#I just wish I could be as happy as I should be but I know itll be crushing if king is alone again

[julymusings]

you're good to me, baby

with the roar of the fire my heart rose to its feet, like the ashes of ash i saw rise in the heat. settle soft and as pure as snow, i fell in love with the fire long ago.

or; because the red hood bleeding onto your living room carpet is exactly what you need right now [3.6k]

Jason Todd x fem!reader; based on this lovely ask; ngl this turned into a personal vent jason doesn't show up until 1k words in LMAO; warning there’s blood (duh) and reader is type A and suggested to have heavy anxiety; pre-established relationship where reader doesn’t know his identity + muzzle red hood bc HOT

Compartmentalize. Create baskets in your mind. Analyze the situation, and drop the corresponding emotion in the appropriate basket.

One: You had a fight with your best friend. She called you selfish because you weren’t enthusiastic about her new relationship. She just can’t seem to understand that no matter how happy you want to be for her, it’s painful to see everyone find safety in another person when you can’t. Every attempt at romance is squashed by something or the other that you keep doing wrong. I thought you were hot, your latest dating attempt had said when you ran into him and asked why he never texted back. But you’re kind of a lot. Not something I have the space for right now, you know?

Two: There’s an important presentation today, one that could determine the fate of your position in the company. Your coworker, the one who’s convinced you stole his promotion (he just flirted with the higher-ups while you actually completed the requirements), refuses to let you forget how much is at stake. All it takes is one misstep, one stutter, one hesitation, and he will take it as an excuse to demand your demotion— or worse, termination. You’ve been preparing for this presentation for three weeks. If after all that effort it’s still not good enough, maybe you should be fired.

The emotions here? Frustration. Anger. Exhaustion. Jealousy. Just to name a few. But there’s no time to dwell on anxieties right now, so you shove those thoughts aside. Drop them in their compartments and move on because, after all, if you can strip them down to their bones and find where they stem, you can yank those anxieties from the ground before they have the chance to root. And then there’s no need for unnecessary heartache, right?

(Who cares if the baskets are overflowing, crumpled fragments spilling over the sides like garbage in a landfill? Who cares if the room of your mind is so packed that you’re pressed against the wall and breathing becomes painful.)

The digital clock beside your bed reads 6:12. The numbers blink in and out of the window, their red dots and dashes taunting your heavy eyelids. You still have forty-eight minutes of peace before it will scare you awake. Its beeping will ring so loud and angry that the adrenaline from the startle will power you through your morning routine, and your beating heart won’t dare still to entertain wishes of just five more minutes. 6:13 now. You have forty-seven more minutes of peace, minutes which should be spent sleeping, giving your poor brain a break from itself. But you can’t. Every time you close your eyes and begin to sink below the level of consciousness, your heart pumps a house-special cocktail of cortisol that laces through your bloodstream and convinces you that if you fall asleep you will miss your presentation and you will get fired. The off-grid escape plan formulating in your head switches from hypothetical to tentative when your neighbors, apparently awoken to lust as well as tired by it, start going at it again. You want nothing more than to bang on their door and scream obscenities until they hate each other enough to never touch again, but you resign yourself to consciousness, giving up on the dream of what would now be forty-four more minutes of sleep. 

It’s Friday morning; only one more day to get through before the sweet release of the weekend finds you. (The whole weekend will be spent contemplating the start of a project, feeling like two days is not nearly long enough to complete anything, and dreading Monday until it finds you with nothing done and the same, endless cycle awaiting.)

After completing your morning routine 44 minutes early, you use the spare time to go through your presentation once more, just for good luck, wrapping up the third run-through just in time to hear your alarm to leave for work.

The presentation goes decent, at least well enough to quell any doubts about your ability to do your job. Your coworker ate his words for sure, and you might have enjoyed the look on his face had you not mentally checked out as soon as you finished your closing remarks. Rush hour traffic has the ice cream tub you bought at the convenience store dripping condensation all over the passenger’s seat and your hips hurt from being in the same sitting position for most of the day, but you remind yourself that peace is only a few miles out. Stopped at yet another red light, your grip tightens on the steering wheel. Breathe in. Breathe out. The line of cars starts to move forward.

When you get home, your frustration is close to boiling over. You kick off your shoes right at the door, your keys and bag following close behind.

Far be it from you to break down on the floor in the middle of the room, the plan begins to formulate. There’s a box of tissues on your desk– that can go on the nightstand, along with two of the chilled water bottles you keep in the fridge for after you work out. And you’ll need something for the tissues, right? The small wastebasket from the bathroom should be fine. You drag it over to the side of your bed, sitting in your usual spot to make sure you placed it at a reachable distance. You won’t want to get out of bed to wash your face after this, so a washcloth should go next to the tissues. And an extra one, just to be safe.

You keep a set of comfortable clothes ready, the nicest, softest pajamas you own that you only wear after an everything shower. This shower, however, is a quick one, not much more than a few minutes under scalding water to comfort you, if nothing else. The light pink pajamas are a high-quality cotton and you feel like you’re in the clouds when you slip into them. Remaining is the ice cream, which you set out on the counter right before your shower so it would thaw just enough to be soft but not melted, With everything in your room ready, you go to retrieve the ice cream but stop with a startle when you round the corner.

“Jesus,” you mumble.

He’s just sitting there, doing nothing except bleeding out on your cream-colored carpet. He’s spread out on the couch like he owns the place, head leaned back against the wall as he lets his injured arm hang over the armrest and drip blood and dirt onto your cream-colored rug. The liquid seeps into the expensive wool, staining it with reddish-brown hues and the scent of iron, and he doesn’t even notice.

“Hey.” The Red Hood lifts his head when he sees you.

On any other day, you’d be quick to action, hauling him up off the couch and sprinting for the first aid kit under the bathroom sink. Today, your arms are too heavy and your gaze remains rooted on the widening splotch of red against white. Your throat feels dry. ��You’re getting blood on the carpet.”

He peers over the armrest. “Oh, shit,” he curses, lifting his arm to hover it over his lap. He sounds robotic through his muzzle mask. His hood, pulled down to reveal his thick black hair curling at the ends from humidity and sweat, rests on his back.

I don’t have time for this, is what you want to say. You want to scream it in his face and kick him out for having the audacity to think he can come and go as he pleases, that you’re nothing more than a drive-through emergency room who will drop everything if he gets so much as a paper cut. But you can’t say any of this, and you do want him to come to you whenever he needs help. God knows he won’t go anywhere else.

Holding back your heavy sigh, you wordlessly walk to the bathroom. He takes that as an invitation to follow. 

It’s clinical. Rehearsed. Neither of you speak. It’s a partnered dance long since committed to muscle memory, steps you can take in your sleep. He knows to seat himself on the step stool you got just for him, for nights like these. He knows where to find the first aid kit and which supplies to hand you first. You know the exact steps to follow. Check the palms for abrasions. Antiseptic to the lacerations. Concussion exam. 

Maybe he can sense the air of tension surrounding you, because he doesn’t say as much as he usually does (though, granted, it’s still not much). It’s a reflection of your dynamic several months earlier when this arrangement began, back before you’d managed to chip away at the surface of his rough exterior. You notice the way his fingers curl against his thighs when you, somewhat carelessly, wipe the dirt from his skin with more pressure than necessary and the way his eyebrows tilt inward when you work slower than usual. You notice, but you ignore it.

We both know you have at least a dozen people who could do this for you. The words echo in your mind. Don’t act like I owe you this. If anything, you owe me a new carpet. These are things you wish you could say, but never will. Being realistic, you’ll probably never be able to say things like this. You’ll be subjected to all the shitty coworkers and unsympathetic friends and exploitative vigilantes of the world for the rest of your life.

This isn’t his fault, you remind yourself, but still, your lips turn down and your jaw feels tight with the effort to keep your face still, to not burst into tears right on the spot. In the second it takes for you to calm yourself, your hands pause. He notices. He says nothing. 

It’s not until you’re finished with cleaning the blood from his arm wound and giving him a wad of gauze to hold against it that he tests the waters and asks, “Is it too bad?” 

He sounds automated, but over the last few months, you’ve learned a thing or two about reading even these robotic actions. There's a certain quietness to the beginning of his sentence like he’s debating if he should say it or not. 

“It’s fine,” you say, shortly. 

“Sorry about your rug,” he says. He tugs at the strap of his muzzle with one finger, rubbing at the skin underneath the leather. “I can get the stain out.”

You retrieve the needle and thread from the kit and don’t respond. You don’t even look at him.

After a moment’s hesitation, he continues. “It’s easy. You just need salt and—”

“Okay.”

He goes quiet.

You don’t mean to be so tetchy, but you don’t have the energy for anything more. Every little thing has you feeling on the edge of shattering. It’s too much. It’s all too much.

It’s when you’re kneeled at his side, staring into the gaping wound on his bicep and trying to thread the needle, fingers trembling from the chill of the tiled floor with nothing but a layer of thin cotton to keep you warm, that it happens. He shifts on the stool, a mere twitch in an attempt to get comfortable, but it brushes his bloody arm against yours. Flecks of fresh red on the light pink fabric. First your carpet, now your pajamas. Your favorite, special, extra soft matching cotton pajama set, a rare splurge after your promotion that stood out among old t-shirts and sweat shorts. Ruined. Again, he doesn’t seem to notice.

“Did I say something?” Hood asks. He waits for your response, but when none comes, he adds, “I’m sorry if I did.” He speaks so quietly you may not have been able to separate his words from the whirring filter of his mask, if not for the chilling silence of the bathroom floor. The insulating brick walls of your old apartment building are something you’re usually grateful for, but tonight you find yourself wishing for the city’s commotion to seep through the walls. Something, anything to buffer his proximity to you.

You hear his inhale as he prepares to say something else.

“Can you just let me work?” You snap before he has the chance to speak again. It’s loud, louder than you’d ever dream of speaking to him, and he flinches. Your eyes shut in apology, but only for a moment before you get back to it. He looks away. His feet point towards the door.

He wants to leave, you can tell, and you don’t blame him. You just messed everything up. But you started this, so now you have to finish it.

You sit in silence for the several minutes it takes for you to clean his wound and stop the bleeding.

He’s not looking at you, gaze transfixed ahead of him on a chip in the paint. At least, you assume. It’s difficult to guess what’s going on behind the milky white covering over his eyes. His subtle body language can be read if you pay close enough attention, you’ve learned, but that’s not something you care to do right now.

(Maybe you noticed in the back of your mind that he’s not exhibiting any body language since you snapped at him, but the compartment in your head for guilt is already overflowing, so maybe you didn’t notice it, you tell yourself.)

You stare at your sleeve, at the patches of blood blooming like ink blots. The red and pink hues blend together behind your blurring vision. You sniffle.

“Are you—” Hood starts. Because now he’s looking at you.

“Excuse me,” you say, pushing yourself off the ground and stumbling out of the room without so much as a glance back at him. You stagger into your room, needle and thread still in hand, and push the door closed. The lights are off, and the darkness is calming, quieting your buzzing thoughts. You close your eyes and lean against the door. Breathe in. Breathe out. You continue this exercise, breathing in through your nose and out through your mouth to soothe your sympathetic nervous system, the same way a therapist instructed that one time you went. You wipe away the moisture that has collected in your eyes, roll out your stiff neck, dry your sweaty palms over your thighs. You toss the needle and thread aside, because they are definitely not sterile anymore, and take a few more breaths before opening the door and going back to the bathroom.

You avoid his face, following the lines of grimy grout between the tiles before resuming to your spot at his side. His inspecting eyes burn on the side of your face. You wipe down the forceps with a sterilizing wipe and rip open the plastic packaging for a new needle, holding it up to the wound, but your hand refuses to steady.

Another deep breath. Then another.

Hood sighs. It’s almost chastising. “I think I should go.”

“What?” You’re just surprised enough to be torn away from your thoughts and look him in the eye (mask) for the first time all night.

“You can’t do this,” he says, gruffly. “I don’t know what’s going on, but I’ll let you figure it out.”

You scoff. “Yes, I can. I’m fine.”

Before he can argue, you grab him by the wrist to hold him in place just as he starts moving to get up. He winces, but you keep your grip tight on him. You can feel his scrutiny through the cold, expressionless barrier of his disguise, practically track his pupils as they search your face.

You both pretend he couldn’t break from your hold in an instant if he wanted to.

“You’re shaking,” Hood says. His voice is much softer now.

You follow the turn of his head to your hand where it hovers the needle right over his skin. You are shaking. Trembling, in fact.

“No, I’m not.” It comes out as an empty whisper.

You focus all your strength on steadying yourself, but the harder you try to stabilize, the harder you tremor. Your other hand releases his wrist to clamp over your dominant hand and force it to stay in place. It guides the needle closer to the skin, but now your vision is blurring. You blink rapidly, but it’s not enough. The tears start falling. You look away from him, but a warm hand settles over yours. You don’t dare look at him, unable to bear showing him your shameful face, wet and blushing and screwed up in misery. You turn your face into your sleeve. Clamp your eyes shut tight, thinking maybe if you keep them closed, this darkness will swallow you up and he won’t be here anymore.

But the warmth of his skin on yours is the first feeling of softness, of relief you’ve felt in months, and then it’s gone. Your shoulders are shaking, quaking with the effort to keep your sobs quiet.

One finger ever so gently hooks around your chin, pulling it back up to face him. You keep your eyes closed, not wanting to see him see you like this, but the tears are still streaming. He brushes them away. Whether that makes it better or worse, you can’t be sure, because you cry even harder, snatching your face away from his grasp to muffle your sobs into the back of your hand. You don’t realize he’s pushed himself off his stool to sit cross-legged on the floor until you feel his hand circling your arm and pulling you closer. The tools in your hand clatter on the floor as your palms come up to press against his chest, fighting against him with half-hearted protests murmured through your cries. But even with only one good arm he’s too strong for you, and you’re pulled into him.

He’s so gentle with you, rubbing your back and resting his chin atop your head while you cry and cry and cry into his shirt. Several minutes pass like this, with your face buried in his chest and his good arm holding you tightly against him while the other dangles lamely at his side, throbbing with an intensity he’s trying to ignore.

When your sobs die down, and you’re sure you’re all cried out, you linger against him. He smells like smoke and gasoline, and his shirt is soft and warm from his body heat seeping through. His hand continues to stroke up and down the length of your back, even after you’ve quieted. The edge of his mask digs into your scalp where his chin sits, but it feels worth it. Your hands, still pressed to his chest, slide higher, completely of their own volition, out of a newfound desire to wrap your arms around his neck. You don’t hear it, but you can feel his sharp draw of breath, his chest rising quickly under your touch. Your hands lose their nerve at his clavicle as you hold your breath for fear of the smallest movement drawing attention to your forwardness. You wait for him to rebuff you, to lean away from your touch, or grab your wrists and pry them off. He doesn’t.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper. His chest finally falls.

Eyes opening, your thumb swipes over the edge of the red bat symbol just below his collarbone.

His movements pause, lightly gripping the fabric of your shirt for just a moment, before releasing it. “It’s alright,” he tells you.

You pull back from his chest to look at him, the way his cold and unfeeling expression stares back at you. You wonder from time to time what’s under the mask, but tonight the desire is overwhelming; you ache with the want to know what he looks like. The color of his eyes. What his mouth looks like when he winces over a deep cut or chuckles at one of your anecdotes. You wonder if his lips are soft or chapped. If he’d like it if you dragged your thumb across the bottom one.

The metallic odor spreading through the room brings you back to the present, and you hope the flush from your tears hides your cheeks’ growing heat when you realize where your mind had wandered. 

“Oh, fuck, your arm.” You speak in a watery voice, wiping at your face as the urgency returns to your senses. Though you try to move away, his firm hand on your back pulls you back in.

“Don’t worry about it, okay?” He says, resuming his caresses up and down your back. “I can take care of it.”

“Then why do you even need me?” You sniffle with a small smile.

He stays silent. But when you search his face, waiting for an answer, his hand moves to your side, palm sliding a fraction of an inch closer to your waist and fingers tensing, you can almost see through the mechanical muzzle to the way his lips shape the words. At least, he wishes you could.

You know why.

this was lots of fun to write and thank u for your patience ik i said i was gonna "knock this out in a day" 2 weeks ago😬😬 also we're gonna pretend they aren't just letting his open wound marinate for half an hour when it should be getting stitched up bc it's fiction ok? everyone say thank you mostly-imagines for proofreading this😚

but anyway happy new year!! it's been barely 2 months but starting this account made my year so much better🫶🫶🫶and ty for 500 followers that's crazy🫣🫢

[preiyers]

♱ TAKE A CHANCE — LUIGI MANGIONE X READER

SUMMARY: your friend group takes a trip to the beach during summer break and one night, luigi just takes the chance to tell you how he feels.

WARNINGS: friends to lovers, making out, humping in the hot tub

A/N: i'll be using random names for their friends and a part of this is inspired by a scene in to all the boys i've loved before and this post

show a little loving, shine a little light on me

you and your friends have been staying at the beach for almost a week now. you'd be leaving in two days.

the six of you were currently finishing dinner and then planning on walking around the beach and getting ice cream, but things changed when the group insisted on resting and staying in the hotel instead.

as the group walked back, luigi was getting teased by the guys as you walked with the girls of the group, looking around the beach and talking.

"come on man, just take the chance while we're still here and tell her how you feel." marcus tells him and he just shrugs.

"i don't know, it might change things." luigi says with a hand rubbing the back of his neck. he was interested in you the moment you asked him for help on a computation — the way your eyes lit up when he said he'd help you and how happy you got when he gave you an example and you got it right.

he still remembered.

little did he know, the girls were also giving you the same talk.

"you never know y/n, it could be a good type of change!" they all agreed as one of the girls nudged you.

as you guys walked, you came across a souvenir shop. you stayed outside, looking up at the sky as the wind blew your hair. marcus gives luigi a look to hang back and stay with you which he was already going to do.

“hey,” luigi said from behind, startling you a bit which makes you jump. “i didn’t mean to scare you.” you both chuckle.

it was quiet between you two for a moment. you didn’t know what to say, how to start the conversation and so did he. the sound of the waves crashing and the rustling of leaves filled your ears.

until he spoke again. “are you okay?” he turns his head to look at you, inching a bit closer.

you could see from your peripheral vision that he was looking at you so you turned to completely face him. you just smile in response and nod.

“just thinking about how we have to go back to uni after all this,” you sighed, looking back up at the sky and crossing your arms. “i don’t know, i’m gonna miss it,” you glance back at him and he was still looking at you. the look he was giving you was something you’ve never seen before, it was unreadable but it made you feel something at the pit of your stomach. “i’m gonna miss everything.”

it felt like there was a magnet pulling the two of you closer and closer or if the tiredness was just getting to you and you were imagining things.

“i get that, nights where we’d just spend having fun together and not stressing over assignments,” he said softly, placing an arm on your shoulder, pulling you even closer. “i wish we could stay here forever.” he looks down at you and your heads are closer now.

tracy, one of your friends looked out for you guys and told your friends about it which got them to all smile at the pair of you, giving each other knowing looks. “it’s so happening,” marcus mouthed at the group.

you smile up at him, you notice he’s looking between your eyes and your lips. your stomach churns and immediately break away, afraid of what could possibly happen and your friends could be watching.

“we… we should head back, they’re probably looking for us.” you force out a laugh, rubbing your hand on your forearm.

after the group was done checking out the souvenir shop, all of you went back to the hotel. you and luigi not speaking a word at all. they all noticed and tried to get one of you two to talk but just got smiles from the two of you.

“i’m gonna stay in the jacuzzi for a while, you guys can go.” luigi tells the group once you’ve reached the hotel.

his gaze finds you, but your head was down, not wanting to look into his eyes. you could feel the awkwardness in the group and some of your friends glancing between you and luigi.

he sighs and parts ways with the group.

no one spoke during the elevator ride and when you guys were walking to your rooms. until tracy reached for your arm. “what happened?” she pulled you back from entering your room.

you shrug, “i don’t know. we were talking, it was good and then i felt like something was going to happen,” you looked down, playing with your fingers. “i got scared.”

she places a hand on your shoulder as a way to comfort you. “aw hun, it’s alright.“ she pulls you into a hug and then continues speaking. “but you do know, that boy does like you, and i don’t know exactly when it started, but i know he’s liked you for a while now.” the two of you pull away and she couldn’t read the expression on your face.

“i should go to him,” she nods at you. “you think he’s still there” you ask and she instantly nods, removing her hands from your body.

“yes go right now, you got this!” she says, gently pushing you to leave.

you rush to the elevator, press the button quickly, looking up which elevator is closest to your floor level. once an elevator opened, you immediately went in and pressed the button to the floor. you mentally prepared yourself for what you’d say to him.

luigi, i like you. no. that was too forward. luigi, remember when we-

the elevator doors open which cuts your inner monologue off. you focused on your breathing as you walked to the area where the pool and jacuzzi were.

and there he was. his arms up on the tub’s rim, back facing you. as you walked, it was like your heart was gonna beat out of your chest any moment.

“hey,” you said softly, him now being the one startled.

he turns his neck to look at your figure, going closer to the tub.

“hi.” he responds with a small smile on his face.

you walk to where the ladder was, climbing and sitting on the edge of the tub, taking off your shorts to put your legs in.

“i’m surprised you’re here,” he says, looking down at the pool then up at you. “thought i made you upset or something.”

you look away as he said the last part, watching the bubbles come up.

“no i’m okay. why would i be upset at you?” you looked up, his eyes still avoiding you which makes you just want to tell him how you felt already.

he bites his lip, then turns his head to face you. you can’t seem to read the look on his face, the same as earlier’s. he just shrugs. “i don’t know y/n, i just thought,” he shakes his head and closes his eyes.

and you already knew.

you took your tank top off and got in the tub completely now. the two of you sat at opposite sides of the hot tub.

“do you remember how we first met?” he asks you, opening his eyes to look at you.

you nod, waiting for him to continue.

“you asked me for help on the chemistry computation and you were so happy when i said yes,”

“and you even offered to tutor me for free,” you smile at the memory. “it was freshman year; i knew no one in class cause i enrolled late and everyone seemed to like you for some reason.” you teased, and he shakes his head with a smile on his face.

