the most beautiful man you had ever laid eyes on.

“I am so, so, sorry.”

Your voice is so soft, it has him intrigued. You wore a short pastel yellow dress that didn’t leave much to his imagination; paired with converse and tube socks. Rosy tint on your cheekbones from the humidity. Berry lips. Wide, innocent eyes. He’d be lying if he said you didn’t take his own breath away. Even though you stood far enough away, he could still smell your vanilla perfume.

Inching closer, he waves you off. “I was kidding. My father is well and alive.” You tippy toe nervously before planting your feet back down.

“That’s not a nice thing to say.”

And he’s surprised with your response. Yet, he finds himself extending his tan hand out to you. “I’m Carlos.”

Carlos. His name sounds as attractive as his appearance. Strong and sure. But also…dark. You shake his hand, legs quivering at his warm touch. Deep down, he knew how much he affected you - it’s something he’s grown quite accustomed to, having people admire his looks, but it took a lot to not show that you had the same effect on him.

“Nice to meet you, Carlos. Do you work for my father?”

Amused, he lets out a deep chuckle. Even a simple sound like that had you pressing your legs together, arousal dripping in between.

“You don’t know who I am?” You shake your head, confused. Should you? He smiles. “That’s okay. We haven’t met before…Though you should get to know me since you’re already here…”

Wait.

“You know,” he leans his head a bit, floppy hair following, “Ollie.”

No, no, no.

“It’s so nice to finally meet my fiancée’s sister.”

Foolishly, you try your best to hide your surprise. How does a man like him end up with a bratty, narcissist, like your sister?

What was so fucking special about her?

Envy fills your veins as you try to show that this hasn’t phased you. Excited cheers echo down the hallway as your father runs over, embracing you into a warm hug. You’re here! Wincing, you lean into his touch, eyes still trained on the magnetic man.

Only then, did Ollie fly down the stairs, immediately running into Carlos’ arms. Making a big deal out of it, she kisses him as she runs her hands against his chest.

“Come here, tesoro. I’ll show you where you’ll be staying.”

The entire time; Carlos kept his eyes trained on you.

It didn’t make sense. Part of you knows it never will. You’ve only just met him, but you can tell he must’ve been fucked in the head to willingly choose someone like Ollie. Sure, she seemed sweet and kind, but she was anything but that.

Dinner that night is carbonara. Carlos is extremely talented. He cooked this just for you. Tight lipped, you thank him, looking down at your plate to avoid his burning gaze.

“How’s school?”

Turning to your father, you remind yourself that you were here for him; because he wanted you there. That’s all that should matter. “Very good. Thank you for asking, papi.”

The sound of glass hitting the table erupts as Carlos hurriedly goes to pick it up, quickly murmuring a strong apology. His dark gaze shortly flickers past you. It leaves you squirming.

Clearing his throat, he takes a sip of his wine. “Where do you study?” Spain, you tell him as he beams. “No way. I was born and raised in Madrid. Moved to Italy a few years ago for work.” Letting out a laugh, you find the coincidence funny. He moved from Spain to Italy and you moved from Italy to Spain.

“What do you do for work?”

“He’s a Formula 1 driver. Drives for Scuderia Ferrari,” Ollie weasels in as she smirks down on you. Anger bubbles inside of her when your attention remains on the Spaniard. Drumming your fingers against the table, you lick your lips. Formula 1? He’s about to explain it all up until Ollie butts in once again. She rubs his hand, a glistening ring shining right in front of you. You physically have to force yourself to look away. “Oh, amor, she doesn’t know what that is. She’s too…young.”

You know she’s trying to make a weak point: you’re only a baby, therefore, you don’t compare to her. And yes, you are young, 19, but it was stupid of her to think that it bothered you. You tsk before leaning back against your chair.

“Of course, my mistake. I forgot I was still a pure flower instead of a wilting one.”

Ollie’s face switches to bright red as she grips onto his hand. An entertained smile slips onto his lips before flattening back out. He rubs her hand, trying to calm her down. You can’t stop the jealousy burning from within.

“I didn’t mean you, Mr. Sainz.”

The 29 year old brushed you as if nothing, a smile displayed. Eyeing you both, Ollie suddenly stands up, chair screeching. Why don’t you help me bring out the cookies I baked? Ever so gracefully, you nod. Following after her, you stop suddenly as she spins, hair slapping her face. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing here? Are you here to ruin my life with your existence?”

“I might.”

Her left eye twitches as she growls angrily. If she didn’t make it this easy to tick her off, then you’d be bored, but luckily for you, it was unchallenging to get under her skin. “This is my wedding; my future husband - so don’t fuck that up like everything else you’ve ever done.”

You try to pretend as if her words didn’t affect you as you stare back blankly. Marching over to the counter, she opens up a box of cookies before sliding them onto a polished dish, leaving you standing there alone.

You thank the higher Gods for not letting you cross roads with Ollie for the next few days. Though, you’re a bit bummed out that you haven’t seen Carlos much either. Peeking out the window, you could see the way a group of workers hurried to set up for the joint bachelorette taking place later that night, right on the beach. The waves look magnificent, so without a second thought, you slip on a bikini before rushing out the door with your necessities.

Lathering a goop of coconut sunscreen, you hum softly to yourself. Weren’t you going out with your sister? Looking up, you see Carlos standing in front of you with his face slightly scrunched up from the bright sun. His cheeks looked as if they’d just been pinched. “Where to?”

He takes a seat next to you. “She said she was going out to go buy a few flowers for later. Said she would invite you.” You shake your head, already bored with the idea.

“You know her,” you tap your head, “Forgetful.”

He cocks his head to the side as he shuts his right eye for a moment. “You two don’t get along, do you?” You try making up a silly excuse. Of course we do. We’re sisters. But he’s looking right into your orbs as if he sees right past your weak attempts. “You’re right. I could be wrong.”

It stays quiet for a while - only the soft breeze being heard. You can see him from your peripheral vision; eyes shut as he takes in the moment of peace he hasn’t had since dawn. Long lashes fan his face, freckles scattered all over.

“Aren’t you too busy to be talking to me?”

“No. Plus, I should take time to get to know my future sister-in-law. Especially since I don't know anything about her even after dating her sister for 7 years.”

7 years.

Squinting at the waves, you slide your sunglasses on. “There’s not much to know, but I can try. I’m 19 years old, studying abroad in Spain, and grew up in Italy. I love the ocean, love a nice cup of hot chocolate - even though I’m allergic - so I only allow myself small sips during the winter. I like to pretend I know how to dance and I kill it in karaoke.” He laughs. You can’t dance? “Unfortunately, I can’t. Once, during my friend's wedding reception, I twirled right into her cake. I spent the entire day on supervision.”

“Dios mío…Remind me to watch out for you on our wedding day.”

Our wedding day. His words slightly sting as you pinch your nose swiftly. Standing up, you brush beads of sand off your legs. Your eyes roam the area before you find your father waving you over. “I should go,” you say as you look down at him. His brown eyes scan you before nodding and standing up. He, too, looks over to where your father waits to introduce you to a group of businessmen. He frowns and that's when you realize just how revealing your bikini might have been, only it's too late now.

“Papi always taught us to greet our elders.”

He clenches his jaw, eyes closing for a second. When his gaze meets yours, you almost choke with how dark and twisted it’s become. “Aren’t you too old to be calling him that?” Confused, you tilt your head.

“Calling him wh- Papi?”

He grinds his teeth together - and then just like that - he’s smiling again.

“Forget it. How would I know?”

Standing next to an empty table, you watch as Carlos and your sister dance along with everyone else. This party has allowed you to pick up on the fact that they seemed to be a much more important couple than you had anticipated. Everyone looked at the Spaniard as if he were a God himself - and being quite truthful - you would agree. There was nothing about him that wasn’t flawless.

Then, Ollie, just looked like any other person. Her eyes were bright, but any time anyone would walk up to him, her stare would become threatening. As if she was his owner and no one else could get close enough to breathe the same air.

Everyone here was older; that much you could tell. Attendees were accompanied by girlfriends or fiancée’s of their own. It made you feel a bit childish, since you clearly were the youngest one there. Reaching out for your margarita, you twirl the straw.

