#//that has been sitting there for three months

[pucksandpower]

Keeping Up With the Leclercs

mafia!Charles Leclerc x bratva! Reader

Summary: ever wondered what it would be like if Morticia and Gomez Addams were in the mafia? There’s nothing quite like a dangerous couple who are (literally) crazy for each other

Warnings: arranged marriage and kidnapping

You stand in your father’s study, arms crossed defiantly as he delivers the news that will change your life forever. The plush Persian rug beneath your feet feels like quicksand, threatening to swallow you whole.

“You can’t be serious,” you spit out, glaring at the man who raised you. “An arranged marriage? What century do you think we’re living in?”

Your father, Nikolai, the most feared man in the Bratva, doesn’t flinch. He merely raises an eyebrow, his steely gaze unwavering. “It’s not up for discussion, Y/N. This alliance with the Monegasque Mafia will secure our position for generations to come.”

You scoff, pacing the room like a caged tigress. “And I’m just supposed to be the sacrificial lamb? How convenient.”

“Watch your tone,” Nikolai warns, his voice low and dangerous. “This isn’t a request. It’s an order.”

The door to the study swings open, and in walks the very man you’re meant to marry. Charles Leclerc, heir to the Monegasque Mafia, saunters in with an air of arrogance that makes your blood boil.

“Ah, there’s my blushing bride,” Charles drawls, a smirk playing on his lips. “I hope I’m not interrupting a touching father-daughter moment.”

You spin to face him, eyes blazing. “You. This is your fault, isn’t it? What, couldn’t find a woman willing to marry you voluntarily?”

Charles chuckles, seemingly amused by your outburst. “Feisty. I like that in a woman.”

“I’m not your woman,” you snarl, taking a step towards him. “And I never will be.”

Your father clears his throat, reminding you of his presence. “Y/N, Charles, please sit down. We have much to discuss.”

Reluctantly, you take a seat on the leather sofa, as far from Charles as possible. He, on the other hand, sprawls out comfortably, looking for all the world like he owns the place.

“Now,” Nikolai begins, “the wedding will take place in three months. Until then, I expect you both to get to know each other and present a united front to our associates.”

You can’t help but laugh bitterly. “Three months? Why the rush? Afraid I’ll come to my senses and run away?”

Charles leans forward, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “Don’t worry, mon chérie. I’ll make sure you’re thoroughly ... distracted.”

“You’re disgusting,” you mutter, refusing to meet his gaze.

Your father sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Enough. You two will learn to get along, for the sake of both our families.”

“And if we don’t?” You challenge, raising your chin defiantly.

Nikolai’s expression darkens. “Then you’ll face the consequences. Both of you.”

The weight of his words hangs heavy in the air. You know better than anyone what your father is capable of when crossed.

Charles, seemingly unfazed, stands up and stretches. “Well, this has been delightful, but I think Y/N and I could use some ... alone time to get acquainted.”

You jump to your feet, ready to protest, but your father beats you to it. “An excellent idea. Y/N, why don’t you show Charles the gardens?”

It’s not a suggestion, and you know it. Gritting your teeth, you storm out of the study, not bothering to check if Charles is following.

The moment you’re in the hallway, Charles catches up, matching your brisk pace. “So, tell me about yourself, future Mrs. Leclerc. What makes you tick?”

You whirl around, jabbing a finger into his chest. “Listen here, you smug bastard. I don’t know what game you’re playing, but I want no part of it. This marriage? It’s never going to happen.”

Charles catches your wrist, his grip firm but not painful. “Oh, it’s happening alright. But who says we can’t have a little fun along the way?”

You yank your hand away, your skin tingling where he touched you. “Fun? You think this is fun?”

“It could be,” he shrugs, his eyes roaming over you appreciatively. “If you’d let that stick out of your ass for five minutes.”

“Charming,” you deadpan. “Is this how you usually woo women? Insults and forced marriages?”

Charles laughs, the sound rich and oddly melodic. “Only the special ones. Come on, Y/N. Give me a chance. I might surprise you.”

You pause, studying him for a moment. Despite your anger, you can’t deny there’s something intriguing about Charles. A dangerous allure that both excites and terrifies you.

“Fine,” you concede grudgingly. “One chance. But if you so much as look at me wrong, I’ll make you regret it.”

“I wouldn’t expect anything less,” Charles grins, offering you his arm. “Shall we explore these famous gardens of yours?”

Ignoring his outstretched arm, you lead the way outside. The sun is setting, casting a golden glow over the meticulously manicured grounds.

“It’s beautiful,” Charles murmurs, genuine appreciation in his voice.

You nod, allowing yourself to relax slightly. “It’s my favorite place on the estate. I used to hide here as a child when things got ... intense inside.”

Charles turns to you, his expression softening. “It can’t have been easy, growing up in this world.”

“Like you’d know anything about it,” you scoff, but there’s less venom in your words now.

“You’d be surprised,” he says quietly. “The gilded cage of Monaco isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.”

You raise an eyebrow, intrigued despite yourself. “Oh? Do tell.”

Charles shakes his head, a rueful smile on his lips. “Another time, perhaps. For now, I’d rather hear about you. What do you do when you’re not busy being the Bratva princess?”

“I’m not a princess,” you retort automatically. “And I ... I paint, actually.”

“Really?” Charles seems genuinely interested. “What kind of art?”

You hesitate, unused to sharing this part of yourself. “Mostly abstracts. Emotions translated into color and form.”

“I’d love to see them sometime,” Charles says softly. “If you’d let me.”

You study him, trying to detect any hint of mockery. Finding none, you nod slowly. “Maybe. If you behave yourself.”

Charles clutches his chest dramatically. “Me? Misbehave? I’m wounded by the very suggestion.”

Despite yourself, you feel the corners of your mouth twitching upwards. “Somehow, I doubt that.”

As you continue walking, a comfortable silence falls between you. The tension from earlier hasn’t disappeared entirely, but it’s shifted into something ... different. Something charged with possibility.

“You know,” Charles says suddenly, breaking the quiet, “this arranged marriage thing doesn’t have to be a death sentence.”

You snort, rolling your eyes. “Says the man who’s not being forced to give up his freedom.”

“Who says you have to give up anything?” Charles counters. “We could make our own rules, create our own version of this marriage.”

You stop walking, turning to face him fully. “What are you suggesting?”

Charles steps closer, his voice low and intense. “A partnership. Equal footing. We present a united front to the world, secure our families’ alliance, but behind closed doors? We live our lives how we want.”

“And what about love?” You ask, hating how vulnerable you sound. “What about building a real relationship?”

Charles reaches out, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear. The gentle touch sends shivers down your spine. “Who says that can’t happen naturally? We have time. We can take things slow, get to know each other properly.”

You swallow hard, your heart racing. “And if we end up hating each other?”

“Then we’ll still be the most dangerous power couple the mafia world has ever seen,” Charles grins. “Think about it. With your fire and my charm, we could rule this entire underworld.”

You can’t help but laugh, the tension finally breaking. “You’re impossible.”

“I prefer to think of myself as irresistible,” Charles winks.

Rolling your eyes, you start walking again. “Don’t push your luck, Leclerc.”

As you near the house, Charles suddenly stops, turning to face you. His expression is more serious now, a hint of vulnerability in his eyes.

“Listen, Y/N,” he says softly. “I know this isn’t ideal for either of us. But I meant what I said about making it work. I respect you, and I want us to build something real, even if it starts from an arrangement.”

You study him, searching for any sign of deception. Finding none, you nod slowly. “Okay. I’m willing to try if you are.”

Charles breaks into a genuine smile, one that transforms his entire face. “That’s all I ask.”

As you stand there, bathed in the dying light of the day, you feel something shift between you. It’s not love, not yet, but it’s a beginning. A spark of possibility that could, with time and nurturing, grow into something beautiful.

Charles takes a step closer, his eyes never leaving yours. Slowly, deliberately, he leans in and presses a soft kiss to the corner of your lips. The touch is electric, sending a jolt through your entire body.

Pulling back slightly, Charles looks you up and down, a wicked glint in his eye. “You know what, Y/N? I have a feeling I’m going to enjoy everything you have to offer.”

And despite yourself, despite all your reservations and fears, you find yourself looking forward to proving him right.

***

Three months have passed in a whirlwind of preparations, negotiations, and stolen moments. Now, as the clock strikes midnight, you find yourself in the opulent bridal suite of the Leclerc compound, face to face with your new husband.

Charles stands before you, his tuxedo jacket discarded, bow tie hanging loosely around his neck. His eyes, dark with desire, never leave yours as he slowly begins to unbutton his shirt.

“Well, Mrs. Leclerc,” he drawls, a smirk playing on his lips. “Shall we consummate this union of ours?”

You roll your eyes, but can’t quite suppress the flutter in your stomach. “Don’t get ahead of yourself, Charles. I’m still not convinced this wasn’t a terrible idea.”

He chuckles, stepping closer. “Always so prickly. It’s one of the things I love about you, you know.”

“Love?” You scoff, trying to ignore the way your heart skips at the word. “We’ve known each other for three months.”

Charles reaches out, his fingers trailing along your jawline. “Sometimes, that’s all it takes.”

You swallow hard, fighting the urge to lean into his touch. “Just ... help me out of this dress, will you? I can hardly breathe in this thing.”

“With pleasure,” Charles grins, moving behind you.

As he slowly lowers the zipper, his breath hot on your neck, you can’t help but shiver. The tension between you has been building for weeks, and now, alone at last, it threatens to consume you both.

The dress pools at your feet, leaving you in nothing but your undergarments and ...

Charles lets out a low whistle. “Well, well. What do we have here?”

You turn to face him, a wicked glint in your eye. Strapped to various parts of your body are an impressive array of weapons — daggers, throwing stars, even a small pistol holstered to your thigh.

“A girl’s got to be prepared,” you shrug, trying to appear nonchalant despite the heat rising to your cheeks.

Charles’ eyes roam over you, a mix of admiration and desire in his gaze. “I must say, I’m impressed. And more than a little turned on.”

You can’t help but laugh, some of the tension dissipating. “Is that all it takes? A few knives and you’re ready to go?”

“What can I say?” Charles grins, stepping closer. “I like a woman who can handle herself.”

His hands come to rest on your waist, fingers brushing against the hilt of a dagger. “Though I have to ask, were you planning to assassinate me on our wedding night?”

You smirk, trailing a finger down his chest. “The night’s still young, Mr. Leclerc. Don’t get too comfortable.”

Charles laughs, the sound rich and warm. “Oh, mon amour. What am I going to do with you?”

“I can think of a few things,” you murmur, surprising yourself with your boldness.

Charles’ eyes darken, his grip on your waist tightening. “Care to elaborate?”

Instead of answering, you reach up and pull him down for a kiss. It’s fierce and passionate, months of pent-up tension finally finding release. Charles responds eagerly, his hands roaming your body, carefully avoiding the various weapons still strapped to your skin.

When you finally break apart, both panting, Charles rests his forehead against yours. “As much as I’m enjoying this little arsenal of yours, perhaps we should disarm you before things get too ... heated.”

You nod, slightly dazed from the intensity of the kiss. “Probably a good idea. Wouldn’t want any unfortunate accidents.”

Charles steps back, his eyes never leaving yours as you begin to remove the weapons one by one. With each knife that clatters to the ground, the air between you grows thicker with anticipation.

“You know,” Charles muses, watching as you unholster the pistol from your thigh, “most brides wear a garter. You went for a whole armory.”

You smirk, setting the gun carefully on a nearby table. “I’m not most brides.”

“No,” Charles agrees, his voice low and husky. “You certainly aren’t.”

As you remove the last dagger, Charles closes the distance between you once more. His hands, warm and calloused, cup your face gently.

“Y/N,” he murmurs, his thumbs tracing your cheekbones. “I know this isn’t how either of us imagined getting married. But I want you to know, I’m glad it’s you.”

You swallow hard, caught off guard by the sincerity in his eyes. “Charles, I-”

He silences you with a soft kiss, so different from the passionate one you shared earlier. This one is tender, almost reverent, and it makes your knees weak.

When he pulls back, you’re both breathing heavily. “You don’t have to say anything,” Charles whispers. “Just ... be here with me. In this moment.”

You nod, unable to form words. Instead, you reach for the buttons of his shirt, your fingers trembling slightly as you undo them one by one.

Charles watches you, his eyes dark with desire. As you push the shirt off his shoulders, revealing his toned chest, he lets out a shaky breath. “You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs, his hands settling on your hips.

You blush, unused to such open admiration. “You’re not so bad yourself,” you manage to quip, trying to regain some of your usual bravado.

Charles chuckles, pulling you closer. “Always with the sharp tongue. I wonder what else it can do.”

Before you can retort, his lips are on yours again, hot and demanding. You melt into the kiss, your hands exploring the planes of his chest, tracing old scars and feeling the rapid beat of his heart.

Charles’ fingers find the clasp of your bra, and he pauses, looking at you questioningly. You nod, giving him permission, and he deftly unhooks it, letting it fall to the floor.

“Gorgeous,” he breathes, his eyes roaming over your newly exposed skin. “Absolutely gorgeous.”

You fight the urge to cover yourself, instead meeting his gaze defiantly. “Your turn,” you say, your hands moving to his belt.

Charles grins, helping you undo the buckle. “Eager, are we?”

“Shut up,” you mutter, but there’s no real heat behind it.

As you both finish undressing, the air between you crackles with anticipation. Charles takes your hand, leading you towards the massive four-poster bed that dominates the room.

“Last chance to back out,” he says softly, his thumb tracing circles on your palm.

You look up at him, taking in the mixture of desire and vulnerability in his eyes. Despite everything, despite the arranged nature of your marriage and the complexities of your world, you find yourself wanting this.

Wanting him.

“I’m not going anywhere,” you whisper, pulling him down onto the bed with you.

What follows is a dance of passion and discovery. Charles’ hands and lips seem to be everywhere at once, mapping out every inch of your skin. You’re not passive either, giving as good as you get, reveling in the way he gasps and moans under your touch.

It’s not perfect — there are moments of awkwardness, of fumbling and laughter. But it’s real, and raw, and more intense than anything you’ve ever experienced.

As you both near the edge, Charles looks down at you, his eyes filled with an emotion you’re not quite ready to name. “Y/N,” he pants, his movements becoming more erratic. “God, Y/N ...”

You arch against him, your nails digging into his back. “Charles,” you gasp, teetering on the brink. “I’m ... I’m ...”

He captures your lips in a searing kiss as you both tumble over the edge together, waves of pleasure washing over you.

Afterwards, you lie tangled together, both struggling to catch your breath. Charles props himself up on one elbow, looking down at you with a mixture of satisfaction and wonder.

“Well,” he says, a grin spreading across his face. “I’d say that was a successful consummation, wouldn’t you?”

You can’t help but laugh, swatting at his chest playfully. “It wasn’t terrible,” you concede, trying to maintain some semblance of your usual sass.

Charles raises an eyebrow, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on your skin. “Not terrible? I seem to recall you being quite ... vocal in your appreciation.”

You blush, burying your face in his chest to hide your embarrassment. “Shut up,” you mutter, your words muffled against his skin.

Charles chuckles, the sound reverberating through his chest. “Never,” he says, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “I plan on making you that vocal every night for the rest of our lives.”

You pull back, looking up at him with a mixture of exasperation and fondness. “You’re incorrigible, you know that?”

“It’s part of my charm,” he winks, leaning down to steal another kiss.

As you settle into each other’s arms, a comfortable silence falls between you. Charles’ fingers continue their gentle exploration of your skin, occasionally brushing against the spots where your weapons had been strapped earlier.

“I have to say,” he murmurs after a while, “I’m looking forward to discovering what other surprises you have in store for me, Mrs. Leclerc.”

You tense slightly at the name, reality crashing back in. “About that,” you say, sitting up and pulling the sheet around you. “This ... what just happened... it doesn’t change anything.”

Charles frowns, propping himself up on his elbows. “What do you mean?”

You take a deep breath, steeling yourself. “I mean, this was ... enjoyable. But it doesn’t change the fact that we were forced into this marriage. That our lives are being dictated by our families and their alliances.”

“Y/N,” Charles says softly, reaching out to touch your arm. “I thought ... I thought we were past that. That we were building something real here.”

You close your eyes, fighting back the conflicting emotions swirling inside you. “We are. I think. But it doesn’t erase the circumstances that brought us together. I just ... I need you to understand that.”

Charles is quiet for a moment, his hand still resting on your arm. When he speaks, his voice is low and intense. “I understand. But, mon cœur, look at me.”

Reluctantly, you meet his gaze. The depth of emotion you see there takes your breath away.

“Yes, our marriage was arranged,” he says. “But what’s happening between us? That’s real. That’s ours. And I’m not going to let anyone, not our families, not the entire damn underworld, take that away from us. Okay?”

You swallow hard, fighting back tears you didn’t even realize were threatening to fall. “Okay,” you whisper.

Charles pulls you back down into his arms, holding you close. You let yourself relax against him, your head resting on his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart.

“For what it’s worth,” you murmur after a while, your fingers tracing the lines of a scar on his abdomen, “I’m glad it’s you too.”

But you’re still going to give him hell every step of the way. After all, where would be the fun in making it easy?

***

The gala is in full swing, crystal chandeliers casting a warm glow over the ballroom of the Leclerc compound. You stand by Charles’ side, both of you the picture of mafia royalty in your evening wear. Your hand rests on his arm, a gesture that has become natural over the past few months.

“Smile, mon chérie,” Charles murmurs, his lips barely moving. “The Woking representative is watching.”

You plaster on your most charming smile, leaning into Charles slightly. “How long do we have to keep this up?” You whisper back.

Charles chuckles, the sound low and warm. “Until we’ve sufficiently convinced everyone that we’re madly in love. So … forever.”

You roll your eyes, but can’t help the small smile that tugs at your lips. “You’re impossible.”

“You love it,” he winks, before turning to greet an approaching guest.

As Charles engages in small talk, you let your gaze wander around the room. Something feels off, but you can’t quite put your finger on it. Years of growing up in the Bratva have honed your instincts, and right now, they’re screaming danger.

“Charles,” you murmur, interrupting his conversation. “Something’s wrong.”

He looks at you sharply, instantly alert. “What is it?”

Before you can answer, the lights go out. The room erupts into chaos, shouts of confusion and fear filling the air.

Charles’ arm wraps around you protectively. “Stay close,” he orders, his voice tense.

Suddenly, gunshots ring out. Glass shatters, and screams pierce the darkness. You feel Charles being torn away from you, and panic sets in.

“Charles!” You shout, reaching for him blindly.

A hand grabs your arm, but you know instantly it’s not Charles. You react on instinct, twisting and striking out with your elbow. There’s a grunt of pain, and the grip loosens.