“yeah, well, what can i say, i’m a nice dude.” he joked, which made you roll your eyes and scoff jokingly. “uh, well, on that same day, i told marcus you were really pretty.” he avoided your eyes once again, and you just blinked at him.

“since then, i’ve liked you. i liked you when we were partnered up for projects, i liked you even when you made comments about my frat, i liked you when you’d give me massages when i’d get back pains, liked you even when you dated your ex and cried a whole week over the break-up,” he listed down which made you blush. it felt like he could go on and on the whole night with the list.

your gaze softened as he smiled at you.

“what i’m trying to say is, it’s always been you.” his breath hitches in his throat, the weight on his shoulders now gone after telling you what he truly felt.

the two of you looked at each other for a moment before you moved to where he was seated until you were in between his legs. the tension between the two of you could be cut by a knife. you take a breath before speaking up.

“i like you too lu.” you place a hand on his cheek and carress it. he smiles at you before grabbing your leg and wrapping it around his torso, now you were face to face with each other. the light from the pool, shining on your faces.

“there’s no one like you, y/n.” he whispers before crashing his lips onto yours.

the kiss started off slow and steady, his hands slowly moving up from your legs to your waist while you wrapped an arm around his shoulders, trying to get him closer to your body if that was even possible at your current position.

your lips were moving in sync, tilting your head a bit as you start to feel his tongue trying to slip in. once he does, he glides one of his hands to your ass, squeezing it a bit before placing it on top of his straining bulge.

he moves your hips as his tongue explores your mouth. you moan into the kiss, fingers finding its way to his curly hair and tugging on it softly.

never would you have expected this to happen during your trip, but at the same time, this is all you've wanted.

he's the first to pull away, leaning his head on your forehead, still keeping your bodies close to each other. the both of you try to catch your breath.

you giggle a little as you place your hands on each side of his face, caressing his cheeks before placing pecks on his moles and then his lips.

"come on, let's continue this in my room."

lmk if u wanna be added to the taglist!!

[capuccinodoll]

Honey love, dark eyes

♡ Chapter ten ♡

Summary: You open the door to Joel, preparing yourself to hear what he has to say. WC: 9.9k A/N: Helloooooo! Wishing you all happy holidays! I hope your holiday season was wonderful, and that you enjoy reading this part. Be patient <3 I def enjoyed writing it lol Don't forget to follow capuccinodollupdates for notifications! love u all

“I... I know you probably don't wanna see me,” he said, his voice low, almost strained, his eyes dark and heavy with something blue, looking at you with controlled desperation. “But I... I... can we talk? Please?”

Your eyes blinked rapidly, lashes brushing against your skin in quick, involuntary flutters. Joel caught the movement immediately. Of course he did. He noticed everything about you, even now, even after everything. It was obvious he had startled you, but whether that made him feel vindicated or more like an intruder, he couldn’t tell.

The week had been hell. He had been hell. Work was relentless, a grind of demands and decisions that seemed designed to erode what little patience he had left. Coming home wasn’t much better—Sarah’s teenage tolerance for him was wearing thin, and he knew it. Her exasperated sighs, her eyerolls, the way she barely looked up when he walked in the door.

The last time you’d spoken, your voice had been steady, measured, almost clinical, which somehow made it worse. “I think you should go,” you’d said, calm and certain, slicing through the rising heat of his anger like a blade. “I just... I just need some time.”

Anger had only been the surface. Underneath, he was wrecked. Broken in a way that felt unfamiliar, even compared to the times he thought he’d been hurt before. While you spoke, his mind had fixated on Travis—his stupid smirking face, the condescending edge to his voice. It was all Joel could see, all he could hear, drowning out everything else.

He’d slammed the door of his house that day and told himself he was done. He wasn’t going to call, wasn’t going to show up, wasn’t going to see you again. He couldn’t. He wouldn’t. He told himself he was done. Done with you, done with all of it.

You won’t see her again. You don’t want to see her again. The resolve felt like armor at first, solid and impenetrable. But later, as he sat in the dark of his room, it hollowed out, echoing back every memory of you he couldn’t seem to let go of.

And now here he was, standing in front of you, stripped of any armor he thought he had. He told himself he looked calm, his posture straight, his face neutral. But his hands betrayed him, fidgeting with the edge of his shirt, his fingers curling and uncurling like they didn’t know what else to do.

“Joel,” you said finally, and it wasn’t anger in your voice. He heard that right away, though what it was instead, he couldn’t quite name. “Need somethin'?”

The coldness of your tone startled him more than he wanted to admit. Not anger. Indifference. He recognized it only because it was unfamiliar coming from you.

“Yeah,” he said, too quickly, the word tumbling out before he had time to second-guess it. “Yes. I... I need to talk to you. Please, can we talk?”

“What do you wanna talk about?”

Your question was measured, but it wasn’t an invitation. He felt his lips twitch into an awkward half-smile, the kind you used to find endearing in its clumsiness. Now it only seemed to widen the space between you. You both knew the answer; you were just making him say it.

“About everything,” he said, stepping closer without thinking. The movement was automatic, but the way you took a step back wasn’t. It hit him like a sudden ache, sharp and lingering. “My birthday. What happened after. Travis. Everything I said to you, everything I did.”

“I don’t wanna fight, Joel.”

“Neither do I,” he said quickly, his voice soft. “I ain't here to fight. I swear. Please, just... give me a minute. If you don’t wanna hear me after this, I’ll—” He hesitated, his throat tight. “I’ll respect that.”

Your head tilted slightly, a small, almost imperceptible motion. “You’ll leave me alone?”

The words landed hard. He felt it, like a stone dropping into his chest.

“If that’s what you want,” he said finally, his voice quieter now, his gaze locked on yours. “If that’s what you really want, then yeah. I’ll leave you alone.”

You shifted to the side, a subtle movement that opened a narrow space between your body and the doorframe. Joel hesitated for just a moment before stepping through, his eyes flicking to your face as his arm brushed lightly against yours. The contact was fleeting, accidental, but it sent a strange charge through him that he couldn’t quite ignore.

As he walked past, he inhaled deeply, letting the scent of your home wash over him. It was grounding, like stepping into a memory he hadn’t realized he was carrying. The air was thick with the comforting notes he associated with you—freshly brewed coffee mingled with the faint, clean sweetness of the textile spray you spritzed religiously on the couch cushions. Beneath that lingered the softer, subtler scents: the warm floral of your fabric softener, the trace of your favorite perfume still clinging to your skin, and something else he couldn’t quite name but had always recognized as distinctly you.

It was the same scent that used to cling to his shirt after one of your hugs, when his nose would inevitably dip into the curve of your neck without thinking. The thought of it now hit him like a whisper of nostalgia, equal parts tender and bittersweet.

Joel’s gaze swept the living room as he entered, and he paused, taking in the familiar organized chaos. Two mugs, each half-full, sat abandoned on the coffee table. Next to them lay the crinkled remnants of half-finished snacks. Soft blankets were strewn across the couch, their folds still marked with the shapes of bodies that had recently lounged there. Two candles flickered on the mantel, filling the air with the warm, tropical scent of coconut and vanilla. On the floor, two pairs of slippers rested haphazardly, as if their owners had kicked them off mid-laughter.

The first pair was purple, dotted with little blue hearts—Cassie’s, he assumed. The other pair he recognized instantly. The white pom-pom slippers, soft and well-loved, and he could still picture the Christmas he’d given them to you. You’d hurt your foot a week earlier, and he’d insisted you needed something sturdy to wear around the house. At the time, you’d rolled your eyes at the practicality of the gift but had smiled when you slipped them on anyway. After that, he gave you his other gift: the complete box set of Nightmare on Elm Street. 

Now, seeing them here, Joel felt a tightness in his chest, a painful warmth that spread through him as he took in the scene. This mess, this lived-in disarray, was evidence of you. Evidence of life. And he missed it.

For weeks now, his own home had been the opposite—too quiet, too clean. No lingering smells of scented candles, no forgotten mugs on the table. Sarah had been retreating to her room more and more, and the spaces she used to fill with her presence now felt hollow. The house smelled of little more than coffee, and the silence stretched long and thin, oppressive in its stillness.

“Have a seat,” you said, your voice cutting through his thoughts. “Want some coffee? Cassie made a pot before she left.”

Joel didn’t want a tidy house. He didn’t want a quiet living room. He didn’t want the emptiness that had taken root in his home.

He wanted noise. He wanted laughter echoing through the halls, the kind that erupted out of nowhere and carried long after the joke had ended. He wanted his living room cluttered with the evidence of conversations and evenings spent together. He wanted his house to smell like candles, fresh bread from the oven—burnt edges and all—and your perfume lingering in the air. He wanted the warmth of Sarah and Tommy and you, all of you there together, filling the house with life again.

“Sure,” he replied, watching as you moved past him toward the kitchen. His eyes followed the curve of your shoulder, the way the light caught in your hair, until you disappeared through the door.

He sat down on the couch, his hands resting on his thighs as his gaze landed on the coffee table. A book lay there, its spine tilted just enough for him to read the title: Jane Eyre. His fingers reached for it instinctively, brushing over the cover as memories flickered to life. Two years ago, you had insisted he watch the movie with you. He’d been indifferent at first, grumbling about how slow it was, but by the end, he’d found himself blinking furiously, swiping at the tears that kept slipping past his guard. You and Sarah hadn’t let him live it down, teasing him gently once the lights came back on.

A quiet laugh nearly escaped him at the memory, but it faded as you reappeared, two mugs balanced carefully in your hands. You set them down on the table and took the seat across from him.

Joel reached for his mug immediately, grateful for something to do with his hands. He lifted it to his lips, the warmth spreading through his palms as he took a sip. The coffee was strong and slightly sweet, the taste familiar and comforting. But as he lowered the cup, he couldn’t stop his eyes from drifting back to you, watching as you settled in place.

You sat next to him, the cushion between you a quiet, unspoken boundary neither of you seemed willing to cross. Your arms rested on your lap, fingers absently tracing patterns on your knee, while your eyes fixed on him—watching, waiting. He wasn’t looking at you, not yet. His gaze was locked on the mug in his hands, the coffee inside long forgotten, as if it were the only thing keeping him tethered to this conversation.

The silence stretched, uncomfortable and taut, until finally, he broke it.

“I’ve been thinkin’ ‘bout what to say to you,” he began, his voice steady but low. He didn’t look up, still focused on the mug. “How to say it, what order to put it in so I wouldn’t just… trip over myself and make it worse.”

You said nothing, your eyes trailing across his profile, noting the tension in his jaw, the slight furrow between his brows.

“And even after all that thinkin', there doesn’t seem to be an ideal way to do this,” he continued, his fingers tightening around the ceramic. “But I think… I think the first thing I gotta say is that I’m sorry.” He paused, swallowed, then lifted his eyes to yours. They were heavy with something raw. “I’m so sorry. For everything.”

Your chest tightened, but you forced yourself to hold his gaze, refusing to give him an inch.

“What’s everything?”

You already knew. Of course, you knew. But you needed him to say it, needed to hear the words from his mouth.

He swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “For not being enough. For not living up to what you needed. For being a coward.” His voice cracked slightly, but he pressed on. “I’ve been afraid—terrified, actually—and I hate myself for it.”

Your tone was sharper than you intended. “Afraid of what?”

“Of making a mistake. Of ruining things.” His gaze dropped back to his hands, his lower lip trembling in a way that made something inside you twist painfully.

“You already ruined things, Joel. You already blew it.”

At that, he looked up, his face pale, his expression something close to stricken.

“I know,” he admitted, the words barely above a whisper. “I know I did. But… I was hurt.”

You let out a humorless laugh, shaking your head. “You were hurt?”

“Yeah,” he said, his voice rising just a touch, a hint of frustration there. “Last time we talked, at my place, we said things… things that stuck in my head and twisted ‘round ‘til I couldn’t think straight. And then Travis—he blindsided me. He said things I wasn’t ready to hear, and before I knew it, I was just… angry. Angry and too stubborn to think if any of it even made sense.”

“You could have asked me about it,” you said, leaning forward slightly, your voice tight with restrained anger. “It would have been that simple. All you had to do was ask.”

Joel shook his head, running a hand through his hair, his frustration palpable.

“You say it like it’s easy. Like it’s that black and white. But it wasn’t. I couldn’t think straight. My head was full of these awful, painful thoughts, and I didn’t know if I could face the answer. I didn’t know if I wanted to face it. What if you told me it was true?”

“What if I told you it was true?” you repeated, incredulous, your voice sharp enough to make him flinch. “Joel, it’s me. Not some stranger off the street. It’s me. Why is it so fucking hard for you to talk to me?”

“'Cause it’s you!” he said, his voice breaking slightly as he finally set the mug down, turning fully toward you. “You’re not just anyone, don’t you get that? You’ve never been just anyone. You’re you, and that’s why it scared me so much. That’s why it’s always scared me.”

You stared at him, your hand brushing against your neck as you tried to process his words.

“What does that even mean?” you asked, your voice quiet but loaded with frustration. “I’m me, but you treat me like I’m a stranger. You accuse me of things I would never do. How does that make sense?”

“It doesn't make sense, I know,” he said, his voice soft now, filled with remorse. “I know, and I’m sorry. I should have—”

You cut him off, leaning closer, your tone sharp and unforgiving.

“I talked to Travis, Joel. He told me everything. He told me what he said to you—that he implied we’d slept together that night.” Your voice faltered for a moment, but you steadied it. “And it was a lie. He lied to you. And you didn’t even stop to think. You didn’t come to me. You just believed him.”

“I know,” he said again, his voice a little stronger this time, though his eyes dropped to the floor. “I know it was a lie. I know that now.”

Your brow furrowed in confusion, anger bubbling just beneath the surface. “How?”

He met your eyes, and for the first time that evening, there was something solid in his expression, something that felt like conviction.

“Travis confessed to me. Earlier today.”

You blinked, stunned, the words hitting you like a physical blow.

“What?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. “What are you talking about?”

“He came to my house this morning.” He paused, glancing at his hands like they might steady him. “When I saw him, I wanted to beat him to a pulp. I thought about it—what it’d feel like, what it’d fix. But he looked… pathetic. Like a wet dog. And I don’t know why, but I listened to him.” He exhaled sharply, his fingers curling into a fist on his thigh. “He confessed everything. Said it was all a lie. That he was angry that night, that he wanted to hurt me, hurt you, us. And that he was sorry.”

That morning, before Joel had even finished his first cup of coffee, the doorbell rang. He wasn’t expecting anyone, least of all Travis, who stood on the porch looking like he’d rehearsed this moment a dozen times but still wasn’t ready. There was a tension to his posture—hands shoved in his pockets, shoulders squared but uneven, like he couldn’t decide between defiance and regret.

Joel opened the door without a word, his eyes narrowing slightly, the kind of look that made most people hesitate. But Travis didn’t flinch. He cleared his throat, glanced briefly over Joel’s shoulder as though confirming they were alone, and began. His confession was brief but clear.

Joel stood in the doorway, arms crossed over his chest, his silence heavy and deliberate. Anger started to build in him, slow and deliberate, like water simmering in a pot. If he’d been alone, he might’ve said something sharp or done something rash—just enough to make Travis rethink ever stepping foot here again. But Sarah was at the dining table, half-hidden behind a glass of orange juice, listening to every word. It was too early in the day for things to escalate, and besides, Joel knew better.

“I don’t know you, Joel,” he said, voice low but firm. He kept his gaze on Joel, unblinking, but his body angled slightly away, as if ready to retreat if things got ugly. “And I don’t claim to know the whole story between you two. Don’t know all the details, don’t pretend to.” He exhaled sharply, a trace of frustration slipping through. “But I know enough to say this—she doesn’t deserve what you’ve done to her. Not a damn bit of it.”

Joel’s expression darkened, his jaw tightening, but he stayed silent, his arms crossed in front of him like a barrier.

Travis shifted again, this time squaring his shoulders, his voice growing firmer.

“Whether you deserve her or not... that ain’t my call to make.” He shook his head, almost as if he pitied Joel. “But, just be enough. Stop lookin’ for ways to screw it up. Fix it. Make it right.”

The last words hung in the air, sharp and unforgiving. Travis glanced back at Joel one final time before stepping off the porch, his body already half-turned away, as if to signal the conversation was over.

Joel’s jaw tightened, but he said nothing. He stayed there, rooted to the spot, as Travis turned and walked away without looking back. When the door finally closed, Joel exhaled slowly, dragging a hand through his hair before heading back to the kitchen.

Sarah was seated at the table, her cereal soggy in its bowl, her chin propped up on one hand as she watched him. Her expression was impossible to read at first—calm, maybe even detached—but there was a flicker of curiosity in her eyes, the kind that always made Joel brace himself.

He dropped into the chair across from her, rubbing a hand across his face.

“So,” she began, her voice light but measured, “are you gonna tell me what that was about, or should I start guessing? Because I can go wild with it if you want.”

Joel looked at her, his mouth twitching into the beginnings of a smile despite himself. “You don’t need to guess anything, Sarah. Eat your breakfast.”

She raised an eyebrow, letting the silence hang for a beat. Then she switched tactics.

"You have the afternoon off today, don't you?”

"Yeah."

“Can I spend the afternoon with Irina?” she asked then, her tone casual, like the question had been waiting for its moment to pounce. 

Joel eyed her suspiciously, leaning back in his chair. “Why do I get the feeling this is part of a larger plan?”

“Because it is,” Sarah said brightly, sitting up straighter. “But also because you’re smart, and I’m obviously your favorite child, so you’re always on high alert.”

Joel snorted. “You’re my only child.”

“Exactly,” she said, pointing at him with her spoon. “See how much you have to lose if you say no?”

“Fine,” Joel said, shaking his head. “But be home for dinner.”

“Can I stay over?” she asked immediately, her tone hopeful but strategic, like she was carefully laying pieces on a chessboard.

“Sarah—”

“Tomorrow’s saturday,” she interrupted, grinning now. “And besides, you could use some alone time. Don’t you think? You know, kick back, put your feet up, maybe even watch a movie. Something fun, preferably. You’ve been way too broody lately—it’s not good for your skin.”

Joel raised an eyebrow. “My skin is fine, thank you very much.”

“I’m just saying,” she said, widening her eyes for emphasis. “Take a self-care moment. Relax. Settle your affairs. And let’s be honest—at some point, you’re gonna have to get used to me bein’ gone. In a few years, I’ll be outta the house anyway. Might as well start now.”

Joel chuckled low in his chest, shaking his head. “You’re thirteen, sweetheart. You’re not leavin’ anytime soon.”

“Thirteen and a half,” she corrected. “Which means I’m practically halfway to twenty. Time flies, man. Better get used to it.”

He shook his head, a smile breaking through despite his best efforts.

Joel shook his head, letting out a quiet chuckle.  “ Come back for dinner,” he said firmly. “And finish your breakfast, smartass. We’re running late.”

Relief fluttered through you, but it didn’t stay long enough to root itself. Instead, anger rose, sharp and unyielding, burning through your chest like fire.  

“So that’s why you’re here,” you said, your voice cutting through the air between you. “Because Travis decided to clear his conscience? What if he hadn’t? What then, Joel? Would you have hated me for the rest of your life without even asking me about it?”  

“No,” he said quickly, his posture straightening as if bracing for impact. “Of course not. I wanted to come and talk to you before—”  

“How can I be sure of that?” you interrupted, leaning forward slightly, your voice cold and unwavering.  

His face shifted, his desperation barely masked. His eyes moved over your features, searching for something—an opening, a shred of forgiveness, anything to grasp onto. It was the look of someone teetering on the edge of losing what mattered most. And seeing him like that, so vulnerable and raw, sent a sharp pang through your chest.  

But you didn’t move. You didn’t let him off that easily.  

Joel sighed heavily, the sound thick with frustration and resignation. He looked back down at his hands, his shoulders sagging as though the weight of the conversation was pressing him into the couch. For a long moment, he didn’t speak. You watched him wrestle with his thoughts, his jaw tightening and loosening, his fingers twitching slightly.  

Finally, he opened his mouth, but no words came. He shut it again, his brow furrowing, his expression pained. He looked like he was trying to pull something out of himself that refused to surface. Then, with a deep breath, he ran a hand over his forehead, his fingers brushing through his hair before he finally lifted his gaze to meet yours again.  

His cheeks were flushed, the color spreading to his neck, and when he spoke, his voice was quieter but startlingly clear.  

“You could do the worst atrocities in the world to me, and I’d still come crawling back to you,” he said, his words landing heavily in the space between you.  

You blinked, stunned, your anger momentarily eclipsed by his confession.  

“I’d take it all,” he continued, his voice steady despite the emotion rippling just beneath the surface. “Every insult, every blow. At first, I’d probably bark back—like some angry dog—but it wouldn’t matter. I’d still come back to you. Over and over again. Until you decided I wasn’t worth the effort anymore. And even then…” His voice faltered slightly, his eyes darkening as he leaned closer to you. “Even then, I’d wait. I’d wait for you like some stupid, loyal, domesticated animal.”  

His hand fell lightly onto your knee, the weight of it grounding and electric all at once. His face was closer now, the warmth of his breath brushing against your skin.  

You stared at him, speechless, his words circling in your mind, unfamiliar and disarming. You had never heard him talk like this before, never heard him articulate his feelings with such painful honesty.  

Confusion flickered across your face, your brows knitting together as you tried to process what he’d said. But before you could respond, Joel pulled his hand back, his movements slow and deliberate, as though he was reluctant to let go.  

He sat back, his hand running along his jawline, his thumb brushing against his stubble in an attempt to soothe himself. His eyes shifted away from you, staring somewhere into the distance as he collected himself.  

When he finally spoke again, his voice was quieter, almost hesitant, but still carrying the weight of everything he hadn’t said yet. His eyes stayed fixed on some invisible point in front of him, his expression thoughtful and distant.  

“I’m a lucky man,” he said, the corners of his mouth twitching in a small, almost imperceptible smile. “Though for a long time, I thought life had it out for me.”  

The confession lingered in the room for a moment before he continued, his voice lower now, almost as if he were speaking more to himself than to you.  