“Not having fun?”

Your attention directs itself to a dirty, blondish, brunette. He looks a bit tipsy, face flushed as he smiles sweetly. He’s tall, handsome. But not as much as Carlos.

“Max,” he introduces himself. Politely, you shake his hand. He points to the large group that dances on the sand. He lets out a croaky laugh. “They could get a bit much sometimes.” You laugh, nodding along with him. He continues talking to you. Brings up how he knows Carlos from driving with him; except he’s signed to Red Bull.

“Everyone here is invited only if they're a driver, huh?” It’s a lame joke, but he laughs and throws his head back as if it were the most fascinating thing he’s heard all night.

“It’s a small circle, but I promise, they're all nice lads.” Discreetly, he takes in your appearance. The way your black dress dances with the wind. Painted red nails glistening under the golden lights.

You were beautiful. Tragically, beautiful.

“You know the groom or the bride?”

“Bride.”

He nods, taking a sip of the beer bottle he had been nursing. You both continue your conversation for a while longer. He’s Dutch. Recently 26. You mention your headache before he brushes his fingers against your hand. Looking down, he pulls away before clearing his throat. He apologizes and asks if you would like to dance. A soft melody now plays and you find yourself taking his hand. It's big as yours disappears into it.

Almost as if he’s shy, he carefully slides his hands down to your waist. You giggle as you throw yours over his shoulders. “I hope slowing down helps get rid of your migraine. Sucks. I get lots of those during race weekends.”

“It is. Thank you for caring.”

He’s sweet. You can tell with the way he blushes when you mention the way you like his dimples. Slowly, you find yourself enjoying his company. You’re in the middle of laughing at some stupid joke he just told, when someone rudely clears their throat. Carlos’ smile appears bitter as he shakes his head.

“I’m sorry - I’ve probably killed the mood.”

“No problem, mate. We were just talking.”

He clicks his tongue before turning to you. Under his scrutiny, you feel as if you’ve just been caught smoking weed for the first time. Dazed, you hum, waiting for him to say something. You know it’s not your place to feel as if he owes you an apology, but you can’t help it.

“Ollie said it’s best if you went to bed.” You let out a sarcastic laugh. Since when does she care if I get a good night's rest? He huffs before running a hand through his hair. “She - she…Just do as you’re told, please.”

Now you’re bothered. Up until that point, you were actually having a good time. Dumbfounded, you turn to Max as he smiles understandingly. Pursing your lips, you apologize. Tippy toeing, you lean up to press a kiss against his stubble. He smiles.

“See you around?”

“See you around, Maxie.”

Walking into the lonely house, you let out a sigh as you pour yourself a cup of water. The summer heat had completely dehydrated you. You could still hear the soft beat playing from outside as you sway in the kitchen. You were upset - angry - that your sister had cut your night short. And any other time you would have put up a good fight, but thought it’d be best to not make a fool out of yourself. Especially in front of people you barely knew.

The door sliding open has you alert as you look up. Carlos silently makes his way in as he groans with exhaustion. Loopy eyes match yours as he clears his throat awkwardly. “So…What were you talking about with Max?”

“Nothing that should concern you.”

His jaw clenches, a large hand running along it. Stepping closer, he takes your cup of water before chugging it down. It leaves you hot and bothered just how close he is. It’s a mixture of salt and musk, his scent. It makes your head spin. Lazily, he takes a step back before nodding.

“Right. Have a good night.”

Carlos knew he had messed up. He had no right lying and saying Ollie had ordered for you to go to bed. That was completely him. It’s just that - seeing you with Max, laughing, smiling, made him seethe - when he knows damn well that he shouldn’t. It wasn’t like he was your boyfriend, after all.

So, he was embarrassed. He kept his distance. In his head it made sense. If you weren’t near then he wouldn’t feel the need to keep his eyes on you all the time. The house felt lonelier, colder without you sliding down the hallways. Rightfully so, you had spent your days locked up in your room. The only person that made happy was Ollie.

Either way, maybe it was for the best. He had a ton of shit to do. Starting with changing their honeymoon destination for what seemed like the millionth time that month. First, it was the Maldives, then Cancún - God - he knew that in a few hours his fiancée would come up with a new place.

“I know, I know we said that, but it’s changed.” He paces the office, stressed. “Can you please just make it fucking happen?”

“Ouch.”

Turning his attention, he sees you peeking at the entrance, phone still pressed up against his ear. Pouting, you enter, sweet aroma filling the room. Excusing himself, he ends the call. “Need anything?” He honestly cared for your response. It had been days without seeing you and he was afraid he blew it before he even had a chance to marry your sister. He told himself it was only because he cared for your relationship with Ollie. But fuck that - he knew not even you both cared that much about each other.

Shaking your head, you walk closer. “You sounded mean. Not a nice look on you, Mr. Sainz.” You’re teasing. You had to be.

“That wasn’t mean. It's called being straight forward.”

Ignoring him, you curiously eye the dark office. Books, trophies, helmets. Letting out a snort, you pick up the nearest picture frame. In it, it’s Carlos and Ollie, smiling wide. Tears brim her eyes as he looks down at her. The sight makes you want to puke.

“When was this taken?”

“The day of our engagement.”

You hum, already setting it back down. You can’t help but picture the impossible. That in the picture it was you instead of her, that you wore that diamond ring, that he looked at you.

Fuck her, honestly.

“Why’d you propose?”

He’s thrown off by your question. He’s expecting you to bring up the fact that it was a joke, but when you looked back for a response, he found himself with a dry mouth. Because I love her?

“Jesus,” you shudder, taking a seat on top of his desk. His eyes wander down your tan legs as you rest them on top of his chair. You're playing mind games - he’s well aware - and still he found himself following them. You were the worst temptation out there. It’s as if you knew the power you held. “I bet fucking her is a chore.”

Shocked at your words, he finds himself dumbstruck. He knew you two didn’t get along, but what the fuck happened for you to aim such insults?

He knows Ollie. Sure, she was a bit much at times, but she was nice. She was pretty. There was no need for your vile words.

You can tell he’s about to get defensive about her and that makes you shrink. Willing, you had handed him a reason to choose her over you.

Looking back at the picture, you purse your lips. “Sorry. That wasn't the right thing to say.”

“You should leave.”

You’re embarrassed over him kicking you out, but you knew you had crossed the line. So much for a peaceful afternoon. You comply, jumping off the desk. Not before making your way over, pressing your soft lips against his neck, which was the only place you could reach, even after tippy toeing. You felt him get stiff.

“Excuse my manners, Carlos.”

Skipping out the door, he’s left with a single thought.

He’s fucked.

The next morning, you’re forced to spend the day with your sister. Whether it was for running errands, fighting; it didn’t matter. As long as you made your father happy. All he wanted was for his girls to get along.

“Go,” Ollie growls as she hands you your bridesmaid dress. Snatching it from her, you slowly climb up the stairs to your room.

It’s a beautiful dress. Strong, dark, cherry red. Just like blood. It hugs your curves the way you’ve always thought all dresses should. For that reason, too, it made you look…older. Trying your best to get rid of the wrinkles, you smooth it down before making your way back.

Papi loves it as he starts throwing out compliments. You look beautiful, tesoro! You are a true gem. His eyes are bright and proud as you stand there with a shy smile. And though you thanked him, nothing else mattered but the man right in front of you.

The Spaniard had just gotten back from a meeting. He was exhausted and wanted nothing more than to eat and sleep the rest of the day, but as soon as he saw a balsé Ollie and an eager father-in-law, he was interested. She had told him to go relax; practically pushing him away. But as soon as you walked down those stairs, he swore his heart had never melted with such a sight.

His eyes became fixated to the point of no return. You stand there like a divine temptress. A siren who was mixed with innocence. Enough to drool over, but also, to adore from afar. Someone he could worship. If God decided this were his last day on Earth, then he would happily follow, since he finally felt as if his life were complete.