The emergency lights flicker on, casting an eerie red glow over the scene. Bodies litter the floor, some moving, others disturbingly still. You scan the room frantically for Charles, your heart pounding.

A movement catches your eye, and you turn to see a man in a black mask aiming a gun at you. Time seems to slow down as you reach for the knife strapped to your thigh, cursing yourself for not being more heavily armed.

Just as the man’s finger tightens on the trigger, a blur of motion tackles him to the ground. Charles. Relief floods through you, quickly replaced by fear as you see them grappling on the floor.

You rush forward, knife in hand, but more masked figures appear, surrounding you. You fight with everything you have, your knife flashing in the dim light, but you’re outnumbered.

A sharp pain explodes in the back of your head, and the world goes dark.

When you come to, you’re tied to a chair in what looks like an abandoned warehouse. Your head throbs, and you can taste blood in your mouth. As your vision clears, you see Charles tied to another chair a few feet away, his face bruised and bloody.

“Y/N,” he breathes when he sees you’re awake. “Are you alright?”

You nod, wincing at the movement. “I’m fine. What happened? Where are we?”

Before Charles can answer, a door slams open. A man strolls in, his expensive suit at odds with the grimy surroundings. You recognize him immediately — Zak Brown, head of the Woking Crime Family.

“Well, well,” Brown drawls, a cruel smile on his face. “The newlyweds are finally awake. How touching.”

Charles strains against his bonds, his eyes blazing with fury. “Brown, you bastard. What do you want?”

Brown chuckles, circling your chairs like a shark. “What do I want? Oh, nothing much. Just the complete destruction of the Bratva and Monegasque Mafia. And you two are going to help me achieve that.”

You spit blood at his feet. “Go to hell.”

“Feisty,” Brown grins, stopping in front of you. “I can see why Leclerc here is so taken with you.”

He reaches out, grabbing your chin roughly. You try to jerk away, but his grip is like iron.

“Don’t touch her!” Charles roars, his chair scraping against the concrete as he struggles.

Brown ignores him, his eyes locked on yours. “You know, I’ve always had a thing for Bratva princesses. Maybe once this is all over, I’ll keep you for myself.”

Charles’ voice is low and dangerous when he speaks. “If you so much as lay another finger on my wife, I will tear you apart with my bare hands.”

Brown turns to him, eyebrow raised. “My, my. Such passion. And here I thought this was just a marriage of convenience.”

You look at Charles, surprised by the intensity of his reaction. His eyes meet yours, and the emotion you see there takes your breath away.

Brown claps his hands, breaking the moment. “As touching as this is, we have business to attend to. You’re going to call your fathers and tell them to surrender control of their organizations to me. If you don’t, well ...” He pulls out a gun, pointing it at your head. “I’m sure you can imagine the consequences.”

Charles laughs, the sound harsh and bitter. “You’re delusional if you think that will work. Our fathers would sacrifice us in a heartbeat to maintain control.”

“Perhaps,” Brown shrugs. “But are you willing to take that chance?” He cocks the gun, pressing it against your temple.

You close your eyes, steeling yourself. “Do it,” you spit out. “I’d rather die than betray my family.”

“Y/N, no,” Charles says, his voice breaking.

You open your eyes, meeting his gaze. “It’s okay, Charles. We always knew this could happen.”

Brown looks between you, frustration evident on his face. “Enough of this noble sacrifice bullshit. You have one hour to make your decision. I’ll be back.”

He storms out, slamming the door behind him.

The moment he’s gone, you start working on your bonds. “Charles, can you reach the knife in my hair?”

He blinks, momentarily confused. “You have a knife in your hair?”

You roll your eyes. “Of course I do. Now hurry, before they come back.”

Charles manages to scoot his chair closer, awkwardly fumbling with your elaborate updo. After a few tense moments, he lets out a triumphant “Aha!” As he extracts a small, razor-sharp blade using nothing but his mouth.

“You never cease to amaze me,” he murmurs, a hint of pride in his voice.

Working together, you manage to cut through your ropes. Once free, you make quick work of Charles’ bonds.

“Okay,” you whisper, rubbing your wrists. “We need a plan.”

Charles nods, his eyes scanning the room. “There’s probably guards outside. We’ll need a distraction.”

You grin, reaching into your dress and pulling out a small explosive device. “Will this do?”

Charles stares at you in disbelief. “Where did you ... you know what, never mind. I don’t want to know.”

You approach the door, setting the device. “Ready?”

Charles takes your hand, squeezing it gently. “Y/N, wait. Before we do this, I need you to know something.”

You turn to him, confused by the intensity in his eyes. “What is it?”

“I love you,” he says simply. “Not because of our families, not because of the arrangement. I love you, Y/N, for everything that you are.”

Your heart skips a beat, emotions swirling inside you. “Charles, I-”

The door bursts open, cutting you off. Brown stands there, gun raised, flanked by two guards.

“Well, isn’t this romantic,” he sneers. “I hate to interrupt, but-”

He doesn’t get to finish. Charles moves with lightning speed, tackling Brown to the ground. You react instantly, throwing your knife at one guard while launching yourself at the other.

The room erupts into chaos. Gunshots ring out, and you hear Charles grunt in pain. Fear grips your heart as you dispatch your opponent, turning to see Charles and Brown grappling on the floor, both bloodied.

Brown gains the upper hand, pinning Charles down and reaching for his discarded gun. Without thinking, you throw yourself at him, knocking him off Charles.

You end up on your back, Brown looming over you, his hands around your throat. Your vision starts to blur as you struggle for air.

Suddenly, the pressure is gone. You gasp, air flooding your lungs, and look up to see Charles standing over Brown’s crumpled form, a bloody pipe in his hand.

“That’s my fucking wife,” Charles snarls, his eyes blazing with a fury you’ve never seen before. “I’m going to kill you for touching her.”

As Charles raises the pipe again, you struggle to your feet. “Charles, wait!”

He pauses, looking at you with wild eyes. You place a hand on his arm, feeling the tremors running through his body.

“He’s not worth wasting more time,” you say softly. “Let’s just get out of here. The explosive will deal with him.”

For a moment, you think he might not listen. Then, slowly, he lowers the pipe. “You’re right,” he says, his voice hoarse. “Let’s go home.”

You make your way out of the warehouse, supporting each other. As you stumble into the cool night air, sirens wailing in the distance, Charles pulls you close.

“I meant what I said in there,” he murmurs, his lips brushing your forehead. “I love you, Y/N. More than I ever thought possible.”

You look up at him, seeing the truth of his words in his eyes. In that moment, all your doubts and reservations melt away. You realize that somewhere along the way, despite the arranged marriage, despite the danger and complexity of your lives, you’ve fallen in love with Charles Leclerc.

“I love you too,” you whisper, the words feeling right on your tongue. “God help me, but I do.”

Charles’ face breaks into a radiant smile, and he leans down to kiss you. It’s not the most comfortable kiss — you’re both battered and bloody, adrenaline still coursing through your veins — but it’s real and raw and perfect.

As you break apart, breathless, Charles rests his forehead against yours. “What do you say we get out of here, Mrs. Leclerc? I think we’ve had enough excitement for one night.”

You can’t help but laugh, the sound slightly hysterical with relief and lingering fear. “Lead the way, Mr. Leclerc. But don’t think this means I’m going to start following your orders.”

Charles grins, taking your hand as you start walking. “Wouldn’t dream of it. Your stubbornness is one of the things I love most about you.”

***

The Leclerc mansion buzzes with activity as you and Charles prepare for an event you never quite imagined would be part of your lives: your son’s first parent-teacher conference. The past decade has been a whirlwind of change, love, and unexpected joy, with little Jules at the center of it all.

You stand before the full-length mirror in your bedroom, smoothing down your sleek pantsuit. It’s a far cry from the weapons-laden wedding dress of years past, but old habits die hard — there’s still a small knife concealed in your boot.

Charles appears behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist and resting his chin on your shoulder. “You look beautiful, mon cœur. Though I must say, I’m a bit disappointed you didn’t opt for your thigh holster.”

You roll your eyes, but can’t suppress a smile. “Very funny. I’m trying to make a good impression here.”

“Ah yes,” Charles grins, pressing a kiss to your neck. “The fearsome Y/N Leclerc, terror of the underworld, now fretting over a parent-teacher conference. How the mighty have fallen.”

You elbow him playfully in the ribs. “Watch it, or you’ll be sleeping on the couch tonight.”

Charles spins you around to face him, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “You wouldn’t dare. You’d miss me too much.”

“Try me,” you challenge, but there’s no heat in your words. After all these years, the banter between you is as natural as breathing.

A small voice pipes up from the doorway. “Mama, Papa, are you fighting again?”

You both turn to see Jules standing there, his mop of dark curls a mess and his school uniform slightly rumpled. At six years old, he’s the perfect blend of you and Charles — your fierce determination and Charles’ charm wrapped up in one precocious package.

Charles scoops him up, tossing him in the air and eliciting a squeal of delight. “Fighting? Us? Never. Your mother and I were just discussing the finer points of marital bliss.”

You snort, reaching out to smooth Jules’ hair. “What your father means is that he was being an idiot, as usual.”

Jules giggles, looking between the two of you with adoration. “Are you excited to meet Ms. Thompson? She’s really nice, I promise!”

You exchange a glance with Charles, a mixture of pride and apprehension in both your eyes. Sending Jules to a normal school had been a controversial decision among your families, but you were determined to give him as normal a childhood as possible — or at least, as normal as the son of two mafia leaders could have.

“Of course we’re excited, baby,” you say, tweaking Jules’ nose. “Now, why don’t you go make sure you have all your things ready? We’ll be leaving soon.”

As Jules scampers off, Charles pulls you close again. “You know,” he murmurs, “I’m actually a bit nervous about this.”

You look up at him, surprised. “You? Nervous? I never thought I’d see the day.”

Charles shrugs, a rare vulnerability in his eyes. “It’s different when it’s about Jules. I just ... I want everything to be perfect for him.”

You soften, reaching up to cup his cheek. “I know. Me too. But we’ve faced down rival mafia families, corrupt politicians, and your mother’s infamous Christmas dinners. I think we can handle one teacher.”

Charles laughs, the tension easing from his shoulders. “You’re right, as always. Though I do have one request.”

“Oh?” You raise an eyebrow. “And what’s that?”

He leans in close, his breath tickling your ear. “Try not to kill any teachers if you don’t like what they say, okay?”

You pull back, swatting his arm. “Charles Leclerc! I would never!”

“Uh-huh,” he grins, clearly unconvinced. “Need I remind you of the incident with Jules’ preschool teacher?”

You flush, crossing your arms defensively. “That was different. She suggested Jules might have behavior issues. I merely ... expressed my disagreement.”

“You threatened to feed her to the sharks in Monaco Harbor,” Charles deadpans.

“Well, it worked, didn’t it?” You huff. “She never brought it up again.”

Charles shakes his head, chuckling. “Just ... try to restrain yourself this time, okay? We’re trying to give Jules a normal life, remember?”

You sigh dramatically. “Fine. I promise not to threaten, maim, or otherwise harm any of Jules’ teachers. Happy?”

“Ecstatic,” Charles grins, leaning in for a quick kiss. “Now, shall we go face the music?”

As you make your way downstairs, Jules is waiting by the door, bouncing on his toes with excitement. “Come on, come on!” He urges. “We don’t want to be late!”

You can’t help but smile at his enthusiasm. “Alright, little man. Let’s go.”

The drive to the school is filled with Jules’ chatter about his friends, his favorite subjects, and how he’s sure Ms. Thompson will have only good things to say. You and Charles listen attentively, exchanging fond glances over Jules’ head.

As you pull into the school parking lot, you feel a flutter of nerves in your stomach. It’s ridiculous, really. You’ve faced down countless dangerous situations without breaking a sweat, but somehow, this feels more daunting.

Charles seems to sense your unease. He takes your hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “We’ve got this,” he murmurs. “Just remember — no death threats.”

You roll your eyes but squeeze his hand back. “I’ll do my best.”

Jules leads the way into the school, practically skipping down the hallway. You and Charles follow, hand-in-hand, drawing curious glances from other parents and teachers. It’s not every day that two of the most powerful figures in the criminal underworld show up for a parent-teacher conference.

As you approach Ms. Thompson’s classroom, Jules turns to you both. “Best behavior, okay?” He says seriously, wagging a finger at you. “No fighting, no threatening, and absolutely no talk about the family business.”

You and Charles exchange an amused glance. “Yes, sir,” Charles says solemnly. “We promise to be on our best behavior.”

Jules nods, satisfied, then knocks on the classroom door before scurrying away to meet up with his friends.

Ms. Thompson, a kind-faced woman in her forties, opens the door with a warm smile. “Ah, the Leclercs! Please, come in.”

As you enter the classroom, you can’t help but scan for potential threats — an old habit that’s hard to break. Charles notices and gives you a gentle nudge, a silent reminder to relax.

“Mr. and Mrs. Leclerc, it’s so nice to finally meet you,” Ms. Thompson says, gesturing for you to sit. “Jules talks about you all the time.”

You exchange a slightly worried glance with Charles. “All good things, I hope,” you say, trying to keep your tone light.

Ms. Thompson laughs. “Oh, mostly. Though I must admit, some of his stories are quite ... imaginative.”

Charles leans forward, curiosity piqued. “Oh? Like what?”

“Well,” Ms. Thompson says, a twinkle in her eye, “there was the time he told the class that his parents once fought off a rival family with nothing but a butter knife and a bottle of expensive champagne.”

You cough, trying to hide your surprise. That particular story wasn’t as exaggerated as Ms. Thompson probably believed. Charles, meanwhile, looks entirely too amused.

“Kids and their imaginations,” he says smoothly. “Though I must say, that does sound like an exciting dinner party.”

Ms. Thompson chuckles. “Indeed. But let’s focus on Jules’ academic progress, shall we?”

As she begins to go through Jules’ work, showing you his assignments and discussing his strengths and areas for improvement, you find yourself relaxing. Jules is doing well — excelling, even — and Ms. Thompson seems genuinely fond of him.

“He’s a bright boy,” she says warmly. “Very curious and always eager to learn. He does have a tendency to ... embellish his stories during show and tell, but his creativity is truly remarkable.”

You nod, a surge of pride washing over you. “That’s our Jules,” you say softly, glancing at Charles. His eyes are shining with the same pride and love you feel.

Ms. Thompson hesitates for a moment, then continues. “There is one small concern I wanted to discuss with you both.”

You tense immediately, your hand instinctively moving towards your concealed knife. Charles notices and quickly places his hand over yours, shooting you a warning look.

“What kind of concern?” He asks smoothly, while keeping a firm grip on your hand.

Ms. Thompson looks slightly nervous, but presses on. “Well, Jules has been ... rather interested in weapons lately. He’s been drawing quite detailed pictures of various firearms and knives. While his artistic skills are impressive, I’m a bit worried about the subject matter.”

You and Charles exchange a look. This is exactly the kind of situation you’d been afraid of — how do you explain that weapons are simply a part of your daily life without revealing too much?

Charles clears his throat. “Ah, yes. Well, you see, my wife and I are ... collectors. Of antique weapons. It’s a family hobby, you might say. Jules must have seen some of our pieces.”

You nod quickly, grateful for Charles’ quick thinking. “Exactly. We’ll have a talk with him about appropriate subjects for school, of course.”

Ms. Thompson looks relieved. “Oh, I see. That explains it. Yes, a talk about school-appropriate topics would be wonderful. Other than that, Jules is a joy to have in class.”

As the conference wraps up, you feel a weight lift off your shoulders. You managed to get through it without any threats or revelations about your true profession. Charles seems equally relieved as you say your goodbyes and head out to collect Jules from the playground.

Once you’re back in the car, Jules in the backseat, he leans forward eagerly. “Well? How did it go? Did I do okay?”

You turn in your seat to face him, your heart swelling with love. “You did more than okay, sweetheart. We’re so proud of you.”

Charles nods in agreement. “That’s right, mon chou. Though we do need to have a little chat about those weapon drawings ...”

Jules has the grace to look sheepish. “Oops. Sorry about that. I just thought they were cool.”

You can’t help but laugh. “It’s alright. Just ... maybe stick to drawing cars or dinosaurs at school, okay?”

As you drive home, Jules chattering away in the backseat, you reach over and take Charles’ hand. He glances at you, a soft smile on his face.

“We did it,” you murmur. “No threats, no violence, not even a single mention of sleeping with the fishes.”

Charles chuckles, bringing your hand to his lips for a kiss. “I’m impressed. Though I have to say, I was a little disappointed. I was looking forward to seeing you go all mama bear.”

You roll your eyes, but there’s no heat in it. “There’s always next time,” you say with a wink.

As you pull into the driveway of your home, you can’t help but marvel at how much your life has changed. From reluctant bride to devoted wife and mother, from cold-hearted mafia princess to ... well, an only slightly less cold-hearted mafia queen.

But looking at Charles and Jules, you wouldn’t have it any other way. This beautiful, chaotic, sometimes dangerous life you’ve built together — it’s more than you ever dared to dream of.

And if anyone tries to threaten this happiness? Well, you still know how to use that knife in your boot. Some things never change, after all.

***

Sarah Dumas nervously adjusts her cardigan as she enters the school gymnasium for the monthly PTA meeting. Even after three years, she still feels out of place among the other parents. Her eyes scan the room, landing on the couple that always draws everyone’s attention: Charles and Y/N Leclerc.

They stand near the refreshment table, an island of elegance and barely contained danger in a sea of suburban normalcy. Charles, impeccably dressed in a tailored suit, laughs at something you’ve said, his hand resting casually on the small of your back. You, for your part, look like you’ve just stepped off a runway, your designer outfit a stark contrast to the mom jeans and polos that dominate the room.

Sarah edges closer, trying to catch snippets of the conversation.

“Mon amour,” Charles is saying, a mischievous glint in his eye, “I still think my idea for the fundraiser was brilliant.”

You roll your eyes, but there’s fondness in your expression. “Charles, we’ve been over this. We can’t auction off ‘A Day in the Life of a Mafia Boss’ as a school fundraiser.”

“Why not?” Charles pouts playfully. “I’d even throw in a complimentary lesson in money laundering. Think of the educational value!”

Sarah’s eyes widen. Surely they must be joking. Right?

Before she can ponder it further, the PTA president, Marie Fournier, calls the meeting to order. As everyone takes their seats, Sarah finds herself next to Beth, another mom she’s friendly with.

“Can you believe them?” Beth whispers, nodding towards the Leclercs. “They always act like they own the place.”

Sarah shrugs, trying to appear nonchalant. “They’re ... certainly unique.”

Beth snorts. “That’s one way to put it. Did you hear about what happened at the last bake sale?”

Sarah shakes her head, leaning in eagerly.