“When I was a teenager, I had all these goals, y'know? Dreams that seemed so big and endless back then. And then every single one of 'em became impossible the moment Amelia told me she was pregnant.” He laughed softly, though it wasn’t a happy sound. It carried the weight of years gone by, of opportunities lost. “It took me a while to make peace with that. To accept that everything I thought my life would be was just… gone. My responsibilities changed overnight, and I wasn’t ready. Not even close.”  

You stayed quiet, your gaze fixed on him as he spoke, unwilling to break the flow of his words.  

“It was hard,” he admitted, his hand rubbing the back of his neck, a gesture of discomfort. “Harder than I could’ve imagined. But then Sarah was born.” His voice softened when he said her name, a reverence in the way he spoke of her. “And everything changed. Suddenly, none of it mattered anymore—not the dreams I lost, not the plans I’d made. Because I had her. She was all I needed to be happy, even when everything else felt like it was falling apart.”  

There was a pause, a stillness that filled the space as he collected his thoughts. His hands, resting on his knees, clasped together tightly, his knuckles turning white.  

“And then Amelia left,” he said, his voice dropping lower, his jaw tightening as though the memory itself was still too sharp. “When she walked away, I thought I wouldn’t survive it. I wanted to die. The only thing that kept me going was Sarah. She was my strength, my reason to keep breathing. And Tommy,” he added with a faint smile, though it didn’t reach his eyes, “even if he gave me more headaches than I could count.”  

His voice cracked slightly, and he cleared his throat, his gaze dropping to the floor. “Those years were… suffocating. I was drowning, trying to stay afloat for Sarah’s sake. I worked every hour I could, even when it wasn’t enough. And I tried so damn hard to keep her from noticing. She was just a baby, too little to understand, but I noticed. I noticed every empty space, every moment we didn’t have what we should’ve.”  

Joel paused, his fingers fiddling with an invisible thread on his jeans, his voice turning steadier as he continued.  

“Everything I did was for her,” he said, his tone resolute. “Everything I still do is for her. I didn’t care if I wore the same worn-out shoes for years, as long as she had everything she needed. I didn’t care about working overtime, as long as she had a good christmas, with all the things she’d ever dreamed of.”  

A soft smile crept onto his face, faint but genuine. “And then things got better. I started making more money. I was able to move us into a nicer place, give her her own room with everything she wanted—books, toys, a million stuffed animals. Seeing her happy was all I needed. Nothing else mattered. My own dreams, my own goals—they didn’t even exist anymore. I didn’t have room for them. All I cared about was her.”  

He exhaled shakily, his hands now clenched together, his shoulders slightly hunched as if carrying a weight he hadn’t quite managed to set down.  

For a moment, you couldn’t speak. His words settled into you, heavy and aching. Your throat tightened, and your vision blurred with unshed tears. You knew Joel was a good father—better than most. But hearing him lay it bare like this, recounting the sacrifices he made and the pain he endured, broke something inside you.  

He looked down, his voice quieter now, almost hesitant.

“I had no desires of my own,” he admitted, his words halting, “until I met you.”  

Your breath hitched at his confession, your gaze dropping to your hands, folded tightly in your lap.  

Joel shifted in his seat, his eyes finally lifting to meet yours. He was waiting, searching your face for a reaction. When you finally looked up, your vision blurred, a single tear slipping down your cheek.  

“And then you moved in next to me,” he said softly, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “And I became the luckiest man in the world. Because that night, on your birthday, I saw it. I felt it, clear as day, in your eyes.” His voice wavered slightly. “Did you feel it too?”  

You nodded, your voice barely above a whisper. “Yes.”  

Joel’s gaze flickered between yours, searching, probing for even the faintest shadow of doubt. But he found none. Your answer had left no room for uncertainty, and the truth of it settled visibly in his chest. For a moment, his eyes dropped to his hands, fidgeting restlessly in his lap. The reprieve was brief; his gaze snapped back to yours almost immediately, as if afraid to lose the fragile connection.  

“You took me completely by surprise,” he began, his voice low and unsteady. “I had this quiet, organized life. Everything was in its place, everything predictable. And then you came along, and suddenly I was thinking about futures I’d never allowed myself to imagine before. Futures where my purpose wasn’t just being a dad, where there was… more.”

His lips pressed together, and he glanced past your shoulder, unable to hold your gaze for long under the weight of his admission. “I tried to act on it. I wanted to. I told myself I’d tell you how I felt, ask you out properly, but I was terrified. You were such an easy part of our lives, mine and Sarah’s, that the idea of risking that, of losing you…” He clicked his tongue, shaking his head as though frustrated with himself. “I couldn’t bear it. I couldn’t.”  

His eyes returned to you, a mixture of resignation and determination clouding their depths. “So I swallowed it all. All these years, I’ve done everything I could to be the friend you deserved. To not let my feelings interfere. But if I’m being honest…” He paused, his jaw tightening as though bracing for impact. “I’d take anything from you. I’d come back to you every fucking time, no matter what. Because the thought of living without you—” He stopped abruptly, his voice catching in his throat.  

Joel exhaled sharply, attempting to recover, and then a faint, self-deprecating humor colored his expression.

“I know how pathetic I sound right now,” he said, his voice lighter but no less sincere. “I don’t care.”  

“Yeah, Joel, that’s pretty damn pathetic,” you replied, your lips curving into a soft, fleeting smile. There wasn’t much humor in it, but it was enough to ease some of the tension between you.  

Joel chuckled faintly, shaking his head as though chastising himself. He glanced down at the floor, his shoulders sagging slightly.

“I know,” he murmured, almost to himself. “I’ve been feeling pretty pathetic lately.”  

“Me too,” you admitted quietly, your voice tinged with an exhaustion that mirrored his.  

Silence stretched between you, not awkward but weighted. Joel’s hands stilled, resting loosely against his knees, though you could tell he was still grappling with everything he’d laid bare. You studied him in that moment—every slight movement, every shift in his expression—trying to parse the tangle of thoughts in your own mind.  

For Joel, the quiet was a reminder of how vulnerable he’d been. He could feel a knot tightening in his stomach, a lump rising in his throat that he fought to suppress. The fear of baring himself so fully gnawed at him, but it didn’t terrify him as much as losing you did.  

“I don’t regret that night,” he said finally, breaking the silence. His voice was steady, though his eyes remained fixed on the floor. “But I hate how it happened. I hate that our first night together came out of a fight. A fight where I was…” He trailed off, shaking his head. “Terrible to you. That’s not how it should have been.”  

“Oh, God. Stop that,” you cut in sharply, your tone carrying the faintest edge of irritation. You leaned forward, placing your hand firmly on his knee. “I’m tired of hearing you say the same thing over and over. Things are the way they are. Nothing more.”  

His head snapped toward you, his brows knitting together in confusion and disbelief. His lips parted, as if he wanted to argue, but no words came immediately.  

“I get it, okay?” he said eventually, his voice quieter but no less intense. “But I fucking blew it. Look where we are now. Years of keeping my feelings bottled up—for what?”  

You shook your head and pulled your hand away from his knee, covering your face as frustration bubbled to the surface. Your eyes burned with unshed tears, your cheeks felt hot, and bitterness churned in your chest.

“Why are you so uncomfortable with the idea of being more than my friend?” you asked, your voice trembling, broken and laced with helplessness. “If we had never argued, we never would have slept together, and then what? You would have spent your whole life being just that—my friend?”

Joel’s face contorted, a mix of anguish and confusion. “It’s not that, I... I...” He faltered, his words tumbling over themselves as his gaze flickered between his hands and your face, desperate to find the right thing to say. “Relationships are complicated, you know that. No matter how hard you try, sometimes things just... break. Feelings get messy, people hurt each other, and then it’s over. And after that? You’re left with the wreckage, picking up the pieces, trying to put them back together, and... starting over. And I want to be wi—”

“I’m not Amelia!”

Your voice cut through the room like a whip, sharp and unrelenting. Joel froze. His body went still, his eyes wide as he watched you rise from your seat, your palms pressing against your face to catch the tears that spilled freely now. A sob broke through your chest, raw and guttural, shaking your whole body.

Joel stood abruptly, closing the space between you with long, purposeful strides. He reached out, his large hands settling gently on your shoulders, trying to ground you, to pull you closer to him. But you resisted, your body tense and unyielding beneath his touch.

You dragged your hands down from your face, revealing tear-streaked cheeks and an expression so pained that Joel felt an ache bloom in his chest. He swallowed hard, his throat tight, as he took in the sight of you.

“Why do you have to make everything harder?” you said, your voice cracking under the weight of desperation. Your words fell between you, sharp and piercing. “I know what happened to you was horrible, Joel. I know. I can’t imagine how alone you must have felt. It hurts—God, it hurts—to think of you going through that. I wish I could go back in time and change it, spare you all that suffering, but I can’t.”

Your voice broke again, and you shook your head, gripping his arms tightly as if trying to anchor yourself. “I can’t change it, and neither can you.”

“I know, baby,” Joel said softly, his voice almost breaking. “I don’t—”

“No!” you interrupted, your hands squeezing his arms harder. “You know nothing! You don’t listen to me. You’re scared—this, us, it terrifies you because it makes you feel weak and vulnerable, and you hate that. I know you do, because I know you. I know you like the back of my hand, just like I know myself."

Your voice rose, thick with emotion, trembling but unwavering. “You’ve spent years building everything you have, brick by brick, because you know how fragile it all is. You know how quickly it can fall apart. And yes, it’s true—that’s life. That’s how it works.”

Joel tried to interrupt, but you pressed on, your words pouring out like a dam had broken. “But I’m not Amelia, Joel. I’m not going to leave when things get hard. I’m not going to disappear. Just look at me—look at me right now. This has been hell since your birthday, absolute hell, and yet I’m still here. I’m standing in front of you, listening to you, when maybe—probably—you don’t even fucking deserve it.”

Joel’s breath hitched, and his hands slipped from your shoulders to your elbows, holding onto you as if afraid you might disappear. His eyes glistened, his lips slightly parted as he took in your words. For a moment, the room was silent except for the uneven sounds of your breathing.

“I know,” Joel said abruptly, his words choking out in a way that made his chest tighten, like he was barely able to get them out at all. “I’ve been a coward all this time, but—”

“Don’t. Don’t tell me the same thing again,” you cut him off, shaking your head in frustration, taking a small step back, your space suddenly feeling more necessary than ever. “Yeah, real—”

“Can you stop interrupting me and just listen?” he snapped, his voice sharp, the calm restraint in it fraying just a little as he stepped closer, his hands landing gently on your shoulders, grounding himself in the movement.

He stared down at your feet, his gaze lingering there, not meeting your eyes, the words heavy in the space between you. In that moment, he felt desperate, like the situation was slipping through his fingers again, but somehow, there was a strange sense of vulnerability in his posture, like he was standing on the edge of a cliff with nowhere to go but forward.

His hands fell away from your shoulders, but he didn’t move, his eyes finally lifting to meet yours, his gaze unwavering and intense. It felt like there were a thousand unsaid things in the air, and still, he said nothing for a long beat, his mouth opening, then closing again as if he couldn’t quite gather the words.

“Everything you said is true,” he started, his voice quieter now, but carrying a weight in it that felt both final and irreversible. “And everything I told you is true. And I don’t care, not anymore. I’m done with it.” He moved his hand across the space between you, as though trying to sweep away the past, drawing an invisible line through the tension that had hung over both of you for too long.

You let out a slow breath, the question hanging in the air before you could voice it. “And what does that even mean?”

“It means that I want you, that I love you,” Joel started, his voice breaking slightly on the words, the confession so raw it felt like it was tearing him open from the inside. “That I need you. That I can’t… I can't help but resent a life without you.” He took a shuddering breath, his eyes burning, not quite able to meet yours. “I always thought I was fine on my own. I’ve been alone most of my life, you know that. I never needed anyone. I never thought I was missing anything, never felt incomplete. I felt perfectly fine alone.” He swallowed hard, his throat tight. His hands, which had been clenched at his sides, were now trembling, fingers curling and uncurling as if trying to hold onto something, anything, to keep himself from shattering.  

“And then I met you,” he continued, his voice barely above a whisper, like he was afraid to say the words aloud. “And I realized how empty I’d been. How much I’d been missing. How full I felt when I was with you.” He paused, his face contorting as if the weight of his own words was too much to carry. “And then I screwed up. I messed it all up.” His hands balled into fists at his sides. “And no, I’m not that cold. I’m not some heartless bastard. I need you. I need you more than I’ve ever needed anything. And I can’t—” He stopped, his breath catching in his throat, his chest rising and falling in quick, uneven gasps as he struggled to control the emotion threatening to overwhelm him.  

His eyes closed for a moment, as though he could hide from the truth for just a second longer, but when they opened again, they were full of something that felt like desperation. “I can’t live another day knowing you’re just next door, and you’re uncomfortable because of what I did. Because of what I let happen. Because of how I failed you.” His voice cracked on the last word, and it was like a knife to your chest, hearing the hurt in him, seeing how much it was tearing him apart to even say it.  

“I know I probably don't deserve you,” he whispered, each word like a burden he couldn’t bear. “I know that. And if you decide not to choose me, I’ll understand. I’ll walk away. I’ll stay away. I promise you, I won’t bother you again. But if you… if you just let me, one last time...” He faltered, his voice breaking as he looked at you, his eyes dark with pain and regret. “If you let me prove to you, show you, how much I love you... the way you deserve to be loved, if you let me do it for the first time...” He shook his head, his voice catching again, barely a whisper now. “I promise I’ll never disappoint you again. I swear it.”  

There was nothing left in his voice now but the ragged edges of a man who had bled himself dry in front of you.

“Joel—” you started, but before you could finish, he cut you off, his voice calm but firm, like a man who had already said too much but was determined to say it all.

“No,” he interrupted, shaking his head slightly. “I’m not finished.” His voice held an edge of something deeper now, like he had reached the point of no return. “You have to understand what I’m telling you. When I told you about Amelia, when I told you how much of a coward I’ve been, when I told you about how you changed my life, when I told you I was afraid—what I meant is, that’s why it cost me so much to do all this. But now? Now, it’s all insignificant. All of it. Compared to this. Compared to you.”

Your breath caught as his words settled in the space between you, and you could feel your eyes widen, your body stiffening with an ache you couldn’t place. You watched him, his expression flickering—his eyebrows tense, his lips parted with an unreadable intensity, his eyes dark and glistening, glossed with the unmistakable trace of tears. Your stomach twisted at the sight of them, the tears there but barely contained, and you realized how long it had been since you had seen him like this. Vulnerable. So impossibly vulnerable.

He leaned in slightly, his hands rising to cradle your face, his thumbs brushing the damp skin of your cheeks, as if he could steady you both with his touch.

“I love you,” he said, his voice steady but thick with emotion. “I always have. From the moment I saw you, I loved everything about you. Everything. The way you are. The sound of your voice. The way your face lights up when you smile. The way you move, the way you think, the way you feel. I want it all, I want it all with you. Please.”

The words hit you like a slow wave, gentle but relentless, and before you could stop them, the tears you had been fighting to keep in check broke free. They streamed down your face, hot and heavy, staining your flushed cheeks. Joel’s hands were gentle as they wiped them away, his touch tender, almost reverent as his calloused fingers traced the outline of your skin. He stared at you, as if trying to read the language of your eyes, but there was something in them he couldn’t name. It wasn’t sadness. It wasn’t anger. It was something similar to doubt. Uncertainty, maybe. Something that he couldn’t fix with a touch or a word, but something that still held him captive.

“I would kneel in front of you,” he said, his voice soft but laden with a kind of desperate affection, “and beg all night if you asked me to, sunshine.”

His words had the air of a joke, but the way his lips curled into a smile—slow and warm—made something inside you tighten. Something inside you broke just a little, and you smiled in return, the gesture pulling at the corners of your mouth. The smile felt unfamiliar, like it had been so long since you had smiled for him. Really smiled, without hesitation. And when you did, the effect on him was immediate, like a light suddenly flicking on in a room that had been dark for far too long.

Joel’s breath caught at the sight of it. He looked at you as though he had been waiting for that exact moment, for that exact smile, for weeks. The smile he had missed more than he could admit.

With a quiet, almost embarrassed chuckle, he pulled his hands from your face, his touch lingering just a moment longer than necessary. You stared at him, confused, as he slowly began to lower himself onto one knee, the movement slow, deliberate, as though he was going to ask something, something monumental and beg. But before he could finish the motion, you instinctively reached for him, hands gripping his sides, pulling him back up with a soft laugh.

“Joel, please,” you laughed, the sound light and disbelieving, as if you couldn’t quite believe what was happening. But in your chest, you felt a soft pressure—the weight of everything he had just said, everything he had just given to you. 

Standing before you, Joel didn’t give you a second to pull away, his hands moving with certainty, cupping your face with a tenderness that seemed almost fragile, as if he was afraid of breaking something. His fingers gently traced the contours of your skin, his gaze unwavering, like he was memorizing every detail of your face. 

“I fucking love you,” he whispered, his voice rough, the words heavy with an urgency that seemed to echo in the stillness between you. Before you could react, his lips were on yours—soft, tentative at first, like he was testing the waters, and then more sure, more insistent, as he kissed you again, and then again, and again, and again. Each kiss was brief, a fleeting press of his soft lips against yours, but each one held a weight, a quiet desperation that was impossible to ignore.

Your hands rested on his chest, the steady beat of his heart under your palms grounding you in that moment, pulling you closer into the warmth of his embrace. You could feel the tension in him, the way his body seemed to pulse with need, and you knew—without a doubt—that he was hanging on to every second, waiting for you to say something. 

"I love you," you whispered, the words slipping out involuntarily, caught somewhere between a confession and a plea. Your lips were mere inches from his as you spoke, your breath mingling with his in the small space between your mouths. As he kissed the corner of your lips, you felt the tremble in his kiss, the way his entire body seemed to respond to the simplicity of those three words. 

Joel’s lips curved into a smile against yours, and he pulled back, just enough to watch your face. His eyes searched yours, like he was trying to memorize something invisible, something that only the two of you could understand.

“I love you too, Joel,” you said again, your voice low but steady, your hands gripping the fabric of his shirt like it was the only thing grounding you. “And I’m sorry. Truly. If I hurt you—if anything I did made you feel that way—it was never intentional. I need you to know that. Nothing that happened with Travis was ever about trying to hurt you. I’d never do that.” You paused, your fingers tightening slightly. “But I get it. I shouldn’t have let it get so messy, not after what happened between us.”

Joel tilted his head, his gaze softening even further.

“We handled this a little badly, didn’t we?” he said, his voice edged with a hint of humor, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. His cheeks were flushed, his eyes dark and bright at the same time, his pupils blown wide like he was looking straight at the moon.

You nodded, the corner of your mouth twitching upward. “I think that’s putting it lightly.”

His smile turned rueful, almost sheepish. “I’m sorry—for all of it. I mean it. Please, forgive me.”

Your hands slid upward, fingers tracing the line of his collar, then moving to the soft skin behind his ears, the place where his hair curled just slightly above his nape.

“I forgive you,” you murmured. “It’s okay. I understand. And I love you.”

You leaned in, brushing your lips against his—just the barest touch—before pulling back again, almost abruptly. Joel didn’t move, his eyes flicking between yours like he was searching for something more in your expression. Your fingers played with the hair at the back of his neck, anchoring you both.

“But if you ever do something like that again,” you said, your voice soft but firm, “if you ever run away from me again, Joel Miller, I swear to fucking God—”

He shook his head quickly, cutting you off. “I won’t. I promise.”

You studied him for a moment, your eyes narrowing slightly, measuring the weight of his words. Then, as if deciding you’d had enough distance, you closed the space between you in one swift motion, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling his mouth back to yours.

This time, there was no hesitation. No shyness. No lingering doubt. Just heat and certainty, the kind that made the room feel smaller, the air heavier. Joel’s arms circled your waist, pulling you flush against him until there wasn’t a millimeter of space left.

When you finally broke the kiss, his lips left yours with a soft, audible sound, one that seemed to echo in the stillness of the room. You hovered for a second before kissing him again, this time opening your mouth, your tongue grazing his bottom lip. He groaned softly, a sound that vibrated from his chest to your mouth, and you smiled against him.

Somewhere in the distance, a shrill sound broke through the haze. His phone. It rang once, then twice, before falling silent again. Joel didn’t so much as flinch.

You pulled back, slightly breathless, your hands cradling the sides of his face. His lips were pink, puffy, his cheeks still flushed. His hair was mussed from your fingers, and his eyes—those impossibly dark eyes—looked at you like you were something sacred.

That man was yours.

“Cassie will be back any second,” you whispered, your fingers brushing through the locks that had fallen over his forehead.

Joel hummed, leaning in to press his lips against your neck, his mustache tickling your skin in a way that made you laugh involuntarily.

“I doubt it,” he murmured, his breath warm against you. “But we could go to my place if you wanna keep talkin'. Sarah won’t be back till dinner.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but his teeth grazed your neck, gentle but deliberate, sending a ripple of warmth through you that stole whatever you were about to say.

“Talk,” you managed, half a laugh, half a protest, as his lips pressed against the spot again, and the world outside the two of you felt very far away. 

“I wanna take my time with you,” he murmured, his lips brushing against your skin as he kissed a slow, soft trail up to your jaw. “I wanna do things right, without arguments or interruptions.”

You could feel the warmth of his breath against your skin, the weight of his intention, and for a moment, it felt like everything outside of this room was suspended. Time wasn’t rushing forward anymore—it was just the two of you, existing in this space, in this perfect, quiet moment.

But just as the last word left his lips, the ringing of his phone sliced through the air, sharp and unwelcome. Joel froze for a beat, the smile on his face faltering slightly. He pulled away, reluctantly, the distance between you growing just enough for him to glance at the phone screen.

“Convenient,” he muttered, his voice holding a note of dry humor, but the amusement quickly faded as he saw the caller ID. His brow furrowed, and he answered with a steadying breath, bringing the phone to his ear. “Yeah?”

You watched him, the way his posture stiffened, his focus sharpening as he listened. His brows furrowed deeply, his eyes narrowing. Your hand, which had been resting on his chest, stilled as you saw the shift in his expression, the tightening of his jaw.