His big brown eyes are glued onto you as your father spins you. Ollie’s attention flickers between her younger sister and her fiancé. Tears fill up her eyes as she springs off the couch. You’re not bothered by it; don’t even bat an eye. That is until Carlos quickly runs off after her. That was a slap to the face as you show off a wounded smile to your father who stands there lost at the sudden commotion.

Later on that day, you find yourself trying to forget it all with watered down tequila. That’s really all you could find in such short notice. Leaning against the balcony, you study the soft waves, cold wind causing your skin to flash small goosebumps.

“Disgusting,” you mumble as you finish the rest of the alcoholic drink. Who knew a simple encounter would set you off?

“Woah there. Are you okay?”

Max cautiously steps closer as you shrug with a sigh. What was there to say? I’m a horrible person. I’m a horrible sister. And yes, we might not get along, but never in a million years did I think I would be falling in love with my future brother-in-law.

“What are you doing up so late?”

Sheepishly, he raises his cigarette. Letting out a low hum, you raise a brow. “Can I have one?” He knows he shouldn't be the one to give a teenager a form of drug, but you looked so upset, so drained, that he felt as if you needed it. Lighting it up, you bring it up to your lips as you squint at him. He laughs.

“First time?”

“No. It’s just been a while.”

You’re still not looking at him, but he notices the way you let out shaky breaths. The way you softly pinch your forearm. He frowns.

“I know we only just met, but do you want to talk about it?”

And maybe it was the gist of the moment. Or that he was being sweet - showing that he cared, but it worked because next thing you knew, you were kissing. He lets out an erotic moan with the taste of your lips. All a mix of cigarettes and tequila. This is wrong. He was friends with Carlos and you were only doing this in a moment of weakness, but you just couldn’t stop. Neither could he. Not when you tasted like a thousand crimes.

His large hands grab your ass as you gasp, brushing against his cock. He hissed as he pressed his lips much harder. Surely, you will have bruises tomorrow. Adrenaline rushes through your veins as you grind against him. Clumsily, you both make your way to the couch that’s nearby. Straddling him, you continue to dry humping. Slowly, but surely, the warm sensation between your legs starts to form. Panting, you pull away as he tries to angle his face closer to yours. You smile tauntingly.

“You know what you remind me of?”

You hum, leisurely picking up your filthy actions. He bites back a smile as he grips harder onto your hips.

“A Lolita.”

A menacing smile looks down at him before you kiss down his thick neck, soft bites being left behind. You can’t recall the moment you start bouncing on his cock, or when he sprawls you open like a map, kneeling down in front of you. It’s all a haze; a delicious one, too. You’re falling like a feather from your climax when you hear a thud. Did you hear that? No, he would mumble as he peppers kisses onto your soft skin.

The tides are crashing harder now, signaling that the night was growing older. Timidly, you share a goodbye as you start to skip your way back into your room, but one last thing caught your attention.

A broken flower pot on its side and dirt trailing into the Italian home.

More days had passed since your last encounter with the devilish Spaniard. If you were ever in the same room, he wouldn’t even glance at you. He would simply just walk past by. He was mad. Upset about something. You tried to think of what it might’ve been, but when he walked into his office with an infuriated expression, you decided it was time to call a truce.

Knocking, you flinch at his sharp tone when he commands you away. Ignoring it, you still step in. Head thrown against his chair, man spreading, he has his eyes screwed shut.

“Are you okay?”

Your tone is sticky like honey. It annoys him the way it strings him in. Drumming his finger against the large chair, he angles his head to look at you. You’re almost scared to ask again, so you decide to stand still until he speaks up.

“Why’d you do it?”

Puzzled, you purse your lips, waiting for further explanation. What was he talking about? Did you do something to make him upset? The thought alone made you feel queasy. When he notices you still don’t understand, he clicks his tongue.

“Why would you fuck a friend of mine?”

Oh. Was it possible that this was something he was jealous of? Bewildered, you know you can’t deny it so you start to word-vomit. I am so sorry, Carlos. He came onto me that night - he kissed me first. I was confused. I was lured in by his words. I didn’t know what I was doing-

His eyes soften up as you try your best to break it down. But you were a liar; a good one. You knew damn well it was all you. You had kissed him first. You threw him under the bus and you knew that. Did he deserve it? No. Of course not. But you couldn't handle the Spaniard being mad at you.

He signals for you to get closer. Securely, he grasps your hand and hauls you onto his lap. It’s embarrassing how wet you’ve suddenly become; how your mind replicates a plate of jello.

“I’m sorry he made you feel like that.”

His rough fingers slide up and down your arms and even that leaves you buzzing. Suddenly, you feel feeble. You assure him that you were fine - that it was no big deal. The way he looks at you is what gives you the confidence to lean in closer. A trace of panic slashes his face for a second. He should probably stop this before anything else happens. There was nothing okay about your ass pressed up against him. Or him craving to taste your plump lips.

“He didn’t make me feel anything I haven't before.”

Your implication irks him far too much, he starts to consider this all an unhealthy encounter. He can’t stop the images of you being with other men. Someone else kissing you, pleasuring you. Whilst your words were suggestive, your features were anything but that. Wide eyes stare back at him, slightly crinkled. Moving your body, you scoot closer as if you weren't already. He growls as he pinches your hip. Then, you're kissing his neck, and he should be pushing you off, but he’s too far gone to pick up on how wrong this all was. I’m sorry I’ve upset you, Mr. Sainz. I didn’t think you would care who fucked me or not.

“I-I don’t. It’s just that you shouldn't be doing stuff like that. You’re too young for all that.”

“That’s where you’re wrong.” You narrow your eyes. “I’m wiser than one might think. I’m mature enough to know who can and can’t fuck me the way I like.” Your gaze focuses extra hard with your confession. As if it were meant for him.

Pressing your ass one last time against his tight pants, you leap off, giggling.

“Take care, Carlos.”

It's a business dinner, your father fills you in as you sit nearby, enjoying a bowl of ice cream, hairollers dangling around your head. Pouting, you reach up to clip one back into place. He smiles.

“You know, lots of young, talented guys are going to be here. It could be a great opportunity to meet someone.”

You make a face at his idea. “Yeah. No, thank you.” Marching over to him, you gently pat his cheek. “I’m not here to meet anyone.”

Signhing, he grabs your hands. “Can I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

“Are you and Carlos…” Choking on your own saliva, you push away. What? No. Of course not! Why would you even think that? He lets out a breath of relief. “It’s nothing. Ollie just brought it up, but I told her you would never actually do something like that. I know my precious girl.”

The door creaks open as Satan herself walks in, followed by an Angel. First thing you noticed are their intertwined hands. Ollie tries to be coy as she flashes the action right in front of you. She mainly greets your father as she sticks by Carlos like a piece of gum. Hello, he would say to you as you bite back a smile.

“What are we talking about?”

“Your sister might have a boyfriend by the end of the night, that's what,” your father jokes as you slap his shoulder. Boyfriend? The Spaniard’s eyes burn you, subtle threat evident. Ollie fakes a smile as she tugs him back a bit.

“Wow. You know what? That might actually be a good idea. Could help with how uptight you are. But I’m confused, boyfriend as in Max?”

Fury fills you as you shoot daggers right at her. Ollie’s eyes twinkle with satisfaction. You’re dating Max? “Of course not, papi! Ollie is just being a bitch.”

“No, no, no - I don’t think telling the truth is being a bitch. You should be happy, baby sister! You sure sounded like it when you let him fuck you out in the balcony.”

Shocked at her words, you can’t bring yourself to look at your father who stands disappointed. Ollie, that's enough, Carlos warns as he squeezes her hand. She yanks it away, jewelry clinging against each other.

“My bad. Shit, I forgot. I forgot no one knew what a slut you are. Opening your legs for any man around you. We’re lucky you’re not attracted to your own father.” She lets out a sour laugh. “Now, that would be fucked up.”

“That’s low, Ollie,” you spit, skin feeling as if it's on fire. You know where all this pent up anger is coming from, but she had no right to make up shit for fun. What kind of sister does that? Embarrassed, your eyes flicker to where Carlos stands with a hopeless expression. Licking your lips, you force yourself to walk away.