“Well,” Beth continues, her voice low, “apparently, Mrs. Leclerc’s lemon bars were so good that Mr. Peterson from the school board accused her of cheating. Next thing you know, Mr. Leclerc has him cornered, whispering something about ‘sleeping with the fishes’ if he ever insulted his wife’s baking again!”

Sarah gasps. “No! What happened?”

Beth grins. “Mr. Peterson went white as a sheet and bought every single lemon bar. Paid triple the asking price, too.”

Their gossip is interrupted as Marie starts discussing the upcoming spring carnival. “Now, we still need volunteers for the dunk tank ...”

To everyone’s surprise, Charles’ hand shoots up. “I’ll do it,” he says, flashing a charming smile.

Marie blinks, clearly taken aback. “Oh, um, thank you, Mr. Leclerc. That’s very ... generous of you.”

You lean over to Charles, whispering something that makes him chuckle. Sarah strains to hear, catching only fragments: “... better than the time in Majorca ... at least this time you’ll be expecting the water ...”

The meeting continues, with discussions about budget allocation, new playground equipment, and the eternal debate over chocolate versus vanilla for the ice cream social. Throughout it all, Sarah can’t help but notice how the Leclercs seem to operate on a different wavelength from everyone else.

When the topic of security for the carnival comes up, you speak up for the first time. “I have some ... associates who would be happy to help out. Free of charge, of course.”

Marie looks both relieved and slightly terrified. “That’s very kind of you, Mrs. Leclerc. Are these associates ... qualified?”

You smile, a predatory gleam in your eye. “Oh, trust me. They’re very qualified in handling ... difficult situations.”

Charles coughs, poorly disguising a laugh. “What my wife means is that they’re experienced in crowd control and conflict resolution.”

The other parents exchange nervous glances, but no one dares to question further.

As the meeting wraps up, Sarah finds herself lingering, oddly fascinated by the Leclercs. She watches as they approach Marie, speaking in low tones. Marie’s eyes widen, and she nods vigorously before scurrying away.

Curiosity gets the better of Sarah, and she edges closer, pretending to study the snack table.

“... really, mon cœur,” Charles is saying, “you didn’t have to threaten her kneecaps.”

You shrug, a small smirk playing on your lips. “It worked, didn’t it? Now Jules’ class will get that field trip to the science museum he’s been asking for.”

Charles shakes his head, but he’s smiling. “You’re a menace. What am I going to do with you?”

“You love it,” you reply, leaning in for a quick kiss.

Sarah fumbles with a paper cup, causing it to clatter to the floor. The Leclercs turn, fixing her with twin looks of amusement.

“Enjoying the refreshments, Mrs. Dumas?” Charles asks smoothly.

Sarah feels her face heat up. “I, um, yes. The cookies are lovely.”

You step forward, your movements graceful and somehow predatory. “Sarah, isn’t it? Jules has mentioned your daughter, Emma. They’re in the same class, right?”

Sarah nods, surprised and a little flattered that you know this. “Yes, that’s right. Emma talks about Jules all the time. He seems like a wonderful boy.”

Charles beams with pride. “He takes after his mother,” he says, wrapping an arm around your waist.

You roll your eyes but lean into his touch. “Flattery will get you everywhere, Mr. Leclerc.”

There’s a moment of silence, and Sarah realizes she should probably say something. “So, um, how are you finding the PTA? It must be quite different from ... well, from what you’re used to.”

The moment the words leave her mouth, Sarah wants to kick herself. What was she thinking?

To her relief, the Leclercs just laugh. “Oh, you’d be surprised,” you say, a twinkle in your eye. “Managing a group of passionate parents isn’t all that different from managing our ... family businesses.”

Charles nods sagely. “Though I must say, the stakes here can be even higher. You should have seen the great Cupcake Debacle of 2032.”

Sarah finds herself relaxing, drawn in by their easy charm. “Oh? What happened?”

You lean in conspiratorially. “Let’s just say it involved three kinds of frosting, a rogue flamingo, and a very creative use for a fire extinguisher.”

Sarah bursts out laughing, surprising herself. As intimidating as the Leclercs can be, there’s something undeniably magnetic about them.

Just then, Beth appears at Sarah’s elbow. “Sarah, we should get going. Carpool, remember?”

Sarah nods, feeling a strange reluctance to leave. “Of course. It was nice talking to you, Mr. and Mrs. Leclerc.”

Charles flashes that devastating smile again. “The pleasure was all ours. Oh, and Sarah?”

She turns back, curious. “Yes?”

“Do make sure to bring Emma to the carnival. I have a feeling the dunk tank is going to be ... quite the spectacle this year.”

As Sarah walks away with Beth, she can’t shake the feeling that she’s just had a brush with something both thrilling and dangerous.

Beth, meanwhile, is practically vibrating with curiosity. “What were you talking about with them? Did they say anything ... weird?”

Sarah considers for a moment. “Not really. They seem ... nice, actually. A bit eccentric, maybe, but nice.”

Beth looks skeptical. “Nice? Sarah, last week Mr. Leclerc showed up to career day and gave a presentation on ‘The Art of Negotiation’. Half the kids looked terrified, and the other half wanted to sign up for internships!”

Sarah can’t help but laugh. “Well, at least it was memorable. And you have to admit, they’ve done wonders for the school’s fundraising efforts.”

Beth nods grudgingly. “True. Though I’m not entirely sure where all that money is coming from ...”

As they reach Beth’s minivan, Sarah glances back at the school. She catches a glimpse of the Leclercs through a window, heads bent close together, clearly deep in conversation. There’s an intensity to their body language that makes Sarah’s breath catch.

For a moment, she allows herself to imagine what their life must be like outside of PTA meetings and school functions. The glamor, the danger, the passion ... it’s all so far removed from her own suburban existence.

But then Beth honks the horn, jolting Sarah back to reality. With a small sigh, she climbs into the van, ready to return to her normal life of carpools and casseroles.

As they drive away, Sarah can’t help but think that the spring carnival is going to be very interesting indeed. And despite herself, she’s looking forward to it more than she’d care to admit.

Over the next few weeks, preparations for the carnival kick into high gear. Sarah finds herself volunteering more than usual, partly out of genuine enthusiasm and partly (though she would never admit it) to catch more glimpses of the enigmatic Leclercs.

The day of the carnival dawns bright and clear. Sarah arrives early to help set up, her arms full of homemade cupcakes. As she approaches the school grounds, she nearly drops her baked goods in shock.

The usually modest school field has been transformed into something out of a movie. There are professional-grade rides, gourmet food stalls, and even a small Ferris wheel. And is that ... a chocolate fountain?

“Impressive, isn’t it?” A familiar voice says behind her.

Sarah turns to see Charles Leclerc, looking impossibly dashing in casual wear that probably costs more than her monthly mortgage payment.

“Mr. Leclerc! This is ... wow. How did you manage all this?”

Charles winks conspiratorially. “Let’s just say I called in a few favors. And please, call me Charles.”

Before Sarah can respond, you appear at Charles’ side, looking stunning in a sundress that’s both elegant and practical. “Darling, everything’s set up. Oh, hello Sarah. Those cupcakes look delicious.”

Sarah blushes under your scrutiny. “Thank you, Mrs. Lecl- I mean, Y/N. It’s my grandmother’s recipe.”

You smile, and for a moment, Sarah forgets to breathe. “I’m sure they’re wonderful. Why don’t you bring them over to the bake sale table? I hear Mr. Peterson has already reserved half of them.”

As Sarah walks away, she overhears Charles murmuring to you, “Did you really have to station Dmitri and the boys at every entrance?”

“Better safe than sorry,” you reply. “Besides, they’re under strict orders. No weapons, no intimidation, and absolutely no business talk around the children.”

Sarah shakes her head, convincing herself she must have misheard. Surely you’re talking about regular security guards. Right?

The carnival is a roaring success. Children laugh and scream with delight on the rides, parents chat over gourmet hors d’oeuvres, and there’s a general air of festivity that Sarah has never seen at a school event before.

But the real highlight, as promised, is the dunk tank. Charles takes his place on the seat, looking for all the world like he’s about to attend a board meeting rather than be dunked in water. You stand nearby, a mischievous glint in your eye as you buy a stack of balls.

“Step right up, ladies and gentlemen!” Charles calls out, his voice carrying across the field. “Who wants to dunk the dashing Mr. Leclerc? All proceeds go to the school’s new science lab!”

A crowd gathers, equal parts amused and intimidated. Sarah watches as you take aim, a look of intense concentration on your face.

“Come on, mon chèrie,” Charles taunts playfully. “Surely the feared Y/N Leclerc can hit a simple target?”

Your eyes narrow. “Oh, it’s on.”

The ball flies true, hitting the target dead center. Charles barely has time to look surprised before he plunges into the water. The crowd erupts in cheers and laughter.

When Charles resurfaces, he’s laughing too. “Well played. Well played indeed.”

As the day winds down, Sarah finds herself helping with clean-up, still buzzing from the excitement. She overhears snippets of conversation from other parents, all marveling at the success of the event.

“I heard they quadrupled the fundraising goal ...”

“Did you see those security guards? They looked like they could bench-press a car ...”

“I swear I saw Mrs. Leclerc talking to the Mayor. Since when do we have connections like that?”

Sarah smiles to herself, realizing that while the Leclercs may not fit the typical PTA mold, they’ve brought something special to their little community. Something exciting, glamorous, and yes, maybe a little dangerous.

As she’s about to leave, she spots the Leclercs by their sleek Ferrari. They’re wrapped in each other’s arms, oblivious to the world around them. The look they share is so full of love and passion that Sarah has to look away, feeling like she’s intruding on a private moment.

Driving home, Sarah reflects on the day. She still can’t quite put her finger on what makes the Leclercs so different, so intriguing. But she knows one thing for certain: life has become a lot more interesting since their son joined the school.

And as she pulls into her driveway, Sarah finds herself looking forward to the next PTA meeting more than she ever thought possible. After all, who knows what the Leclercs will come up with next?

***

Nurse Marion Bouchard has seen her fair share of unusual deliveries in her 15 years at the Princess Grace Hospital Centre, but nothing could have prepared her for the arrival of the Leclerc baby.

It starts with the mysterious men in dark suits who seem to materialize out of nowhere, clearing out an entire wing of the maternity ward. Marion watches, wide-eyed, as they sweep the rooms for ... something. Bugs? Bombs? She isn’t sure she wants to know.

“Excuse me,” she finally musters the courage to approach one of them. “What’s going on here?”

The man turns, his expression impassive behind dark sunglasses. “Security measures. The Leclercs are arriving.”

Before Marion can ask more, a commotion at the end of the hall catches her attention. A striking couple bursts through the doors, surrounded by more suited men. The woman is clearly in labor, but looks more annoyed than pained.

“I swear to God, Charles,” you are saying through gritted teeth, “when this is over, I’m going to make you regret ever looking at me without a condom.”

The man looks both terrified and amused. “Mon amour, you say the sweetest things.”

Dr. Evans, the head of obstetrics, rushes forward. “Mr. and Mrs. Leclerc, welcome. We have everything prepared-”

You cut him off with a glare that could melt steel. “Less talking, more drugs. Now.”

Marion finds herself assigned to your care team, helping you into a private suite that looks more like a five-star hotel room than a hospital. As she hooks up the fetal monitor, she can’t help but notice the way Charles hovers, his eyes constantly scanning the room for threats.

“Is this your first child?” Marion asks, trying to break the tension.

You laugh, a sound somewhere between amusement and pain. “Second. Our son, Jules, is at home with his grandfather. Probably learning how to properly strangle someone as we speak.”

Marion’s eyes widen, and she lets out a nervous chuckle, unsure if you are joking.

Charles steps in smoothly. “What my lovely wife means is that Jules is likely being spoiled rotten with ice cream and cartoons.”

You roll your eyes. “Sure, let’s go with that. Now, where are those damn drugs?”

As if on cue, the anesthesiologist enters. Marion notices how one of the suited men outside tenses, hand moving to his jacket, before relaxing at a subtle nod from Charles.

Hours pass, and Marion finds herself more and more fascinated by the Leclercs. Despite the pain of labor, you maintain a razor-sharp wit, alternating between threats to Charles’ manhood and startlingly accurate assessments of hospital security protocols.

“You know,” you pant during a particularly strong contraction, “if you really loved me, you’d let me stab you just a little. It’s only fair.”

Charles, to his credit, doesn’t even flinch. He just strokes your hair and says, “How about we save the stabbing for our anniversary? As is tradition.”

Marion’s head whips around, but both of you are grinning at each other like it’s some private joke.

As the labor progresses, Marion can’t shake the feeling that something is ... off about the Leclercs. It isn’t just the excessive security or the luxurious accommodations. There is an undercurrent of danger, of barely contained power, that both thrills and terrifies her.

During a quiet moment, while you doze between contractions, Marion’s curiosity gets the better of her. “Mr. Leclerc,” she whispers, “if you don’t mind me asking, what is it that you do?”

Charles smiles enigmatically. “Oh, a bit of this, a bit of that. Mainly, I specialize in ... problem-solving.”

Before Marion can probe further, you jolt awake with a string of curses that would make a sailor blush.

“Charles,” you growl, “I swear on all that is holy, if you don’t get this baby out of me in the next five minutes, I will personally ensure that there will be no more little Leclercs.”

Charles pales slightly but maintains his composure. “Now, mon ange, let’s not be hasty. Remember São Paulo? This is nothing compared to that.”

You glare at him. “São Paulo didn’t involve pushing a human being out of my-”

“Okay!” Marion interjects quickly. “Let’s check your progress, shall we?”

As she examines you, Marion can’t help but wonder what on earth had happened in São Paulo. She has a feeling she is better off not knowing.

The next few hours are a blur of activity. You prove to be as fierce in childbirth as you apparently are in ... whatever it is you do outside the hospital. Marion loses count of the creative threats and punishments you devise for Charles, each more outlandish than the last.

“When this is over,” you pant, pushing with all your might, “I’m going to tie you to a chair and make you listen to Baby Shark on repeat for 24 hours straight.”

Charles winces. “Isn’t that a bit extreme? What happened to the good old days of cement shoes and sleeping with the fishes?”

Dr. Evans, who is positioned at the foot of the bed, looks up with a mixture of concern and confusion. “Mr. Leclerc, I’m not sure-”

“It’s a joke,” Charles says quickly. “An inside joke. From our ... cooking class.”

Marion exchanges a glance with Dr. Evans. Cooking class? Sure.

Finally, with one last heroic push and a string of curses that Marion is certain are in at least five different languages, your daughter enters the world.

The room falls silent for a moment, then fills with the strong, angry cries of a newborn who seems to have inherited her mother’s spirit.

“She’s beautiful,” Charles whispers, tears in his eyes as he cuts the umbilical cord.

You collapse back onto the pillows, exhausted but triumphant. “Of course she is. She’s ours.”

As Marion helps clean and weigh the baby, she can’t help but notice how the atmosphere in the room has changed. The danger and tension that had been simmering beneath the surface all day seem to evaporate, replaced by a bubble of pure love and joy.

Charles cradles his daughter gently, looking at her with a mixture of awe and terror. “Hello, little one,” he murmurs. “I’m your papa. I promise to always protect you, even if it means hiding bodies in the- I mean, even if it means staying up all night to chase away the monsters under your bed.”

You roll your eyes but smile softly. “Nice save. Now, give me my daughter before I have to get up and take her from you.”

As Charles places the baby in your arms, Marion feels like she is intruding on something incredibly intimate and precious. The way you look at each other, at your child, speaks of a bond that goes far beyond anything she’s ever witnessed.

“So,” Marion ventures, unable to contain her curiosity any longer, “have you decided on a name?”

You and Charles share a look, having one of those silent conversations that only couples who are completely in sync can have.

“Vittoria,” you say finally. “Vittoria Leclerc.”

“It means victory in Italian,” Charles explains, his voice filled with pride. “Because she’s already conquered our hearts.”

Marion smiles, charmed despite herself. “That’s beautiful. And very fitting, considering how fiercely she entered the world.”

You grin, a hint of your earlier fire returning. “Just wait until she’s older. She’ll be ruling the family busi- I mean, family game night in no time.”

As Marion finishes up her duties and prepares to leave the new family alone, she can’t shake the feeling that she’s just been part of something extraordinary. The Leclercs are unlike any couple she’s ever met, a whirlwind of passion, danger, and now, an overwhelming love for their children.

Just as she is about to exit, Charles calls out to her. “Nurse Bouchard?”

She turns, curious. “Yes, Mr. Leclerc?”

He fixes her with a penetrating gaze that makes her feel like he can see right through her. “We appreciate your discretion in this matter. The Leclerc family values privacy above all else.”

Marion swallows hard, suddenly very aware of the armed men still stationed outside the door. “Of course, Mr. Leclerc. Patient confidentiality is paramount in our profession.”

You chime in, your voice deceptively sweet. “And we’re so grateful for that. It would be such a shame if anything were to ... compromise that confidentiality. Don’t you agree, Charles?”

Charles nods, his smile not quite reaching his eyes. “Absolutely, mon cœur. A real tragedy.”

Marion feels a chill run down her spine. “I ... I understand. You can trust me completely.”

As Marion leaves the room, her head spinning, she can’t help but wonder what she’s gotten herself into. The Leclercs are clearly more than they appear, your world so far removed from her own that she can barely comprehend it.

But as she glances back one last time, seeing Charles press a tender kiss to your forehead while you cradle little Vittoria, she realizes that at your core, you are just like any other family. Loving, protective, and perhaps a little bit dangerous.

***

Stefan Wheeler wipes his sweaty palms on his jeans for the hundredth time as he stands before the imposing gates of the Leclerc estate. At 17, he thought he was prepared for anything, but meeting his girlfriend Vittoria’s family is proving to be more nerve-wracking than he’d anticipated.

“Relax,” Vittoria says, squeezing his hand. “They’re going to love you.”

Stefan nods, not entirely convinced. “Right. It’s just ... your family seems ... intense.”

Vittoria laughs, a sound that usually makes Stefan’s heart soar but now only heightens his anxiety. “Oh, you have no idea.”

As they approach the front door, it swings open before they can knock. A tall, imposing man with salt-and-pepper hair and piercing eyes stands there, his gaze immediately zeroing in on Stefan.

“Ah, you must be the boy,” he says, his voice smooth but with an undercurrent of... something Stefan can’t quite place.

Vittoria rolls her eyes. “Papa, be nice. This is Stefan. Stefan, this is my father, Charles Leclerc.”

Stefan extends his hand, hoping it isn’t visibly shaking. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Leclerc.”

Charles takes Stefan’s hand, his grip firm to the point of being painful. “Charmed, I’m sure. Please, come in. The family is eager to meet you.”

As they enter the foyer, Stefan’s eyes widen. The interior of the house is a strange blend of opulent luxury and what looks like ... medieval weaponry? He could have sworn he saw a battle axe mounted on one wall.