He stepped back slightly, as if distancing himself from the moment, his hand gripping the phone tighter as his voice lowered, more urgent now. “Which hospital?” he asked, his words clipped. “Okay, okay, I’m on my way. Tell her I’m on my way—tell her not to be scared...”

You took a step forward, instinctively, your voice trembling as you whispered, “Joel...”

His eyes flicked to you, a flicker of panic crossing his features, but he quickly masked it. He stood straighter, listening intently, his body still but tense. “I... uh,” he hesitated, his gaze meeting yours, the weight of the moment sinking in. “I’ll be right there.”

The words hung in the air, and just as quickly as the connection was made, it was severed. He snapped the phone shut, his breath shaky as he shoved it into his pocket. His face had gone pale, the usual warmth drained from his expression.

“Irina’s mother is at the hospital with Sarah,” he said, his voice thick with worry. He ran a hand through his hair, the movement absent, almost frantic, as he turned toward the door, his steps hurried. You followed him, your heart now thumping in your chest, your mind spinning with the new reality of the situation.

“What happened?” The question left your mouth, but it felt cold, distant, as if the words hadn’t quite reached you. Your heart raced, the quiet stillness in your chest now replaced by a frantic pulse. “Is she okay?”

“She fell out of the treehouse,” he said, his voice breaking for a moment as he spoke, a touch of guilt in his words. “I... I...” He trailed off, unsure of what to say, his words tangled in the chaos of his thoughts.

Without another word, you grabbed your coat from the rack by the door, your fingers shaking as you pulled it on. Without thinking, you moved toward him, your hand pressing gently but firmly against his lower back, urging him forward.

“Come on,” you said, the urgency in your voice pulling him out of his fog. “I’ll drive.”

[jobean12-blog]

Lovestruck

Pairing: Javier Peña x female reader

Word Count: 4.2K

Summary: Little do you know, after being in the wrong place at the wrong time- that you've gotten yourself on the radar of some very bad men. Thankfully, you now have the protection of one very good man (and Steve, also good) but when Javi first lays eyes on you he knows he wants so much more than just to protect you.

Author's Note: Again, I apologize for deleting this post a second time. The tags are just not cooperating. I really hope things work this time! Thank you again to those who gave me notes, hope you can enjoy again! No reason for more Javi other than I can't seem to get over him and I don't want to so yay! He's been on my mind extra lately. Wishing you all a very happy New Year filled with love, health and happiness! Thank you for all the support and much love always! ❤️❤️❤️Divider by the lovely @firefly-graphics thank you Daisy! 🥰

Warnings: lots of tension and flirting, some soft sweetness too, Javi is forward but not in a bad way, he saves the day in more ways than one and might be in a little over his head (which he's not used to), fingering, smut (unprotected p in v- but just for fanfic folks lol)

Pedro Pascal Character Masterlist

“Keep staring like that and you’re gonna blow our cover man.”

Steve’s comment goes unnoticed as Javi continues to do just that. Stare.

You’re standing against the bar, drink in hand and talking with your friend, unaware of the pair of dark chocolate eyes glued to you.

“Hey,” Steve says again.

Javi tears his eyes away from you and pins Steve with a glare.

“What?”

Steve gives him an exasperated look. “You’re not supposed to fuck her. Just protect her.”

Javi grunts before finishing off his drink, his eyes sliding back to you as you saunter over to the juke box.

He’s been watching you for days now, his infatuation only growing the more he learns the little nuances of your body and the brightness of your smile. Barely conscious of his feet moving and Steve’s disgruntled objections, he starts toward you, unsure of his intention but at this point, unable to stop himself.

You shuffle through the songs on the screen, chewing your lip with indecision. His teeth sink into his own bottom lip in response, wishing it were yours. As he gets closer, your startled gaze flies up to meet his.

Lightning rockets through his system. If he thought you were beautiful in the photos and from across the room, it’s nothing compared to what he sees standing in front of him now.

He takes a step closer. Talking to women is like second nature to him, yet he finds himself stranded in silence, second-guessing everything that pops into his head.

And if he doesn’t speak soon, his closeness will begin to alarm you. Exactly the opposite of what he should be doing.

“I can’t let you do that,” he blurts out.

“Can’t let me do what, exactly?” you retort, turning to face him with a raised brow.

Your voice slides like silk across his skin and it takes him a minute to recapture his train of thought. He tilts his head toward the song on the screen of the juke box.

“Not that song.”

You smirk. “Elaborate.”

“Everyone picks that song. Aren’t you tired of it?”

You peek up at him, a laugh flirting around the edges of your mouth.

“Do you have a better suggestion?”

“Of course,” he replies. He tries not to stare at your lips. “I like to dance so for me, something like…”

He leans in and starts to scroll through the song list, his warmth and scent sweeping over you in a magnetic wave.

He stops on a song you don’t recognize but when it begins to play the beat is lively and makes you want to move.

Your eyes meet his once more, humor lurking in their depths. “I like it.”

“Oh yeah?”

You nod and with a sultry smile over your shoulder you head back toward the bar and your friend, an extra sway to your hips that matches the music.

“I can’t believe you just did that,” Steve says when Javi returns with a smug grin. “You could blow our cover.”

“How?” Javi asks before he motions for the bartender.

“I’m surprised you let a woman get to you like this.”

“Like what?”

“Are you just going to answer all my questions with more questions?”

The corner of Steve’s mouth lifts with his last string of words and he waits as Javi just looks at him blankly.

When the song ends Javi turns his attention back to you and he finds you watching him. Without a second thought he walks over.

He smiles at your friend then asks you, “what did you think?”  

“I liked it,” you tell him. “I’ve never heard it before.”

“I should definitely play another one then. And you should dance with me.”

He catches your sharp intake of breath and realizes you might be waiting for a significant other. He feels a sharp jolt of jealousy that surprises him.

“Are you here with someone?” he asks.

Your brow quirks at his growled-out question, but you answer anyway.

“Just my friend here,” and you motion to Samantha.

Relief washes over his expression.

“So why not dance with me?”

“I’m here to spend time with Sam,” you explain, even though you can tell she wants you to go dance with him.

“She can hang out with Steve,” Javi says, throwing a thumb over his shoulder in Steve’s direction. “He’s loads of fun.”

“He’s cute,” Sam chimes in, giving Steve a little wave.

“I wouldn’t go that far,” Javi says, earning a chuckle from both you and Sam.

“So, is that a yes?”

You look incredulous. “No. The only thing I know about you is that you like to dance.”

“What would you like to know about me?” he shoots back as he leans against the bar, looking more than comfortable.

“Nothing. I’m not dancing with you. In fact, how do I know you’re not some creep trying to abduct me.”

At your unintentionally keen words Javi gives up the battle with a smile. “I’ll get you dancing sweetheart.”

“We’ll see about that…”

“Javi,” he finishes and holds out his hand. “Javier Peña”

You hesitate a moment but then hold out your hand and give him your name-even though he already knows it.

“Pleasure,” he croons as he lifts your hand to his lips and kisses your knuckles.

Warmth tingles up your arm and down your spine, rendering you speechless for a moment. Samantha pulls you from your stupor when she nudges you in the side.

“Enjoy your night ladies,” he says but not before looking you straight in the eye and adding, “I’ll be seeing you again.”

When Javi is back at Steve’s side he sighs.

“What happened? She tell you to fuck off?”

Javi practically rolls his eyes. “Not exactly.”

“Well, hope you didn’t freak her out too much because we have a job to do.”

As the night goes on you catch Javi looking your way more than once and you find it hard not to look back. He doesn’t approach you again though and the disappointment you feel is unexpected.

By eleven pm Sam is ready to go so you say goodbye and go to use the restroom before heading out. The night air is damp with impending rain, and you jog quickly to your car, hopping in and setting your bag down on the seat.

You put the key in the ignition and turn it. Nothing happens. No lights. No sound. Nothing.

“SHIT!” you shout and hit the steering wheel. Is it your battery? A faulty starter?

You’re just about to dial Sam when you hear a light rap at your window. You jump but quickly see that it’s Javi and let out a relieved breath.

You press the button to roll down the window.

“Problem?” he asks with a sideways smile.

“My car won’t start,” you sigh.

His lips turn downward. “Shit.”

“That’s what I said.”

“I can try to jump it if you want,” Javi offers.

“Really?”

“Of course.”

Javi pulls his car up close and starts to fiddle around in the trunk for the cables. Once he has everything ready you meet him by the hood.

“How come you were out here anyway?” you ask, watching as his long fingers make easy work of the clamps and wires.

“Just a feeling,” he says nonchalantly.

After following his directions and trying to start your car again you realize it must be more than the battery and let out a string of curses.

“Sorry sweetheart,” Javi says. “I’ll give you a ride home and you can deal with in the daylight.”

“I can just call Samantha.”

“You can, but it’s after midnight,” Javi says, looking at his watch. “I’m already here.”

You study him. His strong jaw, the dark hair that falls boyishly over his forehead, and the way the open collar of his shirt frames his long neck, the tempting hint of collarbone peeking out just enough to make you want to kiss it.

“Ok,” you say without further thought.

He opens your door and helps you out then waits for you to lock it before he opens the passenger door to his car.

“What about Steve?” you ask suddenly.

“Steve?” Javi repeats. “Oh, yeah. He’s fine. Has his own car.”

When he pulls up to your building he frowns when you don’t wait for him to open your door. You ride up the elevator in silence, the atmosphere between you feels charged.

You’d been more than willing to go up to your apartment yourself, but Javi insisted on walking you.

So, when the elevator opens you breeze out and past him, taking quick steps to your door.

“This is me,” you say without turning around.

You unlock the door and open it, stepping inside and setting your bag down. When you turn, Javi is filling the doorway, one hand on his hip and the other casually resting above his head on the frame like he owns the place.

“I don’t live far. If you need anything…” He holds out a card, his name and number printed on it under the Police Department symbol.

“You’re a cop? You could have told me this earlier. I would have been less worried about you murdering me.”

“DEA agent,” he corrects. “And that was never my intention.”

Your eyes meet and you feel a frisson of heat at the intensity there.

“Well, thank you for the ride.”

“Anytime sweetheart. I’ll see you around.”

He throws you a wink and pushes away from the doorframe, his long legs taking him easily down the hall before he rounds the corner and disappears.

The next morning you drag yourself out of bed and get ready to go about your day. Your thoughts are mostly occupied by Javi, and you’re almost done with your coffee before your brain registers the rest of the night and how your car failed to start.

“Shit,” you grit out. “Ughhhh.”

You think about calling Javi and asking him to take you back to the bar to get your car but then you think it might be asking too much after what he did last night. Instead, you call Sam, who is happy to come get you.

Your car is just where you left it and so is an unmarked cop car, parked right next to yours.

Javi steps out into the sunshine, a sleek pair of aviators perched on his nose and a smile on his face.

“There you are sunshine. I was wondering when you’d be back to get your car.”

He walks close and nods a greeting to Samantha.

You stand there like a fish out of water, your mouth hanging open in shock.

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

He shrugs with a devious grin. “Working.”

“The bar is closed.”

Ignoring your comment he continues with, “you have someone to fix this?”

“You mean like a mechanic?”

“Yeah sweetheart.”

“I was just going to call the closest shop.”

He shakes his head, clearly not liking your idea. “I got a guy. Come on.”                 

Samantha leaves you with Javi and he takes you to the shop, helping you settle everything and getting you a good price.

“I hope it doesn’t take too long to fix,” you sigh. “But thank you for helping me out.”

“Anytime gorgeous…now how about that dance?”

“You’re still hung up on that?”

He raises his brows with a tilt of his head, his smile devious.

“Fine, but how am I getting back to the bar tonight. No car. Remember.”

“I’ll pick you up. Seven.”

With that he pulls up to your place and practically jumps out of the car before it stops, rushing around the hood to get your door before you can open it.

You step out and he reaches over you to shut it, trapping you against the car.

“Thanks again,” you whisper as you lean into him.

He dips his head, but you can’t see his eyes, so you reach up to pull the sunglasses off his face. He smiles, lifting his eyes from your mouth to meet your gaze.

You hang them on his shirt, the collar open like it always seems to be, and smooth your hand down his chest. He watches you intently, one hand sliding off the car to settle on your waist. He tugs you forward, lining your body up with his using his other hand to cup your cheek and brush a calloused thumb across your soft skin.

“I told you sweetheart,” he murmurs. “Anytime.”

With one final glance at your lips he slowly moves away and you’re thankful for the strong metal of the car at your back, keeping you upright.

With a steadying breath you peel yourself away and head toward your building, looking over your shoulder to find him leaning against the car, long legs crossed at the ankle and his arms crossed along his chest.

His glasses are still hanging from his shirt, and his hair is slightly messy from the breeze. Your eyes linger and he smiles, pointing his long finger in your direction when he says, “you’re mine tonight.”

The knock at your door makes your breath catch in your throat.

“Be right there,” you shout.

You open the door and his hot gaze sweeps over you from head to toe.

“Hi Javi…”

Before the words are completely out of your mouth, he has you spun around and backed against the wall.

“Did you get all dressed up for me sweetheart?”

Biting your lip, you nod, loving the way your answer makes his eyelids lower; his breath quicken.

He dips his head and runs his nose along your neck with a deep inhale, then places a soft kiss just under your ear. His lips move across your cheek and stop just above your mouth.

“Ready to dance?”

Your knees nearly buckle underneath you, but his weight keeps you upright and you manage a nod.

The bar is crowded but you and Javi find yourself an open space at the bar and order drinks. He stays close. A hand always at your back or on your waist and when he sits on the stool, placing his feet on the bottom bar, he pulls you between his spread legs.

Your hands land on his thighs and you dig your nails in.

He growls into your ear and smooths his hand up your spine, grabbing the back of your neck to drag your face closer.

Right when you think he’s going to kiss you, he stands and pulls you toward the juke box, scrolling through the songs until he finds the one he wants. He presses play and holds his hand out.

You place your fingers in his palm, and he closes his hand around yours. With an ease that steals your breath he tucks you against him as the music starts, slow and sultry. The way he moves his hips so sensually borders on inappropriate, but you can’t find it in you to care.

Instead, you lose yourself in the way he moves and the way he feels. It’s the best kind of foreplay and when the song ends you cling to him, wishing the music could go on forever.

You tuck your head against his chest, but he presses two fingers under your chin, lifting your face to his. He’s grinning, and the way it exaggerates the lines around his eyes and softens the angles of his face makes a flutter erupt in your stomach.

A haze of electricity settles around you and you’re unable to look away. His eyes drop to your mouth and his warm breath fans your cheek as he bends, brushing his lips lightly across yours.

His moustache is soft but still tickles your skin and you want nothing more than to feel it along every inch of your body. Your fingernails dig into his shoulders, and you whisper his name just before your lips meet.

But then his mouth is gone, and a rush of cool air fills the space between your bodies.

“Steve,” you say with confusion.

Steve stands next to you with a tight grip on Javi’s arm.

“We have to go. Now,” Steve says.

“Javi?” Your stomach is fluttering for a whole different reason now, nervousness and fear taking over.

“I’m sorry sunshine,” he says, wrapping you up in his arms. “I need you to go home. Right now.”

“But…” you start, clinging to him.

“Please,” he begs. “Just trust me. I’ll come to you as soon as I can.”

“I don’t have a car,” you sputter out.

“Here,” he says and reaches into his back pocket to retrieve his keys before dropping them into your hand. “Right home ok?”

“Ok,” you say while nodding your head vigorously. “But I don’t understand…”

“I know,” he says, grabbing your face with his hands. “I promise I’ll explain later.”

He stares at you, clearly torn between wanting to kiss you and having to leave. You make the decision for him and press a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth, lingering long enough that when you pull away his eyes are still closed.

“Be careful,” you whisper.

“You too,” he says before jogging off with Steve, but not without looking back one last time.

Back at your apartment you wait and pace the floor. There isn’t much more you can do and it’s driving you nuts.

By the time you hear the knock on your door it’s past midnight and you’ve fallen asleep on the couch. You wake with a start and stand on shaky legs. Thankfully, you have enough sense to check the peephole before opening the door.

On the other side stands Javi. His leather jacket hangs open and his hair is messy and hanging loosely in front of his forehead. He looks tired but otherwise ok.

“It’s me sweetheart,” he says quietly.

Your door flies open, and you throw yourself at him. He catches you and lets out a huffed laugh that quickly dies off when you slide down his body and move back, a clear invitation.

 His eyes rake down your body, lingering on the way your dress is rumpled and sitting high on your hips, exposing the soft skin of your legs. With an audible swallow he takes a step inside, and you shut the door with a definitive slam.

“Are you ok?” he asks.

“I’m fine. Are you?”

“Yeah,” he says quietly.

You can’t blink away from his steady gaze and your blood seems to vibrate. After a calming breath you point to the couch.

“I want to know what’s going on.”

He moves past you and takes your hand in his, tugging you toward the couch before he sits. You stand at the edge, waiting.

His head drops and he presses the palm of his hand to his forehead.

“I…you already know I’m a DEA agent.”

You nod.

“And Steve and I work together…we’ve been trying to bust this drug trafficking group for a while now and somehow you got on their list…”

“List?” you repeat, feeling your palms sweat.

He stands again and takes a tentative step closer.

“Yeah, wrong place wrong time type of thing and it got you on their radar. We got tipped off from one of our informants and Steve and I were put in place for protection.”

“So, all the flirting, the dancing…you’re only here because you’re protecting me? Not because…”

He holds up a hand to stop you.

“No sweetheart,” he says. “Well, I mean yes initially that’s all it was but then I saw you and like a dick couldn’t stay away and…I didn’t mean for it to go this far.”

He looks up at you with pleading brown eyes.

“Actually, that’s a lie. I wanted to take you home from the moment I first saw you and it took everything in me not to.”

You can see he’s starting to ramble, and you soften at the way he seems desperate to make you understand.

“I promise this has nothing to do with work…I want to be here…”

“Javi.”

“And you’re safe. I promise that too. I’ll keep you safe.”

“Javi.”

He opens his mouth to speak again but you press a firm finger to his lips. He goes silent and with your gentle push falls to the couch again.

Slowly, you climb over him, settling in his lap on top of his thighs. He stares at you, eyes shadowed, and adjusts his posture to set two large hands on your waist, warm and strong.

You lean in but he meets you halfway, crashing his lips to yours. His mouth is soft but commanding and he tilts his head, coming at you better somehow, and deeper, his lips parting, one hand wrapping around your hip to pull you flush against him, the other sliding up your neck, cupping your face.

You’re undone by the way his breath shakes against your lips and the quiet groans he strangles down when you sweep your tongue across his.

You roll your hips against him, but instead of bringing relief it only makes you wilder. His mouth chases your kiss, swallowing the sound you make when he rocks up, the thick line of his cock pressing exactly where you need him.

His hand roams up your back, around your ribs, cupping your breast while the other drags you down again, pinning you to his body. You’re rewarded with another groan, and another when you grind against him.

He doesn’t stop you as you reach for his jacket, pushing it off his shoulders before going for his shirt, one by one undoing the buttons until you feel the warmth of his skin along your palms.

His mouth is on your neck, his fingers curling around the strap of your dress, dragging it down your shoulder and lower, until your bra goes with it, and you’re bare to his mouth. He sucks and kisses and your fingers find purchase in his soft hair, pulling and tugging when he continues and his lips close around your nipple in a delicate bite.

With soft grunts into your skin, he encourages you to pull harder, moving with the gesture to where you want him. Rough and desperate hands sneak under your dress to slide your panties down.

“Sweetheart?” he asks into your neck, and you nod, because frankly, he has permission to do whatever he wants.

Long fingers wrap imposingly around your thighs and his palm slides back up, teasingly slow, his kiss still rough, and then his fingertips graze over you, slippery and hot for him. His mouth goes soft and overcome against yours before he pulls away a fraction, watching your face as he fucks you with one finger, and then two, achingly slow.

And you stare at his mouth, the way it shapes the groaned curses and then tilts upward in a smug grin when he presses a thumb to your clit, and you let out a low moan.

Under your impatient fingers, his pants are soon loose and down his hips and you slide yourself over him, coating him and teasing you both until you’re a fevered mess, kisses sloppy and biting, the head of him pressing into you.

It’s a slow, perfect torture. His focus is on your expression and the sounds you’re making. But then it goes from careful to starving the second he’s all the way inside you. His grip on you is bruising, the sharp, rhythmic gasps he makes making you feel out of control.

He stares down between your bodies, slowing to watch, moving to touch you, his thumb stroking.

“That’s it gorgeous,” he murmurs. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

You want to hold back, make it last forever, but it’s too good. The pleasure hits you in a wave, his name falling from your parted lips and your body clenching around him until he captures your mouth and finishes with a lewd groan, slowing and holding you against his chest.

Your face falls to his sweaty neck and your fingers curl around his open shirt. After catching your breath, he gently brings your face to his, pressing his lips softly to the corner of your mouth and then running the pad of his thumb across your lower lip.

He lifts you off him, reaching for the tissues on the side table and helping you clean up. His actions are careful and gentle and once you’re settled he takes the blanket off the couch and drapes it over you before he wraps you in his arms and lays down.

You tuck yourself closer and kiss his neck.

“Javi?” you whisper.

“Yeah sunshine.”

“Will you stay?”

“I’m not going anywhere,” he says, kissing your cheek.

His lips tease along your jaw and you shift to give him better access, feeling his cock stir against your stomach. When his mouth reaches your ear he tugs on the soft flesh, running a hand along the curve of your spine to pull you closer and whisper, “I didn’t even get to use my tongue on you. I hate not knowing how you taste.”

Your little gasp makes him smile and his kisses continue.

“But lucky for me,” he murmurs with a brush of his lips, “we have all night.”

[buck-star]

I met them, and now I’m their princess

You met them, and now you’re more than just their good friend. You’re their princess, the bikers princess.

Pairing: Biker!Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader x Biker!Steve Rogers

Wordcount: 1.631 Words

Warnings/Tags: tiny bit of angst, fluff, love confession, more fluff

Authors Note: HAPPY NEW YEAR! Hope you all had a nice start into the year and have a lot of happiness and whatever you wish this year! So here’s a little “Drabble” with our beloved Super soldiers for the start of the year. Divider made by me.