Slamming the door shut, you let out a loud scream. Why? Why was she always like this to you? A hard knock is what makes you wipe your tears away. Ollie slithers her way in. It hurt you how proud she looked. As if she had achieved something spectacular.

“The fuck - Are you crying?”

“What do you want?”

She takes a seat on your desk as she dusts off imaginary lint. “I just want to talk. The way sisters do.”

Ricocheting off the bed, you march over to her as you glare. “Sisters? No. You’re nothing of mine.” Ollie yawns as she rubs her eyes. Then, she clears her throat.

“Do you want to know why I hate you? You’re so stupid you probably don’t even know, but don’t worry - that’s what older sisters are for. I’ll explain it to you. Do you remember, Romeo?”

You do. It hits you all at once; the memories of the first man you ever slept with. He was nice - kind enough to teach you what a man likes. He had jet black hair, a smirk always lingering on his lips. He was tall and a local from where you grew up. He was the perfect experience.

But that still didn’t make any sense. What did he have to do with Ollie?

She lets out a wet laugh. Already, you can see her own tears as she tries to quickly wipe them away.

“I loved you; I did. You were my sister before my enemy. But I also loved him. He was my first love. Promised me a home high up in the hills. But do you know what it feels like to see someone you love fuck your little sister against a wall?”

We probably shouldn’t-

Don’t worry. I’ve got you. No ones going to see us. Men love a good thrill.

“You and him…”

She licks her chapped lips. “We had barely started dating.”

“I didn’t know - I swear to God, I didn’t know!”

If you had, you never would’ve looked his way. Ollie was everything to you growing up. You admired her. Loved her. That’s why it broke you when she started pushing you away as if you were some disease. Later, when your parents got a divorce, she didn’t second guess it when she made the decision to stay behind; causing you to leave with your mother. She never cared for you after that and you never knew why.

But now you did.

“I was young…Younger than I am now, how was I supposed to know?”

“Well, I’m glad we agree on something. You truly don’t know anything.” Strolling over to you, she smiles at your desperate state. “Which is why I’m not making the same mistake twice. Stay away from my husband.”

Ollie’s words felt as if they had opened up past scars. You meant what you said. Romeo would have been someone you would have disregarded if you had known the truth. But like always, you were the one with the entire blame and that you didn’t like.

Despite wearing a pretty dress - one that everyone gawked at you for - you felt ugly. Has it always been this way? Maybe it did make sense as to why she despised you. Playing with your bracelets, you try to pretend you’re interested in meeting your fathers investors. You feel completely exposed when they all stare straight at your chest area.

“How are we all doing?”

They all look up at the Spanirad as they start spitting out their congratulations for his upcoming wedding. He thanks them before checking up on you. His eyes connect with yours. Butterflies swirl inside your stomach as you smile weakly. He’s the first one to truly talk to you that night. To show he cares about your wellbeing rather than the way your dress fits you. Though, you looked stunning as always. Excusing yourself, you make your way into the kitchen, looking for something stronger.

Serving yourself a shot of vodka, you throw your head back, burning sensation sliding down your throat. Coughing, you grip onto the counter. Soft moans whisper in between the walls. You stop breathing for a minute as you try your best to identify where it might be coming from. Striding closer, you press your ear against the closet door. Fuck, a mans voice groans. This is not something you should intervene with, it's not your right, but that all changes when you hear a name that makes you burn all over again. So fucking tight, Ollie.

Pushing the door open, you see your sister banging one of your fathers investors. Ben, you think his name is. Honestly, you could care less. Briskly, she pushes her gown back down as he zips his pants. You let out a cold laugh as you clap in amusement.

“Oh, God. This is great. Amazing. You really outdid yourself, Ol.”

Stepping forwards, she grabs your arm harshly as she tugs you out. “How much did you see?”

You purse your lips as you theatrically scrunch your face up in pleasure. “Oh, Ben! Fuck me! Oh, oh, yes, baby, right there!” You bow. “That much.”

“How old are you, sweetheart?” The brunette says as he scans your body. Ollie glares at him as he steps back.

“Not a word of this to Carlos.”

“Why would I keep this a secret? He deserves to know. What do you think, Benny?”

Panicked, the older man shakes his head as his eyes plead for mercy. That’s enough. Raising your hands up in defense, you grin back at Ollie. “You’re not mentioning anything if you know what's good for you.”

“Oh, yeah?” You tilt your head back. “And what’s good for me?”

“If you tell him anything of what you just heard - saw - then I’ll just tell him how you’ve been bending over for every man in this house. Charles, Lando, Lewis, Pierre…you name it.”

“He won’t believe you…”

She laughs sinisterly. “No, I think he will. I mean…You’ve already done it before.”

“Hey,” his soft voice enters the room as you turn to look at him. The Spaniard’s eyes dance between you and your sister and Ben. “Is something wrong?”

Ollie shakes her head with a bright smile as she walks up and kisses him. You flinch. “Nothing, amor. We were just talking.” She runs her hands through his hair as his eyes remain on you.

“Are you okay?”

Nodding, you grind your teeth together. “Yes. Ollie was just introducing me to Ben.” Awkwardly, the man waves from behind you. Slowly, Carlos nods.

“Papi asked me to introduce them. You know - with the whole ‘boyfriend’ thing!”

“He was serious about tha- Oh. Okay.” He reaches down to take your sister's hand as he eyes you and Ben. “We should probably leave you two alone then.”

Hastily, you nod. “Sure.”

If you were willing to try and fix your relationship with Ollie before, then that was long gone. This is what you knew her for. A pretender. She wistfully makes everyone believe she’s some sort of saint, when really, she’s a wolf in sheep's clothing. She’s a hypocrite. She has a man that everyone desires and she does this?

You hated her.

You hated seeing the way she beams when Carlos’ mother gives her a necklace that belonged to her own mother. She didn’t deserve it. Or the way his sisters helped her slip in and out of her dress, making sure it's perfect for the big day.

Still, you try your best to be a supportive sister. Especially around the woman who raised a man like Carlos. Biting down on your lip, you take a sip of your champagne as Ollie disappears behind the curtains with the lady who is taking some last minute measurements. Reyes smiles warmly.

“We didn’t know Ollie had a younger sister.”

You smile. “Best well kept secret, right?” The older lady laughs. Your heart warms up as you notice it's the same way Carlos does. Ana and Blanca grin.

“Well, we’re glad to finally get to know you. Might I add, you’re beautiful. Those eyes!”

“Thank you,” you blush.

Ana takes a sip of her drink before clicking her fingers. “That’s what you remind me of! You - Carlos - almost have the same puppy eyes!” She turns to her mother. “Mamá! What’s that saying? Soulmates look alike…Something like that, no?”

“Be quiet, Ani,” Blanca hisses before smiling apologetically. “Excuse her - she can be a bit invasive.”

“No problem,” you reassure as you bite back a smile. Ana frowns.

“Lo siento, I don’t mean to come off as overbearing. It’s just that you do…”

Reyes clears her throat as she winks over at her daughter. “Don’t misunderstand us, please. We love Ollie, we do! It’s just…you’re different.” She examines you. “I like you.”

Their words stick with you like a post it. Do soulmates look alike? Playing with the sand, you circle your finger agonizingly slow. Why did their words matter so much to you?

“I always find you alone.”

You stick your tongue out at Carlos as he chuckles at your childish behavior. You pat the sand, inviting him to join you. What are you doing out here? You point at the ocean. “I told you it was my favorite place.”

“Ah. I see.”

You sneak in a quick look before looking straight ahead. “Nervous?”

“About?”

“Marrying a monster.”

He gives you a deadpan look, bumping his shoulder to yours. “She’s not that bad, you know.” He glances at you. “Ollie has been there for me through so much. Through my failures. Through my accomplishments. She’s the one who convinced me not to quit racing.”

“You were thinking of quitting?”

He nods. “It’s not as easy as it looks. It fucks you up mentally. But she…” He smiles. “She helped me overcome that. I thank her everyday for it.”