Before he can process this, a whirlwind of energy enters the room. You sweep in with a grace that seems almost predatory.

“So this is the famous Stefan,” you say, your smile not quite reaching your eyes. “We’ve heard so much about you.”

Stefan swallows hard. “All good things, I hope.”

You tilt your head, studying him intently. “Oh, Vittoria’s been very ... discreet. But we have our ways of finding out information.”

Charles chuckles, wrapping an arm around your waist. “Don’t terrify the boy just yet. We haven’t even made it to the dining room.”

Stefan laughs nervously, unsure if that is meant to be a joke.

Just then, a young man who could only be Vittoria’s older brother, Jules, saunters in. He is the spitting image of Charles, with an air of danger that makes Stefan want to take a step back.

“Well, well,” Jules drawls, circling Stefan like a shark. “So you’re the one who thinks he’s good enough for our Vittoria.”

Vittoria groans. “Jules, knock it off. You promised to behave.”

Jules grins, all teeth. “I am behaving. I haven’t even shown him my knife collection yet.”

Stefan’s eyes widen. “Knife ... collection?”

Charles claps his hands together. “Shall we move to the dining room? I’m sure our guest is hungry after his ... journey here.”

As they walk, Stefan can’t shake the feeling that he is being herded like prey. The dining room is as impressive as the rest of the house, with a table that could easily seat twenty.

“Please, sit,” Charles says, gesturing to a chair. Stefan notices it is positioned so that his back is to the door, while the Leclercs have clear sightlines to all exits.

As they settle in, you ring a small bell. Almost instantly, servers appear with plates of food that look and smell incredible.

“I hope you like Italian,” you say, your tone making it clear that not liking it isn’t an option.

Stefan nods enthusiastically. “Oh yes, I love it. This looks amazing, Mrs. Leclerc.”

You wave a hand dismissively. “Please, call me Y/N. Mrs. Leclerc makes me sound so ... old.”

Charles smirks. “You’re as youthful and deadly as the day I met you, mon cœur.”

Stefan blinks, sure he must have misheard. Deadly?

As they begin to eat, the interrogation starts in earnest.

“So, Stefan,” Charles says, twirling pasta around his fork with practiced ease. “What are your intentions with my daughter?”

Stefan nearly chokes on his food. “I ... uh ... we’re just dating, sir. Getting to know each other.”

Jules leans forward, his eyes glinting. “And how exactly are you getting to know her?”

“Jules!” Vittoria hisses, her cheeks flushing.

You interject smoothly. “What my son means is, what do you two do for fun?”

Stefan relaxes slightly. This, he can handle. “Oh, we go to the movies, hang out at the mall, normal stuff. Vittoria’s been teaching me how to play chess.”

Charles raises an eyebrow. “Chess? Interesting choice. Tell me, Stefan, do you know the importance of strategy? Of always being three moves ahead of your opponent?”

Stefan nods, confused by the intensity of Charles’ gaze. “Uh, yes. Vittoria’s been explaining that to me.”

“Good,” Charles says, leaning back. “That’s a valuable skill in ... many areas of life.”

The conversation continues, with each question feeling more like a trap than casual dinner talk. Stefan finds himself constantly on edge, trying to decipher the hidden meanings behind each seemingly innocent inquiry.

“What do your parents do, Stefan?” You ask, sipping what Stefan is pretty sure isn’t just water.

“My dad is an accountant and my mom’s a teacher,” Stefan replies.

Jules snorts. “How quaint. And what do you want to do with your life?”

Stefan straightens, feeling a bit more confident. “I’m actually really interested in law enforcement. I’m thinking of applying to the police academy after college.”

The room goes eerily silent. Stefan looks around, confused by the sudden tension.

Charles breaks the silence with a laugh that sounds only slightly forced. “Law enforcement? How ... admirable. You know, Stefan, there are many ways to uphold justice in this world. Some more effective than others.”

You nod, a strange glint in your eye. “Indeed. Sometimes the law needs a little ... help to get things done.”

Stefan shifts uncomfortably in his seat. “I ... I’m not sure I understand.”

Vittoria jumps in, clearly trying to change the subject. “Stefan’s also really into martial arts, Papa. He’s been teaching me some self-defense moves.”

This seems to pique Charles’ interest. “Is that so? Perhaps you’d like to demonstrate after dinner, Stefan. I’m always interested in ... new techniques.”

The way Charles says it makes Stefan feel like he is missing some crucial subtext.

As the meal progresses, Stefan can’t shake the feeling that he is being tested. Every question, every glance exchanged between family members, seems loaded with hidden meaning.

When dessert is served — a delicious tiramisu that Stefan is almost too nervous to enjoy — Jules leans forward with a predatory grin.

“So, Stefan,” he says, his voice deceptively casual. “Have you ever wondered what it would be like to make someone ... disappear?”

Stefan blinks, sure he must have misheard. “I’m sorry, what?”

Vittoria groans. “Jules, stop it.”

You intervene smoothly. “What my son means is, have you ever thought about the complexities of witness protection programs? It’s fascinating how someone can just ... vanish and start a new life.”

Charles nods sagely. “Indeed. The ability to reinvent oneself is a valuable skill in today’s world.”

Stefan nods slowly, feeling like he is missing some crucial piece of information. “I ... suppose so. I hadn’t really thought about it.”

As the meal winds down, Stefan feels like he’s run a mental marathon. Every interaction with the Leclercs leaves him slightly off-balance, as if there were entire conversations happening just beneath the surface that he can’t quite grasp.

Charles stands, clapping his hands together. “Well, this has been delightful. Stefan, why don’t you join me in my study for a nightcap?”

Vittoria starts to protest, but you cut her off with a look. “That sounds like an excellent idea. Jules, why don’t you help me and Vittoria clear the table?”

As Stefan follows Charles down a long hallway, he can’t shake the feeling that he is walking into the lion’s den. The study, when they enter, is a mix of old-world charm and modern technology. Bookshelves line the walls, but Stefan notices some titles that seem ... unusual for a family library. “Advanced Interrogation Techniques?” “Undetectable Poisons Throughout History?”

Charles gestures for Stefan to sit in a plush leather chair, then pours two glasses of amber liquid from a crystal decanter.

“Now, Stefan,” Charles says, his voice low and intense. “Let’s talk about what it really means to be part of the Leclerc family.”

Stefan swallows hard, suddenly very aware of how alone he is with this imposing man. “Sir?”

Charles leans forward, his eyes boring into Stefan’s. “Our family has ... certain traditions. Certain expectations. Dating a Leclerc isn’t like dating any other girl. Do you understand?”

Stefan nods slowly, though he isn’t sure he understands at all. “I ... I really care about Vittoria, Mr. Leclerc. I would never do anything to hurt her.”

Charles’ smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “I’m glad to hear that. Because if you did ...” He lets the sentence hang in the air, the threat clear even if unspoken.

Just then, the door bursts open, and you stride in, looking exasperated. “Charles, are you terrorizing the poor boy?”

Charles leans back, the picture of innocence. “Not at all, mon amour. We were just having a friendly chat.”

You roll your eyes, but there is fondness in your expression. “Well, I think Stefan’s had enough friendly chats for one evening. Vittoria’s waiting to say goodnight.”

As you walk Stefan to the door, he feels like he’s survived some sort of elaborate test. The Leclercs gather around, their smiles a mix of warmth and warning.

“It was lovely to meet you, Stefan,” you say, your tone making it clear that lovely might be an overstatement.

Jules claps him on the back, perhaps a bit harder than necessary. “Yeah, kid. You’re not half bad. For a civilian.”

Stefan blinks, confused. “Civilian?”

Charles steps in smoothly. “What my son means is, for someone outside our ... close-knit family circle. We look forward to seeing more of you, Stefan.”

As Vittoria walks him to his car, Stefan’s head is spinning. “Your family is ... intense,” he manages.

Vittoria laughs. “I know. They can be a lot. But they mean well. Mostly.”

Stefan nods, still trying to process everything. “They’re not ... I mean, they don’t actually ...”

Vittoria raises an eyebrow. “Don’t actually what?”

Stefan shakes his head. “Never mind. It’s crazy. I just ... for a minute there, I almost thought ...” He trails off, laughing nervously.

Vittoria’s smile is enigmatic. “Whatever you’re thinking, it’s probably best not to say it out loud. Plausible deniability and all that.”

As Stefan drives home, his mind races with questions. What has he gotten himself into? Who are the Leclercs, really? And why does he have the unsettling feeling that dating Vittoria might be the most dangerous thing he’s ever done?

One thing is certain: the Leclercs are unlike any family he’s ever met.

[alchemistc]

both your hands in the holes of my sweater

It starts innocently enough. There's a chill in the air, a crisp and cool morning where neither of them have anything in particular to do, and when Evan plates up two decadent looking omelettes and suggests they eat them out on Tommy's patio Tommy can't think of a single reason why they shouldn't. The pergola is actually fully built, now, wisteria just beginning to creep across the lattice, the Adirondack chairs that have been sitting at the fence line for six months have been sprayed down and placed catty corner to the table with a built in fire pit Tommy had spent months staring at before allowing himself the indulgent purchase.

They're outside for five minutes before Tommy notices how tight Evan's arms are to his body as he eats, how the hair on his arms is standing on end.

Tommy gives it five minutes.

Evan is pretending not to shiver by the time Tommy decides Evan is officially more stubborn than he is. He'd come just off work, in a tight tee and jeans, and it's been hot as shit for weeks and he'd stopped bringing an overnight bag basically immediately when Tommy cleared out a drawer for him, so he doesn't have a jacket here.

"Evan," Tommy admonishes, after Evan's teeth clack together. "The omelettes are amazing, please go grab a jacket before you vibrate right off your seat."

He looks like he might protest, but after a careful moment where Tommy stares him down, he nods, stands - gives in and rubs his hands over his forearms as he books it back through the sliding glass door. Tommy spends the time waiting scrolling the same website he'd gotten what Evan has dubbed his "old-man robe" - he gets all the way through to choosing a cornflower blue one for his cart before Evan returns, snug as hell in one of the cardigans Tommy hasn't pulled from the back of his closet in at least a few years.

And there's something to that, actually. Tommy's dated around plenty - still remembers the way his first girlfriend had blushed beet red the first time he hooked her by her elbow to drop his letterman over her shoulders and how he'd wondered if there was something broken in him that seeing his name sprawled across her back didn't do shit for him. Still remembers the first guy who'd wrinkled his nose at Tommy's Carhartt and flannel, always half a step from dragging him into some high end shop for something Tommy absolutely knew they didn't carry with shoulders wide enough to fit him. Remembers the only other guy he'd dated who came close to matching him for size, and how he'd owned a grand total of three jackets that were tailored at the waist in a way that would have made it impossible for Tommy to close them.

So it's a first - Evan's style is changing, muteable, seems to hinge on his mood and his plans and the position of the stars in the night sky, but Tommy's never seen him in a cardigan. Give him some glasses and a collar under that shirt and...

Evan catches him staring and his grin goes wide, tongue pressing against the backs of his teeth in a way that promises at least one of them is getting a blowjob after breakfast.

---

Tommy winces against the sting as the tequila warms his throat and actually does a double take when Lucy wolf-whistles right in his ear. An hour ago, Tommy had been nursing his one beer and waiting for the text from Evan that he was leaving the firehouse, but a rollover on the 401 had run his shift long and somewhere between Evan's profuse apologies and Donato sidling up to him with a pool cue he'd agreed to shots. Date night was a wash, anyway, and Evan had seemed happy with the idea of meeting Tommy and his coworkers at the bar, and Donato was sneaky about her shots.

Tommy's - warm. Glad he'd ordered them both burgers once he got a text that Evan was on his way. Tommy is absolutely not going to make a fool of himself when he catches sight of Evan and feels the hinge of his jaw go loose.

Evan grins at him and waves at Lucy as he slides into Tommy's space. "Hi," he says, and Tommy knows he's a fucking dork but he's usually a smooth dork. Tommy's fingers drift over the pocket of his fucking flannel, dart over the rolled up shirtsleeves and the bulge of muscle stretching the seams at the shoulders and - "Nice shirts, Buckley," Donato snarks, already sliding a tequila shot past Tommy.

He's wearing one of Tommy's Henley's underneath, too. The fucker.

Evan looks a little bashful as he admits that he'd maybe gone a little too dressy for date night, and Tommy's place was closer.

Tommy knows for a fact Evan has a whole drawer of casual wear at Tommy's, but he doesn't call him on it, because this is doing something for him.

Their waitress is dropping off their burgers at the table in the corner, and Donato has already wandered off, so Tommy snags one of Evan's belt loops to tug him in, to press his lips to the bow of Evan's lip, to inhale Evan's pleased sigh. "If you catch up to me in drinks before we finish those burgers I might be convinced to let Donato mack on you again."

Evan swats his ass as he dances away, but Tommy can hear him adding a beer to Tommy's tab as he makes his way back to the pool tables.

---

Donato spends a month calling Evan "Tommy Too" around the station and Tommy's too smitten to care when half the crew picks it up.

It makes the next time Evan runs into the 217 on a call a little awkward, but Evan takes it in stride.

"No offense to the whole carpenter mechanic vibe you have going, but it's not even my style," Evan tells him, in the midst of explaining that he can't actually explain why he's constantly pilfering Tommy's shirts, jackets, and on one memorable occasion a pair of grey sweats that hadn't even made it past the bedroom door.

"It's - you can just say blue collar, Evan." The whole conversation had started when Tommy realized he was missing four different flannels and one of his tan jackets to boot. "It's fine, just - maybe stop hoarding them at your place, please? I'm running out of clothes to wear."

"We could go shopping," Evan says, with a gleam in his eye, and Tommy thinks of the party supplies debacle last month.

"No. Never again. You're a goddamn tyrant." He eases the words with a nudge of his shoulder against Evan's, and Evan grins back. He'd been mulish as hell about which balloons to get and what type of tape was allowed, and it had worked Tommy up so much they'd barely gotten through the door before Tommy was crowding him against a side table and reaching for his zipper.

One day they're gonna have an argument about trans fats in the freezer aisle of Ralph's and Tommy's gonna get a nationwide ban for public indecency.

Evan blinks away an expression before Tommy can parse it, but even though this is his first real foray into dating a clothes stealing fiend, he's heard the women in his life talk about the sentiment enough to sort of have an idea what it's all about. He takes a shot in the dark. "You can have one thing at your place at all times. Rotate them out if you want, but for the love of god don't make me go to work naked."

Evan's blink is a little less focused this time, which is absolutely Tommy's bad.

---

He doesn't really get it, is the thing. Until he does.

---

He's sulking. Tommy is absolutely sulking and he has no one to blame but himself.

"A whole wide world of fluke accidents and cursed injuries and you sprained your ankle on a basketball court," Eddie says, and they share a quick smirk between themselves at the memory of the last time they'd been to this particular urgent care.

He's got Evan's Jeep, and when Eddie gets him up into the back seat Tommy can feel the edges of his eyes getting heavy. It feels like barely a second has passed before Eddie's popping into the drivers seat

"These are good drugs," Tommy says, and then tosses the bag the pill bottle is in into the passenger seat. "Take them with you."

Eddie glances at him askance in the rearview, and Tommy's pretty sure he mumbles something vaguely coherent about addiction being a fucking genetic gift, but he's distracted by the shot of emerald green tucked into the back of the passenger seat pocket.

It smells like Evan, is the first thing he notices as he yanks it loose, and Eddie is most likely chuckling about Tommy pressing it to his face but there could also be a funny street sign. They'd gone to that brewery up in San Luis Obispo and when they'd left for the day trip it'd been chilly, but by the time they got there it'd been scorching.

Tommy spends a good ten minutes trying to figure out if he can separate the sandalwood body wash from the vanilla and vetiver cologne and then loses that train of thought when Eddie checks in. He's forced to remove the hoodie from his face with something vaguely approaching embarrassment, but Eddie just laughs. "You two are something else," he murmurs, and - it's a sentiment that's been repeated a million different times with a million different facial expressions but from Eddie, here in the quiet comfort of the Jeep, with NPR turned down low even though Eddie complains about it every fucking time he hops in to find Evan listening to it - here, it feels important.

That's probably the good drugs talking.

"I'm gonna marry that man," Tommy blurts, and Eddie doesn't do anything crazy like slam on the breaks or whip his head around. What he does do is catch Tommy's eye in the rearview and take stock of Tommy trying to stuff himself into the hoodie without unbuckling his seatbelt. He's probably gonna regret that, when the drugs wear off.

"He know that?" Eddie asks, and the edge he'd maybe expected is missing from Eddie's voice. He sounds - pleased, maybe. Knowing.

"I thought we had a hard rule about relationship talk."

Eddie hums. "You started it."

And he did, at that. Tommy isn't subtle at all about tipping his head to the side to nose at the hood of the sweatshirt. God, it's like rolling into Evan's pillow after he'd left for work.

"We've talked about it." He's aiming for casual, and it sucks that his vision isn't the best right now because he can't quite read the tilt of Eddie's brow.

Eddie makes it clear, though - a long, low whistle. "Kinda early for 'til death do us part."

"I woulda married him a month in, if he'd asked," Tommy admits, and - that's something he hadn't really planned to admit even if it's the truest thing he's ever said.

Eddie snorts. "A month after you ditched him halfway through a date?"

Tommy narrows his eyes. Tips his chin against the warming metal of the zipper where it rests against his chest. "There were extenuating circumstances."

"Like?"

"Like I was already way too invested and I didn't realize he didn't even know he was into men until I kissed him."

Eddie stews over that for the next however many blocks. Tommy tucks his thumbs into the sleeves of the hoodie and strokes them over the still downy-soft fleece lining the inside of the jacket.

"So what's the protocol with two dudes, anyway? You gotta ask each other's parents if they're cool with their sons no longer living in sin?"

Tommy snorts. "Your religious trauma is showing, jackass." He flicks a look at Eddie. "Besides, Phillip Buckley fucking loves me."

Evan had been more surprised by that than Tommy. Tommy's got a way - with fathers, with white collar men in their fifties and sixties, with - well he's got a way. They either secretly wanna fuck him or secretly wanna be him and Tommy knows how to lean into that. Without making it weird.

The rest of the drive is quiet. Eddie seems to be processing, though what, Tommy can only assume. He's got no clue what Evan tells Eddie about the two of them, unless Evan has mentioned it himself.

When he pulls into the drive, Evan's already pushing out the front door with a hand on his hip. He stills when he catches sight of the no doubt haphazardly thrown on jacket Tommy's wearing, and - yeah. Yep. He gets it now.

"I'm staying for dinner," Eddie says, with a finger aimed at Evan's face. "You get that look off your face."