It’s a collaboration with @mercurial-chuckles. We thought it could be a cute idea to have a similar title and use the same prompt to start in the new year. Her work: I met them, and now I’m their queen.

Events: Stucky community prompt-list [Confession before the new year starts to get it off their chest], Marvel OC Hub [SB6010 | Row Three-One | Do you trust me? | @marvel-oc-hub], Stucky Bingo [N5 | Friends to lovers | @stuckybingo]

Masterlist | Stucky Masterlist

You're sitting on the sill of your window in your small apartment. Your eyes are searching the sky for the fireworks that light up the dark night. They follow every little sparkle until they disappear in the night sky, each one following a soft sigh that escapes your lips.

Your eyes are filled with longing — a longing for warmth and the love you feel whenever you're around two people. Two bikers to be exact. Unfortunately, those two people are happy with one another, while you're just their good friend.

If someone watches those big, muscular bikers looking at one another with that sweet, soft expression, affection written all over their face, they wouldn't believe those two are real. They look like the perfect gay couple out of a romance, maybe even the perfect movie.

You didn't mind any of it at all. They are sweet with you, friendly and polite like the perfect gentlemen. But at some point — where the sweetness warmed your heart more than it should, and their smile caused butterflies to go wild in your stomach — you feel slowly but deeply for these two bikers.

While others would admire them for their muscles, their perfect figure, or them just being bikers, for you, it's the soft smile that mostly matches the one they share with one another. Their ocean-blue eyes, which have that adorable sparkle in them when they are happy or excited — especially when they look at you. It's the way the sound of their rough, low voices sounds like honey when they talk to you and the softness and tenderness they always have around you. There is never a hint of fear or embarrassment, no matter what they do; as long as it's the three of you, there is only happiness and laughter being shared.

They even invited you to celebrate New Year’s Eve with them. While your heart was racing and you smiled brighter than ever, you told them you would be busy, trying to find an — any — excuse to not celebrate with them. As much as your heart was screaming at you to say yes, to spend the night with your favorite bikers, you just couldn't. Your mind told you not to, to not bother them while they share that evening with one another; you didn't want to disturb their special moment, and so you prefer when they have New Year's Eve just for themselves — that's at least what you try to tell yourself.

A sudden, loud noise makes you flinch, and your eyes focus on what's happening on the street outside your apartment. You blink. Once. Twice. Only when the two familiar bikes and the broad men on them are still there do you believe that this isn't a dream or any kind of hallucination. They are really there; Bucky and Steve are standing in front of your apartment, talking about something you don't understand while they park their bikes.

Bucky’s the first who takes off his helmet, shaking his head and causing his long, brown hair to fly in the cold wind of the night before they settle down perfectly. He’s always doing it, knowing how much you love when he does that, just as much as you love to run your fingers through his thick hair; it always makes your heart flutter.

Except you and Steve, there's no one who's allowed to touch Bucky's hair. He loves it too much and doesn't like it being a mess, but if you or Steve touch it, he doesn't care how he looks after. He would even laugh with his hair standing in all directions and him only looking hilarious; he would love that if it makes you happy.

Steve laughs softly, his blue eyes brighter when he watches his boyfriend and his little hair show. The blond-haired man runs his fingers through his short hair when he places his helmet on the bike and says something to Bucky once again. He then makes his way to your door; your eyes widen while you notice Steve walking in your direction and Bucky opening the bag he placed next to his bike on the ground.

You watch the scene through your window for a moment. Your eyes moving from Bucky to Steve and back to the brown-haired man. Before you see what Bucky pulls out of his bag, it knocks loudly at your door. You know it’s Steve, but you're too curious to see what Bucky has in his bag, so you remain where you are.

“I know you're there, princess,” Steve says, knocking once again. You huff softly but get up to open the door for Steve. The blond-haired man leans against the wall, a smirk plastered over his face, and he holds his hand out for you. “There you are. May we get your attention for a few minutes, princess? Trust me, you will love it.”

You nod, slightly confused about whatever they have planned. You thought they would celebrate it at their house together or maybe at the bar where they have their biker club meetings often. But it looks like they decided to celebrate in front of your apartment.

So you take your jacket from beside you and slide easily into your shoes before you take Steve's calloused hand. His soft smile is still on his face the whole time while his eyes roam over your body. “Thought you were busy. Busy watching the fireworks all alone from the window of your apartment?”

You blush softly, nodding your head. Bucky's low chuckle gets your attention when Steve nods toward him. It's like they had a bet on what you're planning to do when you said you would be busy. They know you too well, reading you like a book and knowing your overthinking well enough to know that you haven't planned anything but just didn't want to annoy them — which you never could.

Steve leads you further outside, stopping a few feet away from Bucky, who places some boxes on the ground, and you notice that those are fireworks. Bucky takes a few steps toward you, a wide grin on his face as he leans down to press his soft lips against your forehead. You immediately feel tingles in your stomach, and a shaky breath escapes your lips. Bucky chuckles low in his throat, almost purring when he notices it.

“Doll, I know— we know you said no to the invite, and you told us you're busy. But we—” Bucky says, interrupting himself for a moment. He looks at Steve, whose big hands are on your waist, pulling you tightly against his firm chest. Steve's strong arms wrap tightly around your waist. He lowers his head, his nose nudging against your neck. “We know you don't have plans, but… so we accept that you said no to the invite, but—”

“We couldn't start the new year knowing you would sit at home, all alone, longing for something you don't dare to ask for. And… we can’t start the new year without you around us, in our arms, princess,” Steve says, and your eyes widen slightly. Do they know? Did they find out about your feelings for them?

“We know about the feelings, babydoll. We know, and we... we waited for the perfect opportunity,” Bucky confesses. The confusion visible on your face. It feels like he can read your mind, but he can't, can he? Bucky walks back to the little boxes on the ground while Steve pulls you backwards. His lips trailing down your neck, he smirks against your skin when he notices the goosebumps he's causing.

After a moment, where Steve's closeness makes your heart race and your mind spin, you notice Bucky walking closer to the two of you again. He stays next to you, taking your smaller hand in his calloused one while he leans himself against Steve. The blond-haired lets one hand go and sneaks it around Bucky's waist, pulling him closer against the two of you. You're all looking at the sky, waiting for the fireworks to light up the dark night.

“We wanted to wait for this moment. Just before the fireworks will light up the night. We wanted to wait to make it special because you're the most precious and special thing to us. And we love you, princess,” Steve says, just when the fireworks start, your mouth drops open. Not just because of the amazing colors of the fireworks but also because of Steve's words.

“We are longing for you just like you do for us. We love you, not just like a friend. If you want, we would love to be with you. You, Stevie, and me,” Bucky mumbles and kisses your cheek softly. It's so familiar to you that you feel his soft lips against your skin, but it still makes you shiver slightly. You nod, a soft whimper escaping your lips when his lips keep lingering against your cheek and you can feel them turning upwards into that cute smile of his. You mumble a soft yes, agreeing to their idea to be their princess, to them being your bikers.

More fireworks light up the sky when you nod your head. Steve's strong arms pull you and Bucky tighter against him, and you can feel the warmth radiating off of them. Your eyes widen when you notice that there are hearts in different colors visible in the sky. They made personal fireworks just for that moment — they wanted it to be perfect, and they managed to make it perfect. Not just because of the fireworks but because you’re so close and being held so lovely by the two men you love more than anything. That was what you were looking for, the love you found in your favorite two bikers.

Taglist: @rogersbarber @loki-laufeyson68 @etherealdisneyvillainness @winterschildren8 @pono-pura-vida @kimmie113080 @sergeantbarnessdoll @sebastianstanisahotmf @mercurial-chuckles @holylulusworld @randomawesomeperson102 @looking1016 @multiversefanfics @kpopgirlbtssvt @iris-xoxo-juhu @fckedupandbeautiful @hisredheadedgoddess28 @casa-boiardi @blackhawkfanatic @mrsalexstan @thesarcasmqueen-22 @blackhawkfanatic @casa-boiardi @kandis-mom @armystay89 @blackhawkfanatic [You can add yourself here.]

[always-just-red]

001 with raf would send me to the MOON 😭❤️ (don’t tell zayne i sent this 🤫)

😎 Don't worry. I've got you. *slides this over the table to you real casual so Zayne doesn't suspect a thing* (Also happy new year aaaaaaaa!!!) GUYS Christmas isn't over until I say it's over and it's not over until I get through these festive prompts, ok? 🥺 THE HOLIDAYS LIVE ON!!!

Rafayel X Reader 🔥🎄☃️❄️

Prompt #001: under the mistletoe, placed sneakily above a doorframe.

Warnings/additional tags: established relationship, teency bit of suggestion, a few joking references to gaslighting, injury (Raf I love you, I'm sorry I won't let you catch a single break!!!)

The moment you open the door, something falls. Or should you say… someone? There’s a clatter: heavy and metal. A thud, too— even an “ow!” You don’t know what you struck or toppled, but you do know it sounds bad.

“Rafayel?” You peek around his door, afraid to do any more damage by moving it.

The man is sprawled over the floor like a sad-looking starfish. Maybe a dead starfish? His eyes are closed, but his chest rises and falls, rises and falls; you haven’t killed him yet. “Are you okay?” you ask, stepping the rest of the way into his home and pushing the door closed behind you. “Raf? Rafayel? You still with me?”

His eyes open: rock pools swirling with a momentary disturbance, but then settling, still. “Hey,” he says, once the waters are calm and full of your reflection.

Hey? That’s it? “What are you doing?”

He props himself up on his elbows, wincing. “Oh, you know… art stuff.” When you lift an eyebrow, he clarifies: “Tryna get a new perspective from down here. You get it.”

Glancing around, there’s no half-completed artwork, nor painting strung to the ceiling (though that wouldn’t much surprise you). “Perspective on what?”

“Uhh. The world?”

“And how’s the world looking from down there?”

“… Different?”

“Insightful.”

“Yeah, I know.”

So he’s not going to cooperate? Fine; this is hardly the first time you’ve walked into his studio and had to play detective. Ignore his narrowed eyes, just begging you to contradict him. You crouch down, stroking your chin. There was that metal sound, remember? And a stepladder is lying nearby. Why would he—? Your eyes follow the line of the doorway, roaming up, up until…   

“Mistletoe, Raf? Really?”

He tuts. “That’s not mistletoe, cutie. It’s holly. Wishful thinking much? Gods…”

You stare at the plant fixed above your heads: its long, smooth-edged leaves and its berries, white like pearls. You’re not an idiot. That’s mistletoe. “Trying to gaslight me now?”

“What?” he gawks. “No!”

“You so are! Look at it, that’s—”

Suddenly his hands are over your eyes. “Don’t look at it, cutie. It’s holly, okay? You’re seeing things, trust me.”

“Raf!” you squeak. “That’s—” you can barely get the words out as you laugh, wriggling to get free— “that’s gaslighting! I know what I saw! It was—”

“Shhhh. You saw nothing.”

One hand is on your mouth now, stifling your protests. He shushes you as he pulls you back until you’re seated between his legs. His body is over and around you. You could nip at his fingers— could twist out of his arms and have him pinned to the ground in little more than a second— but it’s the holidays, so you let him have this one.

Eventually, his hands slip down, wrapping around you in a lazy hug. Your head lolls back against his shoulder. “It’s a shame it’s not mistletoe,” you say wistfully, gazing up at the ‘holly.’

“Yeah?” he asks, making you giggle again as his teeth graze your ear.

“Yeah. If it was, then we could…”

You trail off, angling your face until your lips meet his— almost. There’s an inch between you: a tiny space always full of longing, no matter how many times you close it. Seconds of longing, like every first time you see him. Minutes, hours: when you stand, meeting eyes across a crowded room and holding back on a rescue, because Thomas is watching, too.

Then there’s years. Years on a quiet, empty beach, picturing this, waiting for this.

A reunion.

Rafayel leans closer.

“Oh well!” you exclaim, going to move away from him.  

“No, no, no!” he stammers. “Wait! Wait, okay? Just let me… let me think for a second.”

You lean back against him, a smug smile on your lips as you study the mistletoe above you. You’re not the only one looking at it.

“It’s mistletoe,” Rafayel mumbles, barely audible.

“Huh? Say that again, sorry, I didn’t quite—”

“It’s mistletoe!” he groans.

You gasp: “It is?!”

“Plot twist, yeah?” His fingers are on your chin, turning your face back towards him. He chuckles as you let him kiss you this time: sweet and gentle, like a tide afraid to trespass on the shore.

It isn’t enough. “You know,” you say, drawing back and straightening his already-straight shirt collar, “now that you mention it, didn’t we see some of that stuff the other day? Somewhere else? The bedroom, maybe?”

He grins. “Now who’s gaslighting?”

You shut him up with another kiss, then break away from him, clambering to your feet. “You wanna check it out, or not?”

“Oh I do, I definitely do.”

And you’ve got a head start, so you might as well lead the way. You tiptoe around various messes— the fallen stepladder, and then the more traditional paint cans and brushes. Rafayel should catch-up to you, should be lifting you over this colourful obstacle course, but he doesn’t, and he isn’t.

You slow down to a stop, glancing over your shoulder.

The artist has rolled onto his front, his chin held up by his hands, and his eyes are the only things following you. You put your hands on your hips knowingly. “Hospital?” you ask.

“Hospital,” he agrees with a sheepish smile.

[judesmoonbeauty]

2025 Mystery Bag: Team Two "Lowlife Bastards & Troublesome Fox" - Jude, Nica, Alfons & Harrison Story Set

CW: While not depicted, the story does mention groping.

This is a fan translation only. Please expect grammatical errors and translation inaccuracies. This is a full translation. Creative liberties are taken for characterization and smoother translation process. Cybird owns everything. Re-blogs are appreciated, but please do not post my translation elsewhere. Thank you for your support! ☾.

Committee Member: We now shall begin the qualifying round for Group Two.

Literally translates as “Steering Committee Member” - I opted to shorten it.

Committee Member: Whomever reaches the finish line first will be named as the 2025 Happy Boy!

Committee Member: Get ready and your positions……Ready, Set, GO!

Harrison: Uh, why’re you all stopping so suddenly when we just got started?

Alfons: The gallery is no longer in sight, so I thought it was a suitable time to stop, and the abandon this fair and square pretense.

Harrison: Huh?

Harrison: I take it that Al’s not the only one. You guys are probably hatching some kind of clever scheme too, right?

Jude: Can ya not go ‘round accusin’ me when ya ain’t got all the facts? It’s down right cruel treatin’ people like villains.

Nica: Yeah, same. There’s no way I’d ever commit a crime in broad daylight.

Harrison: It’s so obvious you guys are all lyin’ through your teeth. I don’t even need my ability to see that.

Harrison: I could just snitch and have the committee members withdraw you guys?

Alfons: Oh my, how frightening. I’ll come clean, so please do keep quiet.

Alfons: Were you aware that there’s a water station site just a short distance from here?

Alfons: I’ve simply tampered with the drinks a bit there.

Alfons: A rapid acting sleeping draught.

Harrison: You’re the worst.

Jude: That’s somethin’ a walkin’ offense to public order ‘n morals would do.

Alfons: And what have you been up to?

Jude: Nothin’ much, just bought off one of the board members on the committee. He’ll just fudge the information later on ‘n get me through the preliminaries.

Jude: There’ll be people comin’ ‘n goin,’ so it’s an easy cover up.

Harrison: You’re the worst.

Nica: As expected of the president, you’ve gotta dirty way of doing things. I could never copy you since I’ve had a good upbringing.

Harrison: Yeah, so what plan did you cook up?

Nica: Don’t lump me in with the mirror man and president over there.

Nica: I only used my brilliant mind and investigative skills…..Hey, did ya know?

Nica: There’s a sewage system running underneath the course, and it leads right to the finish line.

Nica: I’ll wait underground, bide my time…..and then nab first place.

Jude & Alfons: Whadda outrageous bastard. What an outrageous bastard.

Nica: I don’t want you bastards calling me that.

Harrison: Gotta be kidding me, are they all just scumbags.

Harrison: Well, what wishes do you guys want granted to go so far for it?

Alfons: Why naturally, to use Her Majesty’s authority to do this and that.

Harrison: I’m an idiot for even asking you.

Harrison: And you, Jude?

Jude: Anythin’ goes. There’s lots o’ thin’s I wanna take down with that queenie’s power.

Jude: Bet yer bad nature’s gotta terrible request too.

Nica: Nope. I’m just trying to make money, which I love.

Nica: I could have all the money I want, right?

Harrison: If you mean what you say, then I’ll leave it at that.

Nica: ….You can tell when someone’s lying, right? Your ability’s pretty pesky, Harrison Gray.

Harrison: They said using our abilities are prohibited now. I was just reading your mind.

Nica: You’re the only one who can tell if you’re using your ability or not, so hiding it’s easy. As expected of the one with the lying fox curse.

Harrison: Thanks for saying so.

Nica: — Anyway, what should we do now?

Alfons: What do you mean?

Nica: I mean, now that we’ve exposed each others intentions, I don’t think this’ll end smoothly.

Nica: Well, it’s fine. I don’t mind crushing you all here. I won’t go easy on you scumbags.

Jude: Heh, yeah. Last man to survive’s the winner. Plain ‘n simple.

Alfons: I’m not particularly fond of dangerous things, but you can't make an omelet without breaking eggs.

Harrison: Oi, you guys -

Screaming Woman: AHHH!

Harrison: That voice just now….

Screaming Woman: Someone! Molester, it’s a molester!

Nica: A molester?

Nica: Guess there’s some idiots in the world who can’t satisfy their desires without taking advantage of an event like this.

Nica: I just don’t get it. Well, it’s a large enough crowd, they’ll be arrested quickly.

Alfons: I should think that an imbecilic molester would be caught immediately —

Alfons: Wasn’t the direction the molester fled to, the same location Kate was going to cheer?

Harrison: ….I’m heading there. I’m worried about that girl.

Harrison: You guys do whatever you want.

Jude: Tch, it’ll be more revoltin’ ignorin it ‘n gettin’ yelled at.

Alfons: Ahaha! Those men who weren’t even in a hurry are now dashing as fast as they can.

Alfons: And what of you, Nica?

Nica: Should I tag along? I’ve got free time just standing here anyway.

Male Assaulter: Shit….Why are you chasing me? Gah!

The side chara is literally translated as "Molester/Groper Male." However, I opted to change this to assaulter because I don’t really like either of the other words, and I felt it was over utilized in context in general.

Harrison: Okay, got him.

Jude: Hold onto that piece ‘o shit perverted predator.

Harrison: That goes without saying.

Harrison: Oh, Al and Nica came too.

Nica: Oh, so this guy’s the groper? Ahaha, it looks like he would have trouble with women.

Alfons: It’s nonsense to criticize someone’s appearance. Even so, he does appear to be frustrated though.

Male Assaulter: I didn’t do it! My hand simply touched her bum by accident!

Males Assaulter: Besides! It would be frustrating to make a fuss out of it.

Alfons: An accident, you say?

Alfons: While en route here, I queried others for information.

Alfons: As I’ve heard so far, six women have complained that you touched them.

Alfons: How coincidental.

Alfons: Do you have magnets embedded within your hands that are drawn to women’s bottoms?

Nica: And we happen to have a lie detector here.

Nica: So, what do ya think?

Harrison: Without a doubt, everything you just spewed is a lie.

Harrison: Well, that’s just my “hunch” though.

Male Assaulter: ……

Male Assaulter: D-damn it! Yeah, that’s right. I did it!

Nica: Yeah yeah, I really can’t stand hearing that bastard’s rotten voice.

Alfons: So then, since he’s openly confessed, what punishment should be dispensed?

Alfons: Ah, but our abilities are currently prohibited. Well then, Jude.

Jude: I’ll kick yer dirty arse, as many times ya been feelin’ 'em up, idiot.

Male Assaulter: GAHH!

Nica: Yikes. I just heard a loud sound, wasn’t it his hip breaking?

Alfons: My condolences. Now, what shall we do with this person who’s passed out?

Harrison: Hand him over to management and the police.

Harrison: Today we aren’t Crown or Vogel, just participants.

Jude: Dunno, but if that’s what’cha wanna do then go ahead ‘n do it.

Unidentified Scream: ARGH!

Harrison: Another scream…?

Alfons: Now what?

Kate: Oh, everyone!

Kate: We have a huge problem! All of the participants who drank water at the water station have fallen asleep!

Alfons: Really?

Kate: And then the committee board members started revealing that they’d been threatened and bribed —

Jude: Hmm.

Kate: On top of that, it was discovered that someone was trying to use the sewage system as a path unfairly!

Nica: Oh, wow.

Kate: Who the hell could the culprit be? He’s such a lowlife that I’ll never forgive him.

Harrison: Tell us more, Kate.

Kate: What?

[Story Set Master List]

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[skzimagines]

Part 1 <

Part 2 Minho x Female Reader!

Warnings: None. Fluff fluff fluff!

“So, favorite animal?”

“Probably cats, I have three at home.” You reply, taking a sip of your drink while taking in the sound of the waves.

After Minhos 4 mile run, you agreed to a late night date with him.

He’s taken you to a spot on the beach, very hidden. You kind of wish you knew about this place for yourself.

“Wait.. really?” He asks.

You give him a small nod with a “Mhm”

“I have three cats at home…” he says, excitedly.

“Shut up.” You say with a laugh.

“No, I’m so serious. Look!” He says. He pulls his phone from his pocket, going to his photos and starts going through and entire album of his cats. Showing birthday photos, photos of them eating, sleeping, playing, wearing cute outfits, there are even a few of them with him.

“They’re so cute!” You say.

You look up and notice how close you two have gotten to each other without noticing. You’re sat on a picnic blanket right next to each other, if you moved at all, your knees would be touching, along with your shoulders.

Minho showed you a few more photos before putting his phone away.

“We should probably get going soon.” You say.

The sun was barely visible behind the water, allowing the darkness to take over for the night.

“Do you work tomorrow?” He asks.

You shake your head ‘no’

“Then we have all night.” He says with a huge grin.

He stands up, brushing some sand off of his jeans before holding out his hand for you to take.