It’s a bittersweet feeling hearing him talk about her like that. On one hand, you’re thankful that she had made him realize that he should carry on doing what he loved. On the other, you knew her true reasons. She loved having a famous fiancé; someone she can brag out to the rest of the world.

Somewhere, far away, you hear a melody. It’s low enough that if you didn’t pay close attention, you wouldn’t catch on to it, but you did. You grab his hand, leading him to stand up. He quirks a full brow.

“Want to dance?”

“I thought you said you didn’t know how to.”

“Nice memory, old man.” You gently kick some sand towards him. “But I feel like dancing. Plus, you should be practicing.”

Tugging you closer, he hums. “Alright. Only because that's true.”

His hands feel warm against you - so much so - it feels as if he’s on fire. An ease comes to it, too, as you both sway under the moonlight. You giggle when he spins you, dress flying around you like petals. The way you grin makes his heart speed up in a way he’s never felt before. It’s alarming. He pinches your hip as you yelp.

“Mentirosa.”

“Wha- No, I’m not! Can’t dance to save my life.” Clumsily, you dig your toes into the sand. He winces playfully.

The air grows heavy the moment he brushes your hair behind your ear. Your eyes flutter shut as you lean against his warm hand. One look, and he’s hooked. It’s meant to be something lighthearted, but the way he wishes to feel your soft lips against his indicates that it’s not. He’s tried his best to see you for what you are; his fiancée’s little sister. Someone he shouldn’t find himself caring if they slept well, ate their three meals a day, or that they didn’t talk to any other man that wasn’t him or your father. This was sick and twisted and yet…

His lips meet yours as your eyes spring open for a nanosecond before letting yourself go under. It feels as if you’re exploding like firecrackers on a Fourth of July. Something about the way he cradles your face endearingly has your head spinning. Knees become weak, but his grip is secure. It’s better than you could have ever imagined. His tongue fights for dominance and when you don’t give it to him, he squeezes your ass. Moaning, you open your mouth and that's all it took. He kisses you the way you’ve seen in movies - only better. He’s hungry - desperate - for you as you smile against him. Biting down on his bottom lip, he groans as he kisses you harder than before. You were beginning to think your lips were about to snap.

Letting go, he stands there, staggered. He’s ashamed when he realizes that he regrets nothing. You both stay quiet; only waves crashing and heavy pants being heard. At first you think he’s going to apologize, and maybe that might have been the case, but no words would come out. Pressing a peck against his swollen lips, you smile.

“Goodnight, Carlos.”

Carlos rues the day that he kissed you because that only made things more complicated. He couldn’t find a way to not look for you when he walks into the garden, full of family and friends. Or the way he would want to punch Max when he made you laugh. But there is also something sweet. Like the way you would gossip with his sisters and share stories with his parents. He had never seen them laugh and smile so much, not even with Ollie.

He flinches at the cold hand that wraps around his own. Faking a smile, he presses a soft kiss on top of his fiancée’s head. Continuing the clicking against her glass, she smiles widely.

“Grazie a tutti per esservi uniti a noi!”

Everyone claps and a few of the drivers whistle. Rolling your eyes, you lean your head against your father’s shoulder. His heart skips a beat. Ollie continued her speech filled with thank you’s, thank you’s and more thank you’s. Your father kissed your cheek before making his way up to his eldest. Taking the microphone from Ollie, he starts to share warm felt memories about her. You have to admit, you’re jealous about their bond. Somewhere in the past, that had been viciously stolen from you. He notices the way you shrink with sadness and he finds himself about to walk over to you when Ollie laughs awkwardly. Amor. It’s your turn.

“Right.” Fixing his rolled up sleeves, he smiles at the crowd of guests. “Uh…Well like my fiancée said, we’re extremely happy to have you all here. It takes a lot to get this many people out here all at once.” A few laughs echo as he continues. “This means a lot to me, too, to have my friends and family. To have met new faces.” His gaze flickers past you as your breath hitches. “Many ask me what about Ollie made me fall in love with her…And I’m here to be as brutally honest as I could get. I love the way she makes me feel as crazy as the ocean. I could spend calm days with her and not worry about getting bored. Or I could find myself getting into trouble. Ollie has made me a better man. Because of her I know what true love is…” His loopy eyes meet yours. “True love are the waves that meet the shore.”

He lets out a sheepish smile. I want love like that, Lando yells out as he downs his glass of milk. Everyone claps and cheers and that’s where your nightmare begins.

Let’s give it up for the happy couple! Kiss, kiss, kiss!

The chants continue as Carlos let out a nervous laugh. That’s something private between me and her, he tries but finds himself being booed. Leaning down, he pulls Ollie in for a peck before pulling away with a tight lipped smile. He hates himself for his sudden realization.

Kissing her suddenly did feel like a chore.

With all the whoops and whistles being thrown out by friends, he finds himself trying to find you. It doesn’t take long as he notices you had picked up on your conversation with the Dutchman. His jaw clenches.

“Maybe Ollie’s younger sister would like to share a few words.”

Why would he say that? Frozen, you choke mid sip. Me? Your father beams as he nods excitedly. Oh! That’s such a great idea! Unfamiliar faces turn to look at you as they wait. Taking in a deep breath, you nod as you make your way over.

As he hands you the microphone, he can’t stop himself from grazing his fingers against your hand. Coughing, you yank it fast.

“Ciao a tutti.” Everyone greets you back as you lick your lips. You take a moment to figure out what to say, but there’s not much. Cringing, you try to come up with anything. “As some may know, I’m Ollie’s sister…And I could go on forever about how great she is-” You suppress a sarcastic laugh as Carlos knowingly winks. Your nerves ease up. “But I think I should talk about the man who makes my sister the happiest. Carlos Sainz…When I first met you, you seemed uptight - more than the Grinch - but slowly I got to know the man that even my papi swoons over.”

True, your father laughs. “You’re kind, respectful, and charming…Ollie is one very lucky girl. But there’s something also sensitive inside of you…Despite the permanent frown on your face, you still seem to like days by the ocean. Maybe it's a reminder that peace still exists or maybe it's the way…” Looking up, you see everyone staring deeply. Suddenly, you feel like this might be oversharing as you twirl your dress. “...Or maybe it's the way your face lights up when you take my sister dancing on the sand. Uh…Thank you for making her happy.” Handing the mic back to Carlos, you smile weakly at the strong claps.

“That was quite sentimental,” Max points out as you bite down on your finger. Was it too much? He shakes his head. “Don’t worry. It looks like you and Carlos get along well enough. I, for sure, thought he hated you with the way he looks at you.”

“Oh. Yeah.” You pause. “I thought so, too.”

Aside from the fact that the wedding was approaching quickly, the mansion was quiet. The silence can almost be heard; it's scary. Carefully, you fix your dress as you skip down the stairs barefoot, lollipop painting your lips red.

Peeking around the corner, giddiness fills your body as you snatch a handful of pre-washed cherries. Earlier that day, your father had scolded you for finishing the new batch. Popping them into your mouth, you hum a song as you kick your legs against the kitchen counter. It creeps you out the moment a chill runs down your spine. As if someone were watching.

“Boo!”

“Santa mierda,” you yelp as you clutch your heart. Laughing loudly, the Spaniard bends over as he gasps for air. You pout and kick his knee. “Cabrón, you scared me! Warn a girl!”

“Fuck - I’m sorry.” His lips form a thin line as he stands firm. Slowly, the corners lift up, wobbly at his poor attempt to not burst out laughing. You frown.

“You’re fucked up.”

Again, his laughs echo the dimly lit kitchen. “Can I have some?”

“No. They’re mine. Grab your own.”

He narrows his eyes. “Aren’t you on cherry prohibition or something like that?” You gasp as you look around before flipping him off.

“Keep your voice low or papi will disown me!”

He zips his lips as he whispers. “I won’t tell a soul. But I want one of those in exchange.”

Tapping your finger against your lip, you pretend to think about it before nodding. You extend your hand out, a single red cherry for him. You’re waiting for him to take it and leave to where he came from, but what he does instead has you swallowing a lump down your throat.