Evan gestures, splutters. He's doing absolutely nothing to help Eddie guide him up the walk.

Five minutes later, when Tommy's settled in the couch with his leg elevated, Evan sends Eddie to the kitchen and spends a ridiculous amount of time fluffing pillows and gentling his hands over Tommy's legs - the good and the bad one.

Tommy's expecting a kiss, but all he actually gets when Evan draws near is an annoyed groan and a punched out sigh. "After Eddie leaves I'm gonna spend an hour telling you all the different shades of green in your eyes I've never noticed before."

Tommy grins dopily. Tugs at the hem of Evan's sweater - an old, old cable knit Tommy's surprised even fits the breadth of his shoulders when Tommy hasn't worn it since the aughts. "Eddie said no dirty talk," he admonishes, and Evan's grin as he drops his lips towards Tommy's is bright enough to power a city grid.

[lotuseye]

better call higuruma!

he left her his number for emergencies. getting arrested was an emergency, right?

word   count:   8,534.

genre:   one-shot.

characters:   hiromi higuruma & paralegal assistant.

notes:  this is it, the most voted request from the poll. higuruma gets called by his sweet assistant in three in the morning from a police station. pwp. kind of an age gap, considering higuruma is in his late thirties and the reader is in mid twenties. smut smut smut. hiromi is a sweetheart. long fic. office spice. if you liked it please let me know in the replies, likes and reblogs are always welcome <3

good lord, it had to have been a crime, to be that goddamn electric.

the man, the myth, the legend. the empty office next to his has been the precious prize that decorated the ambitious dreams of all the seniors, all the fresh graduates - not because it had the reputation of being the most humane working conditions alongside the fattest paycheck in the midst of the firms who even refused to pay at all ( paying with experience unfortunately didn't cover anybodies rent, these days ) but because hiromi higuruma was all their aspirations and their dreams combined. standing for justice, standing for what was fair and right, standing for the wrongfully convicted, he was a breath of fresh air to the small group in the law school that really came for ideals bigger than an overflowing wallet or wearing sharp suits to pretend they are harvey specter.

all that, and also he was so fucking hot, there wasn't a single person that would manage to sit on that desk without daydreaming about being bent over it.

“ girl, that boss of yours, i'm telling you - if i was you i'd suck that man dry. ”

“ honestly, what are you even doing in that office? go drop a pencil in front of him or something! this is embarrassing. you are embarrassing. ”

“ shut up, ” she grumbles, managing to hit both of her friends with the same pillow as her face burns red. she had been muttering the same thirsty, unhinged comments with them under her breath a month ago but she wasn't his assistant back then and there had been no reality to it whatsoever. now, the depth of the water had risen. the stakes were simply not the same. “ it's easy for you to talk, you don't look him in the eye all day. ” she reminds them, to which they reply with a series of groans and rolled eyes, disappointment and disbelief clear on beautiful features. “ besides, ” she continues. “ i'm not stupid enough to fuck my boss and lose the best assistant paycheck in town. do you know how much electricity costs? water? heating? ”

“ fine, fine. don't fuck him then. ” one of them relents eventually, to lay on her stomach on the bed with a devilish grin, hands tucked under her chin. “ head don't count, though... ”

“ girl! ”

****

she only wishes she was blessed with enough fortitude to keep her thoughts on the same track, because as higuruma tries to explain the concept of an appeal to an agitated client of his, all she can do is watch him from her desk with her cheek rested atop her palm, every single task of the day flees from her, but how could it be her fault when he was standing with his hip rested against the edge of his oak desk, sleeves of his expensive shirt rolled up to his elbows, revealing toned forearms. so unabashed, she feels like a victorian man seeing the ankles of a woman for the first time and nearing comatose for it.

“ hey, ” like he heard her thoughts, he calls, head tilting to catch the glimpse of the poor new grad that sits idle in her desk, who almost jumps in the office chair with how caught off guard she is, immediately fixing her posture. currently not paying any attention to the way she stumbles on her response, he makes the gesture of a pen and paper as he continues nod alongside to whatever the client is saying at the other end of the line. “ mhm, i see. the thing is, an appeal does not guarantee the withdrawal of the verdict... ”

she grabs the first pen she could get her hands on on her desk, half running to his office across the narrow hallway that separates them with open doors, thin heels clicking sharply against white polished marble. he presses the receiver of the phone to his shoulder when as she delivers the pen, offering a small smile & mouthing a thank you as he quickly returns to noting whatever he was trying to explain to the client. she attempts to return to her own working quarters, but he stops her with the simple motion of raising a hand, then gesturing kindly to the leather chair in front of his desk. she fixes the hem of her pencil skirt, clearing her throat as she sits down. higuruma remains on the phone, and she quietly glances around his office.

she's been here very briefly a few times, but as she started around a month ago she still hadn't found the chance to get familiar with her work space. this seemed like a good opportunity, a pastime as she waited for him to finish up. his office was neater than the rest of the spaces she's seen so far, paperwork kept neatly tucked in folders that had tags on them, books cleaned and tasteful desk spotless. it was old-school, everything about it, from the rust color of the walls to the choice of chairs & coffee table, but it had a certain vibe to it.

“ sorry about that, ” she doesn't realize that he hangs up until he speaks, snapping her gaze back to find him settling back on his cream colored chair with a kind smile plastered on his face. “ i just wanted to check in with you for the next week. have i told you that i won't be here yet? i'm entrusting you with the office, you don't gotta cover everything - just delay clients till' my return and keep at your daily tasks, alright? ”

he won't be here the next week, and she's blinking, slightly panicking over the fact that she is in the stage of her new job where she relies on him to teach her the way he operates. “ of course, sir, " she says still, unwilling to be a monument of failure in front of the only man she so desperately wishes to impress, so desperately admires. “ i'll make sure it all runs smoothly. ”

“ you'll do great, sweetheart. fix the long face. ” he says with a bantering gleam in his storm of eyes, and she nods, attempting not to sigh like she wants to every time he calls her one of the things he seems to like to call her - sweetheart or doll, mostly, and she knows he doesn't have an ounce of ill intention behind it, he is just trying to be polite to her and ease her anxieties like a good boss would but her stupid crush on him makes her ironically think that she would be less stressed out if he was a bully, or an asshole. at least she wouldn't be blushing like an idiot, unable to string a coherent sentence together. he reaches over his desk, grab one of the small note cards and scrabble something on it with the pen that she's brought him minutes ago. “ this is my personal number. call me if there is a situation you can't get out of or if you get confused, okay? ”

the card is carefully folded in her palm, and she manages a “ thank you, sir. ” before she slowly stands up again, thinking they are done. “ is there anything else i should know about? ”

“ yes, there is one thing. ” he says, and she watches his smile get a bit bigger, a bit softer. “ you don't need to call me sir. just call me hiromi. we're a team, now. i don't do the hierarchy thing. ”

hiromi. she shifts her weight from one foot to another without even realizing, unaware of the way her own lips curl in the corners with how sweet she finds the whole sentiment, dimples on her smile lines deepening. “ okay... hiromi. " she gives it a shot, hesitant, but she knows she's hit jackpot when he breaks out into a full grin, pleased and proud. “ atta' girl. ”

****

a situation she could not get out of.

he probably did not fucking meant being stuck in the police station with a bloody gauze wrapped around her hand.

“ i swear to god, i'm going to kill you one of these days, ” she murmurs to her roommate who indirectly was the culprit of the fact that they had been sitting in plastic chairs, with the not so kind implication that they could not leave because the guy she had broken a vase on the head of was hell-bent on pressing charges and she couldn't even bring herself to think about the terror of what happened, too engulfed in the embarrassment of being here and the fear of losing her job stuck in her throat like a lump that wouldn't go away. higuruma was so, so firing her on the spot.

but still, there isn't anyone else she can think about calling when they call her that she has a one phone call right, the wrinkled paper he wrote his number on still bunched in her palm as she stares at it endlessly. “ isn't your boss a big shot lawyer? ” her roommate tries to help but she doesn't, the sound of her voice only providing further frustration. “ please call him, please - i don't know how else to get you out of here. ”

“ maybe i wouldn't be here when you didn't bring a fucking thief home straight from the street, ” she nearly spits out with anger, still angry, even if she doesn't meant to be. her roommate is probably even more scared, thinking she brought a thief home who pretended to be there for a one night stand, waking up in the middle of the night to half her jewelry gone and the guy trying to sneak away. she doesn't know how she rolled out of bed with the scream, how she gathered the strength to grab the vase that sat idle in the dresser in the dark and swung it with such precision a head was split open. the guy needed eight stitches, they told her. “ don't you ever think? ”

“ you'll have all the time in the world to scold me, ” her roommate pleads, pulling the phone out of its box and handing it over with begging eyes. “ just call him first, please. ”

she almost secretly hopes that he doesn't pick up, but she's not that lucky.

“ hello? who am i speaking to? ” voice hoarse, drowsy, but still having answered his phone, she loses every single syllable she's ever learned before she manages to utter out a meek greeting and her name. “ i need your help. ”

“ what's wrong? ” now not so drowsy, his tone sharpens with worry, considering it is two in the morning. she hears a shuffle of the sheets, and the most embarrassing part of it all - this guy was her boss. not a friend, not someone she was close enough to call in a situation like this, not even someone she wanted to make a witness of this god-awful situation. this truly was not her best night. “ i'm so sorry, ” she apologizes profoundly, shaking her head, rubbing her temple. “ i- i shouldn't have called this late, i'm so sorry... ”

“ tell me what's wrong, ” he repeats, cutting her apologies in half. “ where are you? ”

teeth sinking into her cheek, she tugs on a loose string of her sweatshirt. “ in a police station, ” she confesses. “ my... my roommate brought home someone, the guy tried to rob us and i hit him with a vase and now they won't let me go. ” how idiotic the entire thing sounds. how she's ruined it all even before it's begun. an assault charge on her background, what a pretty look. it wouldn't matter, that he was a thief or who was right or wrong - she had more to lose. “ i don't know what to do, ” she exhales harsh, gaze rapidly growing blurrier by the second. “ would it burn my career, if the charges came through? ”

“ are you okay? are you hurt? " he rarely answers any of her questions, too calm in the face of her panic but not nonchalant. still, she is not in the head-space to find the words, trying her best not to burst into tears. “ 'm talking to you, doll. take a deep breath, okay? let's try again. are you hurt? ”

“ no, ” she manages to mutter out, but even that sounds like a lie with the way her hand keeps throbbing with a shrill pain. “ i don't know, my hand hurts, but it's not bleeding anymore. ”

“ good fucking lord, ” he exhales harshly, then she hears the sound of a door shutting close in the background, the beep of car keys. “ i just got out of the house, alright? tell me which station you're in, i'll be there in fifteen. don't panic, you're not staying there. i'm coming to get you. ”

it's not until she sees him that she lets go, honestly. the serenity his words brought her was beyond comforting, but the way his presence brought her such relief was inexplicable. hiromi walks inside the station with a pair of sweatpants and a sweatshirt he's barely managed to put on and she is lingering on the edge of losing it all. he is explaining to an officer that he is her lawyer when his gaze finds her, closing the distance with a few steps. “ ssh, it's okay, sweetheart - you're okay. lemme' see your hand, ” he gently grasps her bloody hand makes her wince with pain, but watching his heavenly visage contort with anguish is not any better. “ let me deal with this, then we'll take care of this. ” he glances over her, gaze searching for the same officer. “ wait here. ” he mumbles for her to sit again on the chair, and disappears from her line of sight.

he returns around half an hour later, her roommate having left to go back home and see what was taken and what could be mended for the report. “ come on, we're leaving. ” he holds her coat in his hands, waiting patiently to put it on. she glances between him and the officer he came back with, her head pounding with a migraine caused by the stress and the florescent lights that killed every last one of her braincells. “ wait, how, he said he was going to press charges- ”

“ he's not pressing shit, ” hiromi exhales, clearly frustrated with the whole thing and she immediately feels the guilt swallow her whole. ” come on, let's take you to a hospital. your hand is not looking good and i'm not letting you go home like this. ”

so she finds herself in the passenger seat of his audi, as guilty and shameful as a human being possibly could be as they sit in the parking lot of the hospital after a quick rush into the ER. they had taken a look at the heel of her palm and stated that it wasn't as deep as to require stitches, but still to be cautious they had properly dressed it and bandaged it with the advice that she should change it every few days to avoid infections. it was a lucky call, really, that she managed to get away with something as small as a cut. things could have been a lot worse.

“ i'm sorry, ” she apologizes again, glancing over at hiromi hesitantly, her fear having petrified in her face. they are settled in the car in silence, just taking a moment to register it all before he eventually starts the engine. somehow, he manages to look worse than she does with the dark bags under his eyes and that stern expression. she has a terrible habit of assuming she is the one to blame for whatever unfortunate incident. “ i didn't mean to stress you or frustrate you, i panicked and didn't know who else to call. ”

“ oh, doll, who else would you call? ” he glances back, to meet her gaze, and the tenderness in it feels like the very proof of her ruination, trying real fucking hard not to burst into tears. she hasn't shed a single tear yet, which had been eerie on its own. “ i wish you'd call earlier, i wouldn't have even let them take you in the first place. you haven't done anything wrong, okay? what you've been through is terrifying. and even if it doesn't feel like that right now, you were really brave. ” he reaches to collect the tear at the corner of her lash with his thumb. “ you've got nothing to apologize for. you were brave. ” 

yeah, that does it. a blink later, she is sobbing her lungs out in a car that probably cost more than an entire year's rent of hers, shoulders trembling next to a man that simply has no business being as caring as he is with her. “ c’mere, it’s okay. ” the toned arms she had been busy admiring a few days ago now wrap her in an embrace that warms her inside out, her face pressing flush against his sternum, tears soaking through the navy blue cotton. his palm cradling the nape of her neck, his chin tucked atop the crown of her head as he just hushes her gracefully. it soothes her, the steady beat of his heart, the scent of his cologne in her nostrils, the slight vibrations that echo through his ribs, the soft rub of his fingertips against the pressure points in the columns of her throat. “ i know you feel guilty, ” he murmurs, half muffled against her hair. “ but there is no need to be. did your best, yeah? i’m proud of you. ”

is it really necessary, for him to be like that when she’s like this? scared of how truly comfortable she is in his arms, she withdraws slowly, but lacks the strength to detach from him completely - her forehead falls on his shoulder and he keeps her like that, still cradled against his chest, still safe & secure. her stomach is churning. he was the sweetest man she’d ever known, trying to be caring at the expense of himself, and she spent most of her time daydreaming about him. it feels vile, it feels misleading. “ i think you should just fire me. please just fire me. ” she confesses eventually with a plead, hiccuping once, uninjured hand coming up to rub at her face, tears wetting the entirety of her cheeks now.

“ what are you talking about? ” hiromi asks, confused, sliding a knuckle underneath her chin to tilt her head up so he can see the flushed cheeks and the avoidant gaze. she doesn’t like the frown on his face, more concerned than offended. “ fire you for what, honey? for getting robbed? for almost getting hurt? ” he shakes his head, rubbing her chin with a tsk tsk sound. “ don’t be ridiculous. when i said to call me for an emergency, i meant it. fix the long face, now, i hate seeing you like this. ”

she doesn’t mean it.

when he stares at her for a second too long and he consumes every single sense from her sight to her hearing, invading her lungs & her veins, her nails already pressing into his biceps through the thick material of his sweatshirt. she doesn’t mean it, when he holds her chin and looks at her with those heavy lidded rust brown eyes, burdened with the beautiful curse of thick lashes and she is tilting her head alright - until her mouth brushes against his, and every single cell in her body explodes with the trembling anticipation of the taste of him, of what it feels like to be held by him.

the worst part is that it’s not her, that pushes all the ethics out the door- it's him that kisses her like he wants to devour her - with a sigh so heavy it forces her to gasp alongside, eyes fluttering shut and entirety of her easing like a ragdoll in his hands. the adrenaline of the night pumps still strong in her veins, senses dialed up to eleven for a newfound breath as she relishes with the taste of him on her tongue, lingering of coffee. he pushes his tongue inside her mouth, demanding the same access he has given her, and her hands dive into the short raven strands, groaning into his mouth, and it truly is so fucking shameful how she’s imagining the strong hands that keep her close to slide down to her hips, yank her atop his thighs -

“ oh my god, ” instead he withdraws, wide-eyed.

“ i’m so sorry, fuck, ” he gasps, one hand reaching to wipe the saliva that had wet his chin from how sloppy the kiss was, lips red-kissed and swollen as she stares at him like a deer caught in the headlights. he’s never looked so baffled and terrified before, and her stomach is churning with the way he trips over his own words, now completely pulling away from her, reaching over her without ever meeting her gaze to grab the seatbelt and buckle her in, indirectly making sure she would remain away from him. is this happening? she can’t tell, everything registering too late as she just blinks, watching him with unfocused eyes as he starts the engine. “ i shouldn’t - i shouldn’t have done that, i’m so sorry. i’ll drop you home. ” then the engine roars, and she remains in the large seat unable to think of a single thing except for wondering how it was possible for her to feel even worse after everything. hiromi is dead silent, with eyes not leaving the road once, and she feels her world slowly collapse around her.

what the fuck was that?

****

he was not seeing the pearly gates.

what kind of a sick, twisted man would be fisting himself beyond the locked doors of his office with the imagination of his assistant between his parted legs, looking up at him with those doe eyes of hers as she bobbed her head up & down, choking on the thick girth until her eyes watered-

“ oh, god, ” he gasps hard, empty hand flying to tuck the knuckle of his index fingers between his teeth, eyes rolling to the back of his skull as the warmth of even the imagination of her spreads through his limbs, shifting in the chair to ease his hips, slowly easing onto the comfortable leather. his head falling against the back of the chair, eyes fluttering shut with heavy breaths he is trying so, so hard to keep steady, beads of sweat trickling down the corner of his thick brow, the thousand dollar dress pants unzipped and loose around his waist. he can almost imagine her there, feel the soft strands of her hair sliding between his fingers, hear the sweet moans. what a cliche, what an overused trope - the man that wants to fuck his assistant stupid on his desk, it feels like a cheap porn, it feels humiliating.

but it’s the truth, and he knows it in the marrow of his bones. was it the final succumb to the teasings of his colleagues, when they kept teasing him endlessly about the sweet girl with arms filled with the folders he’s asked for and cute little heels clicking against his tiles? how endearingly she called him sir and how he loved the dimples that indented the corner of her smile lines? how he looked forward to heading out to the office every day, how he longed to hear her chime a good morning to him as soon as he walked through the doors. no, he didn’t just want to fuck her-

he was so smitten with her, he was beyond saving.