He helps you up and you can’t help but notice how he doesn’t let go of your hand as he begins to lead you toward the water.

“So, are you from here?” You ask, after walking down the beach in pure darkness. It was hard to see, the only thing lighting up your way was the moon and the dim light of Minho’s phone.

“No, I just recently moved here. Wanted to get away from the city.”

“Ah, so you chose the town furthest away, with the same 200 people and nothing to do?” You say with a chuckle.

“Yes, exactly.” He laughs. “I was kind of starting to regret it. I didn’t realize how hard it was to make friends in a town so small.” He states.

“It’ll get better…. I hope.” You say with a small laugh.

“It already has..” he says, squeezing your hand and flashing a soft smile.

Your heart begins to race. You’d only officially met him two days ago, but he’s already got you wrapped right around his finger.

“So umm, how long have you worked at the café?” He asks, keeping his hand held tight around yours.

“It’ll be two years next month.” You state.

“And how do you like it?”

“I don’t know. It gets quite boring sometimes, not a lot to do. But the people I work with make it worth it.”

“Yeah, I had the pleasure of meeting two of them the other day” he says with a chuckle.

“Oh god… please don’t tell me they gave you the ‘run down” you say, embarrassment hitting you like a ton of bricks.

“Does the run down include me having to be a huge fan of SpongeBob or I better not break your heart because they will actually turn me into coffee beans and make me an office drink of your guys’ cafe?” He laughs.

"Oh god! I am so sorry, we've been friends for so long, we just treat each other like family, they don't actually mean it, they're just trying to look out for me. They wouldn't actually murder you, I promi..."

You try your hardest to explain your apology, until he quickly grabs your face and pulls you into a kiss, silencing you completely.

The kiss was magical. Soft, lingering, endearing. Think of a romance movie, with a really dramatic loving ending. That's how the kiss felt. His lips left yours, much quicker than you wanted them to.

"You don't have to apologize, they could actually turn me into coffee beans and I'd still be happy that you'd be the one making me." He says, his hands still holding your cheeks.

"I... I don't think I've ever met someone more cheesy in my life." You sy before letting out a laugh.

"Oh shut up." He says, letting go of your cheeks, leaning down and splashing water in your direction.

"Hey!" You shout before kicking your foot in the water, splashing him, soaking the entire front of him.

"Okay, now you're screwed." He states, charging at you.

You let out a scream as he picks you up and body slams you into the water. Coming back up for air with a laugh. Your arms wrapped around his neck.

"We didn't even bring towels!" You say, a huge smile spread across your face.

"I guess we'll have to spend the night and dry off when the sun comes up." He says, starring at your lips.

"I don't think I'd mind that." You say.

His lips connect to yours for the second time. Somehow this time is better than the first.

"I do have to go to work tomorrow..." You whisper through each kiss.

"Mmm... well, you could quit, I make more than enough money to take care of you. You can be my cute little house wife, take care of our cats." He says dreamily.

"While all of that sounds nice, We've only met 3 days ago. Don't you think that's pushing things?" You say with a laugh, wrapping your arms tighter around him.

"Angel, I don't think you understand how much I'm actually already obsessed with you..."

[gallusgalluss]

please unleash your inspekta thoughts

your art is amazing i cant stop looking at it

i hope you have a happy new year!!

happy new year anon n thank you :]!!!!

also ur so evil ur letting me unleash my Inspekta thoughts,,,,how cruel how cruel

im going full yapper mode + there's spoilers so Watch Out

I like Inspekta, he's a little freak and a really interesting character to think about. While, for me, the twist with him wasn't totally a surprise (I did Not trust his cuteness the second i saw him lmao), I REALLY liked the way his character progressed throughout the game. He's your buddy! He's your pal! Don't worry about all these posters and weird plushies and standees and propaganda of him everywhere and how he keeps being called “the one and only god”, it's Fine it's Fine! He's sillay :D!!!

I'm generally just obsessed with characters who are put into leadership positions who absolutely Should Not have that amount of power over people, and I think Inspekta's a perfect example of that type of thing for me.

He had his own fears, loneliness, and jealousy cloud his judgment and that resulted in some Really Fucked Up Stuff. As a mortal he wanted to be special in the eyes of the public, so he gained enough popularity to get elected to be a god! Yay! But now he's scared of being forgotten and there's a new possible god being elected, wuh oh! Time to ruin Literally Everything because what's the easiest way to be remembered, worshiped, and loved by all if there's no more competition for your rule? Empty heavens, baby!!! Let's bring in an apocalypse!!! Yay!!!!!

Bro's fucked up and I like that.

I love how despite it all he still tries this whole Cute Buddy Friend act, even at the end with this Worm Form. Cause he KNOWS the other gods would trust and believe him and the lies he's spread about King's shocking letters, cause why wouldn't they? He's just a silly lil cutie pie! They all trust him! He's the God of Leadership! How could a Leader lead others astray? And he knows the Bizzyboys will follow him as well since he's been leading them pre-godhood for several years. He's a role model to them all, starting from nothing and now he's a god! He's just so trustworthy and sweet and will totally save the day!

Also I just wanted to include this somewhere. I really like this section (after Chapter 3, I think???)

He has this brief moment of vulnerability/sincerity/something that made him drop his “Cutesy Voice”. Like aside from this scene, near the end of chapter 5, and i Think a few parts i'm 100% forgetting, I don't think we actually see this more contemplative n genuine side of Inspekta.

He does instantly goes into gloating about himself and how he's Clearly the MOST IMPORTANT GOD OF ALL (before correcting himself to include the other gods, of course, of course).

Like if he didn't have that Ego-the-size-of-the-galaxy + Saddest Scaredest Loneliest Most Jealous Withdrawn Loser combo, all he had to do was to just Talk To People. He could've Talked to people about his Fears and Insecurities. Even the other gods; after all he's done, were still there for him! Like “Hey dude this is fucked up, we all already love you dummy, you can talk to us ya know you're allowed to feel scared!”

He's just the cutest most moe creature with soooo many issues and problems he needed to figure out.

NOW WITH HECTOR

Most of my Inspekta Thoughts can just be applied to him but slightly modified. I think it's interesting how he chose to go back to being a regular person, it makes sense cause he's like Aware of the amount of damage he's done/could've done. While he certainly won't be forgotten after Everything he's done, he isn't going to be as Grand and Powerful as he wished to be.

He's just a guy in his 50s who's trying to get over his God Complex of 33 years and also attempt to gain back the trust and respect of the Grove’s people. He's definitely going to be bearing the weight of what he's done for the rest of his life probably, but it IS interesting thinking about what he'd do to actually improve himself now, learn how to be a person again n such.

He’s also a sad miserable booboo beast of a man and i think him suffering in anguish is awesome!!!!!!! yay!!!!

This turned into more a character analysis of some sorts instead of solely my own personal thoughts, whoops. Anyways i think his designs, all 3 of em are really fun to draw. He's cute n stretchy and marketable, as all gods should be.

so ya basically inspekta/hector sucks, i hate him, and we should kill him with hammers. now. thank you 💖💖💖

[deadhands69]

Three Words

Tomura Shigaraki x Reader 

Fluff ☁️ From the First Five ask game  I'm so happy I get to start the year with Shigaraki! Requested by @shigarakislaughter, thanks Kisa!

Tomura Shigaraki wants to say he loves you, he really does. But every time he opens his mouth, everything in him freezes and the words won't come out. 

To you, it's a silly little quirk your boyfriend has. Every time you do something sweet or nice for him, he opens his mouth before suddenly closing it and biting his lip while staring at you. It's cute.

To him, it's confusing and frustrating. It's just three words. What’s wrong with him?

Love is a new feeling for Tomura. Initially, he thought he was getting sick. Feeling warm. Butterflies in his stomach. Has to be a bug. But when it didn't pass after a week, he became concerned. Hours of Googling later, he comes to the conclusion that he does, in fact, love you. It feels right. 

He's never been one to shy away from saying how he feels, but this time’s different. What if you don't feel the same? What if you feel so far from the same that you reconsider why you've even been spending time with him at all? 

He can't bear the thought of that, but he also can't continue to keep this to himself. He needs you to know how he feels. 

Maybe it's just a matter of finding the right time.

So, he began spending more time with you. Every spare moment he had, he’s been trying to spend around you in some way or another. Meetings. Walks. Late nights playing video games. Perfect moments came and went: still he couldn't say it. 

Maybe there's another way to show how he feels. Again, he Googles it.

He began doing (more) nice things for you. Bringing you warm drinks in bed when you wake up. Rubbing your shoulders to help you relax at the end of the day. 

He left enough tiny gifts outside of your door that he was beginning to feel like a cat. Candies you said you like. Cool looking rocks and sticks. Little trinkets that remind him of you. When he writes the notes to attach to each of them, he wishes he could write more. He feels so pathetic. He can't even bring himself to write "i love you" without his hand shaking so hard the whole page is illegible. So, “from Tomura” it is. (Once he managed to draw a heart, but it looked more like a squashed strawberry. When you asked what it was, he simply agreed with your assumption - terrified to admit how badly he botched something so simple.)

Now, you're sitting on your bed together. It's well past two am. You're showing him a project you've been working on, it's finally starting to come together.

“You’re so cool,” he mumbles, tipping his chin down so his hair falls over his face.

“Thanks,” you speak with more confidence than he could ever imagine himself having in a moment like this. “You’ve been so sweet lately. Almost too sweet,” you eye him in mock suspicion. “What’s going on?”

The blush dusting his cheeks deepens. Once more, his mouth opens but the words don’t come. His discomfort feels like it could last forever, how hard should it be? It’s just three short words. Finally, he gives in. Turning his head from you and looking away.   

“Oh,” you whisper, “I see.”

Your hands find his jaw. Cupping his face, lightly moving him to look at you again.

“I love you too.” 

He smiles; you get it.

masterlist

[atangledfate]

The mouse was glad that the man let it go, as she didn't wish to get Altriss involved. She knew how rough around the edges the old Doc was, and how straight forward he could be. The last thing she wanted to do was get him involved, especially with how hectic everything was. She wasn't sure why the Lemur requested no one be let in to see her, but they would honor it even if it was making the Mouse uncomfortable.

With things back to normal the facility was as busy as ever, with the various nurses going about there duties. Though Dawn herself would be happy when this chaos was over and she could rest. Holding this many clones for so long wasn't easy but, it wouldn't be the first time she'd had to do it. Of course just when she thought the menace as over she was startled by the female Lemur.

The Clone opened her mouth to speak but was interrupted by the head nurse, or in this case the original Dawn. She hoped a person of authority would put Miss Grimrose in her place and quell the situation but--- she had a feeling she'd be a problem.

" Hello Miss Grimrose, I am Head Nurse Dawn of Restoration Medical Staff. As you can clearly see the attack on Restoration has taken a heavy toll on its staff. Between the crash, and GUN at our doorstep we are in a state of high alert--- As such i am sorry but none one is allowed in without clearance by either a commanding officer or the doctor himself. "

She took a deep breath and gave the elder woman a stern stare down as she felt like this woman was going to be a problem.

" You are within your right to file grievance, though suing restoration would be a bad look for any firm don't you think? Your daughter will be out of our care in next 32 hours... 24 hours if she takes to her treatment. I'm happy to answer any questions concerning her condition to you but i will not let you disturb her while she is recovering... and i'm not about to interrupt Doctor Altiss's work for this either... and trust me--- you do not want to interrupt him with this. "

Dawn took another deep breath and gave Claire a firm star down with her gaze going from the usual sweet natured nurse. To one of icy steel, as she wasn't budging on the issue. She had an overbearing mother to--- and lord she felt bad for Tangle now.

" Your Daughter is an Adult Miss Grimrose, and of sound mind and body. If she doesn't want to see you right now, You should respect that... especially when you know she's ill, or injured... especially when you know she's resting and recovering. Yell at her later when she's recovered, have this argument with her when she's well and mentally prepared. But--- i won't hesitate to throw you out of this facility if you cause a scene... are we clear? "

"Just make sure to move it along as quick as you can." Twist didn't expect the doctor to rush, though didn't want him dragging his feet either. For now the lemur would take a seat, sitting stern and with his arms crossed. Seems he wasn't one to let himself relax much if at all, though he did use to be a soldier himself and still had a strong mindset for it as well.

A few minutes would pass before another lemur wearing a business suit walked in looking rather annoyed as she walked over to Twist. They would seem to be having a quiet argument before she would make her way to the nurse. "Excuse me, my name is Claire Grimrose. Knowing my daughter I'm sure she requested none see her, though I am legally put as a health care proxy which I can enforce if I think she is making poor medical decision. So, why don't you hurry along and get the doctor so we can sort this out, yes?" She spoke with a rather sweet yet threatening tone.

[xechu]

[Devour] Chapter 1: Reunited

Pairing: Ryomen Sukuna x fem!reader

Word count: 4.5K

Warnings: please read my blog's rules before interacting. 18+ mdni, angst, eventual smut, hurt/no comfort, explicit sexual content, undertones of misogyny (because the 'olden days'), mature themes, depiction of gore and violence, mentions of pregnancy and abortion. Please note that these warnings pertain to the entire series as a whole, and not just to this specific chapter.

Tags: mini series, angst, smut, Heian Era, true form Sukuna

Summary: Years have gone by. You find yourself forced into a marriage that you wanted no part of. The people in your village begin to reveal their true colors to you. Backed into a corner, you do something unthinkable.

A/N: Happy New Year, everyone! If you would like to be added to the tag list, please let me know. Chapter 2 is expected to come out next Thursday (Jan 9th at 12:00 PM EST). Thank you so much for reading and stay tuned. x

Masterlist: < Prologue | Chapter 2 (To be continued) >

You vividly remembered that fateful day as if it was just yesterday. After meeting Ryo, you sprinted back to the village, begging your grandmother to teach you all there was to know about plants, flowers, and herbs. Your grandmother laughed heartily, asking what had spurred such an interest in a young girl when she should be enjoying her youth instead. But your gut told you to keep him a secret; it felt as if he didn’t want to be known, so you made up a flimsy excuse to quell her curiosity. In hindsight, now that you were much older, you realized that your grandmother probably knew you were keeping a secret.

You often thought about Ryo, the boy who reminded you of the sun, and you would frequently visit the forest where the two of you had met, hoping to see him once more. But true to his words, you never encountered him again.

Years had passed in the blink of an eye, and you had grown into a bright young woman. However, the days of bliss would soon end when you found yourself caught in a dire conflict with the rest of the village.

It all happened on the day of your grandmother's funeral, she was your only family member since your parents passed away when you were small. The pain of her loss felt insurmountable, and you didn't know how to move on. There was no one you could lean on, and you selfishly wished to yourself: if only Ryo had come back to be your friend all those years ago. You had not been given enough time to fully mourn her loss when a group of elders and villagers approached you, their expressions grave and urgent.

Despite the immense grief you felt, you agreed to their request for a meeting in the main hall. As you entered the hall, the atmosphere shifted; something about their demeanor felt off. It wasn’t long before their true colors became apparent, unveiling a harsh reality that would shatter your understanding of everything around you.

“Y/N, as you are aware, the village has not been doing well,” one of the elders said. You nodded, your stomach twisting as you recalled the recent events that had transpired.

For the past few months, it felt as if the village had been cursed—crops withering, and people dying in horrific ways from an unknown illness. Thankfully, your grandmother passed from old age, and escaped the troubles that plagued the village. There was no discernible reason for this phenomenon, and the atmosphere had become increasingly tense and fearful. Everyone became cold and distant, only fending for themselves.

“There is, however, a silver lining to all this. A hope for our village, but it requires your cooperation,” the elder continued.

“Of course,” you replied, your throat tightening. Something felt horribly wrong. “How can I help?”

“Lord Yamamoto is looking for a wife. If you marry him, you can convince him to invest in our village. We will put in a good word for you.”

Just hearing Lord Yamamoto's name was enough to put you on edge. Lord Yamamoto had a notorious reputation that everyone knew about. Being well into his sixties, he would have been your father’s age had he still been alive. He was known for his short-temper and abusive nature, rumors had it that his last two wives perished under mysterious circumstances. Any parent who had even an ounce of love for their daughters would never marry them off to such a monster. Now, left with no family, it seemed you had become an easy target. Truth be told, you were past the age of marriage, but your grandmother had fiercely protected you from being immediately married off as soon as you came of age. She had always insisted that you live freely and carve out your own path in life.

“Lord Yamamoto is a tyrant,” you replied, trying to mask your unease. “That man should not be marrying anyone. It would only be a death sentence.”

“But you have no choice, Y/N!” another elder exclaimed, unable to hide his desperation. “If not you, then there will be no one else.”

“Don’t be so narrow-sighted. He might be good to you; old age has probably softened him,” another elder chimed in, trying to convince you.

“I…” you shook your head, your voice trembling. For the first time in your life, you felt truly alone and terrified. “I don’t want to marry him. I don’t need to marry anyone.”

“You owe us, Y/N,” one woman spat, the venom in her words slicing through your resolve. “After all, it is your fault that our village is cursed!”

Your eyes widened in disbelief. “How could you—”

“Don’t even try to deny it! My son saw you with that monster all those years ago. You invited him into our village, and now we all suffer because of you!”

“M-monster?” you gasped, appalled by the accusation.

“There is only one. The abomination with four eyes and four arms.”

Ryo? Your heart tightened at their insinuation. They didn’t know him at all.

“And my son has seen you wandering in and out of that forest over the years, meeting the monster in secret!”

“He's no monster!” you shouted back, anger coursing through you.

“Hah! So you admit you've seen him. You ought to be stoned to death. There could only be one reason why the two of you would meet in secret,” a middle-aged villager said, eyeing you up and down.

“Your grandmother was too lenient on you. That’s what happens when you have no parents to guide you. Daughters without parents become ill-mannered and rebellious.”

“Do not speak of my family as if you know them,” you retorted.

“Oh, I know your grandmother; she was a kind and hardworking woman. She worked until her death just to sustain an insolent wench like you.”

“While your poor grandmother worked her bones down to dust, you were spreading your legs for the King of Curses in the forest!” they continued their relentless assault of accusations.

“That’s not true!” you yelled, tears brimming in your eyes, though you stubbornly held them back. “I—”

“Look, there is no need for us to keep stating the facts that Y/N will never admit to,” a calmer voice interjected. The man reminded you of a fox—sly and conniving. “Y/N, your grandmother was a good woman. That is the only reason we wanted to do you this favor. If you don’t marry Lord Yamamoto, your safety will no longer be guaranteed in this village. To be frank, many villagers want you dead.”

The revelation hit you like a ton of bricks, suddenly, the hall felt too small, the imposing elders and villagers too big. You couldn’t breathe. One thing was clear, however: you had lived in ignorant bliss all along, and you realized it too late. No matter how you looked at it, both options seemed to lead to your impending doom.

A heavy silence loomed in the hall.

“I..." you clenched your fists tight enough to almost draw blood, "I will marry Lord Yamamoto,” you said quietly, your head dropping in defeat.

“Excellent. I’m glad we could reach an agreement,” the fox-like man replied, his voice dripping with false satisfaction.

With that, the group of elders and villagers walked away, heads held high as if they had just become the saviors of the village, leaving you feeling more trapped than ever.

---

Your entire village gathered to bid you farewell on your wedding day, but it felt nearly impossible to find joy in the moment. You were being sent off to a tyrant, and just days prior, it had been revealed that everyone had secretly loathed you all along. Despite the heavy weight of this revelation, you did your best to maintain a facade of ignorance, but the experience was jarring to say the least.

Lord Yamamoto had sent four of his men to collect you in a shoulder carriage. The Yamamoto estate was about a day's journey away, which meant you would arrive at your new home by nightfall. The wedding ceremony was scheduled to begin immediately upon your arrival, and then you would be expected to share a bed with your new husband. The thought of bedding a stranger—someone who could practically be your father—made you shudder. Your stomach churned as feelings of disgust and dread surged within you; bile threatened to escape your throat. You weren’t even certain you could persuade Lord Yamamoto to invest in your village, rendering the entire marriage a cruel farce.

As you sat in the uncomfortable carriage, your thoughts spiraled into desperation. Perhaps you could make a run for it, a grand escape. You had a vague idea of the landscape from your childhood adventures, but could you truly outrun four men? The route to the Yamamoto estate would take them through a dense forest by the mountains—this would be your most opportune moment if you decided to flee. Your heart raced as you weighed the risks, contemplating whether such a plan was feasible.

You couldn’t tell how long you had been in the carriage, but the sounds of a rushing river signaled that the group had now entered the forest. Quietly, you peeked through the crack of the small carriage window to confirm your suspicions.

It was now or never, you thought, as adrenaline began coursing through you. Even if you managed to evade the men, would you be able to survive the forest before it claimed you? Then again, you’d rather face the unknown dangers of the wilderness than submit to an abusive husband.

“E-excuse me,” you called out, your voice wavering slightly. The carriage came to a halt.

“Yes, my Lady?” one of the men replied.

“I’m sorry, but I… need to use the bathroom,” you lied, the words tumbling out with an urgency that surprised you.

A brief moment of silence followed as the four men deliberated how to handle the situation.

“Worry not, my Lady; we will find a suitable spot for you immediately,” one of them said.

“Thank you…” you murmured, feeling the carriage lower as they prepared to let you out.

“Please, come out. We will wait for you by the riverbank,” another man instructed, his voice firm yet respectful.

Climbing out of the carriage, you noted that the men sat dutifully by the river, their gazes averted to preserve your dignity as the lord's wife.

“Call us when you’re done,” one of the men said loudly.

“Yes,” you replied, your voice steady despite the nerves churning within you. “I’m sorry; it might take a while. I suppose I’m a little nervous about meeting Lord Yamamoto.”

You made your way into the depths of the forest, further from the men, quickly scanning your surroundings to plan your escape. Your heart raced; you knew you only had so much time. Without another glance back, you took a deep breath and made a run for it, pushing yourself into the wilderness.

---

It was a miracle you had managed to escape, but as you feared, nightfall approached quickly, casting the forest into darkness and enveloping you in a chilling cold. A part of you had anticipated the difficult challenge of surviving a night in the wild, but you didn't have much time to consider the grim reality of your situation.