Crouching down, he opens his mouth as he picks up the cherry, lips slightly wrapping around your fingers. This was triggering you as you tried your best to keep sane. But there was no way of going about that when he looked up at you with deep, brown eyes. Licking the red juice sliding down your hands, he steps back. He licks his lips before swallowing. It amazes you the way his Adam’s Apple jumps up and down; thick neck begging to be sucked on.

“Fucking delicious.”

Blinking, you look down at the rest of the cherries in hand. All of a sudden they seemed like a sultry fruit rather than a drupe.

“Wouldn’t you agree?”

“Of cours-s-e.”

Stupefied, you throw the leftovers straight into the trash bin. You had no clue what made you do that. A small chuckle escapes past his lips as you shut your eyes in embarrassment. Maybe they weren’t as sweet as you made them seem. Too mortified to speak, you keep your eyes focused on the way your feet hit the wood as a distraction. It takes all of you to not run away as he steps closer once again.

“Is there something in that dirty little mind of yours?”

The room feels hot all of a sudden as you shake your head. There’s no words in your vocabulary when he stands this close. You can smell his cologne mixed with shampoo. If richness were a scent then this would definitely be it. His hands cage you in like a butterfly behind glass. Clicking his tongue, he steps aside as you let out a shaky breath. Taking the opportunity, you jump off the edge, bare feet slapping against the cold tiles. Cuidado, he mutters when you almost slip from the sudden action.

“If you need anything I’ll be upstairs.”

Not sure why you said that, but it seemed like a rationalized excuse. Por supuesto. And that would have been the end of your night. That would have been another successful day of not falling for the forbidden apple. You had held out for so long; the kiss didn’t count. But it only takes a few steps for him to clear his throat. Almost as if this were your secret language, you spin and you find him staring after you; dazzling eyes following your every movement as if he’s trying his best to decipher anything you do.

Smiling wide enough for your eyes to look as if they had a smile of their own, you think - fuck the consequences - as you clumsily run up to him; jumping like a kid onto a tree. Legs wrap around his torso and his hands hold you close to him.

“Do you-”

“Yes,” he whispers. “Since the first day you walked through those doors: yes.”

If you had thought you were obsessed with his kisses before, you were wrong. So very wrong. Because now you were addicted. He kisses you with urgency as you run your hands through his locks, so soft against your fingers. He grunts when you tug on it.

His kisses were stimulating enough for you to plead for something. Anything. Smirking, he pecks your nose before leading you both upstairs. It amazed you how he could continue kissing you as he hurried to get to the bedroom. Noticing him making his way into his and Ollie’s, you pull away. There’s no way you would let him do that. You spin your finger lazily through his hair.

“How about mine?”

He doesn't care if he fucked you against the floor, he needed you. Kicking the door shut, he throws you onto your bed as you squeal. He smiles fondly as you brush your hair out of your face. He’s had his fair share of girls. Models, nepo-babies, Ollie, but none of them compare to you.

He was almost scared of touching you again, even though that’s exactly what he wanted. Doe eyes stare back at him as his cock gets harder at the sight. Ollie had always tried her best to look at him that way, but you didn’t even have to try. It naturally happened. Nothing about this felt forced.

You look untouchable. Like a complete goddess waiting to be ruined. Carlos, you would say as you squeeze your tits, eyes struggling to stay open. Carlos, please. Don’t be mean. Towering over you, he shakes his head.

“Linda, I could never be mean to you.”

Slipping your dress off, he groans when he sees you weren’t wearing anything underneath. He shuts his eyes as he tries to not finish inside his pants, which by the way, were starting to hurt. He pinches your nipple before slapping your tits. You hiss.

“Please tell me you did this for me and no one else…”

“You know it’s always been for you.”

With that, he stands up as he yanks his shirt off; jeans and boxers following right after. A bit worried, you find yourself staring at his rock hard dick. You had never been with some as big as him; it kind of looked as if it would split you right open. That didn’t stop you from wanting it, though.

“Don’t worry. I’ll prepare you nice and good, cariño.”

His lustful tone snaps you out of it as you nod. His fingers rub your wet folds as you cling onto his bicep. C-Carlos. “I know, baby, I know,” he coos as he focuses on the way your face pinches. He slowly starts slipping his finger in as you gasp at the thickness. So big and long. He chuckles. “Oh, come on now. It’s not even fully inside of you yet.”

Stunned, you look down and sure enough, it isn’t. You almost cry out when you notice it’s barely even the tip. “I don’t think it’s going to fit.” He kisses your temple as he slips his finger back out.

“Let’s start off with something else then.”

You almost pass out when he angles himself in front of your pussy. Glistening clit stares back at him as he moans. So pretty, he thinks as he touches you slowly. He stops himself, though, as he goes in for kitten licks instead. You squirm. His large hands pushed you down against the bed, to keep you in place.

“Do you want me to make the ache in between your legs go away?”

“Yes.”

His pink tongue teases you as he hums. You bite down sharply. “You’re going to have to stay still. Relax, bonita.” Following instructions, you close your eyes, trying your best to not think of the handsome Spaniard. As if that were possible. Impressed, he leans in again as he licks you, picking up your pre-cum. Oh, fuck.

Then it’s almost as if Carlos is taken over by something as he dives in like some animal. His stubble burns your legs, but you’re too fucked out to even care. You’re sure you're being loud, but how can you not be when he licks and sticks his tongue inside of you, exploring places you never knew existed. You choke back a moan when he rubs his nose against your clit, only adding to the euphoria.

“Yes. Oh. Fuck, yes.” Looking down at the brunette, you find him taking in your appearance as he rubs himself against the sheets; a way to try and pleasure himself. And that’s enough for you to cum all over his face. He smiles as he greedily tries to drink up everything you give him. He knows he lost control, but he loves the way you were able to keep up. To take everything he gave you.

And that was only going to multiply.

“You taste so fucking sweet,” he groans in between your legs, picking up the white nectar. Crying out, you push his face away as you gasp for air. He sucks your tits as you take a break. His tongue swirls around your bud as you wiggle against him like a fish that jumped out onto land. He laughs. “Can you handle my fingers, now?”

No, you whisper as you push him away. But he knows you’re giving up too soon. He knows there’s an animal inside of you and he’s just waiting for it to decide to join him. He ignores you as he slides his fingers down to your center. You mewl against him. “Hey, hey, I got you, cariño. I’m right here.”

His voice makes you clench harder against his fingers as he grins like a kid at a candy store. Slowly, you start dripping more than before, making it easier for his fingers to slide in and out of your hole. Can you handle a third? “Yes,” you respond, eyes still screwed shut. Hot air hits your ear.

“There she is…Good girl. Justo asi.”

Picking up speed, his fingers reach the gummy part inside of you as you scratch his arms in an attempt to remind yourself to not black out. His long fingers cross, doing figure 8’s as he touches your g-spot as if he knows your entire body better than any map. Leaning up, he bites down onto your nipple before sucking hard. You should be embarrassed with the way you squeal and shake against his actions, but he just made it so hard not to. Much to your surprise, if you dare believe it, he does the thing you last expected.

He adds a fourth digit.

“No, no, no,” you pathetically chant as your eyes fly open. He cocks his head to he side as he clicks in tongue as if seeing you struggle filled him with pride.

“Ah, ah, ah. Just trust me; do you trust me?”

He didn’t need to ask because he knew you did. I do, you whimper out as you start grinding against his fingers. Amazement fills his dark eyes as he looks down to where you clench around him, juices sliding down his arm. It only takes a couple of more swirls before your shriek, velvety walls clenching around him as you reach your climax.

Bringing his fingers up to his mouth, he licks your cum as if it were a meal he’s dreamed of having his entire life. Your mouth hangs open as you watch him lick them clean. You’re sure he’s going to fuck you now, but that flies out the window as he lays down as he drags you onto his face.

This man had stamina. Lots of it. You're trying to beg for a break of some sort. I can suck your dick. Give you a handjob. Just please let me rest. But he wasn’t even listening.

Maybe somewhere deep down, he knew this would be the only night he would have you to himself and if that meant no pauses, then he would push all your buttons.