“ ‘m sorry, ” he gasps, both to the memory of her and himself, how unable he is to stop his fingers from tightening around his cock, angry red tip swollen and leaking on his lap with how fucking close he is. “ ‘m sorry, baby, i can’t- i can’t help it, ” he is whispering apology after apology, like she’d hear it, like he’d be forgiven for being so wanton, for being absolutely irredeemable. she had no idea, just across the hall, probably reading the files he’s given her this morning without being able to look her in the eye- it was horrid, to see how much the newfound tension and awkwardness between them hurt her but how could he maintain the same closeness, when he didn’t trust himself not to push her on the armchairs in front of his desk and bury his face in her sweet cunt until she couldn’t remember anything but his name-

that does it, the pure imagination of her arching beneath him into his nose & his mouth, desperately tugging on his hair as she called his name over and over again - hiromi, hiromi, hiromi! he’s spilling in his own lap without being ready to take care of it, breath getting knocked out of his lungs with a toe-curling tsunami cascading down on him. he cums for what feels like minutes, fisting himself through it, seizing on the chair in euphoria, as stiff as a rock before he rides it out eventually, a soft warmth embracing him inside out as it renders him limbless in his seat. he doesn’t want to look down at the mess he’s made, his shirt & pants beyond saving, his cum dripping from his fingers and palm. “ fuck, ” he breathes out, lips pressing into a thin line of shame as he grabs the box of tissues from his desk, sighing as he cleans himself up, face still flushed red and skin slick with sweat.

he needs to figure this out, one way or another.

****

she’s so fired, she doesn’t even have the inkling of hope in her as she silently awaits for him to hand her the resignation papers for her to sign for a clean break. she’d sign them without word, even having prepared a small apology talk in her head about how he was a wonderful man and a brilliant lawyer that deserved every good thing that were to come his way- and she was just an idiot who blew it all up by not being the first dumbass who returned a favor with a kiss but by being the first moron that lost the best job opportunity they could have ever found. this is why she couldn’t have good things- because she was simply incapable of not ruining it by blowing it to pieces.

it didn’t help that he barely even looked at her after that night. the quick banters and the shared chuckles in the safety of their offices and hallway were reduced to avoided eye contact and simple, short sentences regarding the work they had to do. she had arrived to the work the morning after the incident fully prepared to be called into his room and demanded a conversation about what happened, but instead, hiromi conveniently said his polite good morning to her and passed her office like he didn’t back out of a kiss he devoured her with. without an ounce of acknowledgement, he moves forward like the night had never taken place and it rattles her to the point of paranoia. days chase days, a day or two become a full month that’s passed with waking to every morning asking herself if today is the day. it burdens her nerves, her smile growing more & more strained with each hour, each day. the dream job of dozens now her arch nemesis, dragging her feet each day like an ostrich that wants to bury her head in the sand.

until she grows reckless and restless with it, until the strain on her sanity reaches to its brink and forces her to knock on his door with delirium ( yeah, they were closing doors and all, now) and yanks on the handle without waiting for a response, too agitated & frustrated.

“ hello? ” hiromi asks, half confused and half demanding an explanation for the sudden intrusion, his hands on the file he had been reading, his glasses tucked neatly on the bridge of his nose. “ what can i do for you? ” he asks, lacking every bit of warmth, and the cold it leaves her with is unbearable. the roof of her mouth aches with the taste of him, not having slept one night in rest since she knew what it was like to be in his arms. her sigh is exasperated, shifting her weight from one foot to another as she near damn slams the piece of paper she had brought with herself on his desk, atop his work. “ what is this? ” hiromi asks, an eyebrow arched as he reads the header- letter of resignation.

“ you won’t fire me, fine, but i can’t do this. ” she explains, standing in front of his desk, chewing on the inside of her cheek. there is no fear, having abandoned all her hesitations by the door as she walked in, knowing she wouldn’t be in this room again. it had been a nice opportunity to have, but dragging the dead weight of something that didn’t belong to her didn’t feel right. didn’t feel good or fair, and she couldn’t keep fighting the feeling that she was somewhere she wasn’t wanted in. “ i am so, so deeply sorry i kissed you- i shouldn’t have done that, it was insane, ” she shakes her head vigorously, stammering as her hands raise in surrender. “ i was truly going through it and i lost it for a second. it was horrible of me, and i can never regret it enough. but i can’t keep working here when you refuse to talk to me or even look me in the eye. so…” she breathes out, shoulders trembling. “ please just sign my resignation and free us both. i think we both suffered enough. ”

he stares at her, expressionless, blinking between his assistant and the paper that had been presented to him. it feels like the silence stretches for minutes, before he slowly leans back. he finds her gaze, thoughtful. “ do you, really? ” he asks, curious more than anything. “ regret it, i mean. ”

he just knows where to hit, which bone to twist to get the most visceral reaction out of her. she thinks back on it, the way he gripped the nape of her neck, how he pushed his tongue into her mouth and let his teeth graze her lower lip, sloppy & desperate. he is sitting in front of with the same dark pupils, with the same poker face, and she can’t lie. “ no. ” she corrects her lie, figuring she owed him that much. “ not really. i’m sorry i lost this all and i’m sorry i made you uncomfortable, but i don’t regret what… what that felt like. ” the roots of her hair is burning, and he nods slowly, like there is anything to consider at all with her confession.

“ and what did it feel like? ” he pries further, and she groans in protest, nearly squirming in her place with the pressure that overwhelms her. “ you’re being impossible, ” she tells him, now taking her frustration out on him, not knowing any better, not knowing how to handle the situation at all. “ why are you trying to humiliate me, like i’m not embarrassed enough? is it funny to you? ”

“ no, sweetheart. ” he rises out of his desk, reaching to his full height, and even the mere gesture is enough to have her jaw close right back up, shutting up immediately. he travels around his desk, nearing her but not quite closing the distance. “ do you think it was funny for me, to be locking that door and fucking my hand here thinking of you on your knees? do you think it was funny for me to not being able to look you in the eye without thinking of kissing the breath out of your lungs? ”

was she truly hallucinating now, or was this a fever dream? because there was no way it was true. she blinks once, twice, trying to register what she hears. hiromi takes a slow step, reaching to cup his chin between his thumb and the knuckle of his index finger, and the memories keep flooding back. a beautiful dejavu that ended in such heartbreak, but her she’s already feeling how her knees are failing her, forgetting how to breathe when he stares her down without an ounce of reservation. it was all abandoned now, abandoned the moment she kissed him and he kissed her back. “ do you understand how fucked up is that? ” he asks, no louder than a hoarse murmuring, gaze trailing her features. “ i’ve never laid a hand on anyone in this office before, let alone my assistant. let alone a girl like you. do you understand the position you’ve put me in? do you understand how wrong this whole thing is? ”

she’s dizzy, and there is nowhere to go from his hold, except to tilt her head up, wide-eyed and breathless. her mouth feels so, so dry, her tongue heavy in her mouth. “ i won’t tell anyone. ” is so pathetic if she could see herself from an outside perspective she would be jumping straight out the window with the second hand embarrassment. that’s how much she wants this man, enough to mutter a pathetic plea just to be the girl who got railed by her boss in his office, just to be the girl she had nightmares becoming. she will have to forgive herself, sometime in the future, because this is not something she can resist- hiromi is an obsession she wouldn’t be able to satiate herself with if she’d tried, especially when he stands chest to chest with her, when his thumb brushes her lower lip. he stares at her mouth endlessly, but this time she knows better than to kiss him first, this time she knows better than to come on too strong and terrify him away.

coming on too strong she fears, but it is his hands that slide underneath the back of her plush thighs to turn her and push her flush against the edge of his desk, forcing her on top of the polished wood. “ hiromi, ” she gasps, but it’s futile- he kisses her so fast the world tilts on its axis, whining with the last remaining braincell that her pencil skirt is too stubborn to let him settle between her legs, to which hiromi responds by sliding his rough palms across her thighs and hike up, until it is bunched around her waist. ever the problem solver, ever the crisis manager- he’s barely even touched her and she is already a puddle of limbs in his arms, wide-eyed and overwhelmed and confused. “ hiromi, ” she pleads again, unsure what she’s asking for, man’s mouth having trailed down her jugular, teeth grazing against the column of her throat.

“ ssh, ” he is so tender with the hush, she can’t even be frustrated at how inherently mean it is. her hands travel the broad, sinewy shoulders of his, trying to hold on without collapsing, not trusting herself to carry her own weight but hiromi doesn’t even allow her that, reaching to grasp her hands and pin them on the desk behind her. “ i’mma need you to hold out for me, yeah? ” he’s moving downward before she can even register the request, barely being able to plant her hands back and arch for support, gaining a groan from hiromi who is already on his knees, skilled fingers impatiently tugging on the buttons of her slim fit indigo dress shirt. “ so fucking beautiful, ” he murmurs but there is no telling if he’s talking to her or to himself, nuzzling his face into her navel when he reveals the creamy soft skin. “ you’re so fucking beautiful, sweetheart, god, you have no idea what you’re doing to me, ” he teeths at her hipbone, drags his tongue across her abdomen, leaving a cold trail in its wake, still sloppy. veiny hands grasp her thighs to move them over his shoulders, fingers carefully bunching the linen fabric at her waist, revealing the blue pair of underwear she’s already soaked through.

she wants to say something, do something, but there is no focusing when he stares at her clothed wetness as intently as he does, instinctively trying to shut her legs to which he replies with a “ uh-uh, keep ‘em open, ” he mumbles, pressing an experimental thumb right to her clit, drawing a groan and a jolt out of her. bingo. “ oh, baby… ” he murmurs, dazzled and mesmerized as she squirms on his desk, breathless and whimpering with hands grasping the edge of his desk, hips rutting into his hand desperately as he starts to draw tight circles, making her shudder. “ hiromi, ” she repeats his name for the thousandth time, chest heaving. “ please, please. ”

“ i know, i know, ” he trails, nosing at her through her underwear, then hooking his middle finger to the side of her panties to pull them aside, reveal the glistening folds & throbbing clit, moaning with the bare sight of it. “ oh, sweetheart, you’re drenched, ” he stares truly enamored, and she’s speechless, face scrunched up in overwhelm. he forces her to tilt her hips, manhandling without shame as his mouth hovers over her quivering cunt, warm breath tingling without ever closing the distance. she’s about to beg once more, beg him to do something, anything, but he’s too good for that- when his admiration is done, her leans over to spread her open with two fingers & lap at her like a man starved and she forgets every thought she’s ever had, breath knocked out of her chest, seizing on the desk. hiromi couldn’t care less, so goddamn happy to be between her soft thighs, pressing his tongue flat against her swollen bud and rub the pulsating hole with his thumb, eyes closed shut, moaning on cloud nine and letting each sound vibrate in her stomach. he is eating to his heart’s content, downright messy, and there is nothing to do but for her to take. “ taste so good, ” he mumbles against her, worrying her clit between his teeth, changing his thumb for a middle finger as she trembles on top of him. one hand flying to grasp onto his hair, raven strands bunched in her fist as she grinds shamelessly onto his mouth, onto his nose. “ oh my god, ” he whimpers, tongue licking at her dry lips, trying to protect her sanity. “ oh my god! ”

“ there you go, jus’ like that. fuck my face, baby. ” he encourages her to grind, using the opportunity to slide his finger inside her and feel it get swallowed whole by the gummy walls, exhaling so hard with the feeling she suddenly remembers that they are in his office and the door is unlocked. “ the door! ” she whisper-screams, eye-widened as she tries to fight inescapable surrendering to how good his finger feels nestled inside her, how well it stretches her out. “ the door, hir- oof, ” there is no finishing her sentence, because he’s curling it against the soft spongy spot inside her and her eyes are rolling back to the back of her head, almost drooling on her shirt. “ don’ care, ” he grumbles with the focus and effort it takes him not to pound her on the spot, worrying another finger inside her instead, sucking on her clit lazily. “ you’re not getting off this desk until you’ve cum on my fingers, ” so unabashed, he grips her hips even tighter as if to prove that he means his point. “ scared people will see you like this, doll? ” he kisses her clit lovingly, and at the same time curls and bullies that one spot inside her she’s clenching around the thick fingers on the spot, shaking violently. “ then you better cum. ”

she doesn’t need to tell him, he can probably tell by the way she squeezes onto his fingers like a vice, seizing on top of him as her hips violently rut into his face, cumming endlessly as he moans alongside her, still pumping his fingers inside her leisurely to help her ride it out but having released her clit to leave wet kisses on the inside of her thighs. “ there it is, good girl, such a good girl, well done, honey. ” he keeps uttering nonsense, but fuck if they don’t feel good, leaving her as a sweaty mess on top of his desk with mascara on her cheeks & flushed cheeks. it takes her a moment, laying on top of the desk, eyes fluttering shut as she tries to catch her breath. holy fuck, holy fuck, holy fuck. she doesn’t remember the last time she came that hard, doesn’t remember the last time someone made her feel that good. hiromi sounds pleased, humming contently as he slowly withdraws his fingers out of her and she barely catches the way he places them atop his tongue, licking them clean.

“ you’re trying to kill me, ” she concludes, dead serious, and he offers her the sweetest smile known to mankind before he disappears out of her vision, then she hears the sound of a key turning in its lock, as promised. “ i can’t have people seeing my baby like this, no? ” he hums, sultry as his fingertips trace her thighs, lodging himself between her legs once more, staring at her through half lidded eyes, pleased with what he sees. and all she’s thinking about is that he’s called her his baby. his. “ you left me alone, ” she doesn’t know where it comes from, the choked out confession, with the bottled emotions spilling between them, his fingers coated in her release. “ you didn’t- you didn’t speak to me for weeks…”

his expression changes, lips pursing into a thin line. “ i thought… ” he breathes out, unsure how to word anything at all. “ i thought it was the best thing to do. it’s not fair, doll, you don’t understand- i’m your boss. ” he sighs with exasperation, that excuse having long left the office by now. “ you would have hated me, you would have thought i was a creep, you would have… ” he shrugs, not wanting to talk about it any further. “ i can’t abuse my power. not ever, and especially not with you. you’re fucking brilliant, do you hear me? ” he tilts her chin to himself. “ you’re brilliant, you are the best that i’ve ever seen at your job- and you are not going to lose it or feel like you didn’t earn it because i can’t keep my hands off of you, alright? ”

oh. oh. rendered speechless, she just stares at him, vision blurring with a single blink. he had been trying to save her from him the entire time she thought that he was leaving her behind. “ i love you, ” she confesses, and it sounds wrong the moment it leaves her mouth- like it’s something she said in the heat of the moment, or something she said randomly without emotion, but the world hadn’t heard something truer than that. “ i think i’m in love with you, hiromi. i know ‘t sounds stupid and i know you don’t believe me, but i really do. ”

now it’s his time to be left devoid of words, frozen in his place, and as she thinks she’s said the wrong thing again, he leans down to gather her up in his arms. “ c’mere, ” she goes as she pleads, letting him pull her flush against his chest and lift her off the desk, to settle on the comfortable armchair with her spread out on his lap. he shifts them, until he slides further down, in a position where he can comfortably roll her hips up into hers without strain, his face nuzzled in the crook of her neck. “ want to hold you just like this, ” he murmurs, large hands kneading her ass to force her into a languid movement alongside him, leaving her wide-eyed on top of him, with the way he sits so, so heavy & hard between her legs, the button of his dress pants catching at her sensitive bud with each movement and making her jolt. “ hiromi! ” she keens, nails digging into his shoulders through the thin shirt. “ i know, baby, i know, ” he coos in her ear, muffled against her collarbone, skin slick with sweat. “ ‘t feels good, lemme have this for a second, i promise i’ll make it up to you. ”

it’s way too much, and he is way too merciless, she is gushing all over his pants, expensive black linen soaked underneath her, hiding her embarrassment by forcing her face against his neck, hiding there with lazy moans spilling out of her with each roll of his hips. “ you’re making a mess, doll, ” he murmurs, kissing the shell of her ear, holding her still by the large palm on her ass, cock strained against her through layers & layers. “ does it feel that good? you wanna cum again? ” her nod is so pathetic, it’s an abomination at that point, clenching and convulsing around nothing. it feels so good, the slight burn and the way that her rubs against her clit in the best angle possible. “ can you cum like this, baby? can you do that f’ me? i know you can do it, ” he encourages her. “ make me proud, atta’ girl. ”

make him proud she does, her hips stuttering and jerking on top of him, eyes rolling as she whimpers, hiromi thrusting slowly underneath her. “ look at you, so perfect, so perfect f’ me, ” he praises, and it goes to where all the precious things go in her heart, mewling with exhaustion on top of him. her face is peppered with endless kisses, his hand cradling her head and brushing through her now mess of a hair. her arms go around his neck, nuzzling into him tiredly, still riding out the aftershocks of her second orgasm. “ oh, i’ll never get enough of you, ” he confesses to himself. “ i’ll never get enough of this, how are you even real? how is this even real? ”

“ you promised, ” she whines, grinding into him once, and he breathes out an airy chuckle. “ i did, haven’t i? ” his sly hands reaches between them, unbuckling his belt in one swift motion, pulling himself out of his pants and he barely even needs to pull before he springs out, rock hard, leaking. she is unaware that she’s been staring, dazed at how mouth-watering it looks, how much she wants to get on her knees and get a taste of it until she hears hiromi sing for her. he’d look beautiful, with his head tipped back, face contorted with pleasure. but the man has different plans, it seems, because it takes him less than a second to grasp the base of his cock, drag it alongside her soaked folds leisurely before he lets his tip catch at the throbbing entrance. “ i’ll do all the work, okay? ” he speaks, tired but content, holding her steady. “ you just relax against me and let me take care of you, yeah? you’ve been so good to me, let me care for you, honey. ”

and who is she to say no to that? laying herself on his chest, she shifts her hips, and that same second hiromi gives it an experimental push, both of them groaning at the same time when he pops inside her with a quick suction, walls clenching around him, unsure if they want to suck the pressure in or push it all out. she gives out a low cry on top of him, hiromi swearing underneath his breath, giving it a few more inches, feeling the way she envelopes him. “ oh my god, ” he gasps out, hands on her hips, and she can feel him trembling with how much he tries not to bury himself to the hilt inside her, how much he’s trying to keep himself in check. “ oh, what the fuck, t’s so good, t’s too good, ” he slurs his words, head tipping back as he slowly pulls out to push right back in, her keeling on his chest. “ hiromi, fuck, ” she cries out, trying to adjust to the size of him but it feels impossible- not when he holds her the way he does, when he fucks her the way he does, slow and steady, without ever truly bottoming out, still considering her first.