You patted your surroundings to guide yourself through the increasingly opaque darkness. Oddly enough, you didn’t feel scared—not nearly as terrified as when you had been coerced into marrying Lord Yamamoto.

You suddenly recalled the stories your grandmother used to tell about the forest and mountains. She described them as spiritual places where benevolent and malevolent spirits coexisted. If you were fortunate, the kind spirits would guide and protect you; but if luck was not on your side, the malevolent spirits would claim you as their own. It was strange that amidst your dire situation, you were reminiscing about these childhood tales, and a sense of unease began to settle in your chest.

After some time, it became apparent that you were lost. You couldn’t tell if you were moving deeper into the forest or away from it; it felt like an endless abyss. You were getting tired and cold, so you decided to stop your exploration, this was where you would have to set up camp for the night. You attempted to fashion a makeshift bed out of your wedding kimono, and you shivered as you lay atop your haori, realizing perhaps you shouldn’t have taken it off. Staring into the darkness, exhaustion took over, and you began to drift into sleep.

You were not sure how long you had been asleep when peculiar sounds jolted you awake. Your senses heightened, and you feared you might have come into contact with a wild animal. Listening closely, your blood ran cold. The sounds were not those of a mere animal; bones were snapping, flesh tearing, and spluttering noises could be heard. Was this what awaited you—death?

Suddenly, silence enveloped the forest. You clasped your hands tightly over your mouth, feeling bile rise in your throat. Your survival now depended on remaining as quiet as possible, but the sound of heavy footsteps drew closer. You realized you had already been noticed, and with no other option, you gathered every ounce of strength to escape.

You barely made it a few steps before whatever it was caught up to you at an inhuman speed. A powerful grip seized your arm, and an intense force held you in place—it felt as if your arm might snap under the pressure.

"Ah—!" you tried to scream, but a rush of air stole your voice before you could utter another sound. In an instant, the figure turned you around, enveloping you in a tight embrace.

Your heart raced as you stood there wide-eyed, confusion swirling within you as you tried to process what had just occurred. The forest fell silent, the usual sounds of the night muted, leaving you alone with the darkness that surrounded you and the shadowy figure holding you.

Was this a friend or foe? The uncertainty gnawed at you, heightening your anxiety. Just as panic began to bubble to the surface, a voice broke through the stillness.

"Little flower."

---

Sukuna's POV

For Sukuna, this encounter felt like a resurgence of old feelings he had desperately tried to lock away. Every moment shared in the past relentlessly crashed over him, threatening to consume him. Time had altered him, reshaping his reality in ways beyond imagination. Yet here you were, untouched by the darkness, a flower blossoming amidst the ash. It appeared that while he had changed irrevocably, you had remained the same.

You had never met him after your fateful encounter as a child, and though your memory served you correctly, Sukuna could not say the same for himself. After his encounter with you, he had earnestly believed that he would not be able to return to your village; after all, beggars couldn't be choosers. In his mind, he would have to go wherever his next meal was.

As he began to travel, he meticulously retraced every step he took, a part of him still hoping to one day find a way back to you. The thought lingered like a whisper in the back of his mind. To his astonishment, it was as if fate had decided to grant him one wish. He stumbled upon an abandoned temple at the foot of a mountain, close to your village. The temple seemed to have belonged to a fire deity many years ago, and from that day forward, Sukuna made the temple his home. He would make the trip to steal glimpses of you from time to time. In his mind, he convinced himself that he was satisfied with seeing you from afar.

Sukuna quietly watched you—ensuring he kept you at arm's length. It became almost like a sacred duty to him, maintaining distance while keeping his desires at bay. Often, he would hear you call out his name in the very same forest where the two of you had sat together, sharing steamed buns. It took tremendous restraint to remain hidden, despite knowing you searched for him. He assured himself this was for the best, for this was how it should be.

As the seasons changed and repeated, he watched you bloom into the most beautiful woman he had ever laid eyes on—a vision that captivated him more than anything he had ever encountered. Meanwhile, he had truly established himself as the King of Curses. Over the years, Sukuna had transformed into a force to be reckoned with, the pinnacle of jujutsu sorcery. He mercilessly hunted down curses, beasts, and people, reveling in the chaos and destruction he left in his wake. His bloodlust was insatiable, an ever-growing hunger that consumed him. If the two of you were to ever reunite, would you be able to embrace the man he had become and the grim realities of all he had done?

A part of him selfishly wanted to whisk you away, to claim you as his own. It would have been easy for him to act on those desires, to force you into complete submission, yet the very thought that you might come to resent or loathe him filled him with a profound dread. You had always awakened feelings within him that were foreign and unsettling, yet utterly intoxicating.

Life had become less isolating after meeting Uraume; the two of them shared a mentor-pupil relationship that brought a semblance of companionship to his solitary life. Uraume was not only a powerful sorcerer in their own right but also remarkably adept in the domestic sphere, handling cooking and chores with ease and efficiency. Sukuna willingly took them under his wing, finding comfort in their presence.

Then shortly after came Yorozu. She quickly caught Sukuna’s attention not just for her looks, but for her undeniable strength as a sorcerer. They shared the same bloodlust and a thrill for battle that bound them together. Over time, her obsession with Sukuna deepened, an intense devotion that complemented her wild and brash personality. She understood Sukuna in ways few could and accepted him unconditionally. Though they had an intimate relationship, Sukuna never once considered Yorozu as anything more than a fleeting distraction. The labyrinths of his heart still whispered your name. Many times, he had wished it were you writhing beneath him, your voice crying out his name.

Sukuna often imagined what it would have been like if he had continued to visit you instead, envisioning a life where the two of you grew up together. Where would that path have led both of you? Would you still have been his friend, unwavering and loyal? Or would you have learned to despise him like so many others had? Perhaps—he felt a dull shame in having such thoughts—would you have been willing to leave everything behind to be with him?

But one day, it all came crashing down on him. He was finally forced to confront his longing and fantasies when he saw you leaving the village in a wedding kimono, stepping into a shoulder carriage. You were smiling, and judging by the grandeur of the spectacle, it seemed you were marrying into a well-off family. In that moment, he had to accept the painful truth: you were no longer his.

Yes, this was how it should be; this was what you deserved. But no matter how much he repeated it to himself like a mantra, he couldn't suppress the rush of anger, jealousy, and bitterness that surged within him. That same day, Sukuna returned to the forest near the temple, his resolve completely shattered. In a fit of rage, he exterminated countless curses, unleashing his fury upon anything that dared exist in his path—until the voices of four men broke through his wrath.

“Damn it, where did she go?” one of the men exclaimed, panic evident in his voice.

“I knew something was off,” another replied with a sigh.

Sukuna immediately pinpointed the source of the voices; he recognized them as the same men who had come to collect you in that carriage. What happened? Why were they searching for you? Were you in danger? He continued to stalk the four men unnoticed, gathering information in silence. But he also knew the forest was immensely dangerous—he needed to find you before something else did.

“Lord Yamamoto would be furious to know that Lady Y/N has run away; he will have our heads!” one of the men said, his anxiety palpable.

“Keep looking,” a third man urged. “She couldn't have gone far. A girl won’t survive alone in the forest.”

A few moments into their frantic search, one man spoke up, his voice low but anxious. “Do you think those rumors about Lady Y/N are true?”

“Not this again,” another groaned, shaking his head. “I’d rather not think about it.”

"But Lord Yamamoto seems to believe them,” the first man insisted.

“That’s not our concern,” the fourth man interjected dismissively. “If Lord Yamamoto is gracious enough to accept her despite the rumors, then who are we to question it?”

“But what if she curses the Yamamoto household as well? Our lord could have chosen another young woman—why her?” the third man pressed.

“It’s not that simple,” the second man said, his voice rising in frustration. “Our lord has a reputation. Not to mention, he’s getting old with no male heir to inherit his name—he's desperate.”

"I heard Lady Y/N has no family; after Lord Yamamoto gets what he wants out of it, he could easily dispose of her. Nobody will come looking for her or mourn for her."

“Still, if it were up to me, I wouldn’t have chosen a woman who was impure. I heard it wasn't just any man she bedded, it was a demon: the King of Curses,” the first man's voice dripped with disdain.

Sukuna stopped in his tracks, his blood running hot.

“Keep your mouth shut!” one of the men warned sharply. “Do you not realize that we are in his territory right now?”

“Is that why you were so on edge since we entered the forest?” another scoffed. “Do you truly believe such a beast exists?”

“Why don’t the two of you stop talking and just look for her?” the fourth man urged, frustration lining his voice. “It won’t be her who perishes if we return to Lord Yamamoto without his bride.”

A torrent of emotions swirled inside Sukuna; the thought of you being treated like livestock to produce an heir for an aging lord disgusted him. And then there were the rumors about you sleeping with the King of Curses—how had that even come about? Sukuna's chest tightened as he surmised that you had probably run away from it all. This was all he needed to know. Without hesitation, Sukuna appeared before the four men.

"Good day, sir!" one of the men called out as he spotted Sukuna. "We are looking for a young woman. Have you seen her by any chance?"

Sukuna remained silent, his gaze fixed as he continued to walk towards them, an unsettling calm surrounding him.

"Tch, where are his manners?" one of them muttered under his breath.

“Wait, he looks a bit strange…” a third man whispered, unease settling into his voice.

"We're looking for a woman—” another started, but he faltered.

“I heard you the first time,” Sukuna snarled, his voice low and menacing.

The four men stood wide-eyed and frozen in fear, realizing that the King of Curses was indeed a real man—not a mere myth. Suddenly, an inexplicable force of impending doom engulfed them.

“You will do well to remember that you are in my domain,” Sukuna warned, his tone chilling.

“T-the King of Curses! It’s true!” one of the men stammered, panic rising in his voice.

“Hm, I suppose it is,” Sukuna replied, a taunting smile spreading across his face, akin to a cat toying with its prey.

“Forget Lady Y/N! W-we must inform Lord Yamamoto!” another man exclaimed, desperation lacing his words.

“How presumptuous of you, to think I would allow you to make it back to him," Sukuna’s smile turned sinister, his eyes glinting with anticipation of the chaos to come, "you could try to run, but it will be futile."

The four men began to sprint away, desperately trying to escape the King of Curses.

"Do your best. Run as fast as you can; I will give you ten seconds," Sukuna called out and began to count down.

"Time's up." Sukuna licked his lips and began to charge in their direction. Before the men could react, Sukuna struck, ripping them to shreds in an instant. Blood and gore splattered across the ground, painting the forest floor in a grotesque display of violence. A rush of exhilaration coursed through him as he reveled in the symphony of carnage before him. Every kill was an intense high for Sukuna; he was no different than an untamed beast. But he quickly pulled himself back to focus; after all, you were still missing, and he needed to find you before the sun set.

It was dark, and still, there were no signs of you. Sukuna knew this forest and mountain like the back of his hand, and he was in genuine disbelief that you had ventured so deeply into it. There was no way you would continue to wander blindly in the woods at this hour; you were probably tired and cold. He reasoned that the next logical step would be for you to set up camp somewhere, but he could feel the cursed energies of the forest becoming more potent by the minute. Of all the places you could have gotten lost, it just had to be here.

Sukuna gritted his teeth, his heart pounding frantically—a sensation that didn't come often for him. As he continued to navigate through the forest, he was suddenly hit with an intense surge of energy. This was no mere curse, and he couldn't risk you encountering it. Without hesitation, he made his way toward the source of the energy. He would extinguish it before resuming his search for you. But what he didn’t anticipate was that the curse would ultimately lead him to you.

Sukuna effortlessly slayed the curse, tearing it to shreds, when a vibrant piece of fabric caught his keen eye. Moving toward it, he suddenly heard a rustle as if someone was trying to make a run for it. It was you—he was sure of it. He quickly closed the distance, grabbing you by the arm. Before he could fully process the moment, his body instinctively pulled you into a fierce embrace.

“Little flower,” was all he could manage to say.

He knew it would be difficult to let you go again.

Writing © xechu - please do not redistribute or repost.

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the photos used on this banner.

Taglist: @paradisestarfishh

[jackactuallywrites]

All Seeing, All Knowing, All Loving: Part 6

Rating: Not safe for work in the way that Simon is literally not safe in the workplace.

Warnings: War, artillery

Summary: Who could possibly be calling you after months of silence? HMMM

Notes: It’s small because I’m still digesting Christmas dinner x

Word Count: 755

ao3 link

Who the fuck was calling you at such an ungodly hour?

You were still recovering from the deathly hangover you’d incurred from New Year’s Eve, as well as the truly horrifying amount of cheese, chocolate, and meats you’d ingested over the holiday period, having taken to bed at tea time, when you were woken by the buzzing of your phone, and that god awful ring tone one of your colleagues had snuck onto your phone. You really needed to turn it off; a meowed classic Nokia ringtone was funny for all of five seconds, but now it was nails on chalkboard.

It would go to voicemail if it was important, and nobody in your family was dying or pregnant, so you decided you could ignore it, clicking the lock button to reject it.

You should have known it wouldn’t have worked.

As soon as you’d rejected the call, it started up again, buzzing relentlessly under your pillow. Clearly, whoever was on the other end wasn’t deterred by the idea of waking you from peaceful slumber. Prick.

Resigned to your fate, you grabbed your phone from under your pillow, squinting at the number suspiciously. You didn’t recognise it. If it was spam, you might have to go on a murder mission.

“Hello?”

“Evenin’”

“Evening?” You looked at your phone,

“It’s four in the bloody morning!”

“I do apologise. Didn’t have a chance to ring you earlier.

Hm. That voice was increasingly familiar. That Mancunian accent, the gruff, blunt tone.

“Cunt.”

“Aye.”

Yeah, it was him. You hadn’t thought about him in a while. Well, that was a lie. You thought about him every time you opened your wallet and saw his ID card next to your bank cards. He just wasn’t as present, was no longer the monster hiding in your cupboards or under your bed. You didn’t look over your shoulder for his bulky figure or try to spot his car on the street. It had been a good month or two of peace, until now.

“Still alive then?”

“So far.”

You wondered where in the world he was. British military did seem to find themselves sticking their noses into a lot of things that weren’t at all their business. You knew he wouldn’t tell you where he was, he couldn’t.

“Where are you?”

He just sighed on the other end of the line. That was followed by a loud boom, powerful enough that it made the audio coming from your phone go tinny and weird, and then, a loud metal clunk.

“The fuck are you doing?”

“What does it sound like?”

“Fucking scary is what it sounds like! Why are you calling me in the middle of a damn battlefield? Shouldn’t you be in a fucking bunker or something where there’s a) no signal, and b) actual safety?”

“Wouldn’t be much of a blade if I cowered in a bunker would I?”

Typical.

“My God, why, why are you calling me?”

“Just wanted to wish you a merry Christmas and a happy new year.”

The man was fucking insane.

“Right. Sure. Thank you. And merry Christmas and happy new year to you as well. Now will you focus on the not dying please?”

“Sentimental?”

“Fuck off.”

“Aye, figured you were. I’ll be back in one piece.”

“Joy.”

“Aye, miss you too.”

The man missed you? Were you dreaming? You sat up in bed, staring at your phone, bewildered. There was only one possible answer.

“Are you drunk ?”

“Mm. Little.”

“Jesus Christ.”

“They do good beer here. S’nice.”

“Simon, don’t-“ there were too many things that you didn’t want him to do. “Just, don’t be a dick, alright?”

“Tall order. I’ll do my best.”

You pinched the bridge of your nose, flopping back on your pillows.

“I’m going back to sleep. Don’t die.”

“Aye ma’am.”

The call beeped, ending what had been perhaps the strangest conversation of your life. Ghost really knew how to make an entrance back into your head. Already, you were obsessing. Where was he? Was he safe? Well, you already knew he wasn’t. But how unsafe was it? What were the statistics, the deaths? It bothered you that you couldn’t find out. At least there was one thing you could google.

It took some time for your search engine to realise that you didn’t want information on knife blades, the blades from the elder scrolls, or various football teams, with you having to specify ‘who are the blades army uk’ before you finally got your answer.

The SAS.

Good fucking God .

[bunni-v1]

bunni!!! im here with a thought! now i believe lighter is a total masochist. im all here for it. slap him, choke him, torture him, beat him if you wish… but what if you put a shock collar on him? yknow… for good measure. just incase he disobeys like a naughty boy…

imagine his little strangled noises, the whines as he knows hes about to be punished. mm… get him to beg for mercy, for you to forgive him and waive his punishment. do anything, just not the shock collar. you could even put him back in the cock cage! just dont shock him, please!!!

Mini!!! GTFO OF MY HEAD!!!! Jk ily pookie <3

I think the best thing about masochist Lighter is the fact that it's, in a way, incredibly selfish. He won't do things to you, ever, it goes against his moral code. Too loving and sweet to ever think about torturing you like that. On him, though, he's there to service. Use him as you please, that's what he's there for right?

Sure it's torturous and overstimulating and cruel, but you love it so how could he possibly refuse you? Even when you put the cage on, it's okay. He loves it because it's for you. The only issue is... he can easily overpower you if he wants. When you're overstimulating him and he wants to cum, he can just force you to let him because you can't overpower him.

You had to find a solution to, ah, train the behavior out of him. So, you went looking, and what you found was perfect. A pretty red collar with little gold studs, perfect for your pretty boy. You even got him tags, heart-shaped with your number on the back in case he got lost. When you present it to him he's almost confused. He wasn't really into pet play, but sure he'd give it a whirl, but you correct him and wave the remote that comes with it in his face.

Again, not something he considered, but with that smile on your face how could he say no. You let him test it out, picking the setting that he was most comfortable with (which was high, thanks to his insane pain tolerance) beforehand, and thus your little plan goes into action.

You don't use it at all during the usual session, drawing it out particularly long this time. It was more than Lighter was used to and it was almost too much for him to handle. You'd made him cum at least five -- he lost count after the fifth -- and now you were teasing him. It had been at least half an hour of you slowly dragging your fingers along his shaft, he was getting impatient, you could tell. He was whining and crying and drooling, but you just wouldn't give him what he wanted.

Usually, he's able to grab you by your thighs and get what he wants no problem, but you weren't gonna let him this time. As you feel those strong hands pull you, you reach over and press the button on the remote. The reaction is instantaneous, his entire body tensing under you, a confused moan rumbling from the back of his throat. Like the pain was unexpectedly nice to him. Best yet, he cums instantly, sticky white fluid coating your fingers.

"Ooo~ You liked that didn't you?~" You coo at him, and he flusters like a shy little puppy. So adorable. Unfortunately, you didn't tell him he could cum, so it seems like you would just have to draw it out a little longer. It was his fault he was being tortured anyway, he should just behave after all.

It becomes his least favorite, favorite method of torture you use. He can't help but love the sensation, how weak and helpless it makes him to your whims, not to mention how happy you get when he submits to the pain. But, it really sucks that he lost the one thing he had over you when he bottoms.

On good nights you won't bring it out, but the second he starts misbehaving you'll reach for the drawer you store it in, and he immediately gets in line. He'd rather you fuck him without the added threat of that horrible little thing.

[arisewanekosuki]

Koi no Yokan - Wanderer x Reader

Wanderer was annoyed. The paper in front of him was still blank and it’s all your fault. How dare you  occupy his thoughts so much?

A month ago, Wanderer was taking a stroll, far away from Sumeru city, wanting to be alone for some time. But his peaceful walk didn’t last long when he noticed two Fatui soldiers harassing you. At first he wanted to ignore it but, seeing you won’t be able to take care of them yourself he decided to be merciful and put the two guys into their places. When the two guys were running for their life, Wanderer turned from you preparing to just leave without a word. -”Wait!” you shouted and he stopped. “Thank you for helping me! May I know your name?” you asked. -”You can call me whatever you want.” And with that he started to walk. You pouted and then ran towards him, stopping in front of him. You gasped when you finally took a good look at him. -”You're beautiful.” You said, amazed by his looks. -”I heard that many times, now move.” Then you smirked. -”You said I can call you whatever I want right? Then how about….” “Husband?”

And after that encounter you would often find and bother him. When he would sit at a restaurant drinking tea you would come and join without asking. (You did ask at first but with him always responding ‘no’ you decided to ignore that.) Talking about your adventures, asking him how his day was, bringing things you found and giving them to him. At first he wouldn’t accept them but you started to leave while the things were still on table and didn’t give him a choice but to take it. No matter what he said or did, you persisted to try to find and talk with him whenever you had time. And when he asked what is the reason for you wasting your time on doing that, you with a smile responded. -”Hmm… It’s because you’re my first love!” The only thing he could say after hearing that was “Haah?” …But your smile didn’t waver. The other day he would say that he will never feel the same and yet you didn’t mind. -”I see, but I don’t mind! I just want to make you feel happy! Whether as a lover or friend!” you really started to irritate him but at the same time he was feeling weird inside. 

And then two days ago. -”...So I got this job to escort this couple in the desert! I hope you won’t miss me in those two days~” -”Hmph I would never.” he said and took a sip of his tea. -”Aww don’t be like that! I know you will be bored without me~” -”You wish.” You giggled at that. -”Aren’t you a cute one? Ahh but I was hoping I could see your smile before leaving.” -”And why is that?” -”Well… as an adventurer I can never know when my end will come.” you said it so casually but Wanderer’s brows furrowed. -”Then if you want to see my smile you better come back.” he murmured but you still heard it. You looked at him shocked and then a big, bright smile appeared on your face. -”I’m always trying my best to come back! I want to spend more time with you after all!” And after that, you said goodbye to him, leaving another small present to him on the table.

And now Wanderer was still looking at his blank paper. Finally, he decided to give up on writing today and went out and looked through Sumeru City in hopes he will see your ‘stupid’ smile again. But no luck. Then the next day was the same, he was sitting at his table in a cafe like always and you were nowhere in sight. At first he thought that he could finally relax, but the more he just sat there himself the more he was missing your babbling. Another day and still he didn’t see nor hear you. You said that your commission is in the desert so he flew over to Caravan Ribat. After reaching the place he asked Emerimtes stationed if they saw you. And they didn’t see anyone with your description coming from the desert for the last few days. Wanderer stood there at the entrance to the desert. Should he go and search for you? But why should he go to such lengths for you?