Like a starved man, he starts licking you all over as you grind against his face. The way he sucks on your clit and adds his fingers make you squeal as you push down harder. His nose rubs against you in such a way, it has you seeing stars. He seems to be enjoying that though, as his moans vibrate against you. Biting hard onto your lip, you try to distract yourself as you reach behind you for his rock hard cock. The moment your small hand wraps around him, he growls like a lion.

Smug over his reaction, your hand slowly starts jerking him off as he eats you out with more urgency. It takes all of you to control your actions as he shakes his face in between your legs. S-slow down, Carlos. He grunts as his actions speed up, but so does your hand. Gripping onto his erection much harder, you furrow your brows as you twist your wrist. Choking on your juices, he opens his eyes wide, whimpers flying past his lips.

Smiling down like the devil, you nod as your hand picks up its pace. Now it's his turn to be groaning with pleasure. He seems to have forgotten what he was doing as he takes in strong whiffs of your aroma. You shudder when his warm breaths escape to warm up your dripping pussy.

His cock twitches and he seems to snap right back into it; already diving back into your hole. Lurching forward, you grip onto his hair as the other remains wrapped around him. It’s a game to see who can make the other cum first, and you were not about to be the loser.

Lively, you circle your thumb around his pink tip as he groans and finishes all around your hand. Sucking hard, he bites gently onto your clit as you screech and trap his head between your thighs. Shaking, you twitch against him as you reach your third orgasm that night. Huffing, you roll off him as he laps his tongue.

The way he looks at you makes you want to ride his face all over again, but you know you needed a break if you didn’t want the night to end so soon. Kneeling in front of him, you raise your ass up high as you lean down to wrap your lips around his cock. He flinches, slightly sensitive, but doesn’t dare push you away. Instead, he rubs your face with his calloused thumb; encouraging you. There's something so hot about the way your lips stretch around his fat cock. The way drool exits your mouth, messy blots of mascaras on the corners of your eyes.

Light of my life. Fire of my loins.

Gagging around him, you squeeze your eyes shut, feet curling up along the way. For sure, your throat would be bruised tomorrow, but you didn’t mind. In fact, you wanted that. Deepthroating him as best as you can, your small hands wrap around the rest of his length. He was huge. Dirty slurps bounce off the walls. You try your best to not pull away when you feel his sticky pre-cum connect inside your throat. Not when he looked so good with his head thrown back. His thick neck is a clear display. With his large hands wrapped around your hair as he fucks your face like theres no tomorrow. Spanish curses flowing past his lips.

“Que linda. Arrodillada como una santa.”

When you giggle around his erection, he groans, head thudding against the headboard. His mind quickly slips over to Ollie - but not in the way one might expect. It hits him like a truck when he compares her to you. With Ollie, she would last at least 20 minutes before calling it a night. He pretended not to mind - he would never force her to do something she doesn’t want to, of course - but once she would knock out, his large hand would slide down past his boxers, looking for a new release.

Then there’s you, ever so pretty. It seems like with everything you do, you want more. You sucking him off as if you’ve done this for him a lifetime ago. Sure, you’re struggling, but that only makes him harder. You’re trying to keep up with him and it’s working. Now, it’s like he’s the one trying to keep up. Swallowing, your throat closes around him as he flies forward, voice cracking as he presses for more.

Glossy eyes look back up at him as you repeat your action. With one last blow, he pulls out as he cums all over your face. His dick immediately gets hard again when you smile wide, fingers going to pick up his mess. Greedily, you pout as you wrap your lips around your finger like the lollipop you had been sucking on a few hours ago.

“Fuck,” he mumbles, abs contracting together as he tries his best to even out his breaths.

“Will you fuck me now?”

You’re moving at a snail's pace as you lick his sweaty neck. A chill runs down his spine with the feeling of your warm tongue. Grinding slowly against his thigh, you throw your head back with pleasure, wet lips rubbing against him. He smiles.

“You’re a dirty girl, you know that?”

“I thought that’s what you liked about me, papi.”

In a flash, he flips you onto your back as he hovers over you like a giant. A beautiful, beautiful, giant. His large muscles he works so hard for stare back at you as you admire with an open mouth. It looks as if he could carry mountains on his shoulders. Dilated pupils admire you as you let out a pathetic whimper. Long gone were his brown eyes as they now appear completely black. Sensual.

“Then you should be fucked as such.”

With that, he swings your tan legs over his broad shoulders, practically bending you like a pretzel. You pat yourself on the back for all those pilate classes. Jerking himself off a bit, he looks straight at you, making sure this was something you wanted. The way you bat your cartoon eyes is all he needs to slip inside of you.

First thing he notices is how tight you are despite him already stretching you out to perfection. Raw moans leave both your lips as you try your best to adjust to his size. You had been with men before - that’s all you really knew - but no one’s cock had ever made you burn with such satisfaction. More than satisfaction. He’s reassuring you with his words in order for you to relax.

I’ve got you, preciosa. Just let go for me. I’m right here.

Still, you can’t help but squirm underneath him. His fingers make their way to your mouth as you stare back confused. Suck, he commands before forcing them in. Caught off guard, you gag around them for a bit before your tongue begins to twirl around them. Your cheeks burn up as you hear your low mewls. Ah- ah- ah, you cry out against his digits as he grins down at you. Retracting them, he slides them down to your clit as he starts rubbing small circles.

“Oh God.”

Instantly, you open up against his tired cock as he hums. There you go, he praises as you make it easier for him to thrust into you. You should both be ashamed of the way gushy sounds bloom from your mixed cum. Or the way he pounds into you so hard and fast that it has you sliding further back against the bed, hair tangling along the way. His fingers dig into your calves as he holds them in place.

“Mierda,” he wheezes as he throws his head back, ripping his eyes away from the way your puffy clit envelopes around him. Pants and whimpers escape you as you arch your back from the fulfillment.

Carlos is a man - you know that - but in this moment; right now: he’s proving it the way a scientist would their hypothesis. His cock brushes against your g-spot as you gasp at the sensation. He’s looking at you as if you held the key to all secrets.

The keys for the gate to Heaven.

Though he knows that this all feels like Heaven, he deserves nothing but Hell for cheating on Ollie. But that’s the least of his worries.

“Does that feel good, bonita?”

Wide eyes look up at him desperately as you nod to the point where your neck starts to ache. Yes - Oh God, yes. So good, Carlitos. Yeah, baby - right there. Snapping his hips harder against you, your mind goes foggy with the way his hair flops around him. Sweat causing long strands to stick to his face. Beads of sweat drip down your legs as he presses sloppy kisses. His cheeks look as if he’s been out in the sun for hours.

In this moment; he looked immortal.

“Carlos, I’m gonna-”

“Hold it.”

Like a doll, you flop back against the bed as you start to leak acid. No - please. Don’t ask me to do that. Feeling a sharp sting, you gasp. His hands dives back in to massage your cheek after slapping you. He cocks his head with fake sympathy. “I know you can do it,” - thrust - “Wait for me, yeah?”

You have no word as you wail - tits bouncing with every assault from his hip. Your stomach burns with the way his abs glisten, with the way his bottom lip juts out, or the way his muscles shine with a layer of sweat as they hug your legs like a teddy bear.

He was yours. In this moment, he was yours.

“Alright, linda-” He brushes your hair out of your face as he wipes your sweat with his hand. “Cum for me?”

It’s an out of body experience the moment you squirt around his dick - the way your tummy feels like it's on fire. Sore groans leave his lips as he finishes inside of you, brown eyes trained on the way you gush around him. He freezes in place at the feeling. You squirm for a few seconds below falling limp against the bed. The room smells like nothing but filthy sex.

Pulling out of you, he carefully places your legs back down before kissing your ribs. Then your bruised tits. Then your cheeks, forehead, and lastly, your lips that taste like home. Sighing against him, you try your best to remember the way he kisses you as if you're the only form of oxygen that exists. As if this were a dystopian world and you were the only source of survival.

He pecks your lips once more before brushing his fingers against your temple. “Get some sleep.” Yawning, you nod as your eyes flutter like a butterfly's wings. Will you stay? And he doesn’t know what takes over him when he says-

“I will.”