“ you feel amazing, ” he says in disbelief, feeding her poor cunt one more inch every time he thrusts back inside, and she’s trying to keep herself from passing out on his lap, arms around his neck, holding on for dear life as he splits her open without a care in the world. “ wanna’- need to go faster, sweetheart, ” he frantically whispers in her ear, hips stuttering. “ i can’t like this, need more, can you take it? ” can she take it? “ yes, yes, yes, ” she’s babbling with a high-pitched whimper and before she knows it he pries her hands from his neck, grasping both her wrists in one hand and bounding them behind her back as she uses them as leverage before he-

oh, so this is what he meant- hips shift and the very next thrust buries him balls deep inside her and she chokes on her air, near damn screaming his name, especially with the way he starts to fuck her with reckless abandon, his empty hand flying to press his palm over her mouth to keep her quiet. her cries are muffled in the soft, sweaty skin, eyes rolling back and sopping cunt clenching each time he hits that spot inside her that makes her see stars, a constant mewling as she turns limbless in his lap as he praises her without end, a plethora of “ you’re being so good f’ me, ” and “ good girl, you’re so beautiful, ” ringing in her ear as he makes sure that no one will ever make her feel the way he does. she’s crying his name by the time she’s spasming around him, her third orgasm ripping through her like a bullet train as hiromi keeps pounding her without pause. “ keep cumming on my cock, jus’ like that, doll, don’t stop cumming, ” and she can’t, not when he doesn’t let her, doomed to take it all without a single complaint.

then he starts falling out of rhythm, as well, letting go of her mouth but not of her hands . “ oh, i’m so close, ” he grunts against her hair, thrusts getting more erratic, hips jerking. “ i’ll figure it out, ” is the first thing she says when she gets her ability to speak again, damp strands of hair stuck in the sides of her face, a total mess on top of him, gaze half-lidded. he glances up at her, searching for the truth in her eyes, to make sure she isn’t saying something she’ll regret in a second, asking if she’s sure. she responds with a meek “ please, ” and that’s all it takes for hiromi to slam his hips into her ass one more time, spilling inside her and letting them both moan with the feeling of it. it feels warm, it feels wet. she is viscerally shaking on top of him, collapsing with weak knees, and hiromi catches her in his arms, already having released her hands. “ good god, ” he exhales, head rested against the back of his chair.

they stay like that, nestled against each other, as a pile of dead limbs and long inhales, him still twitching inside her. her head remains rested against his chest, comfortable in his lap, comfortable not having to look at him in the face, knowing she wouldn’t be able to take the weight of his gaze at the moment. he’s everything to her, he’s so vital to her, it aches.

but he does something even harder, even more difficult. arms wrapped around her shoulders, tenderly rubbing her back, he rests his mouth against the shell of her ear and whispers an “ i love you, too. ” she stops dead in her tracks. his breath hitches in his throat, but he doesn’t back down. “ i do. there’s no helping it. i’ve tried. ” he lets all the air out of his lungs, fingertips tracing her spine. “ there’s no getting over you. there’s no one else like you. ‘m sorry i was an ass to you. you just really had me whipped, didn’ know what to do with it. ” she chuckles heartily at the confession that gets a bit adorable at the end, and when she pulls back just enough to see his face, she sees the smile she’s adored for the first time in weeks. it feels like seeing the sun after a hurricane, seeing a rainbow. “ there you go, ” she whispers, pleased, tracing his mouth with her fingertips. “ i’ve missed this smile. ”

“ are you ripping that resignation, or should i set it on fire? ” hiromi murmurs, grinning lazily at her, taking the sight of her in, seemingly pleased with his masterpiece. she drapes herself on his chest. “ dunno’. are you doing the honors of explaining this to the HR or should i? ”

he loses the grin so fast, exchanging it for a roll of his eyes and a groan instead. “ too soon to go back to all that, ” he murmurs, placing a loving kiss on the crook of her neck, holding her close. “ lemme’ go a second round, then we’ll consider. ”

“ hiromi! ”

[tartagliove]

7:00pm

who knew that being friends with Kaveh meant befriending his friends—including the General Mahamatra?

cyno x reader ✧ 1.2k words fluff, mentions of a minor injury

If someone told you three months ago that you would be a regular guest at Kaveh and Alhaitham’s home, you would not believe them. But after working on a project with Kaveh, you have been slowly introduced to his friends, including the General Mahamatra. 

Cyno was intimidating and stoic at first, eyes of flame piercing through you. You struggled to talk to him, even in a group setting. His stoicism has not left, but you’ve learned to read him and are much more comfortable in his presence now.

Which is why you and Cyno are sitting across from each other at the living room table, stomachs full from dinner with your friends. Kaveh, Alhaitham, and Tighnari have moved into one of the studies to discuss something, but all your focus is on the Genius Invokation TCG cards and dice spread across the table. All the game pieces belong to Cyno. After you had asked him to teach you his favorite card game a week ago, he carefully curated a deck for you to start playing with so you could discover what playstyle you like before buying cards to form a deck of your own.

“I’ll use three Cryo points and have my Kaeya attack your Pyro Fatui agent with his skill.” You push three elemental dice toward the center of the table, then look up at Cyno. “I can do that, right?”

He inclines his head. “That falls within the rules of the game.”

“Oh, good.” You move to withdraw your hand, but Cyno’s eyes narrow and he quickly reaches out, fingers wrapping around your own. He pulls your hand toward himself, making you stretch a bit awkwardly over the table. “C-cyno?”

“You’re hurt,” he says. “What happened?”

You look down at your hand, held in his warm grasp. Dirty bandages wrap haphazardly around your pointer and middle fingers, tied in a messy knot at the end. Under Cyno’s sharp gaze, embarrassment makes your face hot at the sloppiness of your work.

“I scraped my knuckles while working on a project,” you tell him. “It was a bit hard to bandage everything up with only one hand.” 

Cyno lets go of your hand at your explanation. “I see.” 

You sit back in your chair, noticing how your hand suddenly feels colder. Blowing  out a breath, you look at the card game before you. “Anyway, it’s your move.”

Cyno is quick to have his Diluc card attack your Kaeya. But when you start thinking about how to retaliate, he stands up. “I’ll be back,” he says to the wide-eyed look you give him.

“Okay,” is all you manage to respond with before he leaves, walking into the study. You can hear his steady voice interrupting your friends’ conversation, though you can’t quite make out the words.

You try to turn your attention to the cards in front of you. There aren’t enough elemental dice with the right elements for you to use your cards’ special attacks, so…what was it that Cyno said you could do? You don’t remember. Sighing, you gingerly cross your arms on top of your cards and rest your head on them. Your eyes flutter shut.

“If you’re tired, we can end the game here and continue another time.”

Cyno’s reappearance surprises you into jolting upright, messing up your cards. You look down at them with a pout on your lips. “Yeah… I think I might need to head home and rest soon.”

Instead of sitting back down across from you, Cyno settles right next to you. He places a wooden box onto the table and flips open the lid, revealing a collection of bandages, small jars of salve and medicine, and cleaning alcohol.

“Wait, what-”

Cyno doesn’t let you fully express your confusion. “I’m dressing your wounds properly,” he states. He holds your gaze, unwavering stare letting you know that he will not budge on this.

You can’t help but squirm a little, eyes flickering away as you lift your hand and rest it on his outstretched one. His hand is warm and rough, calloused and scarred from all the battles he’s fought. Yet he is gentle as he unwraps your bandages, cleans your cuts, and carefully spreads a healing salve over them. 

The salve stings, but your attention is drawn to his long eyelashes as you study him. They cast a slight shadow onto his cheeks, although his bangs partially obscure one eye from view as he looks down at your hand. From the slight furrow between his brows, you assume that the limited vision bothers him. 

Without fully thinking about it, you brush his bangs back with your free hand, tucking the hair behind his ear. He looks up at the action, warm orange eyes meeting your own.

“I was just- you looked annoyed about your hair being in your eyes,” you explain. Your face burns under the indecipherable look that Cyno gives you.

“It did not bother me,” he says as he unravels a spool of bandages from the box. His fingers are nimble, deftly wrapping the white strips of cloth around your wounds in tidy loops. “I was concerned about your injuries; they’re worse than I thought they would be. You are skilled at your work, but please take care. If this happens again, tell me. I will bandage your wounds for you.”

Butterflies dance in your stomach. “O-okay, Cyno. You did take care of my cuts better than I could.” Looking down at your fingers, neat knots tie the two ends of each bandage together, ensuring that the cloth will not loosen as you work tomorrow. “Thank you,” you tell him softly. Then, because you don’t know if your heart can take any more of this—of being so close to him and tended to like something precious—you stand. “I should head home now.”

Cyno dips his head in acknowledgement and releases your hand. You immediately feel colder. He stands as well, tilting his head toward the door. “It’s late. Let me escort you home.”

Your eyes widen. “Oh, you don’t have to do that! It’s only a bit after seven, and others are still here, after all.”

He shakes his head, grabbing his cloak from the back of his chair and sweeping it over his shoulders. “I insist. I will return later for my cards.”

Cyno, abandoning his Genius Invokation cards to walk you home? That is something you never dreamed of. Yet it makes you indescribably happy for reasons you are not quite ready to admit to yourself, so all you do is smile helplessly at his adamance. 

“Alright then,” you say as Cyno opens the front door, falling in beside you as you step out on the lamp-lit streets of Sumeru City. “Thank you for walking me home.”

Cyno acknowledges your thanks with a nod of his head. He stays by your side all the way to your home, where he waits to hear the lock turn behind you in your front door before he returns to Alhaitham’s home. As he walks alone, all he can think of is the feeling of your hand in his own.

He’d like to feel that again.

requested by @auraxins for my camping event. reblogs and comments are much appreciated!

[bedsyandco]

♡ 𝆬 𝐖𝐄 𝐆𝐎𝐓 𝐘𝐎𝐔

𝓹airing , quinn hughes x leilani tocchet

quinn doesn’t know what he’d do without his brothers and he hopes he never has to find out. him and jack have a habit of meeting at the lake house kitchen when quinn feels like the ground is about to swallow him whole. (wc ; 1.2K )

꒰ 𝓷ote , this is the first piece of my new au (sweet nothing). It’s a prologue of sorts. I am already completely in love with this universe, dad!quinn and everything that’s coming. this takes place before the ‘23-‘24 season. please feel free to drop by the inbox and tell me all your thoughts about quinn, lani and ro ꒱

quinn doesn’t know how long he’s been sitting at the kitchen counter, counting the drops that are falling into the sink from the leaking faucet. considering he’s counted to 600 something each time, 4 different times before losing count again, one might say a little too long.

drop , drop , drop . . .

the longer quinn stares at the sink, the more annoyed he gets. what a perfect analogy for what his life has been looking like the past few years. problem after problem dropping into his lap, like those drops in the sink, and he’s just supposed to figure out a way to solve them all.

except, much like the leaking faucet he still hasn’t fixed, quinn can’t seem to get a moment to catch his breath before another thing gets added to the long list of problems and responsibilities he has.

the latest wrench thrown in his plans showing up as a 6’2, green eyed Australian whisking his child’s nanny away down under. quinn lets an amused sigh escape, rubbing a hand down his face, and taking a long sip of the warm beer from the can he took out of the fridge hours earlier.

it’s not like this was totally out of the blue. the nanny and the Australian have been dating nearly three years and got engaged last summer. surely quinn should’ve anticipated this move. but for some reason, probably all the other things clouding his brain on a daily basis, he didn’t.

and despite the 2 month head start she gave him on replacing her, quinn still hasn’t found a suitable replacement that meets his standards.

a shadow moving on his left catches quinn's attention but before he can even give a reaction a fist is flying towards his face and hits him square in the jaw, sending his head rearing to the other side.

"what the fuck?!" jack yells, laying a palm flat on his chest, right over his erratic heart, looking at quinn like he was the one who threw the punch, and wasn’t on the receiving end of it.

"jesus jack. the fuck are you doing?" quinn grumles, rubbing his palm over his jaw, the rough hair against his fingers reminding him that he needs to shave.

"what am I doing? what are you doing? sitting here in the dark like you’re contemplating all your life choices,” jack half-jokes, sending his older brother one of his signature grins, but when quinn only releases a sigh as a response jack’s demeanour immediately changes and he pulls out the chair next to quinn’s at the breakfast bar, letting them both bask in the silence for a few seconds.

“last time we had a little bro-to-bro meeting in this kitchen at 4A.M. was when you told me about Rowan. And look, Ro is the best thing that ever happened to this family, but if you’re about to tell me you got someone pregnant again I’m really gonna freak out. I love being an uncle but you gotta learn how to wrap it up—“

“I’m not having another kid Jack. I can barely cope with the one I do have as it is,” quinn mutters, sending his brother an annoyed look that his mind would even jump to that conclusion. Not that he could blame him.

“Thank God. Besides my bet is on Luke and Vi having a kid next. Those two go at it like rabbits, at least now that Luke’s gonna be in Jersey it’ll lower the chances you know?” Jack says and Quinn lets out a soft laugh at his little brother’s disgusted tone.

“Let’s not put that out into the universe,” quinn jokes and jack hums in agreement.

“so if there’s not another little quinn on the way, what’s keeping you up this time of night Quinny?” jack asks softly, bumping his shoulder into his brother’s and Quinn lets out a shaky breath as he meets jack’s worried, blue eyes.

Maybe it’s because those blue eyes remind him so much of his mom’s that Quinn’s resolve melts away immediately as he tells his brother about the latest predicament he found himself in.

“well just start start up interviews again when you get back to Van. Ask some of the guys on the team who has kids, maybe they can recommend you someone they trust,” jack suggests as if quinn hadn’t already thought of and done that himself. jack must have seen the expression on quinn’s face because he doesn’t even let him get a word out before he speaks again.

“I don’t remember you being this selective when we were younger,” jack mutters and quinn scoffs

“yeah well I’m not choosing what toy to play with or who share my snacks with on the playground jack. this is my child’s happiness and safety on the line, I’ll be as selective as I damn well please,” quinn snaps, and jack puts a hand on his brother’s shoulder, squeezing reassuringly.

“it’s gonna be okay. I’m sure you’ll find someone before the season starts. and if you don’t, and it comes to that, i’m sure mom and dad will fly out and be there as long as you need them,” jack suggests and quinn can’t help it as the feeling of panic settles in his chest and wraps around his throat at the idea of his parents rearranging their lives because he can’t get his own together.

he’s the oldest brother. he’s the captain. he’s the dad. he’s supposed to be the one looking after people; helping them figure things out and supporting them, not the other way around.

the thought of burdening others with his problems, physically made him ill. or maybe it was the thought about why he needed a nanny at all. the fear that he wasn’t present enough in his own son’s life. that he was an absent father.

with a mother that couldn’t get rid of him fast enough and a father that couldn’t even put him to bed every night. quinn was bound to screw his kid up for life.

jack’s face comes into view as he twists quinn’s chair, forcing him out of his deprecating thoughts.

“hey , no matter what happens. we got you, okay? someone’s gonna be there. mom, dad, me, luke, someone will be there if you need us quinn. I don’t care if I need to take a leave of absence from the team for a few weeks and be babysitter while you figure some stuff out. If that’s what we need to do, we’ll do it. And we’ll cross that bridge if and when we get there. I don’t say it nearly as often as you deserve to hear it but you’re a good brother Quinny, and you’re a great dad, and you’re about to be the best leader in the league,” jack says and quinn struggles to swallow past the lump in his throat

“crosby’s not retired yet you know,” quinn replies to the “best leader” comment and jack sends him a grin

“I know. My big brother’s always gonna be the best at everything in my eyes tho,” the words slip past jack’s lips and he laughs as quinn shoves him away slightly

“now you’re just trying to make a grown man cry and it’s mean,” quinn says and jack squeezes his shoulder one more time before going to grab a glass out of the cabinet. the original task he was coming down here to do…

“go to bed. i’m sure Ro is gonna wake up any minute and be looking for you,” jack says

“he’s passed out between luke and vi actually,” quinn says, grinning cheekily as jack laughs

“well that’s one way to keep them quiet.”

[l0stfoster]

Paul anon here to say eeeeeeYEAHHHHHHHHHHHHH I LOVE ME SOME CURSED PAUL DOODLES THATS MY SCRUNKLY BOY IM LOEHEVDJDGUEHE I LOVE PAUL HOLDEN

I wanna know more about the feather situation now tho ohhhh you got me intrigued ohhhh my goddddd

And paul just thinking and knowing hes the reason johnny’s in a wheelchair and that’ll probably haunt him for the rest of his life cuz now hes so associated with the greasers he probably knows johnny a lot better now and ohhh im gonna be sick . He probably has so many feelings about the shit he did b4 he was kicked out of the house ohhhh my sweet boy i love you so bad

Paul anon I hope you know you're an icon among the writers. Novva has previously expressed how much they want to put you in a jar and observe you (/pos)

As always I am so joyous that you're enjoying Paul here hehe. I've said it once and I'll say it again. Canon Paul can go kick rocks, Cursed Paul, on the other hand, needs a break from me. I talk a lot below so yeah another below the cut.

The feather situation was a little thing I'd thought about recently, since I've brought up to the writers before about how Two would eventually offer Paul a feather for flock marking, and Paul, by god, does NOT want the feather. Not only does he feel like he doesn't deserve it for what he's done; but it proves something about himself too- that he's getting attached. What the fuck does it say about him if he begins to connect with these people? It doesn’t help the guilt, that’s for sure. Two tries for probably months to get him to take it; literally days on end of offering and being ignored or shrugged off- finally, Paul takes it, but he doesn't wear it, nor does he keep it on his person. The only reason Paul wears it visibly for the first time is because god DAMN does Two pull off some REALLY good sad, pathetic bird eyes (and Dally looks ready to kill him for upsetting Two-Bit, so.)

He just gets so damn unlucky with the timing and circumstances surrounding it. Not only do the harpies already hold beef with him because of Two’s original jumping and the feather issue (most of them are clueless to the fact that Two’s forgiven him, while others are aware and have kinda chilled), but having a soc who’s harmed one of their own in their territory does not sit well with a majority of them, even all these months later; something especially impactful to the Shepard’s Gang. The second one harpy spots Paul with this feather, the immediate assumption is that he’d taken it just as he did with the first one.

I don’t talk about the Shepard’s all too much, but this is a good time to mention that Two and Tim are pretty good friends— so, well, he takes this as a matter that he can settle himself; and it’s a good way to warn this rich boy imposing on their territory that he’s on strike two of three, whether he’s one of the cursed or not.