...What if you already perished there? He shook his head, starting to feel anxious by this thought.  He can’t really understand why you make him feel all of those feelings. He decided to go search for you, but before he could leave Caravan Ribat he saw a Stumper beast appearing and with it there were some people on the carriage, one of them was you. Your head was bandaged, your right arm broken. When you noticed him, you smiled brightly and started to wave with your healthy hand. When the carriage got close he could spot some bruises on your skin. He clicked his tongue. -”Hi! Did you miss me?” you said. But Wanderer ignored this question. -”Did they pay you already?” -”Hm? Yes, why?” he didn’t reply, he just got closer to you and held you bridal style and flew away. “Ah?! W-w-what?!” -”Shut up.” seeing that he is flying towards Sumeru City you came to the conclusion that he may want you to be seen by a doctor. This thought made you smile. You two didn’t say a word for some time. It was so peaceful and calm, even Wanderer wasn’t going at a fast speed. You put your head closer to his chest, closing your eyes. -”You know…” you started. “It was really tough out there… Not only humans but monsters were attacking almost all the time. There was a moment I thought this would be the end.” The boy holding you didn’t spare you a look, only his brow furrowed. -”But then I thought ‘Ah what a shame, I never saw his smile’ and somehow I found strength to continue to fight.” The hold on you tightened. -”I really love you.” you laughed, your cheeks warm “Even if you don’t feel the same, even if you still won’t want to tell me your real name. I still love you and I only wish for your happiness.” -”..shi…”  you opened your eyes, looking up at him. -”Kunikuzushi. That’s my name.” you repeated his name, Wanderer’s ‘heart’ moved at how gently you said it. You placed your head on his chest again. -”Thank you for telling me. It makes me happy.” Those ‘disgusting’ feelings creep inside him. His cheeks were adored with blush. He is not sure what those feelings will bloom into in future, but for now, he knows that you became someone important to him.   And he won’t let anything bad happen to you ever again.

-------- Thanks for reading! (^<^)/)

[averillaratargaryen]

‘The Bitter Bond.’

Chapter IX

“So what exactly is the reason we are staying here longer?” Joffrey asks his mother.

“Unfortunately, your grandfather is not well” Rhaenyra sighed.

“But he seemed to be fine two days ago, when we went for the hunt” Jacerys pointed out.

“It is not something visible. At least not yet” Rhaenyra responded.

“But that is why we must stay here, so that we can keep an eye out for him, in case others try to.. meddle in, and have him be worse��� Daemon indirectly comments toward the Hightowers.

Rhaenyra looked toward Daemon with a sigh, to stop him from being snarky, before looking toward Daerlyssa.

“I know you wished to leave” Rhaenyra told her.

“It’s fine. It is understandable and this time, you have at least told me your reasons for us staying” Daerlyssa responds.

“Now that Grandfather’s unwell, would you have to get married?” Joffrey turns to face his sister, “what if it is his dying wish?”

“He is not dying, Joffrey” Daemon’s palm wiped itself across Daemons face, as he held his laughter in.

“No. It does not mean that” Daerlyssa responds, “I hope he is to get better but this marriage he wants, will not take place.”

The kids all sigh, as they look at one another, whilst Rhaenyra and Daemon look to one another in worry.

-

After the discussion, Daerlyssa had made her way back to her chamber, finding Ser Harold stood, his eyes closed slightly.

“Ser Harold?” Daerlyssa called out.

“Oh, sorry Princess” Ser Harold called out, his eyes drowsy.

Daerlyssa tiptoes toward him, placing her palm against his head.

“Your head is burning” Daerlyssa looked at him with worry, “you should rest.”

“It is quite alright” Ser Harold responded, “I must stay on watch, and keep you safe.”

“Ser Harold, you are sick. You must rest. I will be fine” Daerlyssa complained, “I will not have you stand here when you are unwell.”

“I do not..” his words trailed off, before he felt his knees weaken.

Daerlyssa managed to keep him held up, as his eyes drooped, closing slowly, as he mumbled words Daerlyssa could not seem to make out.

She guided him into her room, before laying him on her bed.

His head continued to burn up, the temperature of his cheeks rising.

“Daerlyssa, do you have a moment-?” She heard her name being called, before turning around to find the Queen consort at her door.

Alicent stood at her door, getting a clear view of Ser Harold on her bed.

“What is going on?” She looked to Daerlyssa in suspicion.

“It is not what you think. Ser Harold is a father to me” Daerlyssa cleared the accusations she knew Alicent would hold against her, given her facial expression, “he is not well and had passed out, outside my door. I could not leave him there.”

“Then perhaps he is in need of a maester” Alicent responds, before looking behind, giving her order to Ser Criston Cole.

Turning back toward her, Alicent then stepped into her bedroom, looking around, in wonder.

“Is there something I can help you with?” Daerlyssa asks.

“Yes, there is” Alicent looked towards her, harshly, “I wish to know your reasons on denying Aegon’s proposal. You claim he is a good man and yet-!”

“He is a good man. He has made me feel welcome, and he is kind. But I can not marry him. I do not love him” Daerlyssa responds.

“Marriage is not done for love. It is done for security. Nothing but a political arrangement” Alicent looks to her, still confused on the rejection given to her son.

“And are you happy, with that security? Does my grandfather keep you content?” Daerlyssa questions her.

Yet Alicent could not answer, for she knew the truth. Nothing about marrying Viserys, has made her happy.

Brushing Daerlyssa’s question, she shifts the subject back to her son, “is it because of his nature? From what I am aware, he surely has told you.”

“His nature?” Daerlyssa chuckled, “there is nothing wrong with his nature, to be a reason for me not to marry him. Just like me, I am not who he loves. He should marry who he will love, and treat well.”

“He must marry, to get such foolish wishes out his head!” Alicent pleads.

“Do you know the damage you would cause, should you force him to marry a woman?” Daerlyssa asks, “bastard children. And from what I am aware, you seem to consider them monstrous.”

Alicent stood silently, realising the truth in Daerlyssa’s statement.

“You have damaged one family. You mustn’t damage another. Your own son’s, at least” Daerlyssa pleads, “be his mother. Love him for who he is.”

“Your grace” Alicent was greeted from the maester, “you called for me.”

“I did” Daerlyssa interrupted, looking away from Alicent, welcoming the maester’s in, to have a look at Ser Harold.

Alicent watched silently, before turning around, to Ser Cole, who stood waiting.

In defeat, she walked off, Ser Cole following behind her.

“I do not know what I can do” Alicent sighed, “no one will marry Aegon. Eventually, his father will either behead him, or he will die from drowning in his cups.”

“What was her reasons for being close to him, if she does not wish to pursue him?” Ser Cole scoffs, “just as her mother-!”

“Do not” Alicent stops, to turn and face him, “I know what has happened in the past, but do not mention it.”

Ser Cole nods, before watching Alicent walk off.

But he stayed stood behind, looking back to Daerlyssa’s chamber.

She knew something was going on, given the looks he noticed Aemond give her.

The tension of the two being close to one another.

Familiarily, it reminded him of his occurrence with Rhaenyra, and her affair between both, him and Daemon.

Ser Cole took it upon himself to make sure Daerlyssa would not hurt them the way Rhaenyra had did him.

He had to make sure, she would receive the message.

-

After hearing the maesters decision, to let Ser Harold rest, she had given permission to have him lay in her room, given that she would have to share a chamber with her brother, Jacerys.

Walking into his chamber, she was disturbed by the sound of Jacerys’ snores, as he lay with his legs and arms all over the bed.

With a sigh, she turned around, closing his chamber door behind her, wondering where she could sleep. Until she realised a comfortable place.

Her grandfather’s library.

…

Walking toward it, she noticed there was no one guarding, giving her the indication that no one would be inside.

With excitement, she hurried along, before rushing in, closing the doors behind her.

A restful sigh then escaped her, when she looked around, to the quietness, and the warmth.

Whilst she believed it to be just a chair, Daerlyssa tossed her blanket onto Aemond’s chair, before she decided to have a look through the library, finding something that would be interesting to read.

Many books were solely based on the history of Old Valyria and Westeros.

Until she had come across one, that caught her eye.

There wasn’t a title, nor was their an any indication as to what it could be, given the cover was a simple red velvet.

Daerlyssa had opened up the page, to a book that seemed to be handwritten.

In the garden where shadows creep,

Beneath the moon’s watchful, silver sweep,

There blooms a rose of midnight hue,

A flower kissed by night’s cold dew.

Its petals curl, a silken shade,

A crown of darkness, deftly made.

No crimson blush, no golden glow,

But secrets only shadows know.

Whence it came, no one can tell,

A token born of heaven or hell.

A lover’s grief, a mourner’s sigh,

A silent star that fell from the sky.

Its fragrance whispers—soft, yet grim,

A song of loss, a requiem hymn.

It speaks of love too deep to fade,

And wounds the heart, yet unafraid.

Oh, black rose, in twilight’s hand,

A mystery time can’t withstand.

You bloom where sorrow dares to tread,

A beauty found where tears are shed.

Daerlyssa read out the first page, realising it was a book on poetry.

Flickering through, she had come across many poems, yet they all seemed to have a similar feeling, of darkness, with each topic.

Until the last that was filled, and the most recent that was written.

“Her purple eyes..?” Daerlyssa read out the title to the poem, before her eyes began to scan down the page.

Your eyes, twin stars of violet flame,

Burn through the darkness, whisper my name.

Infinite skies within their glow,

A realm of wonder only I know.

Each glance, a spell, a tender snare,

Their depth as wild as your silver hair.

Cascading waves, a moonlit stream,

A haunting beauty born of a dream.

Your porcelain cheeks, so soft, divine,

A face that poets would claim as shrine.

But it’s your gaze that steals my breath,

A love that conquers life and death.

Daerlyssa looked at the page blankly, wondering who it could possibly be about.

But what intrigued her more, was the author, to such loving words. It could not possibly be anyone she knows.

She would not find her family capable to write such meaningful words.

“That does not belong to you” Ser Criston spoke, causing her to jump in fear, not realising he was stood in front of her.

The book had slipped out her hand, and onto the floor in front of her.

“Did I startle you?” Ser Criston asks.

“Yes!” Daerlyssa shouted back, “what is wrong with you?”

“I apologise, Princess” Ser Criston then bent down, to pick up the book Daerlyssa had dropped, placed it back into the shelf, “but you should not be reading the work of others.”

“Why? Do you know whose work it is?” Daerlyssa asks.

“Even if I did, it is not my place to say” Ser Criston responded.

“Right” Daerlyssa nods, “well, I will just get back to- yep!”

She pointed forward, before walking off, Ser Criston following behind.

“Should you not be in your chamber, Princess?” He asks.

“Ser Harold will rest there tonight. I was told of the spare bed in my brother’s room, however I do not find that comfortable. My brother snores awfully loud. So I have decided to sleep here tonight” Daerlyssa sat at the chair, before placing the blanket above her.

“You can not do that” Ser Cole responded.

“Why not?” Daerlyssa asks, “it is just a library, which no one uses.”

“Both, Prince Aemond and Prince Aegon use this library” Ser Cole corrects her.

“Well they are in their chambers right now, and I will be gone by morning” Daerlyssa looked up at him confused, “I do not understand your pressure.”

“This is Prince Aemond’s chair” Ser Cole pointed out.

“What?” Daerlyssa shrieked, looking up, “since when did he own a chair?”

“It was gifted from his mother, as she knew he loved to read” Ser Cole responds.

“Hmm” Daerlyssa nods, “well perhaps tonight, keep this between me and you, yes?”

Daerlyssa placed the blanket above her, as she closed her eyes, hoping Ser Cole would leave her alone.

But she was wrong to trust him in the first place.

Ser Cole looked toward her, letting out a low scoff, before he took it in his hands to rip off the blanket that covered her.

Daerlyssa opened her eyes in shock, her immediate reaction being confused, “what are you doing?”

“I said you can not be here. Get out” Ser Cole responded.

“Who are you to tell me where I can or can’t be?” Daerlyssa responds.

“I am the Queen’s trusted guard” Ser Cole responds, “you answer me with respect, and do as you are told.”

“You are a guard. I am a princess, I do not need to tell you where your place stands” Daerlyssa responds, before she stood up, “and from what I have heard, you are Ser Cole. My mother chose you, be very wise with your next words.”

“Do you think you scare me, Princess?” He smirked, “you are just as your mother. A whore-!”

Daerlyssa was quick to defend her mother’s honour, as she slapped him across his cheek, with a full force, “my mother is your future Queen. How dare you?”

The slap caused Ser Cole’s cheek to tighten, as he felt himself fuming in anger.

“You are a trusted guard to the Queen consort, your value means nothing. Don’t you dare disrespect us again” Daerlyssa warns him.

But Ser Cole would not take her warnings with a clear head, himself feeling downplayed by her slap, causing him to feel more infuriated than before.

He took a step back, drawing his sword before her.

“Oh yes, please” she clapped, responding with sarcasm, “murder a Princess of Dragonstone, and it’ll set you free.”

“Murder?” Ser Cole scoffed, “no, I plan to do worse.”

Daerlyssa looked at him, confused by his smirk, before feeling the daggering pain of the sword’s scratch against her shoulder, as Ser Cole had ripped her dress.

-

“I can’t seem to find it” Aemond muttered, roaming his drawers.

“Find what?” Aegon asks, as he buttons up his cloak.

“My book, I- I swear, I had left it here” Aemond stood up, looking toward him, “have you seen it?”

“Oh you mean the book you hid this in?” Aegon held up Daerlyssa’s undelivered raven.

“How do you have that?” Aemond reaches out to snatch the raven out his brothers hand, only to fail when Aegon held it away further.

“Nuh uh” Aegon shook his head, “first you must tell me why you have this?”

“It is not your business” Aemond glared at him.

“Oh but it is” Aegon responds, “not only have you stopped Daerlyssa from hearing a response from her friend, you then go on to embarrass her. At first I thought you probably have some sort of crush. But now?.. now I think it is just a plain cruel game.”

“I just wished to read it. It is not my fault the maester left without taking it” Aemond defends himself.

“But why was your intention to look at it in the first place?” Aegon asks, “you do not truly like her, do you?”

“I just-!” Aemond sighs, “I do not know.”

“Aemond!” Aegon exclaimed.

“I know, I know” Aemond sighed as he sat on his bed.

“Then that day?.. why did you do it?” Aegon asked.

“She is not ready to experience stuff like that” Aemond responds.

“But that is not for you to decide” Aegon scoffs, “she clearly stated she was ready only for you to leave her and now you are claiming she was not ready?”

“I do not need a reminder” Aemond rolled his eyes.

“Lord Cregan Stark is good for her. You should not have done this” Aegon held up the raven in his hand, “I am send this to him tonight. Do not mess this up for her.”

Aegon then leaves through the back door of Aemond’s chamber, making his way out, without informing him where his book might be.

“Aegon wait!” Aemond called out.

But Aegon had already ran off.

Aemond could not help but stress, if his mother was to find that book, and what was written in it. She knew his handwriting well enough, to know it is him.

And for her to find out the poems he has written, his mother would go bersek.

He held his head in panic, before he realised, the library.

…

As Aemond was making his way, he found himself wondering if Aegon would ever tell Daerlyssa, of what he had done.

Whilst him and his brother were loyal to one another, Aemond knew how deeply Aegon cared for his friendship with Daerlyssa.

She was the first person to ever stop him from drinking, and having himself become a better person, only after knowing him for a month.

He owes her loyalty, just as much, given that she had done that for him. Whilst Aemond was unable to accomplish such a thing, being a man who could not express his feelings well.

As he continued to walk ahead, toward the library door, his ears perked to the sounds of mumbling, followed by a low cry.

He continued to follow the noise, before turning to the library doors, realising it was coming from inside.

…

“What are you doing?” Daerlyssa cried out, as she was sat below Ser Cole, “let me go!”

“Not until I show you what it means, to be a whore” Ser Cole responded, fighting back Daerlyssa’s wavering hands, that tried its best to stop him.

“Stop!” Daerlyssa kicked her feet back and fourth, as she noticed the look in Ser Cole’s eyes. One of force, and evil, as he pressed her hands against the floor, to each side.

With a chuckle, he smiled at her, before he whispered, “I will not let the boys suffer the same fate.”

Daerlyssa continued to sob, as she wriggled her hands under his grip, her legs continuing to to kick, as her head shook from side to side.

She felt her worst nightmare becoming true, as Ser Cole had forced himself upon her, his lips touching against her jaw, as she whimpered from the fright within.

Closing her eyes, she almost found herself accepting defeat, as her tears began to fall out, whilst she looked away, her eyes tightly shut.

“Get off!” Daerlyssa heard a shout, from what sounded like Aemond’s voice, before feeling Ser Cole’s force loosen from her.

As she opened her eyes, she kicked her legs up, supporting her to sit back, as she looked toward Aemond in fear.

But he was still yet to witness her looking at him, as Aemond had Cole a matter to attend, as he punched him harshly, across his cheek.

Aemond looked down at him, his shock mixed with disgust and a tinge of fury, before he turned to look at Daerlyssa.

The Princess sat, with a heavy breath and heart, as she held whatever she could, to cover her breasts, due to what had just happened, believing that her time was almost up.

She began to give up, without any hope of being saved and yet, Aemond stood before her, his harsh eye softening as he looked her way, before taking off his jacket.

Placing it around her shoulders, he helped her up, thanking the gods he managed to get to her in time.

Looking ahead, and away from Daerlyssa, Aemond had not noticed her gaze toward him, as she could not help but feel thankful, but confused to see Aemond stood before her, helping her.

“I will get you a maester” Aemond responds, without looking away, as he helps her out the library, heading to his chamber.

-

Daerlyssa sat on Aemond’s bed, her breasts no longer being covered as the maesters took their time in trying their best, to heal her wounds.

“How did it happen?” Aemond asks, looking at her from the opposite side of the room.

But Daerlyssa did not respond. She sat silently, staring into the distance, due to the traumatic event.

“These cuts are deep, Prince Aemond” The maester informed him, “it is clear that the Princess has been wounded by a sword.”

Aemond observed her face, noticing the fear in her eyes, and tremble across her lips, as she stared into the distance. It made him realise, that something must be done, for what Ser Cole has caused.

It was eventual, before the maester had left, after attending to Daerlyssa’s wounds, leaving Aemond alone with her.

“Daerlyssa, speak to me” he whispered, walking toward her.

Yet she could not speak, nor look in his direction, as she felt her dignity wash away, right before him.

She felt less, in front of him, more than before.

Aemond knew she would not answer, but he needed her to at least acknowledge his existence.

To look in her direction, is what he needed. Just one look, for him to determine what must be done.

“Look at me” he held her face, with both palms cradling her cheeks.

She let out a soft whimper, as her eyes filled with tears.

“Daerlyssa look at me. Please” he yearned for her, to turn his way.

She slowly turned to face him, her eyes delaying to look up at his, until her eyes met with his lone one.

“Do you trust me?” Aemond asks.

She stared at him blankly, before his eye averted to the single tear drop that rolled down her soft cheek.

Looking back at her, he noticed the look in her eyes, and no longer wished to ask the question, but rather demanded it from her, “you have to trust me.”

Looking into her eyes, he held her face up toward him, with gentleness, searching her eyes for answers, before she blinked, looking away from him.

It was all that he needed, to know what he must do.

“The maester called for me, what-?” Helena rushed in, before looking over to her niece, “Daerlyssa? What has happened?”

Worry was across her face as she approached Daerlyssa, as Aemond let go of her face, taking a step back.

He looked between both her brother, and Daerlyssa who both looked at one another, before Aemond broke their contact, turning toward Helena, “stay with her.”

Daerlyssa watched, as he walked out, before looking toward Helena, no longer holding back the fear she held inside, hugging her tightly.

-

As the next morning arrived, Aemond made his way down, to find his family gathered.

Alicent, who fiddled with her necklace as she looked around, before her eyes met to her son.

She walked toward Aemond in a hurry, pulling him away from approaching his family.

“Do you know about this?” Alicent asks.

“About what?” Aemond asks.

“About Cole!” Alicent whispered harshly.

“What has happened to Cole?” Aemond responds, a tinge of sarcasm in his tone that goes unnoticed.

“He was found dead, in your father’s library. Stabbed, by his own sword” Alicent looked at Aemond in fear, “I can not help but wonder that someone is responsible, whilst your father had comprehended a suicide.”

“I would not look into it mother. I believe our father is right” Aemond responded coldly.

“Aemond, he was your friend. You can not think him to do something like this, can you?” Alicent asks.

“No, we can not” Aemond responds.

“On top of that, your sister’s daughter, Daerlyssa, did not sleep at her brothers chamber last night. I do not have any idea what is going on?” Alicent cried out in frustration.

“Daerlyssa is with Helena” Aemond responds.

“What? Why?” Alicent asks, “how do you know about this?”

“Helena asked that I come down and let our sister know. Daerlyssa had slept with her, the night” Aemond responds.

He turns to walk away from his mother, toward the others, informing Rhaenyra on Daerlyssa’s whereabouts.

And it was not long after, that Daerlyssa and Helena made their way down.

Whilst feeling distraught, Daerlyssa played a small smile on her face, as she walked toward Rhaenyra.

“I have been so worried about you” Rhaenyra held her daughter tightly.

“She could not sleep last night, and asked to lay beside me. I’m sorry, we should have told you” Helena apologised.

“How is Ser Harold?” Daerlyssa looked to her mother.

“He is better. Currently on duty elsewhere, but he should be back soon” Rhaenyra explained.

“Ser Criston Cole is dead” Lucerys blurted out.

“What?” Daerlyssa almost shrieked.

“He was found with his sword in his chest. From what we heard” Jacerys shrugged.

Rhaenyra shushes her children, as she looks at them with a glare, “stop.”

Daerlyssa turns around, looking toward Aemond who stood far, at the opposite end, away from her, engaging in a conversation beside her brother.

She watched him from afar, confused as to what had happened last night, after Aemond had left her.

He asked for her trust but she did not expect such drastic measures.

She did not know what to think of the situation, nor could she speak on it.

But she had come to realise the type of person Aemond is. A man who kills.

He has killed, for her.

And she could not help but feel grateful toward it.

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