When you wake up you notice it’s still dark out. The moon shines, eyes flickering around, looking for the Spaniard. You let out a low breath of relief when you see him sitting on the edge of the bed.

“Ollie,” he whispers into the phone as he runs a hand against his jaw. “...I made a mistake.”

Your heart stops with his words. He makes sure to speak low, thinking you're sound asleep. She - I - it was a mistake. She’s just a kid…Fuck. She’s just a child. Your heart shatters with the evident blame in his voice. You weren’t a kid. Sniffling, you stop breathing when you realize you’re crying. He pauses for a moment before standing up and making sure you’re okay. Bringing the phone up against his ear, he shakes, already walking out the door.

“Where are you? Let me just see you, amor. I’ll explain it all.”

There’s a saying that goes: You know, a heart can be broken, but it keeps on beating, just the same.

You would personally like to punch that person in the face. It’s not true. It doesn’t beat the same - because then why does it hurt everytime it pounds against your chest? Why is it hard to breath when the priest says-

“You may now kiss the bride!”

Everyone’s faces are blurry; cheers sound far away. You can’t be too sure you're standing upright as your father beams at the sight of Ollie pressing her lips up against Carlos. The way his hands slide down to her waist as shows her off proudly like some champion ring is what hurts the most. You feel flames all over your skin, letting out a flinch when your fathers signals for you to clap, too.

You don’t know what happened after that night. Whether Ollie forgave him or not - though clearly she had. Maybe she didn’t know about you the same way he didn’t know about Ben. This was all starting to feel like some nightmare. But it’s very much real life with the way the newlyweds hold hands, smiling brightly as guests throw a mixture of confetti and baby breath.

“Nice ceremony.”

“What? Oh.” You shrug towards Max as he points over at the couple. “Y-yeah. It was…”

He goes over his next words for a moment because Lord knows that if he has it all wrong then he would appear to be the biggest jerk to ever exist. “You fell in love with him, didn’t you?”

“I-I-I’m not sure I understand,” you trample over your words as your cheeks burn the same color of your red dress. He shares a small smile.

“It’s okay. I won’t tell anyone.”

Walking away, you’re left alone, second guessing everything. The violin seemed too happy. The guests seemed too bright. All of this was fake, couldn’t they see? Pursing your lips, you try your best to hide your broken heart as you catch up with old friends. How is college? How does it feel like having a brother-in-law who drives for Formula 1? Must feel pretty great, right?

The night is boring. Half of it you spend faking smiles and the other you spend trying to avoid the Spaniard. Life was better back in Spain, where ironically, he was never around despite it being his home country. You’re in the middle of conversing with the Dutchman - who quite frankly is an honest listener - when Ollie walks up looking like a ball of whipped cream. Can I talk to my sister alone, please? Max’s concerned eyes ask if you’re okay with that as you nod. Slumping away, he squeezes your knee one last time.

Blue Velvet plays as she fixes herself onto the stool right next to you. “Have you tried the cocktails? They have cherry flavored; your favorite.” Something about her sweet voice makes you unsteady as you raise a brow. She shows off her veneers. “This is weird. Sorry. I’m just so…happy.”

“Good to know.”

“But enough about me!” She places her left hand over yours, shiny rock sitting perfectly. You wince. “I want to talk about you! How’s school?”

“Like you care.”

She pouts. “I do now…” You furrow your brows. What do you mean now? She gasps. “Oh, you poor thing! You don’t know I know!” Your stomach drops. “Well, you know, as your older sister, I’m also your guardian since our mother is too fucked up to look after you…And a little birdie filled me in on your reputation back in Spain.” She giggles as she takes a sip of your drink. “Doesn’t surprise me, though. It only makes sense that you keep messing around with men old enough to be your father. You always had a thing for those.”

“What does this have to do with anything?”

Ollie grins ear to ear when she notices how annoyed you’ve become. “Carlos told you he was born in Madrid, right? Okay, well, he also has a whole bloodline there. And let’s just say, a cousin of his - my goodness, his daughters are beautiful - is a professor at your Uni.”

No.

“And well this birdie also told me how you’ve been sneaking in and out of his lecture room, late at night. And I wonder…What have you and him been doing behind closed doors?”

It can’t be.

Professor Vázquez de Castro, he says as he extends his hand out, eyes roaming every inch of your body.

Suddenly, the name sounds familiar. The surname is Carlos’ extended one. Ollie’s eyes shine. “I see it’s clicking.”

“What do you want from me?”

“I want you to leave me and my husband alone. I want you to grab your things and leave. Don’t look back; just leave. Don’t contact papi ever again. I don’t want to hear a single thing from you. It’s bad enough you’ve already fucked my spouse.”

She knows. He told her. And they still got married.

“Ollie, don’t…”

Tugging your hand harshly, she slaps her phone on it. And you don’t know how, but in it, it’s a video of you riding your Professor - Carlos’ cousin.

“Leave or I’ll show this to him. Your choice.”

Wet sobs leave your mouth as you shake your head in disbelief. How did this happen? Who took this video?

“Ollie, please…I love him.”

Her gaze sharpens as she takes the phone back and stands up. “You know what to do.”

Bringing your shaky hand up to your lips, you stare in shock. Wobbly legs walk past Max as he asks if you’re okay. One last smile looks back at him before you brush past by.

Carlos is craning his neck, looking for you. He had confessed that night, but so had Ollie. He was breaking off the engagement. Spilling apologies as she cried against his chest. Despite it all, he still cared for your sister. But he knew it wasn’t going to work out. He was ready to leave when she brought up the tape of you and a cousin he didn’t even know he had. I’ll get her expelled. Don’t do this, Carlos. And so he stayed. He knew how much you loved school, regardless of what others might think. I just want to help others, you swooned one day by the pool. It’s what I wish someone had done for me.

You get to him before he spots you as you tap on his shoulder. He fills up with worry when he sees your red brimmed eyes. Sheepishly, you take his handkerchief as you wipe your rosy nose. What happened? Who made you cry? You shrug.

“Carlos…I love you.” He blinks. You let out a wet laugh as you lean up to kiss him. You didn’t care who saw anymore. This was it. He doesn’t seem to care either as his hands wrap around your waist. Holding you close, as if you might vanish into thin air. He was the waves, you were the shore. Pulling away, you wink. “Save me a dance, yeah?”

Then, you’re walking away. Becoming smaller as you stroll over to the Italian house. Clutching his chest, he chokes: I-I…I.

“Carlos!”

Turning to face Ollie, he sees her waving him over to the giant cake.

“Coming.”

Running into the quiet house, he calls your name. He looks behind every door, hoping to find the girl in red. Stumbling up the stairs, he swings your door open. He breathes heavily when he doesn’t find you, even here. Panicked, he grips his hair in despair. Only then, does it occur to him to open the restroom door, hoping to not scare you.

“¿Bonita?”

Silence. He still pushes it open as he carefully walks in, finding no harm in checking. And why? Why couldn’t he be as truthful like you were? Risk it the way you would have willingly done. Why did he let you walk into the house alone?

Falling to his knees, he desperately crawls over to your lifeless body, dark blood flowing from your wrists.

As red as your dress.

He must be dreaming. This can’t be real. Surely, it can’t.

“No, no, no.” He drags your limp body into his arms. He can’t even pinpoint the moment his tears flow down his face. “Bonita, no. No. No. No.” The Spaniard cradles your colorless face into his hands. He gently taps your face a few times, but almost stops breathing himself when it only rolls back. Blood stains his white shirt. “Hey, hey. C’mon, please. You want me to say it?” Hurriedly, he picks up your head as he kisses your lips over and over. He winces when he feels how chapped they’ve become.

“It doesn’t feel forced. I’m not saying it because I think it’s what you want to hear - I love you. I do. I love you as infinite as the ocean. I love the way you laugh, the way you trip over anything in your way, the way you say my name…I love you.”

But he knew you weren’t listening. Not anymore.

A piece of him died that day along with you. After that, life was a sickening blur. He’s out of it the moment he hears your father yelling out in agony or when Ollie screams at the gruesome scene.

None of it mattered anymore.

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