Paul Gets Jumped, Part 2. It’s definitely not as bad as when the socs got him because, despite their gripes, Tim is half aware that Darry does gaf about this guy (he’s very out of the loop, and doesn’t even know the two are dating). As bad or not, it does freak Paul the hell out due to how familiar it felt to the first time he was jumped. That’s called trauma big guy, you and Johnny can bond over shaking like chihuahuas when you walk home alone. They take the feather away from him too, and you bet your ass he will NOT ask Two-Bit for another one because he doesn’t want him thinking Paul had purposefully disposed of it, especially with how often he’d been turning it down. This mf also ends not up being very fond of harpies outside of the ones he knows (ie; Two, Mrs. Mathews, etc) for a little while. Refuses to walk outside the house unless he’s got someone else with the gang. Two dive bombs on and grabs Paul while he’s walking home once and the entire East side loses power for like 5 hours lmao. Two was not happy when he found out about it too. Harpy: “Oh yeah we got this back from a soc while ago here" Two: Two: “-Isn’t that Paul’s?” Harpy: Harpy: “Th. The soc?” Two: “Yeah??? Paul??? Darry’s boyfriend?? This was his-“ Harpy: “I mean, he had it b- ohhh shit. You gave it to him on purpose.” Two:

Tim is very confused when a ruffled Two slams the door open and off its hinges at his house

Two, slamming the door open: “WHY WOULD YOU JUMP HIM WITHOUT EVEN ASKING ME ABOUT THE FEATHER????” Tim, half asleep on the couch: Tim: “..g’d mornin'?”

ON THAT NOTE Paul is,, so utterly haunted by both Johnny's and Two's disabilities, and that is absolutely not helped by the fact that they don't even seem to hold it against him. In Johnny's eyes, Paul wasn't the one who'd jumped him, resulting in him carrying the switchblade that killed Bob. He wasn't the one who held Pony underwater with the intent to kill. Two himself already knows that Paul didn't expect him to be burned as he was, nor was he the one holding the lighter. The blame the gang directs at him varies; especially when they see that the two who fell victim don't even seem to be mad about it. I think that a large reason as to why Pony throws his blame at Paul for Johnny is because, well, Bob's not around to take it. He's an emotional teen who's taking it out on the person he knows had some correlation to it. Besides, I think all of us know Pony blames himself for the church fire; directing that anger at Paul makes it easier to cope.

But yeah, Paul's practically eaten alive by the guilt. It sure as hell doesn't help that he already feels bad for being directly related to the witch that cursed Tulsa.

[prosperdemeter2]

Fuck it Friday - neighbors!AU

Coming soon 😉 @mattsire @wildlife4life

“Chris,” Eddie called out once they were inside. “Company.”  “Patty!” Chris cheered when he saw the baby in his father’s arms. “Daddy, you met Patty!”  Pat started to cry. She was awfully quiet which was… disconcerting considering babies weren’t usually quiet. Apartment 3B looked crushed by the start of it, and he swept her perfectly out of Eddie’s arms and into his own, “Oh, baby girl, I know,” he soothed. “You don’t feel good, I’m so sorry.”  “Oh no,” Christopher empathized from the table. “Is Patty sick?” “Think so, bud.” Eddie answered and pushed Apartment 3B towards his couch. “Sit.”  “Bossy.” Apartment 3B muttered, a trace of humor in his eyes.  “You got in at the same time I did.” Eddie reminded him pointlessly and waited until he was seated to grab the in-ear thermometer from under the kitchen sink. “Okay,” Eddie shook it and turned it on, waiting for the screen to light up before placing it softly in Pat’s ear as she breathed harshly against her father’s chest. “Has she managed to eat anything?”  “Yeah,” Apartment 3B reached up a hand to hold the thermometer in place. “I thought she was teething at first, but she’s three months old, you know? Pretty early for that to start.”  “Mm,” Eddie hummed and settled on the coffee table. “Not always. Did you check her gums?”  “Yeah,” Apartment 3B defended. “I’m a paramedic, man, I’ve checked everything I could think of.”  Eddie blinked, “Paramedic?”  “Yeah.” Apartment 3B shrugged. “Well, no, not technically, since I haven’t passed the certification yet, but I’m working on it, you know? And I’m out of my probationary year so I kind of know what I’m doing? I could call Hen but no one at the station really knows about Pat yet and I don’t really want to explain to them that they were right, you know?”  “No?”  “I’m not just this irresponsible guy, right?” Obviously, since the guy was a paramedic or, at least, a firefighter. And here Eddie had been… judging him for coming home late from work like Eddie wasn’t doing the same thing. “It’s not my fault that Abby had her, named her, and left without telling me she was pregnant.”  “This is so much information to be getting before I’ve even finished a cup of coffee.” The thermometer beeped. 99. “She might have an ear infection.”  “I don’t know how to give a baby antibiotics.”  “Luckily, they tend to clear themselves up.” Eddie said with a laugh. “And a warm compress might just help ease the discomfort.” He stood up, wincing as his knees cracked and left the thermometer on the table. In the kitchen, Christopher was watching them with a concerned crease to his brow, his glasses slipping down his nose. “Patty’s fine, bud. Just a little sick.”  Chris chewed on his lip. “Is Buck okay?” He asked when Eddie turned on the faucet and grabbed a clean washcloth to hold under the hot water tap.  “Buck?” Eddie echoed, glanced at his son and then over at Apartment 3B. Pat-Patty and Buck. “Yeah, bud, he’s just worried.”  “You get really worried when I’m sick.” Chris said slowly.  Every good parent should. “Yeah.” Eddie agreed and rested his hip on the counter as the water heated up. “How often do you see Buck and Patty?”  “They’re friends with Carla.” Chris explained with a shrug. “They’re nice. Buck’s a firefighter.”  “You don’t talk about them.”  Chris shrugged again, “I don’t tell you about Carla’s boyfriend either.”  “Carla has a boyfriend?”  Christopher flushed, “You didn’t hear it from me.” 

[merwgue]

Why Feyre Shouldn't Have Been High Lady of the Night Court (and Why Lucien & Elain Shouldn’t Lead the Day Court Without Putting in the Work)

Alright, let’s get one thing straight: being the High Lady or High Lord of a court isn’t about looking pretty, having magical powers, or being able to swing a sword. It’s not some fantasy crown you can just plop on your head and suddenly you’re ruling a kingdom. No, being a leader is about more than just political power—it’s about knowing the people, their culture, their traditions. It’s about being part of the community, not just ruling it from a fancy chair.

And that’s where we run into a problem with Feyre. I mean, bless her heart, but let’s be real: three months in the Night Court, and boom, she’s High Lady? It’s like showing up to a new job, sitting in a few meetings, and then declaring yourself CEO. Girl, you haven’t even figured out where the coffee machine is yet!

The Night Court has centuries of history, deep-rooted traditions, festivals, and customs that Feyre couldn’t possibly know in just a few months. She was still figuring out the whole “Inner Circle” dynamic and hadn’t really gotten to know the people or the intricacies of the court’s culture. And yet, she’s handed the title of High Lady like it’s a participation trophy. Sure, she may have bonded with Rhys and the gang, but knowing a few people in power isn’t the same as understanding the heart and soul of an entire court.

Leading isn’t just about power and politics—it’s about making people feel seen and heard. It’s about knowing what makes them tick, what they value, and how they celebrate. How can you guide people if you don’t even understand what they’re all about? How do you unite a court when you don’t know what unites them? Leadership isn’t just about making decisions; it’s about connecting with the people you’re leading. And let’s be real, if you don’t know the culture, you’re going to end up making some pretty awkward blunders along the way.

Now, let’s talk about Lucien and Elain, because if they become High Lord and High Lady of the Day Court without putting in some serious time there, I’m holding them to the same standard. I love Lucien, don’t get me wrong—he’s my cutey patootie—but leading a court isn’t just about showing up and throwing your weight around. Lucien hasn’t been a part of the Day Court as an adult, and Elain… well, let’s just say her resume in court politics is a little thin.

If Lucien and Elain waltz into the Day Court and start calling the shots without first understanding the history, the culture, and the people, it’s going to be a disaster. They need to spend some serious time under Helion’s wing, learning about the traditions and festivals, understanding what makes the Day Court tick. Otherwise, they’re just going to look like tourists trying to lead a country they don’t understand. It’s like trying to host a party in a house you’ve never been in before—you’re bound to knock over a few vases and spill some drinks.

And don’t even get me started on the whole "High Lady of the Night Court" situation again. Leading isn’t just about making political decisions or winning battles. It’s about fostering a sense of community. It’s about celebrating the court’s culture and traditions, making sure people feel united. If you don’t even know what those traditions are, how can you possibly lead? Feyre got the title before she had the chance to immerse herself in the Night Court’s customs, and that’s a problem. Imagine if she accidentally trampled over centuries-old traditions because she didn’t know any better? Awkward.

At the end of the day, leadership is earned, not handed out like candy at a parade. Feyre, Lucien, Elain—they all need to put in the time to really know the courts they’re leading. It’s not enough to just have power. You have to understand the people, the culture, the history. Otherwise, you’re just a figurehead with no real connection to the court. And let’s be real, nobody wants that.

So, no shade to my guy Lucien, but if he and Elain take the reins of the Day Court, they better put in some work. And Feyre? Well, maybe next time she could spend a few years learning the ropes before jumping straight to the top. It’s not like we’re in a rush or anything, right?

Ty @ae-neon for letting me take inspo of your idea💞❤️

[miraculouslbcnreactions]

Hello! What do you think about Natalie, her writing and fandom treatment? I find it fascinating that despite all the evil, she has so many fans, and even those who salt on ML and the Agrestes heavily often portray her as cool and/or sympathetic.

Prior to season five, I had mixed feelings about Nathalie. I like badass female villains, but I don't like women being idiots over men. Those were her two defining traits in season three and four, so my attitude was mostly, "can we please switch her motivation so that I can love her? I really want to love her because, if we remove the romance crap, then she reminds me of Shego and the world needs more Shegos!"

Then season five hit....

I utterly despise Nathalie's season five writing and think it makes her look weak, cruel, and ineffectual. I have no idea why so many people adore her and are excited that she's Adrien's new mom. She is not meaningfully better than Gabriel. In fact, season five Nathalie bothers me more than Gabriel. Why? Because Gabriel is the villain. He's allowed to be villainous. When Nathalie was a villain, the same rules applied. But the show claims that she's good now and yet she does nothing meaningful to stop Gabriel even though she could have.

Nathalie lives in the Agreste mansion, knows all of Gabriel's secrets, and has access to his secret lair. We also see her pin Gabriel to a table, undo his senti commands, and boss him around without any retaliation. He just rolls over and takes it. This is not the setup for a weak willed woman who sits idly by crying woe is me because she has no true power, yet that's basically what Nathalie is in season five. The first part of the final even outright confirms that Nathalie knows Gabriel's ultimate plan:

(A Tsurugi Industries pop-up appears on the screen.) Ad voice: After months of research, Tsurugi Labs have found the antidote– Nathalie: (Swipes the pop-up away.) He's going to finally do it...

So why didn't she find a way to contact the heroes and tell them what was going on? Why did she wait until she was dying to do something? Right after the above line, she grabs her crossbow and goes off to find Gabriel in a moment that made me roll my eyes. It's such blatant pathetic fan service. Only now when Nathalie is too weak to make a difference is she finally allowed to make a token effort to stop the man that she's been babying all season.

If Nathalie was allowed to be the kind of character they wrote her to be, then she would have acted much sooner and to greater effect. For example, imagine if her akumatization was just a ruse to get to the heroes. Once she loses and Gabriel can no longer see what's going on, she calls on the heroes to wait and then tells them everything, offering to help stop Gabriel. That's the kind of shit I'd expect from Nathalie's character.

Instead she just lays around in bed and occasionally pleads with Gabriel to change his mind like in this scene from Intuition:

Nathalie: Gabriel, you may only have a few weeks left like this... and I don't have much more than that. Maybe it's time to stop chasing after the Miraculous and start looking for a solution for Adrien. Make sure he's not alone once we're gone. (Hearing these words, Gabriel's eyes start to fill with sadness. Nathalie places her hands over Gabriel's.) Nathalie: Do it. For Emilie.

Nathalie, you have known this man for literal decades. Why do you expect this to work? Wake up and take charge, woman! Tell Adrien yourself! Help the heroes! Right your wrongs! You are literally dying! What do you have to lose? She honestly comes across pretty hypocritically here because, as she pointed out, they are both actively dying, which will leave Adrien alone, and yet Nathalie also does nothing to prepare Adrien for that. She just wrings her hands and hopes that Gabriel will do the right thing for both of them and I just... GAHHHHH!!!

The only semi-meaningful thing that Nathalie does in season five is undo Gabriel's commands, but that's literally just her maintaining the status quo. It's only there so that the writers don't have to deal with the senti stuff having any real consequences beyond delaying the Adrienette kiss a few episodes. Nathalie isn't trying to free Adrien or get his rings into safe hands before her death. She's just withering away and listening to Adrien talk about Marinette while knowing that he will soon lose everything. It's legitimately upsetting to me.

The anger some people feel about Marinette's actions at the end of the final is how I felt about Nathalie for all of season five and Nathalie is a freaking adult who has known everything for years. Matinette only knows the truth in a context where she can tell Adrien for about two on-screen minutes and that's assuming that Marinette figured out that Adrien is a sentimonster from context clues which she may not have! No one ever explicitly told her the truth and she had a lot of things thrown at her in rapid succession. I would not be stunned if season six reveals that she's still in the dark.

Nathalie is not sympathetic. She has had full agency and knowledge throughout the entire show. She has never been forced to do anything. She is the only peacock wielder to wield it knowing that she would die. She willingly supported Gabriel even when it put Adrien at risk. She outed Adrien's identity in Chat Blanc. She snapped away sentiBug! She's a great villain! She is a piss poor maternal figure.

The final annoying thing about her season five writing is that her "changing sides" makes no sense! She has no idea why the time travel plan failed and her own FIRST HAND EXPERIENCE is that Gabriel will put those he loves before defeating Ladybug (see: Ladybug where Gabriel chose Nathalie over winning). It is such a glaring example of bad writing that it infuriates me! This is the exchange I'm talking about:

Nathalie: (on-call) Gabriel, did it work? Gabriel: No, Ladybug tricked me! She stole the Time Miraculous from me! (Nathalie coughs from her sickness.) You have to help me! Come up with a new plan! Ladybug can’t get away with this! Nathalie: (on-call) You had the Time Miraculous. You could’ve chosen to save Emilie! You could’ve chosen to save me! (coughs) But instead, you chose your obsession with Ladybug and Cat Noir. You're insane, Gabriel!

Please remember that Nathalie has been helping him behind the scenes since the start and is fully aware that every plan he's ever made has failed even though she considered many of those dozens-if-not hundreds-of-plans brilliant.

Gabriel: If it were to fail Nathalie, I could never forgive myself. Nathalie: You made a promise to your wife. You've risked so much for the chance to bring her back. (Hands Gabriel her tablet) Lila has been harboring her rage against Ladybug for months, and today wherever she looks, she'll see the object of her hatred, and as predicted, her anger will reach devastating heights. Your plan is perfect, sir. Gabriel: And you're sure you want to do this? Nathalie: I will always be here for you. We will succeed.

Why is she suddenly so sure that this plan was different? What made her go from encouraging Gabriel to take risks to calling him insane? Why is she suddenly convinced that Gabriel can't possibly win and needs to focus on Adrien when she never said a word during the multiple akumas that directly threatened Adrien's life?

The meta reason is that the writers needed her to act as if she'd been watching the episode so that she wouldn't blindly support Gabriel anymore, allowing them to do the senti BS without it being meaningful to the story. The in show reason? I've got nothing. It is jarring to watch this while remembering that season four ended with Nathalie being given ownership of Adrien and willingly accepting that task, even going so far as to issue senti commands to "Adrien" to make him obey, which does not instill confidence in her parenting skills.

It's just so freaking infuriating. It would have been so much better if Nathalie was allowed to die and we got Emilie back. Nathalie did absolutely nothing to deserve a magical healing and I've been curious about Emilie since day one.

[flickering-nightfall]

Wiggles! Feel free to use them. -Drive link- has alternate versions.

The rest of the slugcats + an alt Moon are under the cut.

[whumpingandsmilinglikeanidiot]

Whumpee thinks Caretaker is their new master. Good trope, right? But check this out;

Caretaker doesn't notice.

Because the morning after the day they were rescued, all Whumpee did was get Caretaker a cup of coffee. It was only after then that Whumpee realized new master new rules, and Caretaker might not like coffee at all. So after an hour or so of a panic attack, Whumpee decides to stay put and not do anything.

But Caretaker didn't say anything about that coffee, so Whumpee should probably keep doing that?

And so, every morning, Caretaker gets a cup of coffee, says thank you, that's a nice gesture, and gets done with the day, while Whumpee tries to stay as quiet and unnoticed as possible. Not angering Caretaker is their top priority. Caretaker notices Whumpee is really, really quiet, but hey, they might just like it quiet. They do seem a little scared, but they've been putting off well, so Caretaker is positive that they'll get better with time.

Then Caretaker hears Whumper liked a cup of coffee every morning.

That's.. a strange coincidence.

I hope that's a coincidence.

And they finally try to talk to Whumpee about it, and Whumpee breaks into tears and Caretaker realizes what a mess this is,

[alexisnotstraight]

!!!

[alchemistc]

Tommy and Eddie both annoyed with each other for taking up Bucks free time but fully aware that this is a ridiculous notion and Not Fair to the other so they keep dancing around it but also taking it to the mat - stumbling out of Tommy's garage sweaty and maybe a little bruised sometimes and still refusing to admit they want more one on one time, meanwhile Buck is happy Eddie's getting out some aggression in a healthy (he thinks) way and super into the way Tommy's got a whole like, boob window going on every time he wears that white undershirt he mostly only wears when he's working out or tinkering under the hood of a car.

And they'll never tell each other, and they'll never tell Buck, but damn is it nice to be able to throw an elbow into the other guys gut every time Buck announces their next outing will once again be the three of them.

All of this comes to a head when Chris is back and Buck suddenly has less Eddie time and Buck invites himself to a spar because he thinks he might want to knee someone.

("Yeah we've been very politely beating the shit out of each other for months now, actually, the problem is you don't know how to not actually injure us while you're punching out your frustrations so unfortunately you're gonna have to sit this one out bud.")

[emilykaldwen]

"This thing is easily done. The prince sleeps beside her, but he has grown old. Three men should be enough to subdue him should he try to interfere, but I will take six to be certain. Does my lord wish this done tonight?" "Six men or sixty, he is still Daemon Targaryen."

a gift for @acrossthesestars

[tastycitrus]

Tim: Oh no! There's TWO Casses! Steph, excited: Wow! Tim: Steph, this is a bad thing. One of them is an imposter. Steph: Oh yeah. Duke with a gun: How do we know which one is the fake? One Cass, pointing at the other Cass: Shoot her! She's the imposter! *everyone immediately shoots the Cass who spoke* Damian: You idiot, giving yourself away like that. Cassandra would NEVER pass up the opportunity to die! Cass: Cass: Is that really how you guys see me? Everyone else: Yes.

[notasocialismjoke]

girlthings imply the possible existence of womanthings, an unfathomably horny word that immediately makes me think of lady dimitrescu